by Tad Williams
But many others did die as the fire spread to some of the nearby roofs, and to the tenement houses on Tin Street where hundreds of people lived in each single three- or four-story house. All told, something more than two dozen folk were killed in the terrible Quiller’s Mint fire and hundreds more lost their homes. The conflagration would have burned far more of the city had not two sides been blocked from spreading by Skimmer’s Lagoon, and one side by the city wall itself.
There was not much strange in the events of that evening, as I said, but there was much that was strange that happened afterward.
Arvald, the owner of the tavern, disappeared within a few days after the fire. Some said that was because there was nothing except an expensive and pointless salvage to detain him in Southmarch any longer and so he had gone back to the Vuttish islands, others suggested it was because his conscience was something less than clean. Why he should have set a fire in his own tavern, though, has not yet been convincingly explained even by those who suggest his guilt.
When Thom Regin’s body was brought out of the ashes, it was naught but black bones and charred meat, and thus nothing I said would have made any difference, so I told no one of how I had found him. I was young and not keen for the eye of authority to fall on me in such an unflattering situation. I might have spoken up if John Sommerle had remained, but he too had vanished, never seen again after Arvald shoved him out of the Quiller’s Mint front door. The Jellonian woman Doras was little help in answering questions. She could never speak of the evening without bursting into tears, and the pox took her within a year or two in any case.
Was it simply by chance that the Mint burned down? It matters little, I suppose, because a new tavern was soon built on the ashes of the old, and because the oldest parts of the place are in any case below ground or in the city walls and thus went unscathed.
It still seems odd that the fire should have started on the opposite side of the room from the fireplace, on a damp night, and that I should find Thom Regin’s corpse on the ground near the place where it had caught. But if John Sommerle came back to murder Regin and set the fire to cover his deed, why did he not simply drag the poet’s corpse out through one of the side doors and leave it in an alley instead? Regin would have been thought only the most recent in a long line of Quiller’s Mint patrons who never made it back to their homes through the Lagoon District’s sometimes inhospitable streets.
There are even wilder speculations, most based around the reputed presence of the man who would someday be our King Olin, but I have never heard one of these tales yet that did not sound to me like the ravings of a madman. The idea that a king who has always shown kindness even to his lowest and poorest subjects would instruct his guards to set a deadly fire simply to hide the fact that he was visiting a tavern… well, there is just no sense to it.
So there it is, the tale of the conflagration that destroyed the old Quiller’s Mint. In fact, I am told that even this terrible deed or accident was merely a reenactment of a larger historical tradition — that the Mint which burned was at least the fourth or fifth building of that name on that spot in Squeakstep Alley between Fitters and Tin. It is that most unsatisfying of tales, a true one. What it means, if it means anything at all, must be up to you, kind reader, to decide.
— Finn Teodoros, by his hand, on the ninth day of the eleventh month of the year 1314
Black Sunshine
FADE IN:
EXT. — PIERSON HOUSE, 1976 – NIGHT
From blackness to shadowy trees — a tangled orchard in moonlight. We move through them toward a three story turn-of-the-century house with lights in the windows. As we track in, we hear Black Sabbath’s “Iron Man” playing distantly on a stereo.
CUT TO: ERIC’S DREAM POV — Micro close-up on a carpet — it’s ALIVE, squirming with intricate patterms. “Iron Man” is ear-splitting now.
YOUNG JANICE
Eric! Eric, talk to me!
YOUNG ERIC’S POV swivels up from the carpet — things are dreamlike, compressed, distorted — it’s an acid trip. YOUNG JANICE is so close that her face is distorted. We dimly see she is fifteen, maybe sixteen, wearing 70s clothes.
YOUNG JANICE
Eric, I want to get out of here… !
YOUNG BRENT, lurches into view, looming above JANICE. He’s chunky, teenage, clutching his hands against his stomach, panicky but trying to stay calm.
YOUNG BRENT
Shit, it’s bad — Topher’s freaking out for real up there.
YOUNG JANICE
What’s going on, Brent? Where’s Kimmy?
YOUNG BRENT
I don’t know! I can’t find her. I think… I think something bad happened! I tried to help Topher, and I…
Just now realizing, BRENT lifts his hands away from his body and stares at them. They are smeared with blood. His eyes bug out.
YOUNG JANICE
Oh my God!
Something is THUMPING on the ceiling above — something heavy thrashing around upstairs. As the POV looks upward, the ceiling suddenly becomes TRANSPARENT, a spreading puddle of translucency as though the ceiling were turning to smeared glass. A dark human shape (YOUNG TOPHER) is lying on the floor of the room above, face pressed against the transparent ceiling as though it were a picture window, looking down on them. All we can make out of him is a huddled shape, distorted face, and a single staring eye.
YOUNG TOPHER
Hey, Pierson — I seeeeee you… !
YOUNG JANICE
(screaming)
Eric!
FADE with JANICE’s cry still echoing as we CUT TO:
INT. — ERIC’S MOTEL – NIGHT
ADULT ERIC as he sits bolt upright in a motel bed, sweating.
YOUNG JANICE
(very faint now)
Eric!
ERIC PIERSON is sweaty, trembling. He’s in his early 40s, nice-looking, slender, but at this moment he could be twenty years older. He fumbles for a cigarette and sits smoking in the dark as we:
ROLL CREDITS
EXT. — THE PIERSON HOUSE, NOW – MORNING
ADULT ERIC drives down a long, dirt driveway. From atop a rise we see the house — the same house, but now sitting in a wide, empty DIRT FIELD several acres across: the orchard has been cut down. The house looks grim — peeling paint, screen door hanging halfway off. Hesitantly, he moves up the front steps and through the front door.
INT. – HOUSE
There’s nothing Gothic or creepy about the place, it’s just stripped and empty — carpets removed, no furniture, wallpaper peeling. ERIC hesitates again, then moves toward the dark stairwell. He flicks the switch — no light. He looks up the stairs, but a noise outside distracts him. A car with “Red Letter Realty” has pulled up beside his and someone is getting out.
EXT. – HOUSE
ERIC has returned to the dry front lawn, and stands with his back to the drive, looking up at house. As an attractive, dark-haired woman in her late thirties approaches, he talks over his shoulder to her.
ERIC
Things seem smaller when you see them after a long time. I remembered this place as being so huge…
JANICE
That’s funny, because I remembered you as being much shorter.
ERIC turns, startled.
ERIC
Janice? Janice? Oh, my God, what are you doing…
(looks at car)
Jesus. Are you the…
JANICE
The real-estate agent? Well, someone else in the office is actually handling it, but when I heard you were coming back to town to sign the sale papers, I said…
(shrugs)
Well, it seemed to make sense.
ERIC is still staring at her.
ERIC
You look… you look great.
JANICE
I look old. But thanks. You look okay yourself. I was sorry to hear about your grandmother.
ERIC
Well, ninety-two. We should all last so long. I thought she’d sold
this years ago.
JANICE
She wasn’t stupid, Eric. She was making the developers bid up the price — you can see this was the last property here. She did you a good turn.
ERIC
(turns back to the house)
It’s hard to believe, huh? Those days seem like… like a dream.
JANICE
Not to me. I live around here, remember?
ERIC turns at the harshness in her voice.
ERIC
Is that bad?
JANICE
You didn’t want to stay much. No, I guess it’s all right. Not as exciting as Los Angeles, I’m sure.
(she frowns, then tries to smile)
But it’s nice to send the kids off to school without firearms training.
ERIC
You… have kids?
JANICE
Callie and Jack — eight and six. But no, not at the moment. They’re with their dad for the summer. We’re divorced.
ERIC is staring at the house again.
ERIC
I was just going to visit Topher, then drive back, but… hey, would you like to have dinner? It’d be nice to catch up.
JANICE
You’re… going to visit Topher?
ERIC
Thought I should. You want to come along?
JANICE
(shakes her head; then:)
You haven’t seen him lately. It’s bad.
ERIC
(shrugs)
Yeah, that’s what they told me. So, dinner. What do you say?
JANICE
I don’t think it’s a good idea, Eric.
ERIC
Just talk. Catch up. I… really feel like I need to.
JANICE
You don’t want to catch up, Eric. It’s better to leave things alone.
ERIC
C’mon… Jan-Jan
JANICE looks at him for a long moment, both touched and irritated by the use of the name. She rolls her eyes like a schoolgirl.
JANICE
Asshole.
FADE TO: EXT. — LAS LOMAS CONVALESCENT HOSPITAL – DAY
It’s a quiet, decent place. ERIC pulls into the parking lot.
INT. – HOSPITAL
ERIC walks down the hallway, past various geriatrics in wheelchairs and one young man twisted with palsy. As ERIC’s gaze sweeps across the young man’s face, a voice speaks behind him.
OLD WOMAN
Stop! Stop!
He turns. A scowling OLD WOMAN in a wheelchair is following him.
OLD WOMAN
It’s all a mistake! Call my mother!
ERIC walks on a little faster than before.
CUT TO: INT. — HOSPITAL LOUNGE
The room is filled with old people on benches, in chairs, mostly staring into space. ERIC is talking with a NURSE in the lounge doorway. She points toward the corner. As ERIC approaches, looking around, he doesn’t see TOPHER until the last moment — then a look of SHOCK runs across his face.
FLASH CUT TO: TOPHER as a teenager in 1976, handsome, blonde, surfer-ish, a shit-eating grin on his face as he lounges on a couch.
YOUNG TOPHER
Eric, my man! Have I got something for you…
CUT TO: TOPHER NOW, in his wheelchair. He is startlingly grotesque, hairless and hunched, but his SKIN is the worst part — a crusty brown SHELL over his whole body, as though he’s covered with dried mud. He sits as stiff as if paralyzed. Two pale blue eyes peer out of the masklike face.
ERIC
(trying to cover his shock)
Topher, man. Long time. Long time… I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while. Life, man, it’s just… you know.
A horrible silence. TOPHER peers outward, not even looking at ERIC.
ERIC (cont.)
I never… I never stop being sorry, man. It was just so screwed up. You… we never thought…
NURSE
(appearing over his shoulder)
Is everything all right?
ERIC suddenly gets up and lurches toward the door.
CLOSE-UP: TOPHER’S FACE, staring at nothing.
In the doorway, the NURSE nods understandingly.
NURSE
It’s very disturbing if you haven’t seen it before.
ERIC
(still in shock)
It’s been years…
NURSE
It’s come on very badly lately. Nobody knows what it is. It’s flexible at the joints, though, when he moves. When we move him, that is — he doesn’t do anything himself, doesn’t talk… The skin tissue is unusual — hard and brittle, like… what is it insects make? A chrysalis?
(she looks at ERIC)
I’m sorry, am I upsetting you? Is he a relative?
ERIC
(shaking his head)
High school friend…
FADE TO: EXT. — RURAL ROAD — DAY, MINUTES LATER
ERIC is driving, face troubled. He fumbles for a tape and pushes it into the player. Something contemporary begins to fill the car as we CUT TO:
INT. — HOSPITAL — SAME TIME
CLOSE-UP on TOPHER’s strange face. The eyes blink for the first time, slow-motion, as we CUT TO:
INT. — REAL-ESTATE OFFICE — SAME TIME
JANICE, phone against her ear, is looking for something on top of her desk, holding a styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand.
JANICE
… I think they’re looking for something a bit less pricey…
She looks at the coffee, which is suddenly black as ink. There is black on her hand, too, and smeared up her arm. She drops the black liquid to the floor, but her desk is covered in black smears too, and it’s all over her legs and skirt and chair. She screams and leaps up, rubbing frantically at herself as we CUT TO:
TOPHER’S EYES: Another SLOW BLINK
INT. — ERIC’S CAR
The contemporary music abruptly twists sideways into the drum-and-screams intro of the Stones’ “Sympathy for the Devil”. Eric stares at the tape player, starts to pop the tape, then hears:
YOUNG TOPHER
Hook a right, man — time we got back to your place.
The high-school TOPHER is sitting in the passenger seat, grinning, thumb pointing down a side road. ERIC gasps and hits the brakes. The car fishtails to a stop on the side of the road. ERIC stares. The passenger seat is EMPTY. The music is back to normal.
CUT TO: INT. — REAL ESTATE OFFICE
JANICE is standing up, perfectly clean, her desk clean too, everything fine but for the coffee she spilled on the floor. All her co-workers are STARING at her as we CUT TO:
EXT. — GAS STATION — MINUTES LATER
ERIC has pulled his car into a small service station. The CASHIER, a fifty-something skinny guy with a beard and ponytail wanders out. ERIC gets out and leans against the car, stunned.
CASHIER
It’s self-serve. Hey, you feel all right?
ERIC
Yeah, I guess so.
CASHIER
We got a bathroom if you need to puke or something.
ERIC
No, I… I think I just… had a flashback.
CASHIER
(chortles)
I know about that shit, man. Between acid and that Post Traumatic Stress shit, I’ve had so many of them things I prolly spend more time in the old days than I do in the right-now…
ERIC is looking back over the fields and through the trees as we DISSOLVE TO:
INT. — RESTAURANT – NIGHT
ERIC and JANICE eating dinner in an upscale Mexican restaurant. She has dolled up a bit, but has a sweater over her shoulders as though unwilling to relax too much. Neither is eating very heartily.
ERIC
… Had no idea. Oh my God, he looks like… like…
JANICE
Like a monster. I know.
ERIC
It really got to me. I kind of freaked out on the ride back.
JANICE looks troubled, but also angry.
&nb
sp; JANICE
Yeah. Tension and guilt will do that to you.
ERIC
Are you saying I should feel guilty, Janice? I do. Of course I do. But it’s not all my fault.
JANICE
You sure left town like you thought it was.
(She has been fidgeting with her silverware. She waves a waiter over.)
Could you please give me a clean fork, if it’s not too much to ask? This fork is dirty. It’s disgusting.
The waiter leaves. ERIC looks at her. She stares defiantly back.
JANICE (cont.)
Well, you did, didn’t you?
ERIC
What did you want me to do? I had a scholarship that fall, remember? Did you want me not to go to UCLA?
JANICE
To become a journalist and save the world.
ERIC
To become a journalist, yeah, even if I didn’t know it then. Should I have just stayed?
JANICE
Of course not. Then you would have had to break up with me face to face.
ERIC
C’mon — it was as much your idea as mine, wasn’t it?
JANICE
Maybe. But I didn’t get to leave. I had to go to that high school for two years. How do you think that felt? To have people pointing at me, whispering about me… ?