WALT
You’re off the clock, Jolie. Piece of pie with that?
JOLENE
(to Victor) What kind you want?
VICTOR
Oh, no thanks. I don’t have much of an appetite.
JOLENE
Just the Blue Plate, then. Take it out of my tip jar?
VICTOR
Wait. I can pay.
WALT
This one’s on the house.
SOUND
WALTER WALKS AWAY. JOLENE SLIDES THE PLATE ACROSS THE TABLE.
JOLENE
Enjoy. It’s the only thing you’ll let me do for you.
VICTOR
(sighing) That’s not true. . .
SOUND
RELUCTANTLY, VICTOR BEGINS TO EAT.
JOLENE
(low, urgently) Listen. Come over to my place – right now. I’ve got Blu-Ray. You can see anything you want. Do you hear what I’m saying? Anything.
VICTOR
Not tonight.
JOLENE
Then when?
VICTOR
Maybe next week.
JOLENE
Uh-huh. I get the messaage.
VICTOR
It’s not you. . .
JOLENE
Then what is it? Look, I’m not her – can you get that through your head?
VICTOR
I’m working on it.
SOUND
SHE GETS UP FROM THE TABLE.
JOLENE
(impatient) Well, when you do, drop me a postcard. In the meantime, why don’t you tell Rex Christian all about it? Maybe he’ll understand!
MUSIC
EPISODE SCORE.
SLOW BRIDGE THRU TO:
SOUND
EXT. – COUNTRYSIDE.
RURAL NIGHT ATMOSPHERE. DISTANT FLOWING WATER. FOOTSTEPS ON DIRT.
NARRATOR
He walked the two miles along the river with his fists in his pockets. He wanted to get home before the past, his past, settled over him like giant wings.
SOUND
HIS FOOTSTEPS ON GRAVEL, THEN STONE.
HE STOPS AND UNLOCKS A DOOR.
INT. – A LARGE OLD HOUSE.
VICTOR LETS HIMSELF IN. WE FOLLOW HIM AS HE CROSSES AND SITS DOWN, SETTING THE BOOK BEFORE HIM ON A DESKTOP.
NARRATOR
He felt as if the only connection he had
NARRATOR (cont’d)
with the world was this book of stories. He could hardly wait to read the next one.
SOUND
HE OPENS THE BOOK AND LEAFS THRU PAGES.
NARRATOR
Then, quite suddenly, it came to him. Something she had said. The idea grew until he could think of nothing else. Perhaps she was right. He didn’t know if it would work. But he had to try.
SOUND
A DRAWER OPENING. A PEN CLICKING AND SCRATCHING PAPER.
VICTOR
(slowly, as he writes) Dear sir. I do not have your home address. . . so I am sending this. . . in care of your publisher. If it does not reach you. . . let me know. I am not in the habit of writing to famous authors. This is the first time. So please bear with me. I have been reading your works for approximately six years. Mr. Christian, Rex if I may call you that, you are my favorite author and greatest fan. Some people say you are too depressing but I disagree. You do not write for chldren or women with weak hearts. I have all of your works. They are very excellent plots, to
VICTOR (cont’d)
tell the truth they scare the shit out of me if you know what I mean and I think you do, wink wink. I hope I haven’t missed any. If so please send a list of the titles. I am enclosing a self-addressed envelope for your convienience. My wife introduced me to your books, my ex-wife I should say and I guess I should thank her for that much. She left me two-and-one-half years ago, took the kids, I don’t know why, she didn’t say. Twice with my late parents’ help I found out where she was staying but too late. So that is the way she wants it. I miss my kids, though. . .
NARRATOR
He went on in that vein for three hand-written pages, until his fingers began to cramp. It was time to end the letter.
VICTOR
. . . If you ever find yourself in my neck of the woods, please feel free to drop by. We could have some beers and talk about the many things we have in common. I have a very important question to ask you, I hope you don’t mind. It’s a simple thing (to you) and I’m sure you could answer it. I don’t know anybody else who can help. I live in my parents’ old house now. My number is 474-2841. If I’m not here I’ll be at Victor’s Fix-It Shop, or at the Blue and White Diner on Main Street. You can’t miss it. Please stop by on your next visit to the West Coast. We horror fans have to stick together. As you said in your introduction to “Nightmare Territory”. . . it may be a long time till morning, but there’s no law against talking in the dark. Sincerely yours, Victor Rippon.
SOUND
HE PUTS THE PEN DOWN ON THE DESK, SITS BACK IN THE CREAKING CHAIR, AND SIGHS.
NARRATOR
He would mail the letter first thing tomorrow. For now. . . there was nothing to do but wait.
MUSIC
EPISODE SCORE.
SLOW BRIDGE THRU TO:
SOUND
INT. – DINER.
IN THE B.G., FROM A SMALL RADIO: CHRISTMAS MUSIC WITH JINGLING SLEIGHBELLS. AS A CASH REGISTER DRAWER SLIDES OPEN.
JOLENE
That’ll be fourteen thirty-seven, with tax.
MAN
Sure does add up.
JOLENE
Let’s see. Two burger combos with fries, two Cokes – and something for the Governor.
Here’s your change.
SOUND
SHE MAKES CHANGE AND CLOSES THE DRAWER.
BOY
Can I have an ice cream?
MAN
I don’t know. . .
BOY
Please, Dad?
MAN
We need to get gas. . .
SOUND
COUNTING OUT COINS ON THE COUNTER.
JOLENE
Put your money away. It’s the happiest time of the year. What’s your favorite?
BOY
Chocolate Caribou!
JOLENE
One Chocolate Caribou Bar, coming up. Here you go, young man. Enjoy.
SOUND
SHE TAKES A WRAPPED ICE CREAM BAR OUT OF THE COLD CASE AND SETS IT ON THE COUNTER.
MAN
Why, thank you very kindly, ma’am.
JOLENE
We aim to please. Oh and – it’s Miss.
MAN
I mean. . . Miss. What do you say to the lady?
BOY
Thanks!
MAN
(moving off) Merry Christmas. . .!
SOUND
THE DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES WITH A JINGLE AS
SOUND (cont’d)
THE MAN AND THE BOY LEAVE. WALT WALKS OVER.
WALT
(low) You got a customer waiting.
JOLENE
Do tell.
WALT
Table three, Jolie.
JOLENE
Him? He’s no customer of mine.
WALT
I thought you two were friends.
JOLENE
We used to be.
WALT
Do me a favor? Take his order. Business is slow enough.
SOUND
JOLENE WALKS OVER TO THE TABLE.
JOLENE
(begrudingly) Happy holidays. Stranger.
VICTOR
Oh hi, Jolene.
JOLENE
(flat) What’ll it be.
VICTOR
Just coffee.
JOLENE
That all? ’Cause we have a minimum.
VICTOR
I only came in so I could talk to you.
JOLENE
Something wrong with your telephone?
VICTOR
That wasn’t it.
JOLENE
Then – what?
VICTOR
I – had to think things through.
JOLENE
You sure took your time.
VICTOR
I’ve had a lot on my mind. .
