Prayers to Broken Stones (27 page)

Triumphant but exhausted, Louis sits on the edge of his bed. Dr. Hubbard removes his pipe and leans forward to grab the young man by his upper arms.

Louis nods, totally drained of energy.

Louis is staring at the doctor. He manages to nod.

Still staring, Louis nods again.

Louis nods again.

Louis nods a final time. Then, in a very tight shot, from Louis’s P.O.V., we are in E.C.U. of Dr. Hubbard’s face: his mouth is slightly open, showing white teeth, healthy gums, and a hint of tongue. From beneath that tongue comes first the fleshy antennae and then the green-gray body of a tumor slug. It moves farther out and then withdraws, as if burrowing from the light.

FADE OUT

FADE IN on: ACT III

8. INTERIOR. RADIOLOGY TREATMENT AND CONTROL ROOM. DAY.

Louis has been wheeled into the Radiology Control Room in a wheelchair but now he stands to peer through a thick window into the Treatment Room where Jack Winters lies on the treatment couch under the overhanging eye of a massive supervoltage cobalt 60 machine. Jack Winters looks small and frail and terribly vulnerable as he lies on the treatment couch—parts of his body shielded by lead “molds”, his upper torso bare with a target outline drawn on his upper chest in bright dye, an unsubtle + centered
where the powerful X-rays will penetrate. We can see Jack breathing rapidly, shallowly, his emaciated chest rising and falling, his skin offering almost the only color in a vast Treatment Room which is mostly white machinery and black and white tile fading into black shadows. Dr. Hubbard is in the Control Room with Louis and a RADIATION THERAPIST who stands next to the complicated controls.

The therapist taps controls while watching his monitors and the massive machine above Jack Winters hums, moves, and lowers its ominous “eye” to a firing position just above the + on the old man’s upper chest. A light from the machine snaps on and illuminates the target area.

The radiation therapist throws the switch. Louis is startled as violet radiation fills the window, bathes his face in light.

The radiation
is
visible. Visible to Louis, at least. We share his altered vision as the Treatment Room is filled with a brilliant violet radiation, centering on the cobalt 60 machine’s lens but arcing and pulsing in wild geometries as the radiation leaps from the machine to Jack. The others see none of this but we CLOSE ON Louis’s startled face, painted violet in reflected light, and see the sudden shock and revulsion as the TUMOR SLUGS begin to slide out of Jack’s chest.

The tumor slugs emerge, attracted by the bright light from the cobalt 60 machine. First one, then a second, then a third … They emerge from Jack’s chest—some completely, some only partially—as if they are drawn irresistibly to the glow. The radiation therapist throws a switch. The hum disappears and the explosion of violet light fades and dies. The tumor slugs that emerged completely have shriveled and died … the survivors burrow back into flesh once again.

Louis begins to explain but sees Dr. Hubbard watching him carefully. Louis shuts up. He is thinking quickly.

The radiation therapist glances at Dr. Hubbard and the oncologist nods, still humoring his young patient. The therapist goes to a wall safe, casually runs through a brief combination—we see Louis watching carefully and we also catch the numbers, 17-right, 43-left, 11-right—and then the therapist dons ridiculously thick gloves, opens the thick vault door, and removes one of several heavy lead storage cylinders emblazoned with the international warning symbol for radiation hazard.

Louis looks through the window at Jack. The old man is shivering slightly from the cold. He turns his head toward the window and smiles. The dead and blackened tumor slugs are still visible on his bare chest.

9. INT. NIGHT. LOUIS’S HOSPITAL ROOM

Louis comes awake with a start. It is dark. From somewhere down the hall comes a soft chime and the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on tile. But it is a closer sound which has awakened Louis. The SLURPING is coming from behind Jack’s curtain … an even louder, ruder noise than that of the night before.

Louis slides back the curtains. Jack is dead, mouth agape, fingers curled into rigid claws, eyes wide and staring. The SLURPING, SLIDING noise comes from tumor slugs sliding on and around his body … his pajamas writhe and ripple from their movement and some are spilling from the gaps in his pajama tops. A cancer vampire squats over the corpse, head lowered, proboscis deep
inside
Jack’s chest like some nightmarish mosquito drinking its fill. The SLURPING is very loud.

The cancer vampire lifts its face. Tumor slugs drip from its long snout … one slides up the opening with a RASPING sound. The cancer vampire
looks
directly at Louis, its caked, yellow eyes peering myopically.

Louis fumbles on his littered dinner tray, finds a knife, and throws it with all of his strength. It strikes the chest of the cancer vampire with a soft, rotten sound, but instead of sticking it sinks into the pulpy flesh like a dropped utensil floating in a pool of mucus. The cancer vampire idly extracts the knife with long fingers and casts it aside. It has not been hurt. It raises a hand toward Louis.

Louis stumbles out of the bed backward, knocking over the IV stand, crashing into the tray table and sending the vase of flowers flying as he edges along the wall, staying as far away from the cancer vampire as possible while heading for the door. We MOVE IN on the cancer vampire’s yellow, blind eyes, its head turning, as we hear Louis’s footfalls receding down the empty corridor.

CUT TO:

10. INT. NIGHT. RADIOLOGY CONTROL ROOM.

Louis staggers into the dark room, remains panting at the doorway for a moment. There is no pursuit. Looking around, he snaps on a single low-wattage lamp above the control board. The adjoining Treatment Room is in total darkness. He looks around wildly, sees the safe with the radiation symbol, and takes deep breaths to calm down.
He knows what he has to do. He fiddles with the dial. In E.C.U. we see 17-right, 43-left, 11-right. The safe door swings open and Louis steps back, shocked at how easy it was. Inside the safe, the lead storage cylinders sit like small bombs. Louis glances over his shoulder, then looks around until he finds the heavy gloves. Donning them, he removes the cylinders and sets them carefully on a table.

DISSOLVE TO:

11. INT. NIGHT. RADIOLOGY CONTROL ROOM.

Louis is crouching by the table so that only his head and shoulders are visible. The storage cylinders rise in front of him. The rest is darkness. Still wearing the heavy gloves, he fumbles with the complicated latch and lid on the first cylinder.

He tugs off his gloves, easily breaks the seal, flips the latch, and removes the lid. A fierce violet light illuminates his face. The glow becomes even brighter as he shakes the radioisotope into his bare hand. The pellet is small but incredibly brilliant—a point source of blazing light. He lifts it with both hands.

Louis takes a breath and lifts the isotope higher with shaking hands. There is an element of the sacramental to his motions—a radioactive Communion service. He swallows the cobalt 60 pellet, struggles to keep from gagging, and keeps it down.

He opens another storage cylinder, lifts the isotope. The light in the room begins to fade …

DISSOLVE TO:

12. INT. NIGHT. LOUIS’S MOTHER’S ROOM.

We see a close shot of Louis’s mother—her head on the pillow—as she moans in her sleep, turning fitfully, perhaps on the verge of coming out of the sedative-induced sleep. We move down her shoulder to her arm, her hand. Suddenly a huge, misshapen form comes into the frame and clumsily enfolds her hand. It is Louis’s hand, again in the heavy radiation glove. We PULL BACK and see Louis as he sits by her bedside, holding her hand in the dark room. Lightning ripples soundlessly outside the window.

The lightning illuminates the room again. Louis quickly looks around. There is no sign of the cancer vampire.