R
Rando
Guest
OK, now...before I post this I want you all to know that I am 100% serious about wanting you to read this and then give me frank and honest feedback, regardless of what you think. Before I go to far with my mad notions I need to know if I'm wasteing my time.
So what I need to know is this...Is this a comicbook (if it had pretty pictures to go with it) that you would enjoy reading?
Also, I'm most likely to split the following script into 2 "issues" as I fear it being far too long for a single comic-book sized volume.
The premise is this...a bit of a mix between the pulpy hard-nosed detective novels of the 30's and 40's and the "unknown horror" of an H.P. Lovecraft tale. I hope it works...
**************************************************
From the Files of Desmond Chase:
The Case of the Country Club Cult, Part I
By Jess Peterson
EXT, “The City”. We see the skyline of a dark and nameless city from across a harbor. Gothic and Art Deco skyscrapers crowd together, seeming to choke each other out. It’s daytime, but the city still has an air of darkness, as if there is a perpetual fog over it.
We advance into the city, through slums and back alleys, over visions of crime, filth and violence. The viewer continues deeper into the city, until we arrive at the window of Chase Investigations, and one Desmond Chase looking out.
INT, The office of Chase Investigations. The office consists of two rooms. Leading in from the building’s hallway is first the waiting room. Located here are a few wooden chairs, a water cooler, a coat rack, a small table with back-issue magazines, and Dorris’ desk. The room is kept neat and tidy, with everything in it’s proper place. Directly behind and to the side of Dorris’ desk is the door into Chase’s office.
Chase’s office is cluttered and lived-in. There are three desks in total, but two are pushed up against a wall and piled high with old newspapers, discarded case files, et cetera. The office also contains an overburdened coat rack bearing not only coats but shirts and ties, hats and suit jackets, all that remains of Desmond’s wardrobe.
In the center-back of the office is Desmond’s desk. In front of the desk are two mismatched chairs. Behind the desk are two windows and a small table crowded with jiggers, liquor bottles, tumblers and other assorted bar paraphernalia. The desk it’s self is cluttered with loose papers, discarded cigarette packs and over filled ashtrays. All in all, the room is a complete mess.
Chase is leaning on his bar/table behind his desk, staring out through the blinds of the office window. In one hand he holds a glass of scotch, and from the corner of his mouth hangs a cigarette.
Durring our tour of the office, while Chase is looking out the window, we have the following naration.
CHASE: (narration) I had been a private investigator for a little over three years. I was detective with the city P.D. before that. I was on the force for ten years, but we had our differences. I had been married for seven years too, but my wife and me also had our differences. In all that time, I’d seen a lot of strange things. I thought I’d seen the worst the world can throw at you. I had no idea. At least not until I took a certain missing persons case.
DORRIS: (out of view) Des?
CHASE: What?
Dorris Page, Desmond’s secretary, is standing at his office door. She’s a pretty blonde twenty-something in a blouse and skirt. She peeks her head in through the doorway.
DORRIS: There’s a man here to see you ‘bout a job. He doesn’t have an appointment.
INT, outer office/waiting room. We see Dorris speaking through the crack in the door. In the background sits the perspective client, a very large man in a dark suit, with a balding head and sour expression. He holds his hat in his hands.
DORRIS: He looks like the type that will pay well. You know, nice shoes. Good suit.
CHASE: (out of view) All right. Just a second.
INT, Chase’s office. Desmond finishes his drink, pours another, and quickly slams it as well.
INT, outer office/waiting room. Dorris is seated at her desk, although not doing any work, and the visitor waits patiently in his chair.
CHASE: (out of view) Send him in.
DORRIS: OK sir, Mr. Chase will see you now.
The visitor goes by Dorris’ desk on his way to Chase’s office. Meanwhile, she checks him out, smiling. He ignores her and walks past. After he leaves the room, she sighs and goes back to doing nothing.
INT, Chase’s office. Desmond has quickly cleared his desk (by throwing everything on the floor behind him save for an ashtray) and is seated. The stranger walks in and pauses at the door.
CHASE: (naration) He was a big man, and he dressed well too. I couldn’t place the accent, but I was never good a such things. He walked in all business, very serious. I on the other hand decided to be aloof. If I made it look like I was doing him a favor, then maybe I could over charge him. But really, I needed the job. He was the first guy to come into the office in three weeks and I’d have taken the case if his offer was a buck fifty and a cup of coffee.
STRANGER: Desmond Chase?
CHASE: You got me. Come in and have a seat.
The man enters and squeezes his bulk into one of the little wooden chairs in front of Desmond’s desk.
CHASE: (offering a cigarette) Smoke? Drink?
STRANGER: No. Shall we discuss business?
Desmond pulls out some matches and lights up a cigarette, then leans back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk.
CHASE: Sure thing. What can I help you with?
The stranger holds his hat in his hand as he tells his tale, looking right at Desmond. He is a serious man and he wastes no time. getting down to business. Meanwhile, Desmond leans back in his chair, feet kicked up, staring off into space. It’s difficult to tell if he’s really listening.
STRANGER: My name is Adono Falsoto. Many years ago, my younger brother and I came to this country on a cargo ship. It was the only passage we could afford. We arrived with no more then the clothes on our backs. Since then, America has treated us both well. We found work, found a place to live. I found a wife and now have children. I have been given a good life by this country, a proper life.
My brother, on the other hand, chose a different way. When he looked at America, he saw women and money. He saw easier ways to make a living then by doing honest work. My brother became involved with criminals and whores. He does not have a proper life.
But, he is my brother, and I love him. As the eldest, also must I look after him, although I have done a poor job. When last I went looking for my brother I searched his usual patches, whorehouses. gambling halls, bars and alleyways. But I have not found him. Four weeks now and no word. It is not like him to disappear all together. Not like this. Not for this long.
CHASE: A missing person job? That’s not really my racket mister. You’d have better luck going to the cops.
STRANGER: The police are no good in the matter, Mr. Chase. I am in need of some one in the private sector. I know this country well, and I know that the police of this city will not be in a hurry to find my brother. They do not care about an immigrant who associates with whores, thieves...and who may be involved in worse.
The Stranger leans forward in his seat, getting closer to Chase. Desmond. meanwhile, continues to be aloof, staying in his reclined position.
STRANGER: Will you take my case? I can pay well. I mean no offense, but it seems you can not afford to turn down too many employment opportunities.
CHASE: (he now leans up, and is obviously a little miffed that his quality of life has been judged by this person) No offense taken. I charge a flat rate of $500, plus $50 a day, PLUS any extra expenses.
STRANGER: Say no more Mr. Chase.
The Stranger digs a large wad of bills from inside his coat. Desmond’s eyes light up, and he tries to hide a smile.
STRANGER: I think we have a deal.
CHASE: Yeah, I think we do. Now tell me about your brother.
EXT, The streets of the city, night.
Desmond chase moves about the city’s seedier sections of town. We see him with a photo of a man, showing it to the low lifes he comes across. He searches bars, brothels, in alleys and on street corners.
CHASE: (narration) Seeing as the guy’s own brother said he liked to hang around whores and gamblers, the city’s red-light district seemed the smartest place to start. I knew the area well. When I was a vice cop I made a lot of visits down here, and I still have quite a few contacts. Of course, they all want a hand out. That never bothered me though. Back in the day it was the police department’s money I was dishing out to these low lifes. These days, I just put it on the client’s bill under “other expenses”.
He finally comes to the door of a dreary building. There is a lighted sign above the door that reads “Fayton Street Hotel”. Many of the lights are burned out and the sign is in need of a paint job. Bums and whores hang around outside, looking for a hand out or for a trick. Desmond waves them off as he heads up the steps and goes inside.
INT, The Feyton Street Hotel.
This run down dive is little more then a cover for a whore house and for the drug trade. It looks like it was once a nice place, but now the oriental style rugs are frayed, the couches and chairs out in the lobby are filthy and occupied by pimps, whores and their clients, et cetera. Most of the people eye Chase as he moves through them and towards the front desk.
At the front desk is Gordon Hines. He is a small, thin, and sickly looking man of middle age. He is dressed in a wrinkled pair of trousers and a dirty tank top. He is bald save for a ring of greasy black hair around the back of his head, which is disheveled and grows too long. He is talking to what is obviously a young prostitute as Desmond approaches the desk.
GORDON: ...and if a John wants you to cluck like a chicken, then you do it. You’re not getting paid to care what your trick’s tastes are. You just tell him you like it. The next time...
CHASE: Ah-hem.
GORDON: (not looking) Be with ya in a second Mack. The next time a customer complains about you, then your out on the street where ya came from ya little whore. I ain’t afraid to smack you around a little either, you know that. Well, it’ll be worse when...
CHASE: Excuse me...
GORDON: (now looking to see who it is) I said just a -
Gordon looks stunned for a moment when he gets a look at who was bothering him. Desmond smiles.
CHASE: Hello Gordon.
Gordon’s stunned expression then changes to a smirk.
GORDON: For a second there, I forgot you ain’t no vice cop no more, Chase. Did ya come all the way down here for a little action? I know there ain’t no wife to say “no”. Not now.
Gordon now has the little prostitute around the waste, and he pulls he closer. She half smiles and turns down her eyes.
CHASE: I’m here on business, but not that kind. I’m looking for someone, tall guy, foreign. I’m told he liked the ladies, some of yours in particular.
Chase slides a photo across the front desk. In the picture are the man who hired Desmond for this job, and a younger man that looks similar. The younger man is circled in the picture. They are happy, and seem to be sharing a drink.
GORDON: Well, ya know, a lot of guys come through here. I can’t keep track of them all.
PROSTITUTE: Oh, that looks like that one trick that Sally always had...
Gordon backhands the young prostitute, sending her against the key rack behind the desk and to the floor. Desmond watches blankly.
CHASE: I see you still know how to treat the ladies, Gordon.
GORDON: I tell ya, they need to learn when to shut up. As I was saying, lots of guys come though here. What makes ya think I’m gonna recall just one?
Desmond slides a couple of bills across the counter. Gordon stuffs them in his pocket.
GORDON: Oh yeah, Bev was right. That guy did used ta come in here. Liked dark haired girls. Sally was his favorite. Ain’t seen him around for quite a bit, though.
CHASE: Take me to Sally.
INT, Upstairs room of the Feyton Street Hotel. Gordon stands outside a spartan hotel room while Desmond sits on the edge of a bed next to a pretty but tired looking prostitute. Desmond is showing her the picture.
SALLY: Yeah, that’s the guy. Real gentleman like. Least he thought so. Always treated the girls right.
DESMOND: But you were his favorite?
SALLY: Yeah. Don’t know why, but he’d always ask for me first. What can you do?
DESMOND: Did he ever mention anything about himself? Anywhere else he liked to go?
SALLY: Oh, he’s a real big talker. Always goin’ on about this or that, what society broad he’d rooked into being his meal ticket. You know the type. I always let him talk. What do I care if the john’s full of...
DESMOND: Society broad?
SALLY: Yeah, you know. Like this last time I seen him, he was talking about this dame he’d met at one of the hoity clubs downtown, and how he was going up to the mountains to stay the weekend with her.
DESMOND: Really. When was this? Did he say where?
SALLY: Oh, almost a month ago, I guess. I think he said some country club or resort or something...
EXT, The Rosedale Country Club and Resort.
SALLY: (“voiceover”)...Like the Rosedale or something.
We see a beautiful, rolling country estate. It seems to have once been a private mansion, but is now a country club. We see the gothic looking house, several outbuildings, swimming pools, tennis courts, horse stables, a small boating lake far in the background, gardens, et cetera. Off in the distance is a snow-capped mountain range. All in all , a very nice, very exclusive place. The only people seen are the groundskeepers going about their work.
CHASE: (narration) The next day I decided to take a drive up to the mountains. It’s always good to get out of the city and get some fresh air. Besides, the travel time and gas used up just added to the tab. I was thinking that I might not get another client for weeks, and I planned on milking this Falsoto guy for all I could.
The Rosedale was a classy place. The house itself looked old, but all the other buildings were new. I remember thinking that it would be a nice place to bum around for a weekend if you had the money to blow. Close to the mountains and far from the city makes for a good combination.
We then see Desmond in his old, beat up junker pulling up the winding, tree lined drive to the Rosedale. He pulls up in front and stops. A uniformed parking valet steps up to great him.
VALET: Good afternoon sir. May I, um, take your car?
DESMOND: (stepping out of the car) Don’t you put a single ding or scratch on her. Trust me, I’ll know.
VALET: Oh, of coarse not sir.
With a sour look on his face the valet drives off as Desmond walks up the steps to the front doors of the main house. There are no other cars waiting for a valet, and no “club-goers” are to be seen.
He reaches the door and walks in.
INT, Club House, Grand Foyer. We see here a beautiful and quite large entrance hall. There are dozens of doors leading off of it, and far at the end can be seen a large dining room, with french doors looking out into a garden at the rear of it. The place looks empty. Desmond starts down the hall, when someone suddenly pops out of one of the doors. He is dressed as a Butler.
BUTLER: May I help you sir?
DESMOND: Yeah. I’m looking for somebody that might tell me where to find this man. (He holds out the photo. The butler does not touch it, look at it, or acknowledge it.)
BUTLER: The Club is closed until the weekend sir. The master is having only private guests until then. And, you do understand that this is members only, do you not?
Desmond continues walking down the hall towards the dining area.
DESMOND: Is that so. Well, I’m here on work matters. Maybe you can take me to someone that’s in charge? I’m a PI out of the city. I have a license. (He holds out a small card to the butler. The butler takes it in two fingers as if it’s dirty.)
BUTLER: (motioning towards the dining area.) Please wait in there sir. Someone will be with you shortly.
The butler disappears into one of the many side doors as Desmond heads off towards the dining hall.
INT, Club House, Dining Hall. Desmond stands in front of the empty, unattended bar, staring at the bottles on the shelves behind. Meanwhile, a well dressed man in a dark suit comes down the main hall and into the dining area. He is a small, mousey man, middle age and balding with glasses. Behind him are two very large men, also in nice suits, but it’s obvious that they are there as muscle.
MAN: Desmond Chase?
DESMOND: Yes sir. You would be?
MAN: I am the assistant to Mr. Vincent Sorte, the owner of this club. I was told you were looking for someone?
DESMOND: Sure am. (showing picture) This guy.
MAN: (Taking the photo) He does not look familiar to me, Mr. Chase. I know the faces of our members well, and he is not one of them.
DESMOND: Well, I’m told that he might have come here as a guest of one of your members. A lady.
MAN: I’m sorry sir, but I do not know him.
DESMOND: (now strolling around, getting a look at things.) I see. Tell me, this place. What was it before...Sorte was it?...before Mr. Sorte turned it into a club?
MAN: Just an old estate house. Mr. Sorte bought it three years ago. He had the house restored, all the out buildings replaced, and made other improvements, as you can see.
DESMOND: Ah. The butler said something about the club being closed down for a private party. Can you tell me anything about that?
MAN: Just a private gathering for some of Mr. Sorte’s friends, Mr. Chase. Nothing extravagant.
DESMOND: Do you think it could be arranged for me to be present as the guests arrive, just in case the man I’m looking for happens to show up?
MAN: I’m afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Chase. Mr. Sorte will not allow any but his friends on the grounds during the party. And the staff, of coarse.
DESMOND: Oh well, it was worth a shot. I guess I’ll get going. Thank you for your time.
Desmond goes back down the grand hall towards the front door. The “man” stays put, but his two goons follow closely behind. When he gets to the door, Chase stops and turns around.
DESMOND: So, which one of you guys wants to pull my car around?
Both of the goons stay motionless and silent.
DESMOND: Right...
INT, an upstairs room of the estate house. POV looking out of a window as Desmond drives off.
We see the silhouettes of two men, one is short and rather fat. (It is Vincent Sorte and one of his goons)
GOON: You want I should plug ‘em boss?
SORTE: No. He’s a PI. Putting him down could prove sticky. Put a tail on him and follow tight. Find out who hired him to be nosey.
The goon leaves the window to go about his appointed tasks, but Mr. Sorte lingers, watching Chase leave.
SORTE: (to himself) Meanwhile, I'll contact a cleaner.
EXT, the city, on the street in Chase’s car as he heads back to his office. It is evening now, and it is getting dark. Chase looks in his rearview mirror suspiciously, then hangs a right.
CHASE: (narration) I had no idea why a country club would try to be so secret about their guests, but I did know that I’d have to be paying the Rosedale another visit. And the guy that owns it, Sorte. Where had I heard that name before? I’d be wrapping my head around that little riddle for a while, but I had more pressing matters to take care of...namely, who was it that was trying to tail me.
We see him looking again at a set of headlights on his tail. He turns another right and stops at an alley. The car that’s been following him, containing the goon that was talking with Sorte at the club house and another hired gun goes past and also stops.
Chase gets out and steps down the alley, out of sight. Soon, both goons are seen on the street by Chase’s car.
GOON#1: What do you think he’s doing here.
GOON#2: Don’t know. Let’s get him. Call it a bonus for the boss.
The two goons head into the alley.
INT, Rosedale Country Club. In an office within the estate house, Mr. Sorte sits at a grand desk, flanked by two thugs and one small, wormy man in glasses (the guy who was talking to Chase earlier). The office is richly decorated and adorned, like all of the house, with paintings, statues, tapestries and other assorted works of art.
Sitting on the other side of the desk is a tall yet thin man, dressed all in black. He is in a heavy trench coat and holds a wide-brimmed black hat in his hands. His face is gaunt and he has a thin mustache. This is Johnny Nix.
NIX: Looks like you got a good thing going here, Mr. Sorte.
SORTE: Indeed, and I intend to keep it that way.
A servant brings Nix a drink and a cigar while Sorte speaks. Meanwhile, Nix enjoys his drink and smoke, listening patiently.
SORTE: Earlier today, some P.I. from the city was nosing around here, asking questions about one of my...guests. Now, since I don’t want him blabbing to the cops in case he gets suspicious, I was wondering if you could help me out. I had heard that your the best at making sure there’s no loose ends.
NIX: You flatter me, Mr. Sorte. But, I can assure you that no one will find so much as a hair off this guy. Ever.
SORTE: That’s what I wanted to hear.
NIX: So, who is this guy?
SORTE: (handing Nix Chase’s card) This is him, one Desmond Chase. If what I’m told is true he used to be a cop and he still may have friends in the department. That’s why I was wanting to be extra careful, and extra quiet.
NIX: I don’t think there’s any need to worry, Mr. Sorte. Any friends he may have will never know where he’s gone.
EXT, the city, the alley way that Desmond ducked down earlier. The two thugs sent to tail him are looking for him the dim light. Garbage cans, old crates, discarded newspapers and other refuse litter and crowd the alley, making any kind of search difficult.
GOON#1 There ain’t no door or way out, I wonder what’s he doing here.
GOON#2 Do you think he got wise to us tailing him?
GOON#1 Nah, he prob’ly just had to drain his...
Chase has now popped up out of no where and pummeled the goon on the back of the head with a board. The goon drops as the other one turns to face Chase. He goes for his gun inside his coat but Chase is faster. The gun is knocked from his hand with one swipe, and the thug is knocked out cold with another.
Chase takes the gun, empties the bullets and throws it down the alley. He then rolls one of them over and starts going through his pockets.
CHASE: (to himself) Now, lets see who you gentlemen are...
Desmond produces a matchbook from the thug’s pocket. The cover reads “Rosedale Country Club and Resort”.
CHASE: (to himself) I had a feeling.
Desmond lights a ciggerette with a match from the book, stuffs the matchbook into his pocket, and heads back to his car.
EXT, The Rosedale. It is now fully night Desmond is hiding in some bushes along the drive that leads up the the estate house. Up ahead, Mr. Sorte’s guests can be seen arriving. They are all dressed formally, in tuxedos and evening gowns. Valets and other attendants see to the cars and open doors, et cetera.
CHASE: (narration) I pulled my car off the road a couple of miles away from Rosedale and hoofed it through the woods. That ain’t no easy task for a city boy like me. I know hired guns when I see ‘em, and the place was crawling with ‘em that night. I knew then and there that this wasn’t just a party.
One car in particular shows up, a large black limo/sedan. As the doors are opened, a tall, blonde, and quite stunning woman, lower-middle age, steps out in all her finery. She is followed by a rather greasy man, who is in a regular suit and tie instead of a tuxedo. It is obvious he is out of his element.
MAN: Well, would you look at all this. Thanks for bringing me along. I’ve never been to such a place.
WOMAN: Oh, it’s nothing darling. Come along.
The pair head up the steps to the front doors. There, lit torches flank the double doors and uniformed attendants wait to open the doors.
MAN: I gotta say, I feel underdressed for such a fancy place.
WOMAN: Don’t you worry, Jimmy. No one will even notice.
They disappear inside.
Chase moves through the underbrush, past armed guards and around trees. He makes his way to the side of the house and ducks behind some shrubbery there, right next to a basement window.
INT, a basement room of the Rosedale. Chase kicks in the boards and the glass, looks around to make sure that no one noticed, then slips inside. It seems to be a storage room of some kind, with large crates and boxes here and there. There is a single light bulb on a cord dangling from the ceiling. There is also one door leading out of the room, which Desmond heads for.
INT, The Rosedale. The guests are all milling about in the main hall. Waiters with trays of glasses serve them. Jimmy and his “date” are here, and Jimmy has a big stupid grin on his face.
JIMMY: Gee, Liz. I gotta thank you again for bringing me. This is great.
LIZ: Don’t mention it, killer. Come on...
She walks him to a door. Behind it is a set of stairs leading down.
LIZ: ...lets go to where the real party is swinging.
EXT, The Rosedale. Behind the shrubbery where Desmond entered, a figure in black now stands. It is Johnny Nix. He slips through the same window and then heads through the same door in the storage room.
INT, The Rosedale, a basement room. Unlike the rest of the basement, this room has nice furniture and carpet. There is a small table with some liquor bottles, a small couch, and a couple of chairs. We can see through the hall door that the stairs down to the basement are directly across the hall from this room.. Also in this room is a large, rather ornate double door, which is closed.
Liz leads Jimmy down the stairs, across the hall and into this room.
LIZ: Have a seat tiger. A drink?
JIMMY: Sure. Say, where is everyone? I thought...
Liz pours two drinks at the small table, then brings them to the couch where Jimmy is sitting.
LIZ: You thought the party was here? It will be shortly. I thought we could get to know each other first.
JIMMY: Um...OK. Hey, what's in there? (pointing at the double door)
LIZ: All will be revealed in time, Jimmy.
She gives him his drink and then sits next to him on the tiny couch. She runs her fingers through his hair. Out in the hall, we see Desmond peaking around the corner, looking in. Jimmy and Liz don’t seem to notice. He slips past and onward down the hall as Liz continues to speak to Jimmy.
LIZ: So, tell me, where are you from?
INT, The Rosedale, basement hallway. Desmond continues down the darkened hall. He soon reaches the end, where there can be seen a large door, guarded by a menacing thug. Desmond approaches...
CHASE: Hey there, fella. I seem to be lost.
The guard turns to Chase, who is fumbling with the matchbook he found on the thug in the alley.
CHASE: Can you tell me if this is right? (he “drops” the matchbook) Oops.
The guard bends down to get it, and gets pistol whipped in the back of the head for his troubles. The guard goes down. Desmond puts his pistol back in his ankle holster. He grabs the big thug by the ankle and drags him into the room, closing the door behind him.
INT, The Rosedale, basement sitting room. Jimmy and Liz continue to talk on the couch.
JIMMY: So, I finally move into the city ‘bout a year ago, and all is going well. Then one day this chum of mine calls...
SORTE: (out of view) Excuse me.
Mr. Sorte has come into the room via the hall. Behind him, out in the hall, we see several other partygoers coming down the stairs and going on down the hall in a line.
SORTE: Whenever you and your guest are ready to join the party, Liz.
LIZ: Be there in a bit, boss.
Sorte goes back into the hall. All the other guests have gone ahead.
JIMMY: Who was that?
LIZ: Your host, silly. Now, do you want to see something really special?
Liz gets up and goes to the large double doors in the sitting room.
LIZ: (opening the door) Come with me.
INT, a darkened room within the Rosedale basement. Chase is nosing around and comes to a curtain. Light can be seen on the other side.
CHASE: (narration) I didn’t have any idea what I was looking for, but I needed something to take back to Falsoto if I wanted to get paid. I decided to hang tight and see what went down. Seemed like an easy ride to me.
He’s about to open the curtain when there is a voice...
SORTE: (out of view) I guess Melvin took a break. I’ll have to have a word with him.
Mr. Sorte opens to door into this room, and steps aside to let his guests in.
SORTE: After you ladies and gentlemen. You know your way.
The guests make their way into the room and proceed through the curtains. Mr. Sorte is the last to go. All the while, Desmond is hiding behind a pile of boxes.
INT, Rosedale basement hall. This is the wide hall way that leads from the large double door in the sitting room. Jimmy is escorting Liz.
JIMMY: So what's down here?
LIZ: Oh, you’ll see. I want you to be surprised.
They get to yet another double door. Suddenly, the doors fly open, revealing a huge round room, curtains all around the edges. In the center is a semicircle of black hooded individuals standing around a circular stone slab. Each holds a single candle.
JIMMY: What the...
Suddenly, four brawny figures, also in hoods, appear from the other side of the door and grab Jimmy. They pull him inside as the door shuts. Liz smiles and turns, walking away.
INT, Rosedale basement room. Desmond gets up from behind the boxes and goes to the door, pulling it shut. He grabs a nearby chair and wedges the door with it. He then heads back to the curtains, when there is a scream.
Desmond runs to the curtain and parts it just a bit, looking through. His eyes go wide.
INT, the cult room. Jimmy has been striped naked and the four guys who grabbed him now carry him above their heads towards the stone slab. He is laid down and chained by the attached shackles on the slab. All the while, he screams things like..
JIMMY: No! Please! Why are you doing this!
When he is chained, the circle closes around him.
One hooded figure, a little shorter and more rotund then the rest, steps out of the circle and up to the slab. (it is Sorte.)
SORTE: We come here now, in the name of The Beast, and we bring with us this sacrifice!
GROUP: (the whole in unison) In The Beast’s name we come, in The Beast’s name we act.
JIMMY: wha...wha...wha..
A black, shapeless shadow begins to come out from under the slab and slink across the ground, outward, towards the circle of cult members. Something like tendrils reach out from it, licking at the robes of the worshipers All the while, the chanting continues.
SORTE: By this man’s blood, by this man’s flesh, by this man’s life, we ask for your favor.
Sorte produces an ornate ceremonial knife from within his robes. He raises it above his head.
SORTE: We call to you, greatest of masters! We call to you! Give us strength! Give us power!
INT, Rosedale basement room, where Desmond is hiding. Desmond is kneeling down, taking his revolver out of it’s ankle holster. He checks to make sure it’s loaded, then begins to part the curtain. Suddenly, he is aware of another presence in the room. Over his shoulder, we see a thin, dark figure with a wicked, thin blade in the air.
It is Nix. He pounces, but Chase anticipates and dodges to the side. Nix gets tangled in the curtain and rolls into the ceremonial chamber. This gets the attention of the worshippers, who all turn to see the source of the commotion. Part of the curtain is now torn down, showing the little storage area. Nix gets back up, waving his knife, but Chase is no where to be seen.
SORTE: What is this? Stop them!
The four burly thugs who had grabbed Jimmy earlier spring into action and run behind the curtain. We see that the shapeless, reaching shadow continues to move outward from the alter as the worshiper's backs are turned, watching the goings-on.
INT, The Rosedale basement, behind the curtain. Chase is huddled down somewhere behind the curtain in the ceremonial room. His gun is out. In front of him, one of the thugs steps through the curtain and meets a bullet. This gets the attention of another thug nearby who approaches, but that one gets shot down as well.
INT, The Rosedale basement, ceremonial room. The gunfire has spooked the worshippers, who all run towards the main double doors. Only Sorte remains behind. The shadow has spread throughout the room, and completely envelopes poor Jimmy on the slab. Sorte stands ankle deep in it, the sacrificial knife still in his hands.
INT, The Rosedale basement room, behind the curtain. Chase is on his feet again and running through the darkness. A third robed thug pops into view and leaps at Chase, knocking him to the ground as he fires. The thug gets two slugs in the gut for his efforts. Chase rolls the dead thug off of him and gets back up. Suddenly, Nix comes for Chase again, slashing at his throat with the thin knife. Chase takes a wild shot, and misses Nix, who has already slipped back into the darkness. Groping through the dark, Chase sees and patch of light from the curtains that were torn down earlier, illuminating the chair he had wedged under the door. He runs for it.
INT, the Rosedale basement, Ceremonial room. The shadow has filled the floor and seems to be trying to crawl up the walls and curtains. Jimmy still struggles, screaming. Sorte walks to him, covers his mouth with one hand, then plunges the dagger into his chest with the other.
The shadow explodes like a storm and swirls about, tendrils of darkness waving in the air. Curtains are blown down, the alter is knocked away, and Sorte is sent flying across the room and through the double door that the fleeing worshippers had run.
Sorte stands and looks out into the center of the ceremonial chamber. There now is there a great pillar of black, twisting and writhing. Massive tentacles of shadow branch off of it, reaching in all directions. Sorte gasps in horror, then runs.
INT, The Rosedale basement room, behind the curtain. Chase makes it to the door just in time to be knocked aside like a rag doll by the fourth hooded thug. Chase is sent sprawling against the door, beaten and battered. The thug comes to get him but is shot by Chase.
Chase starts to rise, clutching his side, when Nix then steps out of the darkness, his knife held delicately, as a scalpel. Chase slumps back down.
NIX: You’ve given me quite a game Mr. Chase. But now it ends.
Chase raises his gun and tries to fire, but there is only a click.
NIX: Yes, I thought I counted six.
Nix comes in for the kill. Behind him, from Chase’s POV, we can see the pillar of darkness and it’s tentacles reaching out in the center of the ceremonial room. The tendrils spread towards Nix, who is unaware.
NIX: Isn’t this delicious.
The tendrils are now at Nix’s back, starting to wrap around him.
NIX: I have you all to my...
Nix now realizes the shadow is around him. He spins and is picked up, carried high into the air by the shadowy tentacles. He is soon sucked all the way into the shadow, leaving no trace.
Chase knocks the chair away that holds the door, opens and then dives through the door, and runs back down the hallway towards the room he originally entered.
As he flees, we can see the shadow coming from behind him. When Desmond reaches the window the entered, the shadow's tendrils are at his feet. They twist about his ankles as he slides out of the window and back outside.
CHASE: (narration) I ran all the way back to the car without stopping, not even when it felt like my lungs would explode and my legs give out. When I got to the car I took off and didn’t look back. I don’t know if anyone...or anything...was following me, but I didn’t care. I just had to get out. I didn’t stop until I got to the office, not for traffic signals, pedestrians or stray dogs. I didn’t feel safe until I got there.
As Desmond runs towards the woods near the estate’s drive, the shadowy tentacles wave and reach from the window he crawled from.
INT, Chase’s office, morning. Desmond is slouched in a chair in the office’s waiting room. He is alone and appears to be sleeping. He supports his head with one hand and clutches his revolver with the other. An empty bottle of booze is in his lap.
Dorris unlocks the office door and enters. She is carrying her purse and is in a coat and hat, ready for work. She is startled when she turns around and sees Desmond, very disheveled, in the chair. He is now awake but is obviously worn out.
DORRIS: Oh! Mr. Chase! What are you doing in here? I thought you had a room down at the Bastion.
CHASE: Pack up your things, and call a mover to get the rest. We have to get a new office.
DORRIS: Des, come on. You got two months late rent due on this place, how can you afford to...
CHASE: Just do it, now!
DORRIS: OK, OK, Geez...
CHASE: I’ll explain later.
Desmond goes into his office and closes the door.
EXT, the city, out on the street, morning. A shadowy figure, tall and thin moves down the mostly abandoned avenue. His face is unseen as he walks into a small diner snugged in-between much larger buildings. It is Nix, but he is different.
INT, the city, a diner. The only people in the diner are a single customer, a waitress, and greese-stained short-order cook back in the kitchen.
Nix enters as the waitress and the customer, a man, chat. He goes to the end of the counter and has a seat.
MAN: So my wife says, “If you don’t do something ‘bout them kids, I’m gonna clobber you twice as hard”. And I’m going “Hey, don’t get on to me, they’re the milkman’s remember!”
WAITRESS: Ah, Louie, you crack me up. Hang on a sec.
The waitress goes down to where Nix is seated, order pad in hand.
WAITRESS: What ya havin’, sweetie.
NIX: (his face still concealed behind his raised collar and tipped hat.). Well, aren’t you just the prettiest thing. I could just put you in my pocket. I think I’ll have you.
WAITRESS: Can it, smoothie. It’s too early for your bologna. Now what will you have.
NIX: I said...you.
Nix’s hands and arms explode in a burst of tentacles. The twisted, fleshy ropes lash out and grab the waitress, who only has time to give a whimper before the life is crushed form her.
The male diner customer screams and makes a run for the door. Nix easily catches him in his tendrils and slams him to the ground.
The cook then runs out of the kitchen, waving a baseball bat.
COOK: Hey! What the hell do you think...
The cook is then caught and crushed. Discarding the body, Nix surveys his three quick kills. His tentacles wrap back around themselves, forming hands again. He then walks calmly from the diner.
End Part One.
So what I need to know is this...Is this a comicbook (if it had pretty pictures to go with it) that you would enjoy reading?
Also, I'm most likely to split the following script into 2 "issues" as I fear it being far too long for a single comic-book sized volume.
The premise is this...a bit of a mix between the pulpy hard-nosed detective novels of the 30's and 40's and the "unknown horror" of an H.P. Lovecraft tale. I hope it works...
**************************************************
From the Files of Desmond Chase:
The Case of the Country Club Cult, Part I
By Jess Peterson
EXT, “The City”. We see the skyline of a dark and nameless city from across a harbor. Gothic and Art Deco skyscrapers crowd together, seeming to choke each other out. It’s daytime, but the city still has an air of darkness, as if there is a perpetual fog over it.
We advance into the city, through slums and back alleys, over visions of crime, filth and violence. The viewer continues deeper into the city, until we arrive at the window of Chase Investigations, and one Desmond Chase looking out.
INT, The office of Chase Investigations. The office consists of two rooms. Leading in from the building’s hallway is first the waiting room. Located here are a few wooden chairs, a water cooler, a coat rack, a small table with back-issue magazines, and Dorris’ desk. The room is kept neat and tidy, with everything in it’s proper place. Directly behind and to the side of Dorris’ desk is the door into Chase’s office.
Chase’s office is cluttered and lived-in. There are three desks in total, but two are pushed up against a wall and piled high with old newspapers, discarded case files, et cetera. The office also contains an overburdened coat rack bearing not only coats but shirts and ties, hats and suit jackets, all that remains of Desmond’s wardrobe.
In the center-back of the office is Desmond’s desk. In front of the desk are two mismatched chairs. Behind the desk are two windows and a small table crowded with jiggers, liquor bottles, tumblers and other assorted bar paraphernalia. The desk it’s self is cluttered with loose papers, discarded cigarette packs and over filled ashtrays. All in all, the room is a complete mess.
Chase is leaning on his bar/table behind his desk, staring out through the blinds of the office window. In one hand he holds a glass of scotch, and from the corner of his mouth hangs a cigarette.
Durring our tour of the office, while Chase is looking out the window, we have the following naration.
CHASE: (narration) I had been a private investigator for a little over three years. I was detective with the city P.D. before that. I was on the force for ten years, but we had our differences. I had been married for seven years too, but my wife and me also had our differences. In all that time, I’d seen a lot of strange things. I thought I’d seen the worst the world can throw at you. I had no idea. At least not until I took a certain missing persons case.
DORRIS: (out of view) Des?
CHASE: What?
Dorris Page, Desmond’s secretary, is standing at his office door. She’s a pretty blonde twenty-something in a blouse and skirt. She peeks her head in through the doorway.
DORRIS: There’s a man here to see you ‘bout a job. He doesn’t have an appointment.
INT, outer office/waiting room. We see Dorris speaking through the crack in the door. In the background sits the perspective client, a very large man in a dark suit, with a balding head and sour expression. He holds his hat in his hands.
DORRIS: He looks like the type that will pay well. You know, nice shoes. Good suit.
CHASE: (out of view) All right. Just a second.
INT, Chase’s office. Desmond finishes his drink, pours another, and quickly slams it as well.
INT, outer office/waiting room. Dorris is seated at her desk, although not doing any work, and the visitor waits patiently in his chair.
CHASE: (out of view) Send him in.
DORRIS: OK sir, Mr. Chase will see you now.
The visitor goes by Dorris’ desk on his way to Chase’s office. Meanwhile, she checks him out, smiling. He ignores her and walks past. After he leaves the room, she sighs and goes back to doing nothing.
INT, Chase’s office. Desmond has quickly cleared his desk (by throwing everything on the floor behind him save for an ashtray) and is seated. The stranger walks in and pauses at the door.
CHASE: (naration) He was a big man, and he dressed well too. I couldn’t place the accent, but I was never good a such things. He walked in all business, very serious. I on the other hand decided to be aloof. If I made it look like I was doing him a favor, then maybe I could over charge him. But really, I needed the job. He was the first guy to come into the office in three weeks and I’d have taken the case if his offer was a buck fifty and a cup of coffee.
STRANGER: Desmond Chase?
CHASE: You got me. Come in and have a seat.
The man enters and squeezes his bulk into one of the little wooden chairs in front of Desmond’s desk.
CHASE: (offering a cigarette) Smoke? Drink?
STRANGER: No. Shall we discuss business?
Desmond pulls out some matches and lights up a cigarette, then leans back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk.
CHASE: Sure thing. What can I help you with?
The stranger holds his hat in his hand as he tells his tale, looking right at Desmond. He is a serious man and he wastes no time. getting down to business. Meanwhile, Desmond leans back in his chair, feet kicked up, staring off into space. It’s difficult to tell if he’s really listening.
STRANGER: My name is Adono Falsoto. Many years ago, my younger brother and I came to this country on a cargo ship. It was the only passage we could afford. We arrived with no more then the clothes on our backs. Since then, America has treated us both well. We found work, found a place to live. I found a wife and now have children. I have been given a good life by this country, a proper life.
My brother, on the other hand, chose a different way. When he looked at America, he saw women and money. He saw easier ways to make a living then by doing honest work. My brother became involved with criminals and whores. He does not have a proper life.
But, he is my brother, and I love him. As the eldest, also must I look after him, although I have done a poor job. When last I went looking for my brother I searched his usual patches, whorehouses. gambling halls, bars and alleyways. But I have not found him. Four weeks now and no word. It is not like him to disappear all together. Not like this. Not for this long.
CHASE: A missing person job? That’s not really my racket mister. You’d have better luck going to the cops.
STRANGER: The police are no good in the matter, Mr. Chase. I am in need of some one in the private sector. I know this country well, and I know that the police of this city will not be in a hurry to find my brother. They do not care about an immigrant who associates with whores, thieves...and who may be involved in worse.
The Stranger leans forward in his seat, getting closer to Chase. Desmond. meanwhile, continues to be aloof, staying in his reclined position.
STRANGER: Will you take my case? I can pay well. I mean no offense, but it seems you can not afford to turn down too many employment opportunities.
CHASE: (he now leans up, and is obviously a little miffed that his quality of life has been judged by this person) No offense taken. I charge a flat rate of $500, plus $50 a day, PLUS any extra expenses.
STRANGER: Say no more Mr. Chase.
The Stranger digs a large wad of bills from inside his coat. Desmond’s eyes light up, and he tries to hide a smile.
STRANGER: I think we have a deal.
CHASE: Yeah, I think we do. Now tell me about your brother.
EXT, The streets of the city, night.
Desmond chase moves about the city’s seedier sections of town. We see him with a photo of a man, showing it to the low lifes he comes across. He searches bars, brothels, in alleys and on street corners.
CHASE: (narration) Seeing as the guy’s own brother said he liked to hang around whores and gamblers, the city’s red-light district seemed the smartest place to start. I knew the area well. When I was a vice cop I made a lot of visits down here, and I still have quite a few contacts. Of course, they all want a hand out. That never bothered me though. Back in the day it was the police department’s money I was dishing out to these low lifes. These days, I just put it on the client’s bill under “other expenses”.
He finally comes to the door of a dreary building. There is a lighted sign above the door that reads “Fayton Street Hotel”. Many of the lights are burned out and the sign is in need of a paint job. Bums and whores hang around outside, looking for a hand out or for a trick. Desmond waves them off as he heads up the steps and goes inside.
INT, The Feyton Street Hotel.
This run down dive is little more then a cover for a whore house and for the drug trade. It looks like it was once a nice place, but now the oriental style rugs are frayed, the couches and chairs out in the lobby are filthy and occupied by pimps, whores and their clients, et cetera. Most of the people eye Chase as he moves through them and towards the front desk.
At the front desk is Gordon Hines. He is a small, thin, and sickly looking man of middle age. He is dressed in a wrinkled pair of trousers and a dirty tank top. He is bald save for a ring of greasy black hair around the back of his head, which is disheveled and grows too long. He is talking to what is obviously a young prostitute as Desmond approaches the desk.
GORDON: ...and if a John wants you to cluck like a chicken, then you do it. You’re not getting paid to care what your trick’s tastes are. You just tell him you like it. The next time...
CHASE: Ah-hem.
GORDON: (not looking) Be with ya in a second Mack. The next time a customer complains about you, then your out on the street where ya came from ya little whore. I ain’t afraid to smack you around a little either, you know that. Well, it’ll be worse when...
CHASE: Excuse me...
GORDON: (now looking to see who it is) I said just a -
Gordon looks stunned for a moment when he gets a look at who was bothering him. Desmond smiles.
CHASE: Hello Gordon.
Gordon’s stunned expression then changes to a smirk.
GORDON: For a second there, I forgot you ain’t no vice cop no more, Chase. Did ya come all the way down here for a little action? I know there ain’t no wife to say “no”. Not now.
Gordon now has the little prostitute around the waste, and he pulls he closer. She half smiles and turns down her eyes.
CHASE: I’m here on business, but not that kind. I’m looking for someone, tall guy, foreign. I’m told he liked the ladies, some of yours in particular.
Chase slides a photo across the front desk. In the picture are the man who hired Desmond for this job, and a younger man that looks similar. The younger man is circled in the picture. They are happy, and seem to be sharing a drink.
GORDON: Well, ya know, a lot of guys come through here. I can’t keep track of them all.
PROSTITUTE: Oh, that looks like that one trick that Sally always had...
Gordon backhands the young prostitute, sending her against the key rack behind the desk and to the floor. Desmond watches blankly.
CHASE: I see you still know how to treat the ladies, Gordon.
GORDON: I tell ya, they need to learn when to shut up. As I was saying, lots of guys come though here. What makes ya think I’m gonna recall just one?
Desmond slides a couple of bills across the counter. Gordon stuffs them in his pocket.
GORDON: Oh yeah, Bev was right. That guy did used ta come in here. Liked dark haired girls. Sally was his favorite. Ain’t seen him around for quite a bit, though.
CHASE: Take me to Sally.
INT, Upstairs room of the Feyton Street Hotel. Gordon stands outside a spartan hotel room while Desmond sits on the edge of a bed next to a pretty but tired looking prostitute. Desmond is showing her the picture.
SALLY: Yeah, that’s the guy. Real gentleman like. Least he thought so. Always treated the girls right.
DESMOND: But you were his favorite?
SALLY: Yeah. Don’t know why, but he’d always ask for me first. What can you do?
DESMOND: Did he ever mention anything about himself? Anywhere else he liked to go?
SALLY: Oh, he’s a real big talker. Always goin’ on about this or that, what society broad he’d rooked into being his meal ticket. You know the type. I always let him talk. What do I care if the john’s full of...
DESMOND: Society broad?
SALLY: Yeah, you know. Like this last time I seen him, he was talking about this dame he’d met at one of the hoity clubs downtown, and how he was going up to the mountains to stay the weekend with her.
DESMOND: Really. When was this? Did he say where?
SALLY: Oh, almost a month ago, I guess. I think he said some country club or resort or something...
EXT, The Rosedale Country Club and Resort.
SALLY: (“voiceover”)...Like the Rosedale or something.
We see a beautiful, rolling country estate. It seems to have once been a private mansion, but is now a country club. We see the gothic looking house, several outbuildings, swimming pools, tennis courts, horse stables, a small boating lake far in the background, gardens, et cetera. Off in the distance is a snow-capped mountain range. All in all , a very nice, very exclusive place. The only people seen are the groundskeepers going about their work.
CHASE: (narration) The next day I decided to take a drive up to the mountains. It’s always good to get out of the city and get some fresh air. Besides, the travel time and gas used up just added to the tab. I was thinking that I might not get another client for weeks, and I planned on milking this Falsoto guy for all I could.
The Rosedale was a classy place. The house itself looked old, but all the other buildings were new. I remember thinking that it would be a nice place to bum around for a weekend if you had the money to blow. Close to the mountains and far from the city makes for a good combination.
We then see Desmond in his old, beat up junker pulling up the winding, tree lined drive to the Rosedale. He pulls up in front and stops. A uniformed parking valet steps up to great him.
VALET: Good afternoon sir. May I, um, take your car?
DESMOND: (stepping out of the car) Don’t you put a single ding or scratch on her. Trust me, I’ll know.
VALET: Oh, of coarse not sir.
With a sour look on his face the valet drives off as Desmond walks up the steps to the front doors of the main house. There are no other cars waiting for a valet, and no “club-goers” are to be seen.
He reaches the door and walks in.
INT, Club House, Grand Foyer. We see here a beautiful and quite large entrance hall. There are dozens of doors leading off of it, and far at the end can be seen a large dining room, with french doors looking out into a garden at the rear of it. The place looks empty. Desmond starts down the hall, when someone suddenly pops out of one of the doors. He is dressed as a Butler.
BUTLER: May I help you sir?
DESMOND: Yeah. I’m looking for somebody that might tell me where to find this man. (He holds out the photo. The butler does not touch it, look at it, or acknowledge it.)
BUTLER: The Club is closed until the weekend sir. The master is having only private guests until then. And, you do understand that this is members only, do you not?
Desmond continues walking down the hall towards the dining area.
DESMOND: Is that so. Well, I’m here on work matters. Maybe you can take me to someone that’s in charge? I’m a PI out of the city. I have a license. (He holds out a small card to the butler. The butler takes it in two fingers as if it’s dirty.)
BUTLER: (motioning towards the dining area.) Please wait in there sir. Someone will be with you shortly.
The butler disappears into one of the many side doors as Desmond heads off towards the dining hall.
INT, Club House, Dining Hall. Desmond stands in front of the empty, unattended bar, staring at the bottles on the shelves behind. Meanwhile, a well dressed man in a dark suit comes down the main hall and into the dining area. He is a small, mousey man, middle age and balding with glasses. Behind him are two very large men, also in nice suits, but it’s obvious that they are there as muscle.
MAN: Desmond Chase?
DESMOND: Yes sir. You would be?
MAN: I am the assistant to Mr. Vincent Sorte, the owner of this club. I was told you were looking for someone?
DESMOND: Sure am. (showing picture) This guy.
MAN: (Taking the photo) He does not look familiar to me, Mr. Chase. I know the faces of our members well, and he is not one of them.
DESMOND: Well, I’m told that he might have come here as a guest of one of your members. A lady.
MAN: I’m sorry sir, but I do not know him.
DESMOND: (now strolling around, getting a look at things.) I see. Tell me, this place. What was it before...Sorte was it?...before Mr. Sorte turned it into a club?
MAN: Just an old estate house. Mr. Sorte bought it three years ago. He had the house restored, all the out buildings replaced, and made other improvements, as you can see.
DESMOND: Ah. The butler said something about the club being closed down for a private party. Can you tell me anything about that?
MAN: Just a private gathering for some of Mr. Sorte’s friends, Mr. Chase. Nothing extravagant.
DESMOND: Do you think it could be arranged for me to be present as the guests arrive, just in case the man I’m looking for happens to show up?
MAN: I’m afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Chase. Mr. Sorte will not allow any but his friends on the grounds during the party. And the staff, of coarse.
DESMOND: Oh well, it was worth a shot. I guess I’ll get going. Thank you for your time.
Desmond goes back down the grand hall towards the front door. The “man” stays put, but his two goons follow closely behind. When he gets to the door, Chase stops and turns around.
DESMOND: So, which one of you guys wants to pull my car around?
Both of the goons stay motionless and silent.
DESMOND: Right...
INT, an upstairs room of the estate house. POV looking out of a window as Desmond drives off.
We see the silhouettes of two men, one is short and rather fat. (It is Vincent Sorte and one of his goons)
GOON: You want I should plug ‘em boss?
SORTE: No. He’s a PI. Putting him down could prove sticky. Put a tail on him and follow tight. Find out who hired him to be nosey.
The goon leaves the window to go about his appointed tasks, but Mr. Sorte lingers, watching Chase leave.
SORTE: (to himself) Meanwhile, I'll contact a cleaner.
EXT, the city, on the street in Chase’s car as he heads back to his office. It is evening now, and it is getting dark. Chase looks in his rearview mirror suspiciously, then hangs a right.
CHASE: (narration) I had no idea why a country club would try to be so secret about their guests, but I did know that I’d have to be paying the Rosedale another visit. And the guy that owns it, Sorte. Where had I heard that name before? I’d be wrapping my head around that little riddle for a while, but I had more pressing matters to take care of...namely, who was it that was trying to tail me.
We see him looking again at a set of headlights on his tail. He turns another right and stops at an alley. The car that’s been following him, containing the goon that was talking with Sorte at the club house and another hired gun goes past and also stops.
Chase gets out and steps down the alley, out of sight. Soon, both goons are seen on the street by Chase’s car.
GOON#1: What do you think he’s doing here.
GOON#2: Don’t know. Let’s get him. Call it a bonus for the boss.
The two goons head into the alley.
INT, Rosedale Country Club. In an office within the estate house, Mr. Sorte sits at a grand desk, flanked by two thugs and one small, wormy man in glasses (the guy who was talking to Chase earlier). The office is richly decorated and adorned, like all of the house, with paintings, statues, tapestries and other assorted works of art.
Sitting on the other side of the desk is a tall yet thin man, dressed all in black. He is in a heavy trench coat and holds a wide-brimmed black hat in his hands. His face is gaunt and he has a thin mustache. This is Johnny Nix.
NIX: Looks like you got a good thing going here, Mr. Sorte.
SORTE: Indeed, and I intend to keep it that way.
A servant brings Nix a drink and a cigar while Sorte speaks. Meanwhile, Nix enjoys his drink and smoke, listening patiently.
SORTE: Earlier today, some P.I. from the city was nosing around here, asking questions about one of my...guests. Now, since I don’t want him blabbing to the cops in case he gets suspicious, I was wondering if you could help me out. I had heard that your the best at making sure there’s no loose ends.
NIX: You flatter me, Mr. Sorte. But, I can assure you that no one will find so much as a hair off this guy. Ever.
SORTE: That’s what I wanted to hear.
NIX: So, who is this guy?
SORTE: (handing Nix Chase’s card) This is him, one Desmond Chase. If what I’m told is true he used to be a cop and he still may have friends in the department. That’s why I was wanting to be extra careful, and extra quiet.
NIX: I don’t think there’s any need to worry, Mr. Sorte. Any friends he may have will never know where he’s gone.
EXT, the city, the alley way that Desmond ducked down earlier. The two thugs sent to tail him are looking for him the dim light. Garbage cans, old crates, discarded newspapers and other refuse litter and crowd the alley, making any kind of search difficult.
GOON#1 There ain’t no door or way out, I wonder what’s he doing here.
GOON#2 Do you think he got wise to us tailing him?
GOON#1 Nah, he prob’ly just had to drain his...
Chase has now popped up out of no where and pummeled the goon on the back of the head with a board. The goon drops as the other one turns to face Chase. He goes for his gun inside his coat but Chase is faster. The gun is knocked from his hand with one swipe, and the thug is knocked out cold with another.
Chase takes the gun, empties the bullets and throws it down the alley. He then rolls one of them over and starts going through his pockets.
CHASE: (to himself) Now, lets see who you gentlemen are...
Desmond produces a matchbook from the thug’s pocket. The cover reads “Rosedale Country Club and Resort”.
CHASE: (to himself) I had a feeling.
Desmond lights a ciggerette with a match from the book, stuffs the matchbook into his pocket, and heads back to his car.
EXT, The Rosedale. It is now fully night Desmond is hiding in some bushes along the drive that leads up the the estate house. Up ahead, Mr. Sorte’s guests can be seen arriving. They are all dressed formally, in tuxedos and evening gowns. Valets and other attendants see to the cars and open doors, et cetera.
CHASE: (narration) I pulled my car off the road a couple of miles away from Rosedale and hoofed it through the woods. That ain’t no easy task for a city boy like me. I know hired guns when I see ‘em, and the place was crawling with ‘em that night. I knew then and there that this wasn’t just a party.
One car in particular shows up, a large black limo/sedan. As the doors are opened, a tall, blonde, and quite stunning woman, lower-middle age, steps out in all her finery. She is followed by a rather greasy man, who is in a regular suit and tie instead of a tuxedo. It is obvious he is out of his element.
MAN: Well, would you look at all this. Thanks for bringing me along. I’ve never been to such a place.
WOMAN: Oh, it’s nothing darling. Come along.
The pair head up the steps to the front doors. There, lit torches flank the double doors and uniformed attendants wait to open the doors.
MAN: I gotta say, I feel underdressed for such a fancy place.
WOMAN: Don’t you worry, Jimmy. No one will even notice.
They disappear inside.
Chase moves through the underbrush, past armed guards and around trees. He makes his way to the side of the house and ducks behind some shrubbery there, right next to a basement window.
INT, a basement room of the Rosedale. Chase kicks in the boards and the glass, looks around to make sure that no one noticed, then slips inside. It seems to be a storage room of some kind, with large crates and boxes here and there. There is a single light bulb on a cord dangling from the ceiling. There is also one door leading out of the room, which Desmond heads for.
INT, The Rosedale. The guests are all milling about in the main hall. Waiters with trays of glasses serve them. Jimmy and his “date” are here, and Jimmy has a big stupid grin on his face.
JIMMY: Gee, Liz. I gotta thank you again for bringing me. This is great.
LIZ: Don’t mention it, killer. Come on...
She walks him to a door. Behind it is a set of stairs leading down.
LIZ: ...lets go to where the real party is swinging.
EXT, The Rosedale. Behind the shrubbery where Desmond entered, a figure in black now stands. It is Johnny Nix. He slips through the same window and then heads through the same door in the storage room.
INT, The Rosedale, a basement room. Unlike the rest of the basement, this room has nice furniture and carpet. There is a small table with some liquor bottles, a small couch, and a couple of chairs. We can see through the hall door that the stairs down to the basement are directly across the hall from this room.. Also in this room is a large, rather ornate double door, which is closed.
Liz leads Jimmy down the stairs, across the hall and into this room.
LIZ: Have a seat tiger. A drink?
JIMMY: Sure. Say, where is everyone? I thought...
Liz pours two drinks at the small table, then brings them to the couch where Jimmy is sitting.
LIZ: You thought the party was here? It will be shortly. I thought we could get to know each other first.
JIMMY: Um...OK. Hey, what's in there? (pointing at the double door)
LIZ: All will be revealed in time, Jimmy.
She gives him his drink and then sits next to him on the tiny couch. She runs her fingers through his hair. Out in the hall, we see Desmond peaking around the corner, looking in. Jimmy and Liz don’t seem to notice. He slips past and onward down the hall as Liz continues to speak to Jimmy.
LIZ: So, tell me, where are you from?
INT, The Rosedale, basement hallway. Desmond continues down the darkened hall. He soon reaches the end, where there can be seen a large door, guarded by a menacing thug. Desmond approaches...
CHASE: Hey there, fella. I seem to be lost.
The guard turns to Chase, who is fumbling with the matchbook he found on the thug in the alley.
CHASE: Can you tell me if this is right? (he “drops” the matchbook) Oops.
The guard bends down to get it, and gets pistol whipped in the back of the head for his troubles. The guard goes down. Desmond puts his pistol back in his ankle holster. He grabs the big thug by the ankle and drags him into the room, closing the door behind him.
INT, The Rosedale, basement sitting room. Jimmy and Liz continue to talk on the couch.
JIMMY: So, I finally move into the city ‘bout a year ago, and all is going well. Then one day this chum of mine calls...
SORTE: (out of view) Excuse me.
Mr. Sorte has come into the room via the hall. Behind him, out in the hall, we see several other partygoers coming down the stairs and going on down the hall in a line.
SORTE: Whenever you and your guest are ready to join the party, Liz.
LIZ: Be there in a bit, boss.
Sorte goes back into the hall. All the other guests have gone ahead.
JIMMY: Who was that?
LIZ: Your host, silly. Now, do you want to see something really special?
Liz gets up and goes to the large double doors in the sitting room.
LIZ: (opening the door) Come with me.
INT, a darkened room within the Rosedale basement. Chase is nosing around and comes to a curtain. Light can be seen on the other side.
CHASE: (narration) I didn’t have any idea what I was looking for, but I needed something to take back to Falsoto if I wanted to get paid. I decided to hang tight and see what went down. Seemed like an easy ride to me.
He’s about to open the curtain when there is a voice...
SORTE: (out of view) I guess Melvin took a break. I’ll have to have a word with him.
Mr. Sorte opens to door into this room, and steps aside to let his guests in.
SORTE: After you ladies and gentlemen. You know your way.
The guests make their way into the room and proceed through the curtains. Mr. Sorte is the last to go. All the while, Desmond is hiding behind a pile of boxes.
INT, Rosedale basement hall. This is the wide hall way that leads from the large double door in the sitting room. Jimmy is escorting Liz.
JIMMY: So what's down here?
LIZ: Oh, you’ll see. I want you to be surprised.
They get to yet another double door. Suddenly, the doors fly open, revealing a huge round room, curtains all around the edges. In the center is a semicircle of black hooded individuals standing around a circular stone slab. Each holds a single candle.
JIMMY: What the...
Suddenly, four brawny figures, also in hoods, appear from the other side of the door and grab Jimmy. They pull him inside as the door shuts. Liz smiles and turns, walking away.
INT, Rosedale basement room. Desmond gets up from behind the boxes and goes to the door, pulling it shut. He grabs a nearby chair and wedges the door with it. He then heads back to the curtains, when there is a scream.
Desmond runs to the curtain and parts it just a bit, looking through. His eyes go wide.
INT, the cult room. Jimmy has been striped naked and the four guys who grabbed him now carry him above their heads towards the stone slab. He is laid down and chained by the attached shackles on the slab. All the while, he screams things like..
JIMMY: No! Please! Why are you doing this!
When he is chained, the circle closes around him.
One hooded figure, a little shorter and more rotund then the rest, steps out of the circle and up to the slab. (it is Sorte.)
SORTE: We come here now, in the name of The Beast, and we bring with us this sacrifice!
GROUP: (the whole in unison) In The Beast’s name we come, in The Beast’s name we act.
JIMMY: wha...wha...wha..
A black, shapeless shadow begins to come out from under the slab and slink across the ground, outward, towards the circle of cult members. Something like tendrils reach out from it, licking at the robes of the worshipers All the while, the chanting continues.
SORTE: By this man’s blood, by this man’s flesh, by this man’s life, we ask for your favor.
Sorte produces an ornate ceremonial knife from within his robes. He raises it above his head.
SORTE: We call to you, greatest of masters! We call to you! Give us strength! Give us power!
INT, Rosedale basement room, where Desmond is hiding. Desmond is kneeling down, taking his revolver out of it’s ankle holster. He checks to make sure it’s loaded, then begins to part the curtain. Suddenly, he is aware of another presence in the room. Over his shoulder, we see a thin, dark figure with a wicked, thin blade in the air.
It is Nix. He pounces, but Chase anticipates and dodges to the side. Nix gets tangled in the curtain and rolls into the ceremonial chamber. This gets the attention of the worshippers, who all turn to see the source of the commotion. Part of the curtain is now torn down, showing the little storage area. Nix gets back up, waving his knife, but Chase is no where to be seen.
SORTE: What is this? Stop them!
The four burly thugs who had grabbed Jimmy earlier spring into action and run behind the curtain. We see that the shapeless, reaching shadow continues to move outward from the alter as the worshiper's backs are turned, watching the goings-on.
INT, The Rosedale basement, behind the curtain. Chase is huddled down somewhere behind the curtain in the ceremonial room. His gun is out. In front of him, one of the thugs steps through the curtain and meets a bullet. This gets the attention of another thug nearby who approaches, but that one gets shot down as well.
INT, The Rosedale basement, ceremonial room. The gunfire has spooked the worshippers, who all run towards the main double doors. Only Sorte remains behind. The shadow has spread throughout the room, and completely envelopes poor Jimmy on the slab. Sorte stands ankle deep in it, the sacrificial knife still in his hands.
INT, The Rosedale basement room, behind the curtain. Chase is on his feet again and running through the darkness. A third robed thug pops into view and leaps at Chase, knocking him to the ground as he fires. The thug gets two slugs in the gut for his efforts. Chase rolls the dead thug off of him and gets back up. Suddenly, Nix comes for Chase again, slashing at his throat with the thin knife. Chase takes a wild shot, and misses Nix, who has already slipped back into the darkness. Groping through the dark, Chase sees and patch of light from the curtains that were torn down earlier, illuminating the chair he had wedged under the door. He runs for it.
INT, the Rosedale basement, Ceremonial room. The shadow has filled the floor and seems to be trying to crawl up the walls and curtains. Jimmy still struggles, screaming. Sorte walks to him, covers his mouth with one hand, then plunges the dagger into his chest with the other.
The shadow explodes like a storm and swirls about, tendrils of darkness waving in the air. Curtains are blown down, the alter is knocked away, and Sorte is sent flying across the room and through the double door that the fleeing worshippers had run.
Sorte stands and looks out into the center of the ceremonial chamber. There now is there a great pillar of black, twisting and writhing. Massive tentacles of shadow branch off of it, reaching in all directions. Sorte gasps in horror, then runs.
INT, The Rosedale basement room, behind the curtain. Chase makes it to the door just in time to be knocked aside like a rag doll by the fourth hooded thug. Chase is sent sprawling against the door, beaten and battered. The thug comes to get him but is shot by Chase.
Chase starts to rise, clutching his side, when Nix then steps out of the darkness, his knife held delicately, as a scalpel. Chase slumps back down.
NIX: You’ve given me quite a game Mr. Chase. But now it ends.
Chase raises his gun and tries to fire, but there is only a click.
NIX: Yes, I thought I counted six.
Nix comes in for the kill. Behind him, from Chase’s POV, we can see the pillar of darkness and it’s tentacles reaching out in the center of the ceremonial room. The tendrils spread towards Nix, who is unaware.
NIX: Isn’t this delicious.
The tendrils are now at Nix’s back, starting to wrap around him.
NIX: I have you all to my...
Nix now realizes the shadow is around him. He spins and is picked up, carried high into the air by the shadowy tentacles. He is soon sucked all the way into the shadow, leaving no trace.
Chase knocks the chair away that holds the door, opens and then dives through the door, and runs back down the hallway towards the room he originally entered.
As he flees, we can see the shadow coming from behind him. When Desmond reaches the window the entered, the shadow's tendrils are at his feet. They twist about his ankles as he slides out of the window and back outside.
CHASE: (narration) I ran all the way back to the car without stopping, not even when it felt like my lungs would explode and my legs give out. When I got to the car I took off and didn’t look back. I don’t know if anyone...or anything...was following me, but I didn’t care. I just had to get out. I didn’t stop until I got to the office, not for traffic signals, pedestrians or stray dogs. I didn’t feel safe until I got there.
As Desmond runs towards the woods near the estate’s drive, the shadowy tentacles wave and reach from the window he crawled from.
INT, Chase’s office, morning. Desmond is slouched in a chair in the office’s waiting room. He is alone and appears to be sleeping. He supports his head with one hand and clutches his revolver with the other. An empty bottle of booze is in his lap.
Dorris unlocks the office door and enters. She is carrying her purse and is in a coat and hat, ready for work. She is startled when she turns around and sees Desmond, very disheveled, in the chair. He is now awake but is obviously worn out.
DORRIS: Oh! Mr. Chase! What are you doing in here? I thought you had a room down at the Bastion.
CHASE: Pack up your things, and call a mover to get the rest. We have to get a new office.
DORRIS: Des, come on. You got two months late rent due on this place, how can you afford to...
CHASE: Just do it, now!
DORRIS: OK, OK, Geez...
CHASE: I’ll explain later.
Desmond goes into his office and closes the door.
EXT, the city, out on the street, morning. A shadowy figure, tall and thin moves down the mostly abandoned avenue. His face is unseen as he walks into a small diner snugged in-between much larger buildings. It is Nix, but he is different.
INT, the city, a diner. The only people in the diner are a single customer, a waitress, and greese-stained short-order cook back in the kitchen.
Nix enters as the waitress and the customer, a man, chat. He goes to the end of the counter and has a seat.
MAN: So my wife says, “If you don’t do something ‘bout them kids, I’m gonna clobber you twice as hard”. And I’m going “Hey, don’t get on to me, they’re the milkman’s remember!”
WAITRESS: Ah, Louie, you crack me up. Hang on a sec.
The waitress goes down to where Nix is seated, order pad in hand.
WAITRESS: What ya havin’, sweetie.
NIX: (his face still concealed behind his raised collar and tipped hat.). Well, aren’t you just the prettiest thing. I could just put you in my pocket. I think I’ll have you.
WAITRESS: Can it, smoothie. It’s too early for your bologna. Now what will you have.
NIX: I said...you.
Nix’s hands and arms explode in a burst of tentacles. The twisted, fleshy ropes lash out and grab the waitress, who only has time to give a whimper before the life is crushed form her.
The male diner customer screams and makes a run for the door. Nix easily catches him in his tendrils and slams him to the ground.
The cook then runs out of the kitchen, waving a baseball bat.
COOK: Hey! What the hell do you think...
The cook is then caught and crushed. Discarding the body, Nix surveys his three quick kills. His tentacles wrap back around themselves, forming hands again. He then walks calmly from the diner.
End Part One.