Killer in the Wind - Chapter Two

A bizarre murder scene offers challenges for Tripp, as a lack of clues and suspects leaves him facing a steep learning curve. He’s dealt even more adversity when Lark Diaz, the Chicago detective who was serving as interim sheriff in his stead, is called back after a series of bombings leaves the Windy City reeling. Struggling on his own, the stress of the case puts Tripp’s recovery at risk, and his lack of expertise endangers the already perplexing investigation. But a young witness might hold a vital clue, pointing to something supernatural behind the killings...if what he saw was real.

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Transcript

NOCTURNUM COLLECTIVE – SEASON ONE

Killer in the Wind – Chapter Two

Written by Karl White

NARRATOR (OPEN): There are constants that endure in the known world. Space, time, energy, matter. Physical and scientific laws constraining us to this existence. But there's a current below the surface. Contrary to the explainable, it's where the unknown resides, where meaning and form collide with the abstract, where shadows hold dominion…Enter the Nocturnum Collective.

(MUSIC – opening sequence)

NARRATOR: Killer in the Wind, Chapter Two, written by Karl White.

 
(SFX – clock ticking)

NARRATOR: Seconds pulse like a rhythm, the beat of a pendulum marching toward something, an apocalypse of sorts where the universal laws of physics are applied to reduce what's tall and mighty to useless rubble. When last we left Chicago, deep inside the inner workings of Paddock Tower, an electrician was heading up via a service elevator. He has the proper clearance, working as part of a massive overhaul of the building's electrical systems. But personally, this individual has a secret, an ulterior motive. And as the building sits silent, he works tirelessly to enact a sinister plot.

(SFX – countdown)

NARRATOR: And in the early morning hours of August 4th, three massive explosions ignite on separate floors of the tower.

(SFX – massive explosion)

NARRATOR: The series of concussive blasts sever the quiet of dawn, shattering windows, raining dust and debris for blocks. The detonation doesn't take the tower down. It wasn't meant to, but the edifice is wounded, and so is the corporation housed within. The destruction is substantial, crippling the flow of commerce, cracking the illusion of safety, and splintering the soul of a major American city.

(SFX – nature sounds)

NARRATOR: A few hours south, the citizens of Stanfield, Illinois are awakening to news of the heinous bombing in Chicago, unaware of the atrocity awaiting the small farming community itself.

 (SFX – running on treadmill)

NARRATOR: The day after his first day back, and Tripp is up before the dawn. He's in the basement, on his treadmill again, pushing himself. The routine makes him feel safe, grounded…That's the thing about survivors of horrific crimes. The trauma, the stress, the physical pain suffered, and the mental anguish that remains, can take a toll, shattering any semblance of normalcy, clouding a sense of attachment and identity, making one feel disconnected from life. And while Tripp has waves of all of those feelings, focusing on his breathing, his heartbeat, the environment around him, has helped to soften the suffering screaming inside.

 
(SFX – kitchen sounds)

NARRATOR: Upstairs, another breakfast with his father, Arlo. But today's meal is served with a side of contention that hangs over them like a stormy cloud. Arlo slides his plate away, angry.

(SFX – plate sliding on table)

ARLO: What's your beef with Detective Diaz? She said you told her she wasn't needed. What the hell's wrong with you?

TRIPP: I was trying to give her an out. We live in a drab, boring place where nothing happens.
I mean, aside from the Gino Corso’s of the world.

ARLO: It doesn't hurt to have a capable detective hanging around.

TRIPP: Yeah, I know.

ARLO: Are you threatened by her?

TRIPP: No, I...Why does everybody keep saying that?

ARLO: We both know why you chased this job in the first place. Running from your problems. I shouldn't have allowed it.

TRIPP: Allowed it? You don't get to talk to me like I'm a kid.

ARLO: But being sheriff takes composure, judgment, a quick wit. You have to want to do it.

TRIPP: I do. I'm committed to being capable and good at my job. It's just going to take a little time.

ARLO: Maybe it's time to admit this was a bad idea.

TRIPP: I shouldn't have said anything. I think Lark is exactly who I need to emulate. When we get in, I'll ask her…No, I'll beg her to stick around.

ARLO: I don't know why you're so goddamn stubborn these days.

TRIPP: Did you hear me? I said I want her to stay. I admit, I was wrong, okay?

 
(SFX – driving)

NARRATOR: The combative clash lasts most of the morning, bleeding into their drive to work. At the moment, the Discord consists mostly of uncomfortable silence. But both in their minds are continuing the argument with themselves as victors to their respective sides…But there aren't winners…Maybe Arlo's right. Tripp shouldn't have run for sheriff…And maybe Tripp's right, that he'd benefit from learning from an officer of the law he's not related to.

(SFX – diner walla)

NARRATOR: They stop at the local diner, Tommy's, for a coffee to go. As they stand quietly waiting at the cash register, a TV in the corner plays breaking news. And although the volume is off, images of the aftermath of the explosions show how serious the situation is, and this act of terror so close to home…Then someone settles in line behind them, concentrating their gaze at...

BRIAN: Tripp? Is that you?

NARRATOR: He turns to see a ghost from his past, Brian Dobbs, 36, lean, cagey, donning an army sweatshirt on a hot day.

TRIPP: Brian? Holy crap! It's good to see you.

NARRATOR: Brian and Tripp were the best of friends growing up, both outgoing and gregarious. They were drawn to one another like beacons, inseparable from kindergarten to their senior year in high school, always together, through thick and thin. But after they graduated, as many of us do with those we're closest to, they went their separate ways. Brian joined the military, following in his father's footsteps, a career soldier, and Tripp. Well, he wandered off down his aimless road, community college, then various odd jobs, unable to get his footing. As for their friendship, as the male of the species often do with their feelings, they grew silent, drifting, holding on to fond memories, but never bothering to reconnect…In fact, before this moment, they haven't seen each other for a decade. As Brian goes in for a hug, Tripp puts his hand out. Out of sync, they settle on an awkward handshake.

BRIAN: I heard what happened. I'm glad you're still alive.

NARRATOR: He's a bit rusty at social interactions and too far in his own mind to want to rehash the violent shooting that nearly took his life, so Tripp is slow to respond. Arlo jumps in for him.

ARLO: How long have you been back, Brian?

BRIAN: Not long. I was overseas when my brother Kyle was killed. Just able to make it back now.

NARRATOR: Brian's younger brother Kyle died in a tragic accident last summer working at Polygon. While accounts of what happened vary. The official story is he was killed while operating a forklift. A tragic mishap for sure…There are however whispers among the local rumor mill claiming Kyle showed up to work drunk. Though that gossip is unsubstantiated. But that's the problem with the grapevine in a small town, as speculation and word of mouth cloud fact from fiction. Which can lead to inaccuracy and tactlessness in front of the bereaved, as Tripp demonstrates.

TRIPP: What happened to him? It was a work accident, right?

NARRATOR: Scratching his head, Tripp truly struggles to remember. But he comes off a bit insensitive, though that's not his intention. His memory needs sharpening, which he's attempting in real time.

ARLO: How's your mom doing? I haven't seen her in, gosh, it's been a long time.

BRIAN: She's getting by.

NARRATOR: The question makes Brian grow suddenly standoffish, uncomfortable. With his bill in hand, he throws cash on the counter, done mingling.

BRIAN: I've gotta get going.

NARRATOR: As Brian walks away, Tripp's finally able to contribute to the conversation.

TRIPP: See you around.

NARRATOR: He's out the door as Shelby, a waitress, comes over with two coffees for Tripp and Arlo. She looks after Brian, collecting the cash, hanging on to the large tip he left.

SHELBY: God bless him for his service, but that man gives me the creeps.

NARRATOR: Tripp digs for his wallet. Arlo tries to stop him, but it's too late. As he tries to hand Shelby money for the coffee, she waves him off.

SHELBY: It's always on the house for a man in uniform.

NARRATOR: Tripp tips his hat. She answers with an amorous wink.

 
(SFX – door chime)

NARRATOR: As father and son exit the diner, they make their way to the cruiser.

ARLO: She was flirting with you back there.

NARRATOR: Hearing that, Tripp uncomfortably shrinks. On the surface, he's always been a good-looking guy. Pleasing to the eye. And while his aesthetic would turn heads, it was his charm that garnered him the most attention. Because of his effortless appeal, Tripp has spent his dating life pursuing lust over love. And a long series of meaningless conquests encouraged a rather unattractive, egotistical pride within himself…But since the shooting, with his spirit wounded and fractured psyche, Tripp's sense of self-worth has radically shifted. The pursuit of intimacy, once all-consuming, has all but faded. And seeing things from a different perspective, he's embarrassed by his past indiscretions, along with the way he treated women who sought his affections…So Arlo, pointing out Shelby's gravitational pull to him, elicits a fair amount of discomfort. 

(SFX – fire truck siren)

 NARRATOR: But he's saved from having to contemplate it further as the town's fire engine speeds by.

(SFX – police radio statics)

ELKE: (over radio) One-Alpha-S, we've got a 10-40 over on Pearl.

TRIPP: Copy that, we're on it.

(MUSIC)

 NARRATOR: Pearl Street, the Sullen’s House. As Tripp and Arlo enter, Deputy Liston is already on the scene. She hovers over the shoulder of county medical examiner, Sonny Manis. He's late 50s, glasses, with an unkempt bohemian appearance. In all honesty, the guy is kind of a mess. And at the moment, he's examining the corpse on the kitchen floor…Sully's dead face is red and purple, with dried blood around his mouth, nose and ears.

TRIPP: Hey, Sonny.

SONNY: Did you hear about Chicago? They found two other bombs. The whole city is locked down. Can you imagine?

TRIPP: So what is it we have here?

SONNY: No immediate signs of trauma or foul play. So, if I had to guess, I'd say carbon monoxide poisoning.

NARRATOR: Tripp, doing his dead level best to play the part of sheriff, leans over, looking at the body. His mind flashes to Tom Falk, dead on the side of the road. Tripp closes his eyes, wanting to quell the triggered memory.

(SFX – thud upstairs)

NARRATOR: A sound above them brings him back to reality.

SONNY: Yeah, there's another one, upstairs.

NARRATOR: As Tripp walks away, Sonny notices something. He hones in on tiny sprouts of green flora around Sully's mouth. He pushes up his glasses, leaning in to get a closer look.

(MUSIC – mysterious)

NARRATOR: Up in the bedroom, Tripp finds Jenna's body, in the same condition as Sully's. Lark inspects the ground around her, for any type of clues. 

(SFX – monoxide analyzer beeps)

NARRATOR: Fire Chief Phil Corbin carefully walks the room using a monoxide analyzer.

PHIL: Hey there, Tripp.

NARRATOR: A moment later, Oscar and Arlo come in, off the stairs.

OSCAR: The heating system is fairly old. There’re residual readings. Gas leak is a strong possibility.

PHIL: Whatever went down couldn't have happened to two more deserving people.

OSCAR: Phil.

PHIL: What? Sully was a dick, thought he was better than everyone else with his country club mentality, and don't get me started on Jenna.

LARK: I thought her name was Jenny.

PHIL: She spelt it with an E on the end. But she'd correct people, making them use the French pronunciation. She was from Iowa, trying to put on airs like she's worldly.

OSCAR: How about a little respect for the dead?

NARRATOR: Tripp hangs back, as everyone else methodically does their job. He curiously watches Lark as she marches to a large open window. The lower pane is broken, and shards of glass are strewn down the slope of the roof.

LARK: Did anyone touch this window?

OSCAR: No, ma'am.

PHIL: Was it me?

NARRATOR: Peeking over her shoulder, Tripp is trying to see what she sees. But her examination is interrupted, as her cell phone rings.

(SFX – cell phone buzz)

LARK: Excuse me, I've got to take this.

NARRATOR: Peeling her gloves off, she heads out. Tripp studies the window, noticing an oily residue on the inside. Arlo stands behind him.

ARLO: She's trying to clue you into something, you dope.

TRIPP: Yeah, I know. Take a sample of this.

NARRATOR: Tripp follows after Lark.


(SFX – outdoor atmosphere)

NARRATOR: Exiting the house, Tripp looks around, Lark's wrapping up her call. She stands under the eaves, staring up at the bedroom window.

TRIPP: Lark, about yesterday.

NARRATOR: She holds her hand up, stopping him. Something else on her mind.

LARK: Ask yourself, who are the victims?

NARRATOR: It's not rhetorical. She's waiting for an actual answer from Tripp.

TRIPP: Uh, Sully was a mortician, Jenna was an attorney.

LARK: They're wealthy, maybe a touch egocentric, and not necessarily liked from what we heard upstairs.

TRIPP: Are you thinking there's more than meets the eye here?

LARK: About the scene, what stands out?

NARRATOR: He hasn't caught up with her analysis yet, so Lark points up.

TRIPP: Sure, the broken window, but the glass is on the outside. So, if you're theorizing someone broke in, that doesn't line up. The consensus inside is carbon or gas inhalation.

LARK: That's the appearance. But wouldn't an open window let carbon monoxide or gas out? And the broken window wasn't someone breaking in, it was how they left.

NARRATOR: Before Tripp has a chance to question Lark, she directs his gaze to a set of strange footprints in the grass. Arlo steps out of the house, catching Lark's astute observation.

ARLO: And there's more.

NARRATOR: Arlo points to the edge of the yard. More prints, heavily indented in the ground…Lark suddenly breaks off, heading to her car. Tripp quickly follows, about to ask where she's going.

LARK: That phone call was my captain. I'm needed back in Chicago right away.

TRIPP: But I need your help.

LARK: This place needs a real cop, so be one. Observe, decipher, and use your brain.

NARRATOR: He instinctually reaches under his hat, touching his scar. Lark climbs in her car, and unceremoniously drives off.

(SFX – car driving off)

NARRATOR: Safety net gone, Tripp can physically feel the stress. He heads back through the yard, towards Arlo, rubbing his temple.

TRIPP: Lark thinks there might be foul play. Let's be extra careful collecting evidence.

NARRATOR: Arlo nods in agreement, liking that Tripp is dialed in, but he sees his son's discomfort.

ARLO: I'll cover inside. Why don't you walk the yard and see what the scene gives you?

NARRATOR: As Arlo heads in, Tripp carefully inspects the edge of the property, taking in his surroundings, and quickly stumbles onto a clue…A toy car. Glancing at the house next door, Tripp spots the others like it, lining the upstairs window.
 
 

NARRATOR: In Finn's room, Mark sits on the bed with his son. Tripp stands at the window, looking at the Sullen's yard below.

TRIPP: Your dad says something spooked you pretty good last night. What did you see, Finn?

NARRATOR: Sleep deprived and still frightened from having spotted the terrifying shape. Finn's quiet, but with a little coaxing from his dad.

FINN: The Horror. It was him, I swear.

NARRATOR: Tripp furrows his brow, unsure what Finn's going on about, but Mark motions to the comics on the shelf nearby…Looking at the cover, Tripp doesn't know what to think. But seeing Finn's anxious and dejected look, he pushes on.

TRIPP: Could you show me where you saw him?

NARRATOR: Finn glances at his father, who encourages him. The boy scurries to the window and points to the spot where he saw the figure. But as Tripp peers out the window and looks at the yard below, it triggers an unexpected dizziness.

(STING – dizzying)

NARRATOR: He grips the windowsill.

MARK: Sheriff, are you okay?

NARRATOR: Drawing a deep breath, Tripp gathers himself. He gives Mark a nod and turns back to Finn.

TRIPP: How tall was he? As big as your dad?

FINN: Bigger, and his eyes glowed, and he had a skull for a face.

TRIPP: Was he wearing make-up, or maybe a mask?

FINN: He had on a helmet, like he was from outer space.

MARK: I'm sorry, Sheriff. He's got a wild imagination.

FINN: I saw the Horror. You gotta believe me. He looked right at me.

NARRATOR: Weary, Finn's eyes well with tears, desperately needing someone to believe him…Tripp glances back at the cover of the comic book, thinking.

TRIPP: If I brought a sketch artist, could you describe the thing you saw? I mean, I need to know what he really looked like. I can't arrest a character on the cover of a comic book.

NARRATOR: Finn gives an eager and earnest nod.

NARRATOR: The sun retreats on the long day…Chicago, Kevin and Jenna Sullen, the warm summer heat. Heavy are the minds of residents in Stanfield, but none more burdened than in the briefing room at the sheriff's station.

(SFX – paper rattles)

NARRATOR: Tripp pins an artist's rendering of Finn's interpretation of The Perpetrator to a cork board. Sure enough, it's the profile of a skull glowing eyes with a clear helmet, like a deathly visitor from another world.

ARLO: Kids don't always understand what they see.

TRIPP: But he saw something.

NARRATOR: Tripp rubs his eyes as a stress headache surges. But after a moment, it passes.

TRIPP: What did we get from the scene?

ARLO: I took swabs off the windowpane upstairs. It was some kind of oil.

TRIPP: Ten bucks says it's hydraulic.

ARLO: I don't think so. It was less viscous than anything used for machinery. Had a smell to it, too. I also made casts of the prints in the yard…The impressions measured 20 inches end to end.

TRIPP: Great. A killer bigfoot.

NARRATOR: He's interrupted by a searing pain in his skull.

(STING – dizzying)

ARLO: Are you okay?

NARRATOR: Unable to speak, Tripp takes a dizzy, staggering step.

ARLO: Tripp?


NARRATOR: Bright white, blinding, colorless. Tripp comes to. He can't move. Stuck in a tight, hollow space. He's confused. Everything went black, and now blinding flashes of light hit his eyes. Did he die? Is this the afterlife? 

(SFX – MRI sounds)

NARRATOR: It's then Tripp notices he's in a hospital gown, inside of an MRI machine.

(SFX – hospital atmosphere)

NARRATOR: Tripp, with Arlo by his side, sits in the office of his neurosurgeon, Dr.
Gillis.

TRIPP: How bad is it, Doc?

DR. GILLIS: We know the trauma of the shooting caused negative neurological after-effects, but this episode, troubling as it may seem, is a good sign.

TRIPP: What do you mean?

ARLO: Yeah, how is this good?

DR. GILLIS: When you were shot, the bullet didn't hit any major structures, but it did a hell of a lot of damage. Nerves, veins, soft tissue, your brain stem was affected. There was swelling, blood loss. It's truly a miracle you're still here…But looking at your scan compared to previous ones, your brain health and function are normal.

TRIPP: Really?

DR. GILLIS: This is positive news, Tripp, but it's your first real stress test too, and it reveals you need to manage emotional strain or there could be negative consequences.

(SFX – driving) 

NARRATOR: It's late, and a long drive back to Stanfield from Champaign, the closest metropolitan area. Navigating the long flat stretch of monotonous interstate, an air of muted tension still hangs over father and son. With nothing but road and darkness in front of them, Arlo decides to pull the pin.

ARLO: See, you rushed coming back.

TRIPP: No, I didn't.

ARLO: You lost consciousness.

TRIPP: You heard the doctor. It's an obstacle. Now I know how I need to operate moving forward.

ARLO: This is your health, for god’s sakes. You only get one life, so you need to take this more seriously.

TRIPP: I had to learn how to talk again, how to use my hand, how to walk. How much more serious can I be? And why are you being so hard on me?

ARLO: Because you're stubborn. When your arm's broken, you'll let it heal.

TRIPP: My arm's not broken. My brain is. And I have to use it to make it better.

NARRATOR: Tripp stares out the window, into the night, wishing he was anywhere else. But in the back of his mind, he knows Arlo cares. He also knows, despite the positive framing by Dr. Gillis, he can't operate treading the razor thin line between fear, failure, and death…It's a strange thing, living a life of self-assurance, coasting by without much consequence, but thrust into authority and nearly losing your life. Tripp is experiencing a crisis of self. All that he once was is now under lock and key, buried deep in his sub-conscious. Journeying inward might be the only way to save himself, but the prospect of that scares Tripp more than anything.

(SFX – nature sounds)

NARRATOR: By the light of morning, Tripp is up, but this time out of the house. Wanting to avoid another fight with Arlo over eggs and bacon, he's instead at the firing range, needing some long overdue reacquainting with his sidearm.

(SFX – unholster gun)

NARRATOR: He looks down the barrel, aiming at his target. Tripp grew up hunting, learning gun safety at a very early age. He's always been confident with a weapon, but the gun shakes in his hand.

(SFX – gun shaking)

NARRATOR: Tripp closes his eyes, refocusing, attempting to control the tremor. But the shaking is worse. He tries to squeeze the trigger but can't. He's frozen, a cognitive roadblock. He re-holsters his gun, frustrated.


(SFX – TV plays in the background)

NARRATOR: Elke sits at the station's command center, manning the county's dispatch. But her attention is on breaking news, playing on a TV in the waiting room. On screen, another Chicago high-rise is on fire. There's panic in the eyes of those reporting, as terror has gripped the windy city.

(SFX – hold music over phone)

NARRATOR: In his office, Tripp's on the phone when Arlo walks in.

TRIPP: I've been on hold with the state crime lab for 40 minutes.

ARLO: Another bomb went off in Chicago.

(SFX – slams phone receiver)

TRIPP: Goddammit. Chicago was the priority already. Now our testing goes to the very bottom of the list.

NARRATOR: Feeling more stress coming on, Tripp takes a measured breath.

ARLO: When your granddad and I were after the butcher.

TRIPP: Dad, I'm not in the mood for another butcher story.

ARLO: There's wisdom in experience, you know. That case took a long time to crack. We didn't have much in the way of evidence, so we had to wait for him to make moves and get creative.

TRIPP: That really doesn't help. We're the smallest county seat in the state. Responsible for a handful of tiny towns that nobody cares about and a lot of open farmland. We're on an island.

ELKE: Hey, Tripp, Sonny's on Line 2. It sounds urgent.
 

NARRATOR: The County Medical Examiner's Office. Sonny, usually disheveled and erratic, is in sharp focus. It's in the autopsy room that he's at his best. Tripp and Arlo look on, in disturbed astonishment, at the bodies of Kevin and Jenna Sullen. Both are in a unique state of decomposition, covered entirely in moss, lichens, and small blooming flowers.

ARLO: I have never seen anything like this.

SONNY: That makes two of us, but it's a simple concept. With nature, death sustains life, although in an accelerated manner.

TRIPP: So this plant life is, what, composting the bodies?

SONNY: Quickly and unfortunately, destroying trace evidence. But check this out

(SFX – blood/tissue squish)

NARRATOR: As Sonny digs in the chest cavity of one of the corpses, Tripp tries to play it cool, but he's queasy on the edge of losing his lunch. He hasn't the experience around death and decay that his father does. Arlo, on the other hand, leans in for a closer look.

ARLO: Are those mushrooms?

SONNY: Inside of his lungs, it's blowing my mind.

TRIPP: Were they killed this way? I mean, is it the cause of death?

SONNY: It's the aftermath. I'm guessing it's a component of whatever inhalant they were killed by. I won't know specifics without a mass spec. But that's going to take time.

ARLO: This is quite a statement being made.

SONNY: You know what it reminds me of? Remember that case in Hickory back in the ‘60s? The poison gas. It also has shades of that thing at the airbase…Night of the Tempest?

TRIPP: Night of the…what?

NARRATOR: Tripp turns to Arlo, whose eyes are fixed on the bodies, deep in thought. Still curious about the mention, Tripp looks back to Sonny for an explanation.

SONNY: Emerald Lake back in the mid-80s. An airman went batshit crazy one night. Killed a dozen with poison gas. Your dad here is the one who caught the guy.

NARRATOR: Tripp notices Arlo is uncharacteristically silent, an oddity for the talkative lawman, especially on any subject pertaining to him.

(SFX – bar walla)

NARRATOR: The Central Tavern, one of the few watering holes in a twenty or so mile radius. Places like the Central are vital for small towns such as Stanfield, providing a gathering spot. A place for people to meet, talk, laugh, reminisce, argue, to raise a glass to good times or bad. The walls are wood paneled. The decor hasn't changed much over the years, providing the feel of an era long since passed…Tonight, it's full of jovial locals, drinking and letting loose. Tripp bellies up at the end of the bar, putting in his drink order with the taverner.

TRIPP: I'll take a Pilsner, please.

NARRATOR: Brian Dobbs, sitting alone at the other end of the bar, in a heavy flannel shirt, buttoned to the top, hears Tripp's voice. He saunters over, sitting next to his old friend.

BRIAN: Make it two, my treat.

NARRATOR: The taverner slides over two bottles. Brian settles up. He and Tripp hunker in awkward silence, amidst the loud merriment around them. Then...

BRIAN: Being here now feels like a million miles from us back in the day.

NARRATOR: The friends clink bottles to the sentiment.

BRIAN: I can't believe you're the law. From royal screw-up to king.

TRIPP: If you told me ten years ago, hell, even five, I would have said to check what you were smoking.

NARRATOR: More cumbersome, quiet. The lifelong friends are unsure how to relate to one another now. But within their past, there's a kinship.

BRIAN: You know what I miss? Playing video games, buzzing on RC Cola.

TRIPP: Friday nights, trying to beat Contra, to be a kid again.

BRIAN: Then we discovered girls, or at least you did. I had to live vicariously through you.

TRIPP: Yeah, but years on the hunt, and I never got the concept of just getting to know someone. Now I'm a shell.

BRIAN: I feel you. Same boat. Nobody wants what's already broken.

NARRATOR: Brian's eyes trail to the scar on Tripp's head.

BRIAN: If you ever want to talk about what happened...

NARRATOR: Tripp grows rigid, suddenly and immediately closing himself off. Door shut, deadbolt locked. But looking at Brian, seeing something lost in him too, Tripp hesitates, then figures, what the hell?

TRIPP: I feel scared all the time, like death is my shadow.

BRIAN: You took a bullet to the head and lived. That makes you superhuman. If I were you, I'd own it. Forget fear.

NARRATOR: More silence, less uncomfortable than before. This time Tripp breaks it.

TRIPP: So, what are you doing for work these days?

BRIAN: This and that.

TRIPP: Still tinkering with cars?

BRIAN: My plan was to come back and open a garage with my brother. But with him gone, now I can't decide if I even want to stick around…Were you the one who responded to Kyle's accident?

TRIPP: No.

BRIAN: Do you know anything about it?

TRIPP: I hate to admit, but before the shooting, I wasn't the most present lawman this county's ever had. Tom Falk did all the heavy lifting, but I'm sorry for your loss.

NARRATOR: Tripp tips his beer to Brian, but it's his revelation that seems more of a relief to his friend…A moment later, Adam Marsh, 40s, blue collar, not much behind the eyes, bumps into Brian on purpose as he walks past.

BRIAN: Watch it, jerk.

NARRATOR: The two stare each other down. Tripp catches the interaction, not sure what to think. Then it's back to normal, sort of. Brian suddenly seems off. He angrily pounds his beer and eyes the door.

BRIAN: Hey, I'm gonna head. I'll see you later.

NARRATOR: Brian abruptly storms off, leaving Tripp wondering.

(SFX – crickets trill)

NARRATOR: September 2nd. A bright harvest moon hangs high in the night sky. Fireflies glow over the towering summer corn, swaying in the breeze. The stalks, over 12 feet tall, dance in the moonlight, like rippling water in the ocean.

(MUSIC – eerie)

NARRATOR: But there's a disturbance in the field. Stalks rustle, then part. Something's out there, moving through the corn like a shark, heading towards a lone ranch-style farmhouse.

(SFX – corn rustling)

NARRATOR: At the edge of the field, a dog sleeps in a chain-link kennel. A sound deep in the pasture wakes him. Danger is in the air.

(SFX – barking)

NARRATOR: The canine runs to the edge of the fence and barks at the inanimate stalks, knowing something is lurking beyond sight.

(SFX – gas spewing)

NARRATOR: A thick vapor seeps from the shelter of the corn. One whiff and the dog keels over, dead.

(SFX – heavy, hydraulic steps)

NARRATOR: Heavy work boots encased in husks of metal, with hydraulic cylinders and shocks attached, step from the field. Ahead, the quiet homestead.

(SFX – glass breaking)

NARRATOR: A noise wakes Adam Marsh. He looks at his wife, Maggie, who's still asleep, lightly snoring.

(SFX – snoring)

NARRATOR: But listening, the night is quiet. Adam's mind must be playing tricks on him in the dark, so he closes his eyes again.

(SFX – thud)

NARRATOR: The sound is coming from inside the house…Springing out of bed, Adam grabs a bat and staggers towards the door, stepping into a long intersecting hallway and a thick foggy haze…Believing it's smoke, Adam turns left, instinctually hurrying towards the kitchen. However, heading into the eat-in, the mist thins. But turning back, he jumps, seeing a large, imposing silhouette at the opposite end of the hall, enveloped in fumes.

(STING – scary, tense)

ADAM: Holy shit!

NARRATOR: Hearing him, Maggie calls out from the bedroom.

MAGGIE: Adam?

ADAM: Maggie, don't come out here!

NARRATOR: But inside the fog, the shape aims a blaster, with a long hose connected to a souped-up backpack, like a thermal fogger an exterminator would wear, spraying a more concentrated vapor…Catching Maggie as she emerges from the bedroom to see what the commotion is about…She steps into the billowing cloud.

(SFX – gas spewing)

NARRATOR: Overwhelmed by the fumes, she chokes and drops to the ground, convulsing before she dies a quick death…Seeing his wife succumb to the fog, but unable to stop it, Adam covers his mouth with his shirt and charges the mysterious figure. He swings his bat.

(SFX – metal ricochet)

NARRATOR: It dings off the hard metal exoskeleton, encasing the figure. The impact ricochets Adam, knocking him back onto his haunches.

(SFX – lights illuminating)

NARRATOR: Through the dark mist, the outline of the shape illuminates in neon, one section at a time, appearing as a disembodied skeletal system. Then, the figure's face lights up inside the helmet.

(SFX – fluorescent powering on)

NARRATOR: It's the glowing skull, just like Finn saw…From the floor, Adam screams. But his howl is muffled by hydraulic sounds, charging. The shape is coming towards him…Adam fights to crawl backwards, away from danger. But the figure advances quickly. Violently snatching him off the ground and throwing him down the hall with ease.

(SFX – crash against wall)

 NARRATOR: Adam crashes into a wall in the kitchen…Injured and stunned, Adam scurries for the door. But the opaque form in the hallway creeps after him.: Reaching for the doorknob, Adam attempts to escape. But before he can get away, he's forcefully yanked back across the floor. Still on the ground, Adam turns, facing the ghastly specter, a glow, but obscured by the mist…The figure aims its blaster. A toxic cloud of poison, intensely concentrated, hits Adam full in the face.

(SFX – choking)

NARRATOR: He painfully suffocates, as his body melts from the inside…Mission complete, the figure's luminosity fades into the recesses of the mist. Then, an indication the lumbering mass turns and walks off, as the thick air stirs in such a way.

NARRATOR: Down a rural road, not far from the marshes' house, an 18-wheeler, with a shipment in tow, leaves the polygon plant, heading for the highway. The driver, Duane, listens to a classic country tune between sips of coffee, prepping for his long night drive.

(SFX – semi)

NARRATOR: Ahead, the mechanical figure, making its getaway from the marshes, springs from the blackened cornfield that runs parallel with the road. It streaks in front of the semi, appearing as a dark mass, surrounded by an uncanny glow. The shape moves with large leaping bounds across the road, then disappears into the adjacent field…It all happens so fast that there's not even enough time for Duane to slam on the brakes.

DUANE: What the holy hell was that?

NARRATOR: Duane Rubbernecks, passing the shadowed spot where the shape fled, wondering what he just witnessed.


NARRATOR: To be continued.

(MUSIC – outro)

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