The Infernal Circle of Eternal Return Part 1

What if what we see every day isn't real... what if reality is just a delusion, a cruel trick played by our cosmic creator and we are doomed to live the same life, make the same mistakes over and over again?

1976. Divorced, alcoholic and struggling with addiction, police detective Brady Hitchcock is a man clinging to the last strands of his sanity. When a young girl is snatched from the street by a brutal child murder known only as The Monster, Brady Hitchcock has less than twenty-four hours to save her from a torturous fate. But as he delves deeper into the case and the killer’s twisted pathology, he finds himself descending into an inescapable maze of the mind where he is confronted with a truth too terrifying to comprehend. 

The Infernal Circle of Eternal Return... one person’s reality is everyone else’s nightmare. 
 
Starring - Septimus Caton- Kristian Schmid- Jacinta Stapleton - Kieton Beilby- Felicity Jurd -Lilly Bader - Aaron Harvie & Special Guest Star Jeff Martin as Baron Sordor – Produced - Aaron Harvie - Natalie Harvie & Lilly Bader – Recorded at King Sound Studio – Engineer - Nick Bird – Casting - Citizen Jane Casting – Music - Il Terrori Notturni – Written & Directed - Aaron Harvie 

Transcript

                         RALPHUS
             There’s an old, decrepit theatre down

             the end of a dark, deserted alley. On
             the thirteenth night of every month
             Baron Sordor throws open his theatre
             doors to the lucky few invited to see
             the show. The crowd are slowly
             ushered inside to take their seats,
             whispering in nervous expectation.
             Then the music starts to rise and the
             red velvet curtains are drawn aside.
             A dark figure strides to the edge of
             the stage and the audience gasps in
             nervous anticipation, because when
             the clock strikes midnight, it’s time
             for Baron Sordor’s Theatre of the
             Doomed.

                         BARON SORDOR
             Thank you dear Ralphus and good

             evening honoured guests, I am your
             host Baron Vladimir Sordor, welcome
             to another night at the Theatre of
             the Doomed.

                         BARON SORDOR (cont'd)
             I hope that you are prepared for what
             awaits you, and I would encourage the

             more craven and weak willed members
             of our audience to take the chance to
             leave now, for tonight's show is not
             for the faint of heart. Together we
             will be delving into deepest and
             darkest depths of delusion and
             delirium, pushing aside the
             philosophical and psychological
             boundires of the human condition and
             peering into the boundless void of
             the existential abyss.

                         BARON SORDOR (cont'd)
                   (evil chuckle)

             Be brave dear audience, for where we
             dare to tread is a place very few
             come back unchanged. I present to
             you, THE INFERNAL CIRCLE OF ETERNAL
             RETURN.





            BRADY HITCHCOCK
This life, as you now live it and

have lived it, you will have to live
once more and innumerable times more;
and there will be nothing new in it,
but every pain and every joy and
every thought and sigh... The eternal
hourglass of existence is turned over
again and again, and you with it,
speck of dust! Friedrich Nietzsche,
1882.

            NARRATOR
Brady Hitchcock is a broken man. He

was once an upstanding member of
society, a pillar in the community if
you will. Brady was a police sergeant
and a respected family man, with a
loving wife and a beautiful daughter.
He coached his kid’s soccer team on
the weekends and once a month
volunteered at a soup kitchen to help
out the cities homeless. But all of
that came crashing to a halt the
first week of September last year.
You see Brady, like a lot of so
called “family men” approaching mid-
life, wasn’t all he appeared to be.
He’d started drinking after his
daughter was born. Now Brady had
always been a drinker, most cops are,
but before his daughter Ellie was
born it was normally just a beer with
lunch or maybe a whiskey or two after
a hard day. But things changed. Two
years after becoming a dad he was
fall down drunk at a bar almost every
night after work, shaking down
hookers for drugs and a blowjob or
fucking any woman he could find in
the back seat of his car before
slinking home to his wife and kids.
That is, if he went home at all. He
told himself he behaved the way he
did because his wife didn’t pay
attention to him like she used to now
that the baby was here. He pitied
himself and complained that he didn’t
feel like part of the family any
more.

           NARRATOR (cont'd)
He even tried to convince himself

that his indiscretions were his
wife's fault and not his. But deep
down he knew the truth, even if he
didn’t want to admit it. His wife
knew too. She’d always known he was
the kind of guy that stuck his dick
into anything with a pulse, but at
least before Ellie was born, he’d had
the decency to be discreet about it.
And as much as she hated him for it,
she ignored his philandering because
he was a good provider and a good
father for Ellie. But nothing lasts
forever and after eleven years of
humiliation, Brady's wife Heidi had
had enough. So, she left him. Brady
came home after working a double
shift to find the locks on his house
changed and all of his clothes packed
up in two suitcases that were sitting
neatly on the front porch. A note
pinned to the top told him she never
wanted to see him ever again, and if
he came near the house, she’d file a
restraining order against him. This
sent Brady over the edge. Broken
hearted, spiteful and filled with
rage and self-loathing he started
drinking all day, every day,
levelling himself out with coke and
smack and Quaaludes. His work
suffered as did every friendship he
had. He blamed everyone but himself
for his problems and instead of
looking inward he lashed out at
everyone around until he found
himself here... right now... living
in a shit hole apartment and sleeping
off another bender with some random
barmaid passed out beside him.

            NARRATOR
Friday the 4th of June 1976. Port

Perte, Holy Cross Parish. 7.10 am,
Brady Hitchcock’s Apartment.

            SFX
      (sound of alarm
ringing)             NARRATOR
Brady Hitchcock opens his bloodshot

eyes and peers blearily at the
blaring alarm clock on his bedside
table.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (croaky voice)

Jesus fucking Christ.(groans). What
time is it?

            NARRATOR
He reaches over and slams his hand

down hard on the top of the alarm.

            SFX
      (alarm sound stops)

            NARRATOR
Brady lies in his bed letting the

sickly waves of his hangover wash
over him. He considers closing his
eyes and going back to sleep then
remembers he has to go to work today.
Slowly, he sits up and swings his
legs over the side of the bed,
ignoring the ruin of his head
screaming in protest. His bedroom is
a disaster. The bedside and the floor
are littered with empty beer cans,
dirty clothes and a quarter-filled
bottle of whiskey. The remnants of an
8-ball of cocaine are spilled across
the top of his dresser. He tries to
stand up and feels his stomach lurch.
His alcoholic hands already shaking
for a drink.

            SFX
      (Brady coughing)

            NARRATOR
Brady reaches down and grabs the

bottle of whiskey, twisting off the
lid and chugging. It's not till he's
almost finished the bottle that he
notices the woman in the bed beside
him.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Hey. Hello... are you awake?

            NARRATOR
Brady stands up and shakes her

roughly. Shelia Crawford, the woman
in his bed that he seduced last night
at the Gemini Lounge, rolls over and
looks at him, smiling with warm,
dusty eyes.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (sleepily)

Mmm... good morning.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (coldly)
Yeah... hi.             NARRATOR
Sheila ignores his rude tone and

stretches seductively across the bed,
letting the sheets slip down across
her naked body.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (seductively)

It's so early. Why don't you come
back to bed?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (coldly)

I'm sorry, ummm...

            NARRATOR
Shelia Crawford's face crumples and

she sits up, pulling the sheets over
her naked chest.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (upset and vulnerable)

It's Sheila. I can't believe you
don't even remember my name.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Look, you gotta get out of here, I

gotta go to work...

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
Yeah all right, just give me a

minute. (she hesitates) Am I gonna
see you tonight? I don't start till
nine, I thought we could get some
dinner if you're not busy.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Look, I don't wanna be rude or

nothing... How about I just see you
at the bar sometime?

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (angry)

You fucking prick...

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (warning)

Hey, calm down, there's no reason to
get angry...

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (screaming and crying)

Fuck you... you fucking piece of
shit.

            NARRATOR
Tears of humiliation and anger run

down Sheila's face. She lashes out at
Brady, scratching his arm.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (furious)

Jesus, get your shit and get out of
here before I kick your fucking ass.

            NARRATOR
Sheila scrambles out of bed, grabbing

her clothes from the floor and
dressing quickly.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (crying and angry)

You're a fucking asshole, you know
that? You can't treat people like
this!

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Yeah, yeah, yeah... tell your story
walking.             NARRATOR
Half dressed, Sheila runs to the

bedroom door. She stops and looks
back at him.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (crying)

I thought you were special... I
thought we...

            NARRATOR
Brady snarls and throws the empty

whiskey bottle at her.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Get the fuck out of here.

            SFX
      (bottle smashing)

            NARRATOR
The bottle shatters on the wall near

Shelia's head and she runs out of the
room.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (crying)

Don't you ever fucking speak to me
again, you got that?

            SFX
      (door slamming)

            NARRATOR
The front door slams closed and Brady

is left standing there by himself.

            SFX
      (phone ringing)

            NARRATOR
Then the phone rings.

BRADY HITCHCOCK
Hello? Brady, is that you?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Yeah Captain.

      CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
(phone voice)

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (phone voice)

Jesus, you sound like shit.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I'm alright. Think I gotta cold or
something.             CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (phone voice)

(dubious) Yeah alright Brady, if you
say so. We gotta call about twenty
minutes ago. Another girl went
missing last night, looks like our
killer's back again.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (under his breath)

Shit. What'd we know?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (phone voice)

Not much. All Metro officers have
been called in to help. Your
partner's on his way to pick you up
now.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Right now? I mean Captain I...

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (phone voice

       cuts him off)
Just pull yourself together. You got
15 minutes.

            NARRATOR
The phone goes dead before Brady can

say another thing. Fifteen minutes
isn't long. Brady showers quickly
then dresses in the cleanest outfit
he can find on the floor. When he's
presentable he cuts himself two long
longs of coke on the dresser and
washes them down with a beer before
he heads out the door.

            NARRATOR
7.32 am, Detective Lee Lucas’s Sedan.

Brady Hitchcock pushes open the
dented double doors of his apartment
building and walks outside, just as
his partner's shitty brown Ford is
pulling up to the kerb. It's bitterly
cold out and Brady pops the collar of
his brown leather coat against the
wind as he crosses the street and
gets into the car.

            LEE LUCAS
Morning Sergeant.

            NARRATOR
Brady regards his partner with

contempt, choosing to ignore his
pleasantries and light a cigarette
instead. The car fills with acrid
blue smoke and Lee Lucas coughs
uncomfortably.

            LEE LUCAS
You mind opening your window Sarge?

            NARRATOR
Brady shakes his head with disdain

and rolls down the window a crack.
He'd never liked Lee Lucas, not since
he was partnered up with him a year
ago. Brady thought he was a
douchebag; a fucking show-off with
perfectly blow waved hair. He wore
fucking sneakers and flared jeans for
Christ’s sake, what kind of cop wore
sneakers on the job? And that fucking
brown nosing, at-risk youth outreach
program he ran to impress the brass
made him want to puke. No one was
buying it. Least of all Brady.
He sneers to himself and retrieves
his silver hip flask from his inside
jacket pocket and takes a long drink.
His partner frowns dissaprovingly but
remains light lipped, his eyes on the
road.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You got a problem?

            LEE LUCAS
No problem sergeant.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Yeah you do. I can’t stand this

fucking passive aggressive shit, you
hear me detective? I got a fucking
lifetime of it already from my ex-
wife.

            LEE LUCAS
Well, I mean, It’s not even eight

o’clock in the morning...

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
What’d you fucking care?

            LEE LUCAS
I just think we got a job to do is

all. Another girl’s gone missing...
it’s probably not gonna help too much
if you’re drinking on the job.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Is that so?             LEE LUCAS
I mean, I don’t think the captain

would be too happy if he knew what
you were coming to work drunk.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (laughs)

Really? And who’s going to tell him,
you?LEE LUCAS No. 

          BRADY HITCHCOCK
Just in case you forgot detective,

I’ve been an officer here in Port
Perte since 54’. That’s twenty-two
years on the force shitbag. I’ve been
a fucking sergeant here in Metro for
the past nine. When did you transfer
in, a year ago?

            LEE LUCAS
Eighteen months sir.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (snorts in disgust)

Fucking know it all rookie. Get this
through your head okay, I’m the big
fucking fish in this pond. You’re
just a fucking turd floating in a
bowl. You even think about going to
the captain and I’ll personally see
that your busted down to uniform and
doing paperwork till you’re blind,
you got that?

            LEE LUCAS
Yeah, I got it.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Good. Then shut up and drive the
fucking car.             NARRATOR
7.46 am, the EZ Mart.

The EZ Mart Convenience store is on
the corner of Broad Street and Meadow
Avenue. It's a modest brown brick
building with a flat roof and a
facade adorned with large glass
windows plastered with colourful
promotional posters and signs. Out
the front is a small, five-car
parking lot paved with asphalt, an
old cigarette machine and weather
worn bench nearby. There are several
police cars parked around the store
and a crowd has already begun to
gather outside.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Alright, what have we got.

            NARRATOR
Brady Hitchcock roughly pushes his

way through the throng of onlookers
and barks at one of the uniformed
officers who is standing nearby.

            OFFICER DAILEY
Good morning Sargent.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
What's your name?

            OFFICER DAILEY
Officer Dailey sir.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Get me up to speed.

            OFFICER DAILEY
Yes sir. Uh, well, I think, that is,

we think this could be the Monster
again.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Don’t tell me what you think son,

tell me what you know. You got an ID
on the victim yet?

            OFFICER DAILEY
Sorry sergeant. The victim is Abby

Robbins, 14. She lives a few blocks
away on Meadow Ave. Owner of the
store says she came in just before he
closed up, around ten o’clock last
night to buy her mother cigarettes.
No one’s seen her since. Her parents
reported her missing just before
midnight.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Any witnesses?

            OFFICER DAILEY
We’re canvassing the area as we
speak. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Good, anybody notify the parents?

            OFFICER DAILEY
We’re on it now sir.

            NARRATOR
Brady surveys the crime scene. It's

ugly. He can feel that something
terrible has happened her, the
violence hangs heavy in the air,
almost as if the heinous act itself
has left a stain on the psychosphere
of the neighbourhood. In the far
right corner of the lot he can see
the police crime scene photographer
and the forensic pathologist. Nearby
a lone red child's sneaker sits on
its side next to two sets of tyre
tracks. Brady motions for his partner
to follow him and they cross the lot.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Good morning.

            NARRATOR
The crime scene photographer Steve

Gilmore and the forensic pathologist
Dr Amanda Pyke both look up and say
hello as Brady Hitchcock and Lee
Lucas join them. A small severed
finger is curled up in a dried puddle
of blood on the asphalt in front of
them.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
So what are we looking at, is it the

same as the others?

            NARRATOR
The forensic pathologist looks up at

him and nods solemnly. Dr Pyke's skin
is grey and her eyes are dark and
sunken. Even though she's young, she
looks like a woman twice her age.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
I'm afraid so Brady. Injuries look

consistent with the other Monster
victims. Judging by the lividity I'd
say she was attacked about eight to
ten hours ago, which fits the
timeline.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
That's a fucked up calling card.

            NARRATOR
Brady takes a deep breath and closes

his eyes for a moment as his hangover
crashes down upon his head in a wave
of pain and nausea.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
My fucking heads pounding, anyone got
any aspirin?             NARRATOR
They all shake their heads and Brady

kneels down gingerly, peering at the
little girls finger. It's shrivelled
and blue. The flesh at the base of
the digit has been stripped back up
to the knuckle and the bone beneath
snapped and splintered like a green
stick. His heart sinks as he notices
the girls finger nail is painted with
some kind of cheap glitter nail
polish, the same type his daughter
uses.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Steve, you get pictures of those tyre

tracks over there?

            STEVE GILMORE
Not yet Brady.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Make sure you do, if they're from our

suspects vehicle this might be the
first break we've had in the case.

            LEE LUCAS
Steve, make sure you get the photo's

straight to me, I'll run it through
the national database and see what
comes back.

            NARRATOR
Just then Abby Robbins parents arrive

at the crime scene. The girls mother
is hysterical, her face a mess of
pain and tears and mascara. Her
husband tries his best to keep her
from collapsing on the street.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Jesus Christ, this is all I fucking

need. I thought that dipshit uniform
said they were taking care of the
parents.

            NARRATOR
The screaming gets louder as Abby's

mother desperately tries to push her
way past the police line, all the
while franticly screaming her
daughters name.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
My fucking hangover's too bad to deal

with this shit today. Dr Pyke, let’s
get that finger packed up and back to
the lab.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
Come see me around noon. I should

have something for you then.

            OFFICER DAILEY
      (from across the

       carpark)
Sergeant Hitchcock, sir.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (frustrated)
What now?             NARRATOR
Brady looks up to see Officer Dailey

walking over and waving his arms to
get his attention.

            OFFICER DAILEY
Sergeant, we just got word from

Captain Dodd over the radio. He needs
back at the station ASAP.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Tell him I’m busy.

            OFFICER DAILEY
He said you’d say that. He told me to

tell you the state police are coming
in for a briefing at nine and if you
aren’t there that you should go find
yourself another job.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (frustrated)

When it rains it fucking pours.

            LEE LUCAS
I'll go take care of the parent’s

boss. You go see the Captain and I'll
meet you at the station later.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Yeah, good idea. Hey Lucas...





LEE LUCAS Yeah Sarge?             BRADY HITCHCOCK
Make sure you bag that girls shoe

before the parents see it. Let's not
add to their fucking misery, okay?

            NARRATOR
Brady Hitchcock looks over at the

uniformed officer standing before
him, struggling remember his name.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You, whatever your fucking name is...

            OFFICER DAILEY
It's Officer Dailey sir.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Like it matters. Make yourself useful

and go get me a lift to the fucking
station... NOW!

            NARRATOR
9.05 am, Port Perte Metro Police

Station. The briefing room of the
Metro Police station is lit by a bank
of overhead florescent tubes that
cast a cold, harsh light across the
linoleum floors and fake wood
panelled walls. In the centre of the
room is a long conference table.
Seated in the plastic moulded chairs
around it are members of the State
Police command, the Mayor and the
Chief of Police as well as other
ranking officers in the department.
Brady stands at the lectern at the
far end, a hastily compiled board of
gruesome crime scene and evidence
behind him. He slurps down some
scalding hot coffee hoping to get rid
of his hangover and curses to himself
for not having another line before
starting the briefing.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Okay, Captain Dodd has asked me to
give you an update on the case. As
you all know we’ve had an incident

this morning and time is a factor so
I’ll keep this brief. In the last
fourteen months two teenage girls
have been abducted and murdered in
Port Perte, Ellie Rose 14 and Raynor
Langton 12. Both are suspected to be
victims of the same offender.

            STATE POLICE CAPTAIN GIBSON
Where did the name come from

Sergeant, the one in the press?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Well sir, the press named our UNSUB

the Monster after some of the more
confronting details of the second
murder were leaked. The killer’s MO
is pretty consistent in both cases.
The victims were abducted from public
places. In both cases the killer bit
off the victims right index finger
and left it at the site of the
abduction like a calling card.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK (cont'd)
Their bodies were discovered no more

than 24 hours after they were
abducted, in both cases we received
an anonymous phone call from someone
we believe to be the killer telling
us they'd committed the murder.

            POLICE CHIEF GREAVES
Do you have a recording of these
calls? 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
No sir. (Clears his throat)The

victims were found in black plastic
garbage bags that were dumped in
waterways. Both were dismembered with
their heads mutilated.

            MAYOR FINN
What exactly does that mean?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
The killer removed the head, arms and

legs. Both girls had their eyes, ears
and tongue removed and then their
eyelids, ear canals and mouths sewn
shut. At this stage we haven’t
recovered the missing organs.

            SFX
(General upset murmuring)

            MAYOR FINN
Please tell me these wounds happened
post mortem. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
From what we can tell the victims

were alive for at least part of the
mutilation.

            SFX
(gasps of horror)

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Although there has been no evidence
of sexual assault in either case we

have been able to determine that the
offender has type O blood, lifted
from saliva samples found on both of
the victim’s severed fingers. We have
no fingerprints. No hair or fibre
evidence. No witnesses, motives or
connection with the victims.

            STATE POLICE CAPTAIN GIBSON
And as of this morning there’s

another girl missing. Is that right
Sergeant?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
We believe so, yes.

            POLICE CHIEF GREAVES
So given our killer's history , come
10 o’clock tonight, we’ve officially

got a serial killer on our hands.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Well not exactly sir. There is one
more case. 

            POLICE CHIEF GREAVES
      (surprised)

Another? How come I’m only hearing
this now?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Well sir, it’s not official. We got a

call a couple of months ago, very
similar to the other two calls from
the killer, only in this case there
was no severed finger or body
recovered. We're unsure if this was
genuine contact from our UNSUB or a
prank. We’re checking it against
missing persons cases but at this
point we don’t have much more to go
on.

            POLICE CHIEF GREAVES
So, you’re saying there could be more
of these?             BRADY HITCHCOCK
We don’t know. But at this stage

we're not ruling it out.

            NARRATOR
Police Chief Greaves got to his feet

and straightened his jacket. His eyes
blazed with fury.

            POLICE CHIEF GREAVES
Thank you Sergeant, that will be all.

Captain Dodd, we’d like to speak to
you in your office, now.

            NARRATOR
Brady lights a cigarette and watches

as the brass file out the briefing
room and into the Captains office.
The conversation inside looks heated.
He walks over to the briefing room
door, and listens closely, hoping to
hear what was being said when Lee
Lucas strolls into the precinct
bullpen eating a doughnut, with a
wide smile plastered across his face.
Brady could feel the bile in his
stomach rise at the sight of him, he
hated the whole easy going, congenial
vibe he had going. In fact, he hated
Lee Lucas, period.

LEE LUCAS How'd it go? 

          BRADY HITCHCOCK
I don't wanna talk about it. Did you

get anything else from the scene?

            LEE LUCAS
Parents say Abby Robbins left her

house at quarter to ten with strict
instructions to go to the EZ Mart,
buy a packet of Casino cigarettes and
return straight home. The store is
five minutes walk from her house. She
was seen by a local couple on Meadow
Ave around that time, then again by a
tow truck driver in the car park of
the EZ Mart as he was driving out,
and by the clerk. She purchased the
cigarettes and left and was never
seen again.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Store have cameras?

LEE LUCAS Nope.             BRADY HITCHCOCK
Fuck. What about statements? Anything

helpful from the parents or any of
the locals?

            LEE LUCAS
Not much. Uniforms canvassed the

area, there's two statements look
like they might be worth following
up.

            NARRATOR
Just then the door to Captain Dodd's

office swings open and Police Chief
Greaves and Mayor Finn stalk out of
the room with dark clouds hanging
over them. It didn't look like things
had gone well at all. The Captain
stands at his door and scans the
bullpen till he spies Brady, then
motions for him to join him.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Go grab the car and meet me out front

in ten. We'll go and check out these
leads together.

            NARRATOR
Brady watches the young detective

saunter off across the bullpen then
joins Captain Dodd in his office. The
room is cramped and filled with piles
of files and papers. It stinks of
cigarettes, bad breath and stale
coffee.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I get the feeling that didn't go to
well. 

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
You got that right. State police are

officially taking over the
investigation Monday morning, but
they're working it as of today.
There's a task force arriving this
afternoon to try and assist in
finding the Abby Robbins girl before
it's too late. I've been instructed
to give them our full co-operation.
You're gonna need to be here to help
with the transition.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (outraged)

But that's my case, I've been working
it for more than a year.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
It's outta my hands Brady.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
So what does that mean for us?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Police Chief Greaves says it's all

hands on deck till we find the girl.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
And then what?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Lucas is going to be re-assigned.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
And me.             NARRATOR
The look on the old police captain's

face said it all. He reached into his
bottom draw, retrieving a bottle of
whiskey and two glasses.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You're gonna put me behind a fucking
desk? 

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
It's outta my hands Brady.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Why? Cause of the fucking John Bailey
case? 

            NARRATOR
Dodd nods solemnly. He fills a glass

and hands it to Brady who swallows it
in one.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
So that's it, is it? More than twenty

fucking years I've given and for
what? They just toss me aside cause I
made one mistake?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Jesus Christ Brady, you beat that guy

half to death. Doctor's say he's got
brain damage.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (outraged)

That fucking piece of shit was
drunk... he ran over a fifteen year
old girl.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Allegedly. There's no evidence tying

John Bailey to the car that night.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (outraged)

He left her dying in the middle of
the street, what was I supposed to
do?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Find the evidence to get him off the

streets so he can't do it again.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You know he would of walked.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (angry)
So you beat him half to death with a god damned tyre iron, now he's probably never going to walk again. John Bailey's family is already lawyered up, they're fixing to sue the city and this department.             BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (angry)

This is bullshit.

            NARRATOR
Captain Dodd takes a deep breath and

regains his composure then refills
Brady's glass and hands it to him.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Look, you're a good cop Brady, but

the booze just got the better of you.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
So I'm fucked?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
You'll be on desk duty come Monday

morning, pending a formal
investigation.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD (cont'd)
If I was you I'd think about

retiring, they ain't gonna let you
back out there again, no matter which
way the investigation goes.

            NARRATOR
Brady finishes his drink and nods
solemnly. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I appreciate you giving it to me

straight Captain.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Anytime Brady.

            NARRATOR
Brady pulls himself up out of his

chair and shakes the Captain's hand
before heading for the door.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Think I'll head out for a bit, maybe

follow up a few more leads and do
some proper police work while I still
got the chance. (laughs bitterly) Who
knows, maybe I'll find the killer,
save the girl and be a hero.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
You do that Brady. Just do me a

favour, okay? Go to that session you
got this afternoon with with that
court appointed psychiatrist. Stuff
like that goes a long way with IA.

            NARRATOR
The drive from the station is long

and tense. Brady sits in car in silence, fuming and ignoring Lee Lucas's attempts at small talk. He replays the events of the meeting with Captain Dodd over and over again in his mind, silently cursing himself for admitting to beating up that perp. Things might have been different if he'd just kept his mouth shut, but he didn't. His ego wouldn't let him. He wanted everyone to know, hell, he needed everyone to know he'd kicked the shit out of that fucking prick. But why? So he could show those spineless cops like Lee Lucas what real fucking police were all about? The last two weeks flashed before his eyes again and again and again. If only he'd just kept his mouth then shut none of this would be happening right now. 

           NARRATOR (cont'd)
9.45 am, 48 Broad Street. They arrive

at the house of the first witness.
Howard Granger. He lives across the
road from the EZ Mart. His house is a
putty shade of grey, with peeling
paint, collapsing gutters and two
windows boarded up with plywood. The
front yard is filled with rusting
junk and long crabgrass. Brady knocks
loudly on the front door, after a
minute or so it is answered by a
hunched over man with dirty grey
stubble on his cheeks and dressed in
an old blue robe. It doesn't take
more than a minute talking to him to
realize he is a hopeless drunk and
completely devoid of his senses. 'Old
Howie', as he refers to himself in
the third person, doesn't provide a
lot of useful information but he
swears he saw a dark sedan cruising
the street near the EZ Mart at the
time of the abduction. Brady and Lee
thank him for his time then walk a
few blocks to the next witness's
house.

            NARRATOR (cont'd)
10.25 am, 22 Boulder Lane. Sharon

Brown's house is two blocks south of
the EZ Mart. She lives in a well-
maintained duplex, decorated in art
deco style with a neatly clipped
front lawn and immaculately kept
shrubbery along the dive. Brady
questions Sharon Brown about what she
saw last night and she informs the
detectives that she thinks her
husband Daryl might have something to
do with the abduction and that he
mysteriously went for a drive last
night just before 10pm. Brady asks
what type of car her husband drives.
Sharon tells them it's a dark sedan.
The detectives exchange knowing
glances and ask if they can speak to
her husband. She tells them he's at
work till five-thirty but they're
free to search the house in the
meantime. The search reveals nothing
and Brady informs Sharon Brown that
he'll return this evening to talk to
her husband. The two detectives walk
back to the car in silence until Lee
Lucas clears his throat
uncomfortably.

            LEE LUCAS
Look Sarge... I heard about your

reassignment and I just wanted to say
how sorry I am.

            NARRATOR
Brady bit his lip in anger, barely

containing his temper. He needed to
do some coke, bad. His hangover felt
miserable, his head pounded and waves
of exhaustion crashed over him
relentlessly. The last thing he
needed was sympathy from this prick.
He needed to ditch Lee Lucas if he
was going to make it through the day.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (through gritted

       teeth)
Save it. I've been in worse fucking
binds than this and come out on top.
Are there any more witnesses from the
door knock we should be speaking too?

            LEE LUCAS
Not that I'm aware of.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Okay. Well, forensics said to come in

around noon, that shouldn't take two
of us. You wanna follow up this
lady's husband Daryl? Maybe pay him a
visit at work?

            NARRATOR
Lee Lucas smiles in relief. He looks

thrilled by the idea of ditching
Brady Hitchcock for the rest of the
day.

            LEE LUCAS
Sure. I've got a few other leads I

could look into too.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Let me know what you find. I'll make

my own way back to the station.

            NARRATOR
Brady watches Lee Lucas jump into the

car, gun the engine and peel off down
the street. When he has dissapeared
around the corner Brady fishes out a
vial of cocaine from his coat pocket,
taps out a generous bump in the crook
of his thumb on snorts hard. He
absent-mindedly wipes his nose as he
looks around the empty street, making
sure no one was looking then heads
back over to the crime scene.

            NARRATOR (cont'd)
11.42 am Corner of Broad Street and

Meadow Ave. Brady stands across from
the EZ Mart watching the store and
drinking from his silver flask. It’s
bitterly cold out. He closes his eyes
and listens to the rustle of leaves
in the wind. He can see Abby Robbins
walking to the EZ Mart in her red
sneakers, her nails painted in
glitter polish. Brady crosses the
road and stands in front of the lot
looking intently at the two tyre
marks, his eyes following where they
mounted the car park curb and sped
off down Meadow Ave. He follows them

            NARRATOR (cont'd)
down the quiet suburban street. The

trees are bare, everything looks grey
and dying. People look at him
suspiciously, probably still on edge
from the events of the previous
evening. He passes an unraked yard
with a lone child's toy left in a
driveway. Then he sees something just
under a shrub near the the fence
line. At first, he thinks it’s
garbage, but when he stoops down and
looks closer he sees an unopened
packet of Casino cigarettes. The same
brand Abby Robbins was sent to get
for her mother. The killer must have
tossed them out the car window after
he abducted the girl. Brady retrieves
the packet with a pen then picks it
up with an evidence bag, sealing it
carefully, hoping there's a print on
the cellophane wrapper. He looks at
his watch. It’s time to go to the lab
and see the forensic pathologist.

            NARRATOR
12.27pm, Metro Police Department

Crime Lab. Brady's nose curls at the
acrid smell of cyanoacrylate, iodine,
and ninhydrin as he enters the lab.
The room is small and feels cold and
sterile. The lab itself is well
equipped with sturdy stainless steel
workbenches and counter tops
strategically positioned around the
room, each organized meticulously
with microscopes, scales, as well as
arrays of glass beakers and other
specialized scientific equipment. Dr
Amanda Pyke is working on the far
side of the room at a fume hood, she
looks over and smiles as Brady walks
in.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
You're late Sergeant, I was beginning

to think you weren't coming in.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Sorry to keep you waiting Amanda, I

got held up by my prick of a partner.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
Lee's so sweet, why are you always so
mean to him?             BRADY HITCHCOCK
I dunno, something about him rubs me

the wrong way.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
How are you? Have you managed to

smooth things over with Heidi? Last
time we spoke things weren't going to
good.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
She's got a lawyer. I'm meeting her

at one to discuss the divorce.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
I'm so sorry Brady. I really thought

you guys were going to work it out.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Yeah well... Anyway, this is why I'm

late. Look what I found under a shrub
about a block from the EZ Mart.

            NARRATOR
Dr Amanda Pyke's eyes widen with

interest as Brady pulls out the
evidence bag and shows her the packet
of cigarettes he's found.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
Do you think this was the packet

Abby Robbins was carrying? 



BRADY HITCHCOCK
You tell me. 

            NARRATOR
Dr Pyke makes her way to one of the

workbenches where she removes the
cigarettes carefully with gloved
hands and examines it with a
magnifying glass.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
There's traces of blood here on the

packet here... Let me just dust it
quickly she if there are any
prints... yes, looks like we've got a
partial.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You serious?             DR AMANDA PYKE
Most definitely. But whether or not

it's our UNSUB or the clerks or
Abby's remains to be seen.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
When will you know?

            DR AMANDA PYKE
I can get it over to the State Police

by this afternoon. With any luck
there could be a hit in a day or two.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Can you get it any sooner?

            DR AMANDA PYKE
I could try, but I'm not promising
anything. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
That's good news, what else have you
got for me. 

            DR AMANDA PYKE
That's where the good news ends I'm

afraid. Abby Robbins was definitely
abducted by the Monster. Have a look
at this report I'm preparing for the
State Police.

            NARRATOR
Dr Amanda Pyke shows Brady a series

of close up images of Abby Robbins
severed finger.

            DR AMANDA PYKE
See, look here, these bite marks are

the same as the Rose and Langton
cases. See this denuded bone. He bit
her initially with his front
incisors. Abby must have pulled away
stripping the finger of it's tissue.
He's actually bitten her a second
time with his molars, causing all
this crushing damage and splintering
the bone.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Jesus Christ, can this day get any
worse? 

            DR AMANDA PYKE
It can’t be any worse than Abby

Robbins now can it?

            NARRATOR
Brady nods solemnly at this. That was
cold. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I guess we'll find out in the next

twelve hours, won't we.

            NARRATOR
1.07 pm Port Entrance Cafe. Brady

closes the door to the car he signed
out from the station and walks
towards the entrance of the cafe.
It's pretty here. Serene. The air
smells of brine and the wind is cold
and bracing. The little restaurant is
located in a park at the entrance to
Port Perte, the grey choppy water
stretching off beyond the breakers to
the horizon. The park is deserted
except for a group of teenagers
hanging out near the waters edge. He
recognises his daughter among them
but pretends he doesn't see her.
Brady does two big bumps of cocaine
before he musters up the courage to
go inside. His wife Heidi is sitting
at a table near the back of the cafe
looking out the window.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Hi, sorry I'm late.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
      (cold)

Did you say hello to Ellie?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
No, I... I didn't know she was here.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
She out there with those girls near
the water. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I'll go say hi in a minute. (clears

his throat nervously) Thanks for
meeting me.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
My lawyer said I don't have to speak

to you any more.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (gritted teeth)

Yeah, I know. I got his letter.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
So want do you want?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I just want to talk. Just you and me.

No lawyers, I mean fuck, how did we get to this? Lawyers? Divorce papers? I don't get it, it's you and me babe, look... I know I made some mistakes but it's almost been a year now, don't you think it's time you let me come back home? You know, give me a second chance? 

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
      (laughs ruefully)

A second chance? Brady, you used up
all your chances a long time ago. I
always knew what you were up to, I
just lied to myself and pretended I
didn't. That was my fault. I don't
blame you for that. After Ellie was
born I thought you'd change, I
thought you'd settle down and we
could become a real family. But
you're not capable of thinking about
anyone but yourself. It's always been
about you Brady. What you want. I
realized one day that I'd married the
wrong man, or at least you weren't
the man I married anymore. And I cant
live with that, and neither can
Ellie.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Babe, please. I know I...

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
      (furious)

Don't you dare call me babe. I don't
love you anymore Brady, I don't know
if I ever did. Can you understand
that? I can't live with you ever
again. Ellie doesn't need to see you
coming home drunk and on drugs,
smashing up the house and beating me
up, all because your so high and so
angry you can't tell your own life
from the horror show that's in your
head. I want a divorce Brady. I want
this to be over.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (angry)

You fucking bitch. I came here today,
ready to give you my heart, fighting
for our family...

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
Oh fuck you Brady. You’re saying

whatever you can right now to try and
get what you want. You don't care
about us, you only want me and Ellie
back because you can't have us
anymore.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (protests)

That's not true.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
Take a look at yourself Brady. I mean

really take a look at who you are.
You've never done a thing for anyone
but yourself your entire life. It's
all about you. No one else, not even
your kid. You need to change Brady,
and I hope you figure that out, I
really do, before it's too late for
you. But I'm not waiting around for
you to do it. I'm seeking full
custody of Ellie in the divorce.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (about to kill her)

The fuck you are. Nobody's taking my
baby away from me, you hear me?
Nobody.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
She doesn't want a thing to do with

you Brady. Besides, with your record,
my lawyer says that I'll get whatever
I'm asking for.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You'll get nothing. I’ve got friends
on the force.             HEIDI HITCHCOCK
      (laughing)

No you don’t. You’re a fucking joke,
a dinosaur. No one is gonna stick up
for you. You should’ve done what your
friends did, you should've retired
years ago. You could’ve made
something yourself, maybe we'd still
be together, maybe you would’ve ended
up a better person instead of the
piece of shit you are now.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (menacing)

I'd rather fucking kill you both than
see you walk away.

            SFX
Heidi Hitchcock laughs.

            NARRATOR
Heidi Hitchcock laughs at her

husband. She retrieves her bag and
removes a small tape recorder from
inside and shows it to Brady then
rewinds for a moment and presses
play.

            SFX
Tape rewinding

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (muffled voice)

...fucking kill you both than see you
walk away.

            SFX
(Sound of button clicking)

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (through gritted

       teeth)
You set me up you fucking bitch.

            HEIDI HITCHCOCK
      (laugh)

You did this to yourself. You're your
own worst enemy Brady. Sign the
divorce papers or this goes to my
lawyer and you'll never see your
daughter again.

            NARRATOR
2.09 pm, The office of Dr Dawn

Clearer PhD. The psychiatrists office
is tastefully decorated in wood and
chrome, with thick white shag
carpeting and two opposing brown
modular armchairs. Brady sits
opposite Dr Clearer, sullen and
brooding. Neither speak and only the
sound of a ticking clock fills the
void. After a minute or so Brady
shifts uncomfortably and retrieves
his cigarettes from his inside jacket
pocket.

            SFX
      (ticking clock)

            DR DAWN CLEARER
There's no smoking in my office

Sergeant Hitchcock.

            NARRATOR
Brady glares at her and sighs in

frustration before returning them to
his pocket.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
      (clearing her throat)

Well, I must say, I'm surprised to
see you here today. I didn't think
you'd be returning after our last
session.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Yeah well, it's not like I've got

much of a choice.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
Tell me Sergeant, how has work been

this past week.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (sarcastically)

Oh, it's been great, thanks for
asking. I've just been taken off the
case I've been working on for over a
year, what else, let's see, oh
yeah...

            BRADY HITCHCOCK (cont'd)
I've been busted down to desk duty
and, to top it all off, I'm facing

criminal charges for beating up that
prick that ran over that little girl.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
And how does that make you feel?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (laughs sarcastically)

Never felt better.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
You know Brady that sarcasm is really

just a thinly veiled attempt to
disguise your own feelings of hurt,
fear and anger. People often use it
as a defence mechanism, a means if
you will, of diminishing their own
feelings of vulnerability and an
unwillingness to acknowledge the
deeper underlying feelings.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (frustrated)

Jesus Christ, what a bunch of
psychobabble bullshit. I'm angry,
okay, is that what you want to hear?
I'm fucking pissed that I took a
stand against this piece of shit,
that I made sure he didn't get away
with it and that justice was served,
and no one in the department is
backing me up.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
You say that you made sure justice

was served. Do you think taking the
law into your own hands and beating
up that man was justice?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I'm a fucking police officer, I am
the law.             DR DAWN CLEARER
Surely you don't believe that, I mean

what are the courts for.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Look, you're not a cop, you don't

understand. None of you fucking
civilians understand.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
Help me understand.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
People like you exist because of

people like me. But you're too blind
to that. All of you are. Your heads
are so far up your own asses that you
can't even see what we do for you,
what we protect you from. Do you have
any idea of the things we see? Do you
have any idea what vicious fucking
animals people really are? We see
society at it's worst. The murderers
and rapists and fucking junkies and
paedophiles. The only thing that
stands between you and complete
anarchy is us, the thin blue line
between civilization and chaos. If we
didn't do what we do you wouldn't be
able to drive to your fucking mansion
on the water in your new Mercedes.
You'd be fucking raped and robbed and
murdered before you even got out of
the building. (angry) And you've got
the fucking nerve to question how I
protect you? You've got no fucking
idea what justice is lady, because
you've never seen what real injustice
is.

            DR DAWN CLEARER
And what is real injustice?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
How about a cop being persecuted for

simply doing his job? How's that?

            DR DAWN CLEARER
Is that what this is?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Try climbing down from your fucking
ivory tower sometime and seeing how

the other half live.

            NARRATOR
Brady snorts in disgust and gets up

walking to the door.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Now if you'll excuse me, I've got

some real fucking work to do.

            NARRATOR
4.32pm Gemini Cocktail Lounge. Brady

sits at the bar, seething. He
finishes the whiskey in front of him
and orders another, then makes his
way to the bathroom. After he's
relived himself he pops a quaalude,
walks over to the basin and splashes
cold water on his face. When he looks
in the mirror he hardly recognizes
his own reflection. In the yellow
light of the bathroom he looks like a
stranger to himself. His face is
drawn and waxy and hollow, like he's
wearing a mask. And behind his
sunken, haunted eyes he can see the
beast that he's become. Whatever
stares back at him from the mirror is
at best a sad approximation of the
person he used to be. How did
everything go so wrong? Was there a
moment that everything changed, some
tipping point in his life the turned
the scales from good into bad? A few
years ago he was on the fast track to
being captain. He had a wife and
child that loved him... the scene he
made at the cafe comes flooding back
to him. What the fuck did he do this
afternoon? He moans out loud and
splashes his face with water again,
hoping to erase the memory that
played itself over and over and over
again in his mind.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (memory echo)

I'd rather fucking kill you both than
see you walk away.

            NARRATOR
He can hear himself saying those

words over and over again. The look
of hatred in her eyes. She'd never
looked at him like that before. If
only he could go back and stop
himself from saying those horrible
fucking things.

            NARRATOR (cont'd)
Brady stumbles out of the bathroom

and back into the bar.
            (MORE)

            NARRATOR (cont'd)
The room's changed, it's come to life

now, there's people everywhere. He
must have been in the bathroom longer
than he thought. He sits back down on
his stool and drinks his whiskey
then slams the glass down on the bar
and orders another. The barmaid turns
and smiles for a moment then glares
at him in anger.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
No way. No fucking way. What the fuck

are you doing here?

            NARRATOR
It takes several moments for Brady to

recognize her through the whiskey fog
in his eyes. It's the barmaid from
this morning, the one he threw the
whiskey bottle at in his bedroom.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Oh... hi.             SHELIA CRAWFORD
It's Shelia you piece of shit. You
can't come in here. You're banned.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Says who? 

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (calls out loudly)

Robbie. That guys back. The one who
attacked me this morning.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
What the fuck are you talking about?

I didn't attack you.

            NARRATOR
Robbie Crawford, the owner of the

Gemini Lounge comes out of the back
office. He looks angry, homicidal
even. He is tall and solid with a
boxers face that looks like it is
made of smeared clay. In his hand he
holds a baseball bat.

            ROBBIE CRAWFORD
Get out of here Brady. You ain't

welcome in my bar no more.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Get the fuck out of here, I've been
coming to the Gemini for ten years.

            ROBBIE CRAWFORD
I'm asking you nice... leave now. I

don't want to, but I'll put you on
your ass if I have to Brady.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (laughing)

Are you fucking serious? All cause I
fucked your barmaid?

            ROBBIE CRAWFORD
      (angry)

That's my sister you're
disrespecting. You got till the count
of ten to get out of here before I
call your cop friends to come get
you.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (shouts)

The fuck you will!

            NARRATOR
Brady picks up his glass and hurls it

at the bar shattering several bottles
and the mirror behind. The loud smash
causes everyone in the bar to
abruptly stop talking and turn
around.

            SFX
      (glass smashing)

            ROBBIE CRAWFORD
      (shouting)

That's it, get the fuck out Brady. I
don't ever want to see your face in
here again.

            NARRATOR
7.46 pm Port Perte Metro Police

Station. Brady makes his way into the
bullpen, his heart still pounding
from the coke he did out in the
carpark. The office is quiet. Most of
the detectives are in the briefing
room and Brady can see Captain Dodd
in his office talking on the phone.
As soon as Dodd sees Brady walk in he
slams down the phone and storms out
of his office towards him.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Where the fuck have you been?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
What do you mean? I've been working.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
You were supposed to be finished up

with the fucking head doctor at
three. It's eight o'clock at night.
You were supposed to be here to help
brief the state police for the
handover, goddammit. I've been
looking for you for hours.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I'm sorry, look, I was busy following

up some leads.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
You're the lead detective on this
case Brady.             BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (ruefully)
Was the lead detective. I'm on a desk come Monday remember?             CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Jesus Christ, a little girls life is
on the line and that's all you've got
to say?

            NARRATOR
Brady remains silent. He drops his

eyes and shifts uncomfortably.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
You're fucking lucky Detective Lucas

was here to cover you. You be sure to
thank him when he gets back from his
dinner break.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (mumbles

       sarcastically)
Yeah, I'll get right on that.

            NARRATOR
Captain Dodd hears Brady's smart ass

quip and glares at him, noticing his
bloodshot eyes, grey skin and
dripping nose with what looks like
white powder crusted around it.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
What the fuck is that?

            NARRATOR
He motions to Brady's nose and stares

at him in disbelief.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (low angry tone)

Are you fucking high?

            NARRATOR
Brady wipes his nose and sniffs
loudly. 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
It's allergies, swear to god.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Allergies. You're fucking

unbelievable Brady. Alright well,
hopefully your coherent enough to
understand what I'm about to tell
you. I just got off the phone with
the prosecutor. James Bailey just
handed himself down at South Port
Command, two hours ago.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Who the fuck is James Bailey?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
He's John Bailey's son. The guy you
beat within an inch of his life for

that hit and run.
            (MORE)

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD (cont'd)
James Bailey just confessed to

stealing his father's car with some
of his friends and hitting that poor
girl.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
You're kidding, right?

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Do I look like I'm fucking with you?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (freaked out)

I didn't know, I mean...

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Their gonna throw the fucking book at

you Brady. The Mayor wants you gone
right now, he flat out said it on the
phone ten minutes ago. If you weren't
so close with the chief of police,
you'd already be suspended from
active duty.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Look Captain, John Bailey did it, I

know it. His son's probably covering
for him...

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Why? Why the fuck would his son do
that? 

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
I don't know... so they can sue the
city... 

            NARRATOR
Captain Dodd shakes his head sadly

and claps him on the shoulder.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
I'd contact your union rep if I was
you Brady, see about getting a good
lawyer. 

            NARRATOR
Brady feels like he's falling.

Fucking criminal charges. He could
end up in jail. All cause he just
tried to...

            NARRATOR (cont'd)
Just then Tara Barker the police

receptionist buzzes in on the
intercom.

            SFX
      (intercom buzz)

            TARA BARKER
Sergeant Hitchcock, I've got a call

for you on line 6.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Not now... I'm busy.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Tara, this is Captain Dodd. I really

don't think now is a good time...

            TARA BARKER
      (scared)

I think it's the killer sir, the
Monster. He's on the phone. He's
asked to speak to Sergeant Hitchcock
sir.

            NARRATOR
The entire precinct seems to stop and

look over in the direction of the
phone.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Are you up to this?

            NARRATOR
Brady nods. Captain Dodd looks over

at Captain Gibson and State Police
Officer Stone who is manning the
tracing equipment they've set up on
the precincts line. They give the
thumbs up.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Remember, you have to keep him on the

line for as long as you can.

            NARRATOR
Brady walks over to the phone. He

looks at the small, white blinking
light and thinks of the madness
waiting for him on the other end. He
takes a deep breath and puts line 6
on speaker.

HITCHCOCK
   

            THE MONSTER
      (heavy breathing on

       the phone.)            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Hello?        terrifying voice)
I've done it again.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
This is Sergeant Brady Hitchcock of

the Port Perte Metro Police. Identify
yourself.

            THE MONSTER
      (heavy breathing on
the phone.)             BRADY HITCHCOCK
Do you have the girl?

            THE MONSTER
      (deranged and

       terrifying voice)
Do you know what happens to naughty
children?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Is Abby Robbins alright?

            THE MONSTER
      (deranged and

       terrifying voice)
They get punished.

            NARRATOR
Brady glances over at the officer

tracing the call. He makes stretching
motions with his hand.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Where is Abby?

    

            THE MONSTER
      (deranged and

     terrifying voice)
They get punished till they can't
see. And they can't hear. And they
can't lie... anymore.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Please, just tell us where she is. We

just want to help her.

            THE MONSTER
      (deranged and

       terrifying voice)
You can't help her... no one can.
She’s in the water now.

            SFX
      (dead phone sound)

            NARRATOR
Brady's heart sinks as the line goes

dead. He looks over at Officer Stone
hoping he managed to trace his
location.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Did we get him?

            NARRATOR
Officer Stone shakes his head.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
      (angry)

Goddammit! I want every available
officer on the streets in fifteen
minutes. Let's see if we can catch
this son of a bitch before he dumps
the body.

            NARRATOR
10.03 pm Port Perte, Orleigh Park.

The call came over the radio at a
quarter to ten that the body of Abby
Robbins had been found at Orleigh
Park, washed up on the shore of Port
Perte. A couple walking home along
the water after going to the movies
saw a black plastic bag floating in
the water near the seawall. When they
got it to shore and opened it up they
called the police. Both of them were
now receiving treatment at the
hospital because of what they saw.
Brady stands alone, watching from
afar as a swarm of state police
examine the little girl in the black
plastic bag. He had already seen what
was left of Abby Robbins. The killer
had taken his time with her. It was
much worse than the other victims.
Brady takes a long drink from his hip
flask as Captain Dodd walks over and
stands beside him. Brady offers him a
belt which the Captain readily
accepts.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
Anything? 

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
No one saw a thing. He could have

dropped that bag in the water
anywhere.

            NARRATOR
Brady shakes his head and sighs
deeply. 

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Look Brady, about before...

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
It's alright Captain. It's been a
long time coming. Think I'll head

home, try and get some sleep.

            CAPTAIN FRANK DODD
Yeah, you do that Brady. There's

nothing any of us can do for her now.

            NARRATOR
12.15pm Brady Hitchcock’s Apartment.

Brady sits on his couch, TV blaring
and a vodka bottle in his hand, a
baggie of heroin, a burnt spoon and a
loaded syringe on the coffee table
before him. Tears stain his face and
he wipes his cheeks before tying off
his arm with his belt. Why the fuck
was this happening to him. Where did
everything go so wrong? The days
events play over and over again in
his head, his mind reliving every
excruciating detail till he feels
like he is going to scream. He thinks
about his wife and what she is doing
to him and the department and what
it's going to do to him and he weeps,
slurring drunkenly how he doesn't
deserve any of this, how unfair it is
that these terrible things are
happening to him. When a report about
Abby Robbins murder comes on the news
he picks up an ashtray and hurls it
at the TV, smashing the screen in a
shower of sparks and glass. Where did
it all go wrong he thinks to himself
as he gulps down the last of the
vodka. Why is this happening to me?

            SFX
(sound of a tape rewinding)

            SFX (cont'd)
      (sound of alarm
ringing) 

            NARRATOR
7.10 am, Brady Hitchcock’s Apartment.

Brady Hitchcock woke as if still in a
dream. He opens his bloodshot eyes
and peers blearily at the blaring
alarm clock on his bedside table.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (croaky voice)

Jesus fucking Christ.(groans). What
time is it?

            NARRATOR
He reaches over and slams his hand

down hard on the top of the alarm.

            SFX
      (alarm sound stops)

            NARRATOR
Brady lies in his bed letting the

sickly waves of his hangover wash
over him. He considers closing his
eyes and going back to sleep then
remembers he has to go to work.
Slowly, he sits up and swings his
legs over the side of the bed,
ignoring the ruin of his head
screaming in protest. His bedroom is
a disaster. The bedside and the floor
are littered with empty beer cans,
dirty clothes and a quarter-filled
bottle of whiskey. The remnants of an
8-ball of cocaine are spilled across
the top of his dresser. He tries to
stand up and feels his stomach lurch.
His alcoholic hands already shaking
for a drink. Brady reaches down and
grabs the bottle of whiskey, twisting
off the lid and chugging. It's not
till he's almost finished the bottle
that he notices the woman in the bed
beside him. Brady recognises her.
She's the barmaid from the Gemini.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (sleepily)

Mmmm... good morning.

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (in fear)

What are you doing here?

            NARRATOR
Sheila ignores his rude tone and

stretches seductively across the bed,
letting the sheets slip down across
her naked body.

            SHELIA CRAWFORD
      (seductively)

It's so early. Why don't you come
back to bed?

            BRADY HITCHCOCK
      (screams in terror)

Jesus Christ.. what the fuck is
happening?

         THEME MUSIC RISES

            BARON SORDOR
      (evil laughter)

Oh my, my, my... what confounding
conundrum has befallen or brave hero?
Has he lost his mind or become
trapped in the infernal circle of
eternal return? Will Brady Hitchcock
save young Abby Robbins from her
watery grave or curse her to an
eternal hell in the gruesome clutches
of the Monster? Only time will tell.
I trust you have enjoyed your evening
my most valued audience, sadly
though, we have come to the end of
the first part of our story. While
I'm sure you are eager to continue we
must, for the moment at least, say
goodbye. So please, bolster your
spirit and be sure to join us next
time for part 2 of The Infernal
Circle of Eternal Return at Baron
Sordor's Theatre of the Doomed.