An October night in Collinsport in the year 2012. One in which Samantha Brook, having found refuge in the ruins of the long abandoned Chapel lying between the great estate of Collinwood and the renovated Old House, has been sought out by not one but two strangers. The first a spectral figure accompanied by a mysterious altar, which suddenly appeared in the woods near the old chapel. The second, an oddly compelling young woman by the name of Rachel Shrewsbury, who has succeeded in coaxing Samantha Brook from her dark, damp haven. They travel now back into Collinsport, where Samantha is still wanted by the authorities for escaping from the Collinsport Jail.
Opening: [www.youtube.com]
The red and white Circle K Styrofoam coffee cup lists at first to the left and then slowly back to the right. Then back to the left, ever so gently rocking in the wind. It lies about three inches from the gutter as if it can’t make up it’s mind whether to seek haven in the gutter or to let itself roll out into the street. Perhaps to even roll completely across to the other side.
The traffic light turns its red eye to lime.
The cup continues to gently rock.
Indecision—or is it fear?
The rocking could be mistaken for trembling.
Fear and Loathing?
The ‘66 corvette shifts gears and turns off North East Main and on to Joshua Collins Avenue. The brightly lit street suddenly giving way to shadows and darkness, strange that such a little used roadway was named for the great patriarch of the Collins family.
With the top down, even as the night continues its threat to grow cold and damp, the wind lashes Rachel Shrewsbury’s hair about her face as she accelerates once more, the back draft of the car pulling the indecisive Circle K cup now out into the street and away from the gutter.
Rachel steals another glance at Samantha Brook, who remains quiet. She sits very sit. Hands in her lap, staring out the windshield. The woman has not spoken a word since they left the chapel. Rachel is every well aware of the recent events concerning the taciturn woman. The fact that she is a fugitive means that Rachel is ever wary, her eyes drifting up to the rear view mirror; her free hand never far from the Walther PBK in her coat pocket.
For Samantha Brook is an enigma. Her very appearance coincided with the funeral of the great matriarch of the Harker Family: Gwednolyn Paris Harker. A memorial service which had drawn Nicole Collins and her associate Rhyaad de Annar — seeing as how the Harker’s and the Collins’ were related. There in Scarlet Creek, New York in order to pay their respects, Collins and de Annar just happened to meet the mysterious Miss Brook. She takes another stolen glance, but was it all as seemingly innocent as it had first appeared? Or had Brook gone to Scarlet Creek in order to specifically seek them out? One thing was for certain; her tale of woe had gotten de Annar to feel some odd sense of obligation to take care of the homeless waif. Which was something Rachel still puzzled over, why he had taken such an interest. Altruism? Guilt? Or had he known the woman from sometime before and felt a real responsibility for something that lay in their past? Except when she arrived, Samantha Brook was far from a homeless waif. In fact she was a member of the UN Intelligence Task Force 141 under the direction of General South. Which was yet another thing she knew for certain derelicts, street wandering waifs suffering from severe mental illness were never a part of South’s homicidal, genocidal Unit 141.
Which of course had only intrigued Rachel Shewsbury even more, who was Samantha Brook? Precisely what was the woman’s history? What was she doing here? Rachel had traced her back to Detroit and a nondescript Investigative firm, no longer in operation, known as BlackJack Investigations. Were there traces of 141 even then? Because, before Detroit “ there was no record of Samantha Tovia Brook.
It seems she had been living entirely off the grid.
Rachel downshifts and pulls the car into the parking lot of the Happy Burger and sees Jose’s large Impala convertible.
“Happy seems a bit of a misnomer.” Samantha says, the first time she’s spoken since they left the chapel.
“Yes, well, there are only a few places in Collinsport that are open twenty-four hours, and Jose, let’s say he has some has unusual writing habits.” Rachel says as she shuts off the engine and looks over at Samantha Brook, “He finds the back booth here brings him inspiration.”
“The back booth?” Samantha cuts a glance at the tall, slender blonde.
“Yes.” She opens her car door, “Shall we?”
The slight hint of the sea is in the air as they walk across the nearly deserted parking lot to the front door of the dinner. Rachel opens the door and pushes it further to allow Samantha to enter. The warmth and scent of a freshly cooked Angus burger dampens Samantha’s suspicions as she enters the dinner.
One of the young waitresses nods to Rachel and smiles in recognition.
Samantha’s wary eyes scan the booths, the counter, the couple sitting near the jukebox, and the waitress who had nodded to Shrewsbury.
She did not sense a trap – but one could never be too sure.
A rather slender man, who appears to be in the late fifties, but is surely in his early sixties sits in a back booth off to the side, near the old pay phone. This must be Chung as there is a scattered array of type written pages before him as he jots down some note on one of the sheets of paper.
Rachel says softly, “He likes writing here rather than at my great grandfather’s house.”
“Your great grandfather?” Samantha Brook asks
“Labian Shrewsbury.”
Samantha frowns.
Jose Chung looks up from his scribbling on the page and smiles a warm friendly, almost flamboyant smile. “Ah, Miss Brook. I am so glad that you . . . ah . . . could see fit to slip us into your busy schedule.”
“Yeah.” She slides into the booth across from him.
The man’s eccentric: the silken ascot, the half chuckle of a laugh, the pixie like twinkle in his eyes, the old ring he wears, looks Rosicrucian, but he isn’t one, just seems to be wearing it for purely sentimental value, and he still writes using an ancient typewriter. Looks like a Royal . . . getting ribbons for it must be a bitch, Samantha thinks to herself as she tries to glance out the window, only the interior light makes it a dim mirror reflecting the interior of the dinner back at her.
The waitress saunters over to the booth, a Bunn coffee decanter in hand, “Refresh your cup Mr. Chung.”
He looks up with a mischievous smile, “Fill me up.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Chung.” And the girl grins, and leans over to fill his cup, certain to make eye contact with him. He chuckles wickedly.
She turns to leave when he suddenly waves a hand, “Oh, and Gillian, please, bring us a hamburger platter please for our Miss Brook. And oh, a piece of that marvelous apple pie of yours.”
“You sure that is all you want, Mr. Chung.”
“Pie? Oh, yes, for now.”
Rachel Shrewsbury stands, seemingly distracted, her right hand resting on the back of the booth behind Chung.
Brook looks from one to the other, a rather odd paring.
“Murder and Sin.” Chung says with a chuckle.
Samantha cocks her head and looks at him, “Pardon?”
“Murder and Sin: Collinsport.” He replies. “That is a chapter title I am contemplating, or should that be Murder and Sin: Collinwood. What do you think?”
“Does it really matter?”
He chuckles, “You mean the estate or the town? It does seem the town is merely an extension of the estate doesn’t it.”
Samantha sits and looks at him. She does not reply.
He leans forward to look at her closely, studying the eye patch. “Now, Miss Brook, I must say, I have really been anticipating our little chance to meet..”
“You have?” She asks matter-of-factly.
“Oh yes, my dear. You are such a fascinating story! And I have seen quite a few fascinating stories . . . so, now, you are from Detroit, as I understand. Part of an Investigative agency there,” He flips through the pages of his black notebook; and stops at a page, “Blackjack. Blackjack Investigations. Is that correct?”
“And where did you hear that?”
“From,” He flips some pages, again. “A Detective Louis Fitch with the Detroit Police, Homicide . . . to be exact. Quite an interesting fellow, but, then I am sure you know better than me.” He chuckles, “It seems – well,” he checks his notes, “You left quite an impression on him. And from what a gather, it takes a lot to leave an impression on Detective Fitch.”
For a brief moment, Samantha stares at the rather comically looking man with her mouth agape, she looks down: She under estimated him.
She won’t again.
The waitress arrives with the hamburger platter, which looks very enticing as Samantha watches it set before her. The plate with a slice of apple pie goes before Chung.
“Fitch? You spoke to him.”
He slices a piece of pie and takes a bite and smiles, “I do love their pie here.”
“Rather unusual character Fitch, don’t you think.” Samantha says as she takes a fry and quickly devours it.
“You should hear what they said about him in New York.”
“And you are working on a book about?”
“Witch Cults in New England.” He says and savors the bite of pie.
“So why are you interviewing people in New York about some Detroit Cop.”
“Well I do have my accolades to defend, now don’t I?” Chung licks his fingers, and then returns to his black notebook and flips through pages, and jabs a spot with his pen, “Now Miss Brook. It is okay that I call you that?”
“Call me what?” She takes another bite of a fry.
“Miss Brook.”
“Yes.” She looks at him.
He looks at her, knowingly, “Yes. Well then, we will come back to that. Now Miss Brook. Isn’t it odd you don’t seem to have a past beyond four years ago – well, not officially?” He points to her with his fork, “You, my dear, are what my friends in the CIA call a wraith, someone who is entirely Off the Grid.” And he leans forward, “And let me tell you that is not an easy task these days.”
She takes the fry and devours it quickly.
“It is almost as if you did not exist before Detroit.”
She sighs and looks at the window, unable to see anything other than the reflection of the interior of the Happy Burger. “Detroit is when the shit started.”
“The shit?” He repeats and looks up at her from his notes.
“I don’t like to talk about Detroit.”
“I don’t like to talk about Cleveland, myself,” Chung tells her with a mischievous cock of his head.
Rachel Shrewsbury watches as a tall, thin gentleman in a brown suit and an old fifties like hat enters the Happy Burger. He strides in and stops to look the dinner over, as if he is expecting someone, and then makes his way over to the counter.
She watches as he takes a seat and pulls a menu over and begins to look at it with interest.
“General South.” Chung replies suddenly, “You ever meet him?”
“General South.” Samantha says and leans forward to take a bite of the burger, “Was he in the Civil War?” She continues with her mouth full.
Chung leans forward, notebook close to hand, his pen posed above the open page, “UN, actually. Special Task Force. 141. You were a member of 141 before you arrived here in Collinsport isn’t that correct, Miss Brook?”
She slowly eats her hamburger bite.
“You were a member of 141 back in Detroit. And then, after Blackjack shut down, you went to Scarlet Creek to meet Nicole Collins.”
She looks at him without answering.
Shrewsbury’s attention is drawn back from the man at the counter to the silent Miss Brook.
She looks at them, “I wasn’t a member!” She swallows the Happy Burger bite, “Some woman just handed me a contract.”
“Well, which do you prefer, “Member” or “Contractee.””
“What?”
“I myself prefer member. When one is, a part of some organization, I like to say, Oh, they are a member of such-and-such vs. you know . . . Oh, she’s just a contractor. Members seem to be a bit more invested in the association rather than just merely contracting for a short time.” He tells her. “They don’t have any real motivation — other than monetarily.”
Samantha’s eyes narrow, “And this happens to have what to do about Witch Cults in New England?”
He continues, “You see, I am quite aware Miss brook that you had, and still do have, UN Security Clearance. And my dear, a vagabonds living in the street, sleeping in boxes, wearing a tattered coat, and cooking with sterno just do not get UN Security Clearance.”
She wads up her napkin and places it on the food she would much rather be eating, “What is it you are really after, Mr. Chung? What is it you think you want to know?”
He smiles and reaches out and touches her hand, “My dear, I want to know were you got the training to construct that marvelous weapon you built and used that night in the Eagle Hill Cemetery?”
Rachel glances back at the man at the counter, who is just now looking back at his menu from his own sideward glance at the group gathered in the back booth.
“But, please, don’t let me alarm you, Miss Brook, or whoever you are,” He leans in and whispers, “You see what I am really interested in is what you saw that night, out at Eagle Hill Cemetery, and more precisely what you saw when you pulled the trigger.”
She leans in and whispers back, a hint of menace in her voice: “I’ve pulled a lot of triggers.”
Chung chuckles, “Oh, I bet you have!”
She looks at him hard, “Eagle Hill, what do you know about that night at Eagle Hill Cemetery?”
Chung turns the page in his note book, “Well, on that night, yes, a spectral figure appeared in the air, dressed in yellow and wearing rather a tattered cloak.”
She looks at his notebook,”That’s a rather dangerous notebook you got there, Mr. Chung.”
Rachel looks back quickly.
“What else do you have in there?”
“I know at the time everyone was interested in The Count,” He tells her, “Petofi, but my dear, this figure, the one that was descending – now, he is the one I am most particularly concerned about.”
“Why?”
“Because of whom I suspect him to be, who I suspect you know him to be.”
“He’s just a figment of my post-traumatic syndrome, ask any of my doctors.”
He looks at her and adjusts his glasses with a knowing smile: “When I spoke to the Metropolitan Bishop of Providence,” He turns a few pages, and stops, “He tells me that you took a certain scroll from his archives. Did you use it in helping to construct your weapon?”
Samantha mutters softly, “Maybe.”
Her fingers beginning to play with a fork beside her plate.
“The reason I am asking, is that we may very well need that weapon again, only, do you have any idea as to why it failed?”
She looks up confused, “Why it failed?”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t fail . . . “
“But – ” He stops and then suddenly frowns, “Then what was its intent?”
Rachel listening to the conversation, puts her hand slowly into her coat pocket, “Miss Brook, were you . . .”
“Was I what?”
Chung scribbles new notes. “Are you aware that Officer O’Malley has been arrested?”
“Yeah, she told me.”
“As I understand it O’Malley was the officer who arrested you that night at the scene of a rather horrific crime on New Jerusalem Lot Road, is that correct?”
She nods, “Yes.”
“Officer Anderson, believes you saw something that night in the woods and O’Malley let you take his gun in order to distract everyone from whatever it was you saw – is that what happened?”
“Yeah, well, I saw something.” She admits, “But he didn’t give me the gun. I took it.”
“Whatever it was you saw,” He says and looks up with concern, “It really doesn’t matter, does it, because you had seen the sign, long before you went into the Eagle Hill Cemetery.”
She continues to play with the fork looking at him.
Rachel now notices her hand idly moving the fork about.
Chung looks uneasy, “I am correct, you had already seen the . . . sign?”
“The Sign?”
“O’Malley admits he has seen the sign and that he is a member of the New Order. You are part of that New Order too, aren’t you Miss Brook?” He asks now rather slowly.
She looks at him, her face void of emotion: “There is no new order.”
“No?” Chung asks, “What is it?”
Samantha smiles, her eyes almost jaundiced in appearance: “There is only what has always been. What should have been. The order that the rest of the universe ascribes to. All except one. Tiny. Insignificant. Blue.” Her voice nearly hisses, “SPECK!”
And Samantha slams her hand on the table.
Everyone in the dinner looks over at the back booth at the sound of one hand slapping.
Chung quickly reaches into his jacket pocket and slips on the brass, oval lensed McDougall-Tessler filters. He is very surprised at this turn of events—this he had not suspected . . .. “Miss Brook, do you wish for our help?”
“I am sorry, but Miss Brook isn’t here right now.”
Rachel’s hand has slipped into her pocket and withdrawn her Walther PBK. “Jose, up! Get up right now.”
“You think that protects you?” She asks still playing with the fork.
“Jose, right the F**k now.”
“Brook’s gun was a little bit bigger and it didn’t stop me.” Samantha’s eyes have gone now a darker shade of amber.
Jose grabs up his papers, “Yes, Mr. Chung do not forget your useless pieces of paper.” Samantha tells him.
Rachel, wearing her own pair of McDougall-Tessler filters keeps the gun level on Miss Brook, “Jose, move slowly toward the door.”
Samantha looks up at her, the yellow fading for a moment: “Get him out of here!”
“Now Jose, out!”
Samantha sits and begins to bang her head on the table.
The waitress stands in shock at the slight of the gun; the woman sitting at the booth banging her head up and down on the table top.
“Get him out of HERE!”
The man in the brown suit sips his coffee silently.
Jose backs out the door.
“Miss Brook, please.” Rachel stops at the door, gun still leveled at the woman banging her head, “I am Rachel Shewsbury, I think you may know that name. I can help you, if and when you wish to seek help.”
Samantha falls back panting, her eyes returning to normal
The two waitresses glance at each other not certain what to make of all of this, but this being Collinsport, they strongly suspect it all has something to do with the Collins and their horrid history in this town.
“I would much rather have you on our side of this Miss Brook, can you not resist his influence?” Rachel says slowly backing toward the door.
“It’s been so long . . . “
Rachel is not certain when things will turn bad, she just knows they are about to . . . “I believe there is help in that scroll you took . . . if only you would bring it to me.”
“THE SCROLL COULDNT STOP ME THE FIRST TIME! WHY WOULD IT STOP ME NOW?!” And the voice is not that of Samantha Brook.
Cue Music End of Episode