SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS STOP. A BUS PULLS UP, THE DOORS OPEN.
BUS DRIVER:
Are you getting on?
NEMEROFF:
Ah, I guess so.
BUS DRIVER:
Which stop?
NEMEROFF:
(DAZED) Uh... Where do you go?
BUS DRIVER:
Where do I go? I go to the station.
NEMEROFF:
No, I... I don’t want to go to the station.
BUS DRIVER:
(IMPATIENT) I don’t have all day Mister, are you getting on or not?
SOUND:
IN BG, THE PASSENGERS ARE GETTING RESTLESS AS NEMEROFF GETS ON.
NEMEROFF:
OK. Just... take me as far as you go. BUS
DRIVER:
You got exact change?
NEMEROFF:
Change? I... Sorry, I don’t think I have any money.
PASSENGER:
(IN BG) Get off the damn bus!
BUS DRIVER:
You heard ’em. Get off the bus, pal.
NEMEROFF:
Couldn’t you-
BUS DRIVER:
Nope. Beat it, I got a schedule.
NEMEROFF:
(WEARILY) Fine.
SOUND:
NEMEROFF GETS OFF THE BUS. THE DOOR CLOSES, CUTTING OUT INERIOR BUS NOISES.
BUS DRIVER:
(Dialog fading as door bus door closes) Sorry about that, folks. The heat brings out all the crazy people.
SOUND:
THE BUS SETS OFF AGAIN. FADE THRU TO STREET BG AGAIN.
NARRATOR:
From there forward, Nemeroff has only a vague recollection of where he walked. He strolls through parks, along crowded streets, always conscious of the awful heat that comes up from the pavement in a suffocating wave. And he remembers too, the hollow sound of his footsteps as he moves along. Although he is walking aimlessly, he knows that somehow there is a place for him to be, a someone or something to which he is being drawn. Is he being controlled by the same force that caused him to produce that sketch of a courtroom he’d never seen, and a man he’d never met? Nemeroff only knows he has to keep going forward. There is nothing left for him the way he’d come. Whatever he finds, whenever he finally stops – it will be meant for him.
MUSIC:
AN ACCENT UNDER DIALOG.
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATING) I hoped for some cloud cover to shield me from the burning sun as I walked, but none came. My only salvation was that the sun was starting to set, so I figured the blistering heat should let up a little. I felt as though I was under the grip of a powerful force, that’d made me draw the picture I had in my pocket, and that had set me walking on this path... but a path to where? When would I be finished, and would I even know it? I needed to get a hold of myself.
NEMEROFF:
(CALLS OUT) Listen to me, whoever or whatever you are!
SOUND:
IN THE DISTANCE, A DOG BARKS.
NEMEROFF:
(CALLS OUT) I’m tired of being your puppet!
Whatever game this is, I don’t want to play a part in it! I’m going home, you hear me? I’m going home! Find somebody else to take my place, OK? (GRUNTS. THEN THE GRUNT BECOMES AN EXCLAMATION OF PAIN. THROUGH GRITTED TEETH, TO HIMSELF:) Turn yourself around, dammit! Walk the other way! You can do this, James! It’s just one foot in front of the other... You’ve been doing it all your life.
There’s not a single thing you can’t walk away from, so walk away from this! Do whatever you have to do, beg old man Soberin for your apartment back, I don’t know! Just turn yourself around! (MORE PAINFUL GRUNTS)
SOUND:
A FOOT SLAMS DOWN ON CONCRETE.
NEMEROFF:
No! That’s the wrong way!
SOUND:
ANOTHER STEP.
NEMEROFF:
No, no, no!
SOUND:
THE FOOTSTEPS CONTINUE, SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY AT FIRST, THEN AT A RUN, THE PACE INCREASING.
NEMEROFF:
(BREATHES HARD AS HE RUNS. THEN:) OK, OK, no more running! I’ll go wherever you want! You win, you hear me?
SOUND:
THE RUN GOES BACK TO A BRISK WALK.
NEMEROFF:
(LOW) You win...
NARRATOR:
Thankfully, his journey doesn’t last too much longer. Within a half-hour, Nemeroff finds himself standing before a gate that leads into a yard – that he at first thinks is a junkyard. It has a tiny brick house toward the back. The yard has scattered patches of flowers with bees droning over them. He stands there, looking down at the flowers and the bees for a moment, and then, he looks up. Over the entrance to the yard, there is a board attached to the gate. The inscription: “Charles Atkinson, Monumental Mason / Worker in Imported Marble.”
MUSIC:
AN ACCENT - THEN FADES OUT.
ATKINSON:
(WHISTLING)
SOUND:
CHISEL BANGS AGAINST MARBLE
NARRATOR:
From the yard itself comes a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows and the cold sound of steel striking stone. A sudden impulse makes Nemeroff enter and he heads in the direction of the noise.
MUSIC:
IN AND UNDER.
NARRATOR:
Sitting on a low stool, is a large man, with his back towards Nemeroff. The man is busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. As Nemeroff approaches him from behind, the man stops working suddenly without turning around.
SOUND:
THE BANGING STOPS.
ATKINSON:
(STOPS WHISTLING) I know you’re there. If you’re after money, you came to the wrong place. I’m not a rich man. I just get by.
NEMEROFF:
I’m not here to rob you.
ATKINSON:
That’s good to know. (Grunts as he turns around to to face Nemeroff) So you’re here on business.
NEMEROFF:
Well, that’s the peculiar thing, Mr. - Atkinson, is it?
ATKINSON:
That’s right.
NEMEROFF:
You see, I’m not- (GASPS)
ATKINSON:
What’s the matter?
NEMEROFF:
(TERRIFIED) The- The matter?
ATKINSON:
You know when they say in the movies: “You look like you’ve seen a ghost”. Well, I never knew what that meant ’til now. But that’s what you look like.
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATES) I was sure he was right, but I couldn’t tell him why – couldn’t come out with it right then. But when Charles Atkinson, Monumental Mason and Worker in Imported Marble, turned to face me, I knew him, even though I’d never seen him before – he was the man from my drawing.
MUSIC:
AN ACCENT - THEN FADE IN EPISODE SCORE.
THRU TO:
THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:
More from “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES”... after these brief messages.
COMMERCIAL BREAK
ANNOUNCER:
And now back to “A Heated Premonition” on... “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES.”
MUSIC:
THEME.
THRU TO:
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATES) Yes, it was definitely him. His face was on the sketch in my pocket, but I didn’t feel like referring to it
