SCULLY
(interrupting at the word "magician")
Hold it. Are you trying to tell me that this is some kind of conspiracy involving the Freemasons?
MULDER
Jeez, Scully, when you say it like that, you make it sound... kinda stupid.
Scully tries the hall's main door. It is unlocked. She pushes it open and the agents look inside. Pitch black.
MULDER
Looks like a flashlight job.
SCULLY
Great.
INT. MASONIC HALL
For a second, everything is black. Then a flashlight beam slices through the darkness.
Even by flashlight, the agents can see the Masonic Hall is a total disaster: broken chairs and debris litter the floor, dust and filth has accumulated in piles in the corners. There is a stage, the wooden planks of which don't look like they can support a person's weight. Still hanging across the stage is a curtain, obviously once quite ornate but now in tatters.
SCULLY
I don't know about you, but I don't think there's going to be a magic show here tomorrow.
MULDER
That's okay—I really hate matinees, anyway.
The beam of the flashlight flickers and goes out. They are plunged into complete blackness.
MULDER
Scully, I think I'm having déjà vu all over again. Scully?
SCULLY
I think I'm having it, too. Not déjà vu exactly. It's like you said: not something you've already done, but something you already know.
There is a CRACK, not unlike that of a hand smacking a flashlight. The beam blazes back to life.
MULDER
(pointing the flashlight)
Is that an office back there?
INT. MASONIC HALL OFFICE
The agents enter the tiny office, the beam of the flashlight roaming around the room. It stops on a desk, apparently the only piece of furniture in the whole building. On it sits a heavy black phone.
SCULLY
Mulder, does this look familiar at all?
MULDER
The Mystery Line commercial.
Mulder goes over to the desk. He hesitates a moment, then picks up the telephone receiver. He starts to bring it to his ear...
SCULLY
Uh, Mulder?
Mulder shines the flashlight towards Scully's voice. She is holding up the end of the telephone cord. It is frayed, wires dangling, as though it were torn from the wall. Mulder, a little embarrassed, sets the receiver back in its cradle.
EXT. MAIN STREET - EVENING
Mulder and Scully exit the ruined hall, overcoats dusty, hair full of cobwebs. Scully dusts herself off.
SCULLY
When we get back to the motel, I'm going to take a long shower.
MULDER
Looks like Fred's back.
Across the street, the Fix-It and Supply Shop's sign has been turned around to read "OPEN FOR BUSINESS." Inside, a figure can be seen working. Mulder begins crossing the street. Scully stands there, pulling long, dusty knots of cobweb out of her hair.
MULDER
Coming?
SCULLY
Sure. Why not.
INT. FIX-IT SHOP
A small bell RINGS as Mulder and Scully enter the Fix-It shop. The shopowner, FRED, does not look up. Wearing overalls and a pair of glasses, one lens of which has been fitted with an eyepiece for working on minute mechanisms, he is hunched over some obscure device, working at it with tiny tools.
SCULLY
Excuse me?
Fred still does not acknowledge them.
SCULLY
Excuse me, I'm Agent Scully. This is Agent Mulder. We're with the FBI.
FRED
(concentrating on his gizmo)
I heard about you.
Fred goes back to ignoring the agents. Scully, looking around the shop, notices a sheet of paper on the counter. She holds it up for Mulder to see: "Spectacular Display of Illusion and Ventriloquism."
MULDER
Sir, we're here on an investigation.
He holds up the receipt from Illusions of Empire.
MULDER
Maybe you could tell us how your shop's address turned up on this receipt.
With a sigh full of irritation, Fred finally gets up from his workbench to examine the receipt.
FRED
(reading slowly)
"Illusions... of... Empire." Magic shop? I've never been too interested in magic.
Fred squints, reading through the magnifying eyepiece.
FRED
Why, that ain't even my handwriting. Sorry, can't help you.
MULDER
Sir, I understand you're probably a very busy man, but this is kind of a serious matter.
Outside, an old van—the kind with no windows along its sides—pulls in front of the shop.
FRED
Listen, agent whoever you are. I don't belong to any militia and I ain't never done anything illegal, least not that I know of. I'm just trying to run a business here. I take whatever jobs come my way—mostly piecework.
Fred holds up his gizmo as an example. Even up close, the thing offers no clue as to what it is or what it does.
FRED
I usually don't know what the whole machine looks like, and to tell you the truth I don't much care. Now, however serious it might seem, this business that brought you here... well, offhand I'd say someone is having some fun at your expense.
Mulder looks to his partner for some help, but the look on Scully's face says she's thinking the same thing as Fred.
Outside, a teenage KID pops out of the passenger door of the van and enters the Fix-It shop. Fred puts down his gizmo.
FRED
Excuse me, but I have a real customer.
Fred waves the kid over the the far end of the desk, away from the agents. He retrieves something from a shelf, a package of some sort wrapped in black paper and held together with leather straps. Fred and the kid turn their shoulders to Mulder and Scully and speak in WHISPERS so they cannot overhear. Fred seems to be giving the kid some kind of instructions: he grasps his left hand with the thumb and forefinger of his right, creating the image of a handcuff or shackle of some kind. He then moves both hands as if pulling a length of rope, letting it go slack and pulling it taut again. The kid nods. Finally, the kid exits the shop with his package under his arm and gets in the van, which drives away.
MULDER
We'd like to ask you a couple more questions.
FRED
No. No, sir, I'm closing up for the night. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
MULDER
I'm sure it will just take a few minutes of your time.
FRED
I'll tell you what. It's past my dinner time. If you really want to talk that bad, we can talk over at the diner.
He takes a ratty coat off a hook.
FRED
I got to go out the back to turn the lights out. I'll meet you out front and we can walk there together.
EXT. MAIN STREET - EVENING
Mulder and Scully exit through the front door; inside, they see Fred hit a series of light switches, then open a back door and step out.
Mulder and Scully wait a few moments. No sign of Fred. The agents walk to the back of the building.
EXT. BACK OF FIX-IT SHOP - EVENING
The rear of the fix-it shop is a blank brick wall, bearing a few stains and patches of crumbling mortar. There is no back door.
SCULLY
Wonderful.
INT. "EAT HERE" DINER
Treacly MUZAK plays to empty tables. As with seemingly every building in Crampton, the diner displays an advertisement for the "spectacular" magic show tomorrow at three, this one taped to the front window.
Mulder and Scully enter and take seats at the counter.
MULDER
(in a tired voice)
Okay, Scully, so what do we have so far?
SCULLY
(also tir
ed)
So far? Nothing I'd care to bring back to Skinner. Unless you want to haul Ricky Smith to Washington to do card tricks for the director. It's as though none of this has anything to do with Agent Johnson's murder anymore. It's all changed. I feel like we're on some kind of weird scavenger hunt.
Scully seems on the brink of something, but can't quite articulate it.
SCULLY
It's almost like all this is just an excuse to... to... something. I don't know, maybe—
COUNTERGIRL
(appearing suddenly and interrupting Scully)
Good evening, folks! Would you like to try the meatloaf tonight?
Mulder and Scully look up sharply, Scully's train of thought lost. The COUNTERGIRL is tall and very attractive, but wearing too much makeup, giving her face a waxy appearance.
MULDER
Uh... yeah, sure. And a Coke, please.
COUNTERGIRL
And for you, ma'am?
Scully is a little out of it, still trying to hold onto her last thought... to no avail.
SCULLY
Just some coffee for me, thanks.
MULDER
Can I ask you something? How do you—the town, I mean—stay in business? It doesn't seem like there's enough people around here to support it.
COUNTERGIRL
Oh, tourists, mostly.
SCULLY
Tourists?
COUNTERGIRL
Oh, sure. We get lots of people like you passing through here.
The countergirl nods in the direction of a table toward the back. There, the couple on a "photographic excursion" is seated. They are scooping chunks of meatloaf and lumps of mashed potatoes into their mouths, seemingly not pausing between bites to swallow. They turn to Mulder and Scully and smile, their chins dripping gravy.
MULDER
You know, on second thought...
He stops as Scully's cell phone rings. She answers it.
SCULLY
Scully.
RICKY SMITH
(on Mulder's cell phone in the yellow house)
Where have you been? I've been ringing you for an hour! Are you two still in Crampton?
SCULLY
Yes.
RICKY SMITH
Get out. Get out while you still can.
SCULLY
What do you—
Ricky hangs up.
SCULLY
Mulder, that was Ricky. I think something's wrong.
MULDER
Let's go.
The agents take their coats and leave. A few seconds after they've gone, the tourists stand and leave, their meal only partially eaten. The countergirl clears their plates and goes through a swinging door, presumably to the back of the building. The diner is once again empty. After a moment, the LIGHTS GO OUT.
FADE OUT
END OF ACT TWO
ACT THREE
FADE IN:
INT. YELLOW HOUSE
Mulder, Scully, and Ricky are together in the yellow house. Whereas before he was low-key and a little evasive, Ricky now is agitated. He unfolds a sheet of paper and holds it up for them to see: "Spectacular Display of Illusion and Ventriloquism."
RICKY SMITH
This came through my mail slot about an hour ago. Have you seen this?
SCULLY
Yes. They're pretty much all over town.
RICKY SMITH
This is bad. This is very bad. You definitely don't want to be around if—when—this thing happens.
MULDER
We checked out the Masonic Hall. I don't see any spectacular displays happening in that place. Not tomorrow, not next week, probably not ever.
RICKY SMITH
Agent Mulder, I'm guessing you've been in Crampton long enough to know that what you see has very little to do with what you get. And you don't want to be there when they give it to you.
SCULLY
The Mystery Line. So you did continue the investigation on your own.
RICKY SMITH
(nodding)
I couldn't let it go. Cases like that were my special interest. Being able to point my finger and say, with all the authority of the Justice Department behind me, "Look, this is all a fake, none of this is real, it's all a con." Those opportunities somehow justified all my work, maybe my whole life. When we looked into the Mystery Line, Larry and I, we could tell it was a front for something, but none of the pieces seemed to fit together... or, they fit together, but the picture they made was all wrong. Larry said "no more"—too many dead ends, too many coincidences. But I was already in too deep. I quit the Bureau. I made the Mystery Line my purpose in life. That's when I was brought to Crampton.
MULDER
What do you mean, "brought"?
RICKY SMITH
The same way they used Larry's murder to bring you to Crampton. One thing just sort of leads to another. A map, a murder, a phone call, a message in a fortune cookie. They've got all the gimmicks. They're very good at getting you to do what they want. As I drove toward the town I knew that I'd been here before. I knew it. Here, or someplace very much like it. There's more than one Crampton in the world, that I'm sure of. Anyway, I snooped around for while, like you did. And then I went to that old ruin of a hall. But I wasn't alone there. I didn't exactly see anyone or anything, but I could feel something lurking around me, running away when I wasn't looking. Leading me, it seemed, from room to room. I came across a tiny office with a desk and a phone. The phone was disconnected, I could see that. I don't know what made me pick up the receiver and put it to my ear.
Mulder and Scully exchange a brief look.
RICKY SMITH
When I did I heard... something. A voice. Or maybe more than one voice. Telling me things that didn't make any sense, not in any literal way. But it scared me. And in those days nothing scared me. I slammed down the receiver fast. I should have gotten out of there right then, and I probably still could have. But I let it lead me on further and further into this darkness that seemed to be massing around me. Finally I was standing on the stage of the hall, right where the curtain comes together. Even at that point, I think I could have turned and walked away without any serious consequences. But I had to look behind the curtain. I had to know what was hiding there in all that blackness. I had to know. And the strangest thing was finding out that I already knew.
Ricky stops, but it's clear he wants to say more. He just needs to have it dragged out of him.
MULDER
What was it? What did you know?
RICKY SMITH
It's very hard to put into words. I think you, of all people, should be able to understand that, Agent Mulder. But what I felt, looking into that blackness behind the curtain... it seemed that I could hear the blackness, that I could touch it.
Ricky is building steam, his narrative fueled by some reservoir of manic energy. He speaks faster, waving his hands.
RICKY SMITH
I understood that there was something at work at the heart of things—no, not something at work, but something at play. Something that was playing, putting on a show—a flimsy, pointless, hokey stageshow. And I realized then that the only thing that kept the show going was this mindless, relentless urge...
SCULLY
Urge for what?
RICKY SMITH
For more play. Just to play and play and play. Pure play for the hell of it. Pure magic. And pure illusion. I don't have any names to give you. I wish I did. That always makes it easier to take. I could say it's the Bavarian Illuminati or the Council on Foreign Relations or the Prince of Darkness, but I'd be kidding myself, picking a name out of a hat for the sake of having something to call them. From our point of view their power is unthinkable, literally. Our brains just aren't wired to handle it. That's what killed those people. They called the Mystery Line to get the truth. And they got it.
MULDER
So what is the truth, Ricky?
RICKY SMITH
The truth is, there is no truth. Everythi
ng is mutable. Provisional. They can change the entire landscape of things—make things happen that couldn't possibly happen. Or even undo something that's already happened. Not just here, in Crampton, but anywhere, everywhere they can find an audience. Build a stage. Put on the act. We don't get to see the big picture—and sometimes it's very big indeed. Worldwide repercussions. That sort of thing. But in the end it all gets swept under the table—we blame it on some nut in a shack, or terrorists.
Mulder and Scully look at each other uncomfortably at the word "terrorists."
RICKY SMITH
With so much power, though, there's really nothing for them to do except play. Push a button, pull a string, just to see what moves on the other end. That's what the truth is, Agent Mulder. Once I knew that, once I knew their secret... well, here I am. And I'm not going anywhere. When you know how it's all done, when you know the secret—it's all over.
And so is Ricky's story. The manic energy that fueled its telling apparently spent, he slouches in his chair.
RICKY SMITH
I really hope for your sake that they don't let you in on it. I really mean that. They're always looking for superior playmates, and you two would seem to fit the bill. But if you don't get out of Crampton before this magic show...
SCULLY
Well, what about you? You're welcome to come with us when we go.
RICKY SMITH
(with a humorless smile)
There's nowhere to go, not for me, at least. Besides—
He turns the magic show flyer over. On the back, written in neat, ancient letters: "Admit One."
RICKY SMITH
—my ticket's already paid for.
Ricky looks at his watch.
RICKY SMITH
(forcing an animated tone)
Hey, it's getting late. If you two are going to make Cincinnati tonight, you'd better hit the road now.
EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - NIGHT
Mulder and Scully get into their car. In the doorway, Ricky watches. For a second, a look crosses his face. Hope, perhaps. Then the look is gone, replaced by one of weary resignation. As Mulder and Scully drive away, Ricky closes the door.
INT. CAR
Mulder and Scully.
MULDER
Well, Scully, what do you think of that?
SCULLY
I think I'm ready to upgrade my diagnosis from delusional to full-blown paranoia.
MULDER
I'm not sure I agree, Scully. Sure, Ricky's story is out there, but the basic idea that things aren't what they seem is pretty much the rationale followed by all serious investigators—be they scientists, philosophers, even FBI agents. The only thing that distinguishes Ricky's perspective is his conviction that there's some sort of design or intent behind the facts as we know them. But it's all the same thing—it's just a matter of scale.
The Collected Short Fiction Page 93