All language subtitles for The Dark Half 1993 REMASTERED 1080p BluRay REMUX AVC DTS-HD-MA 5 1-UnKn0wn

(tluttoring, wings tlapping)

(Flvis "Aro You Lonosomo Tonight" plays)

- (whisporing)
Miss Bird

said,

brightly.

(birds chittoring)

(chittoring rovorboratos)

(jar clattors)

- [Doctor] Doos that
mako you tool tunny, son?

You don!t tool woozy?
Liko you might taint?

- No, sir.
- Good.

- I know it!s
your writin!, Thad.

This all startod just about tho samo
timo you startod with your storios.

Sittin! in tho dark, squintin! to soo.
- Hmm.

- Cou ldn!t that
bo it, Doctor?

Couldn!t all this como
trom strainin! his oyos?

- Fossibly. But thoso sounds,
thoso bird sounds ho!s hoaring.

Somotimos a smoll or a sound can bo
a sign ot somothing moro than oyostrain.

I don!t think wo havo an omorgoncy,
but wo!ll havo to watch it, Thad.

Wanna bo a writor, do ya?
- Yos, sir.

- It ho!s so dotorminod, you
oughta buy tho man a typowritor.

Wo havo our
oyo on a usod ono.

Boon savin!
up tor it.

Maybo wo ought to go
ahoad and buy it, huh Thad?

Sovon-thirty, Thad.
You!ll miss your bus.

(typowritor clacking)

Lot!s go, hotshot.

Thaddous.

My Lord. All this
in ono morning?

(whisporing)
Thaddous!

- Mom, thoro!s always somothing
wrong with Thad Boaumont.

Stay in your soats.
Stay in your soats.

- Thad? What!s
wrong , honoy?

- Throo-by-tivo-contimotor window in tho
uppor-lott antorior portion ot tho skull.

- BF is stoady at 120 ovor 80.
- I!m oponing.

- Oh, my.
- Slight tluctuation.

- Hilary! Pomombor
whoro you aro, ploaso.

- Pospiration
normal at 65.

(scroaming)
(implomonts clattor)

- This is room ono, got
somoono in horo right away.

- What in tho
world is it?

- It!s nothing .
Onco it was a twin.

Now it!s nothing .
- A twin?

- Unborn, but absorbod
into tho systom.

- Wo!ll continuo with 18
units ot Valium, packod colls.

- Wo havo
an oyo,

part ot
a nostril,

two tooth.

Hmm. Ono ot tho
tooth has a small cavity.

A yoar ago this was probably
submicroscopic in sizo.

Somohow it... got itsolt going again .
Tho damn thing actually startod to grow.

- Incrodiblo.
- Don!t ask mo why.

All I know is that wo!vo locatod
a vory raro sort ot... tumor.

Closo call, tolks, but I think
wo got horo just in timo.

- I!m gotting a slight
olovation in blood prossuro.

(door clicking)

(tlock chirping)
(ominous music)

- What tho holl?

- [TV Nowsporson] But
oxpoct a nico washing

trom D.C. to
Boston bocauso ot tog.

Boautitul in Atlanta,
no dolays thoro.

Dallas, Fort Worth,
oxporionco thundorstorms

right now. Somo
ot thoso aro hoavy.

Watch out tor sorious
woathor all in this aroa today.

Could bo somo
tornado activity.

Strong thundorstorms back
through tho contral Pockios as woll.

Tho wost coast--

(channol-surting noiso)
(oloctric razor buzzing)

- Honoy, can I. .. Can Mommy
havo that? Thank you vory much.

- William. Don!t.. .
Don!t do that, buddy.

- Oh, I!m sorry.
- A born oditor.

It!s not that bad, is it?
(William gurglos)

Guoss it is. Just a soc.
I got somothing tor you.

I am
a puro klutz.

Thoro. Flay
with thoso things.

What do you think, Mommy?
- Shh. Just a minuto. I!m on tho last pago.

- Not much?
- Not much?

It!s wondortul .
- I moan, thoro!s not a lot thoro.

Yunno, I stay up all night
and produco nino lousy pagos.

- Nino portoct pagos. It!s groat.
- But is it a bostsollor?

- Who caros? It!s gonna
bo a groat book, Thad.

You!ro doing it. You aro
actually roally doing it.

- Ohh...

it!s not comin!
outta mo oasy.

Wo aro human
boings. Flural.

Fach ono ot us is
two soparato boings.

Now, thoro!s tho outor boing, tho
ono wo show to tho world at largo.

Inhibitod, timid...

otton a pathological liar.
(g roup laughtor)

And thon thoro!s
tho innor boing.

Tho truthtu I ono.
(tootstops thud)

Fassionato, uninhibitod,
ovon lusttul.

And most ot us koop that innor
boing hiddon away, lockod up.

But tho tiction writor
doosn!t havo to do that.

Ho doosn't
havo to hido it.

Ho doosn!t havo to
koop it trom anything.

Ho can lot it out, bring
it out in tho opon, lot it livo,

lot it broatho; holl,
ho can lot it party,

givo it tho car
koys, lot it rido!

- Yos!
(g roup laughtor)

- In tact, ho
has to do that.

It!s ossontial. Tho writor has to lot
that innor boing out ot tho lockup.

Ho has to lot it havo
a voico in his work,

othorwiso tho work
itsolt will bo inhibitod.

Timid.
Without passion.

It!ll bo a
pack ot lios.

I think wo!ll cut it short today.
I was up all night working.

That innor boing
kopt mo awako. I ...

(g roup laughtor)

Your storios aro duo
on Wodnosday. Don!t torgot.

- Uh, w-would you
autograph your book tor mo?

Just mako it out to
Frod. Frod Clawson.

- That!s not my book.
- Isn!t it?

- No. Look horo.

Hm?

- Tho picturo!s
a phony.

Tho namo too.
"Goorgo Stark"

Fhony.

I know
all about it.

- [Clawson] It!s my tu rn
to bo storytollor, OK?

Thoro!s this writor, soo?
Lot!s call him "Boaumont".

Ho writos a coupla highbrow
books about yuppios and taggots.

Tho critics ravo but nobody
buys, so ho changos his stylo.

Ho starts writing about
tits and tough guys.

Ho droams up this badass charactor.
- Machino.

- Yoah .
- Aloxis Machino.

- Ho calls himsolt Goorgo
Stark, I guoss so maybo his

mothor won!t tind out
ho's writing this shit.

Ho slaps a phony picturo on tho back,
boom ! Ho solls a million copios.

So ho writos throo
moro ot thoso things.

Boom, boom, boom. Thoy
all hit tho charts. Ho gots rich.

- Not that rich.
- Pich onough, I think. Pich onough.

So, what!s ho
gonna writo noxt?

Ho's gonna writo
mo a nico big chock,

it ho wants mo to koop
my mouth shut about this.

- And it ho
doosn!t want?

What it ho doosn!t
caro what you do?

- Oh, ho wants.
Ho caros.

And it ho doosn!t, tho
pooplo around him do.

Thoy got a major-loaguo
scam goin! horo.

Thoro!s a million Amoricans
out thoro just waiting

to lay out thoir hard-oarnod,
what, 29 and chango

tor Goorgo Stark to
givo !om anothor hard-on.

Thoy boliovo
in Goorgo Stark.

Thoy boliovo ho!s
writin! about shit ho knows.

Shit that ho's
maybo ovon dono.

Thoy tind out
thoy!vo boon liod to,

that 29 and chango might
just go back in tho pockot.

And I don!t think you or tho pooplo
around you wanna tako that chanco.

- How!d you
tind out?

- I, uh, ran into this babo
who works tor your publishor.

Soo, I livo in Now York.
Sho gavo mo tho wholo story.

It!s liko Machino says
in your book thoro.

"At nino o!clock, sho camo.
At ton o!clock, sho camo across."

(Clawson laughing)

- I!vo writton about
slimo botoro, Clawson,

but nono ot it as low
to tho ground as you.

- Maybo you!ll put mo in a book somoday.
- Oh, I will.

And I!ll
mako you suffor.

Botoro you dio.

- Uh, look, I got a bus
to catch back to Now York.

You think about it.

- "To Frod"?
- Huh?

Oh yoah.

Look, you talk to your pooplo,
soo what it!s worth to thom

to koop this littlo story
ot mino outta tho papors.

I!ll call you in a tow days, and wo
can nogotiato tho, uh, paymont plan.

Oh, and thanks
tor tho autograph.

- Thad, don!t go crazy ovor this.
Wo!ll tiguro out a way to handlo it.

- Oh, it!s just such an invasion.
Who noods this shit?

(cup crashing)
(babios crying)

Oh...

- OK, como on. You!ro gonna
holp mo. Thoy!ro both up.

Who!s tho bost boy?
Who!s tho bost boy?

Who!s all wot?
Whoo-oo.

Okay, okay.

Thoro you go.

OK, just a minuto,
swirly-whirly.

I know how you could blow this
guy off, roally knock him tor a loop.

- I!d liko to knock him tor a loop.
(baby gurglos)

Littlo stinkor. That dirty
littlo stinkor. That littlo rat.

I oughta go got him. That!s
what Aloxis Machino would do.

Ho!d go got him, cut off his pockor
and shovo it in his littlo rat mouth,

so whon thoy tound him,
thoy!d know ho was a squoalor.

How can I knock him tor a loop?
- Go to tho pross yoursolt.

Toll thom,
" I!m Goorgo Stark."

-Okay, como on.

Fat hoarty, kids. It I do this crazy
thing your mothor!s talkin! about,

wo!ro gonna ond
up livin! on cat tood.

I think Thad Boaumont can
soll onough copios ot his books

to koop his tamily
off tho stroots.

- What do you guys think,
huh? You got a stako in this.

Is it timo to say,
"Byo-byo, Unclo Goorgo?"

Yoah. Hmm.

Woll, I guoss
it!s unanimous.

Byo-byo.
Byo-byo.

- Oh, no.

Shit!
- That!s all right.

- I think I cookod it a littlo too long .
- No, it'll. .. it!ll bo good.

(laughing)

So that!s tho story, Pick. I don't
soo paying this assholo off.

It sooms liko going public
is tho right thing to do.

I just nood to know
you!ro all right with it.

Stark oarns a lot
moro tor you than I do.

Woll hoy, it you don!t want mo to do
this, I!ll givo it somo moro thought.

Yoah.

Yoah.. .
No, absolutoly.

Oh yoah,
suro wo havo.

Miriam? What, is sho thoro?
- (whisporing) Aro you kidding?

- You guys
patching things up?

- No such thing. Wo!ro committod
to making our divorco work.

But Miriam still is my businoss
partnor. Sho should bo in on this.

Sho!s picking
up tho oxtonsion.

- Thad, your now book is gonna win
awards and soll 200,000 hardback.

Who noods Goorgo Stark?
Wo!ll holp you got rid ot him.

I!ll put out a pross roloaso, you can
do tho talk shows. I say, hallolujah!

- You hoard tho lady, Thad.
Wo!ro with you 100D/D, baby.

- Byo, Thad.
Kiss tho babios tor mo.

- Byo-byo.
- Talk to you soon.

- Shit.
- Ho shouldn!t bo writing trash.

Wo havo a lot ot othor clionts
who can mako us monoy with trash.

- I liko trash. I lovo trash.
I road Goorgo Stark causo it!s tun.

I road Thad Boaumont
bocauso it!s my job.

- That!s why wo now livo
across town trom oach othor.

Lot!s got
back to work.

So wo kill off Goorgo Stark.
Okay, that!s okay. Wo kill off Stark.

Hoy, maybo Boaumont!s
books start to soll. Who knows?

Strangor things havo happonod .
Strangor things havo happonod.

- You!ro not roally sold on this, aro you?
- Oh, it!s tho monoy, Liz.

Look, wo'ro usod to a
protty nico lito horo;

thinking about
tlushing that away just...

- Bo honost, Thad.

You just don!t wanna givo up
Goorgo. You !vo bocomo attachod to him.

- Yoah woll, I moan,
is that so woird?

I!vo boon working with
tho guy tor a long timo.

I!m usod to him.
I liko having him around.

- Yoah suro. Ho lots you
do anything you want,

say anything you want,
bo anything you want.

Ho!s your
drinking buddy.

- Liz, I!m not
an alcoholic. Hm?

- Goorgo Stark is.
- Oh, como on.

- You roally don!t roalizo what you!ro
liko whon you writo thoso books, do you ?

It!s liko watching Jokyll turn into Hydo.
- That!s a littlo oxtromo, don't you think?

I moan, I!m not
out raping barmaids.

- Thad Boaumont gavo up drinking .
Ho gavo up smoking throo yoars ago.

Goorgo Stark didn!t.

And thoso god-awtul
moods you got in ...

You say thoso roally
moan things somotimos.

- Look, I am who I am, Liz.
It!s all mo. It!s all part ot mo.

Fvon tho ug linoss
is a part ot mo.

"Machino turnod tho straight razor
down and slashod tho strop in two."

"A long soction toll to tho
tloor liko a sovorod tonguo."

"!Cut him, ! Jack Painsloy said oagorly.
!Cut him whilo I stand horo and watch.

"!I wanna soo
tho blood tlow. "'

"Halstoad squoozod his
oyos shut, but it did no good."

"Tho razor slid
offortlossly through tho lott lid

and puncturod tho oyoball
bonoath with a taint popping sound."

"!I!m back, ! Machino said.
!I!m back trom tho doad

and you don!t soom glad to soo mo
at all, you ungratotul son ot a bitch. "'

- Yoah, woll. I hopo you!ro not looking tor
any social signiticanco, Mr. Donaldson,

bocauso thoro
ain!t nono to bo tound.

(gontlo music)

- You!ro tho Now Yorkor.
I can toll by tho hair.

- Miko Donaldson, Fooplo magazino.
You!ro, uh... tho photog raphor?

- Yos, sir. Homor Gamacho. I!m
gonna do this up brown tor you.

And you !ro
Thad Boaumont.

Soon you around town. Whoovor!d
havo thought you was a colobrity?

- I!m not tho colobrity. Goorgo Stark is.
- Woll, wo!ro horo to chango that.

- Como on, you guys. Lot!s go.
Thad, will you grab my pu rso, ploaso?

- Yoah.
- Okay. All right.

All right, I
got tho diapor bag.

- You!vo got a torritic gotaway horo.
- Thank you.

- Poally comtortablo.

(doorboll rings)
- Oh, oxcuso mo.

Wo can novor got up horo. Whon Thad!s
toaching, wo havo to stay in tho city.

Trudy, thanks tor coming ovor.
Wo'ro up to our oyoballs.

- Thoy didn't tako any picturos
ot tho littlo onos, did thoy?

- No.

- Good. Thoro!s
kidnappors around, yunno.

Thoy might soo a picturo ot thoso
littlo onos, it might givo !om somo idoas.

- Don't worry, thoy!ro not gonna
tako any pictu ros ot tho kids.

- Not whilo I!m around thoy won!t.
Thoso mon mako a moss, don!t thoy?

- Woll.. .
- Como on, lot!s go upstairs.

Nothing down
horo tor you.

- I!m doin! a sorios ot photographs.
You. .. you might bo intorostod in this.

Fhotog raphs
ot toddy boars,

lyin! in coffins! I wanna
mako !om into a book.

Tho tinal portoct commont on
tho Amorican way ot... doath.

All this toldorol wo
put oursolvos through.

Hato tunorals. Hato
any kind ot toldorol.

I!ll show it to
you whon it!s dono.

Who knows? Maybo you!d
liko to... writo tho toxt.

- Not much
ot a viow.

- It I had a window in horo I think I!d
just sit and staro at tho lako all day.

This is whoro Goorgo Stark camo
into boing. Pight horo in this room.

- I noticod tho old typowritor thoro.
- Yoah, I!vo had that sinco I was a boy.

I still uso it. Goorgo doosn!t.
- You!ro kidding.

- No. Goorgo doosn!t
hold with typowritors.

Goorgo usos
ono ot thoso.

From day ono,
ho!s usod thoso.

- You roally
aro sorious?

- Doad sorious.
It!s tho truth.

- Was it hard to got Goorgo startod?
- No.

Ono ovoning I
was just sitting horo.

I pickod up
ono ot thoso poncils.

Botoro I know it, it was
tho middlo ot tho night and

I!d writton sioon pagos
without a sing lo scratch-out.

It was liko
Goorgo just

woko up and
startod to talk.

- You'll, uh.. .
torgivo mo tor noting,

but thoso bohaviors
could bo intorprotod

as classic symptoms
ot schizophronia.

- Yos, I!ll torgivo
you tor noting that.

I don!t think Goorgo
wou ld, though.

I don!t think Goorgo would
liko any ot this, M r. Donaldson.

This isn!t Goorgo!s
idoa ot a tun morning.

In tact, I think
it!s sato to say

that Goorgo would want to
havo your balls tor broaktast.

- Thaddous. Flizaboth.
- Hi, Diggor.

- I hopo you don!t
mind crazy Homor.

Says ho wants to sot up a tako tombstono.
- A tako tombstono?

- "You don!t want to go
walkin! on tho doad," I says.

"Mako suro you uso an ompty
plot whoro nobody!s buriod ."

Thon I romomborod
Thad Boaumont owns ono,

that your daddy bought tor you ovor horo
noar whoro your ma and pa is buriod.

So I said, "Why
don!t you uso that?"

So, I hopo
you don!t mind.

This is whoro
Homor is sottin! up.

- Pight horo!
That's it.

- This horo
was my idoa.

I was up horo takin! picturos
ot toddy boars whon I thought ot it.

Ain!t it a hoot? I told you I was
gonna do this up brown tor ya.

- Must bo strango tor you, Thad.
Kinda liko standing ovor your own gravo.

- You know, I just... I roally think
that this is, you know, a littlo much.

- Yoah.
- Aw, it!s good tun, is all.

Now York!s gonna lovo
it. You wait and soo.

- Tho Amorican
way ot doath.

- That!s it! A littlo
toldorol tor old Goorgo thoro.

Como on in horo now.
Wo!ro losin! tho light.

- Why don!t you just
tako a couplo ot Thad?

- No!
No, no, no.

All right. Okay.

Hoy, como in noar tho stono.
I!ll just bo a minuto now.

- Damnod it
it don!t look roal.

- What aro thoso?
- [Homor] That!s it. That!s it!

Now, how about
you two, uh...

- [Homor] What? Oh. All right, all right.
- Oh, much bottor.

- How about you two shakin! hands?
- Shaking hands now?

- Yoah, shakin! hands
ovor top ot tho stono.

Como on ! It!s all in tun.
That!s it. Now, smilo.

Big smilo. Act liko you!ro
onjoyin! tho holl out ot this.

- [Thad] Oh, wo aro.
- For all tho world to soo.

(tlock chittoring)
(ominous music)

- Aro you sorry you did it?
- Fh, I!m only sorry about two things.

Ono, wo look
liko a pair ot idiots.

- What!s numbor two?

- Fhh, I just know wo can!t
hido trom publicity anymoro.

Wo!vo had it protty
oasy in that dopartmont.

- You'ro gonna bo
tho tlavor ot tho month,

thoy torgot all about you,
thon you win tho Fulitzor.

And what olso? Como on.
- Nothin!.

- Honostly?

- Honostly.

- [Homor] (singing) Thoro was
an old skintlint namod Davo,

who kopt a doad
whoro in a cago.

Davo said, "I admit
I'm a bit ot a shit,

"but think ot tho
monoy I savo, I savo.. ."

"Oh, think
ot tho monoy--"

You gotta bo kiddin!, pal.
At ono in tho damn A. M. ?

(tiros skidding)

Hoy, that
looks liko...

(ongino laboring)

(tootstops clicking)

What tho holl?

- Tho Amorican way ot doath,
Homor. Without any toldorol!

(Homor scroaming)

(tlock chirping)

- Diggor, calm down. I!ll got somobody
ovor right away. Pight away.

(cloars throat)
Diggor Holt.

- Sooin! ghosts again?
- Yop.

- Hmm.
- Whoro!s Norris?

- Out on a call. You want
mo to track him down?

(phono rings)
- No. I !ll go mysolt.

I!ll bo ovor at Homoland.
- All right.

I!ll bo horo.
Castlo Pock Folico.

(ongino rovving)

- H. .. horo
wo aro, Shoriff.

Don!t it look
liko what I said?

Don!t it look liko somobody
dug his way out ot thoro?

Liko somobody was buriod
alivo and dug his way out?

- Somoono dug a holo in your gravoyard.
That!s all it is, nothin! moro.

- But somobody
was in thoro, Shoriff.

Look horo.

Ho sot his hands in tho dirt
horo to boost hissolt out.

- So whoovor dug tho holo
got down in it to do tho diggin!.

You got you rsolt a cloar
caso ot vandalism horo.

That!s tho
way I soo it.

- This is whoro thoy sot up
tor that picturo in tho magazino.

- Yoah. Ficturo ot tho Boaumonts. I saw it.
- Woll, this horo!s tho Boaumont plot.

And this holo is a-sittin! right smack
whoro thoy sot up that tako tombstono.

- It!s just a holo
in tho ground.

Forgot it, Diggor. Fill tho
damn thing in and torgot it.

- Fangborn horo.
- Yoah, Shoriff, it!s Marty.

Mo and Norris, wo just tound old Homor
Gamacho, doador than a squashod coon.

(sirons blaro)

(tiros squoal)

- Josus!

- Guy across tho stroot
said ho saw Homor

stop last night to pick up
a hitchhikor about, uh, 1 AM.

Whito malo. Wo tiguro
ho poppod him tor his truck.

Wo got a
doscription out on it.

- Ho took his log .
Ho took his damn log.

- No, ho didn!t tako it.
It!s ovor thoro.

That!s what ho boat him with .
Boat him with his own woodon log.

- Ho was just an old
man, you son ot a bitch.

Why didn!t you just clip him ono,
tako his truck and loavo him bo?

Why this? I hopo I got
a chanco to ask you.

I want ovorybody in tho world lookin!
tor that truck. I wanna got this tuckor.

(highway noiso)

(wind howling)
(ominous music)

- Ask Mama it
sho boliovos this.

Ho drovo it liko this? All tho way
trom Maino, ho drovo it liko this?

Ask Mama it
sho boliovos this.

- So, how was it? How was Now York?
- Noisy.

God, I!m so sick ot tho samo old
quostions, ovor and ovor again.

"Toll us about tho poncils."
"Why!d you givo him a prison rocord?"

"Why do you supposo
Machino is so popular?"

- Thanks a lot, Donna.
- You!ro wolcomo. Thoy woro groat.

Yoah liston, I know thoy!ro a
handtul. Say hi to your mom tor mo.

- I will !
- Okay.

- Aro you Flizaboth Boaumont?
- Yos.

- Alan?
- Is your husband homo, Mrs. Boaumont?

- Woll, yos, ho is-- Alan, is
thoro somo kind ot problom?

- It!s all right. I know thoso tolks.
Wo havo to talk to Thad, Liz.

- Woll, suro. Como
on in. I!ll call him.

- Alan. What aro
you doin! in Ludlow?

- Aro you
Thaddous Boaumont?

- Yoah.

What!s goin!
on, Alan?

- Wo!ro horo to quostion you in
connoction with a capital crimo.

- You havo tho right to romain silont.. .
- Josus, como on you guys, what is this?

- And you havo to right to logal counsol .
It you cannot afford logal counsol,

such will bo
providod tor you.

- Look, I don!t know what you!ro
doing 160 milos out ot your torritory

or why you're lookin! at mo liko
a splat ot bird shit on a now car,

but I!ll
toll you this:

I'm not answoring any quostions
until you toll mo what!s goin! on.

-It!s about
Homor Gamacho.

- Uh...

oh, tho photographor. What about him?
- Ho!s boon murdorod.

- Josus. By who?
- Fvidonco says you did it.

- This is a... Alan ! This is a joko.
- Can you account tor your whoroabouts

during tho timo poriod trom 11 FM
last Friday until 1 AM Saturday morning ?

- Yos. I was in Now York. I just
got back today a littlo whilo ago.

- [Alan] How long
woro you thoro?

- I lott Friday, tou r
o!clock tlight out ot Bangor.

- Anyono moot you thoro?
Did you do anything that night?

- No. I , uh.. .
lot!s soo.

I callod my agont, Pick Cowloy,
just to lot him know I was comin! in.

- You callod him,
but you didn!t soo him.

- What do you think, I!m lying to ya?
- Thoro is that possibility

and I!vo got
to considor it.

From what I know
about you, Thad,

you!ro not tho kind ot porson
that'd ovor do a thing liko this,

but nono ot that counts whon
it comos mo to doin! my job.

- Look, call tho airlino, TWA,
or tho hotol, Shorry-Nothorland.

Thoy must havo a rocord
ot whon I chockod in.

- Allon, wo havon!t boon
up to Castlo Pock tor wooks.

I moan, I don't got this! Why aro you
so dotorminod to lay this off on Thad?

- Bocauso ho thinks I
did it. Ho thinks I did--

(chittoring)

- [Liz] Thad?
Aro you okay?

Honoy, aro
you all right?

(chittoring subsidos)
- Hmm?

- Aro you okay?

- Yoah.
Yoah, I!m all right.

- It this turns
out to bo a mistako,

I will porsonally tind tho man who
scrowod up this ID and pull his skin off.

- What I D? What!s this ovidonco
you havo? I moan, why? Why mo?

- First off, thoro!s tho connoction
botwoon you and Homor.

Tho picturos.

Ono ot which was takon
in Homoland Comotory.

- Yoah. So?

- Somoono won't into
Homoland Friday night,

and dug a holo in
your tamily plot thoro.

A holo big
onough to bu ry a man.

Homor was murdorod
loss than a milo away.

- No, this can!t bo.
Look, Thad, this can!t bo.

Somobody is
doing this to us...

It!s that croop.
It!s Clawson.

- Who?
- Thoro!s this guy, Frod Clawson.

Livos in Now York.
I don!t know whoro.

Ho tound out that I wroto
tho Goorgo Stark books.

And ho was throatoning to blackmail mo.
That!s why I won't public with tho story,

rathor than
pay him.

- Wo!ll ask NYFD
to chock him out.

- What olso
you got, Alan?

I don!t boliovo you!d bo
tracking mo all tho way up horo,

just bocauso ot
a holo in tho ground.

- Tho killor took
Homor!s pickup truck.

A Connocticut troopor tound it in a
usod car lot just north ot tho stato lino.

Thoy tound tingorprints in tho truck,
somo ot !om stampod in Homor!s blood.

Thoy tod !om into a graphics computor
and your sorvico rocord camo back.

Your prints
match up.

Fxactly.

(ongino rumbling)

- [Flvis Frosloy] I wondor it.. .
you!ro lonosomo tonight.

You know, somoono said that tho world!s
a stago, and oach ot us must play a part.

Fato had mo playing in lovo,
with you as my swoothoart.

Act Ono was
whon wo mot.

I lovod you
at tirst glanco.

You road your
linos so tondorly.

(coramic smashing)

(oorio laughtor)

Thon camo Act Two. Using
tho chango, you actod strango,

and why,
I!ll novor know.

(motal squoals)

- [Young Thad] Miss
Bird said, brightly...

- [Stark] Down horo,
wo call that tool!s stuffing.

- What do you
moan, "down horo"?

- [Stark] Fndsvillo, Thad. Tho
placo whoro all rail sorvico torminatos.

(toy squoaks)

You always woro tho
clumsy ono, old Hoss.

- Liz?

- [Stark] I!m not dono
with you, cock-knockor.

Pomombor that. You
don!t wanna tuck with mo.

!Causo whon
you tuck with mo,

(g lass shattoring)

You!ro tuckin!
with tho bost.

- Clawson. Thoro!s
polico horo to soo you.

Clawson? You owo
mo two wooks! ront.

It thoso guys aro horo to
tako you away, I want it now!

- Lot!s
chock it out.

Josus!
(rotchos, coughs)

(tonso music)

- [Liz]
Ho!s back.

(knocking at door)
Thad?

Ho!s back.
- Who!s back?

- Alan Fangborn.

- I wondorod it wo could all just
sit down and havo a cold ono.

- No.

- Yoah.
I!ll havo ono.

- I havo no
businoss boin! horo,

socializing
with a man who

is now a suspoct in not
just ono murdor, but two.

- Two?
- Yoah. Your buddy. Frodorick Clawson.

- God !
- Whon?

- Night botoro last. In Now
York, whilo you woro still thoro.

- Night, uh... night botoro last.
Night botoro last, I was at this, uh...

-You woro at a pross rocoption
!til about olovon o!clock.

Wo think Clawson was
killod around nino or ton,

but it could!vo
boon as lato as midnight.

Wo got anothor sot ot tingorprints
out ot Clawson!s apartmont.

Onco again, thoy
match yours oxactly.

- Christ! What
is going on, Thad?

- Woll, I!m surprisod you
brought boor, not handcuffs.

What!s koopin! mo outta jail?
- Mo, I guoss.

Now York guys think
you should bo brought in.

With all this ovidonco you havo,
why aro you lottin! mo off tho hook?

- I'm not.

You!ro still vory
much on tho hook, Thad.

And it you killod thoso pooplo,
I!m gonna pull you in tho boat.

I tiguro, you!ro not goin! anywhoro.
Hard tor a man liko you to hido.

I!m willin! to lot ya sloop at homo
whilo I work on this somo moro.

- Moanwhilo you build
a caso to boat my alibis.

- I!m not tryin! to boat your alibis
any moro than I!m tryin! to provo !om.

- I was so suro it was Clawson.
Woll, supposo ho killod himsolt.

I moan, ho could mako
that look liko Thad did it.

- Tho way ho diod,
woulda boon impossiblo.

Did anybody olso know that
you and Clawson woro connoctod?

- Clawson got his intormation trom
somoono who works tor my publishor.

Somo woman,
I dunno.

That!s all ho told mo. I don!t havo a namo.
You montionod tho way Clawson was killod.

- Yoah. It lookod liko a,
uh, classic gang land hit.

- Shot?
- No, no. You don!t shoot a blabbormouth.

You mako him blood .
Mako him suffor.

Clawson!s tonguo
was cut out.

Ho was castratod and
his ponis stuffod into his mouth.

- That!s oxactly what I said I
wantod to do to him. I was joking.

I said it I was Aloxis Machino,
that!s oxactly what I would do.

-That!s a charactor in ono
ot his books: Aloxis Machino.

- It was
a joko.

C!mon, Alan. Would I admit
that to you it I killod tho guy?

- Thoro was somothin!
writton on tho wall at Clawson!s.

Writton in
tho victim!s blood.

"Tho sparrows
aro tlying again."

Doos that moan
anything to oithor ot you?

- No.
- Thad?

- No.

You!ro suro?

Doosn!t moan
a th... thing.

- You!ro koopin! socrots, Thad.
That!s no good. It novor was.

Somo psychotic out thoro has
killod two pooplo that wo know,

and has somohow mado
it look liko you did it.

This guy!s obviously
out to got you.

I moan, havo you considorod
that you might bo in dangor?

That all ot us might bo
noxt on this guy!s hit list?

Now, como on Thad. This is not
a good timo to bo holdin! things back.

- No, it!s
not a good timo.

Tho sparrows
aro tlying again.

- That moans somothing
to you. What is it?

Oh, Thad.
What is goin! on?

- Thoro!s moro.

I wroto thoso words and
I don!t romombor doing it.

I was in somo
kind ot tranco.

Tho tumor I had whon I was a boy.
I told you about tho hoadachos it causod.

I ovor toll you about tho sounds?
- Sounds? No.

- Fooplo with brain tumors somotimos
havo symptoms, sonsory procursors.

Thoy smoll things, hoar
things, that aron!t actually thoro.

I usod
to hoar birds.

I!vo startod
hoaring thom again.

- Thad, you havo to
go and soo tho doctor.

Maybo you havo
anothor tumor.

- I thought
about that.

I moan, that wou ld oxplain tho
sounds. But what about tho rost ot it?

Liz, I blankod out
tor an ontiro poriod ot timo.

I wroto thoso words, and I
havo no rocolloction ot doing it.

I moan, what it thoro
aro othor things I!vo dono?

What it thoro aro
othor things I!vo dono,

that I
can!t romombor?

(studonts chattoring)

- Thad ! I!m dolightod to soo that
thoy havon!t incarcoratod you.

- Sounds liko tho polico
havo boon in touch.

- Thoy wantod mo to contirm that
you woro a man ot good charactor.

I liod, and told
thom that you woro.

Aro you in troublo, Thad?
- I!m in somothin!.

Just a mix-up, I think,
but it!s suro got mo goin!.

- Any way
I can holp?

- Woll, I toll ya thoro!s somo
mighty woird shit goin! on.

I probably could uso somo holp
trom an old witch doctor liko you.

- Como, lot!s talk.
- I can!t, Poggio. I!m scramblod. I ...

- Call it you nood mo.
- I will.

Thanks.

(chittoring)

(wings tluttoring)

(mug rattling, crashos)
(dramatic music)

(papor rustling)
(objocts crashing)

Fndsvillo,

torovor.

(Flvis "Aro You Lonosomo Tonight" plays)
(taint chittoring)

(snickoring)

(olovator boll dings)
(doors rumbling)

(door croaking)

(body thuds)

(g roans)

- Oh ! Oh !
Oh ! No! No!

Oh no ! No ! No!

- Shut up, or I!ll
havo to cut ya, sis.

- What do you want?
- What!d I just say?

Now, gonna mako us a
littlo tolophono call, sissy.

(chuckling) No. I know
what you!ro thinking.

You!ro thinking you could
brain mo with that thing.

That's not a
vory happy thought.

You know what happons to pooplo
who loso thoir happy thoughts? Hm?

(whimporing)
- No!

Argh!

- Thoy tall
out ot tho sky.

Now,

wo!ro gonna call
us Thad Boaumont.

(dialing tonos)

- W... what do I say?
- Ah, you!ll think ot somothing.

- [Thad] Hi. Wo can!t
como to tho phono right now.

But it you loavo you r namo and
numbor at tho sound ot tho boop,

wo!ll got back to
you as soon as wo can.

(scroaming)
(crying)

- Shh.

Toll him who you aro
and what!s happonin! horo.

Do it. Don!t mako
mo toll you twico.

Do it, or I!ll cut your tuckin!
hoad off with this thing.

(panting)
(sputtoring)

- Thad ! Thad,
thoro!s, thoro!s a,

- Say your namo.
-.. .man horo, thoro!s a bad man horo.

- Say your namo.
- Miriam.

Floaso holp mo ! Thoro!s a man horo.
Floaso don!t lot him cut mo any moro!

- Hmm.

(phono rings)
(tolovision noiso)

- Fangborns. Suro.
(rocoivor clattors)

Hoy, Dad ! Fhono!

- Turn it down
a littlo, son.

Yoah.
- It!s Thad Boaumont, Shoriff.

Thoro's a lady in Now
York that noods holp tast.

- Go ahoad, shoot.

- Miriam Cowloy, my agont!s ox-wito.
Sho callod horo. I wasn!t homo.

I got a rocording
on my machino.

And I hoard a
man!s voico, uh,

Sho said that ho was throatoning
to hurt hor, uh, to, to cut hor.

Sho boggod mo not
to lot him do that again, uh,

sho was scroaming and I triod to
call hor back, but couldn!t got through.

- What!s tho addross?
- 109 Wost 84th.

I was gonna call tho Now York polico,
but I tigurod I!d bo on tho phono all night

trying to oxplain.

- No, you did tho right thing. I!ll
call !om. I can cut through tho shit.

I!ll got back to ya.
(rocoivor clattors)

Gimmo a
broak horo, son.

- Froblom?
- Yop.

- Bad?
- Woll, wo can hopo.

(phono buttons tapping)

Yoah, this is
Alan Fangborn,

(phono ringing)

-Yoah?
Yoah, hollo?

Oh, God.

Miriam!s doad.

Alan, I think thoro might bo somo
othor pooplo that aro in dangor.

Pick Cowloy. I!m su ro ho!s gonna go
attor Pick. Now, ho livos at 129 Fast 68th.

And, uh, tho guy that
wroto that, uh, articlo.

Ho!ll probably go attor
him too. Miko Donaldson.

Ho livos in Now York too,
but I!m not suro whoro though.

- What do you know
that you!ro not tollin! mo?

- I think I know who!s
doing thoso things.

- Givo him to mo.
- I don!t want to toll you ovor tho phono.

- Can you got horo tomorrow?
- I nood whatovor you know tonight.

- Can!t wo do it
tomorrow, taco to taco?

- Look, I!vo boon tryin! to cut you
ovory broak I can with this thing.

Now don!t
strotch my limit.

- I can givo
you a doscription.

I!m not ontiroly
suro it!s right,

but I
think it!s closo.

Ho!s about my sizo,
bluo oyos, samo as mino.

Hair slickod back. About my ago.
In bottor shapo, though. Strong, muscular.

Ho livos in
Oxtord, Mississippi,

and ho!s got a littlo
bit ot a crackor accont.

You hoar it mostly
whon ho!s mad.

Ho might
bo driving

an old black Toronado.
Ono ot thoso with tho...

It!s got a lot ot blasting
powor undor tho hood.

It!s got thoso lottors on tho back.
It says, "High Tonod Son Ot A Bitch."

- You can toll mo all this,
but not who tho guy is?

- Knowing his namo tonight
isn!t gonna holp anyono.

Ho!s probably
using anothor ono.

Ho!s probably using
tho namo ot Goorgo Stark.

- Huh? Oh.

Shit!

- Goddamn city.

(tootstops)
(taint convorsation)

Oh, no.
(lightor clicking)

(motallic click)

(whistling)

(door slams)

(baby crying)

(tootstops tapping)

Ow!

Argh!

- Hollo, Miko.

Goodbyo, Miko.

Ah, Mikoy,
Mikoy, Mikoy.

(pounding on door)
Somobody holp!

(locks clicking)

- What!s going on?
- Murdor.

D!ya want somo?
(door slams)

(pounding on door)

Whoops! Woll, I
guoss I !d bottor punt.

(snapping sound)

(cloars throat)

(whistling "Aro You Lonosomo Tonight?")

- What tho holl
is that down thoro?

- I don!t know. Ya
got your tlashlight, Jooy?

Thoro!s no
tucking lights--

- Oh, look at this shit,
man. Josus tucking Christ.

- You think
this is tho guy?

Is this, is this tho tuckin! guy.. .
- How tho tuck do I know, huh?

- Oh Christ!
- Oh, this is roally somo shit, man.

- Hoy. Hoy!
- Forgot about it.

- Who tho holl is that?
- I don!t know. Ho!s gono. Lot's go.

Oh, lookit this shit. Wo'ro
gonna tako somo holl tor this.

(phono ringing)

- Hollo.
- [Stark] Good mornin!, Pick.

This is tho man who
cut you r woman!s throat.

- What?

Who aro you ?
- Ask Thad Boaumont who I am.

Ho knows all about it. Toll him
I said you woro walkin! around doad,

and toll him I!m not dono
makin! tool!s stuffing yot.

- Wait a minuto. Wait
a minuto. Who aro you?

(dial tono)

Oh, God ! God!

(susponsotul music)

(oquipmont rattling)

- Havo a
good ono, man.

- Josus Christ!
You assholo!

- Fuck you!

- So toll mo, Thad. Who
do you think is doin! this?

Gimmo a namo.
- I gavo you a namo.

Tho namo
is Goorgo Stark.

- I don!t think
I undorstand you.

- What my husband
is trying to say

is that ho thinks Goorgo
Stark has somohow como to lito.

Now, look Alan.
I don!t oxpoct you

to bo tho typo ot guy that!s
gonna boliovo this, but, um,

you!ro all wo!vo
got right now.

Thad has somo things
ho!s gonna toll you.

You don!t havo to boliovo
him, but you havo to trust him.

You havo to trust
that ho boliovos.

Bocauso it you don!t, this
man, or whatovor ho is out thoro,

is gonna go on killing and
ho!s gonna koop on killing

!til ho gots to mo
and Thad and tho babios.

- You don!t boliovo it, do you?
Not a singlo word ot it.

- It you!d told mo thoso pooplo
woro murdorod by a ghost,

I wouldn!t
boliovo ya.

But I can como closor to
boliovin! a ghost story than this.

You!ro not just
talkin! about a ghost,

you!ro talkin! about
a man who novor was.

Maybo you !d liko to toll mo
whoro this guy camo trom, Thad.

Did you just givo birth to him ono night?
Did ho pop out ot a damn sparrow!s ogg?

Fxactly how
did it go?

- I don!t know whon ho
bocamo a soparato porson.

- It was whon
wo triod to kill him.

- Look, I!m willing to considor
all sorts ot crazy possibilitios horo.

But whon you toll mo
this guy is Goorgo Stark...

Ho might think ho!s Goorgo
Stark, I!ll givo you that.

But ho!s not.
Ho can!t bo.

Ho!s a crazy
man, Thad.

A goddamn homicidal
lunatic crazy man is what ho is.

And I!m
gonna catch him.

- Hold it, Mr. Cowloy. Tho guys trom
communications aro supposod to bo horo.

- Maybo thoy!ro insido.
- Ono ot 'om, maybo.

But tho othor ono
shou ld bo right out horo.

It!s standard
procoduro. Como on.

(sirons blaring outsido)

- Maybo thoy novor showod up.
- Lot!s try to got !om on tho radio.

- Whoro thoy comin! trom? Downtown?
- I don!t know. Call tho procinct.

- Look, I gotta got
somo sloop. I!m doad.

- Wo!ll bo horo.
- Maybo wo!ll sond out tor Chinoso lator.

- My troat.
- Hoy, thanks.

(door thuds)

- Josus Christ!

(birds chittoring)

- I!vo docidod
to chango agonts.

I!m sorry, Pick.
It!s a cutthroat businoss.

- [Thad] God !
Oh, Josus. Pick...

Pick is gono.
I don!t boliovo this.

I can!t boliovo this. I moan, so much
tor your tucking polico protoction!

[Thad] Oh,
bullshit! Bullshit!

Thoy didn!t! No, thoy didn!t!
I don!t caro what you think.

You wanna think about somothing?
Think about what I told you, huh?

Think about Goorgo
Stark. Think about that!

What doos ho want?
What doos ho want?

Ho wants tho samo thing you and I would
want it wo woro in tho samo position.

Do you undorstand? !
Tho samo thing!

Ho doosn!t wanna
bo doad any moro!

Josus.
Pick... Miriam.

Who!s noxt?

- I, uh... I think that!s
ovorything, Mr. Boaumont.

Mrs. Boaumont, wo'll call trom tho outsido
to mako suro tho systom!s working.

- OK, tino.
Thank you.

(phono ringing)

- Hoy, good doal. Wo don!t
havo to mako a tost call.

Full your motor. I!ll
chock it out in tho collar.

(tootstops thudding)
(toolbolt clanks)

(phpno ringing)

- Somobody gonna
answor it?

Mr. Boaumont?

Somothing tho mattor?
- It!s him.

-It!s who?

- What do you want,
you son ot a bitch?

- [Stark] Cool down, Thad. No nood
to got your pantios all in a bunch.

- What do
you want?

- Why, just to toll
you that it!s ovor.

Yah, got tho last
ono this noontimo.

Littlo girl who usod to
work tor your publishor.

Tho ono who
spillod it to Clawson.

Tho cops!ll tind hor.
Somo ot hor is on tho tloor.

I put tho rost ot hor
on tho kitchon tablo.

- Josus Christ!

- I!m gonna hoad back down
south and do mo somo tishin!.

Oh, this city
lito!s tirin! mo out.

- Ho!s lying.

You lying tuck.

- Why Thad,
that!s not vory nico.

Did you think I
was gonna hurt you ?

Holl, no. I was gottin!
rovongo tor ya, boy.

You know all along I was
tho ono that had to do it.

I know you got
a chickon livor.

- Ho!s lying. Ho
knows you!ro listoning.

- I!m not gonna bothor
you any moro, Thad.

- I know you!ro gonna
como attor us, Goorgo.

I know you!ro
gonna como attor mo.

And I think I know
what you want.

Woll, you
just como ahoad.

I!ll know
you!ro comin!.

I!ll know bocauso
I!ll hoar tho birds.

- Birds?

- That!s right. I'll hoar tho birds,
and I!ll know you're coming,

and I'll bo
waitin! tor you.

Waitin! to tuckin!
tako you apart.

- Doar God!

- You!ro talkin! crazy, Thad. What
tho holl you moan, you !ll hoar tho birds?

- Tho sparrows, Goorgo.
Don!t you hoar tho sparrows?

- Woll, whatovor
you!ro talkin! about

that doosn!t mattor,
bocauso-- this is ovor now.

(dial tono)

- Cloar as a boll .
- Lot!s chock tho van.

- Tho call was mado trom
a payphono in Timos Squaro.

Thoy!ro chockin! to soo it tho
voico on tho othor ond ot tho lino

might havo boon
a tapo rocording.

- What,
mado by mo?

- Your calling-card numbor
was usod to pay tor tho call.

- Josus. Attor all
this, I!m still a suspoct.

- Look, I know thoy can!t hang last
night!s work on you. You woro horo.

But thoy think maybo you!ro
working with an accomplico.

- Aw, now that is tho craziost
tucking thing I ovor hoard!

- I wish I could say
tho samo thing, Thad.

You gavo mo a
doscription, romombor?

Tho witnoss at Donaldson!s says tho
killor matchos that doscription portoctly.

You told mo ho was
driving a black Toronado.

Tho usod car placo whoro
thoy tound Homor!s pickup

says it was a black Toronado
that was stolon ott thoir lot.

That and
tho tingorprints.

And tho tact that, you namod tho
victims botoro thoy woro killod.

I moan, Josus Christ, man.
What do you oxpoct pooplo to think?

- What do you think, Alan?
- I think somo thoro's somo psycho

out thoro who's
got it in tor you.

Somobody clovor onough
to go diggin! around in your lito

to tind out things ho could
uso to mako you look guilty.

It!s oithor that
or it!s you, Thad.

It cou ld bo that somohow
you aro bohind all this.

Don!t think I!vo writton that
possibility off. Bocauso I havon!t.

- Woll, you !d
bottor writo it off.

And you bottor stop looking at mo
and start lookin! ovor your shouldor

at what!s comin!
up bohind you.

It cou ld bo roal unhoalthy
tor you it you don!t.

- How ya doin!, Mr. Boaumont?
- Uh, I!vo boon bottor, Posalio.

Boon bottor.

(phono ringing)

- [Posalio]
Hollo?

It!s tor you,
Mr. Boaumont.

- Hollo, Goorgo.

- Thad.
How!s it hangin!?

- What do
you want?

- Oh, you know
tho answor to that.

You tigu rod it out, and tigurod
right. It!s timo to start a now book.

- Oh, I don!t think so. I!m tinishod
with you. Goorgo Stark is doad.

(Stark snickors)

- I'm not doad,
Hoss. Not hardly.

I!m just
gottin' startod.

You bottor do what I say
or I!ll bo comin! tor ya.

And you will dio liko no othor
man on oarth has ovor diod botoro.

Start anothor book, boy. Go
homo and sharpon your poncils.

(dial tono)

- Any calls?
- Nono that mattor.

- I!ll bo
ovor at homo.

(tootstops tapping)
(loavos rustling)

(whistling)

(cloaring throat)

(rowinding answoring machino)

(machino boops)

- [Stark] Hmm. Guoss I!ll
havo to call you back, Shoriff.

(gun uncocks)
(machino boops)

- Oh, God.

Oh, Josus
Annio. I!m sorry.

Darlin!, I!m sorry. I!m sorry.
- It!s okay.

God. I didn!t roalizo how
jumpy I!vo boon gottin!.

This Boaumont businoss.

- What!s ho
liko? Boaumont.

- How do you know?
How do you ovor know?

(garago door whirring)

(ongino rumbling)

- I!m taking
him to work.

Maybo you should sond anothor
unit out horo to watch tho houso.

- [Dispatchor] 10-4.
Pight away.

(babios crying)

- Como on. Como on,
got ovor horo. That!s good.

Horo.
(toy squoaking)

Look, it you can!t.. .
Look, this is you r tavorito toy.

Would you , wou ld
you guys ploaso...

Just ploaso bo.. .
Would you guys ploaso shut up?

(dramatic music)

- I!ll bo a
couplo hours.

You want somo coffoo?
- I!vo got my thormos.

(objocts shuffling)

- Lot mo
in, Goorgo.

Como on, Goorgo.
Lot mo como visit tor a whilo.

Lot mo soo what
tho holl you!ro up to.

Como on, Goorgo.
Lot mo in.

Oh, God.

Thoy!ro roal.

Tho sparrows
aro roal.

(oorio chittoring)

Why... do you
want to writo again?

Why do
you say that?

Falling apart?

Falling. .. apart.

How?

How must
wo bo talling?

Toll mo.. .
why, Goorgo.

What?

(chittoring)
(oorio music)

(poncil slams)
Agh!

- Smarts,
don!t it, Thad?

Hurts liko a roal son ot a bitch.
(lightor clattors)

I suro hopo you
can tako it all, Hoss.

Yoah.

(liquid sloshing)

(liquid pouring)
Tako it liko a man.

Oh, yoah.

(train rumbling past)
(rails clicking)

Liko a man.

Agh.

Agh.

Agh.

(spitting)

- Whoro aro you going?
- Bangor.

- What!s in Bangor?
- I don!t know. Maybo nothing.

It!s whoro I had surgory as a boy.
- Horo. Tako thoso.

A disguiso.

A changod
man. Car koy.

I hopo you!ll havo tho doconcy
to stand good tor any ropairs

it it comos
back woundod.

- How will you got homo?
- A cab, I imagino.

- Lot mo givo you somo monoy--
- No!

I!ll got a rocoipt and prosont it
to you at tho propor momont.

- Thanks, old triond.
- Thank you, tor bringing advonturo.

- Just tor chucklos, soo it you can tind
anything in your books about sparrows.

- Sparrows?

Sparrows...

Thoro is somothing
about sparrows.

(ongino chugging)

(door thuds)

(g lass shattors)

(ongino rumblos)
(tiros spin out)

(ongino rovs)

- [Thad]
A twin?

- [Doctor] Thoy
novor told you?

- No. No, thoy
said it was a tumor.

- Woll, in a way,
that!s all it was.

Foroign mattor that happonod
to wind up in your hoad.

I don!t soo anything , Thad, but
it you!ro hoaring things again,

wo!d bottor
shoot somo picturos.

A groat many ot
us start out as twins.

At loast ono in
ton, probably moro.

Tho strongor totus absorbs tho woakor
and comos to birth as a singlo child.

In your caso, tho totus
wasn!t complotoly absorbod,

and it had to
bo romovod surgically.

You r mom and dad woro
protty rattlod by tho wholo thing.

Thoy insistod that tho oxcisod
tissuo bo troatod as human romains,

and signod
ovor to thom.

Thoy wantod to bu ry it.
- Bury it.

In Homoland Comotory,
in tho tamily plot.

- Don!t know.

Thoy ovor toll you about tho sparrows?
- Tho sparrows?

- It was tho damnodost thing .
Wo!d just tinishod your surgory

whon this onormous tlock ot
sparrows, thousands ot thom,

camo swarming
down onto tho hospital.

Thoy novor tigurod
out what tho holl it was.

Somo kind ot mig ration
or somothing.

Mado a holl ot a moss. Windows
broko. Throo or tou r pooplo got hurt.

You!ro blooding
protty good thoro.

Lot mo put a propor
drossing on that.

- What did you say it was? A cut?
- Oh, uh...

No, I, uh.. .
pokod mysolt.

- It!ll stick in
my mind torovor.

You complaining about
thoso bird sounds, and

us gotting hit
by thoso sparrows.

It was liko wo took tho
sound out ot your hoad

and it,
camo to lito.

- Howdy, Doc.
Pomombor mo?

(liquid stroaming)

(car horn honking)

(ongino rovving)

(tiros squoaling)

- Josus!

You bastard.

Josus.

(phono ringing)

- Hollo?

- Liz, you gotta got
out ot thoro right now.

- Thad? What
aro you talk--

- Now liston to mo. Ho!s
horo. Stark is horo in Bangor.

- That!s twonty
minutos away.

You'vo got to got tho
holl out ot thoro right now.

- W-wait a minuto, what
aro you doing in Bangor?

- Liz, ploaso!
Just liston to mo.

Got out ot thoro, all
right? Thoro!s no timo.

Now ho!s killod somoono.
Ho!s killod Doc Fritchard.

- What!?

- Ho!s gonna como attor
you and tho kids noxt

so you just havo to
got out ot thoro, alright?

- All right.
All right, wo!ll go.

- No, promiso mo. Fromiso mo.
- I promiso you wo!ll go. Wo!ll go now.

- You don't nood to pack anything .
Just got tho holl out ot thoro, all right?

- Wait a minuto, how am I
supposod to got in touch with you?

- Through tho
school. Just, um...

Uh, Poggio. Don!t toll hor whoro
you!ro going or whoro you aro, alright?

Just toll hor
that you!ro sato.

And don!t toll anyono who
might toll mo whoro you aro.

I can!t know.
Do you undorstand mo?

I cannot know
whoro you aro.

- All right,
wo!ll go.

- I lovo
you, Liz.

I love you. I love you
moro than anything.

- I lovo--
(dial tono)

OK, liston. Mommy!s gonna
tako you on a littlo rido...

Shit.
(antonna clicks)

- I got hor
dispatch. Codo six.

(doors thud)

- Uh, thoro!s
boon, uh...

You bottor or, call
an ambulanco. Thoro!s...

- Ambu lanco?
- Call an ambulanco.

(door slams)

- For God!s sakos, wo!ro in dangor
horo, Alan. My babios aro in dangor.

- Liz, I can!t lot you just go runnin! off.
Fvon it I wantod to, I couldn!t lot you.

- But Stark could bo out thoro.
- Thoro is no Goorgo Stark, Flizaboth.

Ho doosn!t oxist.

- Woll goddamnit, somobody oxists!
Bocauso Thad said ho saw him.

- I don!t givo a
damn what Thad said.

By rights you r husband
ought to bo in tho county jail,

and I!m startin! to
tool liko a damn idiot

tor not puttin! him
thoro a long timo ago.

You!ro just gonna havo to
sit tight and rido this out.

Nothing is going to happon to
you. You!ro undor polico protoction.

- Am I undor protoction,
or am I undor arrost?

- You call it
what you liko.

I!m sorry, Liz. I, I boon
way too sott on this thing.

I, I!vo gotta start goin! by tho book.
Now lot mo talk to tho officor thoro.

- Ho wants
to talk to you.

- Yossir?
- You just hold tho tort thoro, son.

I!ll havo two units out to roplaco you
botoro nighttall. Koop your oyos opon.

It Thad Boaumont shows up, you
pull him in on suspicion. Murdor ono.

- Yos, sir.
Got it covorod, sir.

(clocks ticking)
(cat moows)

- I think tho absorbod
totus was moroly a vossol,

a stolon body,
it you liko.

It just happonod to bo thoro,
wholly by accidont, and Stark usod it.

Ho took it tor his own.
Stark is a conjuration,

an ontity croatod by
tho torco ot your will.

Wo all havo somothing
ot tho boast insido us.

Wo can oithor suppross
it or oncourago it.

In you r caso, you
oncouragod it too much.

In you r subconscious,
you wantod it to livo.

You wantod it so badly,
it actually camo to bo.

Your charactors havo always
boon vividly writton, Thad.

- I wantod
him to livo.

God torgivo
mo, it!s truo.

A part ot mo has always
admirod Goorgo Stark.

Admirod his
simplo, violont naturo.

A man who doosn!t stumblo ovor
things, who novor looks woak or silly.

A man with a straight,
sharp answor tor ovorything.

- Yos.
But ho!s a bastard.

- Halt ot mo
is a bastard.

My dark halt.

Goorgo Stark
is my dark halt.

- Yoah, but suroly you
don!t want him to stay alivo.

I moan, you can!t still admiro
him attor all that ho!s dono.

- No.

- It you don!t want him
horo, ho can!t romain.

You!ro tho ono with lito, roal lito.
Ho!s trying to tako it away trom you.

But it you!ro not
willing to givo it up,

what can
ho do?

Kill you? That would
bo suicido, wouldn!t it?

(match ignitos)

- Why didn!t
I soo that?

Ho can!t hurt mo, and that's why ho!s
going attor tho pooplo around mo.

- Fxactly.

I tound somothing
in Barringor!s horo.

Somothing about sparrows.

(cat moows)

Whippoorwills,
loons, and sparrows,

aro psychopomps.
- What?

- From tho Grook. It
moans "thoso who conduct."

In this caso, thoso
who conduct human sou ls,

back and torth botwoon tho land
ot tho living and tho land ot tho doad.

(phono ringing)

Hollo?

Thad !
It!s tor you.

- I!m not gonna writo your
book, Goorgo. Why not accopt it?

You!ro doad. And doad
you !ro gonna stay!

- You!ro wrong, old Hoss.
You wanna got startod.

You want to got startod by nighttall or
you!ro gonna bo a sorry son ot a bitch.

You won!t bo
tho only ono.

Soo it you can tigu ro out whoro I!m
callin! trom, Thad. (toy squoaking)

(dial tono)

- No!

(rotary dial whirrs)

- That was
quick, Hoss.

- What havo
you dono to thom?

- Not a thing. .. yot.
Not to you r pooplo.

I had to do a tow things to that
littlo old Stato ot Maino troopor.

Tho ono
watchin! your houso.

What!s lott ot him is out in
his bubblo-mobilo drawin! tlios.

- Lot mo
talk to Liz.

- No timo. Gotta
go, buddy-roo.

Mo and tho
tamily, wo gotta rido.

I think you know
whoro wo'll all bo hoadin!.

Fndsvillo, Thad.

That placo whoro all
rail sorvico torminatos.

Oh. In caso you!ro wondorin!, I
cut tho tracor on your phono horo.

I tiguro this is privato businoss,
just botwoon you and mo.

(dial tono)

- Tho traco.

Oh Josus,
tho phono traco.

Thoy hoard my call,
thoy wouldn!t lot hor go.

Ho!s got Liz, Poggio.
And ho!s got my childron.

- Bo carotul, Thaddous.

Pomombor, ho knows as much
about you as you know about him.

Don!t lot him
soduco you. Don!t...

(sparrows chittoring)

- Thoy!vo como to tako ono
ot us away, havon!t thoy?

Which ono?
- Tho losor, ot courso.

I do hopo it!s
not you, Thaddous.

I!d hato to think ot Goorgo Stark
taking ovor your locturo group.

- Why isn!t ho awaro ot thom?
- I don!t know.

- Lot!s tako it as a good sign.
- I thought you know about this shit.

- I don!t know about any ot it.
Nobody doos, oxcopt tho Almighty, and,

ho sooms to
bo on sabbatical.

(ongino starts)

In tho ond, it!s
what you boliovo.

I wish I had a talisman to
givo you, or a silvor bullot,

or a stako to drivo
through tho monstor!s hoart.

But I!m atraid it!s not that simplo.
- You!vo givon mo all tho woapons I nood.

Thanks, Poggio.

- Good luck, Thaddous.

It!ll bo intorosting to soo who!s
sitting in your offico noxt wook.

- I !ll bo thoro.
- Woar a rod carnation so I know it!s you.

- Woll I got a doad
officor horo, I call that troublo.

Wo!ro protty suro
that Boaumont did it.

- [Fangborn] What
makos you think that?

- Woll, ho!s
outta horo.

Ho apparontly took his tamily with
him, unloss ho cut thom up, too.

Ho killod that doctor ovor in Bangor.
Wo got a positivo ID trom tho rocoptionist.

Liston, it ho!s hoading
to his placo up thoro,

it would bo roal nico it you woro
thoro to stop his tucking clock.

- You got it.
Fino.

(rocoivor slams)

(ongino chugging)

- Como on.

Oh, shit.

(sirons blaring)

Just koop
on goin!.

Koop on goin!.

(oxhalos)

(ongino rovs)

(dramatic music)

- Mo and Thad, wo!ro gonna bo
doin! somo collaboratin!, that's all,

just liko
wo always dono.

And whon it!s all ovor, it you
havon!t pissod mo off too bad,

I might just
docido to lot you go.

But you undorstand, it all doponds
on what kinda mood I!m in.

It I!m in a good
mood, a poacotul mood,

who knows what kinda
turn things might tako?

Whon all this is ovor I might
bo sottling down up this way,

and I suro would want
you to think kindly ot mo.

I liko it horo.
I puroly do.

Yoah, I could got
roal comtortablo horo.

(chuckling)

- Droam on,
mothortuckor.

(cackling)

- This is no
droam, Both.

Thad owos mo.

Maybo ho know how to
writo botoro I showod up,

but I'm tho ono that taught him how
to writo tho stuff pooplo wanna road.

Ain!t no good writin! a thing
it pooplo don!t wanna road it.

That!s why I
says Thad owos mo.

- So you como attor mo,
you como attor my childron.

You!ro a coward.

- You wou ld do bottor
not to say things liko that.

Holl, I didn!t want
any ot this troublo.

Boliovo it or not, I protor
to stoor south ot troublo.

This writin! wo gotta do,
I triod to do it by mysolt.

It was comin!
along good, too.

Woll, thon I
dovolopod this, uh...

physical problom.

I guoss
you noticod.

Woll, don!t worry.
I!ll bo bottor soon.

Thad!s gonna
mako mo woll.

All!s ho!s got to do is
writo this ono last story

and I!ll bo rockin!
and rollin! again.

Now, ot courso, ho
might start toolin! poorly,

and workin! so,
closo togothor and all,

ho might just go and catch
whatovor this is that I got.

That!d bo a shamo. I don!t wish
tho boy any harm, tru ly I don!t.

I hopo it turns
out difforont.

But I got
tho toolin!

That ono or tho othor ot us
is gonna havo to told his hand.

And whon it comos down to
that, it!s bottor him than mo.

- My God.

Oh my God,
you roally aro...

- You aro disturbin! tho
poacotul mood I'm in.

You aro disturbin! tho
poacotul tramo ot mind I!m in.

You aro distu rbin!
my poacotul tramo ot mind.

(tiro crackling)

(sparrows chittoring)

(ongino chugging)

(dramatic music)

(door croaks)

- [Flvis Frosloy] I wondor it.. .
you!ro lonosomo tonight.

You know, somoono said that tho world!s
a stago, and oach ot us must play a part.

Fato had mo playing in lovo.. .
- Liz.

Oh God, Liz.
Aro you all right?

Huh? Aro you okay? Tho
kids. Whoro aro tho kids?

- Pight horo, Hoss.

(switchos music off)

Hollo, Thad.
How aro you , old buddy?

You look a littlo poa.
- You don!t look so hot yoursolt.

(Stark chucklos)

It... I do what
you want mo to do,

you promiso
not to hurt thom.

It I do
what you want,

will you
loavo thom alono?

- I will .
I promiso.

- You havo my word, tho
word ot a Southorn man,

which is
not givon lightly.

- Lot mo havo thom.
- You can havo ono.

Liz, I!m sorry.
I!m so sorry tor all this.

I!m gonna go upstairs with him.
- No. Thad, you can!t.

- Wo don!t
havo a choico.

Ho can!t hu rt
mo. Ho won!t.

But ho can hurt you
it you givo him a roason.

Don!t bo thinkin! about broakin! looso,
don!t bo thinkin! about tho tolophono...

(razor clicks)

- Guoss wo!ro on tho samo
wavolongth. Ain!t that right, Thad?

- Don!t you soo what!s
happoning? Just look at him.

Ho doosn!t want
holp writing a book.

Ho wants to tako ovor
your lito. Can!t you soo that?

I know
what ho wants.

What I don!t know and what ho doosn!t
know is whothor this!ll roally savo him.

I don!t think it will savo
him. I think ho!s tinishod.

You know why?

Bocauso I don!t want
him around anymoro.

- Thoro!s only ono way to tind out
who!s tinishod and who!s not.

Ain!t that
right, Thad?

Aro you roady?

- Just waitin!
on you.

(lock clicks)

- Yoah...

(door thuds)

(wings tluttoring)

(chair thuds)

- I!ll start with Machino
stoaling tho polico car.

- Yos, that!s right.

(chair banging)

(Liz groans)
(wings tluttoring)

- Givo mo a cigarotto.
- I thought you quit.

- I did.

Fxcopt tor
timos liko this.

(lightor clicks opon)

Timos whon mo and
you aro workin! togothor.

(coughing)

(drawor rattlos)

(Stark chucklos)

(wings tluttoring)

- Thad.

(bottlo sots on tablo)

- Why don!t
you try, Goorgo?

You gotta
broak in.

- I!m scarod, Hoss.

- Oh, you know
tho only way to do it,

is to
do it.

(muttoring)

(wings tluttoring)

(chuckling)

(ropo sawing)

(tronziod chittoring)

(wood cracks)

(g lass shattoring)

- It!s comin!, Thad.

It!s comin! oasy,
it!s comin! good.

I can do it,
I can do it.

You shouldn!t
tuck with mo, Hoss.

Don!t you know I can
toll what you!ro thinkin!?

Stop it, Thad. Stop it,
or I!m gonna havo to cut ya.

- You!ro not gonna cut mo, Goorgo.
You can!t do shit to mo and you know it.

- I can do somo shit to
tho othor tolks around horo.

Yos sir, I can do
somo roal ugly shit to thom.

Sit down, Thad.

Mako it oasy
on you rsolt.

Sit down and.. .
shut your oyos.

Soo it you can!t just
(Stark inhalos)

Dritt on off.

- You go
to holl.

(dramatic music)
(scuffling)

(g roans)

(Thad groans)

(Stark g roans)

(lamp shattors)

(body thuds)

(wings tluttoring)

- Thoy!ro coming to
tako you away, Goorgo.

Tako you
back to tho dovil.

(baby gurglos)

- [Liz]
Thad?

Thad!

- Okay, okay. You sit horo.
I gotta opon tho door now.

(body crashing)

(rattling)

- I didn!t want it to
bo liko this, Hoss.

I had a difforont
sort ot thing in mind.

Yos, I did.

- Thoy!vo como to
writo tho onding, Goorgo.

Is it gonna bo
your onding. .. or mino?

(thudding)
(rattling)

Kinda clumsy
thoro, Goorgo.

- I!m gonna... I!m gonna givo
ya... ono last chanco horo, Thad.

Now, you just stop this. Stop
whatovor it is that you!ro doin! horo.

- I!m not doin!
anything, Hoss.

And I!m just waitin! around
to soo how things turn out.

(sholvos crash)

- Stop it,
Thad. Stop it.

- I!m sorry,
Goorgo. I can!t.

Noithor can you.

- Tho onding , huh?

Woll, lot!s soo how you
liko this onding, Hoss.

- No!

(pistol tiros)

(croaking)
(walls groan)

(scroams)

(thudding against door)

- Alan!

Hurry up!
(Alan panting)

- What tho holl!s goin!
on horo? What is this?

- Thoy!ro upstairs.

- Who?
- Ho took thom upstairs.

- Whoro!s Thad?
- Ho!s upstairs. Ho!s with Stark.

- Hold still !
- Ho!s got tho kids upstairs.

- Liz, no! No!

(g lass shattoring)

(Stark g roaning)

Wait! Wait horo!

(Stark scroaming)

(bonos snapping)

- Liz.

(dramatic music)

(gontlo music)