Through the Darkness of Future Past
Episode 1
1. INT. BAYBERRY LUNATIC ASYLUM, INMATE'S CELL – NIGHT
We begin buried deep within a fuzzy haze of Electrical static. The television set has been left on for hours and the image is beginning to fade from overuse. The volume is turned high, and a steady backdrop of white-noise hums through the crackling speakers. As the opening credits crawl past and a saxophone plays a sultry, slow-tempo melody, we gradually pull back to reveal that the television rests in the corner of a darkened cell.
Creamy, luminescent Moonlight pours in through a window, scattered across the ground by a division of five firm metal bars. The padded walls and floor are bathed in the bluish tint from the lunar illumination. Curiously, the door to the insane asylum cell has been left wide open. The bodies of an inmate and a security guard are hanging from the rafters, with coarse rope tightened around their cold, clammy necks. The stiff, lifeless bodies sway to and fro ever so slightly in the soft, gentle night breeze.
On the floor of the cell, comfortably sitting crisscrossed in his stylish blue loafers, is an INSANE INMATE. His face is a scraggly carpet of stubble and his graying hair is an unkempt tangle of tufts. His pallid skin looks anemic and his intense eyes are bloodshot. He proudly wears his straight jacket with the sleeves untied, the garment no longer serving as a form of restraint, but merely as a warm outer layer. He is absorbed in a solo game of Chess laid out on the cell floor, and pays no attention to the fresh corpses dangling directly above him…
Francis Bouygues Presents
A Film by David Lynch
Twin Peaks
Through the Darkness of Future Past
Starring:
Kyle MacLachlan as Special Agent Dale Cooper
and Kenneth Welsh as Special Agent Windom Earle
Also Starring in Alphabetical Order:
Kate Bush
Catherine E. Coulson
Don Davis
Jürgen Prochnow
Bill Pullman
Charlotte Stewart
Dean Stockwell
Pruitt Taylor Vince
Featuring:
John Astin
Dylan Baker
Frances Bay
Marshall Bell
George Dickerson
Patrick McGoohan
Jack Nance
Carel Struycken
Hank Worden
Treat Williams
Music Composed and Conducted by:
Angelo Badalamenti
Cinematography by:
Ron Garcia
Edited by:
Mary Sweeney
Produced by:
Francis Bouygues
Gregg Fienberg
and Harley Peyton
Based on Characters from the Television Series "Twin Peaks" Created by:
Mark Frost
and David Lynch
Written by:
Mark Frost
Harley Peyton
and Scott Frost
Directed by:
David Lynch
The insane inmate makes his finishing move, using his black Knight to knock over the white Queen, leaving the white King in a position of inescapable defeat. A crooked grin twists his face and he softly exhales a single whispered word in victory…
INSANE INMATE:
Checkmate.
Chuckling to himself, the inmate stands up and leisurely strolls out through the open cell door. We slowly fade to black and hold…
2. EXT. DARK DREAM FIELD – NIGHT
We find ourselves in a dark, grassy field. The ground is clustered with a flock of black birds, so thickly convened that the green of the overgrown grass is practically obscured by their feathers. They ruffle their wings and quietly caw, each subtle twitch seemingly thunderous in volume against the otherwise silent night. High in the sky above floats the Moon, fully displayed in its circular celestial glory. The blue hue of its luminescence glows off of the reflective eyes of the dark birds.
An Angelic, matronly woman is alone out in the field. Her eyes are wide and honest, betraying every trace of fear that lingers behind them. She is dressed only in a white nightgown, which flows behind her in the silent breeze. Her name is FLORENCE COOPER [Kate Bush].
She carefully tiptoes through the densely congregated birds, straining not to disturb them. Her balance is challenged with every step as she searches for space between birds to rest her bare foot in the frosty grass. The wide field stretches out in every direction, and she currently finds herself in the very center. Dark, inaccessible woods border her in all directions, cordoning off the empty field into a massive rectangle. Her intended destination, far off in the distance, is a lonely, abandoned cabin left in disrepair.
Florence lacks confidence in the direction which she is headed, as well as her purpose out in the field. She regularly steals nervous glances over her shoulders, and an irrepressible paranoia softens her resolve to continue forward. She is careful to avoid touching the birds in any way, treating the winged creatures with constant trepidation.
A horrendous, earsplitting screech cuts through the calm stillness of the field. The birds all look up towards the sudden noise, which originated off in the direction behind Florence. She is terrified to look for herself, though she has a good idea of what to expect. Mustering her innermost courage, she swivels her head. Perched high in a tree on the distant border of the field is a Giant Horned Owl, watching her every movement with cold, cruel eyes. For a moment, they both meet each other's stare. In this instant, she knows what she must do…
Abruptly, Florence makes a mad dash towards the house. The Owl leaps weightily from its branch and glides towards her. The entire conspiracy of black birds leave the turf and take off into flight. Thousands of birds fill the air, and both Florence and the giant Owl struggle to maneuver through the black swarm. Curiously, the building ahead does not seem to move towards her as quickly as she is moving towards it. Weight seems to be added to Florence's every step, almost as if she were underwater. The ground before her stretches out, widening the gap between her and the cabin, making her journey last an eternity. Chancing a glance behind her, she spots the enormous Owl swooping ever closer.
At long last, Florence finally reaches the front door, but the Owl is narrowly behind her. She shoulders her way through the front door and forces it shut behind her as quickly as she can. But, just before the door latch can be set into the wall, something heavy has already reached the front porch, pushing against the door and barring it from closing completely. This "something" is no longer the Owl that had previously been chasing her. It is the DARK MAN. Florence presses with all of her weight, even as she sees the dirty, callused fingers wriggling their way through the crack.
Utilizing every last ounce of her adrenaline, she manages a final shove which slams the door closed, leaving her pursuer locked outside. She latches the lock, leans backwards against the door, and breathes a trembling sigh of exhaustion. Florence rests in silence only for a moment to catch her breath, but her heart jumps when the man speaks from through the door. His ingratiating voice is calming and reassuring, but evident in his tone is an undercut of malicious taunting.
DARK MAN:
That wasn't very sociable, now was it, Florence? It's dreadfully cold out here, you know. Please, let me come inside. I could never hurt you. I would never cause you grief. You've got to trust me, Florence. My only desire is to make you happy. You are my Queen.
Florence ignores the Dark Man's plea, satisfied that the door is secure, and wanders to the center of the cabin. The wooden floor is filthy and untreated, and the sparse furnishings offer no comfort. There is only a rock-hard bed by the window and a shabby dresser set against the wall.
Florence notices that the room is growing dimmer. She walks toward the dusty window and sees that the black birds are filling the night sky so fully that the Moon has been eclipsed. As all goes dark, the Dark Man suddenly begins pounding violently against the door, screaming like a wild animal. The strength of the door's hinges are tested as dust and down crumble from around the frame. Knowing that the Dark Man will eventually force his way in, Florence frantically searches through the room for an alternate escape route. There are no hidden exits to be found…
Florence anxiously opens the drawer of the room's dresser, finding it empty, save for a simple Golden Ring. She picks up the accessory, blows off the dust, and fondles its glistening sheen in her palm. Somehow, she is aware of the item's purpose and importance. She reflects for a moment, considering fitting it upon her finger, but opts instead to return the Golden Ring to its place in the drawer.
Florence returns to the front door as the Dark Man's pounding and accompanying screams grow louder. His violent rage scarcely resembles anything human. She closes her eyelids and silently prays that she will wake up before the man can get inside…
3. INT. COOPER HOUSE, FLORENCE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Florence's eyelids flutter open as she awakens with a chill from her haunting, visceral nightmare. She is greeted by the soothing voice of DONALD COOPER [Bill Pullman] as he gently nudges her back to this world. Cold sweat runs down her face as she catches her breath. Within an instant she hides her horror behind a brave smile.
DONALD:
Sorry to wake you, Flo, dear. But, our little Cooper trooper's got another asthma attack. He says I don't have the magic touch, and he needs his Momma.
FLORENCE:
Alright. I'll be right there.
4. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT
CAPTION:
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
December 27th, 1967
Little DALE COOPER is laying in his bed, writhing back and forth from his asthma attack, The sheets are tangled around his tiny, restless body. Florence opens the door to the dark bedroom softly and sits in the bed beside him. Her hazel eyes filled with nothing but patience and love, Florence rests her silky palm on her son's clammy forehead.
FLORENCE:
Hush, now, Dale. Momma's here. Momma will make everything better.
She opens up a jar of VapoRub and spreads it over his prepubescent chest. The gentle touch of his mother, coupled with the soothing aroma of the medicinal gel, help Dale to relax.
FLORENCE:
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Slowly, now, slowly.
Following his mother's whispered instructions, Dale begins to regulate his breathing. She takes his little hand in hers, and he grips back tightly.
FLORENCE:
Would you like Momma to sing to you?
Dale nods. Florence glances around the room, looking for inspiration. Through the window, she spots the luscious full Moon lighting up the entire outside world. Utilizing her willowy voice, Florence sings "It's Only a Paper Moon".
FLORENCE:
Well, it's only a paper Moon
Hanging over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make believe
If you believe in me
Well, it's only a canvas sky
Sailing over a Muslin tree
But it wouldn't be make believe
If you believe in me
Without your love
It's a honky-tonk parade
Without your love
It's a melody played on a penny arcade
It's a Barnum and Baily world
Just as phony as it can be
But it wouldn't be make believe
If you believe in me
As Florence softly sings, we circle around the room and see all the various knick-knacks and memorabilia that make up little Dale's world, including the poster of Jimmy Stewart in "The F.B.I. Story" that hangs up above his bed, an autographed picture of Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. framed beside it, and the incomprehensibly gargantuan reel-to-reel tape recorder that takes up his entire work table. After we complete the circle of the room, we return to the bed. Dale has finally managed his breathing enough to speak, and vulnerably confesses…
DALE:
I was having a bad dream…
FLORENCE:
Well, you're here with me, now, and we aren't dreaming anymore. Whatever monsters you were facing are left behind.
This seems to comfort Dale, and he manages a meek smile. Florence looks out the window at the Moon, her eyes widening as she recalls…
FLORENCE:
I was having a bad dream, myself.
Little Dale blinks rapidly in heightened curiosity.
DALE:
You were? What was it like?
Florence's stare goes distant as she recalls…
FLORENCE:
I was out in a Dark Field… all by myself… Except, there were thousands of little black birds, everywhere. And, I guess I frightened them all away, because they flew into the sky and blacked out all the light. And then it was dark, and I was all… alone.
DALE:
Were you scared?
Florence forges a warm, nurturing mask to hide her true feelings behind, assuring her son that everything is right with the world.
FLORENCE:
Of course not. Because, I woke up at the same time I always do. Never be afraid of your dreams, Dale. We can see things in our dreams that we can't see when we're awake.
DALE:
What do you think your dream meant?
FLORENCE:
Nothing. You just drift away now. I'll stay by your side until you're asleep. Dream something beautiful for me, okay?
Dale closes his eyes and drifts back into slumber-land. Florence remains by his side, massaging his scalp and gazing upon her precious child with the purest of unconditional love.
FLORENCE:
You're my special little guy.
5. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY
Dale Bartholomew Cooper, an honest and introspective, if somewhat emotionally distant, child of black hair and brown eyes fidgets on the scratchy ovular rug of the Cooper family's humble living room. He is perched far too closely to the television set, practically feeling the static Electricity buzzing upon his face. He carefully absorbs every moment of this week's installment of "The FBI". The two starring Agents sit in their office, reviewing case notes. EFREM ZIMBALIST, JR. makes his way to the window and uses a forefinger to divide the blinds, peering outside.
PHILLIP ABBOTT:
So… Where do we start?
Efrem Zimbalist grimaces with macho bravado.
EFREM ZIMBALIST:
From scratch!
The end credits begin rolling, the thrilling sting music crescendos, and Efrem Zimbalist, Jr. drives away in his 1968 Ford Mustang convertible. As Dale's impressionable young eyes expand to about five times their normal size, it is clear that he has already settled on devoting the rest of his life to becoming an Agent of the FBI. Behind him, though the unobstructed doorway, we can see into the kitchen. An elderly woman is humming merrily to herself.
6. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY
GRANDMOTHER COOPER, a slow-moving, but incessantly cheerful old lady, is preparing a cherry pie for the oven. Tied around her waist is a faded apron, showcasing the wear of several decades' worth of continual use. Her shaky, wrinkled hands painstakingly fold the lattices of crust over the edge of the pie tin. As she works, she cheerfully hums "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" off-key.
Without any warning, the old lady suffers a shortness of breath, and the liveliness from her eyes fades suddenly into a vacant stare. She clutches her heart with her hand and feels her right side go numb. Her pupils dilate and her breathing ceases. She drops to the ground, instantly dead from a stroke. The cherry pie teeters on the edge of the counter, combating the effects of gravity until it finally falls, splattering all over her face. Her hand clutches her apron in an unyielding grip and her eyes remain wide open as the globules of cherry filling oozes down her cheeks.
7. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY
Disturbed by the commotion, Florence Cooper hurries through the living room to investigate the kitchen. Dale turns his attention away from the television set, instinctively sensing that something is wrong, and follows his mother with his eyes.
8. INT. COOPER'S HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY
Florence remains frozen under the arch of the doorway, her mind quickly processing the scene below her. She sees Grandmother Cooper sprawled out upon the floor, the innards of the cherry pie leaking out from under her head like a puddle of thick, crimson blood.
FLORENCE:
Oh, no… Mom…
Florence crouches down to check the pulse of her mother, although she already knows that it is too late. She lifts the telephone from its place in the wall and dials the operator.
FLORENCE:
Operator? This is Florence Cooper at 1127 Hillcrest Avenue. My mother's just had a stroke. I think she's gone. Can you send a doctor, please? Thank you.
After she puts back the phone, she turns to find that little Dale has made his way into the room and is looking down at his deceased Granny. She immediately kneels down to him and addresses her son with a blend of compassion and pragmatism.
FLORENCE:
Dale, I'm so sorry, but Grandmother has died.
Little Dale looks up at her, shifting sheepishly, unsure of how he should feel.
FLORENCE:
It's okay, Dale. Take my hand.
Dale takes his mother's hand. Florence speaks in barely a whisper.
FLORENCE:
There's nothing to be afraid of. Let's look at her for a moment. Together.
Taking his mother's lead, Florence and Dale reflect upon the dead woman in silent reverence, hand in hand. Dale observes with a morose curiosity, neither fear nor grief factoring largely into his emotions. The red cherries have slowly dripped down her face, giving her the appearance that she is wearing too much rouge.
FLORENCE:
Are you scared?
Little Dale remains resolute.
DALE:
No. I'm not.
Florence finds cause to give the briefest flicker of a smile at her son's bravery.
FLORENCE:
Death is nothing to be afraid of. She lived a long, happy life, and she was very loved. Why don't you touch her forehead?
Dale steps forward, tentatively, and lays his hand upon her.
FLORENCE:
Everyone has to die someday. It's only tragic if that life was spent in anticipation of death. Don't be afraid to face it when your time comes.
Dale nods, not turning to answer his mother, but keeping his hazel eyes locked upon Granny.
DALE:
Alright, mother. I won't.
9. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY
A PHILADELPHIA MEDIC is zipping up Grandmother Cooper's corpse into a body-bag. Dale is now with his father, who rests his arm along his son's shoulder as they watch her being wheeled away. Donald Cooper is a lantern-jawed man who speaks softly with a distinctive gravely timbre. Like always, he wears khaki pants and a light blazer, and the product used to slick back his gray hair has faded, resulting in a tangled mess that tufts upwards. The medic offers his findings as he rolls past.
PHILADELPHIA MEDIC:
She died from a stroke. If it's any consolation, it was very quick, and she couldn't have felt any pain.
DONALD:
Thanks. That helps.
Donald noncommittally nods his head as the body is wheeled away. Dale waits for the medic to leave before he gains the courage to release what is weighing upon his inquisitive mind.
DALE:
Father? I once read in a science book that Electricity is what keeps us alive. Do you know where it comes from? And, where does it go after we die?
Donald exhales a deep breath at the prospect of tackling such a heady topic in the kitchen.
DONALD:
Well, golly, Dale. That's sorta what we call the "Big Question". I'm afraid I don't know the answer, and I'm not sure if there's anyone alive who does. But, hey, maybe Grandma knows, now…
Dale reflects on this, looking up at the light bulb installed in the kitchen ceiling. It has been left on, its glow barely noticeable in the midday Sunlight. As Dale intensifies his concentration, he can hear the humming of the Electricity running through it.
We go closer and closer to the bulb, until we faze right through the glass and end up deep inside. The small circuit glows and buzzes with whirling blue streaks of Electrical current. They come and go, quickly and violently…
10. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – DAY
Dale is garbed in his Boy Scout uniform, his tiny body fully attired in time-honored olive green. He sits perfectly upright at his little work desk. Gleaming with pride, he looks over a recently composed letter, graphite pencil still in hand. Taking up the majority of desk space is Dale's massive reel-to-reel analog tape recorder. He flips the cumbersome switches and it loudly splutters to life. He speaks into the hand-held microphone.
DALE:
June 20th, 1968, 1:00 p.m. Have decided today that I am going to become an FBI Agent, and that I must begin to work very hard on my dream if it is ever to become true. Wrote Mr. Hoover a long letter explaining my plans and asked for any advice that he could offer. Letter goes as follows:
Dale clears his throat and then recites from his letter into the microphone.
DALE:
"Dear Mr. Hoover. Have made a decision today to become an FBI Agent at earliest possible date. I am presently fourteen years old, and on road to becoming an Eagle Scout by fifteen. Have never broken any laws, though if you look into my records you will discover that I was recently caught audio-taping a girls' sex education class while hidden in a heating vent. Do not feel this should be held against me, for my intent was purely scientific, and not for personal gain. Would like very much to come and discuss any experiences you may have had with audio-tapes yourself. Yours truly, Dale Cooper."
Dale switches off his tape recorder, terminating the loud, rhythmic looping of the towering tape reels. He carefully folds the paper in half, delicately seals it in an envelope by licking it, and attaches the necessary prepaid postage stamps.
11. EXT. COOPER HOUSE – DAY
Little Dale dashes out the front door of his house, letter clenched in eager hand. The humble, all-white abode stands proudly as a monument to innocent, pre-Watergate Americana. The sounds of children playing and dogs barking promote the feeling of Summer in the air.
Dale skips over to the mailbox, thrusts the letter in, and raises the tiny red flag. These simple actions are performed exuberantly, as Dale is in the height of his halcyon adolescence. He looks upwards, beaming with satisfaction into the cloudless sky, which is an extraordinarily vibrant hue of uninterrupted blue. We pan away from the Cooper house…
12. EXT. US AIR FORCE BASE – DAY
We pan across the same bright blue sky many miles away, high above a sparsely populated expanse of the American Mid-West. The cloudless tranquility is streaked with white trails left behind by jets making practice runs at super-sonic speed. The boom of the sound barrier breaking reverberates across the desolate desert. One of the premier fighter planes decelerates as it comes in for a landing upon a long cement airstrip.
A tall chain-link fence, laced with barbed wire, borders the grounds. A sign warns: "TOP SECRET GOVERNMENT COMPOUND – KEEP OUT". Two heavily armed Agents guard the entryway. Both men sport matching black suits and hide their eyes behind dark sunglasses. One of the two men has a ferocious Doberman held on the end of his leash, which snarls and drools in famished agitation. The hard-edged man on the left plays with a toothpick in his mouth, stretching out his jaw to twirl it around without the use of his hands. The tough looking man on the right is sucking on a bright green lollipop.
An all-black escort vehicle with tinted windows pulls up beside the fence and three men exit. One of the armed guards grits his teeth around his lollipop, and it crunches with dramatic tension. Dr. ERNOLD PAYLEN [Dean Stockwell], a thin-faced man with a pallid complexion and a small pencil mustache daubed under his upturned nose, wears a white lab coat that blows behind him from the plains winds. Walking briskly beside him in a sharp tweed suit is none other than J. EDGAR HOOVER [Treat Williams], himself. Though charming and noble enough, the Director of the FBI cannot help but carry himself with an air of inflated pomposity.
Lagging behind the two of them, wearing an Italian suit and a fedora hat, is FBI Special Agent WINDOM EARLE [Kenneth Welsh]. Though the young man's wide face and bulbous nose rest fairly sedentary and non-emotive, his keen brown eyes flicker with fierce intellect, tenacity, and wit. The way in which he has his hands full of books, struggling to keep them all balanced, gives him the appearance of a studious librarian.
They approach the surly guards and flash them their ID's. After enduring perturbed sneers from the disagreeable guards, they are allowed to pass with a sideways head nod. The Doberman growls, globules of saliva dripping to the cement as they pass within reach of his fearsome jaws.
A supersonic jet is engaging its landing procedure as they cross the bordering gate. The concussive sound-blast echoes over the valley and the wind whips against their clothing. Windom's fedora hat is blown off of his head, and he clumsily struggles to retrieve it from the ground. Hoover pounds his chest and inhales deeply.
HOOVER:
I never get tired of hearing those boys soar. Makes a man feel alive, doesn't it?
PAYLEN:
That it does, sir.
HOOVER:
How 'bout you, Earle? You like jets?
Windom fussily dusts the brim of his hat as he answers, honestly.
WINDOM:
Actually, sir, I've never had the privilege of being this close to supersonic aircraft before.
PAYLEN:
It's something you'll have to get used to. We work right under them, and sometimes it's damn-well difficult to concentrate. We need to work on soundproofing those office walls, Edgar.
HOOVER:
Suuure. I'll scrounge around in your sector's budget and see what I can come up with. You know how much Congress loves throwing money your way, don't you, Paylen?
PAYLEN:
Yeah, yeah…
The group of men approach the fighter jet, which has just successfully come to a complete stop. Out of the cockpit emerges GARLAND BRIGGS [Don Davis], a handsome, fit Air Force pilot with a head full of strawberry-colored hair. He descends the ladder with agile dexterity, dressed elegantly in his royal blue pilot uniform. The four men all shake hands and introduce one another.
HOOVER:
Morning, Garland. Enjoying this afternoon's stroll with the Angels?
Garland's words are laden with prestige and regalia, and his articulation is immaculate. Everything about his manner, tone and smile suggest gentility and an inexhaustible altruism.
BRIGGS:
Mr. Hoover, sir. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? I had not anticipated another meeting until some time in the coming months…
HOOVER:
I have a special package to drop off.
J. Edgar Hoover gestures towards young Windom, patting him on the back as he gently nudges him towards Garland.
HOOVER:
This is your new recruit. An honorary early graduation, and top of his class at Quantico. He's been working in the Federal sector for the past two years, but we thought he would be a better fit, here. Garland Briggs, this is Windom Earle.
WINDOM:
Delighted to meet you.
Windom struggles to reach out and shake Garland's hand through his stack of books. Garland meets him with a manly shake and grins in recognition.
BRIGGS:
Earle, yes. The pleasure is entirely mine. I've read your writings on trans-dimensional gateways. Brilliant thesis, sir.
WINDOM:
You flatter me.
PAYLEN:
Flattery well deserved. We really had some heads turning after reading that, Windom. Don't know how you managed to work out the physics all on your own…
Windom shrugs, modestly.
WINDOM:
It just seems to me that relying on fossil-fuel powered rocket ships to travel through space is such an archaic, human method of transportation. I find it difficult to believe that higher beings would be stymied by something as petty as three-dimensional space.
HOOVER:
It's no secret that Congress have been threatening to cut our funding unless we can get some results, and fast, especially with that damn Condon Committee convincing everyone that we're gobbling up tax money without due cause.
PAYLEN:
Our own staff, here, is grossly inadequate.
HOOVER:
Which is why we needed some new blood.
Paylen gets a twinkle in his eye as he looks upon his personally chosen Golden Boy.
PAYLEN:
Yes. We've spent an awful lot of time selecting you, Windom.
Windom smiles from the adulation.
WINDOM:
I am humbled beyond my ability to express, sir.
Hoove quickly deflates Windom's ego with a grumble.
HOOVER:
Well, don't be too humbled, just yet. Show us some results, first.
Hoover turns to the strawberry-haired Garland.
HOOVER:
Garland? How do you feel about doing a bit of babysitting this afternoon? Show the rube the ropes.
Soft-spoken Garland appears optimistic.
BRIGGS:
That might prove to be opportune! I was just heading downstairs to do a little vault perusing, myself.
13. INT. US AIR FORCE BASE – DAY
Underneath the sandy desert is an intricate network of rooms and walkways used by officers of the Air Force. Although the complex underground installation is impressive, it also shows signs of inadequate maintenance and corners cut during construction; the after-effects of national budget-cutting. The four men walk down a metal gantry-way toward an antiquated elevator. The lift's doors are held open in waiting, and the shadowy interior is uninviting. Windom's stomach swells as he is ushered inside.
HOOVER:
All the way down…
Hoover emphasizes cryptically as he pushes a button marked "BB". The doors close and the shaky elevator descends. Shadows of each passing floor wash over the faces of the men as they make their way deeper under the Earth's surface. No one says a word on the seemingly never-ending trip downwards. Finally, with a loud meshing of metal and wire, the lift ends its journey, and the doors slide open.
At the bottom floor, the men walk from the elevator to an unmarked, windowless door. Dr. Paylen presses his thumb against a scanner fixed into the wall, and Electronic locks can be heard releasing. Hoover speaks to Windom.
HOOVER:
We'll need to get your fingerprints loaded into the recognition system as soon as possible. I'm sorry for the hassle of it all, but, you know, them's the breaks of being classified.
Windom counters, playfully.
WINDOM:
I'll just think of it as a rite of passage.
Hoover pats Windom on the back as they enter, turning to Paylen for encouragement.
HOOVER:
Don't you just love this kid, already?
14. INT. US AIR FORCE BASE, BLUE BOOK VAULT ROOM – DAY
Windom finds himself in a colossal storeroom that houses rows upon rows of messily assembled files. Though disorganized, the voluminous catalog of information is astounding.
HOOVER:
Welcome to the Project Blue Book vault.
Windom's lifelong dreams are being realized. His head spins at the culmination of knowledge spread before him. He whispers…
WINDOM:
Complete, uncensored access to the entirety of mankind's documented experiences with alien contact…
Ernold Paylen and J. Edgar Hoover smile at one another.
HOOVER:
Have fun exploring, Earle. I'm sure you're going to make us all proud. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get back to the office. Got some mail to catch up on…
Hoover wags his eyebrows up and down suggestively and leaves the boys to their toys.
15. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DINING ROOM – DAY
In the Cooper family's comfortable dining nook, Dale and Donald are savoring their freshly prepared early morning meal, which has been set out upon the circular table. Breakfast consists of eggs-over-hard, cremated bacon, toast with red jam, and freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice.
Donald is sifting through the pile of postage which has collected in the oft-ignored mailbox, discarding most of the advertisements with little interest. Florence pours him a cup of hot, black coffee, from which he takes a hearty swill. He brings the cup down hard against the table with a satisfactory gulp and exclaims…
DONALD:
Goddamn it, that's a good cup of Joe, Flo! Yes, ma'am. Oh, look here… Sears and Roebuck are having a special… 40% off their new Frigidaires. How 'bout that?
Donald tosses the useless rubbish aside to be disposed of. A priority stamped envelope catches his attention. It is addressed to his son.
DONALD:
What's this now? Hey, Dale… Looks like you've got a letter from…
Donald freezes. In awe, he drops the piece of sourdough toast in his hand. We close in on the toast and watch as it goes through several acrobatic spins and twists during its gravity-boosted descent towards the Earth. It lands on the floor with a resounding splat, sending small droplets of jam scattering in every direction.
DONALD:
It's from J. Edgar Hoover…
DALE:
Really!?
Dale grabs across the table for the letter, ripping it from his father's hands. He rushes off to his room to read it in private, leaving his open-mouthed father to speculate why his son would be of Federal priority interest…
16. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – DAY
Little Dale leaps on top of his bed, feet bouncing up in the air behind him, and opens up his letter. He reads it aloud in puerile rapture.
DALE:
"Dear Mr. Cooper. Congratulations on your esprit de corps in the taping of your sex education class. Don't let getting caught interfere with your future projects. We certainly don't here at the FBI. You're just the sort of material I wish I had more of here at the Bureau. I would like to invite you to come down on the 15th for a special tour and meet a real Agent…"
Dale is unable to read anymore. What once were daydreams was now a reality. Dale hugs the letter to his chest and rolls around on his bed with a glistening smile a mile long.
17. EXT. 10-20 EXPRESSWAY, COOPER CAR – DAY
The family are traveling along the 10-20 Expressway in their humble blue 1963 VW Type 3 Notchback. Donald is playing the soothing crooning of "Blue Bayou" by the one-and-only Roy Orbison on the cassette deck. Young Dale is sitting in the back, hair slicked back with layers of product, dressed up in his finest little black suit, shined shoes, and his first-class Boy Scout badge taped to his front pocket. Florence sits up front, carefully holding a freshly baked pound cake.
DONALD:
Yaknow, I reckon the greatest honor I ever had bestowed upon me as a child must've been when I shook the hand of Clarabell the Clown at our local shopping center.
Donald shakes his head in whimsy and snorts out a lone chuckle.
DONALD:
But our Dale is personally invited to meet J. Edger Hoover and be shown around the FBI Headquarters… Unreal. You'll remember this moment for your whole life, you know that? This is really a beautiful thing.
FLORENCE:
Like I always say, our Dale was born lucky.
Florence turns back in her chair and holds Dale's hand.
FLORENCE:
Are you scared?
Dale shakes his head and answers definitively.
DALE:
No. Not at all.
Florence gleams in admiration of her cherished son.
18. INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS, HOOVER'S WAITING ROOM – DAY
Dale is standing next to J. Edgar Hoover and posing as Donald snaps a photograph. Little Dale wields an automatic weapon and mocks a firing stance.
HOOVER:
Yes, that in your hand there, son, is a Thompson sub-machine gun. We used to gun down gangsters with that back in the good old days. Hah hah. Not anymore, I'm sorry to say. Lawyers, you know.
DONALD:
But, you manage to "always get your man", just the same.
J. Edgar Hoover smirks with unapologetic pride.
HOOVER:
You're damn right, we do.
After indulging another picture, Hoover leans down towards Dale. He looks the developing child sincerely in the eyes, and the two have an intimate exchange out of earshot of the Coopers.
HOOVER:
Let me tell you something, Dale. I don't just invite folks to come down and visit my office every day. Do you know why I called you over here?
Dale innocently shakes his head.
DALE:
No, sir. Why?
HOOVER:
Because you're something special, Dale. A real one of a kind. You've got a gift. I could sense it from your letter. You ever get that feeling inside where you know something just by sensing it?
DALE:
Yes. I get that feeling.
HOOVER:
Of course you do. Don't ever give up on your dreams of becoming an Agent. Don't let anyone tell you it's a fantasy. You can make it a reality, so long as you keep working hard and don't lose focus. Continue with your studies, hone your abilities, and never let yourself get distracted by women. Alright? You got all that?
Dale breathes deeply, determined to record his words to memory.
DALE:
Yes, sir. I've got it.
HOOVER:
Good. I hope so. Because we need you, Dale. I expect to be working alongside you someday. Is it a deal?
DALE:
It's a deal, sir.
Hoover and Dale shake hands. Then, the Director returns to his feet and addresses the entire family.
HOOVER:
I'm afraid I've got to get back to work on urgent FBI matters. Just as soon as I gorge myself on this delicious pound cake you've so generously baked for me, of course, Mrs. Cooper.
The Coopers chuckle.
HOOVER:
It was a pleasure to meet you all, and please take the rest of the day to tour the buildings. Special Agent Eiling will show you around.
19. EXT. FBI HEADQUARTERS, SHOOTING RANGE – DAY
Special Agent EILING [Dylan Baker] is showing the Cooper family around the shooting range. Dressed in his black-suit and tie, the skittish Agent compensates for his lack of confidence by raising his voice. Dozens of Agents form a line, firing off rounds of ammunition at distant wooden targets. The Coopers wear soundproof earmuffs to shield their eardrums from the gun blasts. Agent Eiling shouts over the racket, his voice cracking from time to time.
EILING:
Now, investigative deduction skills and an iron clad resolve are both essential qualities in an Agent of the FBI, to be sure! But, one should not underestimate the importance of expert marksmanship! I can't tell you how many times I have owed my life to this trigger finger and this steady aim!
Eiling demonstrates in turn by wiggling his index finger, and showing how still he can keep his hand. He turns to his audience with a playful look in his eye, and adds…
EILING:
Well, actually, I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you!
The inappropriate content of this joke, coupled with Eiling's forceful, shouting delivery, elicits no laughter from the Cooper family. Instead they look back at the armed man with uncomfortable stares. Eiling pulls out a pen and a piece of paper, evidently his tour script, and crosses out a sentence, muttering to himself…
EILING:
Doesn't work… Too much…
After revising his notes, Eiling shoves the script back into his pocket, claps his hands with vigor, and tries to get his tour back on track.
EILING:
Okay! Now watch, and I'll demonstrate for you how I handle a gun in the field! Imagine that this cut-out is an approaching assailant! From this range, let's see how many shots I get!
Eiling readies his service revolver and shoots six times towards the cut out. After the smoke clears, an assistant brings the target closer.
EILING:
Alright, then! As you can see, I've made five out of six shots! Which means this assailant would have gone down, and my life would now be spared!
Eiling kneels down to Dale and addresses him with well-meaning patronization. He does not lower his voice, despite their close proximity.
EILING:
What do you say, then, young fellow!? Would you like a chance to go toe-to-toe with an Agent of the FBI!? I'll give you six rounds, and let's see how many times you can hit the bad man! Does that sound like fun!?
Dale nods his head. Eiling brings him to the edge of the firing range and puts the service revolver in his hand, assisting him with his grip and stance.
EILING:
Yes… And, spread your legs apart a bit… That's it! Alright! Whenever you're ready!
Dale breathes deeply, taking a moment to clear his mind, and lines up his shot. He fires six times, each shot hitting the target with perfect precision, the final one piercing through the center of its heart. After the smoke clears, the assistant brings the target closer, once again. Agent Eiling is speechless. He removes his earmuffs and leans down to Dale, who discreetly offers him advice.
DALE:
You did pretty good, but I would recommend you lean in just a little bit more, that way you'll compensate for the kick.
EILING:
Lean in… Like this?
Eiling practices a leaning stance, and Dale assists him in repositioning.
DALE:
No, a little bit more like… there. Do you feel the difference?
Eiling aims his weapon and practices leaning back and forth.
EILING:
Oh, yes. That's much better. That's good. I see what you mean.
The Coopers are watching from afar. Eiling stands upright again and whispers to Dale.
EILING:
Thanks, Dale! And,uh, listen… I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to any of the other Agents, okay?
Dale holds up two fingers, forming the Boy Scout pledge.
DALE:
Scout's honor.
20. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT
Dale is sitting in bed, his white covers pulled up snugly to his elbows. He smiles widely, filled with inspiration and confidence as he rereads his precious letter from J. Edgar Hoover for the umpteenth time. Framed up on the wall behind him are the heroic figures of Jimmy Stewart and Efrem Zimbalist, watching over Dale from above each of his shoulders like two guardian Angels. In this moment, everything in Dale's world seems warm and fuzzy, and his future full of infinite possibility.
His smile vanishes when Dale notices an unusual background frequency in the air… It is a deep, low, ambient rumbling. Sitting alert and upright, Dale scans his bedroom in search of the source of the frequency. He finds himself inexplicably transfixed by the small table drawer on the opposite side of the room. It calls to him. As Dale intensifies his focus solely on the wooden drawer pull, the feedback grows into an all-consuming cacophony, drowning out all other noise…
Utterly entranced, Dale rises from out of bed and marches hypnotically towards the knob. On his journey across the room, he throws a glance out through his bedroom window. The world beyond has gone dark and desolate, because thousands of black birds fly around in circles high in the sky, completely obscuring the Moon. Turning his attention back to the drawer, Dale's hand reaches closer and closer to the knob. A solitary noise disturbs the unnatural silence and Dale freezes with his hand outstretched. Someone is turning the handle of his bedroom door…
Fortunately, it is locked. Dale's attention leaves the table drawer, and he tiptoes over to investigate the door. The handle jiggles back and forth several times before stopping and going silent. Dale peers through the keyhole, curious to see who is on the other side. For a split second, he catches a glimpse of something so grotesque and monstrous that he pulls back with a gasp, covering his mouth with his hand. The handle shakes impatiently, and the person on the other side pushes against the door with a heightened expenditure in force. The frame creaks, threatening to eventually give way.
Dale backs away in fear, not knowing what he should do to protect himself. Whoever or whatever Dale saw on the other side scratches and strains at the door, persistent on forcing it open. Young Dale is powerless to defend himself and stands petrified in the middle of his room. The handle goes silent, the attempted entry ceases, and a soothing, begging voice beseeches Dale from the other side.
DARK MAN:
Dale… Dale… Can you hear me in there? Will you open up the door for me, please? I'd very much like to come in and see you.
Dale backs away as he hears his name repeated in a manipulative plea.
DARK MAN:
Dale… Dale… Dale… I want you Dale… You're an extraordinary find, you are. You're special. Gifted. But, you already know that, don't you? Let me in, Dale. Please. Let me have you. Let me have you before they can get to you. I want you, Dale. I want you for my own.
A pause at first… and then the attacks against the door grow more violent then ever. The Dark Man screams insanely as he pounds unrelentingly against the door, trying to wrench it from its hinges. The thick wood begins to crack and splinter from his fists. The man's enraged howls grow in pitch and intensity until they morph into the savage roars of a brutal, wild animal. Foreseeing no other alternative, Dale lunges for the cabinet drawer. But, as his fingers touch upon the handle, everything goes white…
21. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S ROOM – NIGHT
Dale wakes up from his horrible nightmare and breaks into another fit of asthma. He writhes around his mattress, twisting the sheets into sweaty knots around his body as he hyperventilates. After only a few moments alone, the door is thrust opens and Florence Cooper rushes to her son's aide. She rests her hands on his chest and head, holding his body against hers, and coaches him towards regulating his breathing.
FLORENCE:
Shhh… Shhh… It's okay. Momma's here, Dale, Momma's here. Relax. Breathe easy, now. Your Momma's with you.
Dale cries, shivers and gasps in his mother's arms as she gently rocks him.
22. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT
We fade to Dale's bed, some time later in the night. The Moon gleams brilliantly in through the window, shimmering off of each and every dust particle that floats in the air. Florence is laying beside Dale, and the two of them breathe normally. She is spreading VapoRub on his chest, and mother and son inhale and exhale together as one.
DALE:
I had a bad dream.
Florence prompts Dale, but lets him decide what to share.
FLORENCE:
Do you want to tell me about it?
Dale nods, taking a moment to search for the right words.
DALE:
It seemed so real. I felt like I was there.
FLORENCE:
Sometimes our dreams are real. Sometimes they're more real than life is.
DALE:
I was here, in my room. And, there was a man at the door I had never seen before. He was trying to get inside.
Florence's eyes are far away in the distance. She is not looking at anything, but rather, she is looking into something… Distant memories she would rather not revisit… She speaks in barely a whisper.
FLORENCE:
I know that man… He visits me in my dreams, too. Did he say anything to you?
DALE:
He said that he wanted me…
Florence's hazel eyes return to reality. She turns Dale in the bed to face her squarely in the eyes, speaking with an intense severity he'd seldom witnessed before in his mother. It is worrisome.
FLORENCE:
Dale, listen to me. If that man ever visits you again, you cannot let him into your room. Do you understand me? It's your door. You must choose to open it. Never let him in, under any circumstances. No matter what he says.
Dale nods, not understanding what he is agreeing to.
DALE:
I'll never let him in. I promise.
Satisfied with her son's answer, Florence lays back into the bed and the two rest in silence. Dale's eyes remain wide open for the rest of the night, not knowing what to make of his mother's mysterious warning…
23. EXT. NIGHT SKY – NIGHT
CAPTION:
July 16th, 1969
The Moon is out in a glorious display of its orbicular allure, almost as if it is beckoning its imminent exploration by mankind, only days away from the first successful landing. The Moon floats in the center of a dark, starless sky, the only source of light and color in a sea of black. The cool wind blows through the trees, each branch swaying back and forth like a creeping whisper…
24. EXT. DESERT MOUNTAINSIDE – NIGHT
On a craggy, lifeless mountainside, sequestered in some isolated corner of the globe, a lone CLOAKED FIGURE perches stoically upon a boulder. In his gloved hand is the Golden Cross. The powerful relic does not appear to be religious in origin, its cross shape designed instead for the efficiency of wielding it. The artifact is composed entirely of solid gold, with many ancient glyphs inscribed across its surface.
The Cloaked Figure holds the Cross at arm's length upward toward the sky, directly under the influence of the Moon's luminescent light. The Formica bead in its head begins to subtly glow green as it charges with lunar energy. Suddenly, upon the rocks in front of him, despite the fact that there is nothing flammable, an enormous fire begins to rage, seemingly conjured from out of nothing. Rather than run from the unconstrained blaze in fear, the man holds his device towards it. As the Cloaked Figure waves the Golden Cross back and forth, the voluminous flames are instantly extinguished…
25. INT. AIR FORCE BASE, BLUE BOOK MEETING ROOM – DAY
The Project Blue Book personnel fill a long conference table in their underground meeting room. Situated at the furthest edge of the table is a black and white television, which is airing the live take-off footage of the Apollo 11. The men watch the history-making launch with baited breath. Once the thrusters have ignited and the craft has left the Earth's surface, every man in the room throws their hands in the air and gives a celebratory shout. All, except Windom Earle, who downs another stiff drink.
Most of the officers are intoxicated, and they clumsily grip bottles of champagne in hand. The men do not act as though this was merely a celebration, however. Many of their collars are undone, their uniforms disheveled, and their spirits low. No, this is a party for burying sorrows…
Special Agent Windom Earle and US Air Force Pilot Garland Briggs sit towards the back of the room, directly across from each other. Garland sits upright, beaming with optimism in his royal blue flight suit. Windom slouches wearily over his drink in his black suit and tie. Their attitudes, expressions and uniforms are as dichotomous as night and day. Dr. Ernold Paylen lingers off to the side, his expression ever unreadable. Major HECTOR QUINTANILLA, the current head of Project Blue Book, sits at the front of the room, his lazing head supported by an upraised palm.
QUINTANILLA:
To think… that Kennedy sonovabitch really did it… He got us to the Moon before the Soviets.
BRIGGS:
Consider the vast frontier of scientific advances this will inaugurate. Man's first foray into the universe which lies beyond this quaint, blue orb we've considered our only home for so long. Truly, a momentous occasion worthy of celebration.
Windom smirks bitterly and raises a glass in a mock toast.
WINDOM:
I salute you, Garland, for being the only man I know who can unravel any cluster of darkened rain clouds, and find that elusive silver lining hidden within.
Windom clinks his glass of whiskey against Garland's champagne, and the two partake. After he swallows, Windom finishes his thought, moderately impaired by his alcohol consumption.
WINDOM:
I, however, am unable to locate any linen strands, silver or otherwise. I sit here, watching my deepest rooted ambitions of making extraterrestrial contact during my lifetime crumbling to dust. And, as if to liberally sprinkle salt into my recently opened wounds, I must now endure watching these hackneyed celebrities heading off to prance about in zero gravity and wave their flags around like a pack of uppity cheerleaders. So, you'll excuse me if I don't share in your sycophantic elation.
BRIGGS:
… You really are a downer at times, aren't you, Earle?
WINDOM:
Of course, you're right. Perhaps I should follow in my dear old father's footsteps and abide by his life-long credo: "When in doubt, consume more liquor".
Windom pours himself another glass and slinks away. Garland can only shake his head with pity, not permitting Earle's dismal vibes to lessen his own joviality. Major Quintanilla stands before the assembly, which promptly goes quiet in respect, and leads a toasts.
QUINTANILLA:
Project Blue Book, which we have all devoted so much of our lives to, is, as of midnight tonight, officially disbanded by mandate of the United States Government. If you'll join me now, let's look back on all the fun times we've had, and all that we've accomplished… Bupkiss! So, tomorrow we'll all be reassigned, and hopefully, get real jobs. Good luck, gentlemen, and God bless.
At the end of Quintanilla's morose speech, the Project Blue Book personnel share in their final drink as a unit, after which, the Major excuses himself. Most of the officers scoot forward to gather beside the television set, hoping to get a better view of the rocket as it sails up into outer space. Dr. Paylen rises and sits next to Briggs, who remains sequestered at the far end of the table.
PAYLEN:
How are you coping?
Garland sighs heavily under an impenetrable smile.
BRIGGS:
Adequately, I'd like to believe. Regretful though it is that such an ancient and essential pursuit of scientific discovery, contact with extraterrestrial life, has been deemed so extraneous by our country's government that it is no longer profitable enough to perpetuate any further monetary funding, I nevertheless anticipate my reassignment and intend to commit as much energy and dedication to my next endeavor as I previously have to our studies here.
PAYLEN:
Few men can pick up and begin again so easily, Garland. That's why I chose you for Blue Book in the first place. You've got real strength of character. Courage.
Garland holds up a hand.
BRIGGS:
Please. Modesty forbids I allow you to continue.
PAYLEN:
Garland… I want to discuss an… opportunity with you.
Paylen glances shiftily around, ensuring that no one is listening in on their conversation.
PAYLEN:
What I am about to say is beyond top secret, and cannot be repeated to anyone for any reason. Is that understood?
Briggs nods with wide eyes.
BRIGGS:
You have my undivided attention… and unavoidable curiosity.
PAYLEN:
I've been talking with Hoover. There's no going back. Project Blue Book is gone for good… according to all official channels. But, he assures me he'll look the other way if we were to continue our research in an… unofficial capacity.
Paylen taps the side of his nose with a finger.
BRIGGS:
And, what would that entail?
PAYLEN:
A streamlined team of our very best and brightest. Right now I'm having our files transported to a derelict warehouse in the city. A few independent financiers, who wish to remain anonymous, will continue to fund our equipment. Your work would be completely without compensation, of course.
BRIGGS:
… I'm sorry. Who would be funding our operations?
Paylen shifts in his seat, disinclined to divulge any specifics.
PAYLEN:
Some highly motivated independent investors. So, what are you thoughts?
BRIGGS:
You know better than anyone the extent of my soul which I have devoted to this project. Naturally, you can count on my continued participation.
PAYLEN:
I want the new team led by you… and Earle.
They both look across the room at Windom. He sits alone and continues to drink, lost in his thoughts. Briggs pauses for a moment before he can answer.
BRIGGS:
Are you certain, Ernold? I gather you've noticed that me and Earle do not exactly –
PAYLEN:
The man's a genius. He has it within him… I can feel it. I'm positive he's on the verge of a breakthrough.
BRIGGS:
More like breakdown…
PAYLEN:
Give him some time. I have faith in him.
Windom finishes his whiskey and rises, staggering only slightly. Paylen squints his eyes, carefully observing his every movement as Windom leaves the room via the rarely-used back exit.
26. INT. AIR FORCE BASE, BLUE BOOK REAR EXIT – DAY
Windom staggers in a dark cement hallway just outside the meeting room. Despite the relatively well-furnished interior of the Blue Book offices, this hallway is a squalid and dingy cement bunker. The narrow walls are cracked and stained, and the filthy stairs are unevenly laid. The only source of light is an uncovered bulb which hangs from the ceiling.
Windom Earle, distraught and defeated, is at a complete loss of where to go next. He stumbles slightly and leans against the wall with one hand to regain his balance. Windom shakily stuffs a crumpled cigarette into his mouth and feebly attempts to get it lit, but his lighter refuses to spark. He allows a heavy sigh to cleanse some of the despair wriggling about in his stomach.
WINDOM:
Oh, Windom… Windom… You really were a very young, very naïve idealist, setting out to make your mark on the world… But, the world just isn't interested, is it?
Windom shakes his head and laughs in spite.
WINDOM:
I know I'm right about how they get here… but how can I find them? Where do I even start looking?
Windom forfeits getting his cigarette lit. He also forfeits his pride. For the very first time in his life, he looks up into the Heavens and pleads with whomever may be listening.
WINDOM:
Please… give me a sign. Anything. Any sense of direction. This is what I was put here to do, right? Then, where do I look?
As Windom bargains with the gods, the hum of the Electricity surging through the swinging light bulb grows.
WINDOM:
Show me the beginning of the path, and I will follow it to its bitter end! Show me!
The light bulb buzzes with a swill of Electricity until, overloaded with energy, it bursts, leaving the room pitch black. Windom yelps and shields himself from the showering shards of broken glass. As he steps to the left, his foot splashes in a small puddle of liquid. He pats it a few times with his shoe, and then leans over to give it a smell.
WINDOM:
… Gasoline?
Curiously, Windom flicks his lighter again. This time, it lights on the first try. He uses the flame to examine the puddle of gasoline on the floor, realizing that it is part of a small trail that extends across the floor and up the wall. In a moment of inspiration, he decides to drop the lighter onto the ground and into the puddle.
A wall of flames erupts before him, its ferocity sending him jumping back in alarm. The fire spreads quickly up the wall until the entire trail of gas has been ignited. Windom shields his face from the fire, but squints his eyes to examine the wall. What he sees causes his heart to stop. The flames have spelled out an intricate message…
SEEK OUT THE DUGPAS
FIND THE BLACK LODGE
WE BELIEVE IN YOU
Windom stands speechless, reading the message over and over. The sprinkler system enables, cascading the cement hall in showers of water. The flames are entirely doused, and smoke spreads. Other former Blue Book officers, soaked from the water raining down on their heads, rush in behind Windom to make sure he's okay. But he does not move. He just stares ahead at the wall, face and body becoming drenched in water, mind committing the message to memory as it vanishes forever. Windom's prayers have just been answered…
27. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY
Florence Cooper stands over the stove, skinning tubers before they are dropped into the bubbling broth of her famous potato and leek stew. Simultaneously, she is talking on the telephone, with the receiver held expertly between her jaw and shoulder.
FLORENCE:
Oh, I know just what you mean… You should see Dale! It's like all of his little science fiction comics have come to life. The way he's been floating around the house, you'd think he was up there with 'em! Exactly! Well, I think it's a great idea! I'll tell him right away. Alright. See you then.
Florence places the phone back up on the wall. She calls for her son, who is watching television in the next room.
FLORENCE:
Dale! The Schlurmans are going to be joining us tonight for the Moon Landing!
Dale Cooper leans around the corner into the kitchen. On his head is a make-shift space helmet constructed from a cardboard box and some aluminum foil. It is not terribly convincing.
FLORENCE:
Bradley says he's bringing beanbag chairs so you can all practice walking without atmosphere. Doesn't that sound like fun?
Florence smirks, adding ever-so-mischievously…
FLORENCE:
And, Marie will be here…
At the mention of Marie, Dale coyly looks up at his mother, and then bashfully turns away. This being the intended effect upon her son, Florence smiles, but says nothing.
FLORENCE:
Would you go tell your father that supper is almost ready?
28. INT. COOPER HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – DAY
Dale dashes around the corner and out of the kitchen. But, before rushing off to find his father, he leans against the wall and emits a lovesick, boyhood sigh.
DALE:
Marie…
29. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY
As Florence resumes peeling potatoes, she is suddenly over-taken by a sharp pain in her temple. Nearly losing her balance, she leans against the stove and rubs her forehead. Unexpectedly, a stream of crimson blood drizzles out of her nose and drips onto the back of her hand. Florence's heart speeds up as a dreadful premonition takes hold of her thoughts. But, she puts that brave face back on, wipes the blood from off of her hand, and continues working on her family's supper.
30. INT. COOPER HOUSE, LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
The Coopers and Schlurmans are gathered in the den, watching the Moon landing live on their small color television set. Dale is playing with BRADLEY SCHLURMAN, a goofy looking teenager with long, gangly limbs, and MARIE SCHLURMAN, the appealing girl-next-door that Dale lusts after, complete with a full head of carrot-red curls. The three kids are jumping around on the beanbags, doing their best to simulate space-walking.
Donald Cooper and JEFFERY SCHLURMAN [George Dickerson], a gentle man who smiles benignly under his balding noggin, are seated with ample space between one another on the couch, eating salted peanuts and drinking black coffee at night. Florence Cooper and ELAINE SCHLURMAN are seated on a second sofa. Florence appears physically exhausted, and has trouble getting into the spirit of the evening.
NEIL ARMSTRONG:
That's one small step for a man… One giant leap for mankind.
Donalkd chuckles and claps his hands.
DONALD:
Now that's a hell of a quote for ya. Atta boy, Neil!
MR. SCHLURMAN:
I still can't wrap my mind around this. We're living in a world where we can just go from one planet to another… Unbelievable.
DONALD:
Believe it, Jeff. It's a beautiful thing.
MR. SCHLURMAN:
I mean, look how long it took them. Kennedy said ten years, and sure enough… ten years later, there they are. Christ, at this rate, we'll be to Jupiter by 1995!
BRADLEY:
I'm going to be an astronaut, dad!
MR. SCHLURMAN:
Sure thing, Brad.
BRADLEY:
I mean it, dad! It's my dream!
MR. SCHLURMAN:
Yeah, keep on dreamin'. Son, I support you by not supporting you.
DONALD:
Look at them walk! Isn't that unreal?
ELAINE:
It's almost poetry, isn't it?
DONALD:
Gad… It's like watching ballet on ether.
As everyone has their eyes glued to the television, Marie sneaks twitterpated glances towards Dale. Yet, whenever he looks back to meet her gaze, she turns her focus back to the set. Even though she gives off the impression of youthful innocence, Marie is acutely aware that her every movement reels Dale in like a trout on a hook.
Florence gets up from the couch and announces her departure. She doesn't look like she's feeling well. Her skin is fairer than usual and red rings circle her eyes.
FLORENCE:
Alright, space jockeys. I think it's time for me to head off to bed. I've got a killer headache.
Elaine stands up and puts her hand on Florence's head.
ELAINE:
Yes, that's a good idea, dear. You look like you could use a good rest. Here, I'll see you off.
After a delay, Donald answers Florence without his eyes leaving the screen. It looks like some gears are churning inside his head.
DONALD:
Alright, honey. Sleep tight. Look at how beautiful those craters are… Wouldn't you just love to have one of those in your backyard?
Donald's eyeballs explode in epiphany. He leaps off of the couch and lands in the center of the room. Speaking quickly, he throws his arms out wildly and walks in a small circle. His fingers wriggle and clutch, as if he is grasping at invisible fish which swim through the air.
DONALD:
Wait a minute… Wait a minute… Something's coming here! Something's flowing into my mind! I'm getting an idea! No one distract me! No one distract me!
While the men are all distracted, Marie picks up one of the beanbag chairs. She meets Dale's eyes and motions, ever so subtly, for him to follow her. She slips out through the sliding glass door into the backyard. Dale looks around to make sure that no one is watching him, and then follows her.
DONALD:
This is it… This is it… I've found my calling!
MR. SCHLURMAN:
What the hell is it, Don?
DONALD:
I am going to map the surface of the Moon… and then sell it as real estate!
31. EXT. COOPER HOUSE, BACKYARD – NIGHT
The warm Summer breeze blows delicately through the blades of green grass that blanket the Coopers' well-manicured lawn. Marie is already laid flat on her back in the cushy beanbag, staring straight up into the stratosphere. To the right of her inviting female form, there is ample empty space upon the plush lounge seat to accommodate another…
With only a moment's hesitation, Dale settles down next to her, his tiny body flopping into the folds of the beanbag. Both youngsters lay in silence, needing nothing more, for the moment, than the astronomical view and the company of each other. Directly above them is the Moon, occupying its prominent space in the night sky with its powers of purity and radiance. Looking at it from the Earth, they imagine they can almost see the brave men who are walking across its surface at that very moment. Marie whispers…
MARIE:
Dale, do you ever think about me… you know…?
Dale swallows nervously, contemplating every facet of the question before answering.
DALE:
I think so.
Marie rolls over to face him, practically touching his ear with her lips as she speaks.
MARIE:
I think about you…
Dale nods, having no idea what to say in this kind of situation, it being his very first. He improvises and does the best he can…
DALE:
… Good.
MARIE:
I didn't understand it until I saw men walking on the Moon, but I believe God has a plan for everyone, and we are part of it. Do you understand, Dale?
DALE:
I think I do.
MARIE:
Are you sure, Dale?
DALE:
I am.
Marie sensually takes his hand in hers, and squeezes. She inches her face ever closer to his. Their lips almost touch. Then, she speaks…
MARIE:
Pray with me, Dale.
Marie closes her eyes and prays. As the girl lays unmoving and unresponsive at his side, lost in religious reverence, Dale looks upwards, horrified, trying desperately to think of an excuse to go back inside.
32. EXT. PHILADELPHIA HIGHWAY – DAY
Cars whiz irresponsibly fast through a neglected highway shoulder. A black crow is hopping along the side of the road, rummaging through a bag of litter that has spilled open, sifting through compost and refuse with its beak. Dale is hiking along the narrow ditch, dressed in his Boy Scout's uniform, doing his best to not muddy his trousers. He carries an enormous pack on his back, nearly the size of his entire body, and a loaded rifle in his hand.
Dale's attention is drawn to the crow, eyeing it with a hunter's intent as it scrounges about in the rubbish. The intelligent black bird notices him, too, and Dale's hazel eyes lock with the crow's black beads. The creature of flight senses the danger the wandering biped poses and takes off into the air. Dale aims his weapon and keeps the crow in his sights as it glides further and further away. All background sound ceases. The cars go silent as they pass by. All we can hear is Dale's heartbeat, pulsing through his ears, its rate beating faster and faster…
Dale pulls the trigger. An explosion propels the bullet through the air as it rockets off towards the distant bird. It tears though the crow's chest, killing it instantly. The black body spirals to the ground, the feathers ruffling in the wind.
As sound returns, Dale dashes down the highway and examines the dead bird. He lifts the limp body up with one hand and its beaked face dangles backwards on its rubbery neck. He does not look upon his fresh kill with satisfaction. Rather, it is an undefinable mix of emotions…
33. EXT. PHILADELPHIA FIELD – DAY
Dale is sitting crisscrossed in the tall, brown grass of a field, which is situated not far from the highway. Erected beside him is his gargantuan reel-to-reel tape recorder leviathan, which he'd been carrying in his bag. He speaks into the microphone as the reels noisily record.
DALE:
July 25th, 1969. 3:00 PM. Killed an animal today. A crow. One clean shot as it circled overhead, searching for a road kill. Have never killed a living thing before, not counting insects. When it was hit, it began to tumble as if it had been tripped. The tumbling stopped and it fell straight down like a wet shirt. I ran to where it fell into the tall grass and picked it up. I do not know why I shot the bird. At the moment I squeezed the trigger it seemed that the only two things in the world were the crow and myself. And now, there is just me.
Dale turns off the tape recorder and solemnly gazes down at the brown grass. As Dale sits alone in the field, we fade out…
34. EXT. DARK FIELD – NIGHT
Once again, we find ourselves in the dark, isolated dream field. Our perspective resting just above the ground, we travel quickly across the grass' dewy surface until we approach the old, wooden shack and enter through the open window. Florence Cooper is alone, dressed only in her white, flowing nightgown. Her bare feet become dusty as she steps along the neglected floorboards. It is silent in the dim, chilly room, save for the creaky settling of the rotting wood. The air is thick with visible specks of dust that dance through the still air.
Florence cautiously approaches the window and peers outside. She sees no birds flying in the sky, but neither is the Moon there. Nothing awaits her beyond confines of the house but a perpetual void of desolate black. She senses whatever lingering hope remained inside her fading away, and is overcome with the defeatist urge to crawl into a corner and give up. A gentle knocking sounds at the door. Florence hesitantly nears and squints to get a look through the keyhole. She sees the bloodless skin and unrelenting eyes of the Dark Man. He taunts her wickedly with his suave, lilting voice.
DARK MAN:
Good evening, Florence. As I've no doubt you're already aware, I've been to visit little Dale. He told you, didn't he?
Instantly, at the mention of her pride and joy, Florence's eyes go wide and her breath goes still. She tenses up and waits to glean the Dark Man's intentions with her son.
DARK MAN:
And, what was your maternal counsel, I wonder? To never open up that door, no matter what persuasive offers I entice him with? Easier said than done, my dear. His defences aren't nearly as strong as yours. I think I can coax him into turning that lock, given time. That's all it will take, you know. A simple twist of the wrist… and he's mine.
Florence bites her lower lip, panic setting in as she weighs her options, the safety of her son her only priority. Knowing that he is successfully getting through to her, the Dark Man chuckles.
DARK MAN:
Is there anything else as fervently unyielding and, yet, tediously predictable as maternal instinct? Now, then… I propose a deal. If you open up and let me in, like an obedient little trollop… then I'll agree to keep your son's dreams forever off-limits. I'll never pay a late night visit to him again, so long as he shall live. You're savvy enough by now to know that I must obey the Rules, aren't you? What do you say?
The persuasive ghoul lurking on the other side of the door goes silent, awaiting a response to his ultimatum. Florence begins to back away from the door, nervously searching all corners of the room. There are no escape routes which would keep her safe, and no weapon with which to defend herself. But then, she knows that this battle is about far more than her immediate safety. She knows the scope of his threats.
There is a drastic change in Florence's expression. Her face goes soft, almost calm. She takes a deep breath, a drastic decision having been arrived upon, and she wanders purposefully to the old dresser drawer which rests in the dusty corner. She knows what to expect to find before her soft fingers even grip the drawer pull. After the rattle of the drawer sliding open, she finds what she'd sought. Laying alone inside the dusty drawer is the Golden Ring. As soon her fingers fondle the glistening golden sheen of the ring, the Dark Man's insincere banality vanishes and he pounds against the door with an inhuman strength, screaming in a deep, demonic roar.
DARK MAN:
Let me in! Let me in, NOW!
Allowing only one fleeting instant of indecision, Florence secures the Golden Ring, upon her finger. Knowing the consequences, Florence brazenly steps forward and unlocks the latch to the front door of the old house. With the Golden Ring equipped, Florence readies herself for the oncoming confrontation. Her hand is held outwards in a clenched fist, the Golden Ring facing forward as if it were a weapon. As the front door is thrust open, a bright, white light awaits her…
35. INT. COOPER HOUSE, FLORENCE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Florence Cooper opens her hazel eyes, the lingering traces of white light fading from her irises. A stream of flowing blood silently oozes from out of her nose, ears and eyes, coating her pale skin with a crimson red glaze. As she dies, Florence softly utters her final words…
FLORENCE:
I love you, Dale.
Donald Cooper stirs in bed next to her, having just been awoken.
DONALD:
What was that, Flo? … Flo? … Flo!?
Donald drowsily rolls over and gently nudges Florence. Her body shakes like a rag doll. Realizing that something's wrong, Donald turns on the bedside lamp. After the room floods with light, Donald finds the fair skin of his wife's round face coated with a thick layer of blood, causing his beloved to resemble a morbidly beautiful candied apple.
DONALD:
Florence? Whats wrong!? Oh my God, no! Florence! Don't do this!
Donald tries in vain to revive her, slapping her face and continually shaking her.
DONALD:
No… Please, wake up, Flo… Please, wake up…
36. INT. UNITARIAN CHURCH – DAY
Dale Cooper, dressed in his best black suit, is sitting somberly in the pew next to his father. Various friends and family are all in attendance, and a UNITARIAN MINISTER is speaking at the head of the congregation. Dale listens without much interest. There is no casket or body. Instead, there is a hand-made blue urn filled with ashes.
UNITARIAN MINISTER:
Florence's time here on Earth may not have been especially long… But it was extraordinarily full. Everyone who was privileged enough to know her could testify to her caring nature and the overabundance of love she held towards her friends and her family. And so, while her physical form may no longer be with us, it is important to remember that the spirit lives on. I invite you all, now, to come forth and say goodbye to Florence Cooper. However, I urge you not to think of it so much as a goodbye forever… but as a pledge that we will all see each other again one day.
Dale rolls his eyes.
37. INT. COOPER HOUSE, FAMILY ROOM – DAY
A wake is being held at the Cooper home. Mostly everyone from the funeral is there, eating food and chit-chatting. Irritatingly cheerful trad-jazz music plays from a record player, and UNCLE AL is in the corner, entertaining a group of children with his parlor magic tricks. He wears an all black suit, top hat, and a small cape with red interior. Beside him is a sign the reads "Alexander Alakazam!". Uncle Al puts his hand inside of his mouth and pulls out an entire deck of cards, flicking them together. The children boisterously cheer him on.
Donald is laying on the sofa with his hand on his face. Concerned friends and family line up to offer him words of encouragement. Dale sits nearby, unable to accept the kind words. He rises stubbornly, crosses the family room, and sulks into the corner, attempting to ostracize himself. Marie Schlurman peers through the crowd and spots his evacuation. The well-intentioned young redhead follows him and takes a seat on the carpeted floor beside him. Marie takes Dale by the hand, looks him dead in the eyes, and gives him the best advice that she can.
MARIE:
I know it seems hard now, Dale… But, try to remember that Florence is actually very fortunate, because she is in a better place! She's up with God right now, and –
Dale clenches his fists and grits his teeth.
DALE:
Marie… I know you mean well… but honestly, if you say one more word, I'm going to knock your Goddamned teeth out.
Marie is left in speechless, wide-eyed aghast, and slowly backs away for her own safety. Behind her, Uncle Al puts a hand into the air and snaps his fingers. A bright spark ignites into a blinding flash, wafting smoke into the air from his fingertips. The children applaud.
38. EXT. SCHUYLKILLRIVERSIDE – DAY
Dale and his father stand reverently by the riverside. Beyond the horizon ahead is a glorious Sunset, washing the sky in a lush palette of orange and pink. Donald carries the beautiful blue urn which holds Florence's ashes. Without exchanging a word, the two remaining Coopers take turns tossing handfuls of ash into the river. They watch it dilute into the burbling stream and get swept out towards the Delaware River. Small trout weave to and fro, riding the current. After the urn has emptied, the men continue staring ahead for some time, never looking at one another. All they can hear is the trickling and splashing of the running water.
DONALD:
In a few weeks, ice will start to form on the banks. A month or so after that, the stream will freeze all the way across. If we stood in the same place, then… we wouldn't hear a whisper.
39. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
It is the middle of the night, and Dale Cooper is laying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. A million different thoughts swarm through his head, and all of them are bad. The lamp on his bedside table is turned on, adding soft lighting to the room, but failing to penetrate the shadowy nooks and crannies. The only sound in the silent night is the soft buzzing of Electricity. As Dale continues gazing upward, his eyelids grow heavy, fluctuating between open and closed like a pair of swinging doors. After a brief battle for cognizance, Dale finally succumbs to sleep.
The bedside light dims as the flow of Electrical current intensifies, and a deep hum fills the air. A giant circle of bright, white light shines down from an unknown source over Dale's little body, spotlighting him against the blackness of the room. Materializing at the foot of his bed is Florence Cooper.
She looks exactly as she did in the dark field, with long black hair and smooth, pale skin. She wears a flowing, white nightgown that gently blows in a non-existent breeze. The apparition stares lovingly upon the face of her slumbering son. Sensing that he is not alone, Dale slowly opens his eyes and registers what stands before him. In disbelief of his own senses, he jolts upright with a fright.
DALE:
Mom… Is that really you?
Behind an enigmatic smile, Florence speaks slowly and softly.
FLORENCE:
Yes it is, Dale.
DALE:
… How?
Florence simply shakes her head, her silken hair slinking slowly through the air as if she were underwater. She is disinclined to elaborate on any technicalities.
FLORENCE:
I have a message for you. I had to come back to tell you something.
DALE:
What…?
Florence's face goes stern, and she declares her words of caution as if they were divine commandments.
FLORENCE:
You need to seek out love in this life, Dale. Nothing else is as important. I've seen the path that you are headed down, and there will be stretches of loneliness and heartbreak. You will lose everything, more than once. But you mustn't grow cold, and you mustn't surrender. Keep searching until you've found love, anew. Love will give you all the strength you'll need. No matter what happens, never give in to fear.
Dale wraps his covers tightly around his mouth and finds himself shivering.
DALE:
But, I'm afraid right now…
That encouraging smile returns to Florence's lips, and her eyes glow with warmth.
FLORENCE:
Don't be. There's nothing to be frightened of. You're a very gifted person, Dale. And one day you will be called upon to do something very important.
Dale shakes his head, overwhelmed by this experience.
DALE:
I don't understand…
Florence just smiles at her son.
FLORENCE:
You don't need to understand, now. You have a long time to gain understanding.
Florence extends her arms in front of her. She has both of her hands cupped into a closed fist. She holds them out towards Dale.
FLORENCE:
I have something for you.
Florence approaches Dale, moving so effortlessly it appears as if she's floating across the floor. She takes his tiny hands in hers and an item exchanges. Her eyes narrow, locking upon him with a momentary severity.
FLORENCE:
Wear this… Never take it off. And, never tell another soul where you got it from. Never.
As she says "never", her words echo with importance.
FLORENCE:
Promise me.
Dale's lip quivers. He is barely understanding her instructions, still overcome with grief and confused by the impossible encounter.
DALE:
… Why did you leave me?
Florence floats backwards, once again smiling. She answers simply and surely.
FLORENCE:
Because I love you. I'll see you again, one day. And by that time, you will believe me that love is worth dying for.
With that, Florence Cooper fades away. So does the circle of light and the deep background humming. The lamp brightens and the room returns to normal. Dale opens his eyes and awakens from sleep. As he sits up and glances around the room, he realizes that it was only another dream.
But, then he opens his hands and gasps. Resting in his clammy palm is the Golden Ring. Dale is mortified, because he knows that he did not have it when he went to bed. He stares at the simple object in his possession, unable to comprehend its existence. In desperation, Dale jumps out of bed and dumps the Golden Ring into his bedside drawer, locking it in with a small key. He sits down on the floor and tries to get his mind straight…
40. EXT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT
Many miles away, in an otherwise empty valley of the American Midwest, erected atop a relatively small government building stands a massive radio dish, 70 meters across. It is aimed up towards the ever-distant starry sky.
41. INT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT
The interior of the station houses a wide wall of computers and monitor screens, reading out a constant stream of unintelligible space jargon. Other than the high tech hardware, the station is lacking in any comforts or furnishings. Two RADIO MONITORS [Scott Coffey & Mel Johnson, Jr.] sit lazily at their control seats, drinking hot coffee to keep themselves alert and engaging in petty small talk. The first monitor is reenacting a lewd scenario with illustrative hand-gestures.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
So I had her up on the kitchen table, right? And, she was bent over backwards, facin' me with that perfect Georgia peach… just beggin' for it…
RADIO MONITOR 2:
Yeah, I bet she was. Fine thing like her.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
Right. And, so, I was all ready to go, but, all of a sudden, she goes, "honey, I wanna try something different tonight"…
RADIO MONITOR 2:
Damn! Those Romanian girls are wild…
RADIO MONITOR 1:
So, she grabs the corkscrew, looks me dead in the eyes, and says –
An abrupt change in the readout on the display screens, accompanied by a high-pitched blip, has caught the attention of the second radio monitor. He examines the data on the screen.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
What is it? What's wrong?
RADIO MONITOR 2:
We just got a major spike in frequency. Look at these transmissions we're picking up.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
What sector?
As the first radio monitor waits for a response, the second is double-checking the readout, having difficulty believing what he is about to say.
RADIO MONITOR 2:
It's not coming from space… It's coming from the Earth.
42. INT. COOPER HOUSE, KITCHEN – DAY
Dale Cooper sits alone at his domicile's modest breakfast nook, sporting bloodshot eyes cushioned by dark black bags. He silently sips from his piping hot cup of early morning coffee. The young man is under the trance of someone suffering from the residual effects of sleep deprivation. Every so often, he sneaks a paranoid glance over his shoulders. After Dale is satisfied with his intense caffeine intake, he sets off towards the attic.
43. INT. COOPER HOUSE, CRAWL SPACE – DAY
The crawl space is cramped, dusty and dangerous. Dale balances on the support beams of the ceiling below, shimmying past the craggy asbestos insulation clustered between. He sifts through the family's collection of nicknacks and memorabilia stored in their makeshift attic.
Dale has found a cardboard box of photographs of his mother dating back to when she was young and single. As he flips through multiple photos, he comes across one of Florence in her late teens, taken during the 1950's. She is laughing with a group of friends. On her finger is the Golden Ring that he was given in his dream. Dale lowers the photograph and contemplates possibilities…
44. EXT. COOPER HOUSE – NIGHT
Donald Cooper stands out on the roof of his house, peering through a telescope. A drawing-desk has been hastily assembled and nailed into the shingled roofing. He studies the Moon and painstakingly maps out every detail of its geography onto a chart. Dale crawls out the upstairs window and onto the slanted roof, using the shingles as handholds, and joins his father. Donald is delighted to see his son.
DONALD:
Oh, hey there, Dale. Come out to join your old man for a bit of lunar terrain-scaping?
DALE:
Sure did, father.
DONALD:
Take a look-see through this telescope. It's really a beautiful thing to behold.
Dale silently and unenthusiastically glances through the magnified lens at the Moon's surface, more to indulge his father's fanciful flights than to sate his own curiosity. He sees the rich tapestry of craters, but is quickly satisfied and pulls away.
DALE:
May I ask you a question?
Donald answers as he returns to his work, squinting through the telescopic lens.
DONALD:
Of course. You can always ask me anything. You know that.
Dale exhibits the photograph of his mother.
DALE:
Do you ever remember mom wearing this ring?
Donald takes the photo from Dale and scratches his chin as he examines it.
DONALD:
Hmmm… Let's see, now. I think she used to wear it back when we were first dating… That's right, it used to be her mother's. Her father had given it to her after she'd died. But, she stopped wearing it when we got married. I wouldn't be surprised if it's been long lost. Why on Earth do you ask?
Dale shifts uneasily as he lies, an act he is unaccustomed to.
DALE:
Oh… no reason. I just feel like I've seen it somewhere before. I was going through old pictures of mom and I came across it. Guess I got déjà vu. Thanks anyway, though.
Dale begins crawling back towards the window, but stops when he hears his father call.
DONALD:
Dale. You know we're going to get through this, right, son? We lost your mother, but we still have each other. She wouldn't want us to fall apart without her, so… We'll just keep at it, right?
DALE:
Right…
Without looking back, Dale crawls in through the window. Donald looks up at the Moon.
45. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – NIGHT
Dale is sitting on the floor of his bedroom, burying his face in his knees. He keeps looking up at his locked dresser drawer, not knowing what to do, and too frightened to confront the reality of what's locked within…
46. EXT. PROJECT BLUE BOOK WAREHOUSE – NIGHT
Considerably less impressive than the Air Force's underground installation that housed their previous headquarters, the location now serving as Blue Book HQ is little more than a crowded warehouse within which they are renting space.
47. INT. PROJECT BLUE BOOK WAREHOUSE – NIGHT
Garland Briggs, Windom Earle, Ernold Paylen, and fellow members of Project Blue Book convene at a table within the massive storehouse. Stacks of dusty crates and unlabeled boxes form towering divisions throughout the massive repository. Despite the lack of luxurious surroundings, the men remain professional. Paylen stands at the head of the table, leaning against the edge on stiff arms. He slides a series of dossiers across the surface, urging the other Agents to review them.
PAYLEN:
Last night, at just after 0200 hours, something miraculous occurred. Our radio monitoring station intercepted the most complex deep space frequency ever recorded by man. Remarkably, however, it was not transmitted to the Earth… but, rather, from the Earth into deep space.
Windom and Garland look up from their folders in wonder.
BRIGGS:
Oh my Lord…
PAYLEN:
It originated from somewhere on the Western coast of the United States. Unfortunately, because our monitoring systems were so ill-equipped and unprepared, we weren't able to pinpoint its precise location.
Windom rolls his eyes, tossing his dossier back upon the table and folding his arms.
WINDOM:
Well, there's that, then.
Paylen leans forward, his grandeur growing.
PAYLEN:
This was not a failure. This was a great leap forward. We have learned the precise frequency we've been searching for. If it is ever emitted from the Earth again… we will be ready.
As we hold on Paylen's fanatical determination, we fade to black…
48. INT. COOPER HOUSE, DALE'S BEDROOM – DAY
CAPTION:
July 1st, 1970
One year later
Dale sits at his little work desk, drolly narrating under the shadow of his whirring behemoth reel-to-reel tape recorder.
DALE:
July the first, 11:00 am. Just learned that dad has agreed to go on a trip with the Schlurmans up to the Poconos. Have examined various ways to get out of it, but all seems bleak at the moment. He's packed the Scrabble game. Marie has packed her Bible. I am doomed.
49. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY
A colorful wooden sign welcomes all newcomers and informs them that they have arrived at "Promised Land Lake". A hand-painted Sun smiles down from the top corner, wearing dark shades to protect its eyes from its own brightness. Behind the sign, we see the gorgeous cerulean lake, which is fairly wide across with a steep embankment. The sounds of children's play and laughter echo across the freshwater from bank to bank.
The Coopers and the Schlurmans are enjoying a cookout on their side of the lake. Donald is dressed in khaki shorts and a baggy white apron which reads "Kiss Me I'm Scottish". He's roasting wieners on a old, blackened grill. Behind him is the rustic wooden cabin which the neighboring families are renting. Beyond the cabin is nothing but sprawling groves of dense woodland. Dale and Marie, dripping wet in their swimming gear, have both just waded out of the lake. Mr. Schlurman and Bradly are passing a volleyball back and forth.
Dale stands on the edge of the lake and peers across. On the other side are four morbidly obese women, each clad scantily in a minuscule bikini. They parade around the shore, giggling, shouting and playfully pushing one another, their bountiful deposits of fat waving and bouncing in gravity-defying gyrations. Dale shudders. Donald shouts to the gang as he lays out the plate of buns.
DONALD:
Hot wieners are ready! Come and get them!
Bradley and Jeffery show up first, greedily snagging three hot dogs each and plopping generous spoonfuls of potato salad onto their paper plates. Marie grabs one of the roasted wieners and looks Dale right in the eyes as she viciously skewers it. He winces, unsure of the implication.
Dale glances back across the lake. The fat women are still dancing, and Dale is still trying to ward off their grotesque visage from permanently staining his subconscious.
But, off to another side, laying on the grass just above the embankment, is a MYSTERIOUS CAMPER. The anonymous lurker is dressed in camouflage and a ski mask, perversely spying on the family through a pair of binoculars. Dale looks at this voyeur, a fight-or-flight instinct gurgling in his gut. The Camper sees that Dale has noticed him and instantly lowers his binoculars. He raises his hands in a friendly "sorry" gesture and heads off into the woods. Dale is left to ask uneasy questions, but brushes it aside and heads off to gorge himself on the home-cooked barbecue…
50. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY
Mr. Schlurman wrenches open a wooden crate with a crowbar. The sides of the crate fall open to reveal a hefty artillery of deadly explosives. Bradley and Mr. Schluman whoop in testosterone-addled exuberance, while Donald squirms warily.
MR. SCHLURMAN:
Take a gander, boys. We've got firecrackers, bottle rockets, roman candles, sparklers… And to finish…
Jeffery holds up a much coveted firework about the size of a small tree trunk.
MR. SCHLURMAN:
This one's called the "Big Kahuna". It'll reach all the way to the Moon.
BRADLEY:
Bitchin'…
DONALD:
Jesus Christ… We're gonna burn down half the woods. You know that, right?
MR. SCHLURMAN:
Hey… All in the name of patriotism, Don.
51. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – NIGHT
The three men, dressed only in swimming trunks, are boarding the overloaded row boat, setting off to take it into the middle of the crystalline lake. The seafaring craft is so heavily weighed down with fireworks that it looks like it could capsize at any moment. The men have to search for an empty spot between the inflammable ammunition in order to fit themselves. Marie and Dale, fully dressed, stand back and call out to them from the shore.
MR. SCHLURMAN:
All aboard who's going aboard!
MARIE:
Us kids are staying ashore!
Dale glances around, confused, quickly realizing that "us kids" was comprised of just the two of them, unmonitored and alone on the shoreline. Marie throws a manipulative smile his way.
MR. SCHLURMAN:
Suit yourselves. You can watch the spectacle from a distance!
DONALD:
Probably the wisest course, all things considered…
The men cast off and wave goodbye. Once the shaky, weighty boat has rounded the corner and disappeared behind the treeline, Marie and Dale meet eyes. Adolescent hormones raging to levels nearly as explosive as the fireworks, the youngsters seem to transfer some unspoken communication, as if transmitting signals through Electronic code. Without needing to say a word, Marie darts off into the woods like a jackrabbit. Dale is keenly aware that he is meant to follow…
Allowing her only a few seconds head-start, Dale promptly gives chase. He darts through branches and whizzes past trees in a breakneck pursuit. Wrapped around a tree limb, he spots Marie's shirt. A bottle rocket explodes somewhere nearby and echoes through the empty trees.
Dale passes Marie's Bermuda shorts, and then a white tennis shoe, both discarded in the woodlands in order to form a deliberately arousing trail. Straining his ears, he can hear the crowd of concealed onlookers exclaiming excitement at the explosions, hidden off in the distance through the rough. As Dale follows a wind in the forest path, he passes by a dainty pink sock strung along a branch.
As he rounds the corner, he is faced with the vision of Marie's back, standing perfectly still and contented. Dale abruptly halts his pace, his shoes digging into dirt as he fights his momentum. Marie removes her bra and turns to face him. Completely involuntarily, Dale removes all of his clothing as he walks towards her, never taking his eyes off of her body. The two stand chest to chest.
MARIE:
Do you believe in God?
Dale nods in a stupor, his eyes locked on her body.
DALE:
I most certainly do.
Marie smiles and kisses Dale's chest as she slides her way down to his waist. Though she is below our view, it is clear that she is engaging in some form of pleasurable activity involving his external male organs. Dale closes his eyes, grins, and tilts his head upwards. But, just as she can barely get started enjoying herself… an enormous rocket cuts its way through the forest canopy above and impales itself into the ground just 10 yards to their right. Dale has only the chance to glance at it and emit a disappointed sigh before it explodes.
The concussive blast knocks them both backwards onto the dead leaf-coated forest floor. A barrage of sparks and projectile blasts litter the air. Multicolored streams shoot to the left and right of them. Dale throws his arms out, trying to shield Marie with his body. Yelling safety instructions proves ineffective because the loud screeching and explosions are so deafening that they drown out Dale's words. As the two naked, frightened children stand up, they find themselves surrounded by a rapidly growing forest fire.
Dale turns, ready to protect Marie with his life, only to see her already running off into the distance, screaming, having clearly abandoned him. Dale turns to follow, but the fire spreads quickly and blocks all directions, including the path which Marie had just escaped through. With what little of Dale's clothing remains, he vainly attempts to fan away the encroaching flames.
Dale glimpses one of Marie's white tennis shoes on the ground and snatches it, as it is the only clothing article that has remained without being incinerated. Out of the corner of his eye, Dale spots a lingering hole in the circle of fire. He darts towards the exit space and leaps through it, barely managing to avoid the flame as it nicks his bare bottom. His nude, blackened body scurries off towards water.
52. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – NIGHT
Donald Cooper is disembarking the rowboat with the other two men, every last firework gone. He sees Dale standing ashore, naked and ashen. He is using Marie's one remaining tennis shoe to conceal his genitalia. Donald stares at him, blankly.
DONALD:
Where are your pants?
Dale squirms and looks at the ground.
DALE:
… Wildfire.
Donald nods. Silence for a beat as he does everything he can in order to avoid meeting his son eye-to-eye.
DONALD:
Fire is a very dangerous thing, and not to be taken lightly.
DALE:
Yes, sir.
Donald walks past his naked son.
53. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY
Donald is loading up the VW Notchback, preparing to head home, while the Schlurmans are staying behind in the cabin. Before Dale joins his father in the car, Marie approaches him, her hands held shyly behind her back. The pretty young girl, wearing her starfish-themed bathing suit, shifts nervously as she forces her rehearsed goodbye speech…
MARIE:
I'm sorry you're going back into the city…
Dale nods.
DALE:
So am I.
MARIE:
Thank you for saving my tennis shoe…
Marie holds out the slightly charred white show in demonstration. Dale swallows through his rapidly-drying throat.
DALE:
You're welcome.
And with that, Marie skips back down to the lake, laying herself out on a Loch Ness Monster flotation device, reading from her waterproof Bible. Dale looks at her miserably from the car window as they drive away. As the blue vehicle shrinks off into the distance, we slowly fade…
54. EXT. PROMISED LAND LAKE – DAY
We fade in to the same spot on the lake, a couple of days later. Marie is once more out in the water, resting atop her flotation device, deeply engrossed in her religious texts. Her father and brother, dressed up in hiking gear, call out to her as they leave.
MR. SCHLURMAN:
Marie, honey! We're going off for a hike in the woods! You going to be alright on your own!?
Marie doesn't bother to look up as she answers.
MARIE:
Yes, dad! Have fun!
The men head off into the woods. Marie is now alone. As she lay on her back atop the gently lapping water, it occurs to her just how alone she actually is. No one else currently resides along either side of the expansive lake, despite the fact that the weather is particularly nice out. The air is eerily silent, even though every day previously it had been filled with joyful laughter. At this moment, she can hear only the wind whistling through the rustling branches of the surrounding trees. A chill shoots down her spine and the young girl shivers. For some reason, Marie's attention is suddenly drawn forward. Off in the distance she can see a dark, looming shape upon the embankment…
Something is watching her from the opposite edge of the lake. It isn't a person. It's a primal, savage form. It is the BLACK DOG. The creature is much larger than any dog she's ever seen. Foaming bubbles of saliva drip out from between its sharp teeth as it growls. Its eyes glow a dark red and fixate upon her. Although the distant figure frightens her, Marie cannot decide whether it looks threatening, or whether it looks morose. Whatever it's feeling… its intent is to watch her and not to help her. A pervasive dread takes hold of Marie's instincts, and she decides to abandon the water and make her way back to the shore.
As she slides off of her flotation device and turns around, she freezes up. Towering above her at the height of the embankment is the GAS MAN. The encroaching stranger is tall and thin with long, bony limbs. His emaciated frame is revealingly enveloped in a skin-tight, all-black leather bodysuit, but his face is concealed under a gas mask. He stares down at her, soullessly, from behind his fogging reflective lenses. She cannot see his eyes, and is faced only with her own terrified image staring back at her, mirrored in his mask.
Marie screams in abject horror. Before she can form words and ask what he wants, the Gas Man flings his arms out toward her and steps forward. Marie slowly treads backwards through the difficult water, but the man advances upon her at a steady pace. As soon as the Gas Man steps into the water, Marie can feel the lake getting hotter. By the time he is waist deep, the water has begun bubbling. The flotation device pops from the heat, sending air jetting out through the puncture, and it shoots across the lake's surface.
With nothing left to turn to other than Divine Intervention, Marie protectively holds up her Bible and cowers behind it. Not remotely deterred, the Gas Man reaches out and wrenches the Bible from her grip. Holding the holy book out at arm's length, it spontaneously erupts into flames. The lenses of his mask fixate on the young girl as he flicks the charring embers away.
Marie's mind loses its sanity as her senses are overwhelmed with fear. She shrieks at the top of her lungs until her voice breaks. The Gas Man seems to relish this, and grandiosely clutches both sides of her head, forcing her to look straight up at him. Her skin goes whiter by the second, and the black circles around her eyes seem to expand in real time. As the fear builds in her face, it begins to literally emit itself from her pores as a yellow steam. The poor girl's tormentor inhales the yellow gas into his mask. More and more fear is sucked from out of her until her wailing dies down to a murmur, and she is left in an emotionless haze.
After extracting the amount of fear he'd sought, the Gas Man violently grabs Marie by the throat and repeatedly bashes her head against a nearby rock. Her skull cracks and a portion of her brain is exposed through a sift in her cranium. Still alive, but suffering from massive blunt trauma, she stares up at him with empty, unaware eyes.
The Gas Man reaches into his cloak and pulls out a red-hot branding iron. He lifts Marie out of the water and scorches his mark onto her bare chest. The symbol now scarred into her flesh reads "CARNUM". And with that, he throws her body face first into the lake, successfully drowning her and staging it like an accident. As the girl bobs up and down on the water's clear surface, the Gas Man stomps back up the incline. Across the lake, the Black Dog, who has seen all, quickly retreats back into the woods…
55. INT. THE RED ROOM – TIMELESS
We are in a distant place beyond the confines of time and space. Music fills the air inside the Red Room. The floor is a black and white zigzagged marble pattern, and the four walls which confine the room are made of red curtains which hang down from the sky. The LITTLE MAN [Michael J. Anderson] sits at his sofa and eagerly rubs his hands. The dwarf is dressed in a stylish red suit and black shoes. The Gas Man stands before him at attention. Levitated in the air beside the vile spirit is the body of the Mysterious Camper, who remains in a neutral sleeping state, oblivious of his predicament. The Gas Man lifts his head back. From out of his breathing mask's filtering nozzle, streams of blood spray outward like a sprinkler. The shower of blood fountains all over the room, collecting into a crimson pond on the marble floor. After settling for a moment, the blood is then absorbed into the Red Room.
The Little Man smiles, and we cut to an extreme close-up of his mouth as he consumes a spoonful of Creamed Corn with devious satisfaction. The Gas Man watches the dwarf enjoy the benefits of his own handiwork without comment. Despite the Little Man's diminutive stature, it is clear that the Gas Man is entirely submissive towards him.
In another section of the Red Room is the Fountain. Constructed from gray stone, the Fountain consists of a tall head and surrounding basin. Inscribed across its head are a series of ancient glyphs. The Fountain was previously dry for some time, but it begins flowing steadily with a reservoir of blood once more. The MAGICIAN [Jonathan J. Leppell] and the GRANDMOTHER [Frances Bay] watch from afar, standing side by side and holding hands. She is an old woman wearing a fancy black dress, and he is a small child in a black suit. As they watch the Fountain fill with blood, they are equally filled with futility and despair. They whisper to one another in strange, backwards voices.
GRANDMOTHER:
Patience.
MAGICIAN:
J'ai un ame solitaire.
The Magician looks down at the item he is holding in his hands. It is a snowglobe with a Sycamore tree in the middle and a small, blue bird perched atop a branch. Flaky bits of confetti styled after snowflakes are swirling around the glass in a tempest of glitter. The young boy shakes the globe vigorously, and when he ceases, all the snowflakes are resting dormant against the base.
56. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT
The wind rustles through the Pine boughs of the Pacific Northwest. HEINRICH LANTERMAN [Jürgen Prochnow], a tall, rugged woodsman with a bushy red beard extending to his waist, is chopping away at a towering Oak tree. His plaid work shirt is thoroughly stained with sweat, and his green cap looks to have never been washed. He pauses from his toil to wipe the accumulating beads from his brow.
High above him, nearly buried in the low-pitched whistle of the whipping wind, he hears a hooting. Staring down at him from high in a nearby Pine tree is a Giant Horned Owl. It watches him intently, sizing the woodsman up with its beady, little eyes. Struck with paranoia, Heinrich casts a nervous glance over both of his shoulders. The Owl's attention is drawn elsewhere, and it takes off in flight, deep into the woods. For some reason, Heinrich is compelled to follow…
57. EXT. GLASTONBURY GROVE – NIGHT
Heinrich makes his way through a path in the dark forest, following the journey of the immense bird. Swatting a prickly branch of Pine needles aside, he steps into a well-known clearing within these woods. Henrich recognizes the perfect circle of twelve Sycamore trees that make up Glastonbury Grove. In the center of the legendary marker is a smaller circle of white stones which surround a hole in the ground.
Heinrich leans over and is faced with an occurrence that is difficult for him to fathom. The hole in the center of the Grove is slowly filling up with a thick, black oil. The oil is not bubbling up naturally from any underground deposit, but rather, it is being created from nothing. Feeling the need to capture some evidence of this unbelievable phenomenon, Heinrich pulls out a jar of drinking water from his work pack, pours out the contents, and fills the jar with a sample of the oil. Sensing that he may be in danger, he collects his evidence and leaves.
58. EXT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT
Deep in the secluded Midwestern field, the immense satellite dish is still aimed towards deep space, receiving invisible waves of radio from otherworldly, but unresponsive, sources.
59. INT. RADIO FREQUENCY MONITORING STATION – NIGHT
The same two Radio Monitors are sitting at their stations. One of them has two blackened eyes and a collection of cuts and bruises running along his face. The second man, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee, looks at him with concern. Finally, he addresses the elephant in the room…
RADIO MONITOR 2:
What happened to you, man? You don't look so good…
The Radio Monitor sighs.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
Don't even ask… That Romanian bitch is fucking crazy…
A high-pitched beeping steals their attention. The two men scramble about, fiddling with buttons and levers, checking the display screens or the source of the alert. The second Radio Monitor's jaw drops. He shouts to his comrade.
RADIO MONITOR 2:
It's back! The signal is back! Notify Doctor Paylen!
The long awaited signal of the Earth-based transmission is intercepted once more. The first Radio Monitor clumsily fumbles for the phone. He has only to press a button, and it automatically dials the priority number. After only two rings, the recipient on the other end answers.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
Sir? Yeah, it's us, here, at Frequency Monitoring. Yeah, we've got another transmission originating from the Earth's surface. Yes. We've pinpointed its precise location, yeah.
The Radio Monitor inspects the readout as he speaks.
RADIO MONITOR 1:
It came from Washington state, sir. Near a town called… Twin Peaks.
60. EXT. HIGHWAY 21 – DAY
A hand painted sign on the shoulder of Highway 21 reads "Welcome to Twin Peaks - Pop. 4,250", and features an artist's depiction of the dual mountain range the quaint logging community is situated below and named after. Upwards, towering behind the sign are the actual Blue Pine and White Tail Mountains, far more monumental in reality than their teensy pastel counterparts.
A Federal issue Sedan drives past the wind in the road. Experienced pilot Garland Briggs is driving, Windom Earle is riding shotgun, and Ernold Paylen slouches in the back. Windom has his window rolled down and leans his head out, the breeze blowing his brown hair back.
WINDOM:
"In the wild woods, among the mountains lone,
Where waterfalls around it leap forever,
Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river
Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves"
Windom breathes deeply, inhaling the tonic aroma of the great outdoors.
WINDOM:
My, oh my! Would you smell those Douglas Firs! Certainly reminds a man of his place in the world to abandon civilization and lose himself in an untamed expanse of woodland such as this…
Windom leans back into the vehicle, shaking his head in awe at the subtle wonders of life.
WINDOM:
I haven't been to the country in such a long time…
Paylen smiles fondly with a nostalgic familiarity.
PAYLEN:
I was born out in the woods. Been living in the city far too long… Sure is nice to be back.
WINDOM:
These trees… There's just something about them, isn't there?
Windom's companions nod in agreement.
BRIGGS:
What, then, is our course of action, gentlemen?
WINDOM:
We find some bucolic breeding ground for local colour and ask around about strange lights in the sky?
PAYLEN:
According to my contact, there's a diner in the center of town. We could chat up some of the locals, get a lay of the land. And, uh... could anyone else use a cup of Joe?
Garland and Windom both exhale an enthusiastic "awh, yeah!" as the car continues down the tree-lined highway.
61. EXT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY
The heavily frequented and well-worn diner sits in the center of town. To describe the eatery as 'rustic' would be mercifully polite. To label it as a 'dive' would be far more accurate. Under the sizzling neon sign is the illuminated promise of "GOOD FOOD!".
The Federal issue car pulls into the mostly filled parking lot. A large logging truck passes by as they park, its mammoth uprooted lumber rocking back and forth as the rusty chains struggle to hold them in place. All three men, dressed in identical brown trench-coats, exit the vehicles and squint through the late morning Sun, eager to fill their caffeine needs, but somewhat apprehensive over the state of the place.
WINDOM:
"Davey's Eats". Well… How… organic.
62. INT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY
The squeaky doors open and the trio are greeted with the twangy country & western stylings of "Walking After Midnight" by Patsy Cline, which pipes out of the jukebox. The floor is stained, the booths sticky, and the silverware inadequately washed. The patronage of the diner are mostly old timers, the majority of them sitting alone. An overweight and remarkably unattractive woman named PHYLLIS festers behind the counter. Three empty stools beckon them at the front of the bar.
The men seat themselves side by side, hands folded expectantly on the bar's surface. They patiently wait for the unappealing woman to notice of them of her own volition. She does nothing of the kind, completely lost in her own world. The others are too polite, but Windom speaks up and raises his hand so as to be caught in her peripheral vision.
WINDOM:
Excuse me, Miss…
She takes notice of Earle's well-meaning gesture, silently approaching them with a down-turned scowl on her soggy, deflated face.
PHYLLIS:
Uh-huh?
WINDOM:
We were just hoping to get some service, Miss…
For far too long, a silence rests in the air as she stares, vacantly. She looks down at the name tag pinned to her apron, almost as if she needed to check in order to verify.
PHYLLIS:
Phyllis.
WINDOM:
Phyllis. Yes. Well, we were simply passing by your diner, here, and felt ourselves suffering from parched throats. We thought perhaps you could offer us something with which to quench ourselves?
Phyllis' unimpressed expression does not change, though her voice rises.
PHYLLIS:
What's that? Are you cracking wise, boy?
Phyllis reacts quite defensively, and a panic-stricken Windom tries to calm this disagreeable member of the service industry.
WINDOM:
No, no, no… Not in the least. We're just looking for something to drink. We did walk into a restaurant, right?
Phyllis stares back, blankly. Garland interjects as politely as he can muster in his clear, soothing intonations.
BRIGGS:
We'd like three coffees, if you wouldn't mind.
Phyllis sums up the trio with trepidation.
PHYLLIS:
You ain't gonna ask me to split the check up, are ya? 'Cus I can tell you right now, I ain't got time for that bullshit.
Garland and Ernold are speechless.
WINDOM:
Is there any chance we could get another waiter? How 'bout that gentleman in the corner? Might that be Davey?
Windom points to a very fat man in the kitchen who is dipping his hand into the bubbling pot of soup and licking the boiling stew from off of his freshly scalded fingers.
PHYLLIS:
No… that's just Dusty. We don't let him interact with the guests.
WINDOM:
Ah. Davey has the day off, does he?
PHYLLIS:
There's no Davey that works here…
Phyllis gives Windom a strange look, as if that were a bizarre assumption to come to, and wanders off towards the back counter, disappearing around the corner. The trickle of pouring hot liquid follows. After the sound has ceased, she clears her throat with an unpleasant hacking and remains for a curiously long extra few moments, until finally returning into view with three cups in hand, filled nearly to the brim. The song on the jukebox finishes, and the diner goes silent, waiting for another patron willing to sacrifice a dime…
PHYLLIS:
How do you take it?
WINDOM/BRIGGS:
Black.
PAYLEN:
White.
Phyllis rolls her eyes at the needy customers as she adds creamer to the third cup. The cream is of a noticeably gray color. She slides the cups in front of the three men and walks away without a word.
WINDOM:
Thank you so much for your courteous service.
Phyllis throws them an insincere smile that causes her jowls to waggle. Garland, Windom, and Ernold simultaneously take hearty drinks from their coffee, their right elbows pointing outwards with precise symmetrical coordination, and lower their glasses on the table, three clinking sounds becoming one. At the same moment, they each reconfigure their faces into distorted expressions of distaste and nausea, exchanging looks of dissatisfaction and growing concern.
A denim-garbed trucker stuffs a dime into the jukebox, and it rustles around within its internal machinery as it prepares another warm country ballad with plenty of fiddle. A warm, gravelly voice pipes up to the Agents' left, speaking slowly and commanding their collected attention.
PETE:
You boys aren't from around here, are ya?
PETE MARTELL [Jack Nance], an amiable little lumberjack, is sitting down the counter from them. He wears a plaid shirt under olive green coveralls, and hides his amber brown hair under a wrinkled, green fishing hat. His bushy mustache sprouts from the crest of a rubbery smile.
BRIGGS:
What gave us away?
PETE:
Because, if you were from around here, you'd know that Phyllis spits in the coffee of people she doesn't like.
All three men, who had been contemplating partaking of a second drink, are frozen in wide-eyed horror. In unison, they slowly push the cups down the counter, out of reach.
PETE:
The coffee here's not much to speak of anyways. Nor the food, for that matter. And, what they do to pie… should be considered a capitol offense. I only come here 'cus it's about the only place I can hide from the missus.
Pete enjoys a hearty chuckle at the old lady's expense, which transitions into a lackadaisical sigh.
PETE:
I wish someone would open up a really nice diner here, someday. But, if it's good coffee you're after, I recommend the Great Northern Hotel. On top of Meadowlark Hill, just beside the waterfall. You can't miss it.
Pete extends his hand. The three men, already enjoying Pete's warmth, gladly exchange formal pleasantries.
PETE:
Pete Martell's the name. I'm in the lumber trade. Vice president up at the Mill.
BRIGGS:
Garland Briggs.
PAYLEN:
Ernold Paylen.
WINDOM:
Windom Earle.
PETE:
So, what brings you three gentlemen to Twin Peaks?
The 'three gentlemen' look at one another, checking with their eyes whether they should allow Pete into their circle of trust. Once the consensus seems reached, Garland speaks frankly.
BRIGGS:
Were you in town last night, Mr. Martell?
PETE:
Last night…? Well, yes… Why?
BRIGGS:
Did you happen to see or hear anything out of the ordinary?
WINDOM:
Specifically, originating from the woods?
Pete crinkles up his chin and furrows his brow as he sifts through his recollections.
PETE:
Well… nothing specific. I think old man Remlinger was rummaging through our trash cans again, but that's about it. Although… there was one thing… come to think of it… Some of the boys working the late shift last night said they saw a bright light out by Pearl Lakes. Not sure if it was natural or artificial, but they said it was damned bright. What's all this about, anyways?
The men look at one another, and Briggs relies on their cover story.
BRIGGS:
We have reason to believe that some unusual wildlife may have been introduced into the local ecosystem which may pose a danger to the indigenous fauna.
Pete eyes them suspiciously, grinning slyly.
PETE:
Say… Are you government boys?
PAYLEN:
As a matter of fact, we are.
PETE:
Hmmm… Don't get too many Feds out this way. I hope it's nothing too serious.
PAYLEN:
Everything should be wrapped up pretty soon.
PETE:
Well… in that case, I'll wish you gentlemen good luck, and make my way back to the daily grind. Been a pleasure.
Pete shakes their hands once more as he gets up.
PETE:
Remember, if you get a chance before you leave… Coffee at the Great Northern. Black nectar flowing on high from Mount Olympus.
Pete raises his hands, poetically, and laughs heartily as he leaves. Now left to their own devices, the triad form a close circle and speak in soft voices.
PAYLEN:
Strange lights shining into the night sky? That matches the report from Buenos Aires. Where are these Pearl Lakes, Windom?
Windom pulls out a topographical map of the area.
WINDOM:
It looks like it's quite a ways out there. No direct roads. There might be a path off of Highway J that cuts through Ghostwood National Forest.
Garland refers to the map himself, nodding in agreement.
BRIGGS:
It would appear as though we'll be traipsing through the rough the old-fashioned way. Ah, well. A stroll through the countryside can do wonders…
PAYLEN:
Outstanding. Garland, if you'd like to head out to the Lakes and see what you can uncover, then… We can probably make progress fastest if we operate separately. I'd like to meet up with my contact.
WINDOM:
Just who is this contact of yours, anyways?
PAYLEN:
He's an old Air Force buddy that works at Unguin's Field Observatory to the South of town. He might be able to offer us use of his equipment.
The two seem satisfied with this explanation.
WINDOM:
If you don't mind heading solo, Garland, there's an angle I'd like to investigate first. I've got a hunch.
BRIGGS:
What sort of a hunch?
WINDOM:
I'd rather not say, unless it pans out. If I come up blank, why don't we meet at 1900 hours and share our findings? Over a cup of coffee at the hotel?
They nod, agreeing to the plan. As they prepare to leave, a cold feeling sets over Windom.
WINDOM:
The race is on, then, gentleman. Good luck. And be careful. I can't shake the feeling that we're here tonight for a reason… That we're meant to witness something…
63. EXT. LANTERMAN CABIN – DAY
The wind whips through the branches of the trees, leaves rustle together, and pines spread apart. Birds flutter from branch to branch, searching for something to shield them from the wild currents of air. All concerned parties pray that it is not an ill wind that blows this day…
A marvelous cabin is isolated deep in the woods, cut off from the outside world. It was hand-built by its inhabitants, sporting several rooms and a spacious outdoor deck. Heinrich Lanterman walks out through the front door, his boots scraping against the clutter of dead leaves which have blown up onto the porch. He has a heavy jacket wrapped around himself and is equipped with an ax in hand. He walks quickly, his mind set on fulfilling his objective, but also distracted by something tugging at his subconscious.
MARGARET:
Heinrich! Haven't you forgotten something?
Heinrich stops in his tracks and looks back at the cabin behind him. He sees his newlywed wife, MARGARET LANTERMAN [Catherine E. Coulson], standing in the doorway. The woman is young and pretty, her long hair a burnt auburn, and thick, red glasses framing her face. She dresses conservatively and looks as though she seldom leaves their private world inside the cabin. Heinrich speaks softly and playfully in his thick Icelandic accent.
HEINRICH:
Let me think… I've got my axe, my hat, my jacket, my lunch… What could I be missing?
MARGARET:
You forgot to kiss me goodbye.
Heinrich slaps his forehead in exaggeration.
HEINRICH:
Ó Guð minn, but you're right! How could I ever forget something so important?
Heinrich lumbers up to the porch, grabbing Margaret's petite body with one arm and lifting her up into the air. Her soft skin rubs against his scratchy, waist-length beard as they embrace. He lifts her back down and carefully places her onto the porch. Her honest eyes reveal that every ounce of him makes her melt with desire, and that she wants nothing more out of life but his presence.
MARGARET:
Must you work today? Must you work everyday? When can we celebrate our honeymoon? When can I have you all to myself?
HEINRICH:
Ástvinur… You knew the man you were marrying. You knew how many hours we would spend apart.
MARGARET:
And every lonely day is worth the wait, just for your return to me at night.
HEINRICH:
Only one day has passed since our eternal bond. Do not feel so hasty. We have our entire lives together to anticipate.
MARGARET:
You're right… It's only…
Margaret looks downwards, fearfully.
MARGARET:
I woke up this morning with a horrible feeling in my soul. I sense that some burning dread is on its way to visit Twin Peaks today, and that no one will be the same after it's passed…
Heinrich smiles and dismissively rubs her cheek.
HEINRICH:
Oh, honey… You are always saying things like this. I will be fine. I will work. And then I will come home. Just like every day. Do not worry so.
MARGARET:
I'll miss you.
HEINRICH:
Then go to your wedding gift on the mantle. I gave it to you to keep you company while I am away. Whenever you miss me… look upon your wedding gift and know that I am near.
Heinrich marches off into the thick forest. Margaret watches him until the last possible second when he vanishes from view. She then retreats to the sanctity of their cabin.
64. INT. LANTERMAN CABIN – DAY
The luxurious interiors, hand-constructed entirely of wood, give the cabin the sense of impenetrable security. Margaret treads lightly over to the enormous, open fireplace. Above the mantle is a small shrine with a glistening plaque, inscribed, simply, with "To My Wife". Above it is mounted a single Log, felled from a Ponderosa Pine. The profoundly infatuated woman touches it with a kind of reverence and longs only for her husband's safe return…
65. EXT. COUNTY MUSEUM – DAY
A passing bout of drizzling rainfall picks up, as is commonplace in this part of the country. The Pend Oreille County Museum is a fairly simple building of Pinewood construction, half a century old, and lavishly accentuated with a Native American tribal motif in its architectural design. Two twin totem poles of Chinook origin border the doorway. Windom Earle jogs through the empty parking lot to the front doors, his overcoat pulled up high to shield his face from the mist.
66. INT. COUNTY MUSEUM – DAY
The interior of the museum is replete with a vast collection of paintings, artifacts, and dioramas depicting the local history of Twin Peaks. Towering Blackfoot and Chinook totem poles reach to the ceiling. The wooden creatures of the totems, stacked one on top of the other, stare down God-like at the puny humans. Glass displays showcase local taxidermy and whittle-work. The walls are adorned with pictures of historical sites, as well as paintings donated by local artists.
An OLD WAITER [Hank Worden] in a red bow tie sits upright and unconscious on a stool in the corner, snoring loudly. The elderly man is tall and thin, steadily trembling in his hands and neck, clearly showing signs of developing dementia. His long, skinny neck and rounded, hairless head give him the appearance of a lethargic vulture.
Finding himself to be the only cognizant clientèle in the gallery, Windom Earle wanders up to the front counter. The museum proprietor, MORDECAI MERTZ [Blair Bruce Bever], is also a decrepit old man, so diminished of stature that his head barely rises above the counter top. The bent-over old timer squints up at Windom through two-inch thick bifocals.
WINDOM:
Hello, down there!
Mertz strains desperately to hear Windom, cupping his hand to his ear, but it is of no use. Windom articulates loudly and slowly, being sure to smile widely.
WINDOM:
May I come in!? I was hoping to have a look around!
MORDECAI MERTZ:
EH? WUZZUH?
WINDOM:
MAY – I – COME – IN!?
Mertz's face wrinkles in a grin, and he begins nodding up and down in understanding. He slowly bends over, every timeworn joint creaking from the strain, and rifles through the drawers behind the front counter. Windom stands there, patiently, looking down at the old man and raising his eyebrows as he wonders what on Earth he could be excavating for. As he waits, Windom throws another glance towards the distracting guttural snores emanating from the Old Waiter that sleeps in the corner, spluttering fountains of drool down his chin.
Mertz slowly makes his way back to a standing position, clicking and clacking as he rises, and brings his hand up to Windom's eye level, showing the precious item that he had previously been rummaging around for. In his hand is an open tin of ancient, decomposing sardines.
WINDOM:
NO! NO! THANK – YOU – NO!
Windom shakes his hands, trying to indicate to the man that he is not interested.
WINDOM:
NOT – "FISH"! I – SAID "I – WANT – TO – COME – INSIDE"!
Mertz dips his fingers into the tin and pulls out a piece of rotting fish, reaching out as if he is attempting to feed it to Windom by hand. Not interested in wasting any more time trying, in vain, to establish communication with the antiquated owner of the museum, Windom spots a collection box labeled "Donations". He digs around in his pocket and drops a few bills inside.
WINDOM:
OKAY! THANK YOU! I'M – GOING – IN – NOW!
His face contorting in delayed perplexity, Mertz initiates the lengthy process of replacing the tin of fish back to where he had retrieved it from. Windom leaves him behind, trying to forget the time-wasting encounter and examine the exhibitions on display with vested curiosity.
Windom has only a vague idea of what he might be searching for. He looks every direction with an eye for detail, but he halts in his tracks as he rounds a corner and encounters a particularly ugly wooden carving of a Capuchin Monkey. The unsettling likeness is carved from Birch, and appears to be of Blackfoot origin. Something about it gives him an odd feeling. Almost as if he recognizes the Monkey from somewhere. Maybe it is the eyes… he notices that they have no pupils. Windom feels slightly nauseous, just from having seen it.
Windom turns his attention to the pictures up on the wall, daring to leave his back exposed to the feral Monkey carving, and investigates a portrait depicting a grand, regal theater of white. ATTICUS TREMAYNE [Patrick McGoohan] walks up behind him and offers an explanation. Atticus is an Englishman who carries a bloated air of self-importance and speaks in a crisp, booming voice with perfect intonation. He walks with a Victorian-era cane with brass handle, and his fashion sense is impeccable; he wears a red-and-white striped scarf wrapped around his vented black waistcoat with wide white lapels. His hands are tastefully fitted in white gloves, and spats adorn his shoes.
TREMAYNE:
Marvellous, isn't it? The Old Opera House. Built in 1882, a design loosely based on the architecture of Robert Smirke, it was one of the largest opera houses in the state. Sarah Bernhardt, the Divine One herself, inaugurated its first performance. Ah, yes, it was quite the pride of Twin Peaks' high society, until it was tragically destroyed in a fire in 1896. Crying shame. Still… a beauty in its day, what?
Atticus gestures to a picture of another opera house nearby on the wall.
TREMAYNE:
The New Opera House was built in 1916 and stands to this day. Certainly an inferior design. American, you know.
Atticus pompously chuckles to himself. Windom does not join in the laughter, though this does not seem to deter or even register to his ingratiating host.
TREMAYNE:
Is it the theatre you're an appreciator of, or is it architecture, Mr…?
WINDOM:
Earle. Windom Earle. I try my best to verse myself in all manner of esoterica. And, who might you be, sir?
The two gentlemen shake hands.
TREMAYNE:
Tremayne. Atticus Tremayne. Pleasure. I assist the museum with tours on weekends. I trust you've already met the proprietor, Mr. Mertz?
Windom glances back towards the old man, who is holding the Electrical cord of his table lamp and dipping the end into a cup of coffee.
TREMAYNE:
It's just a spot of fun on the side, really. Elsa Eisenbuch runs the tours on weekdays, though she doesn't speak any English…
Atticus chuckles with himself once more, and then exhales a sigh.
TREMAYNE:
Fascinating city, this Twin Peaks. Despite being buried out here in the rugged terrain of the far West, it manages to maintain a certain elegance all of its own. Why, just look here…
Atticus draws Windom's attention to a picture of a large, white Grange Hall building.
TREMAYNE:
The Grange. Built in 1904, it was quite truly the grandest edifice ever to grace this town. For half a century the Patrons of Husbandry gathered inside, sharing space with the Sheriff's office and the Chamber of Commerce. Quite a crowded establishment in its prime. President Truman, himself, paid a visit in 1948 and spoke on the front steps. Regrettably, in 1953, the building burnt to the ground.
Atticus' measured tone trails off, and his stare goes distant as he reminisces forlornly…
TREMAYNE:
A roaring inferno of smoke and flame consumed every last marble tile and steel beam, leaving naught but ash in its wake… and in the middle of a snowstorm, no less… They determined that arson was the cause, but no one was ever convicted…
Tremayne's face becomes strange, plagued by private pains, and he can almost see the flames in his glossy eyes.
TREMAYNE:
Many people lost loved ones that night… I'm afraid our little town of Twin Peaks has quite a reputation for fires… Often ones that spring up from out of nowhere…
Tremayne shakes his head and snaps out of his momentary malaise, his tone finally returning to pleasant, if patronizing.
TREMAYNE:
So, what brought you into the museum today? Sheer whimsy?
Windom responds pleasantly, but guarded.
WINDOM:
Partially. Myself and a couple colleagues are just passing through on a business venture. The work we do primarily appeals to spiritual communities, and I was curious as to the religious make-up of this town.
Atticus walks while he talks, leading Windom along.
TREMAYNE:
Ah, I see. Well, Twin Peaks actually has itself quite a diverse religious secularisation. While the Caucasian populace is predominantly Christian, naturally, many Native American residents regularly practice their indigenous tribal religions, the most prominent of these being the Blackfoots. Take a look at this rather disturbing example of Blackfoot carpentry. Quite wondrous, is it not? What do you make of it?
In the corner of the room is an ominous rendering of a moose. It is over ten feet tall and carved entirely out of White Birch. Windom's heartbeat quickens as he beholds the demonic rendering. It appears, to Windom's puzzlement, that a great deal of time was dedicated to detailing that the moose is skinless. Veins, muscles, and organs are all sculpted intricately on the beast's outer layer. Windom musters the courage to look into its eyes. Despite the fact that they are lifeless blocks of wood, he makes out sadness, lonesomeness and sorrow in its melancholy stare.
TREMAYNE:
The White Moose. A persistent character in local folklore, the mysterious and sacred White Moose has been described in detail by tribes and early settlers alike. Legend has it that, occasionally, on a Moonlit night, out on a craggy hillock in Ghostwood Forest where an 85 foot Ponderosa Pine stands, the iridescent spectre of a white, skinless moose will appear to those with troubled minds…
Windom enquiers further, losing himself in the moose's somber stare.
WINDOM:
What does it want? Ahhh… According to legend, that is.
Tremayne's well rehearsed speech has grown deliberately ominous…
TREMAYNE:
None can say for certain… Though the area where it's been sighted was the scene of the grisly Moose Massacre of 1787, where several dozen trappers herded more than fifty moose into the marsh flats and exterminated them one by one, scalping the hides and antlers, and leaving the remains for vultures and rot. Indeed, settlers insisted that the unmistakable stench of death wafted over the valley for years to come. There are some that say the White Moose, drained of the blood of its brothers and sisters, appears to those in trouble because it understands sorrow and despair. But there are others, still, who claim that the White Moose appears out of rage and an insane lust for revenge, looking for those to blame for the wholesale extermination of its kin, and pity the poor fool who meets it alone on a dark night…
Tremayne returns to his normal speaking voice.
TREMAYNE:
All I know for certain is that it's one ugly bugger, and no mistake.
Letting the strange and unnecessary diversion rest in silence for a beat, Windom speaks up, hoping to persuade Atticus to lead him in the direction of his investigation.
WINDOM:
Actually, if I may be more specific… I was rather curious whether there was much of an occult presence in Twin Peaks?
TREMAYNE:
Cults, eh? In fact, there is a small local religion who call themselves the Circulars. Though I must admit, I am wholly unfamiliar with their beliefs. They largely keep to themselves.
WINDOM:
Do they have a Lodge here in town?
At the word "Lodge", the Old Waiter in the corner wakes up, slurping up his drool.
TREMAYNE:
Yes, they do. I can get you the address, if you'd like.
WINDOM:
That would be extremely helpful, thank you.
TREMAYNE:
Not at all. Just one moment…
Atticus excuses himself and marches towards the front counter to write down the address. Mertz is on his hands and knees, trying to plug the table lamp cord, dripping wet with freshly dipped coffee, into the hazardous Electrical wall socket. Without even looking, Tremayne pulls the cord out of the feeble old man's hands, absentmindedly saving him from instant death by Electrocution. Befuddled, Mertz grumbles as he struggles to stand back upright.
Rising from his stool in the corner, the Old Waiter steps forward and meanders shakily over to Windom. His wrinkly face composes a goofy smile, and he speaks in a dull but perky voice.
OLD WAITER:
I've heard about you…
Windom does his best to be cheerful and tolerant of the insane man.
WINDOM:
Oh, you have, have you? And, what have you heard, prey tell? Nothing bad I hope.
OLD WAITER:
I've heard about you…
WINDOM:
Yes, we've established that. Anything you'd care to elaborate on…?
OLD WAITER:
There's two of you…
WINDOM:
Two of me? Oh, dear. Best not tell my mother. I'm certain she found one of me difficult enough to handle.
OLD WAITER:
I can see that there is two of you… But, we only need one…
The Old Waiter smiles and gives Windom a thumbs up. Windom gestures back. Satisfied with their exchange, the Old Waiter waddles back to the corner as Tremayne returns.
WINDOM:
What engaging elderly folks you have around these parts…
TREMAYNE:
Hmm? Oh. Yes, indeed. They're an absolute hoot.
Atticus' declaration drips with sarcasm. He hands Windom a piece of paper.
TREMAYNE:
Here is the address. I've no idea what their hours might be like. Do be careful, though. These Circular chaps are a bit… "iffy".
WINDOM:
"Iffy"?
TREMAYNE:
Yes…
Atticus leans forward and whispers…
TREMAYNE:
"Iffy"…
Windom gestures a thanks and excuses himself out the front door, examining the excellent penmanship on the note. As Atticus watches him leave, the Old Waiter pipes up from the corner.
OLD WAITER:
I've heard about him…
TREMAYNE:
Oh, do shut up!
67. EXT. HIGHWAY J – DAY
Garland Briggs is walking along Highway J, a lonely stretch that leads into the off-skirts of Ghostwood National Forest. Light drizzle falls from the gray clouds and dampens the asphalt. Garland is suited in an overcoat, wrapped around his blue pilot uniform, which offers no facial protection from the wet, and his strawberry hair begins to slick. Mountains surround him on either side, and no one has passed him along this road going either direction. He strains to keep his spirits up, whistling a chipper tune, but something about the dense treeline nags at the corner of his consciousness. Garland senses that the road itself is relatively safe, but if the outer barrier of forest were to be breached, there would be no telling what dangers would await him within…
A lone chickadee perches in a nest high atop a towering Pine tree. The black-capped bird appears to have labored tirelessly, constructing its nest all on its own, but Garland notices it looks particularly lonesome without a mate. He reflects on how difficult such a life of toil must be for a creature to go through alone…
Glancing upwards as he walks, Garland fails to notice a small decline in the side of the road, and momentarily loses his balance, stumbling into the trench. Regaining his momentum in time to prevent himself from falling into the mud, Garland examines the ditch more closely. A short ways into the woods, jutting off from the decline, is a small natural underpass made of rocks that leads into an underground passage. Garland gives a final glance at the long-stretching road ahead, which ends in a cul-de-sac about a mile away, and decides to investigate.
68. INT. UNDERGROUND PASSAGE – DAY
Garland trudges cautiously through the cramped underground passage, crouching to avoid bumping his head against the low ceiling. There is not much dirt in the passage, but all around him is a circumscribed tunnel of craggy rock. The sound of dripping water echos in the musty, confined space. Though the pathway seems too specifically bored to be natural, if it was man-made, it must have been constructed a very, very long time ago, possibly before European settlers.
Garland notices a small alcove in the rock to his right, which seems to have been used as some form of ceremony. Within the nook is a sizable pile of ash, a cracked, scummy mirror, and a crinkled scrap of paper. The ritualistic items look as though they've been left untouched for years, long since forgotten by whomever had discarded them. Garland examines the crumpled note, smoothing it out and wiping the dust off. It has a message written out in human blood…
FIRE WALK WITH ME
Disturbed by this phrase, but baffled as to its meaning, Garland Briggs tucks the paper into his inside jacket pocket and continues forward. Far ahead of him, he can see natural light seeping into the tunnel.
69. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – DAY
Garland Briggs pulls himself out of the underground cavern, brushing the dirt off of the overcoat which protects his pristine, blue flight suit. He has resurfaced somewhere within the Ghostwood National Forest. Tall Douglas Fir trees tower over him, and the ambiance of light rain trickles through their countless Pine needles. Off through the clearing to his left is an open expanse, and he can see an impressive mountain pass far off in the distance.
A faraway noise abducts Garland's attention into the undergrowth. It is a discordant, griding monotony. He hears it repeat every few seconds, the sound racing through the woods, being split by the trees. Garland's hair stands up on the back of his neck and shivers seize the length of his spine. Compelled against his will to follow this sound and determine its source, Garland launches himself into the forest. His eyes partially closed, he follows his ears through the rough and loses himself between the trees as he hones in on the reverberant slicing…
Garland rounds a corner and finds Heinrich Lanterman. The bearded woodsman stands beside a giant fallen log, which is suspended above the ground via two wooden constructs. He scrupulously saws through the center of the lumber, back and forth, back and forth. This is the origin of the hellish sound. Briggs, shaking his head from the strange feeling the sound had given him, shouts a friendly salutation.
BRIGGS:
Good day, there!
Heinrich ceases his sawing and throws up a hand in a lackluster salutation.
HEINRICH:
Good day, yourself.
Briggs stands his ground, remaining back a ways, and maintaining eye contact with a disarming smile. Realizing that conversation is unavoidable, Heinrich is not willing to halt his work and waste valuable time, but instead moves on to the far quieter process of loading up his previously cut wood, which litters the forest floor.
BRIGGS:
My name is Garland.
Though he is polite, the woodsman offers no warmth to the stranger, nor does he lesson the speed of his work. His accent is thick and without warmth.
HEINRICH:
Mine's Heinrich.
Garland looks at the woodwork and nods in admiration of another's profession.
BRIGGS:
Magnificent craft, lumber. Such a taxing field of work, and yet it must offer you ample peace of mind…
HEINRICH:
Always nice to hear an appreciative voice. Ever been in lumber, yourself?
BRIGGS:
No, no. Merely voicing my observations. Are you an immigrant, by any chance, Heinrich?
HEINRICH:
I come from Iceland, yes.
BRIGGS:
May I ask what brought you all the way from Iceland to Twin Peaks? Not the wood, surely?
HEINRICH:
Wood is a beautiful thing, sir. It has a life all of its own, and it has much to say within its many circles. But, no, it was not just the wood… Love is what brought me here.
BRIGGS:
Ah, love. Man's most powerful motivator.
HEINRICH:
Very true, my friend. And, even though I live amongst the trees, far away from bustle of city life, I can still tell that you are not a local. What is it that brings you here?
BRIGGS:
Curiosity.
HEINRICH:
Curiosity is just as powerful a motivator as love… but it seldom ends well.
BRIGGS:
If experience has taught me anything, neither does love.
HEINRICH:
Then you have not experienced true love. My condolences.
BRIGGS:
You may be right, at that…
Garland chuckles in good nature, and then pursues a more pertinent line of questioning.
BRIGGS:
Good sir. I'm looking for the Pearl Lakes. I saw a mountain pass through the clearing. Am I on the right trail?
HEINRICH:
That's right. It's not an easy walk, but you can reach them on foot from here.
Heinrich points.
HEINRICH:
Just head North. There's only one way through the pass. There's not much of a trail, but you'll manage.
BRIGGS:
Many thanks.
Despite having received his directions, Garland remains standing for a moment, watching the woodsman.
BRIGGS:
Do your shifts often extend to the evenings?
Heinrich, interested in ending this line of inquiry as soon as possible, faces the government Agent and addresses him pointedly.
HEINRICH:
Is there something you'd like to ask me, Mr. Garland?
Called out for his intentions, Garland decides to face up to it.
BRIGGS:
Living out here in these woods, did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary last night?
Heinrich breaks from his work and hesitates for an unnaturally long period of time…
HEINRICH:
No. I did not.
BRIGGS:
Are you certain?
HEINRICH:
I'm sorry, my friend, but I have nothing to tell you.
Heinrich's delivery implies that it is his final say on the matter. Garland contemplates, but realizes that there is no way he can force the issue.
BRIGGS:
Fair enough. Thank you very much for your time, Heinrich.
As Garland watches Heinrich continue to load up wood, a mysterious OLD HAG wanders up to them from out of the brush, steadying her limp with a crooked walking cane. The fretted woman is dressed in dirty, ashy rags and her face is sooty and blackened. Around her neck hangs a small Christian cross made from gold. She holds a wet piece of cloth against her right eye.
BRIGGS:
Ma'am? Are you alright? Is there something I can help you with?
The Old Hag does not speak, only fixating on Heinrich with a manic, hysterical glare. The woodsman tries to avoid her gaze and concentrate on his work. After enduring several uneasy moments of her goggling, Garland is left puzzled as she turns around and slowly limps back into the forest without a word. Heinrich sighs and mutters something to himself…
HEINRICH:
Ást er þess virði að deyja fyrir…
BRIGGS:
I beg your pardon?
Heinrich wields his massive saw and resumes his incessant slicing, offering no explanation. Unable to further bare the sound, Garland heads off towards the lakes to continue his investigation. Heinrich tries to bury his feelings, but the Old Hag's appearance has deeply upset him. A solitary tear slides down his cheek before it is absorbed into his beard.
70. EXT. CALHOUN HOSPITAL – DAY
A white 1964 Opel Kadett pulls into the parking lot of Calhoun Memorial Hospital, a surprisingly high-tech and well-staffed medical facility for a town with such a small populace. BETTY TURNER [Charlotte Stewart] remains in the driver's seat after stopping the car. She is a young woman with perfectly straight blonde bangs which run parallel above her gorgeous, wide eyes. She wears a formal dress of light blue and pristine white satin gloves.
Her hands remain clasped around the steering wheel, and her weary eyes stare ahead, unblinking. She undoes her seat-belt and clutches for a brown paper bag she had stashed in her glove compartment. She opens the sack to check on its contents: eight bottles of sleeping pills and a large bottle of water. She considers her options…
Betty steps outside and slams the car door shut. The young woman anxiously stares off against the hospital entrance. Passing through those doors fills her heart with nothing less than a debilitating fear.
71. INT. CALHOUN HOSPITAL, CANCER WARD – DAY
A YOUNG NURSE is speaking to Betty, prepping her for the encounter about to take place.
YOUNG NURSE:
Please wait outside while Dr. Gire prepares her to see you.
BETTY:
Prepares her…?
As Betty peers into the hospital room, all she can see are the red curtains which surround the bed and two silhouettes within. Pumps churn, gears grind and monitors bleep. She feels the artificial life closing in on her. Claustrophobic panic rushes through her adrenaline, and Betty grips the veins in her neck as a reflexive action, as if she could slow her own heart rate by squeezing hard enough. DR. GIRE emerges from the red curtains and gently approaches Betty.
DR. GIRE:
Hello, Ms. Turner.
BETTY:
Hello, Dr. Gire. How is she?
DR. GIRE:
She's fighting hard. It's very important that your mother doesn't try to move. She's quite weak, and she's lost a lot of blood. It would be extremely painful for her. Sit close. You do the talking and the moving. She knows you're here. She became very emotional. I don't think she likes the idea of you seeing her like this.
Betty nods, keeping her face straight and trying not to betray the panic taking rise inside. The nurse pulls back the red curtain and addresses the patient in an overly supportive voice.
NURSE:
Mrs. Turner! Your daughter is here to visit you!
Betty sees MRS. TURNER… or, the poor creature that used to be her mother. Her hair has fallen out, her body is withered and frail, her skin is sallow and her eyes are glossy. Machinery is hooked into the hole of recently extracted cancerous material in her neck, pumping air inside and regulating her breathing and blood flow. Her voice is shot and she can scarcely even emit words, groaning pitifully as her lips move. Betty puts on as strong a face as she can maintain.
BETTY:
Hey, momma…
Mrs. Turner chokes on her words as she fails to speak. Betty's eyes tear up in hopelessness.
72. EXT. CIRCULAR LODGE – DAY
The passing bout of rain has died down and Windom has reached the address given to him on his note. The nondescript house of worship is nestled inconspicuously between Sunny's Dry Cleaners and Jezebel's Jam Jamboree, which sells homemade jam. Instead of a name, the building's only distinguishing marking is a small sign above the closed door with the Circular symbol engraved upon it: a thin, green circle. There is no indication of business hours, or even an invitation that business is conducted inside. Windom knocks on the door. Hearing no answer, he tries the knob. The door is unlocked, so he lets himself in.
73. INT. CIRCULAR LODGE, WAITING ROOM – DAY
Inside, Windom finds himself alone in a small, uninviting waiting room without any furniture upon which to sit. A securely barred door prevents access to the back chambers. On the side wall is a small information window barricaded with iron bars that is currently unmanned. A tiny call bell is set on the ledge jutting out from the bars, which Windom promptly dings. He hears padlocks being unchained and slots unfastened until, finally, a Circular monk makes his way to the window.
The man is ARCHIBALD BATTIS [Pruitt Taylor Vince], a heavyset Circular who wears a dark brown wool robe and hood. His pupils dart involuntarily from side to side constantly as he speaks, the effects of a congenital disorder. Archibald treats Windom's presence as an intrusion, as if receiving visitors were something unexpected and undesirable.
BATTIS:
Is there something I can do for you?
WINDOM:
Actually, I was hoping you wouldn't mind taking a few moments to teach me about your religion.
Battis looks him over, and quickly decides against it.
BATTIS:
That's not possible. Sorry. Close the door behind you.
WINDOM:
Please, sir. I've come an awful long way to seek you out.
BATTIS:
Then, you'd better get a move on, seeing how long a trip you've got…
As Battis is closing the door, Windom desperately tries to think of something to say in order to stop him.
WINDOM:
I'm looking for the Black Lodge!
The door halts mid-close. Battis retreats backwards into the information booth, his face suddenly sagging in wonder. He pauses, studying Windom scrupulously, then asks…
BATTIS:
… Are you a Dugpa?
Windom has only a split-second to decide how to respond. He commits to risk playing along.
WINDOM:
Yes.
Battis' expression of perturbation metamorphosizes into curiosity. He invites Windom inside through the back door.
74. INT. CIRCULAR LODGE, INNER CHAMBER – DAY
The inner chamber of the Circular Lodge resembles a medieval European throne-room. The floor is an uneven cobblestone tiling, colorful hand-woven banners of family crests line the walls, and kegs of house-brewed ale take up much of the floorspace. The chamber is illuminated by a golden chandelier which hangs from the ceiling, holding hundreds of flaming wax candles. A running motif of stuffed elk heads mount the walls of the room, the total counting seven. Of curious note to Windom, as he is led inside, is the enormous black cooking cauldron which rests in the corner. It is so large, a person could easily fit inside.
Two sentries stand side-by-side, guarding a massive Mahogany doorway which leads to a mysterious back room. Both men are nearly seven feet tall, tightly fitted robes outlining the contours of their muscles. Their hoods are pulled up, and their faces hidden behind gray masks resembling skulls, which offer no eye holes. Attached to the sheaths at their waists are lengthy sabers that look capable of serious damage. Neither guard flinches from their alert positions, and it is hardly even detectable that they are breathing.
Windom chuckles at the stoicism of the sentries, making an offhand comment to Battis as they pass by.
WINDOM:
Well disciplined guards you have. How do they see through those masks?
Battis chuckles oddly at this. Then, he invites Windom to join him at a perfectly circular Oak table. A tankard of house-brewed ale rests before Battis, which he helps himself to. The surly monk does not offer any to Windom.
BATTIS:
Alright, then… Who are you, and what are you doing in Twin Peaks?
Windom heightens all of his concentration to feign confidence. He speaks vaguely, but conveys an inner clarity.
WINDOM:
I am on a path to discovery. I was lost for awhile, but I've been given a new direction. I cannot question it… I can only follow it. And that direction points me toward Twin Peaks.
Battis nods, using the maroon sleeve of his cloak to wipe the residue of the ale's foamy head from his upper lip.
BATTIS:
What is it you're searching for?
WINDOM:
If my guess is right… the same as you.
Windom leans forward.
WINDOM:
I know that they're here. And, I intend to make contact.
Battis looks Windom up and down, scrutinizing him up for any inconsistencies or flinches. This is made all the more nerve-wracking due to his pupils' constant darting from side-to-side.
BATTIS:
And how, exactly, do you intend on doing that?
WINDOM:
Because something is going to happen tonight, isn't it?
BATTIS:
You know that the portal is open, then?
Battis' barriers have already begun to be broken down, and he accidentally feeds Windom some of the information he'd been searching for.
WINDOM:
Naturally.
Windom displays a masterful poker face, and does not give away the fact that this stranger has inadvertently corroborated the theories that he's clung to, without evidence, for years.
BATTIS:
How did you find out?
Windom cautiously decides to not to reveal the absolute truth, and not mention his connections with government level radio wave equipment.
WINDOM:
I was given a message.
BATTIS:
In fire?
Windom nods.
WINDOM:
What was your source?
BATTIS:
We have an "inside man".
Battis grins at this, an ulterior meaning clearly supposed to have been understood.
WINDOM:
What are you doing tonight to prepare?
Battis enigmatically taps the side of his nose.
BATTIS:
A Magician doesn't reveal his secrets, now does he?
WINDOM:
Of course not. Of course not. My apologies. So, tell me, Brother… How far-reaching does the history of your Circular Lodge go?
BATTIS:
Well, we aren't descended from the ancient Tibetan Dugpas, if that's what you mean. But we've stolen a lot of their ideas. Our Brotherhood dates back a few hundred years. How about your clan? What are you called?
Windom thinks quickly…
WINDOM:
Oroborous.
BATTIS:
Where are you based?
WINDOM:
Buenos Aires.
Windom's gamble pays off, and Battis exhibits convinced interest.
BATTIS:
Really? I'd heard there was a portal down there…
WINDOM:
The rumours are true.
The two men share a laugh together, the feelings of mirth entirely fabricated on Windom's part.
WINDOM:
Now, refresh my memory… how many portals are there supposed to be in total? I'm afraid I am hopeless with numbers.
BATTIS:
It's believed that there are seven portals in this world. We'll never be sure, though. Those that know their location tend to keep them a secret.
Battis suddenly loses all traces of warmth and grows deadly.
BATTIS:
Which makes me wonder… Why are you up here? And, why are you sharing so much with me?
Moving for the first time since he'd entered, the two masked sentries unsheathe their sabers in perfect unison, stepping forward and wielding them towards Earle. Gulping loudly, Windom realizes he may have gotten in over his head. Battis leans closely and whispers, damningly…
BATTIS:
Bob has nothing to offer you.
Stuttering, Windom struggles to maintain his fortitude.
WINDOM:
P-please… d-don't misunderstand me… I have no intention of honing in on your territory… It's just that…
Thinking quickly, Windom concocts a story…
WINDOM:
Alright… You've got me. I'll admit it… I came to you begging for help.
BATTIS:
Begging? Begging for what?
WINDOM:
I have an "inside man" as well. Only, I don't trust him… I think he might be planning on double-crossing me. The reason I came all the way up here to find you… I was hoping for any advice you might have to offer, based on the dealings you've made with your "inside man". If you can help me out, then, soon as we finish, I'll vacate this town and ne'er return. You have my word.
Battis eyes him up and down (as well as side-to-side), then erupts in boisterous laughter. Windom, sensing that the momentary danger has passed, laughs along with the cue.
BATTIS:
You're a funny one, I'll give you that. You and I both know that the word of a Dugpa isn't worth a Goddamn thing!
His expression grows serious once again, but is no longer threatening. Windom notices that the sentries have returned to their previous neutral positions.
BATTIS:
Okay. Because you're good for a laugh, I'll give you my two cents' worth of advice. But, then I want you the hell out of Twin Peaks, is that understood?
WINDOM:
Inescapably. And, thank you.
BATTIS:
Right. The key to dealing with a wondering spirit is to always be forceful, even aggressive in its presence. Never show it any weaknesses, and never show it any fear. Remember, a vessel must choose to lend itself to possession, or be duped into it. It has to forfeit dominance over its own body. So, be an alpha male. But, keep your cool, too.
Windom's nods of understanding become less convincing with each compounding and conflicting piece of advice. Battis shrugs and offers…
BATTIS:
Anyway, if that should fail, there's a narcotic called haloperidol that wards the beings out of your system. But, it's difficult to come by.
WINDOM:
Haloperidol?
BATTIS:
That's right. You keep that stuff running though your bloodstream and your body will be a fortress they can't penetrate. Watch out, though. The stuff's damn-well addictive. I should know…
Battis rolls up his sleeve, evidencing dozens of swollen needle piercings. Windom winces.
WINDOM:
I'll be cautious.
BATTIS:
Of course, the best way to deter these bastards from coming after you is to keep throwing warm bodies their way. A dog's not going to bite the hand that feeds it… Have you heard of a drug called Anadenanthera Colubrina, more commonly known as "Vilca"?
Windom is at a loss.
WINDOM:
I can't say that I have…
BATTIS:
It should be easy for you to get a hold of. It's from South America. We just discovered that this stuff makes victims particularly susceptible to possession. It breaks down their barriers and blurs their reasoning powers. Only the strongest willed can stand up to it. Another side effect… it escalates the victim's emotional responses to fear and pain, tenfold.
Battis' expression suddenly becomes ghoulishly gleeful.
BATTIS:
Our "inside man"… he prefers the younger girls, right? Usually age seventeen to about… oh… twelve.
Windom jolts.
BATTIS:
Sometimes he asks us for a girl, or he picks one out, and I try to help set the two of them up. Usually out-of-towners, so as to avoid suspicion. I get them to drink some of this Vilca stuff. You know, slip it into their milkshake…
Windom has no other choice but to play it cool, but inside, his stomach is churning and his anger is flaring. We go close in on Battis' mouth, forced to endure every detestable syllable pronounced by his oily lips.
BATTIS:
This one girl… she was a tenor in her school choir... We had to soundproof the room, the screams were so loud. After Bob had his way with her... her vocal cords had burst right in her own throat.
Specks of saliva rocket out of Battis' mouth at the word "burst" and shower through the air.
BATTIS:
Best performance she ever gave.
Battis smiles with perverse revelry and callously chuckles. Windom tries to find his own voice, but his response is little more than a squeak.
WINDOM:
I'll have to give that stuff a try…
BATTIS:
Yeah… Alright, well, you've gotten your two cents' worth. Now I think it's time for you to leave…
WINDOM:
Certainly. You've been most gracious.
Windom rises from his seat as Battis leads him out. He eyes the sentries as he passes by them once more, his heart fluttering, hoping they will remain motionless. Their hearing evidently well-attuned, their eyes follow him, even though the are blinded behind the ghoulish skull masks.
75. INT. CIRCULAR LODGE, WAITING ROOM – DAY
Windom is ushered back out to the unwelcoming waiting room. Battis remains in the doorway, offering a final word.
BATTIS:
One more piece of "advice" for you. Be out of Twin Peaks by nightfall… or you're a dead man.
The door to the inner chamber is slammed in Windom's face and locked, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his newly acquired knowledge, and a persistent shaking in his legs as he reflects on how closely he may have just come to death.
76. EXT. SPARKWOOD HIGHWAY – DAY
Garland Briggs wanders from out of the thicket of Ghostwood National Forest and back out towards a stretch of the Sparkwood Highway that heads back into town. His hours of scouring the Pearl Lakes area has turned up nothing of any consequence. The sky is beginning to grow dark, beckoning the coming nightfall.
Briggs trudges up a small grassy incline to the cement highway. As he tops the ridge, he notices a white Opel Kadett is pulled off onto the shoulder. The rear left-hand wheel has burst and gone flat, and a beautiful blonde woman stands beside the vehicle, cursing to herself. It is Betty Turner, and at this moment she is hopelessly struggling to change her flat tire, her petite physique making this impossible. Her dainty hands are wrapped around a tire iron and she is awkwardly attempting to use applied pressure to loosen the wheel. Taking only a moment to assess the situation, Garland jogs across the road to assist.
BRIGGS:
Excuse me, ma'am! Let me give you a hand with that!
Not having heard him over her own grunting, Betty continues pulling against the tire iron, which is not being generous in conceding any leverage. Straining with all of her might, she loses her grip and stumbles backwards. Just before she lands in a filthy puddle of oily mud and soils her blue dress, Garland manages to grab her from behind and catch her fall. Betty yelps in surprise, and Garland gently lifts her back up into a standing position. She turns to thank the kind stranger.
BETTY:
Oh my God, thank you, mister…
Betty is unable to even finish her thought. She is taken completely off guard by how handsome this chivalrous gentleman is, who has just emerged from the forest. Likewise, Garland is unprepared for just how delicate and beautiful this woman is, who is stranded in the middle of the wet highway. They both loose themselves in each other's eyes, overcome by emotions they cannot define, having never felt them before. Garland stammers.
BRIGGS:
Mister… Mister… Oh dear. I'm dreadfully sorry, ma'am, but I seem to have forgotten my name…
BETTY:
Betty.
BRIGGS:
No, no… that's not it… It's marginally more masculine, as I recall…
Betty giggles, flattered to an extent that hitherto she has not been accustomed. She can barely form words through the involuntary smile her lips have taken.
BETTY:
No, that's my name! I'm Betty.
BRIGGS:
That's far more fitting. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Betty. As soon as I am able to recall my own name, I promise that I shall divulge it to you with haste. In the meantime, however, I can see that you have a tire which needs mending.
BETTY:
Yes! This has never happened to me before, but it just went out on me as I was driving. With the road being slippery and all, I'm glad I didn't end up in a wreck!
BRIGGS:
Most fortunate. And, you have a spare in the trunk?
BETTY:
Yes, luckily.
BRIGGS:
If you would permit me, I would be more than happy to replace it for you…
BETTY:
Would you, really? That would be very generous!
BRIGGS:
Not at all, ma'am… I see it as my duty.
Garland removes his overcoat, and Betty obligingly takes it from him and drapes it over her arm. He rolls up the sleeves of his pristine blue pilot's suit and takes the tire iron in a stalwart grip. With a few grunts, he pulls the flattened tire loose from its axle and rolls it towards the trunk. Betty watches his every movement with great interest and undeniable attraction.
BETTY:
Are you in the Marines?
Garland stops as he is opening the trunk and turns to her.
BETTY:
I noticed your uniform. I don't know much about the military…
BRIGGS:
I am not in the Marines, no. I'm a member of the United States Air Force. I'm a pilot.
BETTY:
A pilot…
Betty swoons, putting her oil blackened fingers to her cheek. Garland rolls the replacement wheel over to the naked iron and finishes replacing the tire. Once he tightens its bolts into place, he gives his work a proud pat.
BRIGGS:
There you are, ma'am. Good as new.
BETTY:
Thank you so much. I really couldn't have done it without your help.
An awkward moment passes as both strangers remain silently in the street, not in a hurry to part ways now that deed has been done. Despite how nervous she is to ask, Betty forwardly takes a chance, not wanting to part ways forever with the stranger. Her words come out hurried and slightly slurred, but she stumbles her way through them.
BETTY:
A-a-as a way of thanks… may… may I invite you to dinner?
Garland chuckles and breaks into a boyish grin as he retrieves his overcoat.
BRIGGS:
Garland. My name is Garland.
77. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT
Night has fallen and the woods have grown shadowy and secretive. Floating in the barren blackness of the night sky is a stunning full Moon, its hypnotic radiance cast widely across the wilderness. Heinrich Lanterman has buried his ax into a fallen tree of his own doing and rests his foot on its edge, taking a moment to wipe the rapidly accumulating sweat from his brow. A fluttering from above catches his attention. A flock of birds fly overhead, making haste to get out of the woods. Heinrich wonders to himself what they could be fleeing from…
78. EXT. WHITE TAIL FALLS – NIGHT
Running off of Meadowlark Hill, which is nestled directly between Blue Pine and White Tail Mountains, the majestic White Tail Falls pours gallons of crystal clear glacial water down its 600 foot drop. The Moonlight glistens off of the runoff as it drifts out towards Black Lake. To the left of the falls, built right over the edge of the precipice, the Great Northern Hotel, an aptly named magnificent estate constructed from glorious polished timber, is abeam with bright lights shining forth from a crowded dining hall.
79. INT. GREAT NORTHERN HOTEL, SMOKE ROOM – NIGHT
Rustic, yet elegant, the Smoke Room is the hotel's magnificent timber-themed dining hall. The walls and floor are constructed entirely from fine Oak, which glistens from regular polishing. Native American carvings and paintings grace the walls and animal heads adorn the rafters. There are dozens of tables, each seating couples and groups enjoying fine Northwestern cuisine.
A large banner along the entrance of the room declares: "The Great Northern Welcomes its Rodeo Clown Convention". Indeed, most tables in the room are occupied by men and women with garish face paint and striped clothing, some of whom are wearing barrels. They laugh and cheer together, occasionally emitting a "yeehaw" as they eat their meals.
The dining staff of the hotel are distinctly professional, dressed in matching red uniforms. On the stage, a Spanish opera singer is preparing to begin a live performance. The staggeringly gorgeous woman wears an ornate red dress, carefully ruffled patterns of auburn hair, and brandishes a perfectly placed beauty mark upon her cheek. To her accompaniment is an accordion player, wearing a black domino mask and a pencil-thin mustache.
In the corner of the room, one table of ornery circus clowns are causing a disturbance and shouting obscene pejoratives directed towards the rodeo population. The staff are doing their best to keep the peace between the two divisions of clowns.
Garland and Betty sit together at a table near the ceiling high, panoramic windows. Beyond them is a breathtaking view of the precipice the hotel was erected upon and the runoff of the falls flowing off into the horizon. On the table between them is a delectable spread of steak and lobster, complimented by cups of steaming hot black coffee. Garland takes his first sip, closing his eyes tightly and savoring the experience…
BRIGGS:
Bless my soul… if that Pete fellow wasn't guilty of even the faintest hyperbole. Without a doubt, this is the finest cup of coffee that has ever passed beyond this trachea.
Betty smiles and laughs with a bit of town pride.
BETTY:
We do love our coffee in Twin Peaks…
Garland clears his throat and speaks favorably of the community.
BRIGGS:
I have only been here for a few hours, now, and yet I find this quaint town to be resplendent in virtue and character. I believe I could grow to develop quite a fondness for it.
BETTY:
Where are you from, Mr. Briggs?
BRIGGS:
Utica. New York.
BETTY:
Oh. I've never been to the East Coast. In fact… I've never been much of anywhere.
BRIGGS:
And yet, you are so young. The opportunities for future travel are many.
Betty smiles, responding favorably to Garland's optimism. Behind them, the circus clowns have begun honking their horns in inflammatory unison, causing a deafening blare that distracts from the festivities of the rodeo clowns. The two clown factions begin shouting to one another in provocation.
A circus clown jumps up upon the table, mockingly waving a large red napkin around like a frilly bull fighter. One of the rodeo clowns rushes up to him and throws a punch. A fellow circus clown, sprinting to his aide, removes his oversized shoe and unleashes a barrage of downward pummels with the shovel-width footwear against the rodeo clown's face.
The waiters on hand approach to stop the outbreak, forcibly separating the enraged clowns, restraining them with their arms. Wearing a Tweed jacket, thick spectacles, and smoking a fat stogie, BENJAMIN HORNE, SR., the owner of the hotel, intrudes, shouting a plea for peace.
BENJAMIN HORNE, SR:
Please, please! There is no need for this mindless violence! We're all friends here! No matter what color make-up you wear on the outside… inside we are all brothers!
Garland and Betty ignore the commotion behind them, fully invested in their meal and their company. He takes a hearty bite of his steak, savoring every morsel as he grinds it into a consistency suitable for swallowing, and then elevates the conversation to a slightly more serious level.
BRIGGS:
I suppose I should give you fair warning sooner, rather than later. I am anticipating two associates of mine to meet me here at seven o'clock. And, while I am honored by your hospitality and greatly enjoying your company, I fear that I may have to break away at a moment's notice.
Betty nods, reluctantly understanding. She swallows her bite of lobster.
BETTY:
Business associates?
BRIGGS:
Regretfully so.
Betty tries her hand at some optimism of her own.
BETTY:
Well… I'll just enjoy what time of yours I can get, then.
Betty reaches across the table and touches Garland's hand. He smiles back at her.
BRIGGS:
You know… Though I initially came to Twin Peaks for business… it's entirely possible that I can return for pleasure.
Their two eyes meet, their mutual feelings clear. As they enjoy a few moments of silent emotional connection, Benjamin Horne, Sr., having momentarily curbed the warring clowns' commotion, approaches the couple with a smile. The community leader behind the thick spectacles ingratiates himself upon the duo, not minding that his cigar smoke wafts above their table.
BENJAMIN HORNE, SR:
And, how are you two doing? I trust you are enjoying your meals?
Garland breaks eye contact with the lady only long enough to acknowledge the presence of the friendly entrepreneur.
BRIGGS:
Exceptionally so. The cuisine is exquisite. And this coffee is "black nectar on high from Mount Olympus", to quote a splendid gentleman who's acquaintance I made earlier today.
Benjamin Horne smiles widely around his clenched stogie-gripping teeth, and his eyebrows raise. This compliment is far well-lettered than he is accustomed to.
BENJAMIN HORNE, SR:
Ah. Delighted to hear it. Will you be staying with us here, tonight?
Garland turns back to smile at Betty. She returns the smile, unable to prevent a touch of blushing.
BRIGGS:
It is quite possible.
Benjamin's eyebrows waggle, knowingly, as he looks at the pretty young lady.
BENJAMIN HORNE, SR:
Mmm. Wonderful. If there's anything else at all I can arrange for you, please don't hesitate to –
A winded HOTEL ASSISTANT sprints up to Benjamin and whispers anxiously into his ear.
HOTEL ASSISTANT:
Sir. Jerry stabbed one of the chefs and ran off with the stroganoff.
Benjamin grimaces, whispering damningly to the assistant.
BENJAMIN HORNE, SR:
I am gonna castrate that little whippersnapper…
Ben addresses the duo once more with a sweeping hand gesture as he makes his leave.
BENJAMIN HORNE, SR:
If you would excuse me… Family emergency.
With Benjamin's absence, Betty and Garland return their attention to one another. Garland takes a bite of his lobster, while Betty squints her eyes as she tries to wrap her mind around this exotic and mysterious stranger.
BETTY:
Garland… You fascinate me… Every word that comes out of your mouth is filled with such grandeur. You seem so content… I've never talked to anyone quite like you before…
BRIGGS:
Why, thank you, Betty.
BETTY:
What's your secret?
Garland clears his throat in flattery and dabs his lips with his cotton napkin as he prepares to explain himself.
BRIGGS:
There's no secrets at work, I assure you. I simply relish this life which the Good Lord has provided me with, and, equally so, this beautiful planet in which we inhabit. It seems to me as though we must appreciate its every facet, and voice that appreciation as often as possible, lest we be guilty of taking such splendor for granted.
Betty reassesses Garland in surprise.
BETTY:
You're a religious man, then?
BRIGGS:
Without reservation. Yourself?
Betty sighs as she uses her fork to twirl her mashed potatoes.
BETTY:
I'm not so sure… I used to be… But, recently, it seemed like He stopped listening, so… I guess I just stopped talking.
BRIGGS:
He is always listening.
BETTY:
But if that's true, then why doesn't He help us when we need Him most?
Garland remains confident, not allowing her doubt to cause him to question his convictions.
BRIGGS:
He does. Often, His help does not take a form which we can anticipate.
Betty gives him a sly look.
BETTY:
You mean, maybe He sent you?
Garland grins.
BRIGGS:
Perhaps.
Betty smiles at his answer. Then she shrugs and offers a reasonable counter argument.
BETTY:
So, if you think He will help you out of any mess you find yourself in, then why bother trying to figure things out for yourself? Why not just close your eyes and hope for the best?
Garland softly chuckles.
BRIGGS:
I'm afraid it doesn't work quite like that. He has granted us a certain amount of… independence, which turns out to be far more of a blessing than it is a curse. Life offers many challenges, some of them appearing to be quite cruel, but it is essential to push oneself through them. To do less would be an admission that life itself is not worth our effort. One day, far from now, when I have come to the end of my journey, the Lord will look back at me and ask whether or not I put forth sufficient effort to be deemed worthy of His infinite generosity. And, when that moment comes, I intend to be able to tell Him, with confidence and sincerity, that I did the best damn job that I could.
The opera song ends, and the non-clown patrons let out a round of applause. The coincidental timing gives the illusion that they are applauding Garland's speech. Betty nods for a moment and reflects on his words, coming to an internal realization. The opera singer and her accordion player leave the stage, and only a piano player remains. He begins working his ebony and ivory keys, filling the room with rich lounge music.
BETTY:
You're absolutely right… I need to stop being angry at Him and blaming Him for all the problems in my life. Even though I can't control the world outside, I'm the one in control of my own attitude.
Betty sighs.
BETTY:
It won't be easy, though…
BRIGGS:
Nothing worthwhile ever is.
Betty smiles at Garland, in admiration, appreciation, and attraction.
BETTY:
I'm so glad that I met you, Garland. I'm almost thankful that my tire burst… You've no idea the tough times I've fallen on lately, and… I just… I really needed to hear a voice like yours. And, even though we've only known each other for a few hours, the impression you've left on me has been unforgettable.
Betty looks down, fearful of rejection of the opinion she is about to voice.
BETTY:
I must admit, Mr. Briggs, that it would be a lot easier to take control of my life with a friend nearby, leading by example…
Garland smiles, and prepares to answer, but the words are lost in his throat when a scream breaks the air.
RODEO CLOWN:
FOREST FIRE!
A commotion has erupted, and the guests rapidly congregate towards the out-looking windows. One of the rodeo clowns stands frozen with his pointer finger extended towards the woodlands. A pillar of smoke rises up into the sky above the distant Ghostwood Forest. The wide, dark valley, previously illuminated only by Moonlight, is now awash in flickering orange. Garland jumps up from his table, his tone paramount.
BRIGGS:
I'm so sorry, Betty… but, I believe that this is what I came here for.
BETTY:
Will I see you, again?
Betty asks the question almost with desperation. Garland tenderly takes Betty's hand and kisses her knuckles.
BRIGGS:
I promise, I will find you.
Garland leaves the Timber Room with haste. Betty remains at her table, staring down at the unfinished plates…
80. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT
Heinrich Lanterman is loading logs onto his cart. The woodland that surrounds him are lit only by a flickering oil lantern which he has hanging from a nearby tree limb. Small moths flutter around the lantern and land upon its glass, their winged shadows being enlarged onto the ground as black, winged monsters. The cart of wood finally filled, Heinrich scratches his scraggly beard as he prepares to retire homeward after a hard day's work.
… Until he smells the smoke. Looking off into the distance, Heinrich sees a rapidly growing forest fire raging his way. The high-reaching flames lick wildly over the top of the treeline. The fire has already spread widely, leaving his routes of escape limited. Heinrich decides to head towards water, and sprints off in the direction of Pearl Lakes. His wagon of wood and his ax are left behind, along with the swinging oil lantern, abandoned to the inferno by their owner…
81. EXT. DRATLER'S DRUGS – NIGHT
We are looking into a small pharmacy from the street outside. Perfectly centered in the doorway is Windom Earle, who looks exhausted and still shaken from his recent exploits. He is speaking to an unseen PHARMACY EMPLOYEE who is hidden behind the counter. Windom grows irritated, but does his best to restrain his emotions.
WINDOM:
That's right. Haloperidol. Do you carry any?
PHARMACY EMPLOYEE:
Sir, I've never even heard of that.
WINDOM:
I believe it's an antipsychotic.
PHARMACY EMPLOYEE:
We would have to send away for something like that. We're just a small town pharmacy, sir.
Windom stiffens when he hears a Volunteer Fire Brigade truck careening past, its siren howling through the night air. He sprints outside, notices the acrid smoke spreading up into the clear sky, and instantly rushes off in pursuit of the red vehicle.
82. INT. LANTERMAN CABIN – NIGHT
Margaret Lanterman sits alone in her rocking chair beside the fireplace of her dark cabin. She slowly glides back and forth, her chair creaking with each swaying motion. She gazes up at the Log on her mantle, longing for her husband's return.
A flickering orange light casts its glow in from through the window. Instantly taking notice, Margaret rises from her chair and looks out the window to uncover the source of the light, although she's fearful that she already knows what it must be. To her utter horror, she beholds the massive forest fire off in the direction that Heinrich was working… Her hand plants itself over her mouth.
MARGARET:
The fire… My Heinrich… He needs me!
Margaret dashes out the door towards the spreading fire. As we look out through the open doorway, and we see her body shrinking off into the distance, we pull back further… until the Log on her mantel appears in the foreground… watching over her…
83. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT
Heinrich has covered a lot of ground, but finds the unstoppable inferno spreading towards him at an impossibly furious rate. The flames jump from one tree to another, deliberately following him as if they had sentience. Directly ahead, he can see a rapidly nearing open expanse, and the Pearl Lakes nestled beyond, the Moon glistening invitingly off of its ripping surface. Flaming trees pass him on either side as he chugs ahead through the smoke at full speed.
Suddenly, as if conjured from out of nowhere, a twenty foot tall wall of flame erupts from the forest floor and spreads up the treeline, blocking his path. It takes all of Heinrich's agility to stop in time, digging his boots into the dirt. He shields his face with his arms, the heat of the fire immediately searing against his tender face. As he steps backward, his boot heel suctions into a thick, murky goo.
Wincing from the glare of the spreading fire, Heinrich looks down to find the forest floor flooded with a mucilaginous black oil. It is the same mysterious oil that he found bubbling from the center of Glastonbury Grove. Pulling against the suction of his entrapped boot heel with all of his might offers no leverage. Heinrich is hopelessly stuck in the swelling, ankle-high mire, and boxed in from all directions by the encroaching inferno…
84. EXT. SPARKWOOD AND 21 – NIGHT
A four-way stoplight, suspended high in the air above street level by an Electrical cable, swings in the cool mountain breeze. It silently transitions from green to red. Garland Briggs has reached the crossroads which lead out of town into the forest. A crowd of chattering onlookers have gathered, much to the dismay of local authorities.
Twin Peaks PD have cordoned off the area, and off in the distance the Volunteer Fire Brigade are trying their best to extinguish the rapidly spreading blaze before it can enter the city limits. Garland admires the destruction from afar, the inferno hid behind trees and blanketed by acrid columns of smoke. Through the murmurs of the crowd, he discerns a familiar voice calling out to him…
WINDOM:
GARLAND!
Windom Earle jumps above the crowd, gravity playing havoc with his neatly combed hair, waving his arms to get Garland's attention. He proceeds to fight his way somewhat aggressively through the gawkers until he reaches his comrade, gripping him worriedly by the shoulder.
WINDOM:
Are you alright?
BRIGGS:
Yes, I'm fine. And, yourself?
Windom dusts off his overcoat and instinctively clutches his chest, practically checking to make sure that he's still there.
WINDOM:
I waded into some deep waters… almost got in over my head. I have so much to tell you! You won't believe what I've discovered…
Windom trails off, turning his head in every direction, scanning the area for someone that he's just thought of…
WINDOM:
Where's Paylen?
Briggs can only shrug.
BRIGGS:
I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since we first arrived.
Windom steps back and takes in the magnitude of the unholy disaster spreading before him.
WINDOM:
This fire… This is why we're here. Can't you sense it?
Garland doesn't have to answer. He simply nods.
WINDOM:
How are we going to get past the police barricade?
BRIGGS:
I found an underground cave, earlier, on the West end of town that can take us through to the forest. Follow me, and act nonchalant.
Windom discreetly nods, and follows his comrade. The two men prudently head away from the police blockade and off towards Highway J. From deep within the crowd, Dr. Ernold Paylen, who had been hiding from his colleagues' sight, watches them make haste towards town and cracks a gratified smile…
85. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT
Margaret Lanterman sprints along Pearl Lakes Road. The cluster of freshwater opals, which glimmer enchantingly in the Moonlight, offer tranquil serenity to the landscape. A few Summer homes are scattered around their circumferences, their lights currently doused for bed, unaware of the impending doom that is spreading their way.
Though Margaret is exhausted nearly to the point of fainting, she musters every remaining iota of energy and maintains her frenzied bound through the forest. As she rounds the corner past one of the lakes, she witnesses the gargantuan wall of fire towering before her, trees being eaten alive in its spread. The flaming boundary is so specific and straightly-aligned that it seems to defy physics. The traumatized young woman screams into the night for her husband.
MARGARET:
HEINRICH! Where are you!?
Just on the other side of the wall of flame, Heinrich is still trying to pull himself free from the oil, which has risen up to his shins. Sweat streaks down his face and into his beard as the fire inches ever closer. When the rugged lumberjack hears his beloved wife's voice, he responds.
HEINRICH:
MARGARET! I'M HERE!
Margaret approaches the wall of fire, but jumps back as the searing flames scald the palms of her hands. Narrowing her focus and adjusting the red-rimmed glasses that slide down her nose, she can just make out her struggling husband through the veiled blaze.
MARGARET:
You've got to get out of there! Try to find a way out! Keep running the other way!
HEINRICH:
I'm trying! But, I'm… I'm stuck!
MARGARET:
Stuck!? Stuck in what!?
Heinrich keeps pulling at his legs, but the oil will not give. In fact it almost seems to envelop him. The walls of flame swirl around him in sparks and spirals. As his situation becomes increasingly bleak, he looks at Margaret through the flames and focuses on her female form. He reaches out with his right hand towards her visage. His brave, manly voice quivers with fear and despair as he endeavors to say the most important sentence that he can, sensing that it is his last.
HEINRICH:
I love you…
As soon as Heinrich says this, his right hand begins shaking uncontrollably. He tries to steady it with his left, but it does no good. The convulsion invades so aggressively that his entire body is affected. After the spasm finally passes, Heinrich's eyes readjust, and he is utterly stricken to see the Gas Man looming before him.
The spectral figure stands among the flames. His constricting leather body suit shows the curves of his rib cage and his pelvis bones, which jut out from his malnourished frame. Not an inch of his skin is visible under his starkly black outfit. As he tilts his head back, Heinrich stares into the lenses of his gas mask, the flames of the forest fire stretching and contorting in the angled reflection. Heinrich cannot move. He is utterly petrified with fear. The Gas Man, who is not affected by the heat, glares at him without a word.
MARGARET:
Heinrich! Why are you just standing there!? Answer me!
Margaret screams desperately towards her husband, her voice breaking from the strain. Suddenly, she feels a sharp pain on her leg. She reaches down towards a burn mark on the underside of her knee. The shape of the scar, which she's bore since her childhood, resembles two mountains. As she rubs the mark in agony, it begins glowing red…
Heinrich cannot move or speak as he is faced with the inhuman figure, only able to tremor with sheer terror. As the raging fire comes closer, the Gas Man only stares. The oil loosens its hod on him, and Heinrich falls face first onto the sticky petroleum, shaking violently from a sudden seizure. Margaret drops to the forest floor and cries, desperately…
MARGARET:
Please, don't leave me. I can't live without you… I WON'T!
Garland Briggs and Windom Earle climb from out of the underground passage and find themselves awestruck by the awesome wall of fire. Noticing that Margaret is standing far too close to the flames, Garland immediately rushes towards her and pulls her to safety. Windom stares at the carefully orchestrated supernatural destruction, his hair blowing in the hot wind.
BRIGGS:
What are you doing here, ma'am!? It's not safe! We've got to get you out of here!
MARGARET:
I won't leave without my husband!
Jaw hanging open in aghast wonderment, Windom brazenly steps as close as he can towards the fire and peers through the flames. For an instant, he can see Heinrich laying on the ground, writhing in the gooey oil. But Windom's view is suddenly obscured by the Gas Man, who's reflective stare pierces at him through the veil of fire. Windom screams outwardly, jumps with fright, and scarpers away.
On the other side of the fire, Heinrich continues convulsing on the ground, beginning to foam at the mouth. One final tear slides from his eyelid down his cheek. We close in on the single salty tear and watch the water droplet fall to the ground where it is instantly evaporated. It is at this moment that Heinrich Lanterman dies.
The Gas Man steps up to Heinrich, leans over his body, and lifts the woodsman up as through he hardly weighed anything. From within his small cloak, he wields his red-hot branding iron and stamps "CARNUM" onto Heinrich's body. He throws the corpse into the flames, which engulf Heinrich instantly into incineration. Satisfied with his handiwork, the Gas Man then steps into the fire and vanishes…
In an impossible instant, the fire dies down to nothing, leaving a crispy, burnt-out expanse of woodland. It reveals no survivors, nor even bodies left in its wake. Margaret falls to the ground in silence, a broken and shattered woman. Garland kneels down tenderly beside her wraps his overcoat around her and gripping her shoulders, comforting her as best he can. Windom's jaw hangs open, and approaches the devastation, assured that he has seen many otherworldly things this night, but unable to make sense out of any of it.
Abruptly, from out of the darkness, a bright white light illuminates from through the trees. It is so blinding that Windom and Garland must both shield their eyes. From high upon the hill, standing silhouetted against the origin of the bright light, they make out a HOODED FIGURE emerging from the Threshold. Windom gasps…
WINDOM:
My God… It's one of them…
Windom steps toward the light, his arms held high, and screams at the figure.
WINDOM:
TAKE ME! I'M READY!
The Hooded Figure swoops towards Windom like a giant bird. Wanting to be claimed, Earle is mortified when it passes him by. The Hooded Figure glides towards Garland, who cries for help, and the light grows so bright that everything disappears into white…
BRIGGS:
WINDOM! WINDOM!
The light vanishes, and both Briggs and the Hooded Figure are gone without a trace. The woods are now dark and quiet. Not a bird stirs, nor a cricket chirps. Margaret buries her face in the dirt and sobs. Windom rises, hyperventilating, staring up the mountain where the light once was. He whispers to himself…
WINDOM:
I wasn't ready…
86. EXT. SPARKWOOD AND 21 – NIGHT
The fire has died, and all that is left is the lingering smoke which rises up to be absorbed into the atmosphere. The police are taking down their cordon, the crowd has mostly dispersed, and the sooty firefighters trudge back into town. Surprisingly, the disaster does not look as though it was severely detrimental to the landscape.
SHERIFF CARPENTER [Duwayne Dunham], wearing his green Twin Peaks PD uniform and 10-gallon cowboy hat, is standing at the blockade's edge, arms crossed and brow furrowed. His expression is turned upside down in surprise when, beyond the cordon, Windom Earle staggers out of the woods carrying a semi-conscious Margaret Lanterman around his shoulder. They are both haggard, weary, and stained with ash. Officers rush up to assist Windom and take Margaret away for medical attention.
CARPENTER:
My God! What were you two doing in there? Is she alright?
WINDOM:
I think she's fine, but her husband… didn't make it.
The Sheriff brushes the hair out of her face so he can get a look at her.
CARPENTER:
Oh, no… It's Margaret… Poor thing… We'll take her.
Two medics from the nearby ambulance approach wheeling a dolly. An officer takes Margaret from Windom's arms and carefully loads her to be transported.
CARPENTER:
You saw her husband die? You're sure?
WINDOM:
He went up in smoke…
The Sheriff removes his hat and shakes his head in remorse.
CARPENTER:
Damn shame… They were only married yesterday…
Windom stumbles towards the back of the ambulance, so weak that he practically falls inside. He sits on the edge of the loading area, prepared to allow the medics to check him for smoke inhalation after they have tended to Margaret.
Most of the citizens have headed home, but a few straggling onlookers remain. One of them is Betty Turner. The beautiful young woman, still wearing her splendid blue dress, searches around for any sign of Garland, but notices Windom, instead. Since she does not recognize him, and it is evident that he had been in the fire, she approaches him. Her eyes are hopeful.
BETTY:
Pardon me… Sir?
Windom looks up towards her voice, but his eyes focus beyond her, his mind still reeling…
BETTY:
I'm so sorry to bother you, but are you an associate of Garland Briggs? Only, I met him earlier today, and I just wanted to be sure that he was safe. He came out this way to investigate the fire…
Windom shakes his head in a tragic stupor, looking back down at the asphault.
WINDOM:
I'm very sorry, my dear… but Garland isn't with us anymore…
One of Betty's white satin gloved hands covers her mouth in horror.
BETTY:
Oh my God…
Betty is overcome with emotion and excuses herself without another word.
WINDOM:
All there is to do now is wait, and hope that he is returned to us…
Windom gazes up at the Moon. It practically fills the entire night sky with its colossal luminescent glow…
87. EXT. GREAT NORTHERN HOTEL, PARKING LOT – NIGHT
Under the glow of the Moon, Betty Turner staggers up to her white Kadett and hurls herself against the door, sliding down to the damp pavement and crying. As she remembers the charming man that she had met only a few hours ago, she is overcome with the painful acceptance that she will never see him again. Her vision blurred by a wash of tears, she looks up at the Moon…
88. INT. LANTERMAN CABIN – NIGHT
The Moonlight shines through the window and illuminates the cabin, which now feels as if it will forever be desolate and empty. Margaret is on her knees in the dark, despairing her own existence. She realizes that there is no other way out, and she knows that she cannot continue on, alone. On the table next to her is a sharp chef's knife. She holds it up to the window and lets the Moonlight reflect off of its silver surface. She puts it to her wrist, feeling the cold metal against her skin. Ever so gently, she tests the sharpness of the blade and how easily it cuts through her flesh…
HEINRICH:
NO, Margret!
Margaret screams and throws the knife down. It slides across the wooden floor and is lost under a cabinet. She leaps up and searches desperately for where the voice came from. It sounded like her husband, but she knew that she'd seen him die… Margaret stumbles around the room, frantically searching for a clue… but she stops when her eyes glance at the mantel. Mounted there is the Log. She approaches the Log, slowly, reaching her hand out to touch its coarse surface.
MARGARET:
Heinrich…? Oh my God… There you are…
Margaret smiles as she strokes the Log. She lifts it from the mantel and holds it close, vowing never to let it go. Out the window, the sky darkens as the Moon is obscured by a cloud…
89. INT. THE ROADHOUSE – NIGHT
The cloud passes by and the Moon shines brightly once more. The local bar and music venue, "The Bang-Bang Bar", is filled with people enjoying their drinks as well as the live music on stage. Blue mood-lighting contrasts sharply with the thick red drapery upon the stage. Discarded peanut shells litter the floor. Windom Earle slumps over the bartop, drinking heavily. He downs a glass of whiskey in one gulp, gestures to the barman for another, and buries his head in his hands.
WINDOM:
Right within my grasp… There it stood on the Threshold… And it just passed me by, as if I were nothing… Why wasn't I chosen…? Why wasn't it me…?
The barman slides Windom another whiskey shot, and the miserable Federal employee lowers his head against the bartop as he fondles the room-temperature drink. The patron next to Windom looks past the sullen figure at the bright Moonlight pouring in through the window…
90. EXT. GHOSTWOOD FOREST – NIGHT
Out in the furthest depths of Ghostwood National Forest, beyond even the Pearl Lakes, where human travelers seldom set foot, the Moon shines just as brilliantly as in town, casting diluted whispers of light scattering through the Pine needles. Sitting alone out in this secluded woodland clearing is the Old Waiter. He rests upon a rock, gazing mournfully up at the Moon, sighing and shaking his head in empathy. From out of the darkness of the forest emerges Dr. Ernold Paylen. The Old Waiter rises unsteadily from the rock and staggers forward to meet the white-cloaked doctor. Paylen smiles with warmth and familiarity at the elderly man.
PAYLEN:
Hello, old friend. It's good to see you again.
The Old Waiter smiles goofily and gives Paylen a thumbs up. Paylen returns the gesture with sincerity, then shakes his head in melancholia.
PAYLEN:
What a turn out. I was certain Windom would be the one… I thought that he had the purity inside. He so desperately wanted to be chosen…
The Old Waiter just shakes his head and clicks his tongue in disapproval.
PAYLEN:
I know… I know… I always get too attached. That's been my weakness for a long time, hasn't it? Will I ever learn?
The Old Waiter beams with optimism. Ernold looks down at the ground.
PAYLEN:
One thing you must agree with me on, though. Windom is smart. He'll have figured me out in no time. Which means I'm going to have to lay low. I won't be able to intervene directly anymore. Which means that if Garland can't get us through to the other side, then… maybe you'll have to find the next one.
The Old Waiter nods in understanding. Paylen seems anxious, teeming with uncertainty, needful of the old man's reassurance.
PAYLEN:
Is what we're doing truly righteous? Is it our place to use these beings the way that we do?
At this query, Dr. Paylen and the Old Waiter slowly fade away until they have completely vanished. Everything becomes unnaturally dark, until two white spotlights appear where both men used to stand. In the Old Waiter's place is now the GIANT [Carel Struycken], and in Paylen's place is the ALBINO. The Giant is a towering specter with a gaunt face. The Albino is much shorter, has curly hair and a wide nose. She wears a white dress that matches the color of her skin. The Giant is dressed in an outfit similar to that of the Old Waiter, complete with the red bow tie. Though his voice is a deep tenor, he speaks softly and distinctly.
GIANT:
What we do, we do for them as much as for ourselves. Although they cannot understand our work, we share the same goals. Any risk they take, they take for their own good. You must see this.
The Albino does not speak, but only smiles strangely and nods up at him in acquiescence.
GIANT:
We do not use men. We save them.
The Giant tilts his head up and peers at the Moon with worry in his eyes. Then he fades away, as does the Albino. The white spotlights disappear, the woods return to normal, and Dr. Paylen and the Old Waiter reappear where the spirits had stood. As the two human vessels remain reflecting upon the events of the night, we fade out slowly to black and hold…
91. INT. FEDERAL INTERROGATION ROOM – DAY
CAPTION:
One week later
Windom Earle is wearing clothes that look as though he's slept in them. His face is unshaven and scruffy, his eyes bloodshot and spent. He stands before a tribunal in a cold, colorless interrogation room. A table is the only furnishing, and a camera records Windom as he speaks.
The Investors in assembly are all dressed eerily similar in matching black suits, ties and glasses. The men portray no distinguishing characteristics, and their faces remain staunchly unimpressed. Windom paces back and forth and speaks frantically, his mind a mess of ideas.
WINDOM:
These evil sorcerers, Dugpas, they call them, cultivate evil for the sake of evil and nothing else. They express themselves in darkness for darkness, without leavening motive. This ardent purity has allowed them to access a secret place of great power, where the cultivation of evil proceeds in exponential fashion. And with it, the furtherance of evil's resulting power. These are not fairy tales or myths. This place of power is tangible, and as such, can be found, entered, and perhaps, utilised in some fashion. The Dugpas have many names for it, but chief among them is "the Black Lodge".
The Investors look back at him with vacant stares. Windom is frustrated by their lack of support, and speaks with disdain.
WINDOM:
You don't believe me, do you? You think I'm mad… Overworked… Go away…
Windom waves his hands in disgust and leaves the room. The camera is turned off, and the Investors are left murmuring. Wild-eyed GENERAL MANNERS [John Astin], with a bristly mustache above his crooked mouth, is speaking with a BLACK SUITED MAN [Marshall Bell] with unrelenting gray eyes and a distinctive scar across his upper lip.
BLACK SUITED MAN:
You know how bad this looks, right? Two missing officers, and no plausible explanation other than this occultist black magic garbage. The other Investors are getting nervous about Earle's continued involvement, and I don't blame them. He's a loose cannon, and we can't risk him destroying all that we've been working for. Something needs to be done, Manners.
MANNERS:
Don't worry, sir. It'll be taken care of. We're going to force him to take a leave of absence, convince the psych analysis to brand him as unstable and violent, and get him transferred back to the Bureau. No one here will stick up for him. He's got no friends left… unless Garland ever shows up again, that is…
BLACK SUITED MAN:
That won't be a problem, either. If Briggs is still alive… you know what to do.
General Manners nods to his superior, somewhat reluctantly.
MANNERS:
Yes, sir. That I do.
92. INT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY
Betty Turner sits alone at a sticky booth in the unimpressive diner. Her face is weak and desolate, as if she has not smiled in many days, and the black rings under her tear-stained eyes hint towards her lack of sleep. She bites into a liverwurst sandwich… but she can't taste anything. She is merely passing nourishment in order to perpetuate existence, nothing more.
At the booth beside her, an obese truck driver is shoving large quantities of pork ribs into his flabby face. A bone goes down the wrong way and he bolts upright, gasping and choking. He falls out of his booth and lands on his back, writhing about and wheezing, his oxygen intake lowering. Unable to get up, he resembles an obese tortoise stuck on its shell.
Phyllis, the unpleasant and unattractive waitress, jumps down to the ground and thrusts him upright, aggressively performing the Heimlich maneuver on him. Even though she is saving his life, the trucker almost looks as through he'd prefer a swift departure from this existence rather than have Phyllis anywhere near him.
Betty is unmoved by all of this, continuing to take joyless bites out of her liverwurst sandwich, staring blankly ahead, but seeing nothing. A commotion is occurring in the street outside her window. She turns her head, idly. Cars honk and swerve out of the way to avoid hitting a man who is walking along the street.
The man is Garland Briggs, dizzily staggering along the middle of the road. His clothes look as though they've been put on him backwards and inside out. He mutters languidly to himself, barely aware of his surroundings.
Betty cannot believe her eyes and smiles for the first time in a week. It almost hurts her cheeks as her lips break from the permanent scowl to which they had grown accustomed. She tosses aside her liverwurst sandwich and dashes towards the door, vaulting over the trucker who catches his breath on the floor, having just had an entire femur bone extracted from his esophagus.
93. EXT. DAVEY'S EATS – DAY
Betty sprints madly across the street, paying no heed to traffic. The oncoming cars are now swerving to avoid hitting her as well. She slams herself into Garland and wraps her arms around him. Briggs' weak, still-shaking body is thrown back by the force of her tiny frame, unable to process what is happening.
BETTY:
Garland! You're alive! I thought you'd burned up!
Through Garland's eyes, we can see that the entire world is a fuzzy blur.
BRIGGS:
Where am I? Is this… Twin Peaks? Did I really make it back…?
BETTY:
Yes! You're back! But… where did you go?
Garland frantically digs through the inside breast pocket of his blue US Air Force jacket, searching for something that is no longer there.
BRIGGS:
The note I found… It's gone… He took it…
BETTY:
What note? Who took it?
BRIGGS:
Who took it…? I think it was me…
BETTY:
W-what? Where were you?
Through Garland's eyes, Betty's blurry face refocuses until it suddenly comes into stunning clarity. In a luscious, romanticized palate, he is awestruck by the popping colors of her straight, blonde bangs, her deep, blue eyes, and her florid, red lips. His heart warms from the vision of her, and he wraps his arms tightly around her shoulders, so happy to have an anchor to grab a hold of.
BRIGGS:
I've no idea. I was away somewhere… someplace undefinable. I cannot recall any specific details… All I can remember is that… the reason I wanted to return… was to see you again.
Betty does not let propriety deter her from relieving herself of all of her emotions.
BETTY:
I've missed you every day you were gone!
Garland releases Betty from his embrace and holds her out at arm's length, being sure to not break his touch upon her shoulders. His deep voice and carefully balanced intonations address her cordially.
GARLAND:
Betty… May I request the honor of your company for dinner? Perhaps… numerous dinners… for the foreseeable future?
Betty's eyes water and she buries herself once more in his chest. The love that will carry them through life together is forged for the first time. The romantic union that they share is only slightly detracted from by the loud honking and angry cursing from drivers who don't appreciate their occupancy of the middle of the street.
Garland glances up towards the blue sky and notices a nest fixed up in a tree. Inside the luxury dwellings, two lovestruck chickadees cuddle together, sharing their warmth and their food supplies, no longer traveling through their difficult lives alone…
94. INT. MILITARY PSYCHIATRIST'S OFFICE – DAY
Garland Briggs is sprawled out upon a red Naugahyde chair in a private Military psychiatric office. The Military PSYCHIATRIST sits beside him, asking him questions in an entrancing voice. The short man's round head is completely hairless, and his thick glasses conceal his eyes behind two spheres of reflected light. General Manners stands beside the psychiatrist and observes the session, his mind preoccupied with schemes of subterfuge. Garland is currently under hypnosis and answers whilst in a somnambulist state.
BRIGGS:
I can recall… a white light. And… a lone figure, cloaked in shadow… standing upon the mountaintop. He called forth to me, beckoning me to enter his realm…
PSYCHIATRIST:
And, what was on the other side, Garland? What can you remember about the place you visited?
BRIGGS:
Nothing… I remember nothing… except… the wind blowing through the trees… and the call of the Owl.
Manners and the psychiatrist exchange puzzled glances.
PSYCHIATRIST:
You were there for a week, Garland. How did you survive? Were you fed? Did anybody –
Garland shakes his head, dismissively.
BRIGGS:
It wasn't a week… It may have seemed like a week… but it wasn't. The passage of time is relative…
Garland concernedly reaches for his inside jacket pocket, feeling for something that isn't there.
BRIGGS:
I had a sheet of paper… It said… "Fire Walk With Me"… I had it when I was taken… And now it's gone…
PSYCHIATRIST:
Do you remember Windom? Did he tell you anything about his findings?
BRIGGS:
Windom Earle… told me nothing…
Though he had remained silent throughout the proceedings thus far, Manners suddenly interjects. The psychiatrist turns to protest, but Manners silences him by clasping a hand on his shoulder. He pressures Garland directly and unarguably.
MANNERS:
Windom doesn't work alongside you anymore, Garland. He is not your friend. He was too secretive, he became violent, and he betrayed us. We're better off without him.
Garland shifts uncomfortably in his seat, processing this information deep into his subconscious.
BRIGGS:
So… difficult… to trust… anyone…
Manners nods to the psychiatrist, pleased with the results of his subliminal coercion. Both men are taken aback, however, when Garland begins to spasm. He shimmies from side to side and grimaces, spontaneously spouting out a strange language. His words do not come out naturally. The alien expression is painfully regurgitated from somewhere deep within.
BRIGGS:
Taht mug uoy ekil si gniog ot emoc kcab ni elyts… S'TEL KCOR! S'TEL KCOR!
We cut to black…
