A Heated Premonition Page 2
NEMEROFF:
Well?
SOBERIN:
It’s pretty good.
NEMEROFF:
Best thing I’ve ever drawn.
SOBERIN:
I’m happy we both think so, but you made a mistake.
NEMEROFF:
What?
SOBERIN:
Courtroom sketches like this, you hardly ever see them any more. You ever watch Court TV? No one needs these now.
NEMEROFF:
That’s not why I drew it.
SOBERIN:
So why did you draw it?
NEMEROFF:
I don’t know. I couldn’t stop myself... couldn’t help myself.
SOBERIN:
(Not enthused) That so.
NEMEROFF:
I need someone to look at it – to help me understand it.
SOBERIN:
So why are you asking me? Why not ask a friend?
NEMEROFF:
(RELUCTANTLY) I don’t really know many people.
You’re the closest thing I have to a friend, Mr. Soberin.
SOBERIN:
Boy, that’s depressing.
NEMEROFF:
So what about the drawing? What can you tell me about it?
SOBERIN:
(CONTEMPLATING) The drawing, the drawing... OK, like I said, it’s a courtroom... Uh... I guess the judge is pronouncing sentence.
NEMEROFF:
He just pronounced it.
SOBERIN:
How do you know?
NEMEROFF:
I just know.
SOBERIN:
Then what do you need me for?
NEMEROFF:
Please. What about the criminal?
SOBERIN:
I think he would be called “the defendant”.
NEMEROFF:
Please Mr. Soberin – I need to know what you see.
SOBERIN:
Well, he’s, uh... Well, he’s a big, fat guy. Really fat. A man gets that big, it puts a strain on the heart. You know why people end up like this? They don’t like to exercise. They don’t want to go outside, because they’re afraid of being mugged, or worse. It’s television, it makes people afraid to leave their homes.
NEMEROFF:
(IMPATIENT) Mr. Soberin!
SOBERIN:
Okay. So, he’s fat. He’s got big rolls of flesh under his chin. He’s clean-shaven – well, maybe not quite. Maybe a few days before, he was clean-shaven – and he’s almost bald, for which he has my sympathy. He’s standing in front of the judge, holding the rail with his left hand, looking straight in front of him.
NEMEROFF:
What about his expression? That’s not horror on his face, so what is it?
SOBERIN:
You drew it, don’t you know?
NEMEROFF:
Can you please just go on?
SOBERIN:
It looks to me like exhaustion – like absolute fatigue. Like there’s nothing strong enough in him to sustain that mountain of flesh.
NEMEROFF:
Anything else?
SOBERIN:
Yeah, it’s not finished.
NEMEROFF:
What do you mean it’s not finished, of course it’s finished!
SOBERIN:
No, it’s not. Look here.
SOUND:
SOBERIN TAPS THE PAPER.
SOBERIN:
See, he’s holding onto the rail with his left hand... but what’s going on with his right? He’s holding something. An instrument, or a weapon, maybe. It’s hard to tell. You know, if this were a real courtroom, they wouldn’t let him bring anything in.
NEMEROFF:
(STUNNED) There is something there! Why didn’t I notice that before?
SOBERIN:
Nemeroff -- I’d say get help, but help costs money, and you have more urgent bills to pay. Let me guess. You have no idea what you were planning to put in his hand?
NEMEROFF:
No idea at all.
SOBERIN:
Well then -- go finish it.
SOUND:
SOBERIN GIVES HIM BACK THE PAPER.
MUSIC:
FADES OUT AS WE...
SOUND:
...FADE THRU TO NEMEROFF, SLOWLY MOUNTING THE STAIRS.
NARRATOR:
“Go finish it”, Soberin says. Nemeroff doesn’t even know how he started it, or if he was capable of finishing it. He made the sketch and yet had no recollection of what he intended the man to hold in his right hand. Even now, as he makes his way back to his apartment, down the long hallway, the thought of picking up his pencil again turns his fingers to lead. Once again, he is conscious of the intense heat. It feels like the fires of Hell. He is sweating profusely. And he knows right then and there, that he wouldn’t finish the sketch anytime soon. He turns out to be right, but not for the reason he imagined.
SOUND:
NEMEROFF MAKING HIS WAY BACK TO HIS APPARTMENT.
NARRATOR:
In the hallway, Nemeroff stands in front of his apartment and attempts to open the door.
SOUND:
NEMEROFF TRIES THE DOOR OF HIS APARTMENT. IT’S LOCKED.
NEMEROFF:
What the hell?
SOUND:
HE TRIES TO DOOR, MORE FORCEFULLY THIS TIME.
NEMEROFF:
Oh, come on! I’m locked out!
SOUND:
FADE THRU TO NEMEROFF OUTSIDE SOBERIN’S APARTMENT. ESTABLISH SAME OLD VINYL RECORD, WHICH CAN BE HEARD ONLY FAINTLY. THEN NEMEROFF BANGS ON THE DOOR.
NEMEROFF:
Soberin! Open up!
SOBERIN:
(BEHIND THE DOOR) I don’t think that would be a good idea, Mr. Nemeroff!
NEMEROFF:
You changed the lock on my damn apartment door!
SOBERIN:
(BEHIND THE DOOR) I told you I would. Can’t say you weren’t warned. I know this kid, he’s a genius with locks. He’s been waiting all day for you to come out of your apartment.
NEMEROFF:
I thought we understood each another!
SOBERIN:
(BEHIND THE DOOR) Sadly, we do.
NEMEROFF:
I thought you were my friend!
SOBERIN:
(BEHIND THE DOOR) No, you thought I was the closest thing you had to a friend – there’s a difference.
And alas, how many times have friendships been destroyed over money?
NEMEROFF:
So what the hell am I supposed to do now?
SOUND:
SOBERIN OPENS THE DOOR SLIGHTLY WITH THE CHAIN STILL ON.
SOBERIN:
You want to be a starving artist? Go starve someplace else.
SOUND:
HE SHUTS THE DOOR AGAIN.
MUSIC:
FADE IN EPISODE SCORE.
THRU TO:
THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:
And now back to “A Heated Premonition” on... “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES.”
MUSIC:
THEME.
THRU TO:
NEMEROFF WALKS THE BUSY STREETS.
NARRATOR:
Inspiration – that’s what every artist needs. And Nemeroff needs a lot of it, and not just for his sketches. He is out of work, and he no longer has a place to lay his head. All he has are the pencils in his pocket... and a sketch he has no clear recollection of drawing. Good as it is, nobody would want it, he knows that. But the other side was blank... All he needs is the right subject, that’s all anybody really needs. Nemeroff sets out with the idea of walking along Halsted Street and turning right along Fremont where the men are at work repairing some train tracks. He thinks about sketching the workers, but he just isn’t motivated to, so he keeps walking, but the damned heat...
SOUND:
FOOTSTEPS STOP. A BUS PULLS UP, THE DOORS OPEN.
BUS DRIVER:
Are you getting on?
NEMEROFF:
BUS DRIVER:
Which stop?
NEMEROFF:
(DAZED) Uh... Where do you go?
BUS DRIVER:
Where do I go? I go to the station.
NEMEROFF:
No, I... I don’t want to go to the station.
BUS DRIVER:
(IMPATIENT) I don’t have all day Mister, are you getting on or not?
SOUND:
IN BG, THE PASSENGERS ARE GETTING RESTLESS AS NEMEROFF GETS ON.
NEMEROFF:
OK. Just... take me as far as you go. BUS
DRIVER:
You got exact change?
NEMEROFF:
Change? I... Sorry, I don’t think I have any money.
PASSENGER:
(IN BG) Get off the damn bus!
BUS DRIVER:
You heard ’em. Get off the bus, pal.
NEMEROFF:
Couldn’t you-
BUS DRIVER:
Nope. Beat it, I got a schedule.
NEMEROFF:
(WEARILY) Fine.
SOUND:
NEMEROFF GETS OFF THE BUS. THE DOOR CLOSES, CUTTING OUT INERIOR BUS NOISES.
BUS DRIVER:
(Dialog fading as door bus door closes) Sorry about that, folks. The heat brings out all the crazy people.
SOUND:
THE BUS SETS OFF AGAIN. FADE THRU TO STREET BG AGAIN.
NARRATOR:
From there forward, Nemeroff has only a vague recollection of where he walked. He strolls through parks, along crowded streets, always conscious of the awful heat that comes up from the pavement in a suffocating wave. And he remembers too, the hollow sound of his footsteps as he moves along. Although he is walking aimlessly, he knows that somehow there is a place for him to be, a someone or something to which he is being drawn. Is he being controlled by the same force that caused him to produce that sketch of a courtroom he’d never seen, and a man he’d never met? Nemeroff only knows he has to keep going forward. There is nothing left for him the way he’d come. Whatever he finds, whenever he finally stops – it will be meant for him.
MUSIC:
AN ACCENT UNDER DIALOG.
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATING) I hoped for some cloud cover to shield me from the burning sun as I walked, but none came. My only salvation was that the sun was starting to set, so I figured the blistering heat should let up a little. I felt as though I was under the grip of a powerful force, that’d made me draw the picture I had in my pocket, and that had set me walking on this path... but a path to where? When would I be finished, and would I even know it? I needed to get a hold of myself.
NEMEROFF:
(CALLS OUT) Listen to me, whoever or whatever you are!
SOUND:
IN THE DISTANCE, A DOG BARKS.
NEMEROFF:
(CALLS OUT) I’m tired of being your puppet!
Whatever game this is, I don’t want to play a part in it! I’m going home, you hear me? I’m going home! Find somebody else to take my place, OK? (GRUNTS. THEN THE GRUNT BECOMES AN EXCLAMATION OF PAIN. THROUGH GRITTED TEETH, TO HIMSELF:) Turn yourself around, dammit! Walk the other way! You can do this, James! It’s just one foot in front of the other... You’ve been doing it all your life.
There’s not a single thing you can’t walk away from, so walk away from this! Do whatever you have to do, beg old man Soberin for your apartment back, I don’t know! Just turn yourself around! (MORE PAINFUL GRUNTS)
SOUND:
A FOOT SLAMS DOWN ON CONCRETE.
NEMEROFF:
No! That’s the wrong way!
SOUND:
ANOTHER STEP.
NEMEROFF:
No, no, no!
SOUND:
THE FOOTSTEPS CONTINUE, SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY AT FIRST, THEN AT A RUN, THE PACE INCREASING.
NEMEROFF:
(BREATHES HARD AS HE RUNS. THEN:) OK, OK, no more running! I’ll go wherever you want! You win, you hear me?
SOUND:
THE RUN GOES BACK TO A BRISK WALK.
NEMEROFF:
(LOW) You win...
NARRATOR:
Thankfully, his journey doesn’t last too much longer. Within a half-hour, Nemeroff finds himself standing before a gate that leads into a yard – that he at first thinks is a junkyard. It has a tiny brick house toward the back. The yard has scattered patches of flowers with bees droning over them. He stands there, looking down at the flowers and the bees for a moment, and then, he looks up. Over the entrance to the yard, there is a board attached to the gate. The inscription: “Charles Atkinson, Monumental Mason / Worker in Imported Marble.”
MUSIC:
AN ACCENT - THEN FADES OUT.
ATKINSON:
(WHISTLING)
SOUND:
CHISEL BANGS AGAINST MARBLE
NARRATOR:
From the yard itself comes a cheery whistle, the noise of hammer blows and the cold sound of steel striking stone. A sudden impulse makes Nemeroff enter and he heads in the direction of the noise.
MUSIC:
IN AND UNDER.
NARRATOR:
Sitting on a low stool, is a large man, with his back towards Nemeroff. The man is busy at work on a slab of curiously veined marble. As Nemeroff approaches him from behind, the man stops working suddenly without turning around.
SOUND:
THE BANGING STOPS.
ATKINSON:
(STOPS WHISTLING) I know you’re there. If you’re after money, you came to the wrong place. I’m not a rich man. I just get by.
NEMEROFF:
I’m not here to rob you.
ATKINSON:
That’s good to know. (Grunts as he turns around to to face Nemeroff) So you’re here on business.
NEMEROFF:
Well, that’s the peculiar thing, Mr. - Atkinson, is it?
ATKINSON:
That’s right.
NEMEROFF:
You see, I’m not- (GASPS)
ATKINSON:
What’s the matter?
NEMEROFF:
(TERRIFIED) The- The matter?
ATKINSON:
You know when they say in the movies: “You look like you’ve seen a ghost”. Well, I never knew what that meant ’til now. But that’s what you look like.
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATES) I was sure he was right, but I couldn’t tell him why – couldn’t come out with it right then. But when Charles Atkinson, Monumental Mason and Worker in Imported Marble, turned to face me, I knew him, even though I’d never seen him before – he was the man from my drawing.
MUSIC:
AN ACCENT - THEN FADE IN EPISODE SCORE.
THRU TO:
THEME.
FADE DOWN.
ANNOUNCER:
More from “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES”... after these brief messages.
COMMERCIAL BREAK
ANNOUNCER:
And now back to “A Heated Premonition” on... “FANGORIA’S DREADTIME STORIES.”
MUSIC:
THEME.
THRU TO:
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATES) Yes, it was definitely him. His face was on the sketch in my pocket, but I didn’t feel like referring to it just yet. Now wasn’t the right time. But when would be the right time to say: “Excuse me, sir, we’ve never met, but the same inexplicable force that led me here today also caused me to draw you on trial for your life”? He just sat there, a huge rotund body, the sweat pouring from his scalp, not speaking. Then he took a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
ATKINSON:
Whew.
NEMEROFF:
(NARRATES) Although this face that looked up at me was the same as in my sketch, the expression was absolutely different – it was one of puzzlement.
Suddenly, the puzzlement was replaced by cheeriness, and he got up and took my hand as if we were old friends.
ATKINSON:
Welcome to you, sir.
; NEMEROFF:
(WARY) Thank...you. Look, I’m sorry to just walk up on you like this. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.
ATKINSON:
Not at all, not at all.
NEMEROFF:
It’s just that I was out for a walk and I just sort of ended up here. I hope you don’t mind.
ATKINSON:
(CHUCKLES) No, I don’t mind. I like company. Whew, it’s hot. Take a load off. Have a seat.
NEMEROFF:
There’s nowhere to sit.
ATKINSON:
Sit on the gravestone; I’m almost done with it.
NEMEROFF:
Gravestone. OK...
ATKINSON:
Nice and cool, huh?