ERIC
C’mon...Jan-Jan
JANICE looks at him for a long moment, both touched and irritated by the use of the name. She rolls her eyes like a schoolgirl.
JANICE
Asshole.
FADE TO:
EXT.—LAS LOMAS CONVALESCENT HOSPITAL—DAY
It’s a quiet, decent place. ERIC pulls into the parking lot.
INT.—HOSPITAL
ERIC walks down the hallway, past various geriatrics in wheelchairs and one young man twisted with palsy. As ERIC’s gaze sweeps across the young man’s face, a voice speaks behind him.
OLD WOMAN
Stop! Stop!
He turns. A scowling OLD WOMAN in a wheelchair is following him.
OLD WOMAN
It’s all a mistake! Call my mother!
ERIC walks on a little faster than before.
CUT TO:
INT.—HOSPITAL LOUNGE
The room is filled with old people on benches, in chairs, mostly staring into space. ERIC is talking with a NURSE in the lounge doorway. She points toward the corner. As ERIC approaches, looking around, he doesn’t see TOPHER until the last moment—then a look of SHOCK runs across his face.
FLASH CUT TO:
TOPHER as a teenager in 1976, handsome, blond, surfer-ish, a shit-eating grin on his face as he lounges on a couch.
TOPHER
Eric, my man! Have I got something for you...
CUT TO:
TOPHER NOW, in his wheelchair. He is startlingly grotesque, hairless and hunched, but his SKIN is the worst part—a crusty brown SHELL over his whole body, as though he’s covered with dried mud. He sits as stiff as if paralyzed. Two pale blue eyes peer out of the masklike face.
ERIC
(trying to cover his shock)
Topher, man. Long time. Long time... I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while. Life, man, it’s just...you know.
A horrible silence. TOPHER peers outward, not even looking at ERIC.
ERIC (cont.)
I never...I never stop being sorry, man. It was just so screwed up. You...we never thought...
NURSE
(appearing over his shoulder)
Is everything all right?
ERIC suddenly gets up and lurches toward the door.
CLOSE-UP: TOPHER’S FACE, staring at nothing.
In the doorway, the NURSE nods understandingly.
NURSE
It’s very disturbing if you haven’t seen it before.
ERIC
(still in shock)
It’s been years...
NURSE
It’s come on very badly lately. Nobody knows what it is. It’s flexible at the joints, though, when he moves. When we move him, that is—he doesn’t do anything himself, doesn’t talk... The skin tissue is unusual—hard and brittle, like... what is it insects make? A chrysalis?
(she looks at ERIC)
I’m sorry, am I upsetting you? Is he a relative?
ERIC
(shaking his head)
High school friend...
FADE TO:
EXT.—RURAL ROAD—DAY, MINUTES LATER
ERIC is driving, face troubled. He fumbles for a tape and pushes it into the player. Something contemporary begins to fill the car, as we
CUT TO:
INT.—HOSPITAL—SAME TIME
CLOSE-UP on TOPHER’s strange face. The eyes blink for the first time, slow-motion, as we
CUT TO:
INT.—REAL-ESTATE OFFICE—SAME TIME
JANICE, phone against her ear, is looking for something on top of her desk, holding a styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand.
JANICE
...I think they’re looking for something a bit less pricey...
She looks at the coffee, which is suddenly black as ink. There is black on her hand, too, and smeared up her arm. She drops the black liquid to the floor, but her desk is covered in black smears too, and it’s all over her legs and skirt and chair. She screams and leaps up, rubbing frantically at herself, as we
CUT TO:
TOPHER’S EYES: Another SLOW BLINK
INT.—ERIC’S CAR
The contemporary music abruptly twists sideways into the drum-and-screams intro of the Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil.” Eric stares at the tape player, starts to pop the tape, then hears:
TOPHER
Hook a right, man—time we got back to your place.
The high-school TOPHER is sitting in the passenger seat, grinning, thumb pointing down a side road. ERIC gasps and hits the brakes. The car fishtails to a stop on the side of the road. ERIC stares. The passenger seat is EMPTY. The music is back to normal.
CUT TO:
INT.—REAL ESTATE OFFICE
JANICE is standing up, perfectly clean, her desk clean too, everything fine but for the coffee she spilled on the floor. All her co-workers are STARING at her, as we
CUT TO:
EXT.—GAS STATION—MINUTES LATER
ERIC has pulled his car into a small service station. The CASHIER, a fifty-something skinny guy with a beard and ponytail, wanders out. ERIC gets out and leans against the car, stunned.
CASHIER
It’s self-serve. Hey, you feel all right?
ERIC
Yeah, I guess so.
CASHIER
We got a bathroom if you need to puke or something.
ERIC
No, I...I think I just...had a flashback.
CASHIER
(chortles)
I know about that shit, man. Between acid and that Post Traumatic Stress shit, I’ve had so many of them things I prolly spend more time in the old days than I do in the right-now...
ERIC is looking back over the fields and through the trees, as we
DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—RESTAURANT—NIGHT
ERIC and JANICE eating dinner in an upscale Mexican restaurant. She has dolled up a bit, but has a sweater over her shoulders as though unwilling to relax too much. Neither is eating very heartily.
ERIC
...Had no idea. Oh my God, he looks like...like...
JANICE
Like a monster. I know.
ERIC
It really got to me. I kind of freaked out on the ride back.
JANICE looks troubled, but also angry.
JANICE
Yeah. Tension and guilt will do that to you.
ERIC
Are you saying I should feel guilty, Janice? I do. Of course I do. But it’s not all my fault.
JANICE
You sure left town like you thought it was.
She has been fidgeting with her silverware. She waves a waiter over.
JANICE (cont.)
Could you please give me a clean fork, if it’s not too much to ask? This fork is dirty. It’s disgusting.
The waiter leaves. ERIC looks at her. She stares defiantly back.
JANICE (cont.)
Well, you did, didn’t you?
ERIC
What did you want me to do? I had a scholarship that fall, remember? Did you want me not to go to UCLA?
JANICE
To become a journalist and save the world.
ERIC
To become a journalist, yeah, even if I didn’t know it then. Should I have just stayed?
JANICE
Of course not. Then you would have had to break up with me face-to-face.
ERIC
C’mon—it was as much your idea as mine, wasn’t it?
JANICE
Maybe. But I didn’t get to leave. I had to go to that high school for two years. How do you think that felt? To have people pointing at me, whispering about me...?
ERIC
If you want me to say I’m sorry, Janice, I will. I’m sorry.
(He toys with his food.)
Didn’t you have anyone else to talk to? What about Brent?
JANICE
Oh, sure, Brent. I hardly saw him. He got all weird—started reading like Tibetan Buddhism and stuff.
ERIC
Brent? Reading books?
JANICE
He’s a lot different, Eric. You’d hardly know him. He’s done really well, actually. He lost a lot of weight, married some ex-model, owned his own advertising agency in Los Angeles for a while, then sold out and moved back here...
ERIC
Advertising agency? Oh, shit, he wasn’t the Zenger in Zenger-Kimball, was he? That’s too weird.
JANICE
Like I said, you wouldn’t recognize him...
DISSOLVE TO:
INT.—BRENT’S HOUSE—SAME TIME
The ADULT BRENT ZENGER looks fit and successful—nice haircut, buff body, expensive casual clothes. His wife TRACY and daughter JOANIE look up from the couch where they’re watching television. BRENT heads for the closet to hang up his coat.
BRENT
The man is home.
TRACY
Hi.
JOANIE
Hi, Daddy. The class hamster had babies.
BRENT
I’d love to hear about it after I get myself one little, much-deserved drink.
TRACY
You’re home late.
BRENT
Dinner with a client...
He reaches the closet and throws open the door, starts to hang up his coat, then sees there’s a light of some kind at the back of the closet. BRENT is surprised. He pushes through the coat hangers and discovers a door on the back of the closet, where clearly none has ever been before. He steps through it and into an EXACT DUPLICATE of the living room he’s just left.
BRENT
What the hell...?
TRACY
(looking up in alarm)
Who are you? What are you doing in here?
JOANIE
Mommy? Mommy!
BRENT
What are you talking about...?
TRACY
(pulling JOANIE backward toward the phone)
I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I’m calling the police. Don’t move!
JOANIE
(crying)
Who is that man, Mommy?
Terrified, stunned, BRENT takes a stumbling step backward and falls into the closet. After a confused moment, he fights his way out of darkness again.
TRACY
Brent? What on earth are you doing? Do you need some help?
JOANIE
Daddy’s tangled up in the coats!
CLOSE UP—BRENT, pale and shaken, as we
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT.—RESTAURANT PARKING LOT—NIGHT
JANICE and ERIC are walking through the lot. She has her sweater pulled tight around her shoulders.
ERIC
...And she put all my stuff in boxes and put them out on the sidewalk with—you know those label guns? With a label on each one reading “property of shit head.” Which is how I became single again.
(a beat)
Hey, I thought you would have enjoyed hearing about my hopeless love life.
JANICE
Oh, Eric, I never wished you bad luck. Not really.
(a beat)
I’m sorry if...if I wasn’t very good company tonight. I told you this was a poor idea.
ERIC
I said I’m sorry about everything, Janice. I really am, I...I was just scared of the whole thing. You, life, what happened...
They have stopped beside his car.
JANICE
I accept the apology. I did stupid things too. Let’s just say goodnight and maybe we can be friends again. That would be something, wouldn’t it? After all this time?
ERIC
It sure would.
He reaches out and takes her hand, holding it awkwardly for a moment— he’s trying to find a way to pull her closer but she’s quietly resisting. Abruptly he drops her hand and walks to his car.
JANICE
Eric?
ERIC
Hang on a second.
He fumbles around, then pops a tape into the player and leaves the door open as he walks back. The quiet intro to Traffic’s “Low Spark of High Heeled Boys” begins to play.
JANICE
I know that.
ERIC
Of course you do. This is now officially middle-aged-people’s music.
He suddenly takes her hand again, then pulls her toward him.
ERIC (cont.)
Remember slow dancing?
JANICE
The only kind you could do. A casualty of the Disco Invasion is what you were. C’mon, Eric, stop.
ERIC
Just a dance. Better than arguing. Come on.
JANICE allows herself to be drawn slowly into a dance.
JANICE
You do know you’re going back to your motel alone, don’t you?
ERIC
All the more reason to be quiet and let me enjoy this...
They circle across the parking lot, under the lights. A foursome walks past them and makes joking comments, but sweetly—it’s a nice moment.
SLOW DISSOLVE TO:
EXT.—PIERSON HOUSE, 1976—NIGHT
Another quiet song rises up, supplanting Traffic’s—it’s Roxy Music’s “In Every Dream Home a Heartache.” Five people are sitting on the roof of the house. It’s a summer evening, last rays of sunset just vanishing, and the lights of other houses are far on the other side of the orchard.
Five teenagers are sitting along the edge of the roof, passing a joint. YOUNG ERIC and YOUNG JANICE are pressed close. Chunky YOUNG BRENT, wearing cutoffs and deck shoes, is dangling his feet over the edge and taking his turn with the joint. KIMMY, a small girl with glasses, a hooded sweatshirt, and overalls, sits a yard or so from him but close to YOUNG JANICE. YOUNG TOPHER sits against the chimney, swigging from a bottle of Bacardi.
YOUNG ERIC
Last night of summer.
YOUNG JANICE
Shut up. You’ll ruin it.
YOUNG BRENT
(inhaling deeply)
Nothing could ruin it but running out of dope. I love this song. Manzanera rocks so bad on this solo that it isn’t funny.
YOUNG ERIC
The last night of the last summer we’re all in high school together. The night summer vacation dies forever.
TOPHER
(reaching down to take the joint)
Oh, shit. Poetry alert!
Everybody laughs.
YOUNG ERIC
Okay, I’ll just shut up.
YOUNG JANICE
No, baby, you’re so sweet when you talk. But just be quiet for a little while, okay?
She presses in against his side. TOPHER passes the joint to KIMMY. After a hit, she starts to cough. JANICE leans over to slap her back.
YOUNG JANICE (cont.)
Kimmy, just take little hits! You always do that.
KIMMY
(raspy, almost unable to talk)
At least I didn’t throw up. This time.
TOPHER
Erky. Throw me a cigarette, man.
ERIC tosses up his pack. TOPHER takes one and lights it.
KIMMY
How long are your grandparents gone, Eric?
YOUNG ERIC
Weeks. Months. Years.
YOUNG BRENT
(laughing)
Erky is high.
YOUNG JANICE
They missed their plane. They were supposed to be back today.
The Roxy Music song has been playing under all this, and it’s building to a climax now. YOUNG TOPHER stands up and begins playing air-guitar, using the rum bottle as the guitar neck. He sings along with the song being played.
YOUNG ERIC
Yeah, and if you get too fucked up and put a foot through my grandparents’ roof, it’ll be my fucking heartache, all right. Topher, what are you doing?
YOUNG BRENT
Topher’s higher than Erky.
YOUNG JANICE
Topher, be careful...
The climax of the song comes. TOPHER strides down to the ed
ge of the roof and braces himself, serenading the orchard and surrounding town. He begins to sing, quiet but getting louder, then bellowing the final line about blowing his mind..
As the guitar solo comes wailing in, TOPHER staggers for a moment on the edge of the roof, air-strumming the bottle. Abruptly, he pitches over the edge and vanishes. After a stunned second:
YOUNG ERIC
Shit!
KIMMY
(almost crying)
Is he hurt? Is he hurt?
YOUNG ERIC
Topher, man? You all right?
TOPHER
(weakly; offscreen)
It was all great, except the last little bit. But I think I spilled some of my Bacardi.
YOUNG BRENT
(relieved)
You are such an asshole, man!
YOUNG ERIC
Are you sure you’re okay?
As ERIC begins climbing down from the roof, TOPHER suddenly sits up.
TOPHER
Shit!
(fumbles in pockets)
If those fuckers get lost...
(finds what he’s looking for)
Ah. Far out.
YOUNG ERIC
Don’t do shit like that, man.
TOPHER
I fucking thought I smashed these or something.
YOUNG ERIC
Smashed what?
TOPHER
Let’s go in, man, put on some more tunes—I’ll show you. It’s a surprise...
As Roxy Music plays out, we
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT.—ERIC’S MOTEL—NIGHT
Just to establish the transition, we see the outside of a mid-grade side-of-the-road motel. We move in on ERIC’s room.
INT.—ERIC’S MOTEL—NIGHT
ADULT ERIC is sleeping. We move in on his face, lips moving a little, hear his voice in a dreaming whisper:
ERIC
Topher, don’t...
CUT TO:
Quick FLASH of TOPHER’s distorted current face coming out of shadow, as though it were in ERIC’s room.
ERIC wakes up, gasping, but there’s nothing in the room but a little light from the streetlights leaking through the curtain. ERIC lets his head fall back, then we hear a faint noise. ERIC sits up: he hears it. It’s someone CRYING.