TOPHER
You didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?
He turns to ERIC and JANICE; they tumble to the floor, moving again.
TOPHER (cont.)
I never finished my story. See, I spent a long time — years — thinking about what to do to you. But then, slowly — oh, I had a lot of time — I came to understand that there are levels of betrayal. Many levels. And you were scared and young, just like I was. (a beat)
But there are some betrayals that can’t be forgiven. (he turns to BRENT)
Right, Topher? Come here.
BRENT (as we’ve been thinking of him) sways and crumples to the floor. TOPHER (as we’ve been thinking of him) points, and BRENT begins to crawl toward him, despite himself. TOPHER’s skin is giving off faint curls of smoke now. The music is growing more insistent as it builds toward its slow climax. TOPHER
You ran, and ran, and ran, didn’t you? But you never really got away. BRENT (weeping, fighting, crawling)
No, please! I didn’t mean to…!
TOPHER
But you did it, and that’s all that matters. Abandoned this body like rats off a burning ship. Pushed me out of my own, so I had nowhere to go. (a beat)
Black Sunshine. We’ll never know quite what that shit was, will we? The answer is probably buried in some government file forever. But it was sure something strange, something… bad. But no one asked you to take those pills, Topher. It was your own stupid idea. So why didn’t you live with it, you selfish bastard? (he
leans down toward crawling BRENT/TOPHER)
You wanted to get out of this body bad, didn’t you? What you did to Kimmy, all the other crazy shit — none of that bothered you. But when the pain came, then you wanted out. And you got out. Jumped right into my body, didn’t you, Topher? And I had nowhere to go but this ruined, mutating shell. You took my body, didn’t you? You took my whole life!
BRENT/TOPHER has now arrived weeping at TOPHER’s/BRENT’s feet.
BRENT
I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!
TOPHER
Sometimes it’s too late for “sorry”. Twenty five years… Yeah, I’d say it was too late.
ERIC struggles to his feet.
ERIC (to TOPHER)
Brent…? It’s you?
TOPHER
He took my body just like a thief. Tried to make it his own, like repainting a stolen car. But it’s over now, Holland, isn’t it…?
TOPHER/BRENT pulls BRENT/TOPHER up off the ground and into his arms. The smoke is rising in earnest now, the first flames beginning to flicker from TOPHER/BRENT’s skin. BRENT/TOPHER is screeching and fighting, in pain, but can’t escape.
JANICE
Don’t! Oh, God, don’t…!
ERIC
Brent, we’ll help you…!
TOPHER/BRENT shakes his pale head. As the Roxy Music song comes up louder, he leans close to BRENT/TOPHER, close as a lover, and stares into his eyes. BRENT/TOPHER struggles even harder, like an animal in a trap, but it’s no use.
TOPHER/BRENT (to ERIC)
No, there’s no help now — only loose ends. Only circles being closed. Sometimes the future can’t begin… until you kill your past…
Fire and smoke are leaking out of TOPHER/BRENT’s mouth as he turns back to BRENT/TOPHER. TOPHER
And now I want back all the things you took. The things that would have been mine…
The smoke and light is leaking from BRENT’s mouth, nose and eyes now, being INHALED by TOPHER.
TOPHER (cont.)
A life… you got to live a life… but it should have been mine… BRENT (shrieking in terror)
No… no…!
TOPHER
We got married, didn’t we… and we even had a child! Ah, she’s beautiful…
BRENT
No! Not them! Tracy, Joanie! Give it back!
TOPHER (gently)
No, it’s you who have to give it back now, Topher. Everything you stole. But don’t worry — it’s only for a moment…
BRENT is fighting, struggling, but his life and memories are leaking out of him, being devoured by TOPHER — the real BRENT. The music comes up — Roxy Music, swelling…
TOPHER
So many things, that should have been mine. My memories, my future. Stolen. All you left me was the past. All you left me was that night.
(a beat)
Remember this song, Topher? It used to be one of your favorites… (sings, almost a whisper)
“Inflatable dolly — dee-luxe and dee-lightful. I blew up your body… but you blew my mind!”
As the guitar solo wails in, the flames suddenly become an INFERNO — a wall of fire. We see the two figures writhing within it, hear BRENT/TOPHER’s shrieks grow more and more SHRILL, then descend into bubbling GASPS as the figures in the flames slowly MELT TOGETHER…
A moment later, there is NOTHING: TOPHER and BRENT and the painted EYE on the wall are gone. The music is gone. ERIC and JANICE are huddled together in the deserted empty bedroom, with dawn light filtering through the cracked windowpane.
Silently, and as carefully as if they’ve both been badly bruised, they walk down the stairs, which look quite normal now. They make their way across the bare living room and out onto the front porch, where they stand for a moment, looking out across the empty dirt lot in the early morning lot, to the trees and town beyond.
JANICE
What happens now?
ERIC
The future.
JANICE
Brent… Topher… whoever he was. He has a wife, a daughter. What are we going to tell them?
ERIC (shrugs)
The truth? Or some part of it? (a beat)
Maybe not.
Without looking, they reach out and find each other’s hands, then walk down the porch steps and out into the field that once was an orchard. We pull back, watching two small figures walk slowly, holding hands, across the empty field. Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” comes up, sweet and sad:
“So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell…?”
ROLL CREDITS.
THE END.
Ants
It feels good to swing hard, to feel his muscles flex and the blade of the ax bite deep into the wood. It feels even better that it’s the old apple tree, the one whose apples have never been any damn good, puny and sour. But the blossoms, she always says, it blossoms so nice — it makes the whole yard look pretty! Yeah, and who gives a crap about that?
Well, today he’s made his mind up. If there’s one upside of having lost his job down at the salvage yard, it’s that he doesn’t have to pretend to care about anything around here that isn’t pulling its weight. The apple tree is a perfect example: a few useless blossoms versus the need to bring down the heating bills next winter equals the tree is history.
As he finishes setting the cut wood onto the pile, which is getting impressively high, he sees her watching from the window. Oh, God, that face. Like he was killing a family dog instead of just taking down an old eyesore of an apple tree. He gives her a mocking smile and wave, a little twiddle of the fingers. She turns away.
He married her. He must have — everybody tells him so. But he doesn’t really remember it happening and certainly doesn’t remember why. Sometimes, listening to her complain about all the things that (according to her) he should have done and hasn’t, or shouldn’t have done but did anyway, he has a sudden fantasy of just taking a big old swing at her with his fist, like something out of a Popeye cartoon, hitting her so hard she just flies away and he never has to hear that voice again.
He even sees it with a caption, like one of those rumpled, Xeroxed cartoons they used to pass around at the yard in the days before the internet: Bitch In Space.
“That’s just great, Karl,” she tells him as he comes in and sets the ax in the corner of the kitchen. It needs to go out to the garage to be oiled and re-sharpened and put away properly, but he’s going to have a beer first because he goddamn well deserves it. He wipes sweat from his face and the back of his neck. Maybe two beers. He’s only had a couple today so far and it is Saturday. Is there some law that says you have to have a job to enjoy a few beers on Saturday?