and here’s part of three.
BI Stage 3 by George/Foster
Splash. We open on Quinn running out from under the bridge, still carrying his mag lite and bayonet. Around one of Quinn’s ankles is a ghoul hand, clamped tightly and broken off at the wrist. The pack of ghouls is pouring out from under the bridge and chasing Quinn, including “lefty.”
Quinn jumps into his car and drives back the way he came like a bat out of hell. We see a shot of the frustrated ghoul pack, before they turn and wander back beneath the bridge to resume their meal.
Quinn pulls into a lot of an all-night convenience store. He reaches down and pries the hand loose from his ankle, which is now bleeding. Tossing the hand into the back seat of the car, Quinn walks inside the store. He picks up some bandages, ointment, and other medical supplies.
He walks up to the register and pauses before the magazine rack. He sees a copy of The Eyewitness with the photo of the dead ghoul cook on the front page. He quickly adds the magazine to his purchases and heads to the register.
The clerk rings up his purchases and in a bored monotone recites “That’ll be “$11.58.”
Quinn grudgingly hands over a twenty dollar bill.
Q- “You got a bathroom I can use?”
The clerk replies apathetically “It‘s out of order.”
Caption: Where’s the convenience in so called convenience stores? It’s highway robbery to buy anything, and if you need something it’s out of order or not for public use.
Quinn gets back in his car and sits down. The clerk resumes reading a porno mag.
Quinn picks up the tabloid and begins reading the cover page. He picks up his cell phone and starts dialing as he reads.
Q: “If you’ve seen something strange or weird or have information relating to today’s article, call Brandon at. . .”
The phone rings a few times and no one answers. Quinn decides to leave a voicemail.
Q: “Listen, I hate these things, but I need you to give me a return call. I’d like to discuss the cook in today’s cover feature. . .”
We cut to a rest area where Quinn has parked so that he can properly clean and dress his wounds. He’s in the men’s room and has got his leg propped up on a sink and is finishing wrapping the bandages around it when his phone rings.
Quinn whips his phone out and heads out to his car, walking at a brisk pace.
Q: “Talk to me.”
Cut to a shot of Brandon in his cramped “office.” He’s slumped over a computer typing away with a cigarette in his mouth and his phone held between his ear and his shoulder, with piles of folders and old back issues of The Eyewitness piled up around him. There are several ashtrays filled with cigarette butts and packs of bottled water stacked on the floor. Brandon is sweating profusely despite the late hour and has a small circular fan going in an attempt to cool himself. Several old copies of The Eyewitness hang on the wall behind him with headlines reading: “Bigfoot Gave Me Herpes!” and “Grimm battles Gator Men in Swamp!” and “Coffee Grounds: Are They the Secret to Eternal Youth?”
B: “Hey, thanks for calling. You wanted to talk about today’s story?”
Quinn sits back in his car, his eyes pouring over the empty rest area, scanning for any signs of movement.
Q: “Yeah, I’d like to talk. I’ve got something for you. But not over the phone. Can we meet somewhere?”
Brandon, still typing, attempting to keep the phone from slipping out from between his ear and shoulder.
B: “Well, I’m kind of in the middle of a story. . .”
Quinn’s eyes fix on the ghoul hand laying on the seat next to him.
Caption: Could’ve sworn I threw you in the back. . .
Q: “Well, what if I brought you something solid? A little souvenir of what attacked me about an hour ago?”
Brandon taking a drag off his cigarette with one hand while still typing with the other.
B: “What kind of souvenir we talking about here? I just did a story on
Quinn picks up the hand and holds it out in front of himself.
Q: “Well, it’s got four fingers, a thumb, and it was stuck in my leg and not in the “Hey, baby, I wanna fuck you” kinda way.”
Brandon’s stopped typing his eyes are wide, his jaw is hanging, and the cigarette is dangling from his lip.
B: “How soon can we meet?”
The Morgue late at night.
Walking down the darkened corridors, we see the morgue attendant (he should resemble a young Jeffrey Combs), accompanied by a pair of men (the two ghouls in the aquarium vision from chapter one, although more human looking). We’ll call them Yassir and Nossir.
Yassir: You had no problems obtaining the body?
Morgue attendant: It was a simple matter, really, when you’ve been at this as long as we have. Local cops are generally either lazy or corrupt. They’re also frequently happy to get rid of oddball cases, especially if they have to do less paperwork. Add in a possible jurisdictional dispute to the closeness of the state border and they practically fell all over themselves to pass the case off to a couple of “federal specialists.”
Nossir: Well done. You’ll receive your fee in the usual manner.
MA: Of course.
The men pass through a pair of doors into the cabinet room where the attendant pulls out a particular drawer containing the remains of the fat diner cook from chapter one.
MA: I trust you can identify the remains?
Yassir and Nossir walk up to the cabinet, growing more ghoulish as they do so.
Yassir: Positively. That is he.
The attendant steps back, with a suggestive smile on his face. He knows this ritual well.
MA: Well then, I’ll let you get to it.
The attendant back out of the door pulling it shut behind him. Just before closing, he pokes his head back in and says “Bon appetit.”
Yassir wanders over to a far draw and pulls it out, revealing not another body, but a well stocked supply of seasonings and spices.
Nossir (off panel): Do we have any An Jus?
Yassir: I’ll start warming some up. What seasonings would you prefer?