Part 40 "The Order" II

Part 40: THE ORDER
(II/II)

Transcripts made by Jack, K.M., Aebriel, larwuś 

CWs: assault, cults, mind control, heavy sounds of gore, blood, memory issues, choking/gurgling, wound trauma, neck injury, heavy coughing, mentions of body horror, eye trauma

NOEL: You have to be kidding. Arthur, don’t f –

 

LARSON: Not interested in hearing from the nosebleeds right now, detective. Butcher? 

 

COLLINS: Alright. (He walks and strikes Noel. Noel pants in pain.)

 

LARSON: Thank you. (Small pause.) Mr. Lester? 

 

ARTHUR: You know I don’t. 

 

LARSON: Of course. But I suppose… well, I suppose I was curious. (A slow piano melody begins.)  I wanted to give you a chance to… revisit a choice that brought you… oh-so-much grief. You do recall this question, don’t you?

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

GRAND VIZIER (half-second behind, calm): Arthur.

 

LARSON: City of green light, masked men… a Sleeping City?

 

NOEL: What is he talking about?

 

ARTHUR (shocked): How…? How do you know about that?

 

LARSON (brightly): Our mutual friend! The King in Yellow.

 

JOHN: Noel’s looking at you, Arthur. 

 

GRAND VIZIER: Noel’s looking at you, Arthur. 

 

JOHN (furious, distorted): Shut your fucking mouth! 

 

GRAND VIZIER: Shut your fucking mouth. 

 

(Unintelligible whispers briefly rise.) 

 

LARSON: What’s the problem, detective? Have you… (Delighted.) Oh! Oh. Oh, my word. Wait –

 

ARTHUR: Noel. Listen, whatever he –

 

LARSON: Tut tut, Arthur! 

 

ARTHUR: Fuck.

 

LARSON: Let John speak for himself. Vizier, do you mind?

 

NOEL: Get that fucking freak away from us!

 

LARSON: Mr. Collins, please help the detective back to his feet.

 

COLLINS: Up, you. Up. (The click of metal and shuffling of fabric.) 

 

LARSON: John. That is the name you’re still calling yourself, right? Please illuminate the detective here. Tell him… who you are.

 

(A sudden suspenseful sting.) 

 

ARTHUR: Noel, I –

 

LARSON: Quiet, now! Arthur. Allow John to speak. 

 

JOHN (uncertain): Arthur…

 

GRAND VIZIER: Arthur.

 

JOHN: I-I don’t…

 

GRAND VIZIER: I don’t…

 

ARTHUR: John?

 

LARSON: Butcher, if John fails to speak in the next ten seconds, you have my permission to obliterate Mr. Lester’s kneecap. (Whispering.) It’s not a far walk over here. 

 

JOHN: God damn it, fine! 

 

GRAND VIZIER: God damn it, fine.

 

JOHN: Noel…

 

GRAND VIZIER: Noel…

 

JOHN: I…

 

GRAND VIZIER: I… 

 

JOHN: I am a fragment of –

 

GRAND VIZIER: I am a fragment of – (A brief horror sting.) 

 

LARSON (abruptly): No half-truths, here, John! 

 

JOHN: I am the King in Yellow.

 

GRAND VIZIER: I am the King in Yellow. (A brief horror sting.) 

 

NOEL: What? What? 

 

LARSON (smug): Oh! Oh, Arthur, my God, I wish you could see his face. The sheer and utter heartbreak.

 

NOEL (lashing out): I will kill you, Larson! (He grunts in rage.) 

 

LARSON: My God, detective! I figured you’d be surprised, but I am genuinely shocked at the outrage! Perhaps Mr. Lester has painted an unfair picture of our mutual acquaintance.

 

ARTHUR: Shut up! (He huffs.) 

 

LARSON: Am I missing something here or what? (He chuckles.)

 

JOHN: I’m sorry, Noel.

 

GRAND VIZIER: I’m sorry, Noel.

 

LARSON (condescendingly):  Aw, well, now, that is dear. My God, you really have tamed the wild beast, haven’t you? Perhaps the vizier and Mr. Collins here aren’t the only housebroken dogs in the room –

 

JOHN (voice distorting, amidst whispers): Fuck you, Larson! I swear I will tear out everything but your eyes, so you can watch me devour your innards piece by rotten piece!

 

GRAND VIZIER: Fuck you, Larson. I swear I will tear out everything but your eyes, so you can watch me devour your innards piece by rotten piece.

 

LARSON (pleased): There he is. I knew he was in there, somewhere. (Condescending.) Behind the weepy eyes and fragile heart. 

 

JOHN (voice distorting): I will make… you… suffer!

 

GRAND VIZIER: I will make… you… suffer!

 

LARSON (sympathetically): Don’t you miss it? Don’t you miss the feeling of being powerful? How hobbled you must feel, trapped in there, surrounded by all that messy, weak human flesh.

 

ARTHUR: You’re one to talk! (Scathingly.) Pulling out the King as if he were a party trick!

 

LARSON: That was no party. Not yet. Soon, we’ll shape this Order into something worthwhile. Something… worthy of devotion. 

 

ARTHUR (in disbelief): Devotion? It looked to me like you’re nothing more than a club for incompetent aristocrats, who enjoy masquerade parties. (A brief suspenseful sting.)

 

LARSON: Hah! Well put, Arthur. Not far from the truth, really. Sadly. (The slight rustling of fabric.) See, these so-called… men have forgotten their purpose. They’ve all become so very complacent in the gifts given to them.

 

JOHN: The Fallen Star.

 

GRAND VIZIER: The Fallen Star.

 

LARSON: Why yes, King. You don’t mind if I call you King, do you? (Unintelligible whispers rise.) That is your real name, after all. None of this nonsense with… John. 

 

ARTHUR: John. (Concerned.) John?

 

LARSON: Good. See, when this Order was founded, hundreds and hundreds of years ago now, it sought out the Fallen Stars. Objects of immense power that were foretold to be older than time itself and, well, contain such unimaginable energy that only the truly worthy could ever wield them, let alone be made a member of this Order. 

 

Of course, as times change, goals do, too, and as the Order continued to lose faith in their ability to reclaim these stars, so too did our members lose faith in their very existence. That was, until we… found one. The Gray Stone. 

 

(A brief horror sting.)

 

ARTHUR: The… Gray Stone?

 

LARSON: Yes, see… my family was amongst the first followers of the Order. So much so, that my home in Addison was once its Lodge, though that was long ago. Despite what the Order had become, I made it my life’s goal, through experimentation and other magics, to locate one of the Fallen Stars. And so I did.

 

ARTHUR: So…? What does it do?

 

LARSON: What does it do, hm! Well. Really, I suppose that depends on who you ask. For some, it shows them what they are destined to know. For others, what they desire to know. For most, what they need to know. 

 

ARTHUR: What they need to know.

 

(A brief audio distortion begins, growing in intensity.) 

 

LARSON (more intensely): The Gray Stone offers knowledge. With a guiding hand, it can show you the secrets to control a servitor gifted from the far reaches of space and allow it to do your bidding and bless your family line with unimaginable wealth and prosperity! (The distortion ends.) Or, it can show you where you left your keys.

 

NOEL: Jesus.

 

LARSON: For the members of this Order, you can imagine the kinds of things they sought. Pft. (In disgust.) Wealth, mansions, paths to obtain their political aspirations! (He spits.) Childish, petulant, ignorant.

 

ARTHUR: You, yourself, just admitted to controlling that – that beast in your mines for financial prosperity! How can you –

 

LARSON (indignantly): As a byproduct, Arthur! Please. Even you must see these people’s goals as a waste. What is this world? It’s a… pit stop on the way to a… to real power, Arthur. (Urgently. Faroe’s Song begins to play.) Look at us, look at us! (The sound of fabric shifting.) You and I, we… we’ve seen it, Arthur. We’ve experienced it. 

 

(Fervently.) We have gods in us. Arthur, you and I, we have touched the otherworldly and we have lived. We have truly lived, you must feel it! The power that comes with… with having such a being inside. It’s… amazing. 

 

JOHN: And yet. You’re dying.

 

GRAND VIZIER: And yet. You’re dying.

 

LARSON (less fervently): And yet. Yes. The Grand Vizier told you that, eh? Nothing gold can stay. You feel it, too. Is-Isn’t that right, Arthur? Eh. (He clicks his tongue.) Well! Not for long. Not with a little help. That’s why they built this, after all. My lovely new friends.

 

ARTHUR: Elders?

 

LARSON (excitedly): Miraculous! You have no idea. Look at them, look, look! Here! (The shifting of fabric.)

 

NOEL (in shock): Fucking hell.

 

JOHN: Larson has pulled back the hood to one of the robed figures and…

 

NOEL: Oh, fuck. Jesus.

 

GRAND VIZIER: Larson has pulled back the hood to one of the robed figures and…

 

LARSON: L-Let him tell them, Vizier. It’s alright. (Water splashes.)

 

JOHN: Arthur… the robed figure… underneath, it’s completely alien. It’s hairless, with gray, cobalt-tinted flesh that seems… slick with mucus. (Arthur sucks in a breath.) It has a large, bulbous head with a pronounced ridge and a third eye in its center. It has a vertical mouth with thin, translucent, needle-like teeth. (Arthur breathes out shakily.)  And a series of splindy, hair-covered pedipalps that protrude from either side of its jaw. 

 

ARTHUR (shakily): Fuck.

 

JOHN: Its eyes dart around, moving every direction. They are… monstrous. 

 

LARSON: Nungal sayatozoa sharaghul… or some such word. (He chuckles.) Literally ‘Great Servants of Dark Knowledge’. Intellectually brilliant and yet wholly subservient to the will of the Great Old Ones. They have existed here on this Earth for billions of years. Can you imagine? These robed figures wandering the Earth, us… never having seen them. Or perhaps never… never trying to look for them.

 

ARTHUR: But they don’t take orders from you!

 

LARSON: Not just me, no. (Their hoods are replaced. Water splashing stops.) But they know who I… represent. And with the help of their incredible minds, this machine will change all that. 

 

JOHN: Change it… how?

 

GRAND VIZIER: Change it… how?

 

ARTHUR: You think you can have the King in Yellow inside you? All his pieces, a-and what?

 

LARSON: We both have a piece of the King inside us, Arthur. You know how limited that feels for them. Being whole is only the first step to returning them to their former glory. Then, I can allow them to return to the Dreamlands.

 

JOHN: You have no intention of returning anyone to the Dreamlands.

 

GRAND VIZIER: You have no intention of returning anyone to the Dreamlands.

 

ARTHUR (in realization): You think this will make you a god.

 

LARSON: What you don’t know could fill a book, y – 

 

NOEL: I’ve seen some bad bluffs in my life, but yours takes the cake. I suppose you’re lucky the King can’t see how bad your poker face is from the inside.

 

LARSON: I know what you’re doing, but we are not divided in this, unlike –

 

ARTHUR: As someone who has dealt with this a lot longer than you… I promise you, I know exactly what’s going on in your head right now. (Noel snickers.)

 

LARSON: This is asinine. (He takes a breath.) Butcher, bring Arthur to the slab and –

 

ARTHUR: Yellow! (Footsteps, and the clicking of metal.) Do you really trust this… idiot?

 

NOEL (pleased): Oh.

 

LARSON: Arthur, your petulant attempts to –

 

ARTHUR: You are a god, Yellow. Remember?

 

LARSON (bored): Enough.

 

ARTHUR: ‘You imprisoned me, you took me from my rightful place as King and stuck me inside this prison!’ You said that to me, Yellow! How right you were. Only, you’ve allowed yourself to go from one prison to another. 

 

(Unintelligible whispers begin.)

 

LARSON: Silence!

 

ARTHUR: At least with me, you knew what I wanted! With Larson… you’ve become something else entirely.

 

LARSON: Butcher, if you’d be so kind –

 

ARTHUR: A pet.

 

(An electric crack, a woosh, and Larson’s cry of pain.)

 

YELLOW (heavily distorted): I am no fucking pet! 

 

LARSON (panting hard, laughing): Well, you’ve awakened him now, Arthur!

 

YELLOW (furious): You… insignificant… human! 

 

JOHN: Larson is weak! He’s barely standing! (Larson makes a noise of pain.) The King is… magnificent. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing): Hello, Yellow.

 

YELLOW: I am the King in Yellow!

 

ARTHUR: Is that so? From where I’m standing… you’re less than an appendage on Larson’s arm.

 

YELLOW: You know nothing about what has happened to me. I have grown more powerful than I ever was with you. 

 

ARTHUR: Power? 

 

YELLOW: Yes.

 

ARTHUR (sighing): I think about you often, you know. (A sad piano melody begins.)

 

YELLOW: Is that an attempt to appeal to my… human side? 

 

ARTHUR: No, no. No. It’s just the truth. 

 

YELLOW: Arthur Lester. I will watch you suffer before you eventually die. 

 

ARTHUR: Do you really think Larson will let you leave? After all is said and done? Do you really think there is any way out of him? 

 

YELLOW: Of course. 

 

ARTHUR (sighing, pityingly): Yellow. He never will. You are trapped with him. Forever. 

 

JOHN: Trapped?

 

ARTHUR: He will use you, and abuse you, and absorb every ounce of power you have, just as he’s done with… his entire family. To his own flesh and blood. 

 

YELLOW: Even if he were to try, he would fail! 

 

ARTHUR: Hm. Do you remember what Larson said to us? Back in Addison? Only you and I and he were there. He said, of gods like yourself. ‘They are our superiors. Make no mistake about that.’

 

YELLOW: A truth! One you have yet to learn!

 

ARTHUR: Maybe. But from where I’m standing, I think there’s only one truth that I learned since our time together. 

 

YELLOW: What is that?

 

ARTHUR: That I… That I… (Quieter.) Failed you. 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: I failed you, Yellow. We were brought together and through my anger and frustrations, I… I drove you to become this. To embrace this side of yourself. And for that… I’m sorry. 

 

YELLOW: Your apologies mean nothing to me! You… are… nothing! 

 

ARTHUR: I know. I’m not apologizing for you. (Yellow growls.)

 

JOHN: Arthur. 

 

LARSON: Enough of this! (He grunts in frustration.) This charade is done, the game is over, you are outnumbered five-to-one! It is time for you to lay down and accept that all of this has been for naught. You have lost, Arthur Lester. But as a last gift, I would –

 

NOEL: Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on, there. I haven’t had a chance to speak. 

 

(A whimsical tune begins.) 

 

LARSON: Well. I’ll be honest. I have no idea why you are here, detective, or why you got yourself mixed up in all of this.

 

NOEL: Yeah, I get that. 

 

LARSON: You probably should’ve just stayed home tonight.

 

NOEL: Yeah, maybe. Hey, but since we’re, uh, yapping away, saying our goodbyes and whatnot. (Arthur chuckles.) I’d love to get in one last little thought, if… if you’d allow it, Mr… Larson.

 

LARSON: Well. (Politely.) I insist. 

 

NOEL: Ah, I appreciate it. Hey, kid. 

 

ARTHUR: Yeah?

 

NOEL: No hard feelings. (A slow piano melody begins.) I get why you didn’t tell me about John. It’s been a real pleasure. 

 

ARTHUR: Pleasure was all mine.

 

NOEL: And John? 

 

JOHN: Yes?

 

GRAND VIZIER: Yes?

 

NOEL: You’re nothing like this Yellow prick. (Earnestly.) You’re a good person. I know you are. 

 

JOHN: Thank you.

 

GRAND VIZIER: Thank you.

 

JOHN: Noel.

 

GRAND VIZIER: Noel. 

 

LARSON: Well. Heartwarming goodbyes all around. However –

 

NOEL: Ah! One more, boss.

 

LARSON: Oh?

 

NOEL: Hey, you yellow-headed fuckface! You remember me? (Yellow growls.) Charlie Dowd’s the name! Ten years, you and I went toe-to-toe. (He sighs.) You brought me to all kinds of hell and back again, just to watch me drown, over and over again. 

 

YELLOW: It is a memory that did not stick. 

 

NOEL: Alas, it did for me. So. Fuck you and that horse you rode in on! 

 

YELLOW (sarcastically): Wonderful. Larson, kill this man. 

 

LARSON: With pleasure. Butcher?

 

(Metal clicks.) 

 

COLLINS: Well, is it finally time, then?

 

LARSON: Absolutely.

 

COLLINS: Appreciate it, Mr. Larson! (A small pause.) But I wasn’t asking you.

 

LARSON: Excuse me?

 

NOEL (tsking): Come now, Larson. Who do you think approved his release?

 

ARTHUR: It’s time, Butcher. Start the music.

 

LARSON (shocked): What!?

 

COLLINS: It’s about fuckin’ time, boyo. (He shoots and gore drips.)

 

JOHN: The Butcher hit the vizier square in the forehead, Arthur!

 

GRAND VIZIER: The Butcher hit… (He grows unintelligible.)

 

LARSON (shouting): Kill them! 

 

JOHN: Now, Arthur!

 

LARSON: All of them, kill them.

 

(An unearthly roar. More gunshots. Butcher begins to sing ‘Peggy Gordon’, echoing. Arthur pants in exertion; in the background, all is chaos.)

 

ARTHUR: Fuck! 

 

JOHN: Yellow is growing from Larson, doubling his size exponentially. He’s… filling the room as the Butcher and Noel fight off the approaching Elder Things! (An approaching squishy noise.) One is coming our way. Left! Left! Straight ahead. Fire! (A gunshot. The Elder Thing shrieks in pain.) Straight in the forehead! (Blood and gore drips. In the background, Larson pants for breath.)

 

Larson is clambering around on the floor as Yellow moves the air around the room, causing a gray fog to stir! (Distant gunshots.) The Butcher is firing wildly at the Elders, taking out one… two of them! Noel is firing as well, his back to the Butcher! 

 

NOEL (at a distance): Fuck!

 

JOHN: The two of them working together!

 

YELLOW: Weak… ignorant… 

 

JOHN: Yellow, Arthur! (Noel makes a noise of surprise.) The fog is swirling around, making it difficult to see, and –

 

ARTHUR: Where’s Larson?

 

JOHN: Larson is heading for the door!

 

ARTHUR (calling out): Noel! Larson! 

 

(At a distance, Larson cackles. A gunshot rings out, and Larson groans in pain.)

 

JOHN: He hit Larson, Arthur!

 

NOEL: Fuck you!

 

(Larson continues to make noises of pain.)

 

JOHN: Square in the stomach! He’s – He’s falling, and – (A roaring growl, followed by a sting of horror music.) Fuck, Arthur! One of the Elder Things has you! (Wet, dripping noises and growls.) Its spindly teeth are biting at the air! Hit it! (A weak impact. Arthur groans.) The butt of your gun! (A stronger impact.) It’s fallen back for a moment, but it’s coming back, shoot! Shoot! (A gunshot. Blood drips.) He’s down. (At a distance, Collins laughs.) Larson is gone! But there’s blood on the ground, he’s left a trail!

 

NOEL: Go, go!

 

COLLINS: He’s leaving, boyo! (A creature growls.) Go! We’ll follow. (A gunshot.)

 

JOHN: Move, Arthur! (Arthur moves.) The fog is lifted with Larson and Yellow escaping! Quickly, through the door! (He slams through the door. At a distance, creatures growl and gunshot echo.) The blood trail leads through another set of doors, down the hall! Reload! (Arthur reloads. The door slams open.) The Butcher and Noel have come through as well.

 

COLLINS: Thought that lad would never shut the fuck up.

 

ARTHUR: Thank you, Butcher. 

 

COLLINS (huffing): Like I told you back at the station, coming to me with this opportunity… I’d say you finally understand me, lad.

 

NOEL: Larson, where is he?

 

ARTHUR: Down the hall. (A slow piano melody begins.) Let’s go. 

 

NOEL: Someone’s gotta stay here, hold ‘em back.

 

COLLINS: There’s more coming, for sure.

 

NOEL: It’s your play, kid, but you need back-up. Who stays behind, me or the Butcher? Come on.

 

ARTHUR: Butcher. Stay behind. Cover our exit. Take out as many of those monsters as you can.

 

COLLINS: With pleasure. (Metal clicks.)

 

ARTHUR: Noel, you’re with me. 

 

NOEL: To the end.

 

JOHN: Arthur! (NOEL: Alright –)

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

COLLINS: Huh? 

 

NOEL: He’s not talking to us.

 

JOHN: Larson is weak but not out of this yet! Yellow is capable of… many things! Neither of us can imagine.

 

ARTHUR: What do you mean? How do you–

 

JOHN: I don’t know! But projecting out of Larson like that, it… it isn’t just draining Larson! It’s… I can feel it affecting me, as well.

 

NOEL (approaching): Are we doing this?

 

ARTHUR (distractedly): Yes, yes! What are you saying, John?

 

(A rising suspenseful tune.)

 

JOHN: If killing Larson kills Yellow…

 

ARTHUR: Then you’ll be fine! Stronger, maybe.

 

JOHN: Or. I don’t know if I can survive with only half a soul. 

 

ARTHUR: We can’t –

 

NOEL (impatiently): Kid.

 

ARTHUR: John, we can’t pull any punches now. We can’t–

 

NOEL: What does he mean ‘pull punches’? 

 

JOHN: Arthur.

 

ARTHUR: Listen to me, John. You and Yellow are fighting for control over the same spiritual space. At least on this plane. Killing him won’t destroy you. It’ll… It’ll just end the tug-of-war between you two! 

 

JOHN: You’re… sure?

 

ARTHUR (uncertainly): I… 

 

NOEL: We’re losing Larson, kid.

 

COLLINS: Go.

 

ARTHUR: We need to go. (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins. The click of metal, a soft pat.) So long, Butcher.

 

COLLINS: It’s been a clean game, boyo.

 

ARTHUR: Till we meet again.

 

COLLINS: Count on it. (The slam of a door. Gradually growing muffled.) And may you be in Heaven half an hour before the Devil knows you’re dead!

 

JOHN: He’s gone back into the room. (Multiple gunshots, and Collins occasionally laughing.)

 

NOEL: What are you holstering your gun for? 

 

(Collins intersperses laughter and gunshots with ‘Peggy Gordon’.)

 

ARTHUR: Look, a blind man is a lousy shot. I’m more likely to hit you accidentally if I keep it drawn. 

 

NOEL: Fair enough.

 

ARTHUR: I’ll pull it if I need it. 

 

NOEL: Let’s move. 

 

(They hurry at a quick pace.)

 

JOHN: I know you can’t promise me. I know you aren’t sure. But… Yellow is a piece of me. Can you imagine having to destroy a piece of yourself? Even if it’s a reflection of yourself you may not like!

 

ARTHUR: I can’t, but –

 

NOEL: Door! (John sighs.)

 

ARTHUR (quietly): But we all have to face our demons. Even if they’re ourselves. 

 

JOHN: Noel has pointed at a door down the hall. The blood trail leads to it. It’s… ornate and heads to the south.

 

ARTHUR: Noel. Follow me.

 

NOEL (grunting in effort): Alright. (They walk.)

 

JOHN: Straight ahead. Noel is following you, his gun drawn. (They go through a door. No noise.) It’s quiet. Everyone must have left. This is the second story balcony, overlooking the ballroom, where the vizier and Lar– (An impact. Noel grunts in pain. Larson pants. Arthur gasps.) Arthur! Behind us! Larson was hiding behind the door! He’s just knocked Noel out with a metal pipe!

 

LARSON (overexerted): Check your corners, detective! 

 

JOHN: Noel’s dropped his gun, Arthur! (Quick footsteps.) Larson is going for it! Stop him! To the right, here! Larson is – (An impact and sounds of a scuffle. All three make noises of exertion.)

 

LARSON (struggling): You… get your… hands… off… of… 

 

(Arthur pants quickly.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, you have him! Larson is up against the balcony railing! We’re high above the ballroom! The drop could kill him! He may not survive if you push him off!

 

ARTHUR: I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!

 

LARSON (raspy): Desperate… remorse… swallows the… present… in a quenchless… rage!

 

ARTHUR: Shut up! Shut up!

 

JOHN: Arthur, you’re choking him! (Larson begins to sputter.) His face is turning red!

 

ARTHUR: You murderer! You monster! You villain! You… You… child-killer! You don’t deserve to live!

 

JOHN: Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: Faroe! (High-pitched.) Faroe…! 

 

LARSON (croaking): Such… wrath…! 

 

(Larson begins to scream in pain. His flesh tears, followed by the sound of gore.) 

 

JOHN: Arthur, you’re forcing your fingers into his gunshot wound, tearing his skin around the hole as your fist slides in further! Arthur! Jesus Christ, you… (An otherworldly blast. Arthur grunts in pain. Larson pants for breath.) We’ve been thrown back! 

 

YELLOW (heavily distorted): Insolent mortal!

 

JOHN: Yellow is emerging again. Larson has collapsed in a pool of blood in the center of the balcony away from the edge, exhausted!

 

YELLOW: I will not allow you to destroy this… vessel. 

 

JOHN: He… (Confused.) What?

 

ARTHUR: You’ve lost, Yellow! Larson is a crumbled man!

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: And…

 

JOHN (some distortion): Who… Who… 

 

ARTHUR: John? John? 

 

(A sad piano melody begins.)

 

JOHN (disoriented): W-What? What… John? Who is…?

 

ARTHUR: No.

 

JOHN: Where am I? (Some distortion.) What is happening?

 

YELLOW: Larson is simply a mortal, far too weak and far too limited for my power! 

 

ARTHUR (begging): John! Please! 

 

YELLOW: You plead with him. He is not your friend. 

 

JOHN (hesitantly): The King… the King in Yellow… I-I…

 

ARTHUR: He is! (Desperately.) He is! He is my friend. 

 

JOHN: Arthur?

 

ARTHUR (relieved): Yes, John. Yes!

 

YELLOW (loathing): Friends! What a waste.

 

ARTHUR: Are you back?

 

JOHN (with effort): I’m… trying to… 

 

ARTHUR: Stay with me. You’re stronger than this, John. You… are stronger.

 

(At a distance, Noel groans and shifts.) 

 

JOHN: A-Arthur, Noel is standing back up! 

 

ARTHUR: Noel!

 

JOHN: His head is swimming in a haze of amber light.

 

(Unintelligible whispers begin in the background.)

 

ARTHUR: Noel! Noel!

 

NOEL: I can’t… what is… 

 

(An ominous sound begins.)

 

YELLOW: Yes. Yes. Feel my influence wash over you.

 

ARTHUR: Stop! (Larson and Yellow laugh.) Stop! 

 

JOHN: Noel!

 

ARTHUR: Stop this, Yellow!

 

YELLOW: Lose yourself to the power that now whispers in your ear! 

 

(Slow footsteps.)

 

NOEL: Kid… kid… I–

 

JOHN: Arthur! Noel is… walking towards the balcony!

 

NOEL (pleading): Kid! I…

 

YELLOW: Yes. 

 

JOHN: Arthur, move!

 

YELLOW: Faster!

 

(Quicker footsteps.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, he’s running for the balcony! 

 

YELLOW: Jump!

 

JOHN: Jump, Arthur!

 

(The music abruptly cuts out, followed by noises of an impact and Arthur’s growl of exertion.)

 

ARTHUR (panting): I’ve got you! I’ve got you!

 

JOHN: You’ve grabbed his arm, Arthur! Noel is dangling over the edge of the balcony below, the haze still swimming around his head, his eyes wet with tears!

 

(A soft piano melody begins.)

 

ARTHUR: Noel, I’ve got you! I’m not going to drop you, I’m not going to drop you! Don’t let go! 

 

JOHN: He’s…

 

NOEL: Kid… I can hear him!

 

ARTHUR: I have you! I have you!

 

JOHN: He’s looking up at us!

 

NOEL (anguished): I can’t fight again!

 

(Larson begins to laugh, occasionally coughing wetly.)

 

ARTHUR: I won’t… drop you!

 

NOEL: I can’t… fight it…

 

ARTHUR: Don’t… let go!

 

YELLOW: Let go!

 

ARTHUR: I… have you! But you have to…

 

NOEL: I… can’t!

 

ARTHUR: Hold… on!

 

NOEL: I can’t!

 

ARTHUR: Charlie! Come on!

 

NOEL: Not anymore!

 

YELLOW: Fall!

 

ARTHUR: Fight it, Charlie!

 

JOHN: Noel…

 

NOEL: I won’t…

 

ARTHUR: Fight it, goddamnit! (Yelling.) Fight!

 

NOEL: Not anymore…

 

ARTHUR (high-pitched): John! He’s…

 

JOHN: Noel!

 

ARTHUR: Letting go! I can’t… hold on… John! (An otherworldly blast, followed by John’s scream. A quick piano melody begins.) 

 

NOEL: I… kid… kid, don’t let go!

 

YELLOW: What are you… impossible!

 

NOEL: Kid, listen! John has projected himself outside of you, kid! The King! He’s gone from my head! Just… don’t let go!

 

JOHN: Yellow! You are not the only King in this plane that can project his power! 

 

(Yellow groans.)

 

NOEL: Keep going, John! Yellow is shrinking! Whatever you’re doing, keep going!

 

YELLOW: How? You are not the true King! You are a fragment! You are a fracture! You are… weak. 

 

JOHN: You know nothing of weakness! True weakness… is believing your power makes you superior! 

 

ARTHUR (struggling): I… can’t… hold…! 

 

NOEL: J-John!

 

JOHN: You are no god! Leave! Hide yourself away in the dark corners of Larson’s mind or I will erase you from this and all worlds! 

 

NOEL: John! You’re beating him! You’ve beaten Yellow! (Arthur groans.) But – Arthur is… he’s fading, John! 

 

YELLOW (groaning): You… You are not the true King in Yellow! You are… I am the one who… 

 

LARSON: I think you may have lost your crown, there! (He laughs and begins to cough.)

 

YELLOW: I… I… (Quieter.) Why you, John? What did you have to offer? Why does he care about… you? 

 

JOHN (softly): Because… I care about him. 

 

(An otherworldly noise.) 

 

NOEL: He’s gone, John! Now, help me up! (A slow, rising growl.) Come on!

 

ARTHUR (disoriented): God damn! That’s…

 

NOEL: Don’t let go, kid!

 

JOHN: Arthur! N-Noel has been hanging onto the railing while I –

 

ARTHUR: Yes. (John grunts.) Yes! Okay!

 

JOHN: Pull him up!

 

ARTHUR: Come on, Noel! Come on!

 

JOHN: Yes, a little further! Pull, Arthur! (They both grunt in exertion.) He’s up! (Both men pant for breath.) Spilling over the railing onto the balcony beside you. A-Arthur! You did it! 

 

ARTHUR: You did it. You did it, John. I… I had no idea you could do that. 

 

NOEL: How did you do that? 

 

JOHN: I-I-I don’t know! 

 

ARTHUR: He doesn’t know. (Noel laughs.)

 

JOHN: I felt the pull slipping away, like I had before, but… rather than let it wash over me, I… I fought it. I didn’t let it… win.

 

ARTHUR: The Undefeated. 

 

(Noel laughs.)

 

JOHN: I…

 

NOEL: I like the sound of that.

 

JOHN: Well, I…

 

NOEL: Thank you, kid. Oh, fuck. Yellow was… he was all in my head. (Larson pants, at a distance.) For a moment, I felt like I was back – (A gunshot. A splatter of blood and gore. Arthur gasps.)

 

JOHN: No! Arthur! Larson has Noel’s gun! He’s shot Noel in the neck!

 

ARTHUR (screaming): Nooo! 

 

(Through blood, Noel gasps.)

 

JOHN: Blood has flecked on his face! (Multiple metal clicks.)

 

LARSON: No! 

 

JOHN: The gun! It jammed, Arthur! (An impact.) He’s thrown the gun and turned to run for the set of double doors in the center of the balcony.

 

ARTHUR (furious): You motherfucker! (A door opens, followed by a flurry of gunshots, and empty metal clicks.)

 

JOHN: Arthur! You hit him! You hit him! Twice in the back as he burst through the doors inward! He fell as they were closing. 

 

ARTHUR (panicking): Noel! Noel! Noel, Noel! (Noel gurgles through blood.) C-C’mon! God… don’t, no! Stay with me. Stay with me, no no no! (Fabric tears.) Here, here, here, here, use this!

 

JOHN: His neck!

 

ARTHUR: Hold this, j-j-just hold this…

 

JOHN: He’s losing a lot of blood, Arthur. 

 

ARTHUR: Hold, h-hold pressure on… ! Okay! Okay!

 

JOHN: It’s not dead center, but…

 

ARTHUR: We’ll-We’ll get you out of here, and…

 

JOHN: He’s… He’s shaking his head. No. He’s… smiling. A pained smile. 

 

NOEL (fighting for breath): Finish this. 

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Okay. Okay. Okay. 

 

NOEL: Finish this. 

 

ARTHUR (determined): I will. 

 

JOHN: The double doors are straight ahead. (Metal clicks.) Dead center against the back wall of the balcony. It’s between the two doors on either side that the vizier and Larson left through during the gathering. (They go through the doors. At a distance, Larson pants for breath.) 

 

Dark red streaks of blood lead to Larson, who’s… crawling. Slowly. Painfully, away from us. 

 

LARSON (weakly): Gouging out his eyes, and I’m the monster… come on… come on... come on…

 

JOHN: He’s laying on his stomach, pawing at the air. Blood covers his hands, face, and his entire lower half. His forehead is wet with sweat, and his skin is pale. 

 

LARSON: I didn’t… I didn’t lie, back in Addison, to you! (He hacks and spits.) I did find the Order! My family lineage. I denied it, at first, I swear. I didn’t want this life. Not at first. I’m not… (Arthur grunts in exertion.)

 

JOHN: Arthur, you’ve picked up Larson. Pushed him up against a set of marble stairs, so he’s facing you.

 

ARTHUR (growling): You… You… monster! 

 

LARSON (chuckling): Projecting a little, are we? (He continues to laugh. Arthur strikes him.)

 

ARTHUR: Everything you worked for! Everything you wanted is gone! You failed, Larson! You failed! I killed your monster in the mines, I set those people free! I killed Uncle! But I’ve…

 

LARSON (emotionally): My boy… my boy… 

 

JOHN: What?

 

ARTHUR: I don’t care! Everything you have… is gone. 

 

LARSON (shaky breath): I must say, you look good without that piece of your ear. You know that? You look like a man not to be fucked with. 

 

ARTHUR: I’m not. (Larson laughs.)

 

JOHN (gasping): Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: It’s… It’s here!

 

ARTHUR: What?

 

JOHN: The Fallen Star! (Larson is dropped. Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: What? Where? 

 

JOHN: O-On a plinth, at the far end of this room! T-T-This room, it’s… it’s a short hall with carved marble benches along either side! But at the far end, laying on a plinth before a set of large red banners with the Order’s symbol, it’s… it’s the Stone! (Arthur makes a noise of surprise.) This must be where they keep it! 

 

ARTHUR: Well. It can wait. (He walks.)

 

JOHN: What? Arthur! This is why we’re here! This is what we came for!

 

ARTHUR: We came for him, goddamnit!

 

JOHN (insistently): We came for the Fallen Star, Arthur! It’s right there! Right out of reach!

 

ARTHUR: It can fucking wait, John!

 

JOHN (voice distorting, echoing): Arthur, god damn it! Stop! (Normally.) Listen to me!

 

(A door bursts open, followed by footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Who?

 

JOHN: The… The Butcher! (A string version of ‘Peggy Gordon’ begins.) He’s… carrying Noel. 

 

ARTHUR: Noel?

 

COLLINS: He’s not going to last long, lad! But I managed to take care of the last of those things.

 

ARTHUR: Thank God. Larson, h-he’s here! He’s…

 

JOHN: Arthur, listen to me, please!

 

ARTHUR: I’m going to finish him off, and –

 

JOHN (desperately): Arthur, please! You trusted me to come here. You trusted me to get us here! (Voice distorted, echoing.) Just get the fucking Stone! Please! Please. (A short pause. Normally.) Please. Trust me this one… last… time. 

 

ARTHUR (shaky exhale): Fine.

 

JOHN (relieved): Yes, Arthur! (Footsteps.) Up the carpeted steps, just ahead! It sits upon a pedestal within a wrought iron wire holder, fitted to its midpoint. The Stone is a rough, ovoid shape, maybe twelve inches long and four inches wide, but… but with rough, uneven sections. It’s speckled with holes and its surface is porous. It’s gray, but with flecks of blue and even green within. I’ve never seen anything like it.

 

ARTHUR: Larson is…

 

JOHN: Larson is fine! He’s sitting there, b-bleeding to death. Touch the Stone. 

 

ARTHUR (cautiously): If I do…

 

JOHN (voice distorting): Touch the Stone, Arthur!

 

ARTHUR: Okay. Okay. 

 

JOHN (barking): Touch it! Just a little further. Y-Yes! Just a little further! (Frustrated.) Arthur, what are you doing? You’re almost there, just… just… Arthur, you – ! (Genuinely confused.) Why aren’t you… what are you… just reach a little… 

 

(Someone ‘tsks’ repeatedly, at a distance.)

 

KAYNE (loudly): So close! 

 

JOHN: Kayne!

 

KAYNE (innocently): John?

 

JOHN: We did it! I-I did it! I brought him here! Us! Here, to the Order of the Fallen Star, and – and… a-and…

 

KAYNE: And? And!? (Unimpressed.) And what.

 

JOHN: And Arthur is about to touch it! You’re… You’ve… 

 

KAYNE: Stopped everything? Why, yes.

 

JOHN: How?

 

KAYNE: How!? (He walks as he talks.) How am I supposed to explain that to you? God, you sound just like your little host family here, questioning everything! Some things just happen, Marigold.

 

JOHN: I did it, Kayne! I kept my end of the deal. 

 

KAYNE: Deal? What deal?

 

JOHN (distorting): Fuck you!

 

KAYNE: Oh, I don’t recall a contract or written word, really.

 

JOHN: I swear to God, Kayne, I will… 

 

KAYNE (dangerously): You’ll what? 

 

JOHN (at a loss): I… I… 

 

KAYNE: Oh! You know what? I do remember! (Recollecting.) Oh, oh, oh. We did make a deal, didn’t we? First, you were sent back into the King. Right? (Theatrically.) Whole once again! 

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

KAYNE: It was right after our little crumpet tried to shave his neck with the pointy end. Right? Then… hm. (He sucks air through his teeth.) Then what happened? You don’t remember, do you? 

 

JOHN: Of course I remember.

 

KAYNE: Yes! You were… well, you were cast out, weren’t you? The King just – well, couldn’t make you fit anymore, could he? (Vigorously.) Too much soul in there! A broken mirror in too many pieces to put together again. (He pretends to cry.) 

 

JOHN: I fought him every chance I could.

 

KAYNE: Oh, of course! You were changed! A new… man? Entity? Thing? What are we calling you, exactly? (A short pause. Coyly.) Dandelions are yellow!

 

JOHN: What?

 

KAYNE: And so he cast you out! While in his realm, the King still had considerable power over you. Whatever you are. And sent you back to the one place you dared not ever return! (Cruelly.) Isn’t… that… right? 

 

JOHN: The Dark World.

 

KAYNE (dramatically): The Dark World! It was scary there, wasn’t it? 

 

JOHN: Yes.

 

KAYNE: I mean, scary doesn’t even begin to sell it, but Arty promised he’d never send you back there, didn’t he?

 

JOHN (hesitantly): Yes.

 

KAYNE (faux aghast): And yet, your little deal had you end up right where he promised you’d never be!? Oh, how infuriating that must’ve been! (He laughs maniacally.) Oh. You would’ve done anything to get out again. Wouldn’t you? But first! You had to sink a little lower. Didn’t you?

 

Time moves differently in the Dark World, doesn’t it? You didn’t just give up. You… You fell back on your old ways. The King who was trapped there before all of this… it was only when you were truly defeated that you called to me. (Abruptly.) Begged for me! The things you did for me to make this deal… (Shudderingly.) Ooh! 

 

JOHN: I…

 

KAYNE: But you got out. How did it feel, lying to Arthur this whole time? Not being able to tell him why you were coming here and … where you came from.

 

JOHN: I only lied because I had no choice!

 

KAYNE: Not true! (Insolently.) Matthew had a choice! 

 

JOHN: Matthew?

 

KAYNE: Absolutely! That little rapscallion let it slip, didn’t he? I told him to keep a tight, heavy lid… if Arthur knew that I wanted him here, he wouldn’t do it! But… could he keep that to himself? Hardly!

 

JOHN: But you blew his head up!

 

KAYNE (snidely): Well, because he made his choice.

 

JOHN: What kind of choice is that?

 

KAYNE: His to make! And you made yours, my King. And you… (Pleased.) Mm! Fulfilled our deal. In a manner of speaking.

 

JOHN: What do you mean, ‘in a manner of speaking’? A-Arthur is here! He knew nothing about why! He’s touched the Star, and–

 

KAYNE: And? And you were released from the Dark World! (Dramatically.) Contract fulfilled! (A conjuring effect, the rustle of paper, and pencil scratching.) See? 

 

JOHN: Right. (An otherworldly ‘poof!’) Right! (A gentle piano melody begins.) That’s… that’s right. 

 

KAYNE: So now… you and Arthur can leave! (Bad cockney accent.) England, was it? (Normally.) No more secrets between the two of you.

 

JOHN: Yes. Yes, h-he’ll know. Now that it’s done, he’ll… he’ll know. I’ll tell him. Eventually. And… and eventually, I’ll – I’ll tell him what… what happened in the Dark World. When the time is right. We can… we can let it all go. Move on from this place. (Kayne sucks air in through his teeth.) What?

 

KAYNE: I mean… I said I stopped them from moving, Johnny, but his ears still work. 

 

JOHN: What? 

 

KAYNE: Am I wrong, Archie? (He snaps his fingers.)

 

ARTHUR (in horror): You…

 

JOHN: Arthur… I…

 

ARTHUR: You… You lied.

 

KAYNE (faux emotional): Let it all out.

 

ARTHUR: Kayne!

 

KAYNE (eagerly): Arthur! How have you been! I see you didn’t take to Yellow as well as I had hoped.

 

LARSON (dazed): Who… what…

 

KAYNE: Well, I mean! Speaking of. (John makes a frightened noise.) Looks like we have a pair of Kings here, after all! Sadly, not a winning hand. Tell Yellowhead that the Dreamlands is a lawless waste without him, will you? (Surprised.) Oh! And you brought the mick with you!

 

COLLINS (metal clicking): That’s enough out of you, whoever you are.

 

KAYNE (seriously): Is that so? 

 

COLLINS: Aye. (A rising suspenseful sting of music.)

 

KAYNE: I like you. I like your no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners attitude! Tough, violent! My kind of lad! (He sighs.) But. The song is over. (He snaps his fingers.)

 

COLLINS (surprised): I… I don’t hear any music. 

 

(A rising high pitched tone, an explosion, and sounds of gore. Arthur makes noises of horror.) 

 

JOHN: Jesus fucking Christ! (Kayne laughs maniacally.) The Butcher is dead! His head exploded, like –

 

KAYNE: Oh, he was a thinker!

 

JOHN: Matthew’s! He’s… He’s gone, Arthur! Noel has fallen to the ground!

 

NOEL: What the fuck? 

 

LARSON: Who are you?

 

JOHN: Larson isn’t moving, he’s lost too much blood! He’s… He’s weakly calling to Kayne!

 

KAYNE (brightly): What’s that now? 

 

LARSON (in awe): Are you… you are… the Crawling Chaos! The spawn of Azathoth. The creature of a thousand forms! Nyarlathotep! Are you… who… who are you? Please. 

 

KAYNE: Me? (Frustratedly.) Who… fucking… cares! Oh, my God, Wallace! Are you not understanding? 

 

LARSON: What, what?

 

KAYNE: God, you are so… unremarkable! Worthless, really. You know, I don’t hate many humans, but you – (He growls.) Look at him! I mean! Look at him! Look at Arthur. John – I mean, look at John! (Scathing.) John! What kind of Great Old One calls himself fucking John, for fuck’s sake! Do you not get it? 

 

LARSON (quietly): No.

 

KAYNE: And you never will. You are nothing like Arthur! You still have your sight, for fuck’s sake! Actually… let me help you with that. 

 

(He snaps his fingers. An otherworldly whoosh, a spurting of gore and blood, Larson’s scream, and Kayne’s maniacal laughter. Larson continues to make noises of agony.)

 

JOHN (shocked): Jesus Christ, Arthur! Larson’s eyes… they’ve been torn from his head! They’ve literally shattered apart like glass as they hit the marble floor! Larson is keeled over in pain! 

 

KAYNE (amiably): Alright, you two. Yellow, head home and get some rest. Enjoy your new pet, okay? 

 

(He snaps his fingers. An otherworldly woosh, followed by an eerie echo.)

 

LARSON: What? What? (He makes noises of confusion.)

 

KAYNE (trans-Atlantic accent): Enjoy the Dreamlands! Don’t forget to write! (Another woosh, and the portal closes.) There. No more memory issues. No more gods fighting over this plane of existence. (Theatrically.) You can have it all, Johnny Boy!

 

JOHN: It’s only us, a-and Noel, left. The Butcher –

 

KAYNE: Oh, right! The detective. Well, you can leave, too. (Noel makes a noise of panic. An otherworldly swoosh, followed by silence.)

 

JOHN: He’s… He’s gone! 

 

ARTHUR: Where did you send him?

 

KAYNE (innocently): Ah, I don’t know. Maybe Spain. Look, Arthur, it’s time for us to have a chat. It’s just us now. Alone once again. (Footsteps.)

 

ARTHUR: Why did you want me here?

 

KAYNE: Great question. Y-You always ask such great questions! Well… (Thoughtfully.) Ah. This was… a little test, Archie. A big test, really, but… see, if you knew this was what I wanted, you never would have come! You’re too… (Noises of caveman-like frustration.) Rah rah rah. You’re too rascally! (Condescendingly.) You just don’t like being told what to do, grrr! (He chuckles.)

 

(Faroe’s Waltz begins to play.)

 

ARTHUR: You said that… you wanted me to reach the Gray Stone? But… why? 

 

KAYNE: Well! I’m glad you asked, Artie. Let’s take a walk. (He snaps his fingers.)

 

JOHN: He’s… he snapped his fingers. The room has gone dark, Arthur. 

 

KAYNE: Say yes. Pretty please?

 

JOHN: Kayne’s bloodstained hand is stretched out towards us, as if… as if to take it. 

 

KAYNE: I have such wonders to show you. 

 

ARTHUR (quietly): Okay. Alright. I’ll come. (Kayne sighs.)

 

KAYNE: And that’s what I love about you, Arthur. You even surprise me. (Whispering.) Let’s go. 

 

(An otherworldly woosh, followed by an electric crackle, followed by static.)

 

(END Part 40.)