Collinsport. The long night continues as Samantha Brook, having discovered the decapitated bodies of Peter and Cynthia Moxley, tourists from Falls Church, Virginia, finds herself no longer a witness, but a suspect, now cuffed and heading back to Collinsport. For a brief moment, Samantha had felt herself being watched by something or someone in the rain-shrouded woods. In an attempted to protect herself, she had impetuously grabbed a gun from one of the officers at the crime scene but found herself unable to explain her actions. Yet again, she found herself experiencing the strange inability to articulate her thoughts which seem now to have become ever more confused.
The screen is black.
The sound of a car motor running can be heard.
An off screen voice says, Its 2:55 and as we come to the close to another Anthology Hour, we have to ask, what precisely was Lennon meaning to say in this short two minutes and nineteen seconds?
And then there is the music on the radio as it begins to play:
The black screen dissolves now to reveal a patrol car as it sits at an intersection.
The twin beams of the headlights illuminate the asphalt of the roadway, the storefronts, and the rain visibly falling in their glow as the car sits stationary.
The traffic light above has turned from green to red and back again.
Yet the car sits.
Officer OMalley stares straight ahead as if mesmerized by the windshield wipers as they slowly swipe across the glass.
The rain runs down the windshield.
One thumb begins to tap slowly now on the steering wheel in time to the music as he cocks his head to one side as if he is listening to the song for some insight.
Hey the light changed, again. Samantha Brook says, leaning forward, her hands cuffed behind her as she looks out the passenger window.
The light turns back to red.
The car idles.
He sits.
A black Mercedes passes now through the intersection.
Samantha sits looking at the sleigh in the window of Greens Antique Emporium.
The lights going to change. She says distractedly.
He nods.
The light turns green and the patrol car now resumes its passage down the street.
Samantha Brook continues to watch as the darken storefronts of Collinsport pass. She has not looked at the officer for the last fifteen minutes, nor has she spoken, save to tell him about the traffic light.
She is still very confused.
The patrol car turns on a side street and then taking a left pulls into the parking lot of the new Collinsport Justice Center. OMalley pulls into area marked off as In-take and turns the motor off. Samantha can hear the creak of the leather of his belt as he opens the car door and lifts his weight out of the Crown Victoria.
In the rain that seems to be about to gather some velocity, he stands for a moment looking over the top of the car to a side street. A shadowthat might have moved.
Officer O’Malley suddenly opens the door to the patrol car and reaching in helps Samantha Brook out of the back seat. She says nothing. She only looks around the parking lot, at the front of the police station as if, for a moment, she is rather uncertain as to not only her precise location but also why she is even here.
OMalley cups her elbow and escorts her hurried across the wet parking lot, the rain now beginning once more to fall harder with larger, heavier drops. They ascend the few steps up to the glass front of the complex, and the double door.
It is late, well past 3 now.
There is distant thunder.
Yet another storm, an early morning storm, is on it’s way, and it will not be long now until it arrives.
Samantha Brook strides in with him, trying to get comfortable with the cuffs.
O’Malley nods to the lone officer sitting behind the Night Desk, “Hey, I got one for lock up she was . . . well, shes the one who found the headless bodies out on Old Jerusalem, and then proceeded, for reasons of her own, it would seem, to try an steal a gun and . . . were not sure what she was up to?”
The officer nods. Got a call on the horn ’bout it. He picks up the keys and tosses them to OMalley. Shell have the place pretty much to herself, all we have back there is a drunk.
Officer O’Malley pushes Samantha forward, “This way.”
Samantha Brook cocks her head in order to look back at him, Hey!
O’Malley, make some coffee while you are back there.” The police officer at the desk calls out as they stride back into the station. The Lieutenant is headed back.
“Sure.” OMalley calls back over his shoulder.
O’Malley leads Samantha around the cubicles centered in the Justice Center and back toward the cells.
As they get closer to the holding cells and further from the Night Desk officer, he steps up close to her and whispers, “Waiting for the Kingwell it wont be much longer now.
Samantha Brook smiles and whispers back, Yes, but I cant be of service . . . in here.
“That does present a problem, he says, and breathing heavily now through his nose so that Samantha can hear the slight whistle in his nostrils, he looks around, cautiously seeing that there is no one around, save of course for the drunk sleeping it off.
Samantha looks at him curiously as she glances over and down at the sound of him snapping loose the clasp of his holster, and now the creak of leather as he draws his service revolver out, “Here.”
She looks at him oddly as he offers up the gun.
His grip on her forearm is tight as OMalley as he keeps her now from taking another step, well aware that this is the one blind spot in the CCTV system Mills has recording everything going on within the station.
Samantha Brook looks at the gun, her hands still cuffed behind her, It is a very nice piece.
He nods, I will have to see the repairer of reputations, but it is a small price to pay for being in the service of a King.
He is here? The repairer of reputations?
Mr. Wilde? Oh, yes, of course. He is making preparations you know, for those who serve him. You see, I have already spoken to him about repairing my Aunt’s reputation, although, I told him I was more than certain it would cost more than I can pay, but he said there is no cost we can not pay, and that it would be repaired by Halloween.
Aunt? Samantha says looking at him, uncertain as to why they have stopped here why he holds his gun out to her.
Oh, yes my Aunt Martha. She was an actressyou know, very talented, untiluntil they said started saying things about her. Officer OMalley replies.
Samantha nods and lifts her hands behind her, The cuffs?
“You see they would not believe her. Where she had had been, whom she had seen. Theythey think she is crazy,” His eyes now flashing with a fury at the word crazy, which he all but spat out, “They put her in an asylum!”
“Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que la notre . . . Voila toute la difference.” Samantha whispers to him, And, you really need to keep your voice down.
Officer O’Malley looks around, and then shakes his head, “Yes, you must be free to do his work, I know that now. He said so on the radio. So you better keep your head little girl. If he catches you with another man. And we know who that HE is . . .
The cuffs OMalley.
The key is in my pocket . . . so it is best you make it look good so that I can still do his bidding, so you will have to do this with the cuffs on.
Samantha sighs and for a moment, she feels a sudden recollection something very similar, and she suddenly knows precisely what she needs to do.
“Quickly, before someone comes.” He says.
Suddenly a drunken voice thickly calls out, ‘Hay, hay whats all the whisperin about . . . cant get any sleepin done for all this damned whisperin. . .
Outside, as the rain begins now to fall in earnest, Lieutenant Mills pulls up and gets out of her car and rushes over toward the steps leading up to the station. She has a fresh cup of Circle K coffee, which she holds gingerly to protect it from the rainfall.
He will take care of the likes of you, OMalley says pointing his gun at the drunk, The Imperial Dynasty is only a moments away! He is a king whom emperors have served!
And Samantha Brook suddenly and savagely head butts him, knocking the Officer back up against the wall, his gun dropping as he staggers.
A new broom sweeps clean.” She says and stepping up, head butts him again; and he falls to the ground limply.
Brook hurries over and turns around and kneels in order to begin running her fingertips along his hip, sliding her straining fingers into his pocket to removed the keys to the handcuffs. The d**ned fool could have made this far easier.
“Hey Lieutenant, it’s been a wild night hasnt it?” The officer behind the Night Desk says as he watches the Lieutenant now entering the station and wiping a hand across her shoulder to remove the clinging droplets of rain.
Samantha grins as she removes the key, finds the small lock and slips it in.
OMalley? Where is he?
Click, they fall free from her wrists.
In the back, putting that Brook woman in one of the holding cells, why?
Lieutenant Mills has a feeling that something isnt right, she is not certain whyits just a feeling a so she begins to head back toward the cellswhen suddenly there is the jarring sound of an alarm as a fire door is opened.
OMalley! Lieutenant Mills yells as she drops her coffee, letting it spill on the carpet, her hand reaching for her gun.
Samantha, having heard the Lieutenants voice as she answered the Night Desk officer, had turned and spotting the fire door raced toward it, hitting it at top speed as she burst out of the police station, the metal fire door slamming hard back against the brick wall, and then bouncing back, as she ran into the rain.
Lieutenant Mills comes upon the scene of Officer OMalley lying on the floor just as she looks up to see Miss Brook heading out the door.
Stop! Police! She tells and lifts her gun but Brook is already outside the door.
Mills, her deft eyes having spotted the officers empty holster, races after her with a bit of caution.
She slams her shoulder against the metal fire door as it swings back toward her, gun drawn and held steady. The Lieutenant pushes back against the door and steps out, her eyes scanning the narrow park that lies outside the building.
There are only a few small wrought iron lampposts.
The park was built for aesthetics not police chases.
She stands listening and hears wet footsteps.
Thee lieutenant steps out of the door and swings her gun up to see the shadow of Miss Brook moving past a stand of Douglas firs.
Stop! Police! She yells and fires a warning shot.
Her heart racing, she sets off after her.
The officer, who had been seated behind the Night Desk, having jumped up as the Lieutenants coffee cup hit the carpeted floor, grabbed his gun and raced after her now comes upon the still form of OMalley. What the h**l!
Crazy woman slammed her head into him! The drunk says. They was talkin about Kings and s**t!
The rain falling into her eyes, the Lieutenant sprints across the soggy lawn of the small aesthetically placed park, her black all weather coat whipping behind her.
The sky is streaked with lightening.
She can see the shape of Miss Brook ahead, running in a serpentine motion.
The Night Desk officer tires to arouse OMalley, who slowly begins to stir, moaning, as he sits up his forehead dripping blood on the carpet.
The lieutenant racing after Brook jumps over a small iron bench, the hem of her coat dangerously slapping against the back of the bench, as she watches Brook scampering now into a cluster of shrubs.
Thunder rumbles overhead.
Car lights illuminate the parking lot behind her as another patrol car returns to the Justice Center.
Secure that prisoner! OMalley yells suddenly at no one in particular as he regains consciousness.
A little late for that. The other officer tells him.
He reaches for his gun, Damn. And then he rises to run toward the open fire door and exits into the rain.
The Night Desk Officer, using his radio, calls to Officer Elliot who has just radioed his 20, which is very near the Justice Center.
Elliot, we got an escape. That crazy woman, Brook. Mills is after her now in the Southside Park.
The patrol car in the parking lot stops and Officer Stephenson gets out and walks into the Justice Center.
Samantha turns to look back and sees, Mills catching up damned the woman can run.
In the darkness, she does not notice the decorative black links of chain that line a pathway and Samantha trips over it and falls to the muddy, soggy ground.
Lieutenant Mills slows to take one cautious step at a time as she focuses all her concentration on the woman on the ground before her, looking for the gun, even as she holds her own P220 Sig in the Weaver stance, the barrel ever pointed on Miss Brook, Okay. She says, catching her breath, Now I am wet and tried and angry. Sodo NOT move!
Samantha sighs and rolls on her back to look up at the Lieutenant and she smiles.
Slowly now, I want you to get on your knees. The Lieutenant says approaching in the falling rain.
Need any help, Lieutenant. OMalley asks coming up behind Mills.
Cuff her. She says, the pistol unwavering as the rain runs down her face
For a moment, Samantha lies there, smiling.
I said, I want you to get on your knees now!
WHACK!
A heavy piece of wood strikes OMalley across the back of the head and he stutters forward to fall on the soggy ground beside the startled Lieutenant. Mills who tries to turn but
WHACK!
The wooden plank strikes the Lieutenants hand and the Sig P220 Compact, knocking it from her grasp. She grimaces in pain as she pulls her hand back and swings around in pain and Samantha Brook is up and running.
In the confusion and pain the Lieutenant is aware of the man dressed in faded jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. She suddenly recognizes his face it is the face of the man turning to look at the crime scene as he passed in the pick-up that had slowly driven past them on Old Jerusalem Lot Road!
He drops the plank.
Better hide your head in the sand, little girl, his hoarse, grasping voice tells her before he quickly races off into the darkness.
Godd**nit! The Lieutenant shouts and turns looking for her gun as she shakes her hand in pain.
Rain falling upon her, frantic eyes scan the ground for her Sig Sauer.
Samantha Brook races into the obscurity of the shadows and removes her shoes and hurls them as far as she can, one in each direction and takes off in a third.
Lightening flashes and the Lieutenant sees her gun.
OMalley is moaning, his hands moving as if to try and rise up from the wet ground.
Or is he reaching for her gun?
The Lieutenant hurries over to the P220 lying on the wet grass and scoops it up, and turns to look back behind her to see the man who had struck her having put some distance between them he lifts her gun and he runs behind some trees.
The Lieutenant turns and continues after Brook.
Behind her the man in the plaid flannel shirt races over to a chain link fence and hits it on a run.
His fingers clinging into the chain links, he scrambles up and over it and falls to the ground. He twists his angle and quickly is up and hobbling over to jump into the pick-up that he has left idling on the side street.
The radio has been left playing:
Down the deserted street the sound of running footsteps can be heard.
The Lieutenant having spotted Brook racing round the brick storefront corner sprints toward Market Street.
She stops and fires at her.
Only, the shot is wild, due to her inexperience shooting with her left hand.
The Lieutenant sprints steps off the brick sidewalk into the street to get a wider angle as she races down the street toward Market. Only when she reaches the corner, she stops, catching her breath, as she swivels her head in order to look up and down the deserted street only she does not see Brook.
Lightening flashes again, but it fails to reveal anything up the lonely Collinsport roadway.
She strains now to listen, but in the falling rain there isnt any sound of falling footsteps.
The Lieutenant cradles her arm and hand up against her, the throbbing pain only making her even angrier.
Thunder crashes.
She stands with her gun ever ready, eyes still scanning the storefronts
Off in the distance she can hear now the sound of wet tires sliding on wet pavement
The man in the pick-up, she is certain.
Lieutenant Mills grimaces in pain as she shakes her hand and turns now and sprints back along the park path leading to the parking lot of the Justice Center. She scans the streets visible and spots the headlights of the pick-up flashing on now as the old truck turns onto Wharf Street.
She grabs her car keys in her coat pocket, her fingers an agony of pain as she grips them; dashing over to her car, where she whips open the door slides in and starts the mean motor of the black unmarked patrol car. She places her Sig on the seat beside her and grabs her radio, Thus is Mills, calling all officers. Samantha Brook has escaped from custody with the assistance of a man in faded jeans and a flannel shirt. Suspect is a Male, Caucasian, 6-feet to 6-feet-1, black hair, 190-195 pounds. He is in a late model pick-up. A F150. White. Last seen heading north on Wharf Street. Two officers wounded. Recalling all officers.
She hurried wipes rain from her face and backs the car out of her parking slot and slides it around and out into the street heading after the pick-up.
Officer Elliot, returning to town, turns and comes down Wharf Street to see a head now a white pick-up.
It is speeding toward him.
He turns on his blue and white lights and pulls a hard U-Turn as the truck passes.
Elliot reaches out and grabs his radio, This is 1-Adam-3, I have the F150, north on Wharf nope hes cutting back, heading now . . . toward Frenchmans Lane.
With a smile, Lieutenant Mills turns on her blue and whites and pulls a hard right, and heads back along a tight alleyway to get her to Frenchmans Lane.
She pushes the accelerator down and speeds along the deserted streets of Collinsport, her hand throbbing as she keeps shaking ittrying to stop the flare of pain by flexing the fingers, by making a fist. Her palm is suddenly pressed into action upon the wheel, as she uses the wounded hand to help her make the hard left. The front of the car dips and hits hard on the rise in the pavement and she does not slow.
She turns the siren on.
I have him cutting back over to New Station Road, hes not going into the bottleneck of Frenchmans. Elliot says over the radio.
Even better, Mills smiles, as she mentally knows she is close now, very close, two blocks over and she pushed the black unmarked car harder, zooming through an intersection.
Arliss Mills in his tow truck, pulling a late model car, heading into the intersection, looks up suddenly to see the black car speeding before him as he hits the brakes, and, Lieutenant Mills, reacting, to the sight of the on-coming truck, hits her own brakes.
He wrenches the wheel to the left, hard.
They both skid all but uncontrollably and yet avoid a collision.
Arliss Mills jumps out of his truck, door open in the rain, “Hey you alright! D**n, I didn’t see you coming h**l that was close?”
He feels his hands trembling from the near collision.
Thunder roars.
The unmarked, black sedan sits with the blue and white strobe of its lights illuminating the intersection eerily.
Lieutenant Mills glaring at Arliss through the rain wet windshield narrows her eyes and then ignores him, as she turns the wheel to once again accelerate in the direction that her assailant was last seen heading. Tires spinning before they catch on the asphalt.
Elliot, do you still have a visual? She snaps into the radio.
Negative Lieutenant, he took a couple of odd turns along New Station Road. He says, and from the sound of his communication he is now using his hand held radio. He ditched the pick-up.
Officer Elliot was standing with his high beam flashlight examining the interior of the white F150, the door open, th motor running, the headlights still on.
Da*mit! She says and hits her steering wheel in frustration. All cars canvas the area Stephenson, Samantha Brook, she was last seen heading down Brewster Avenue, which connects to Castle Rock Highway she might be heading over to the Nightingale. Check that out.
Lieutenant, this is Anderson, Stephenson should be back at the Justice Center by now, and so, since I am still about five minutes out, I can check The Nightingale.
Roger. Be careful, Steve, she is armed and dangerous. She tells him and U-turns her car to drive back toward Justice Center. Her hand hurts and she would love just one fresh, hot cup of coffee.
This is 1-Adam-2, Officer Malloy, I am in pursuit of a Metallic Mint Green 1964 Buick Skylark heading toward Old Jerusalem Lot Road.
Hes changed cars, Mills thinks.
How was this so well organizedso quickly?
“What’s going on Lieutenantthis Brook, I thought she was just a witness Newly promoted Detective Anderson asks.
I have no idea Anderson. She says into her radio.
Ahead the lieutenant sees the flashing lights of Officer Elliots patrol car as she passes. He is walking around, inspecting it securing the area.
Outside Collins Investigations, overlooking the Collinsport skyline, Samantha Brook makes her way cautiously along the roof, clinging to the shadows, before moving over to the skylight. She takes a thick piece of plastic she had weighted down with bricks. She flips it toss off puddles of rain and then moves it over to the angled frame and glass of the skylight, covering it so as to keep as much rain as possible from entering, as she slips it open enough for her to slid past the frame and drop down into the bedroom in the second floor storage area below. She looks around quickly, finds two hand towels and bends to wipe her wet footprints away, and then her damp feet. She rolls the towels up and tucks them under her left arm as she hurries over to a collection of wooden crates and pulls them aside to remove the strange gun she had constructed in their confrontation with Petofi, Pickman, and that odd figure coming down out of the sky. She grabs it and pulls it free. She takes it with her, and looks around the room. Smiles and slips out the door of her room below all is quite.
Good, she thinks, Nikki and Esther were not there.
She hurries down the stairs and checking thought the storefront window at the street beyond not seeing any patrol cars, she opens the door and slips out into the rainy night once more.
Lieutenant Mills enters into the Justice Center, looks down at her slipped coffee cup, feeling her hand beginning to swell, as she looked over at Officer OMalley. She sees Officer Stephenson, having returned, now busy placing a bandage on OMalleys forehead from the open first aid kit.
I dont know how it happened. He told her.
Well look at the tapes, She told him and then sudden stops: D**n, I need a cup of coffee!
The officer at the Night Desk nods, Ill get you one.
She steps over to her desk and takes notice now of a letter that has been placed on her keyboard, she steps over and picks it up, opens it and reads . . . God. . .d**n. . ..
The officer stepping away from OMalley says: “What is it?”
Before she can answer her phone rings, He reaches over and picks it up, This is Lieutenant Mills.
Lieutenant Mills, this is Tobias T. Tillinghast, his deep voice sounding like some old radio actor.
Tillinghast I dont have time for this at the moment
Yes, Yes, I know. At the crime scene now well, Stella will be there shortly, and you be mindful of the freedom of the press, my dear. Freedom of the Press! This IS The Collinsport Star madam! And, access IS the news. So, nothing like the last time at the dock warehouse and that shocking display with our reporter as they were trying to get an interview with your Vampire Killer. Speaking of which, thats the reason I called. Wanted your comment as I am more than certain the Town Council is not going to like the news that your Vampire Killer has escaped
My Vampire Killer? She says angrily.
Well, yes. He did work for the Collinsport Police now didnt he? Crazy Cult Killer back on the prowl
She stands for a moment trying to gather her composure, We are working with Bangor City and State Police. She looks out at OMalley holding his head. If we know anything further . . . we . . . Stephenson get him over to the emergency room . . . will make a statement. We . . . regret that the asylum staff . . . did not . . . let the public know sooner.”
You were aware werent you? Tillinghast asks.
Certainly. Lieutenant Mills says.
“I must say, it does all sound a bit crazy. The way I hear it, two women just walk in and somehow overpowered the maximum security guards and their lockdown procedures. He tells her.
There is a crackle of lightening and the lights flicker.
Maybe there was something like a minor power outage in a heavy storm?
So, should I just run the usual, Lieutenant, you know, the investigation is on-going and we will continue to keep the community informed, as further information is forthcoming. Oh course that isnt going to sound so good what with these beheadings.
What are you talking about? There is absolutely no evidence to support that these are in any way connectedit is not even the same MO. The Lieutenants voice rising.
And two and two sometimes adds-up to six here at the Star, Lieutenant! And he suddenly hangs up.
She drops her phone on her desk and rubs at her throbbing hand.
The static of her hand-held radio suddenly becomes the voice of Detective Anderson: “Lieutenant this is Anderson, ahhh, this night is getting even stranger.”
I am not sure that is possible, She sighs in her radio hand-set, So what is it Detective.
“I’m out here at the Nightingale. He says, standing in the darken, deserted tea room, his flashlight scampering over furniture covered in white slip cloths, The doors are open and the place is deserted. Empty! When did that happen? How is it that nobody has noticed.”
I don’t know, but return here ASAP She says into her radio, I don’t want you out without a partner tonight. And that goes for all of you. I know we have been a bit lax on this issue due to limited staff. But in light of recent events that stops tonight. Steve, we will get someone out to the nightingale first light. And I will check with the Collins investigators personally. But it’s too early and too dangerous out there right now with that wind and the rain and . . . . And she lets her voice trail off.
She looks at the memo regarding the escape from Windcliffe.
Could someone make some Godda**ed coffee!
Cue Music End of Episode