Collinsport. On this night, Count Andreas Petofi, having become acutely aware that his powers have begun to wane, will seek the help of one whose allegiance should preclude him from receiving any assistance and yet, one who is well known to use his restorative powers for a price. For the weakening sorcerer the only question is just how steep a price.
The headlights of the low sports car skim across the chip and tar roadway, illuminating the brush alongside the two-lane highway as the car zips along the darken Old Jerusalem Lot Road. Count Andreas Petofi, although not averse to driving an automobile, and especially a high-powered sports car, for the most part resigned himself to the disguise of nobility, which precluded this event. Of course, there wasnt an ounce of royal blood in his linage and yet, Count Petofi ever maintained the air of an aristocrat even to having Aristede serve as his chaufferwhenever Aristede was not conducting nefarious assignments on behalf of the Count..
Tonight he seems unusually reoccupied. Lily Nota had felt it the moment she saw The Count making his way across the parking lot of the Collinsport Inn. She also noted that he seemed to be favoring his ungloved hand he gloved one for the most part seemingly afflicted with some form of paralysis. Lily, want a lovely evening, He said as he unlocked the car.
She lifted her head and let the cool breeze brush against her, That it is Count, that it is.
Would you care to join me for a short excursion? He motioned to the sports car.
Lily nodded and got in. The Count quickly took them through the narrow streets of Collinsport and was soon heading toward the Old New Jerusalem Lot Road. The night grew darker and the traffic sparse. The winding highway for the most part appearing deserted. Odd, Lily thought, There seem very few highways anymore that one did not pass another car ever few seconds or so now it was minutes, or longer. She looked at he wooded countryside moving quickly past as she longed to be out into the night air a part of it. But there was still this odd sensation that something was not quite right . . . about The Count tonight. He seem preoccupied as he drove, his eyes glancing occasionally up to the rear view mirror, as trying to determine whether or not he was being followed.
Petofi flexed his fingers on the wheel as he dove, eyes once more lifting up to inspect the rear view mirror. There were more than a few interested parties concerned about his whereabouts . . . his motives . . . his plans. Particularly since having been resurrected from the dead once again.
A resurrection, which even now he did not fully understand the intent of particularly who performed the complex and dangerous ritual.
Count is there something wrong? Lily asked turning to look at him, I can not help but ask.
“Oh, I am sorry Lily, just reflecting. He said and gave her a tight smile, One needs to do that now and thentake stock of ones place in time.
Yes of course Count. She agreed, but felt there was something more.
“I hope I am not detaining you from anything.” He replied.
Lily smiled warmly, “Never Count, I enjoy your company, and she languidly turns to look out the her window, “Where are we going?”
A small establishment, just a head I believe. I have an appointment.
An Appointment?
A very important one, which grows ever more important with the passing moments. Re replied cryptically.
As the sports car rounded a bend, the headlights suddenly illuminated a small sign advertising Mr. Wilde’s Antiques and Curios.
“We are just there in fact, my dear girl.” He says and suddenly grimaces as if in pain.
Lily took notice of his apparent discomfort, Do you need help sir?
The Count downshifted the sports car and turned the automobile off the highway and onto the gravel lot of the quaint little antique shop. With the wheels loudly crunching upon the loose gravel, for a moment the automobile slid as the Count applied too much force upon the breaks. “Hmm, no, sadly nothing you can help me with, my dear.”
The headlights lit up the front of the antique shop.
The Count put the car into park, and sat back, staring through the windscreen at the little out of the way shop: his face having grown pale.
The hand not encased in the glove turned off the motor and opened the car door, swinging it swing as he sat for a moment in the cool air of the night. He took a deep breath, then pulled himself up out of the car, and closed the door.
“Care to join me?” He asked, his hand clenching as if to mask yet another wave of pain.
Samantha Brook moving through the night shadows, stops and peers through the trees watching as the Count and Lily Nota approach the old Antique shop which only days ago was a deserted, long neglected building. And now . . . it had apparently been refurbished. Back in business?
Lily got out of the car and closed the door to step around the front of it, her feet silently walking upon the loose gravel, as she approached the Count Petofi, “Yes, gladly”
“If you wouldn’t mind, would you let me lean a bit on you.” he said as he walked unevenly across the gravel.
She smiled, though concerned, “I do not mind, go ahead.”
He placed his glove hand upon her arm and steadied himself as he walked. She felt him stiffen as he exerted tremendous will-power now to place one foot before the other she feet all but shuffling through the grey, loose gravels.
Together they stepped up to the front door and opened it.
A small silver bell jangled as the door opened.
The old antique shop seemed empty.
It was dimly lit.
The Count called out in a rasping voice, “Mr. Wilde?”
There was the sudden loud sound of a cat, wild, feral, leaping from one thing to another, heavily disturbing fragile antiques as it scurries away further into the back of the shop.
“The time has come?” A voice asks.
It was soft, calm, evenly measured.
Lily looks around the dimly lit shop for the source of the soft, whisper of a voice, or for anything else suspicious the place was an eclectic mix of oddities and artifacts, curios and antiques.
“Henry B. Matthews,” The voice begins to read, “Book-keeper with I Am With The Lord and Company, dealers in church ornaments and stained-glass windows. Called August 3rd. Reputation damaged on the racetrack. Known as a welcher. Reputation to be repaired by October 15th. Retainer Five Thousand Dollars.”
The voice continues.
Greene, Anderson, Minister of the Gospel, Atlantic City, New Jersey. Reputation damaged in the room 231 of an undisclosed Casino. To be repaired as soon as possible. Retainer Ten Thousand Dollars.” There is a cough, “Called, October 4th.”
A slight pause, and then:
“Mrs. C. Hamilton, of Menlo Park, California. Called August 31st. Reputation damaged at a wedding reception. To be repaired by October 18th. Retainer Five Thousand Dollars. ”
Samantha Brook, having gone around the back of the shop so as not to be heard crossing the gravel lot, knelt and cautiously peered through the lower corner of the front window.
Inside the dimly lit antique emporium there was suddenly the sound of a needle being scratched across an old phonograph and a song began to play through an Victorian Gramophone.
[soundtrack: [www.youtube.m]]
The Count moving through the shadows, toward the soft glow of a lamp, steps out from around a desk, “My name is . . ”
“Count Andreas Petofi, or rather Edward Hutchinson, or rather Victor Fenn-Gibbon, or rather Dr. Jules Jasper, or Samuel S. Daine, or Harry Lime, or do I need to continue?”
“You are Mr. Wilde, the Repairer of Reputations?”
Mr. Wilde sat in his chair with a huge dark, green, cloth-bound ledger, which was open on his lap as he was just finishing whatever he had written in one of the columns.
Lilly could not help but snicker when she heard all the Count’s names
Mr. Wilde turns the page and runs his aged fingers down the closely written columns.
Edward Hutchinson, of Salem Village, Massachusetts. Called tonight, appeared in person. Reputation damaged from a play, causing the loss an alliance with his God. To be repaired? he looks up,
The Count grows faint, “Immediately.”
“A short order to be sure. And the Repairer of Reputations takes his pen and scribbles something in a column.
“I-I have very little time.”
“But you have had so much of it, Mr. Hutchison.” Mr. Wilde says and closes his book with a loud slam.
Lily looks over now very concerned, “Are you ill Count?”
Mr. Wilder glances at the woman, “Lily Nota, reputation ruined by the . . . ”
“Leave her out of this.” Petofi snaps. “And yes, Lily, the formula that brought me back, it appears it has a shelf life . . . and it is expiring.”
She walks over quickly and takes The Counts right arm, What can I do? Please let me help.”
“And after you have done so much.” Mr. Wilde says with a smile, “With so much left to do. In order to get her to play the game, you have had to have your assistant remove her protector: the Police Chief, St. Clair. You have threatened to take away her best friend with a worthless contract. You had a young woman infected and turned, and then brought here to Collinsport, with the belief it was she who perpetrated the act of her transformation merely to lead her to a clue.”
The Count listens to the old man.
You have even orchestrated the return of the mother, your daughter. And yet, you are no closer . . .”
“What is the cost?” He demands.
“Now you ask the cost?” Mr. Wilde smiles. “This could all be put right if you were to see him.”
“I am Count Andreas Petofi, and I will not be ruled by some King In Tatters.”
“You are Edward Hutchinson and the cost is the pearl.”
“I don’t have itnot yet.”
Lily, at his side, looks up at The Count, “The Pearl?”
Mr. Wilde smiles at her. “A pearl. One red pearl.” He looks at the record on the gramophone, “You have till that song ends you know.”
“I could Petofi holds out his gloved hand.
“No, you could not, for the one I serve will not let that happenand your God . . . well you have forsaken him.”
“Mr. Wilde I do not have the time.”
“No you do not”
“How does one get the Red Pearl Mr. Wilde?” Lily determined now to get whatever the Count needs.
“That is easy. You have a daughter, who loves unwisely, and will do anything to return her love to this dimension.”
“She will bring me the pearl.” Petofi says growing weaker.
“Then you agree to the cost?”
“Yes, damn it, yes.”
Lily holds the Count’s arm She feels how frail he has become, as if his essence were being drained by what, that phonograph? If she were to just reach over and lift the needle? What damage would be done? Or would it only serve to hasten his demise? She was in the midst of some very strange magicks.
“I can take back what I repair if you fail to fulfill the transaction.”
“I understand . . . ” Petofi says, his hand trembling; his eyes watching the needle on the record growing closer to the end of the song.
“Then look to the mirror and reflect on your past and the moment of the damage and when it was done.”
The Count turns and looks at an old mirror sitting amid the clutter.
He stumbles over to it.
He looks now at how he has aged, the wrinkles growing on his face, the palsy of his hand.
He feels his power ebbing.
Then the reflection in the mirror begins to fade.
The mirror glows a bright shade of amber and then there is a burst of light.
Petofi laughs at the reflection now.
He is nearly a hundred years younger.
Lily gasps when she sees him turn to face her, Count!
“Victor Fenn-Gibbon you see?” He says with a wicked, wry smile, “It was the only time I have ever failed.”
“I hope you do not fail again. Now, we have transacted our businessand soon we will be on opposing sides again.”
“Yes, if my old master Nyarlathotep, blessings be upon HIS name, allows me to return.”
Lily just stares at the younger man before her, “Mr. Gibbon? Is that truly you?”
He smiles at Lily, “Yes, my dear, it is I, and I have been restored. I no longer see his sign.
Sign, Lily asks.
From her corner of the window, watching as best she could, through the cluttered shop, Samantha Brook’s eyes widen: He’s young again! That could not be good for anyone.
So you have relinquished the crown? Mr. Wilde replies.
A crown Mr. Wilde that was thrust upon me, Petofi turns now to the Repairer of Reputations, But, I do have a yet a question to ask, if I may.
“One?”
“For now.” He flexes the fingers of his hand, feeling now a renewal of his arcane powers.
“Then you have one, no cost.”
“Who sent me the book.
Which book?
The King in Yellow.”
Mr. Wilder reaches for his old, green cloth ledger once more and places it on his lap.
He opens it and begins to flip through the yellowed pages.
He finds one and slowly runs his finger down a column.
{Soap Opera Music cue}
“St. Clair, of New York City, New York. Catherine St. Clair. Mother of Jamison.”
Cue Music End of Episode