INT. BATHROOM STALL
A middle-aged man, MICK, sits on the closed toilet seat, looking down at his hands. Cut to his point of view; in one hand, an unlabeled orange bottle filled with white pills. In the other, a rocks glass of brown liquor – a double, neat. Cut to his face, contemplative and sad. Resignation. He grimaces. He takes the glass and clicks it together with the pill bottle.
MICK
Well then. Cheers.
Mick puts the orange bottle to his lips and tilts it back, shaking out all the pills. Just then, the bathroom door SLAMS open, the sound of PANTING and RUNNING FOOTSTEPS, then the sound of VOMITING and RAGGED BREATHING. Mick’s expression becomes puzzled as he tilts the orange bottle forward and lets the pills fall out of his mouth back into it, spitting out the last couple indelicately. He stands, puts the bottle in his jacket pocket, and shoots the brown liquor in one gulp, leaving the rocks glass on the toilet paper holder.
He opens the stall door and we see a wide shot of the bathroom – dingy, outdated, with graffiti and stickers on all the surfaces. A dive bar’s bathroom.
A young man, DECLAN, barely in his twenties, stands at the sink, splashing water in his face as he regains his breath. He’s sweating through the armpits of his button-down shirt, half-tucked into his khakis. He wears a brown belt and inexpensive black dress shoes – reminiscent of a teenager dressing up (poorly) for their first job interview. He doesn’t notice Mick; his eyes are closed and he’s muttering.
DECLAN
I can’t do it. I can’t.
MICK
You alright buddy?
Declan visibly jumps, startled, and spins around, before trying to regain his composure.
DECLAN
Oh! Yeah, heh, sure. I’m fine. Just needed… a minute.
Mick eyes him skeptically, then shrugs and moves to the next sink over, washing his hands. Declan takes some paper towels and wipes his face and neck, then hands some to Mick, who looks him up and down.
MICK
Thanks.
Mick uses the towel to open the door, catches it with his foot, and throws the balled-up paper in the trash. Declan watches him go.
CUT TO: BAR – INTERIOR – NIGHT
It’s dark except for neon signs and televisions broadcasting sports silently. There are a few other guests in groups of two or three, but it’s not busy. Mick takes a seat alone at the end of the bar. He nods at the bartender.
MICK
One more, Tam.
The bartender, TAM, smirks at him as she lines up another rocks glass.
TAM
I thought the last one was the last one.
MICK
Me too.
(He pauses, then says, quietly)
Me too.
Declan exits the bathroom, the swinging door BANGING against the wall and drawing attention from everyone except Mick. The kid looks around, embarrassed.
DECLAN
Sorry.
Nobody responds, they just go back to their business. Declan walks awkwardly over to the bar, unsure if he should stand or sit. He decides on a midway point that’s more of a lean with his elbow on the bar. Tam sits the glass of whiskey in front of Mick, then turns to the boy.
TAM
Whatcha drinking, hun?
DECLAN
Oh, uh, a beer please.
TAM
Well, we have a lot of beers. What do you like?
(She gestures to the tap handles on the back wall.)
Declan, in a mild panic:
DECLAN
Hm, yeah. Um.
(He scans the bottles on the wall, then settles his eyes on Mick, who is sipping his drink.)
What are you drinking?
MICK
Chocolate milk, on the rocks.
TAM
(scoffing)
It’s just whiskey, hun. And not the good stuff.
DECLAN
Sure, I’ll have that. Thanks.
(He adjusts himself on the seat, sitting properly and getting more comfortable. He lets out a sigh. The bartender hesitates, perhaps thinking of carding him, perhaps thinking of warning him against the swill he’s ordered – but she thinks better of it and goes to make the drink.)
Cut to a close up of the TV, where the chyron reads, “6.3 magnitude earthquake 200 miles off the coast of Rhode Island shocks scientists.”
DECLAN
(watching the screen, terrified)
Shit, not already, shit shit…
MICK
Relax, we’re not that close to the ocean, we’ll be fine.
DECLAN
(distractedly)
Yeah.
(The bartender hands him his drink.)
Thanks.
(He takes a big sip, then shakes his head, nearly spitting it out before forcing himself to swallow and exhaling, his eyes watering.)
MICK
(chuckling)
Should’ve gone with chocolate milk.
Declan looks back at Mick, sets his jaw, and finishes the drink, putting the glass down with purpose. Mick nods, his eyebrows raised in mock approval.
MICK
What’s your name, kid?
DECLAN
Declan. You?
MICK
Mick. You in trouble, Declan?
Declan, looking at the television and thinking for a beat:
DECLAN
We all are, I reckon.
MICK
Ain’t that the truth.
(He finishes his glass. Tam holds up the bottle. Mick shakes his head no. Tam points at the mini fridge. Mick nods and holds up two fingers. Tam gets two Budweisers from the fridge, twists the tops off, and brings them over. Mick slides one over to Declan.)
Chaser?
DECLAN
(taking a swig)
Thanks.
MICK
Haven’t seen you here before. Here for the big New Year’s party?
DECLAN
(looking around)
There’s a party happening here?
MICK
Sure! Well, it’s early. It’ll pick up. Maybe.
DECLAN
Oh. Anyways it’s my first time here. First time in a bar, actually.
(He snickers and then stops himself with another sip from his beer.)
MICK
(feigning shock)
You don’t say.
DECLAN
My family would be very angry if they knew I was here. If they knew I was drinking. Alcohol, I mean.
MICK
Your secret is safe with me, kid.
Declan, after a moment:
DECLAN
You, uh, come here often?
MICK
Coming on to me, son?
DECLAN
No! I… just making conversation. Sorry.
MICK
I’m fucking with you. I’m here on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tam’s one of the good ones, and those are her shifts.
(Tam shoots Mick a big grin and does a faux curtsey.)
DECLAN
You drink every Tuesday and Thursday?
MICK
No, I drink HERE every Tuesday and Thursday. Mondays and Wednesdays have two dollar drafts at the Hare and Dog, so you can find me there. Weekends the bars are for amateurs so I stick to the club on those nights.
Declan, perking up:
DECLAN
What kind of club?
MICK
(chuckling)
Not the chess club, anyways.
(He sips his drink, leaving Declan to wonder what he means. After a few moments, he continues.)
You busted in here like a bat out of hell. Running from your family?
DECLAN
How’d you guess?
MICK
A man only moves like that when he’s got the law or his mama on his ass, and you don’t seem like the trouble-making type. What’s she ornery about?
DECLAN
There’s something I have to do. And I don’t want to do it.
MICK
Fuck ‘em then. You’re old enough to make your own decisions.
DECLAN
(sadly)
Yeah. Maybe.
Just then the sound of BELLS can be heard, and the camera cuts to the door of the bar opening, remaining open, and then closing, with nobody coming or going. The patrons’ conversations die down as they look to the door.
TAM
That was weird.
Mick stands up and walks over to the door, looks out. Exterior shot of the bar; there are no people besides Mick in the doorway. He opens the door and closes it, does it again, checking the resistance. He shrugs and walks back to his seat, removing his leather jacket.
MICK
Must’ve been a ghost. What is with this weather, must be eighty degrees out there in the middle of winter?
Mick throws his coat on the stool next to him and the bottle of pills rolls out, hitting the ground noisily and rolling under Declan’s stool. Declan gets the pill bottle and looks at it before handing it back to Mick.
DECLAN
You sick?
MICK
Naw, I’m fine.
DECLAN
Are those…
(he speaks in a whisper)
…recreational? I’ve never done it before but I could use something to…
MICK
Damn son, you’re going full Rumspringa on me. No, these aren’t for fun, these are my ejection seat.
DECLAN
Ejection seat?
MICK
This aircraft has been in a tailspin for a long time now. A handful of these and I’m out of the cockpit and into the clouds.
Declan, eyes getting wide:
DECLAN
You mean… you’d kill yourself?
MICK
I prefer my analogy but sure, if you want to be crude about it.
DECLAN
But, why?
MICK
You live a life like mine long enough, you start running out of reasons why not.
DECLAN
What about…
(he looks over his shoulder)
Hell?
MICK
Oh, Declan. Hell is my empty apartment. Hell is waking up alone and wishing I could go back to the nightmare I was having instead. Death isn’t hell, it’s an escape from it.
(He looks down at his empty glass.)
Just like this little guy.
(He holds up the glass, shakes it at Tam, who nods and goes to fetch the whiskey bottle.)
Been doing it the slow way for years now, ‘bout time I help it along.
Declan, at a loss for words, looks at his hands around his beer bottle. Finally, he speaks quietly.
DECLAN
I wish I saw it that way.
MICK
Pardon?
DECLAN
It would be so much easier. But I love life. I love people and I love food and I love the feeling of the sun on my neck. I love the shape of old cars and the smell of my dog. I guess I love beer now, and even the burning of the whiskey in my throat. I could live a thousand years and never get sick of experiencing things. And I’m worried. I’m worried that when it’s over… that’s it. No more experiences. Not even the cold and the dark of a starless night – just nothing. Forever.
MICK
You won’t feel the nothing. You won’t feel the forever. It’ll be like before you were born, do you remember that?
DECLAN
No, of course not.
MICK
Exactly. Y’know, there are moths that come out of their cocoon without mouths – no way to eat. They have whatever energy is left from when they ate as a caterpillar, and they use that to try to reproduce as quickly as possible, and then, whether they succeed or not, that’s it. Do you think they ponder their own existence? Mourn for the life they could have had, if only they could eat and shit? No. We are the only creatures stupid enough to worry about eternity. Our big dumb brains are a curse.
DECLAN
But those same brains can appreciate art. Listen to beautiful music. Feel love…
MICK
And what is all that worth, at the end of the day? We don’t get points for how much we enjoyed ourselves when we were still conscious. There’s no scoring system waiting for us on the other side.
DECLAN
Well, you don’t know that.
MICK
Ugh, don’t start with the religious bullshit. When you hang around these places long enough you get sick to death of debating the same old arguments about God. Eternal sleep would be worth it to never have to talk about Russell’s Teapot and the Question of Evil another god damned time.
DECLAN
Alright, alright. We have different views on the matter, we can leave it at that. Anyways, what you’re saying is actually helping me.
MICK
(scoffing)
What? How is that possible?
Declan considers if he should speak, then he does:
DECLAN
You said you could keep a secret?
MICK
Kid, I got nobody to share a secret with even if I wanted to.
DECLAN
Right. Well. I’m supposed to be dead right about now.
MICK
(trying to put the pieces together)
You survive cancer or something?
DECLAN
No, not like that.
(He reaches into his satchel and pulls out a long, ornamental dagger. He puts it on the bar top. Mick starts to reach for it.)
DECLAN
DON’T… don’t touch it. It’s not safe.
(He picks it up and puts it gently back in his satchel.)
MICK
What the hell is that for?
DECLAN
Me.
(He points at his chest, right at his heart, and looks down.)
It’s my ejection seat, I guess.
MICK
(incredulous)
What are you talking about? Why would you hurt yourself, kid? You were just getting all poetic about the sun and your dog’s farts or some shit.
DECLAN
Well, you’ll have to forgive me, but I’ll need to discuss religion again.
MICK
Go on.
DECLAN
I’m the fifth son of the fifth son in the line of Adonijah. It’s my destiny to sacrifice my life for the good of this plane of existence, just as my great-uncle did, and his did before him. Our line goes back thousands of years, and if just one of us broke the chain, that would be it. For everyone.
MICK
(laughing)
Ohh! You’re fucking with me. That’s fucking funny, Declan. Damn! I owe you a shot for that.
(Mick looks up for Tam)
DECLAN
(morose)
I wish I were. I’ll take that shot though. I got away to buy some time… to get some liquid courage, I guess. I’m not as strong as my ancestors.
(Declan starts to sob).
MICK
Hey, hey kid.
(He puts an arm around him).
Hey, you don’t have to do that. There’s no apocalypse scenario. It’s all bullshit, you’re in some psycho death cult and I’m going to help you get out. Don’t worry, shh, shh, we’re alright…
Just then, the windows of the bar start to EXPLODE, one by one, around the whole building. People SCREAM and duck under their tables. Declan stays seated, crying quietly to himself. Mick raises up carefully from his hiding spot under his stool.
DECLAN
Must be almost midnight, huh.
MICK
(shouting)
Are we being shot at?!
DECLAN
No. That’s Him. He wants his sacrifice.
Declan stands up and finishes his drink, steeling himself.
DECLAN
You’re right. There’s just nothing. Like before I was born.
MICK
No, Declan, that’s wrong, you have everything to live for. Listen to me. I don’t know what is going on with the windows…
(Just then, the power goes out in the bar and the juke box turns on, blaring the guitar solo from “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult. People start running away, Tam grabs a shotgun from under the bar. Declan reaches into his bag.)
MICK
Son, I’m not going to let you do anything stupid. None of the shit going on here has anything to do with you and that knife of yours. Let’s just get another drink and ride this out.
Declan doesn’t stop, so Mick does the only thing he can think of: he punches Declan in the face. Declan looks at him, at first shocked, and then it’s like he’s coming out of a trance. The lights come back on in the bar and the juke box stops playing. The room is quiet.
MICK
I’m sorry, kid. It’s just… I was wrong. Don’t let my sad sack nihilism infect you. Maybe there’s nothing on either side of this existence, but that just makes it all the more important to keep this tiny stretch of experiences going as long as fucking possible. Right? For good or bad, if we can’t feel things after, we should feel them while we still can.
Declan, smiling, eyes welling up with tears:
DECLAN
I’m glad to hear you say that, Mick. Hug?
On the television, the New Year’s ball is dropping and large neon numbers start counting down 10… 9…
MICK
Ah. What the hell.
The two embrace. The smile on Mick’s face quickly turns to shock, and he looks down, backing away. Declan has the dagger between them, the handle pointing towards Mick – his body weight drove the dagger into Declan’s chest, and blood runs down his stomach.
MICK
No… kid! No! Tam, call an ambulance!
DECLAN
This was for you. Don’t waste it, Mick.
Declan collapses, Mick frantically fussing over him, unsure of how to help. The camera pulls out, wider and wider, showing the bar, the town, then the next town over, then the harbor, then the ocean, where an enormous mass of tentacles, barely visible among the waves in the darkness, lowers itself back into the depths of the sea, to wait…
END