Chapter Text
[Click. The tape recorder comes on.]
[The only background noise is the occasional breeze across the wide, empty desert plain.]
DAMIEN: …Well, fuck.
[DAMIEN sighs and starts to walk.]
DAMIEN: I am…alone…in the middle of nowhere…talking to a tape recorder. This is what my life is now. This is where it’s led.
[A scuff as DAMIEN kicks a rock.]
DAMIEN: …Only this time, no one can say it’s my fault. Not even—…Well. This time, it wasn’t me. It was some 5’-nothing bitch with a crowbar. Let’s just say I was doing my thing in…is this still Ash Forks? I was at a restaurant, getting something to go, and maybe I…convinced the hostess to let me leave without paying. Maybe I hadn’t been so truthful with Wadsworth during our last conversations, before she moved on like I was yesterday’s news. Maybe I’ve still got just enough of my old talent left to help me out when I’m really, really hungry.
[DAMIEN stops.]
DAMIEN: …Lot of good it’s done me. Fuck , it’s hot.
[DAMIEN struggles out of his hoodie and continues walking.]
DAMIEN: I was almost in my car when someone blind-sided me with something heavy and next thing I know, I’m in the back of a pickup truck. Wish I’d paid attention to how long we were driving, but it felt just like being back on the floor of Sam’s safehouse. [voice tightening] Couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
[Click as the tape recorder shuts off.]
[Click as it starts recording again.]
DAMIEN (shaky after a breakdown): I do—I do remember part of the license plate. Mississippi state, last numbers…4LG? LC? I don’t know all the different Pokémon types of car, but it was silver. The waitress, though, I got a better look at her. Wavy blonde hair. Hooter’s uniform. She yelled at me. Don’t remember what she said, but she had a real rural accent…How long do tapes last in the desert? A couple years? …I don’t know what name to leave here for people to find, Robert or Damien...Do you even get tombstones, in state burial plots? Or do they just cremate you as a John Doe and throw you in the nearest bushes?
[DAMIEN’s footsteps slow to a stop.]
DAMIEN: …Huh. No one’s even going to wonder where my body wound up.
[Silence.]
DAMIEN: God, this is so stupid. I should be saving my energy.
[Click.]
[Click.]
DAMIEN (walking again): But it’s like Mark said, isn’t it? Like Mark said Wadsworth said, I mean. If I don’t talk to somebody, it’s like these thoughts are going to rot my brain from the inside out. And talking to the faceless, constantly rotating cast of extras in my life doesn’t really help. You know, I thought therapy cost like, thirty dollars a session. Turns out I’m a couple thousand in the hole. Well, if I die out here, Dr. B has to eat that debt, so…silver lining.
[Pause. Only the sounds of footsteps and a distant hawk.]
DAMIEN: …I tried to call them. Rose, Mark, Dr. B, even…Wadsworth. No signal. No minutes, either…Not like any of them would pick up.
[A new sound—a rumbling in the distance.]
DAMIEN: And now there’s a…cloud? God, am I hallucinating already? Hang on...It’s getting closer.
[Truck slowly pulls up beside DAMIEN, tires crunching the dry dirt road. The window rolls down. It idles in the background of the recording, and a dog pants. For an awkward moment, no one speaks.]
DAMIEN: …So, are you here to finish me off, or…?
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: I’m sorry.
DAMIEN: …What?
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: I’ve got some problems I need to work out.
DAMIEN: Obviously.
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: It’s just, you reminded me of somebody and I saw red —but I—I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.
DAMIEN: Obviously .
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: Get in the car. Back seat. The front’s where Buzzard sits.
DAMIEN: …You…expect me to get in your murder truck…with your attack dog?
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: She’s not an attack dog. Not well-trained, at least…She’s my friend. And she sits in the front.
[A big dog sniffs at the recorder, straining to get close enough, until DAMIEN moves away.]
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE (genuine): I’m real sorry for hurting you. Please, just get in the car, you’re gettin’ sunburned.
DAMIEN (confused, but a little delighted): That’s more like it. Maybe I’m not so powerless after all. [opens the door] Hey, go. Go to the back, boy. Move.
[Dog pants happily next to the recorder.]
DAMIEN: Yeah, it never worked on animals anyway. Whatever.
[DAMIEN climbs into the backseat. The car door shuts, and the truck starts driving.]
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: Buzzard’s a girl.
DAMIEN: …Are you saying “buzzer”?
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE: Buzzard, like the bird. It’s ‘cause she’ll eat anything. I’m Dakota—
DAMIEN: I don’t remember asking.
UNKNOWN FEMALE VOICE (DAKOTA, brushing right on past that): —And you’re Damien.
DAMIEN: Have you been stalking me?
DAKOTA: ‘S the name on your order, wasn’t it? And…in your stuff.
DAMIEN: My stuff ?
DAKOTA: I got your papers and your box of stuff out of your car. You’re welcome, I guess.
[Rustling as DAMIEN paws around in the backseat.]
DAMIEN (realizing): …You’re not taking me back to my car, are you?
DAKOTA: No.
DAMIEN: I have a family. I have kids.
DAKOTA: You abandon them to go on a road trip, too? …Sorry. Sorry.
DAMIEN: You’re digging your own grave here…Better quit while you’re ahead.
DAKOTA: You don’t scare me. And you can stop givin' me that. I can’t let you out.
DAMIEN: I’m not giving you anything. I just think…you should take me back to my car.
DAKOTA: That! That look, that wanting . Always tryna shove thoughts into my head. You’re awful loud, for a guy that talks so low and soft.
DAMIEN (putting the dots together): …You’re atypical.
DAKOTA: Wow.
DAMIEN: What, do you not use that out here? What about ‘unusual’?
DAKOTA: You’re bein’ real fuckin’ rude.
DAMIEN (condescending): No , that’s what we’re called .
DAKOTA: Well, I’m not atypical. Or unusual. Or whatever you wanna throw at me.
DAMIEN: Then what are you? Are you with the A.M., or the…the Tall Man?
DAKOTA: No? …What kind of sci-fi shit have you got yourself into?
DAMIEN: What’s your angle?
DAKOTA: I felt your power. Back at the restaurant. I felt what you want, and I know what you’re like. I’ve felt it before.
DAMIEN: There is no one like me.
DAKOTA: There’s so many people like you.
DAMIEN: Care to elaborate?
DAKOTA: Entitled, careless, mean down to the core!
DAMIEN: I’m not—
DAKOTA: You almost got Casey fired. Girl’s pregnant and out on her own. You almost got her fired. Definitely did make her cry.
DAMIEN: Well, obviously , I didn’t know that—
DAKOTA: But you did it anyway. How many other people did you do that to? That why you’re in the middle of Arizona, with no one to look for you when I took you?
DAMIEN: I have people. Dangerous people. They’ll come looking for me. If you don’t take me back to my car—
DAKOTA: Nah, you want me to believe that too bad for it to be true.
DAMIEN: Take me back to my car. You want to take me back to my car. And get me dinner while you’re at it, as an apology for being such a bitch.
DAKOTA (dry and deadpan): My love…you’re a brat.
DAMIEN: God damn it, why isn’t it working ?!
[Buzzard barks at the raised voices.]
DAKOTA (quietly): Well, one in four men…
DAMIEN: I can’t hear you when you mutter! Look, if you’re gonna use me for my power, I have bad news. Back there, at the restaurant? That’s the best I can do nowadays. I was, uh…in an accident. Now I’ve got a titanium plate in my head, fucked-up hearing, scar tissue in my chest, and maybe 1% of my power.
DAKOTA: …That’s awful. I’m sorry.
DAMIEN (with a dismissive half-laugh): You’d be the first. Like I said…I can’t help you. Just drop me off somewhere, and I pinkie promise I won’t tell the cops about this little excursion.
DAKOTA: Can’t do that. You’re still useful. Now be nice, or I’ll sic Buzzard on you.
[Click.]
[Click.]
[Sounds of A.C., echoes off the wall of a small tiled bathroom.]
DAMIEN (sounding agitated): Fucking excellent . I’m still kidnapped. That crazy blonde bitch put me up in a motel room and pulled her truck right up to the door. I can’t get it open more than an inch. The lights don’t work…I think this place is abandoned. And there aren’t any windows . Fuck .
[A bang as DAMIEN kicks the bathroom door out of frustration.]
DAMIEN: This isn’t good. She’s thought this through. Maybe she’s even done this before. If she’s willing to risk jail to get me wherever we’re driving…No, I have to get out of here. It’s almost morning. I’ll play nice, and when she opens the door, I’ll run for it. Yeah. I’m not dying in a ditch somewhere. Not giving Sam that satisfaction.
[Click.]
[Click.]
DAKOTA: [indistinguishable] —the door, okay?
DAMIEN: Alright, alright! It doesn’t have to be a process. Can we just get on the road?
[The motel door slowly creaks open.]
DAKOTA: …What happened? Did you wreck the whole—
[A sudden burst of noise. DAKOTA shouts as she’s shoved against the door. Buzzard barks. The recording is nearly whited out by the noise of wind, rustling clothing, and footsteps on asphalt.]
DAKOTA (distant): Stop!
[Buzzard barks. Noise continues.]
DAKOTA (even more distant): I said stop !
[The tape recorder picks up a high-pitched tone that nobody on the recording seems to hear. The wind and the footsteps slow to a stop. There’s silence for a moment, only distant excited barking and a slight breeze as DAMIEN stands unable to move at the edge of the parking lot.]
DAKOTA: There’s nothing but highway and desert for miles around. If you run, you die.
DAMIEN (horrified): What are you?
DAKOTA: I’m like you.