The Search for Pepper Medley
Adventure Mystery
Last updated: August 18, 2021 at 12:39 pm by Michael Bromage
A man searches for his sister’s killer and ends up changing the world.
SCENE ONE
Location: APELDOORN, THE NETHERLANDS.
Have you been to Apeldoorn?
(Description of Apeldoorn and dutch culture.)
During winter, the streets of Apeldoorn are cold and quiet. It’s midnight and a row of identical houses line the canal. Snow is illuminated by the soft orange light spilling from the large windows of a dark brick house.
Look through the big windows; you will see… (Voyeurism and description of Joris and Danny plus mini back story)
Inside, the fire-place is crackling gently and Danny is glad they still use real wood, not the fancy gas novelties or, worse, the useless fake electric or digital fireplaces; wood smells wonderful. She always feels cosy in winter, close to her husband, in the house that they have made into a home; Gezelligheid.
Looking around the room Danny acknowledges each item’s story; the Indonesian wicker cane furniture from her step-mother; the collage of driftwood hanging on the wall, pieces gradually collected from coastlines around Europe and made into an art piece; the old upright piano found at a garage sale, which Joris had bought for her, a gift to entertain her muse. The decaying instrument has been repaired and tuned and decorated with family photos – such a cliche Joris had said – and she had bought teach-yourself-piano books, but the instrument lays dormant. The piano’s brown frame is longing to resonate again, it’s wooden fingers lined up like an army patiently waiting to hammer and dance against the strings. Danny believes that sometimes dreams are just dreams but that the room looks better with a piano whether or not it is played, especially next to her husband’s shelf of rare art books.
Joris speaks, “It’s your turn.”
Danny brings her blue eyes back to tiles on the table. English words litter the scrabble board and she is stumped by her letters: TPXEYTQ, an unfortunate mix from the alphabet. After a minute she says, “Ik kan neits done.”
“English, Danny,” Joris replies. “Do you want me to help?”
She likes her husband’s interest in languages and the fact he has taught himself to speak some French, some Italian and is now learning Spanish. For this reason scrabble nights are fun, especially tonight as the focus is English; one of the easier languages. Danny keeps staring at the letters but her mind stays blank. Joris takes a sip of wine and looks at his wife, admiring the way her rich blonde curls keep falling into her face, concealing the big blue sparkling eyes he is so fond of and the furrow in her forehead signalling she is deep in thought. He loves her.
“You look really pretty tonight,” he says.
“Thank you.”
“Pretty. P-r-e-t-t-y. If you can find the R you will get a double word score.”
“Oh, yes, I see it,” Danny says. She places tiles on the board.
Joris adds the score and Danny watches her husband’s slender fingers handling the pencil. She takes pleasure in the sight of his smooth brown Indonesian skin and believes Joris will never get old European wrinkles. Danny is in love with the moment, feeling tipsy from the wine and warmth of the house.
“Joris, do you want to go to Indonesia to see where your grandparents were born?”
“Sometimes I think about it, but it’s expensive and our family is here in the Netherlands. Our heritage may be in Indonesia but our future is here.”
He places two tiles on the board, then hesitates. Danny sips at her glass of wine.
“You could sell one of your art books,” she suggests, although knows he won’t.
“Possibly. One more book to find and I’ll have another completed collection of Illumination – all originals. We can go on a holiday after that, if you like.”
“I would like that. Let’s go somewhere warm.”
Danny looks through the large window out into the cold world. She sees the ice covered canal and sleet beginning to fall. Danny wonders if the canals will freeze thick enough for the Elfstedentocht this winter, aware her red skates are eagerly hanging in the hallway cupboard. Outside the grey cobblestone streets are glistening wet, quietly reflecting light from ice-blue street lamps and she marvels at a dead branch reaching into the canal, it’s smaller empty branches trapped by frozen water, it’s roots emerging from the cobblestone street. Her eyes instinctively follow the shape of a bridge crossing the canal. Just beyond the bridge in a pool of streetlight Danny sees a naked woman staring into the dark waters of the canal.
“Joris, kijk daar.”
Joris follows his wife’s gaze,
“What’s she doing? She’ll freeze in the rain… she’s not wearing any clothes.”
They watch the lone woman for a few moments – a white skinned silhouette caught in the rain – and see her topple forward, break the ice and disappear into the black water.
“Oh,” Danny whispers.
Joris is quickly on his feet, knocking the table, letters and high scores tumbling to the ground. Danny chases her husband out into the cold, bits of frozen snow bite at her exposed legs, falling sleet cutting into rosy warm cheeks. Something catches her feet causing her to twist, stumble and fall. She senses pain flicking through her arm as she grazes an elbow on a cement curb hidden beneath the snow. Glancing down Danny sees a brown jacket wrapped around her ankles. Joris is already at the canal, his frantic movements back and forth along the bank frighten his wife and she hears his voice, taught with panic.
“I can’t see her, I can’t see her!” [change to Nederlands?]
Danny spots a white shape just under the dark ice.
“There!” she points, wincing in pain and pulling her grazed arm into the warmth of her body.
Joris yanks a frost-covered bicycle from beneath a street lamp, it’s cold metal frame hurting his fingers. He lays on his stomach and swings the bicycle into the ice just above the woman’s shape. The thin ice cracks and breaks easily creating a hole. Danny grabs her husband’s legs as he inches forward.
“Wees voorzichtig, Joris. Be careful!“
Her husband reaches for the stranger’s head, the muscles in his arm straining and his touch causing the woman’s body to drift away, slowly sinking under the ice. Joris yells and lunges forward, grabbing the woman’s hair, his arms crashing into icy water. Danny slips on the wet snow, screams in surprise and lets herself fall onto Joris’s legs, her weight keeping him from sliding into the canal. Her husband grunts and pulls the woman’s body towards him and with a surge of strength lifts it up onto the edge of the canal.
The naked woman’s skin is cold to touch, her eyes are closed, body limp, fingers blue. Joris checks for a pulse but his fingers are so numb he cannot feel a thing. The street seems deathly quiet, broken by Joris and Danny’s frightened breathing; streetlight catching the steam rising from their mouths. Nobody is around to help. There is no steam coming from the woman’s face and Joris leans closer, listening for a breath. A terrible stench meets him, climbs up his nose, into his chest and he dry wretches.
“Joris?”
“I think she’s alive, Danny. Her breath smells terrible. Get a warm bath going.”
Joris lifts her stranger’s naked body over his shoulder and heads towards their house. Danny follows, collecting the brown jacket and bundle of clothes from the snow. The couple struggle to carry the woman up the stairs to the bathroom. Hot water roars away, filling the room with comforting warmth, and before the tub is full they lay the woman in the water.
“I’ll call Dr. Jeroen. You find some blankets and we’ll put her on the couch next to the fire,” Joris says.
An hour later Joris and Danny are clean, dressed warmly, and sipping hot chocolate. Joris has tended to his wife’s arm and they sit quietly at the table, watching the stranger. The woman is wrapped in a thick blanket, asleep on their couch.
“She’s young, must be in her twenties,” Danny says softly.
“What do you think she was doing?”
A knock at the door and Dr. Jeroen is led to the living room. The stranger’s fingers, eyes, arms and breathing are observed then the doctor stands up and all three are looking down at the sleeping stranger. Firelight flickers in the doctor’s glasses.
“There’s alcohol on her breath and I think she’s taken something but she should be fine, she just needs to sleep it off. You found her in the canal?”
Danny notices how tired her husband sounds when he speaks, “Yes, we we’re playing scrabble and Danny saw her just before she fell in.”
Danny interrupts, “I think she jumped in. Do you think she’s crazy? Is it safe to have her in our home?”
“I couldn’t tell you if she’s dangerous, Danny. Have you seen this woman before?”
“I nearly forgot,” Danny replies and Joris watches his wife dig through the pockets of a brown jacket. Danny’s blonde curls fall into her face as she speaks.
“These clothes were near the canal. I don’t think she’s washed for a while, the clothes are really dirty. She could be homeless.”
They open the purse and remove a group of identical cards. Joris reads out the details of one.
“Sasha’s Secret. No official I.D. but there’s five of the same cards.” He flicks one around. “Slick and feminine looking; she could be in the lingerie business.”
“Never heard of Sasha’s Secret,” the doctor continues. “Well, you two saved her life. Are you okay to look after her tonight or would you like me to call the police?”
“We should probably let her rest,” answers Joris. “Let her sleep on the couch and in the morning we’ll work out what to do.”
Dr. Jeroen nods his head in acknowledgment.
“I’ll report this to the police on my way home. Officially you’re supposed to take her to the hospital or police station.”
The doctor is thanked and walked to the door, then Joris and Danny head upstairs to their bedroom and get ready for bed. Joris brushes his teeth, his voice tired but excited.
“What a night! That was intense, we saved someone’s life, Danny!”
Danny jams a chair under the door handle of their bedroom.
“Just in case,” she says.
Soft morning light filters through the big glass windows of the house. Rain makes patterns on the window, which in turn makes patterns on the table where Joris and Danny have resumed their game of scrabble. Both are distracted by the stranger sleeping on their couch. Soup simmers on the stove.
“She’s very pretty,” says Danny.
Joris shuffles through the bag of scrabble tiles. “You’re turn.”
“It’s kind of exciting, don’t you think?”
The woman on the couch suddenly sits up, groans and raises her hands to her head. Joris and Danny stare. Nothing happens and she collapses back onto the couch. Danny brings her a bowl of soup.
“Here, drink this.”
The stranger mumbles in a foreign accent, “Where am I? Who are you?”
“I’m Danny and this is Joris. We found you last night and brought you in from the cold.”
The woman struggles to lift the bowl to her lips, arms shaking, eyelids drooping. Danny helps her take a sip and her head drops back onto the couch and, with a murmur, she passes into sleep again. The couple abandon the board game to watch the stranger sleep.
“We must be weird people to sit here and watch her,” Danny says.
“Yes, I’m going to look at my books,” her husband replies.
Afternoon light filters through the window. Joris has fallen asleep in the chair next to his shelf of rare books; precious pages open on his lap. Danny sips at tea, drawing the shape of the stranger in her sketch book, occasionally looking up to study the unexpected woman’s features. The stranger mumbles.
“Pardon?” asks Danny.
No reply. Danny gets up, puts down her sketch book and walks closer.
“Hello?”
Nothing. She leans close and can smell the woman’s unpleasant breath. The stranger’s voice is soft so Danny listens carefully to her foreign accent, trying to understand words falling from the stranger’s lips.
“I wish you didn’t die.”
Danny is unsure of what she’s heard and steps back, concerned, but the stranger doesn’t move, eyes still closed and a thin strand of saliva glistening from the corner of her cracked mouth. Danny shakes her husband awake.
“Joris-“
Joris groggily smiles at his wife.
“Hello beautiful. B-e-a-u-“
“Joris, I’m frightened; what she said scares me.”
“Who said what?” her husband murmurs.
“She said she wished I wouldn’t die.” Danny is pointing to the stranger on the couch.
“She’s asleep.”
“She is talking in her sleep and I heard her say that… I think.”
“She said you would die?”
“Yes, I think. I’m spooked.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“No.”
“She’s probably just dreaming. But we should really find out more about her.”
Joris comes back from their kitchen with his iPad.
“What was the name on the business cards we found in her purse?”
“Sasha’s Secret.”
They search the name and discover a single web page about an exclusive club. (Details, including cost and requirements for access.)
“Let’s see what else pops up online,” says Joris.
Social media is saturated with stories, photos and videos about a woman called Sasha Love, the Director of the business. (List with captions)
“There’s the woman on our sofa,” Danny says, pointing at a photo. Joris selects ‘show similar photos’ and the screen fills with photos of Sasha Love and the stranger.
“Her name is Lisa Pendleton.”
Online she seems bright and friendly, often smiling or laughing in the photos.
“Looks like she’s into movies and books,” Danny exclaims.
“Wow, is that her with Hugh Jackman?” asks Joris. “We could have a celebrity in our house, Danny. Maybe an actress! Famous people are always doing crazy stuff, going to parties, and causing trouble.”
Her wife notices something familiar and points to a link on the screen.
“That film has been promoted lately. How is she related to that film?”
“She was involved in location photography,” smiles Joris. “Not spooky at all. Maybe Sasha’s Secret is one of those exclusive clubs for famous film people?”
The couple look up from the screen to the woman sleeping on the couch and Joris touches his wife’s arm.
“Let’s go into the kitchen,” says Danny. “Let’s watch the film but please don’t wake her.”
Joris puts a computer on the kitchen bench and Danny brings two chairs into the room. They fire up the film.
It’s an action thriller about a genius scientist with good intentions caught up in a global conspiracy. A raspy British voice fills the small kitchen.
“I thought that music sounded familiar.”
The Dutch couple look up to see the stranger awkwardly leaning against the kitchen door frame, still wrapped in their blanket, holding their iPad. Her eyes are on the television and the flickering light from the small screen makes strong shadows on her face. Danny wonders how long she was standing there. She notices a knife on the kitchen bench – a way to defend themselves – just in case.
“Did you work on this film?” Joris asks.
“Yes, it was good fun but the director was a pain to work with. He kept improvising and now there are plot holes in the story. The book is better.”
Joris and Danny nod quietly.
“I see you’ve been looking me up online,” she says holding up the iPad. “Lots of photos of me and Sasha. Sasha got me the gig. I was a location scout for the film – my photography skills were helpful and it paid well.”
“You’re Lisa, yes?” asks Joris.
“Yes. Hello. May I ask, do you have anything to eat? I’m sorry but I’m very hungry.”
Joris stops the movie and Danny serves soup, then makes tea. The stranger is polite, often saying thank you with her broad British accent. Danny wonders if she has worked with Daniel Craig or Adele.
“I don’t remember much from the last few days. Excuse my ignorance, who are you and where am I?”
“I’m Joris, this is Danny and you’re in our home, in Apeldoorn,” explains Joris. “We saved you from drowning in the canal.”
“The canal?” The stranger pauses to think then slowly nods her head. “Hmm.”
“What were you doing?” Joris asks. “Out in the cold?”
The stranger says nothing, twirls the spoon in her soup.
“She doesn’t want to talk about it, Joris,” says Danny. “You don’t have to talk about it, Lisa.”
The kitchen is quiet, the air feels unusually heavy, and Danny notices the sound of the clock ticking; a gift from the neighbour that’s been there for years; its relentless tick reminding Danny of her mortality. A drop of clear water falls from the British face into her empty soup bowl and the stranger begins to cry, shoulders shaking, hands coming up to cover her face. Joris reaches out to hold her but Danny stops her husband. They stand around the kitchen feeling awkward. After a minute the stranger uses a corner of the blanket to dab at her eyes.
“Thank you for helping me,” she says. “I’m feeling tired and would like to sleep more but don’t have a place to stay. May I stay here one more night? I’ll leave in the morning.”
Joris sees her wife subtly shaking her head, alert and cautious.
“Will you go back home?” Danny asks the stranger. “To England… Are you from England?”
For a moment the stranger looks Danny directly in the eyes – Danny can see redness and exhaustion – then her eyes drop back down to the empty bowl.
“If you don’t want me here, I can go. I won’t cause you any more inconvenience. I’m really grateful that you helped me.”
Joris pipes up.
“I’m sure another day will be OK. Danny?”
His wife is not sure but decides to trust her husband.
“I suppose so, if it’s just one night. I’ll get you a fresh blanket.”
“Maybe you could call in sick, Joris?”
“You’ll be fine, Danny. I’ve got to go to work.”
The stranger is still sleeping, not disturbed by Joris and Danny’s early morning movement around the house. Danny wraps a scarf around her husband and listens to him tell her to call if she feels uncomfortable in the house with the stranger and that she should go straight to the neighbours if there is any trouble and that he’ll come straight home. During breakfast they had watched the stranger together and she seemed to be less intimidating for every minute that passed – it’s amazing what daylight can do to nerves and fear. Danny now watches Joris scrape ice from the car windscreen, start the engine and drive away. She then closes the front door, blocking cold air from entering the warm house, and checks to see if the stranger is still sleeping. Lisa is, but without Joris in the house the stranger feels like a threat again. Danny goes upstairs to her bedroom to sort the laundry and jams a chair under the door handle.
A short time later she is laying in bed, next to a pile of freshly folded clothes, gently snoring, lost in a dream; the stranger is with a band, on stage, the crowd cheering them on. She envisions bright lights, loud music and sweaty people, remembering the excitement of going to rock concerts with girlfriends in her youth. Maybe she photographs rock stars? Rock stars take drugs and cause trouble and jump in icy canals. She can hear the music. Yes, she can hear music, drifting up from downstairs, a gentle melody filling her quiet house and it’s not in her head. Danny emerges from her imagination, furrows automatically appearing between her eyes.
The stranger is sitting at her piano, head against the panel where manuscripts are usually kept, the piano keys moving and flowing beneath her fingers. The woman’s eyes are closed. Danny takes a seat at the bottom of the stairs to watch and listen. Lisa can feel the reverberations from the instrument seep into her body and push against her emotions. She pushes back, intensifying the performance, changing from simple sad melodies to thick lush chords; attacking with elevenths and ninths, impulsively holding the sustain pedal, forcing emotion into the keys. The music bounces back, fills her again and, as music has always done before, she allows it to reach into her soul and take away the anxiety, but this piano will not yet comfort her, it does not give her peace, they are both strangers meeting for the first time. She plays harder, trying to connect with the instrument; please comfort me, consume me, give yourself to me, I need it, I need peace.
Danny is startled when Lisa smashes out a dissonant chord. It baffles her ears, then marvels as her fingers move effortlessly from one end of the piano to the other – who could have guessed the stranger can create such passionate music? The two objects become a single beast. Danny watches a symbiotic relationship: a deep moment of truth between musician and instrument. The piano creaks and moans and sings extraordinarily.
The Dutch woman is surprised that her old piano could make a full sound, she senses the performer’s frustration and anger pouring into the instrument, translated into complimenting frequencies and released into the room. Danny is overcome by awe and fear. The woman’s music is powerful, it builds to a crescendo causing the muscles in her legs to tense and she squeezes her toes tight, then, except for a solitary note, the sound ceases.
Lisa’s finger is caught on a single key and together they wait; the musician, the instrument and their audience. The final note begins to fade and the kitchen clock’s ceaseless tick-tock brings the trio back to the familiarity of the house. Danny can feel her heart beating fast and she stays very still, holding her breath. The emotionally powerful woman slowly turns her head, faces Danny, and her eyelids snap open. Danny senses deep sadness radiating from Lisa’s dark green eyes and feels Lisa’s presence push inside her, seeing all her secrets at once. She desperately wants to run but her body does not move and sits deathly still. The stranger has her.
Lisa notices a person sitting on the stairs staring at her. She thinks Danny looks frightened.
“Hello,” she says, trying to sound friendly.
Danny doesn’t respond and Lisa tries speaking in Dutch.
“Goedemorgen.”
“Goedemorgen,” the Dutch woman timidly replies, her voice caught in her throat. “Spreek je Nederlands?”
“Een beetje. Well, not really.”
Lisa sits up straight. She looks healthier after 14 hours of sleep.
“You’re Danny, right?” she asks.
“Yes, you look much better today. How do you feel?”
“Better. And hungry. I’ve got a craving for Marmite on toast.”
“We don’t have that but I can make you ontbijtkoek with appelstroop for breakfast?”
“Sounds good,” says Lisa. “Any food is good.”
“You make my piano sound good,” Danny says with a sparkle returning to her voice. “I’ve never heard it played so- beautifully.”
“I play how I’m feeling at the particular moment – the piano absorbs my emotions. If you want, while I’m here, I’ll play for you whenever you ask. I’m really good at translating feelings into music. Before I became a photographer I wanted to be a music composer for movies or video games.”
“I would like that very much,” replies Danny, noticing that her heart is still fluttering with excitement. “To hear you play some more. First we can have breakfast.”
They sit at the kitchen table and talk. Danny discovers that Lisa has played piano since a young age and Lisa discovers that Danny’s favourite hobby is to draw. Their answers are short and simple and Danny likes hearing Lisa’s British accent. After a while conversation drifts to nothing and Danny finds herself smiling politely out the window. Lisa sits quietly, munching on toast and sipping tea.
“Thanks for breakfast, Danny,” she suddenly says. “I’ll clean up. I might go for a walk today and get my head straight.”
Danny feels uncomfortable again. Get my head straight? What’s wrong with her head? I’m alone with a potentially unstable person.
“Do you think I’ll be able to stay one more night? “Lisa asks. “You have a nice home and it’s a good environment to really work out what to do next with my life. It’s been a rough few months so I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you and Joris are being so kind to me.”
“Joris will be home after five,” Danny replies. “We can decide what to do then.”
At five o’clock the front door opens and Danny can hear the stomping of snow covered shoes in the hallway. She emerges from the kitchen to see her husband looking at the empty couch.
“Is she gone?” he asks.
“I think so. She said that he would like to stay another night but I haven’t seen her since this morning when she left for a walk. She played our piano.”
“So I was worried about you all day for nothing, which I’m glad to say. Shame we didn’t find out why she jumped in the canal. She’s alive, we’re alive, life is good.”
Joris pulls football boots from the wardrobe, stuffs socks and shin pads into a small sports bag and kisses his wife.
“I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
He opens the front door to find the British woman with a fist in the air. Lisa looks stunned.
“Talk about good timing, I was just about to knock. Are you going to play football?” she asks, seeing Joris holding his boots. “Do you need another player?”
“You like football?” Joris replies. When Lisa nods, he turns back into the hallway.
“I’ve got some spare boots, but I don’t think they’ll fit you.”
Lisa hands Danny a bottle of wine and she watches the the stranger climb into the car with her husband. He throws three pairs of socks in the back seat.
Danny has dinner ready when they return home. She opens Lisa’s bottle of wine, noticing that Joris seems more relaxed around Lisa and that Lisa seems more relaxed, too. Football is good for making friends, she thinks. She likes seeing her husband and Lisa chatting together and entertains the thought they are old friends. During dinner her husband is teaching the British woman Dutch phrases and laughs when Lisa incorrectly repeats the same phrase over and over.
“Hoe gaat het met u? Hoe gaat het met u?”
Joris also begins to laugh.
“Try to pronounce the sound from the back of your throat, Lisa… no, not like you’re going to spit!”
“It sounds so funny hearing Dutch spoken with your accent!” Danny says, and unceremoniously mimics the British woman’s attempts at her native tongue.
Then they are all laughing, glancing at each other, smiling, and the room feels happy.
“You look very beautiful when you’re laughing, Danny,” Lisa says. “Joris, you’re wife’s eyes are amazing when she laughs, they’re a sparkling bright blue. She lights up the room.”
Joris enjoys the feeling of pride about his wife. She is lovely.
“That’s one of the things I love about her, Lisa. Danny’s eyes and her rosy cheeks. We’ve been together since we were teenagers.”
He sees Danny blush and changes the subject, thinking that with all the happiness in the room the timing is right.
“What we’re you doing out there, Lisa, in the cold, when we found you? What could be so bad to make you want to… do that?”
Lisa becomes quiet, her smile quickly fading and her eyes dropping to her feet. She sighs heavily.
“Joris-” says Danny, upset with her husband’s timing.
“I’ve had a really rough time in the last year.”
“Nothing can be bad enough to want to… end it. What would your mother…?”
“My mother lost her battle with cancer last year and my father just… gave up. And my best friend, well, it’s strange, she disappeared on a hiking trek with her boyfriend and just recently they found her body in the forest. It’s terrible. Everything is terrible. I feel lost and lonely. I haven’t laughed, or even smiled, for months.”
Lisa starts to cry.
“Sorry, Lisa,” says Danny, tears welling in her eyes. “We don’t mean to make you upset.”
Joris and Danny watch Lisa cry, uncomfortable and unsure how to respond. Danny gets her a tissue. The British woman speaks.
“Thank you for dinner, Danny, and thank you for inviting me to play football, Joris. I’m feeling really tired again. Let’s call it a night.”
The Dutch couple watch Lisa collapse on to the couch. The fireplace is seductive and Lisa soon becomes mesmerised by the flames; they blur through tears and steal time. When the tears begin to dry she discovers the house is dark, only the coals in the fireplace omit a hellish glow. She assumes Danny and Joris have gone to bed and looks around the room, eyes falling on the shape of books on a shelf. Wanting a distraction Lisa stumbles through the dark towards the bookshelf, letting her fingers drag along the closed wooden lid of the piano, the feeling of cold wood providing a little comfort and a reminder of her current reality. After staring at the shelf and letting her eyes adjust she reaches up to a book then makes her way back to the couch and the dying fire.
Hmm. This book would fetch a good price through Sasha’s Secret.
For the third night in a row Danny is securing a chair under the bedroom’s door handle.
“Did you hear her crying tonight? She was wailing. It’s horrible to hear a woman cry like that. I care about what she’s going through but I’m scared for us, too, Joris. It’s exhausting having her here.”
Joris takes his wife in his arms.
“Don’t be frightened sweetheart, remember that knowledge conquers fear. We just have to work this situation out then we won’t have anything to be scared of and we can make a decision about what to do next. So, what do we know about Lisa?”
“We know she’s from England and that she’s a professional photographer and a musician,” answers Danny. “And that she knows famous people.”
“She’s also an amazing football player.”
Danny frowns and Joris continues.
“Tonight we played one of the best teams in the competition and Lisa pretty much won the game for us. She scored a hat-trick. She’s fast and accurate and she’s always talking; directing players, one-twos, encouraging everyone, sometimes even players on the other team. She knows football, she know’s strategy, and she is very precise. It’s like she was a different person – full of energy.”
“So she’s a football player, a photographer and a musician, she’s emotionally unstable, probably because of her own personal situation, and she’s in our house. Why do I feel uncomfortable about it?”
“You feel uncomfortable having her in our house?”
“You should have heard her play the piano this morning, Joris. Lisa is in such a deep sadness that I’m sure it’s unhealthy. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and find a dead woman in our house, or… I can’t bare to think-“
Joris brushes Danny’s curls from her face.
“I’ll keep us safe, Danny.”
“Do you think Sasha’s Secret is a cult?”
Joris looks at his wife.
“I suppose we’ll soon find out. I signed up today.”
“You spent a thousand dollars to join a club?”
“The joining fee only gets you through the front door. I have to contribute a unique or rare item to access what’s called the library.”
[Lisa leaves. Joris and Danny explore the online exclusive club – Joris uses a rare book to participate – unlock access to items – offered a house for a complete set of his Illuminations – harsh penalties for misleading/being untruthful – money is held by third party (SS) until transaction complete]
—
SCENE TWO
Location: POTTSVILLE, AUSTRALIA.
“Dad!” yells Henry. “There’s mould growing up this wall. This is why you’re getting dementia. If you won’t do it, get someone else to clean it… someone that’s not me!”
Frank is sitting at the kitchen table, staring at dull yellow walls. His son complaining, as usual, about the clutter in the house but Frank would rather think about his daughter. He is experiencing an odd mix of anger and happiness.
“Dad, what’s this?”
With a sigh, Frank lifts his skinny frame from the chair and shuffles past three fridges, two that do not work, and down the hallway, turning to squeeze through piles of old dusty books, records and who knows what’s in there with the spiders. On the wall hangs a picture of his family, also dusty, faded, taken years earlier. Frank looks fit and buff – dengue fever can be cruel – his pretty wife, now gone, and two teenagers smile feverishly at the camera; a gangly looking boy and striking young woman. He does not stop to look and instead pushes at a door labelled with the word ‘Henry’, scrawled in a child’s handwriting. It opens half way, blocked by an unknown obstacle on the other side. Frank’s shoulders hurt. He peers around the door and into a dusty room, sees an electronic keyboard and piles of junk strewn around the room. He knows there’s a bed under it all. The room smells mouldy. Frank sees the window, which he would open, if he could get to it. He doesn’t see his son.
“Henry?”
“I’m in here.”
Frank turns and shuffles back down the hallway towards his daughter’s room. The door is already open. He finds Henry crouched, holding a small black box in his hands.
“There’s a lot of weird stuff in here,” his son says. “Weirder than all the crap you and mum keep. This is just a solid chunk of plastic. Why keep this?”
“I don’t know, Henry. You know Sasha likes collecting odd things. She probably won’t like you going through her stuff.”
“Yeh, well…”
Henry puts the item back on the shelf.
“What are you doing in Sasha’s room?”
“I don’t know, I just- I felt I needed to be in her space.”
Frank sits down on the bed. He looks around the room at the odd items stored neatly on shelves, his eyes stopping on his son. Henry is staring at nothing.
“She always had something new to add to her collection whenever she came home,” Frank says. “I always wondered how she got some of this stuff through customs.”
“She’s a hoarder, like you and mum. At least she kept things organised.”
“I always looked forward to her birthday.”
“But not my birthday?”
“When was the last time you came to visit, before now? You know, actually stay here with your mum and me? Sasha would always come home to celebrate her birthday with us. Didn’t matter how far she had to travel to do so. You could have celebrated with us, too. You never came home on Sasha’s birthday.”
“Yeh, well…”
“When was the last time you spoke with your sister?”
Henry sighs and looks towards the window.
“Probably ten years ago. Dunno.”
Both men are quiet. Frank can feel the tension in the room. And the sadness. The air is warm and muggy, the room smells mouldy.
Henry speaks up.
“You know I’m not Sasha, right? I have my own life and my own way of doing things. Everything always worked out for Sasha, she always landed on her feet but I had to struggle. I don’t celebrate my birthday like Sasha. I’m not Sasha.”
“No, you’re not.”
“So don’t compare me to Sasha.”
Frank is feeling agitated and tired. He doesn’t want to argue with his son.
“I’m not comparing you, I just said she would always come home for her birthday, regardless where she was in the world or what she was doing. Sasha always came home.”
“Yeh, well…” Henry stops himself finishing his sentence.
Frank knows what his son was going to say. He now feels very angry and confused and helpless. At the moment he hates his son and loves him more than the day he was born, opening his little eyes and seeing his daddy for the first time.
“Argh!” yells Henry. “This is stupid. Why did this happen? Why now?”
Frank notices tears in Henry’s eyes. And a faded photo in his son’s hand. He recognises the photo. It was a bright sunny day, lifting little Henry into the wheelbarrow to join Sasha. The two kids are squinting in the sunlight, shadows making sharp shapes under their noses. He remembers Cynthia holding the camera.
“Please bring her home, Henry. Please.”
“Of course, Dad. And I’m going to find out who killed her.”
—
CHAPTER THREE
Location: XYZ, USA
You do not have permission to view this form.On August 18, 2021 at 2:27 pm Michael Bromage says…
This will be an awesome film!