| Fade rto Black |
[Aug. 29th, 2007|12:55 am] |
INT. SUBWAY.
The train ambles onward through the tunnel, powered as much by electricity as the desires of its temporary inhabitants. A lone hatted man stands at the edge of the Charleston Boulevard platform. His name is WHISTLER. His hands are stuffed in his denim-clad pants pockets. He's uncomfortable, as much in his clothing as he is his surroundings.
The man lumbered slowly into the station, headlights illuminating his frame and casting a ghostly shadow that constricts as the metal contraption slows and grinds to a halt. A faint hiss as the doors open and Whistler enters the first car. He shuffles to the front of the train, removed his hat and wipes his brow with his shirt sleeve. Thankfully the air conditioning is not only in working order, but on overdrive. He rubs the back of his neck and turns around. It is the height of rush hour and the Charleston line should be bustling with passengers.
He is the only one aboard.
WHISTLER
(smoothing 3-day stubble from upper lip to chin with two fingers)
Huh.
At the rear of the subway car, a door separates Whistler from the quiet of another seemingly empty one. The window gives a dirty view to the other side. A collection of smudged fingerprints mingles with splatter from sloshed drinks to distort his perspective. The lights blink. After a moment, a woman comes into sight. She slides the door with some difficulty. The bottom of the track sticks.
A final shove and she passes across the threshold. The brunette’s name is RHIANNON. Without acknowledging him, she tosses a book bag onto the floor. One strap is held on with duct tape.
RHIANNON
(collapsing on the seat and cradling her boots around the bag)
I need to smoke.
The zipper track on her bag splits wide as she opens it.
RHIANNON (cont'd)
That’s perfect.
The rush of wind with the opening door knocks the hat from Whistler's head. He stares at it quizzically while it spins in the spate of air and dances with an invisible partner before settling on one of the plastic seats. The distraction keeps his attention elsewhere until he hears a familiar voice. At first he thinks it's in his head (this happens to him sometimes) before a ripping sound is also heard.
He turns.
Whistler holds his breath a moment. The brunette is busying herself picking up the spilled contents of her well-worn bag.
WHISTLER
(feeling self-conscious)
Hey.
RHIANNON
(bent down, she rustles through papers and then her hair when she looks up)
Oh. Hey.
(becoming awkward)
I didn’t know you’d be here. I would’ve...
She stops. A wad of paper sounds like dead leaves in her hands.
RHIANNON (cont'd)
(looking perplexed)
...Driven.
Silence erupts again. The train sways.
WHISTLER
Yeah. Well I.
He digs his hands deeper into his pockets. The jeans feel foreign to him, as if he's wearing another language. In all his decades of life Whistler hasn't been one without words. But Rhiannon has always tripped him up. Most of the time he would say it was for the better.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
I totalled the car. You know. Before. Relying on the kindness of public transport now. Kinda reminds me of New York. Only... not.
He takes a few steps forward, watching the brunette's body language. If she tenses up, he'll stop.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
Funny finding you. Here.
RHIANNON
(the picture of tension)
Why’s it funny? You always do.
She sorts the bag a bit longer, finds what she wants. It’s a piece of paper. Rhiannon unfolds it. Something is printed on one side. She looks it over, or pretends to, and her face takes on the look of a girl working a mathematical problem. Her legs remain snug around the bag, her upper body closing off.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Surprised it took so long.
WHISTLER
Yeah well after last time.
The words hang in the air, much like his hat moments earlier. Whistler shivers slightly, and rubs his hands together.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
I'd say I only go where I'm wanted, but that's bullshit. I figured you didn't wanna see me.
RHIANNON
We don’t have a choice about these things. No time to decide before it happens anyway.
She flips the creased paper upside down. Her brow furrows. Whether the contents are a maze or her attention cannot be focused is a mystery. Rhiannon drags her boots in tighter, until her knees touch and remain there. The floor is gritty.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
That’s why we’re just passengers.
Bothered by a thought occurring to her, she breaks form once, looking up. She wants to ask about the subway but does not. Instead she remembers how she was nights before with Connor. Younger or softer than she feels now. Her mouth moves of its own accord.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Did you know this is a costume? I only wear it sometimes.
Whistler looks up at the subway map overhead of the doors. A green line drawn from north to south, interspersed with white dots and names of the stops. The letters move of their own accord, a jumbled mix of English and Chinese characters. If he concentrates hard enough they might make sense.
He wants to reach out and assemble the pieces, have things make sense. But he can't do that in his own life, how would he expect to exert that amount of control over fiction?
WHISTLER
I've seen ya try on different lifetimes. Sometimes I'm your dresser, others you're my muse. Always the same people underneath the bodice, whether it's lace or leather.
The public address system overhead crackles to life.
PA
Nine**scrawk**teen ninet**reeeeeeeeeee**, next stop.
WHISTLER
My hat makes no sense.
RHIANNON
(bemused)
Neither do those jeans.
She folds the paper again and tucks it between her locked knees.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Post script. I won’t be wearing a bodice anymore. It’s strictly this for me.
(now she plucks at the hem of her shirt, a size too small and immature for her age, with some forgotten band logo from teenage years long gone)
WHISTLER
That isn't you.
He breaks his vow and takes a few steps forward. There is still distance between. There seems to be nothing but distance shared.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
You outgrew that a long time ago, Rhi. Are you leaving me behind too?
Whistler takes another step, this time to his left. He sits opposite her on a hard bench and instinctively reaches under his seat. We hear the sound of ripping. With a hard tug, the man pulls away with three wooden stakes wrapped together with grey duct tape. He holds them out to Rhiannon.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
You'll need these.
Rhiannon eyes them.
She takes the bundle slowly, careful not to touch his fingers in the transaction.
RHIANNON
But didn’t you tell me to go home? I would’ve sworn you did.
The book bag between her feet contains a spiral notebook. Two CDs. Gum wrappers. A school book. A fake ID. Rhiannon turns her palm over, uncalloused and smooth. Ink stains the center. ‘3:30. 7-11. Call Shannon!
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Back to where I came from.
Whistler swings his legs up and over, pressing his back against the plexiglass that separates the seats from the door just beyond. The subway cars slow and stop. The doors swing open into blackness. Music wafts just on the edge of hearing. Whether it is coming from outside of the train or the public address system is uncertain.
WHISTLER
I said it to hurt you, Rhi.
The words tumble out of his mouth as his brain plays catch-up.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
I wasn't in my right mind. I'm not excusing it, but I am apologizing. Elfleda had me in her grip and I acted like a right bastard.
The man crooks his neck to look out the windows behind Rhiannon. On the edge of darkness he can just make out a store-front, covered in graffiti. The words are painted with a syrupy liquid.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
We all have darkness inside of us, eating at the edges. Wanting in.
RHIANNON
(shaking her head, stowing the stakes away with the rest of her junk; the zipper still won’t close)
Don’t you think I know that?
The black ink travels up her wrist in slow, marching lines. Almost like veins. It dissipates before it gets to the elbow.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
(pulling at the tight shirt, uncomfortable, growing restless)
I don’t know who I am without you. It’s not fair.
Frustrated, she lets go of the constrictive fabric and slumps in her chair. A beat later she hurries to root through her pockets for cigarettes. There are none.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Where are we going?
She’s looking at the jumbled map. Desperate.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Don’t you get off soon?
Like a sigh on the wind, a chime sounds and the doors close. No one has joined the trip to the next station. It is just the two of them. Whistler dares to be rebellious as he digs out his Lucky Sevens from his pocket.
WHISTLER
(mumbling)
I'd swear these were a different brand before I got on.
(to Rhiannon)
You need to figure that out. Damn that hurts to say. 'Cuz I know who I am without you and that's not something I wanna contemplate.
He shakes out a cigarette for himself and peers along the length of the subway car for the authorities before offering one to Rhiannon.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
I don't know my exit.
Rhiannon sighs. The slayer pines for the cigarette but doesn’t cave, at least not at first. To take it means something, that’s all she knows, even if she can’t recall exactly what. Just as she can’t remember boarding the subway train.
RHIANNON
I don’t think I’m supposed to.
She blinks and a new awareness seems to dawn on her. It takes her entire face by storm. She’s angry now, leaning forward even if her arms are crossed.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Didn’t you know how much I loved you? There wasn’t any line. You were always first. Why did you make me wait, tell me to date and be normal, if you were gonna blame me for it later? I’m not what you said I am.
The man pulls back the cigarettes at her comment. He tucks the pack away but cannot find his lighter. He's taken back by the honesty and the anger behind Rhiannon's words.
WHISTLER
Truth? I didn't know. Back in Detroit when I'd come to visit I thought you had a crush, but you also took a boy into my bed. I also knew this. I was never around. I always wanted more for you, Rhi. And how could I make you wait?
He performs magician's tricks with the unlit stick of tobacco. It seemingly disappears from his hands, only to reappear again. It breaks and mends.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
It was wrong to blame you for having when I wanted you to take me instead. I admit it. And I'm gonna tell you something I never said before. I loved you. Then. Now. Tomorrow.
They are interrupted once more by a disembodied voice.
PA
Boulevard of brkn hrts **sskkkkkkkkkkkrrrrrrraaaaaannnnnnnnnnkkkkkkkkk** next step.
WHISTLER
Whatever I've said before. About who you are. What you're to become. Truth, but only if you wanted to find it.
The hatted man looks down to find his cigarette is smoldering.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
You are Rhiannon Isabel Lee. A woman with a head on her shoulders, stars on her back and my heart in her hands.
Rhiannon leans her head back and shuts her eyes. Her skull rocks against the window as the train veers.
RHIANNON
(blatantly ignoring the rest)
It was a hotel bed. And confesssion...
It’s clear that this part pains her. An old, tall tale being revealed for a farce at last.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
We only went to second base. The rest was later. I only said it to freak you out. See what you’d do. I was seventeen.
For a moment, she smiles. She can’t help herself.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
But then you didn’t do anything. That’s why I rounded third and slid for home. Plus... it’s not like I could just let Nevin have it by default. C’mon, the guy’s ego’s the size of...
A beat goes by.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
Well, mine.
WHISTLER
I did do something. You just didn't see it.
He finally takes a drag of the cigarette. It tastes of clover and smoke rings are colored magenta.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
Hotel security did though. I'm banned from the Hilton chain for life.
A wisp curls from the bright ash and turns into a ghostly image of a fallen friend.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
What would you've done if I stormed in while you two were foolin' around and I threw a fit in front of ya?
RHIANNON
Truth?
She leans up. Takes the cigarette from his fingers.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
I would’ve laughed at you. And I definitely would’ve said you didn’t own me. That nobody does. I don’t belong to anyone, remember?
The slayer takes a drag, and the forbidden nicotine is an unbelievable rush that shakes her to the core. The way Whistler feels every time she touches him, if she is honest about that, too. Nobody understands the pair of them. It isn’t supposed to happen. It just does. And every time, it is terrifically and terrifyingly real, both right and spectacularly wrong, like a train going off the rails. Clean and dirty all at once.
She exhales in a gorgeous burst of purple and blue.
WHISTLER
Is that how I make you feel now?
The question is punctuated by a lurch as brakes are applied. The railcars slow and come into the second station. This area is different from the first; the walls are draped in white interspersed with red velvet. The floors are broken tile.
Again, the station is empty. The doors open and an oppressive heat floods in. Whistler breaks into an immediate sweat.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
Sometimes I don't know where I end and you begin.
(pause)
And that's the problem.
Whistler's hands begin to fade. He struggles to hold himself together.
RHIANNON
(smiling now, softer)
It’s all in our heads anyway.
She leans forward and presses her lips to the air where his forehead is failing to remain.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
You’re the prophet. Is this stop yours or mine?
He feels Rhiannon's warmth if not the physicality. Like a cheshire cat, only the smile seems to remain.
WHISTLER
Both. Neither. It's all in our heads. I'd clap like Tinkerbell asks, but my hands are gone.
Whistler's eyes briefly reappear, along with other familiar features.
WHISTLER (cont'd)
If you're not sure who you are, remember this. You're my anchor.
RHIANNON
(biting on her lip)
I’m sorry, baby. But that’s not enough anymore.
The slayer gathers her bag and prepares to exit through the door she squeezed past in the beginning.
RHIANNON (cont’d)
You know how it goes, though. We don’t have a choice about these things. No time to decide before it happens anyway.
His transparent form stands, and Whistler makes his way towards the open doors. He glances back to the woman he loves.
WHISTLER
I don't wanna give up, Rhi. I don't wanna say good-bye.
RHIANNON
(from the door)
It’s never really good-bye. Even when it is.
Whistler continues out the door, slowly fading away. Only his hat remains as the train continues its journey past.
FADE TO BLACK. |
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