Driven
ACT THREE
Joe plops down an old suitcase on the bed, and opens it. He breaks open a package of bullets, dumping out several shells. Unfolding a bundle of cloth, he reveals a .38 special, which he inspects and cleans with painstaking care. Picking up a bullet and inserting it, he continues with each shell until every one has been loaded. Jill intently watches him, perched precariously high atop a dresser, looking more and more like the ghostly apparition that she is. Stuffing the gun in his coat pocket, Joe sits down at a desk. Opening a drawer, he takes out a piece of paper and writes in big block letters: ONE MORE DOWN, ONE MORE TO GO! He pauses a moment, thoughtfully, then begins writing again—this time smaller, more personal: Detective Callahan: By the time you read this note …
Callahan leans back in his chair, staring at a stack of computer print-out information. Calmly, he gazes out beyond the papers, deep in thought.
Joe is alone in the car.
The mustang drives off into the night.
Joe’s car heads out beyond the limits of suburbia.
Suddenly, Jill MATERIALIZES in the back seat, peering over Joe’s shoulder. He turns to see her, but he seems unaffected by her appearance this time.
JILL: So … how do you feel, Joe?
Jill glances back and forth between Joe and the highway. When he doesn’t reply, she backs away from him, pouting.
Silently, the couple continue on for a while, then suddenly Joe pulls the car off to the side of the road. Jill sits up, mildly concerned.
JILL: Joe, what’s wrong?
Joe gets out of the car and closes the door with a THUD.
JOE (nonchalantly): Nothing’s wrong.
He walks to the rear of the car, kneels by the tire, and starts to the let the air out. Jill leans into view, down with Joe at the rear tire, looking puzzled.
JILL: Joe, what are you doing?
Once the tire is completely flat, Joe opens the trunk.
JOE: I’m doing what any clever criminal would do if he’s got any sense. I’m changing my M.O.
He removes the car’s jack, and sets it next to the flat tire. As he walks back to the driver’s seat, Jill watches curiously.
JOE (CONT’D): That Detective Callahan is getting too close for comfort. This car is the first thing that has to go.
He reaches in to activate the car’s emergency flashers. A strange look of sadness washes over Jill’s face.
JILL: You’re doing this because you found out about me, aren’t you?
Story Continues Below
To hear Kent, Zen Garcia and S. Douglas Woodward as they continue their discussion concerning the implications of the 5,500-year prophecy spoken of in the various apocryphal sources and confirmed via the chronology of The Septuagint, CLICK BELOW.
Story Continues From Above
As Joe leans into the car, his back is turned so that when he grins, Jill is totally unaware of it.
JOE: Of course not. I’m telling you Callahan has got a make on my car. I’ve got to ditch it. Relax, you’re startin’ to get paranoid.
JILL: Don’t do this, Joe … I won’t let you.
Turning to Jill, he locks eyes with her.
JOE: Look … stop acting like this. You and I both know I already did you a big favor, right?
He walks over to her, and gets right in her face.
JOE (CONT’D): I helped you out. You had your kicks. Now the least you could do is help me get some new wheels.
He smiles at her, but she just stares back blankly.
JOE (CONT’D): After this, we can part company if you want. You won’t owe me a thing, OK? Just don’t tell me that what I’ve done for you hasn’t been fair. I took out five guys for you, and you don’t hear me complaining, do you?
He walks away, glancing back over his shoulder at Jill.
JOE (CONT’D): You’ll help me, all right. Help me now and who knows, maybe I’ll take out another poor, unsuspecting wife-beater for you. What do you think about that?
Mortified, Jill VANISHES.
JOE (CONT’D): You’ll help me, and that’s that. I’m going to finish this thing right. Nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to keep me from getting what I deserve.
He walks back to the front of the car, with his eyes scanning the highway like a hawk, searching for cars. As he does, he also double-checks his pockets. There he finds his pistol as well as the envelope addressed to DETECTIVE CALLAHAN. Satisfied, he turns toward oncoming traffic, and, for the first time, Joseph Harding raises his thumb into proper hitch-hiking position. From out of the darkness, a set of headlights appears, moving toward him. It approaches him swiftly, and slows down momentarily as the DRIVER of the car checks Joe out. But it just drives right past him.
JOE (CONT’D): Damn it, Jill. What the hell are you doing? Where are you?
Then another car whizzes by.
JOE (CONT’D) (gritting his teeth): Don’t do this to me.
By now, Joe no longer has his thumb up.
JOE (sing-song): Come out, come out, wherever you are…
Suddenly, more headlights come into view. The car approaches Joe, but moves swiftly past him without ever slowing down.
JOE (CONT’D): Damn it, Jill, come on. I’m counting on you. You damn well better come through on this.
Then another set of headlights split the night. This time, the car slows down, and as it gets closer, it slows even more. A MAN, quite an ordinary looking man in his late twenties, rolls by apparently checking out the situation. As he does, Joe sees Jill sitting in the back seat, waving for him to make his move. The car’s brake lights flash. Moving off into the emergency lane, it slows to a halt. Joe looks both directions down the highway, then dashes toward the waiting vehicle. Jill waves frantically now. Almost to the door, Joe withdraws his pistol, holding it at his side, ready to fire in an instant. Jill slides forward in her seat, watching Joe’s every move. As Joe opens the car door, he leans forward to get in, raising his pistol into position. But his grin suddenly turns to a frown when he sees a .38 pistol in the driver’s hand, and it’s aimed directly at him.
DRIVER & JILL (together): Surprise, Joe, you lose, too!
The gun lets out a single BLAST, and Joe is catapulted backward. The car peels out, spraying gravel all over Joe’s corpse. As it pulls away, Jill looks out the back window, and waves goodbye. She LAUGHS hysterically. As the car moves off into the distance, her LAUGHTER FADES.
Flashing red and blue police car lights illuminate an early morning scene with Joe’s ‘65 Mustang still parked in the emergency lane. In front of it is a sheet-covered body. Beyond that, several POLICE OFFICERS try to restrain an eager group of REPORTERS and CAMERAMEN. Another squad car pulls up, and Detective Callahan climbs out of the passenger side. He carries a computer print-out as he heads for Joe’s car.
REPORTER: Detective Callahan. Hello, how are you?
Callahan nods cordially.
CALLAHAN: Well, if it isn’t our intrepid cub reporter, right on cue.
Immediately, a POLICE OFFICER intercepts the detective.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): Hello, Sergeant. Excuse me, son.
The reporter nods, disappointed. The officer appears a little surprised to see the detective. He follows Callahan as he heads toward Joe’s abandoned car.
SERGEANT: Detective Callahan … sir. We weren’t expecting you here.
CALLAHAN: That’s perfectly understandable, Sergeant. But you can relax now.
SERGEANT: You don’t really think this has anything to do with your case, do you? Word is: This is nothing more than a poor version of a copycat killing.
Finally to the Mustang, Callahan is growing impatient. He stops and turns to the officer.
CALLAHAN (forcing a smile): Look, Sergeant…
His eyes quickly locate the man’s name tag.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): Sergeant Crawford … you were instructed to make sure that nothing was touched here. Is that correct?
CRAWFORD (politely): Yes, sir. That’s correct, sir.
CALLAHAN: You were to make sure that nothing was to be disturbed until a superior officer was to arrive. Is that correct?
CRAWFORD: Yes, sir.
The detective points limply over at the sheet-covered body.
CALLAHAN: And there is a young man over there in his late twenties, dead from a single gunshot wound. Is there not?
CRAWFORD (starting to get embarrassed): Yes, sir. There is.
CALLAHAN: Good. Then I can continue here…
He holds the computer print-out up for Crawford to see.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): Do you know what this is, Sergeant?
CRAWFORD: Looks like some kind of computer print-out.
CALLAHAN: Exactly. But this isn’t just any print-out. This one contains a life-size reproduction of the tire tracks found at every murder site to date.
Callahan kneels by the car’s tire tracks. Laying the computer printout on top of the actual tire track, they match perfectly. Crawford leans in closer to see, but Callahan pulls the sheet away in disgust.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): No!
The detective BANGS the rear end of the Mustang with his fist. He starts to pull himself to his feet, and the sergeant helps him up.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D) (growling stubbornly): Damn it all to hell. I am getting too old for this kind of crap!
He starts toward Joe’s sheet-covered body. Crawford follows closely behind him.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): You say absolutely no one has disturbed this body?
Callahan wearily kneels next to the lifeless form. He pulls back the sheet, revealing the corpse.
CRAWFORD: No, sir. Not to my knowledge…
Searching his pockets, the detective pulls out the envelope with his name written on it. This time he gets to his feet in no time, without any assistance.
CRAWFORD (CONT’D): Detective, you’re not saying that this was the hitch-hiking killer’s vehicle, are you?
Callahan eagerly opens the letter. The heading reads: ONE MORE DOWN, ONE MORE TO GO!
CRAWFORD (CONT’D): Why would he suddenly just abandon it like this?
Quickly, the detective scans the contents of the letter.
CALLAHAN: He did it, Sergeant, because I was an impetuous, old fool… I lost my head … played my hand too soon. So he burned me…
He returns his attention to Crawford.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): Now my only lead has slipped right through my fingers. He’s killed again and switched cars in the process. How does he do it?
CRAWFORD: What’s with the letter, Detective?
CALLAHAN: I’m afraid the creep is just letting me know it’s really him. The bastard’s got a new signature now, and he wants me to know all about it.
CRAWFORD: You’re positive this is the work of the same man?
CALLAHAN: Yes. It’s all spelled out in his letter. This nutcase actually thinks he’s going to be some kind of a legend someday!
CRAWFORD: What?
CALLAHAN: Listen to this dribble: By the time you read this note, I’ll be long gone in someone else’s car…
Joe sits at his desk, writing his letter to Callahan, for in the detective’s mind, the killer is still alive.
CALLAHAN (V.O.): My only regret is, of course, that we could not meet face to face. But soon, I will tell you who I am. I’ll tell you all who I am, when I get good ‘n famous and everybody knows about me. I’ll tell you my name then, just as soon as I’ve made a proper mark. They write books about guys like me, you know? Just like Jack the Ripper…
OFF-SCREEN, there is the DULL CRACK of a .38 caliber GUNSHOT.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): Then and only then will I tell you my name. You’ll need it for all your encyclopedias.
Sickened, he looks up at the sergeant, who grimly shakes his head.
CRAWFORD: My God. This guy sounds like he really intends to beat out Jack the Ripper on the all-time blood list.
Callahan glances furtively at the restless crowd that has gathered beyond the police barrier along with the news people.
CALLAHAN: And at the rate he’s going now, he’s bound to…
Thoroughly frustrated, Callahan inadvertently releases the computer print-out away, and a gust of wind catches it, pinning it against Joe’s sheet-covered body.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): Just like that: I’m without a single clue as to how to catch this son of a bitch…
He looks the sergeant straight in the eye.
CALLAHAN (CONT’D): But I’ll be damned if I’m gonna quit now. If not for you or me, then at least for the sake of the unsuspecting ones, the helpless victims.
They both stare down at the sprawled-out corpse.
CRAWFORD: Poor sap. Probably never even knew what hit him.
The detective looks up and momentarily makes eye contact with the young reporter. Then he gazes back down at Joe’s snarled face.
CALLAHAN (muttering): Funny … you don’t look like a wife-beater to me.
NARRATOR: A little man with a grandiose plan reaches for the unthinkable, a twisted dream of immortality, but instead, he spins-out on a highway of unquenchable ambition. So ends the life of Joseph Harding, deluded or seduced, no one can say for sure—a man driven to the brink and beyond, in … A Strange World.
