Work Text:
[Tape clicks on]
[METAL CLINKING AGAINST METAL]
ARCHIVIST
(SOFTLY) Come on… shit!
[ARCHIVIST’S HEAD THUMPS LIGHTLY AGAINST THE WALL]
PARKER
(DEEP, RAGGED INHALE.) Jesus! What- John, where- (LOUDER METAL CLINKING, TUGGING AGAINST RESTRAINTS)
ARCHIVIST
Ow- OW- Parker! Calm down, Christ! My hand isn't meant to bend like that!
PARKER
(PANICKED) Sims?!
ARCHIVIST
Obviously, Parker! Who’d you think it was? Bloody- quit pulling, dammit!
[METAL NOISES CONTINUE, PARKER CONTINUES BREATHING HEAVILY]
PARKER
No, no no no no not again, I can’t—! We have to get out of here, we have to-
ARCHIVIST
Parker, for the love of- calm down! We won't get anything done if you're too busy going bloody mental-
PARKER
-get out, we can’t-
ARCHIVIST
-Parker!
PARKER
(STRAINED) What?!
ARCHIVIST
Breathe! For God’s sake, you're about to break my wrist!
[A FINAL METAL-ON-METAL NOISE, PARKER DROPS HIS HAND IN DEFEAT]
PARKER
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I- I don't- (DEEP, SHUDDERING BREATH) Where are we?
ARCHIVIST
It’s fine, just- breathe. What’s the last thing you remember?
PARKER
I- I don't know, I can't-
ARCHIVIST
Parker, please, I really need you to work with me here. Tell me what you remember.
[PARKER’S FREE HAND RESTS ITSELF ACROSS HIS CHEST]
PARKER
I… okay. Okay. (DEEP BREATH) We were… following up on a case. Number zero-zero… something.
ARCHIVIST
The case number doesn't matter, Parker. Focus.
PARKER
Right, yes. It was the kebab shop, the- um… (PAUSE, THINKING) Waltham Express Grill, with the subject that gave a fake name. Craig, I think.
ARCHIVIST
Anything else?
PARKER
Not particularly, just… we couldn't follow up with Craig, so you wanted to come out here yourself. Verify… something. I don't think I asked.
ARCHIVIST
Right. Good. That's good. You aren't…
PARKER
Aren't what? What's wrong?
ARCHIVIST
Nothing. You bled a lot, when we were knocked out. I was worried you'd been concussed.
PARKER
No- no- well, not badly, at least. We- I’ve had worse.
ARCHIVIST
Yes, I suppose you have.
PARKER
You do?
ARCHIVIST
(BACKTRACKING) I just mean- the scars. Your ear. You look like you’ve been through far worse.
PARKER
(GUARDED) Hm. (PAUSE) Where are we, Sims? I don't- is this- are we still in the kebab shop?
ARCHIVIST
I think so? I mean- obviously I can't see in the dark, but… we weren't out for long. At least, not long enough to haul the both of us anywhere else.
PARKER
Is it- he? Whatever- the thing that knocked us out. Is he still here?
ARCHIVIST
As far as I can tell, the only thing in here with us is this blasted radiator.
[SOFT METAL CLINKING. ARCHIVIST SHIFTS. STATIC HISSES]
PARKER
Wait. Do you hear-?
ARCHIVIST
(INTERRUPTING) What did you mean by “again?”
[LONG PAUSE. THE HAND OVER PARKER’S CHEST GRABS HOLD OF HIS SHIRT AND SQUEEZES INTO A FIST]
ARCHIVIST
Parker?
PARKER
(THROUGH GRITTED TEETH) I hardly think this is the best time to be digging into my personal history, Sims.
ARCHIVIST
Have you been in a situation like this before? How did you-
PARKER
Drop it, Sims. I won’t repeat myself.
[A SHORTER PAUSE, BUT A PAUSE NONETHELESS. STATIC STOPS]
ARCHIVIST
Right. Apologies, Arthur, I didn't-
[“PARKER” GOES VERY, VERY STILL. THE HAND AT HIS CHEST SQUEEZES TIGHTER]
ARCHIVIST
-mean anything by it.
[SILENCE]
ARCHIVIST
(CONCERNED) Are you… is something wrong?
“PARKER”
(COLD) Where did you learn that name?
ARCHIVIST
Name? I-
“PARKER”
(COLDER) Don't do that, Sims. You called me Arthur. Who gave you that name?
ARCHIVIST
(NERVOUS) Did I? I must have misspoke, I… I’m sorry, Parker. Again.
[TENSE SILENCE. “PARKER” SHIFTS AROUND, FREE HAND DROPPING TO THE CUFF, AND PULLS AGAINST HIS RESTRAINTS AGAIN]
ARCHIVIST
What are you doing?
“PARKER”
I’m not- (GRUNTING) I’m not staying here, waiting for whatever brought us here to come back.
ARCHIVIST
Right, okay, fair enough-
“PARKER”
I’m going to- (STRUGGLING WITH THE CUFF) -break my thumb, see if I can't squeeze my hand through.
ARCHIVIST
What?! That's ridiculous, don't-
[WET SNAPPING NOISE. “PARKER” BARELY MUFFLES A CRY OF PAIN]
ARCHIVIST
Jesus Christ, man!
[CONTINUED SOUNDS OF STRUGGLING AGAINST THE CUFF. IT SEEMS TO BE IN VAIN]
“PARKER”
Come on, come on…! Fuck! (PAINED) It's not- I can't-
ARCHIVIST
It's okay, it's fine! We’ll figure something else out, just- for God's sake, stop pulling before you hurt yourself any worse. Jesus, Parker.
[SILENCE, INTERRUPTED ONLY BY “PARKER”S HEAVY BREATHING. HE DROPS HEAD AGAINST THE WALL]
ARCHIVIST
(HALF SARCASTICALLY) I don't suppose you can pick a lock, can you?
“PARKER”
(AMUSED, DESPITE HIMSELF. BREATHLESS) Not without something to pick it with. Why?
[ARCHIVIST SHUFFLING AROUND. HE PULLS SOMETHING FROM HIS HAIR AND HOLDS IT UP]
ARCHIVIST
Something like this, maybe?
“PARKER”
(STUNNED SILENCE, THEN-) Did- Did you have that the whole time?!
ARCHIVIST
(DEFENSIVE) Well, it's not like I had any time to think about an alternative before you broke your bloody hand! You-
“PARKER”
For fuck’s sake, Sims, give me the damned pin.
[ARCHIVIST PASSES THE HAIR PIN TO “PARKER”, WHO BEGINS ATTEMPTING TO PICK THE HANDCUFFS’ LOCK]
“PARKER”
(UNINTELLIGIBLE MUMBLING)
ARCHIVIST
Are you- what are you doing?
“PARKER”
(THROUGH THE PIN IN HIS TEETH, DISMISSIVE) Talking to myself. Helps me think.
ARCHIVIST
Right. Carry on, then, I guess.
[LOCKPICKING NOISES. SOMETHING SHIFTS, MUFFLED, ON THE FAR SIDE OF THE DOOR. BOTH THE ARCHIVIST AND “PARKER” FREEZE]
ARCHIVIST
Did you-
“PARKER”
Shh-!
[“PARKER” COVERS THE ARCHIVIST’S MOUTH WITH ONE HAND, THE OTHER CLOSING THE NOW-EMPTY CUFF AROUND THE FOOT OF THE RADIATOR]
ARCHIVIST
(MUFFLED) Mmph-!
“PARKER”
(WHISPERING) Quiet!
[“PARKER”S HAND DROPS AWAY FROM THE ARCHIVISTS MOUTH AS THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN. LIGHT, UNEVEN STEPS APPROACH]
JOHN HAAN
(RASPY) You're both awake, are you? Good.
[A PAUSE, WHILE HAAN REGARDS HIS PREY]
ARCHIVIST
(FRIGHTENED) Who… what are you?
JOHN HAAN
The who is not as strictly important as the what, dear. As for what I am…
[HAAN CROSSES THE ROOM, SIZING THE ARCHIVIST AND “PARKER” UP LIKE FRESH CUTS OF MEAT. HE COMES TO A STOP A FEW FEET AWAY]
JOHN HAAN
(LAUGHTER) I suspect I am much the same type of animal as your partner here, Archivist. Though, the secrets he carries far outnumber my own. Isn't that right, Mister Lester?
[STATIC RISES. “PARKER” SHIFTS]
“PARKER”
(WARNING) Sims…
ARCHIVIST
What do you mean by “the same type of animal?”
JOHN HAAN
(DELIGHTED) Not the question I expected, but fine.
[HAAN STEPS CLOSER, LEANS DOWN TO MEET “PARKER”S GAZE]
JOHN HAAN
I’m not privy to the details, of course. I don't need to be. What I do know- or, rather, what I can sense- is the weight of what he's done… what he has consumed… clinging to him like a cheap cologne.
[“PARKER” IS COMPLETELY FROZEN. HAAN PUTS A HAND TO “PARKER”S JAW AND TURNS HIS HEAD SIDE TO SIDE, EXAMINING HIS FACE]
JOHN HAAN
It's been ever so long since I've last had the chance to… feast, quite as well as you have. Tell me, how long ago was yours?
“PARKER”
(BARELY RESTRAINED) I don't know what you're talking about.
JOHN HAAN
You must have enjoyed it greatly. Be honest, which part do you miss the most? The kill itself, or the meal afterwards? Do you still feel his flesh, caught between your teeth? Hear his cries as the life bleeds- !!
[WITH AN ANGRY GROWL, “PARKER” SHOVES HAAN TO THE FLOOR. HAAN LAUGHS. “PARKER” STANDS TALL OVER HIM. THE STATIC GROWS]
ARCHIVIST
(SHOUTING) Arthur, he's got a-!
[HAAN LUNGES, KNOCKING ARTHUR ONTO HIS BACK. BLOOD SPILLS FROM A FRESH CUT ACROSS HIS CHEEK AS THEY STRUGGLE]
ARTHUR
Motherfucker–!
[ARTHUR TAKES HOLD OF HAAN’S SHOULDER, PULLING HIM DOWN AS ARTHUR SURGES UP TO CLOSE THE DISTANCE, AND SINKS HIS TEETH INTO THE TOUGH, BURN-SCARRED FLESH OF HAAN’S NECK]
ARCHIVIST
(PANICKED) The knife!
[HAAN WILL NOT GO DOWN EASILY. ARTHUR JERKS HIS HEAD BACK AND SHOVES HAAN AWAY, TEARING THE MEAT FROM HAAN’S THROAT. IN A PANIC, HAAN SWINGS WILDLY WITH THE BUTCHER’S KNIFE, CATCHING ARTHUR ACROSS THE CHEST AND LEAVING A SHALLOW GASH. ARTHUR GROWLS, SPITTING HAAN’S FLESH ONTO THE FLOOR, AND STANDS ABOVE HIM, PINNING HAAN’S KNIFE-WIELDING ARM TO THE FLOOR UNDER HIS FOOT.]
JOHN HAAN
(GURGLING, CHOKED LAUGHTER)
[A SNAP, AS ARTHUR PUTS HIS WEIGHT INTO HAAN’S ARM, FORCING HIM TO LET GO OF THE KNIFE. ARTHUR LEANS DOWN AND TAKES IT, THEN GETS DOWN TO HIS KNEES AND STRADDLES HAAN’S MIDSECTION. HE’S BREATHING HARD]
ARCHIVIST
(AUDIBLY FRIGHTENED) Arthur, I think- he's already bleeding out, you don't have to-
ARTHUR
(GROWLING) Shut the fuck up, Sims.
[ARTHUR DRIVES THE KNIFE INTO HAAN’S CHEST. OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN, UNTIL THE ONLY SOUND THE BODY MAKES IS A SICKENING SQUELCH AS ARTHUR PULLS THE BLADE BACK OUT A FINAL TIME. HE STANDS, DRIPPING BOTH HAAN’S BLOOD AND HIS OWN, AND DROPS THE KNIFE TO THE FLOOR WITH A DULL CLATTER. HE TURNS BACK TO THE ARCHIVIST]
ARCHIVIST
(TUGGING AGAINST THE CUFFS) Look, Arthur, I won't- I didn't hear anything, I won't tell anyone, I-
[ARTHUR DROPS TO HIS KNEES IN FRONT OF THE ARCHIVIST, AND PULLS THE HAIRPIN FROM HIS POCKET. THE STATIC BEGINS TO SOFTEN]
ARTHUR
(FLAT) Pay attention. I’ll only show you this once.
ARCHIVIST
(CONFUSED) You’re not- you aren't going to kill me? Isn't that why you cuffed me back to the radiator?
ARTHUR
(EXHAUSTED. ADRENALINE IS WEARING OFF) I was going to ask you why you knew my name. Maybe… maybe figure out what else you knew about me. Now, though, I would really, really much rather go home. Are you paying attention?
ARCHIVIST
(RELIEVED) Right, yes, okay- by all means, go ahead.
[Tape clicks off.]
[Tape clicks on.]
ARCHIVIST
Here, here, watch your step- careful, Arthur, Jesus.
ARTHUR
I’m fine, Sims. You know I’ve had worse.
ARCHIVIST
Still, let's just… take a second, before we get going.
ARTHUR
(SIGH) Fine.
[QUIET. THE WIND BLOWS SOFTLY PAST. THE ARCHIVIST RETRIEVES A PACK OF CIGARETTES FROM HIS POCKET- ONE LEFT. HE CHECKS HIS OTHER POCKETS FOR A LIGHTER, BUT FINDS NONE]
ARCHIVIST
Damn… you wouldn’t happen to have a light, would you?
[WORDLESSLY, ARTHUR RETRIEVES HIS OWN LIGHTER, STRIKES IT, AND HOLDS IT OUT FOR THE ARCHIVIST]
ARCHIVIST
Much appreciated.
[THE ARCHIVIST LIGHTS HIS CIGARETTE, TAKES A DRAG, THEN PASSES IT TO ARTHUR, WHO TAKES ONE IN TURN]
ARCHIVIST
So. Arthur Lester, huh?
ARTHUR
What about it?
ARCHIVIST
Nothing, just… a fake identity does explain some things.
ARTHUR
Such as?
ARCHIVIST
Why you refused to talk to the police after Prentiss attacked, mostly. Why your background check came up like you didn't exist. Things like that.
ARTHUR
Hm. Do you plan on background checking Arthur Lester, too, now?
ARCHIVIST
I think I have to, legally. As your boss. Why? What’ll I find?
ARTHUR
Nothing that won't leave you with more questions. Who’s pulling up?
[AS IF SUMMONED, A CAR PULLS UP IN FRONT OF THE WALTHAM EXPRESS GRILL. MARTIN EXITS FROM THE PASSENGER’S SIDE, AND TIM FROM THE DRIVER’S]
MARTIN
(LOUDLY) Jesus bloody Christ, what the hell happened to you two?!
TIM
Elias sent us out to check, said he had a feeling you two were in trouble. Good God, Parker, that's…
ARCHIVIST
Statement follow-up didn't exactly go to plan. Ar- sorry, Parker- saved both our lives.
MARTIN
We need to get you to hospital, now, I-
ARTHUR
I’m fine, Martin. Just… take me back to the Institute, I’ll sleep it off.
ARCHIVIST
Aren't you concussed?
ARTHUR
Not terribly. I’ll be alright. A change of clothes, a shower, and I’ll be right as rain. Besides, a hospital asks so many questions.
ARCHIVIST
(REALIZING) Right, right, well- I suppose it’d be alright to head straight back.
MARTIN
What?! Are you serious, Jon? He clearly needs-
ARCHIVIST
(INTERRUPTING) Besides, I’m sure it wouldn't hurt to get your statement about this whole… Waltham Grill business down as soon as possible.
ARTHUR
Oh, I rather think that's covered already. See, if I’ve been hearing right…
[ARTHUR REACHES INTO HIS BAG, FISHES OUT A TAPE RECORDER, AND PRESSES “STOP”]
[Tape clicks off.]