918 - Selby's intro tells us that now, with Paul incapable of struggle, the members of Barnabas' cult must deal with still another member of the household who is dangerous to them.
In the hallway outside Paul's room, Liz tells David, Paul is almost asleep--don't worry, Mrs. Johnson won't leave him until he's completely asleep--there'll be no more danger from HIM, exults Liz. Barnabas said you did well, praises David--he also said you are to leave him here and not move him until Barnabas tells you to. Whatever he says, agrees Liz Julia. Another reminder, says David sternly--Julia Hoffman is YOUR responsibility--what are you going to do about it? Liz smiles and says, "Kill her." David grins, too, delight in his eyes.
Drawing room - 5:50 PM - Julia, worried, sits reading the newspaper--nothing in the papers about sudden, horrible death, or a sighting of a mysterious animal... She gazes into the fireplace--whatever Quentin did last night, no one knows about it yet--but someone has to know something...she closes the double doors and heads for the phone to call Olivia--did Grant come in at all last night? Perhaps he's in his room right now. Olivia promises to check and call her back. He's got to be in his room, Julia tells herself. She sits on the sofa and picks up the newspaper. Liz, a golden bag on her arm, checks to see if Julia is there. Liz takes a gun from the bag and cocks it, preparing to get rid of her enemy. The phone rings; Julia answers--Grant hasn't returned yet, reports Olivia. I'd appreciate knowing when he does, says Julia, and hangs up. He hasn't come back. Because he COULDN'T, ruminates Julia, because the full moon turned him into an animal with no mind, memory--just the need to kill. When I saw his room in a shambles, I knew, but if it did, Tate's portrait of him didn't have the power I thought, and if that's true, how will I help Chris at all? Liz enters, reaching into the bag for the gun. Is something the matter, Julia? asks Liz. Something is wrong, agrees the redhead, but I don't want to discuss it now. Have you stopped confiding in me because you find me unsympathetic about Michael? asks Liz. You weren't that, says Julia, it's just... What, then? asks Liz. I found you a little short-sighted, admits Julia. Are you aware that Paul asked Stokes to take him to the police last night? asks Liz. No, says Julia. Stokes phoned me, of course, says Liz. I wish I could help Paul, says Julia. Liz starts to reach in the bag for the gun again, but stops, and says, I wish that, too, but he absolutely refuses; he's terrified of you. He's afraid of a lot of things, says Julia--I believe the root of his terror lies in the antique shop--I will find out what it is, and perhaps I can help. Liz once again reaches into the bag for the gun, drawing it out.
Julia's back is turned away from Liz, who points the gun at her back, but suddenly returns it to the bag. Are you all right? Julia asks. I just remembered something, says Liz. She closes the door and puts a hand to her head, looking dazed. David appears on the stairs, gazing angrily at his aunt, his arms crossed. I kept remembering the things Julia had said and done for us, murmurs Liz--I couldn't bring myself to do it. I see, says David unsympathetically. Do you? asks Liz plaintively--then tell me what to do. David tells Elizabeth, the book is here, it can give you strength to put the past from your mind and think only of the time to come--the book is here to guide us. The two of them retreat upstairs. Julia pours a stiff drink. An angry Chris bursts in--I got tired of my cage at Windcliff, he complains--I have different plans for tonight--we are paying a visit to Tate--I can't be both man and animal! he shouts. I wish I hadn't given you this hope, says Julia--although I believe it exists, Tate isn't the answer, he isn't capable of helping anyone--forget him and go back to Windcliff--sooner or later, I'll have an answer for you and Quentin. "Quentin and me," says Chris sarcastically, "if he IS Quentin!" He is, says Julia--I have learned that much--Grant Douglas disappeared last night, and no one knows what he is or he has done. "Grant Douglas least of all," says Chris, furious--the spirit of Jenny Collins told me to find Quentin and I'd be all right--perhaps I should just forget about that, too. Not necessarily, says Julia--for a while, Quentin did overcome the werewolf curse, and perhaps, when he regains his memory, he'll know something that can help. You don't believe that, Julia, accuses Chris, you say maybe he has overcome the werewolf curse--in fact, you're terrified he hasn't overcome anything at all, not now, anyway. You're right, she admits, I am terrified--if only I knew where he was!
Olivia's room - Grant returns, in a complete state of dishabille, calling to Olivia. He takes a drink and sinks into a chair, face bruised, his chest revealed through his blue shirt and vest.
David looks at the snakes in the Leviathan book and seems to fall into an orgasmic trance, breathing heavily. To Liz, he reads, "For the people of Leviathan, all others are enemies, but the enemies of Leviathan must not die by the hand of Leviathan, only their own kind, themselves can end their existence on the earth if they have stolen from the people of Leviathan. In that way, their spirits shall not return to war against us." Liz asks what that means. That you're a true Leviathan, says David
--something inside of you kept you from killing Julia, from disobeying the book. No, says Liz, not true--I wasn't thinking of the book, or Leviathan, I was thinking of her, and our friendship. No, denies David vehemently, you were thinking of Leviathan--you knew if you killed her, her spirit would come back to war against us, and you knew that because you are one of us--we do not kill because the spirit of a dead enemy is more dangerous than the enemy himself--it's all in the book, Aunt Liz, everything we must know and do is in this book.
Grant awakens in his chair. Finding the booze bottle empty, he opens another and takes a drink. Julia enters and finds him. It's you! she cries. Sarcastically, he calls her brilliant. You weren't in your room all night, says Julia. Equally brilliant, he says. Where were you? she asks. He becomes peevish and asks, are you my doctor or my keeper? He continues slurping down the booze. Do I have to check in with you every night? he shouts--stop staring at me, I'm not an animal in a cage! No, agrees, Julia, you're not that, and whatever happened wasn't your fault. It WAS my fault, insists Grant, I didn't have to hit the guy. Who did you hit? she asks. Last night, I got into a fight at the High Hat Lounge, says Grant--a guy was staring at the girl I was with. "You were at the High Hat Lounge in Portland last night?" demands Julia. Unless they moved it, says Grant, still drinking. What were you doing there? she asks. I went to try to find out what I could about Grant Douglas, he says--I didn't find out much--I seem to be a pretty solitary fellow, but I did find out a few things about Frederick Thorn--I kept asking questions--a guy recognized the locker key I had, so he sent me to the right storage house. I found what I put in the locker--he hands Julia a large envelope. She takes out the contents. I'll save you trouble and time, says Grant--there were desperate letters from some girl wanting to know why Thorn abandoned her so quickly, a driver's license, which clearly showed he didn't intend to drive anymore--he was born in 1942, and there was a photograph cut from a newspaper of Olivia Corey--why, doctor, he asks, WHY? Julia shrugs--I don't know--are you sure you went to the Lounge? "Am I sure?" shouts Grant--"Where in God's name do you think I was?--and what do you think I was doing?--what do you suspect I doing, or should I say Quentin Collins?--what kind of a guy is this Collins to make you run in here like there was no tomorrow?--well, come on!--come on, doctor, stand up and tell me!--well, what's the matter?--did the fact that I got in a fight last night change the image you have of me?--is that it?" Nothing has changed my image of you, says Julia, thrusting the papers back into his hand and hurriedly leaving. We see Olivia's picture. Grant takes another swig of booze.
Collinswood - Julia, on the phone, tells Chris Grant WAS at the High Hat Lounge and got into a fight last night. So, says Chris, he isn't a werewolf, at least not now. It's strange, says Julia--they seem to accept him so naturally as Grant. But Julia, if he isn't, says Chris...
The portrait worked, finishes Julia, so it still exists! They gaze at each other, hope renewed. Chris gives her an adorable smile.
Grant is still drinking, staggering, when Chris comes to his hotel room. He asks Grant his help--I'm desperate--will you help me? "Are you sure you haven't been dipping into the whiskey supply?" asks Grant drunkenly--"You wouldn't be the only one." I'm sober and perfectly serious, Chris assures him--I want you to come along and meet Charles Delaware Tate, an old recluse painter. Grant pours another drink and asks, what difference would my being there make?--I don't even know who this guy is. He knows Quentin Collins, explains Chris. Grant balls a fist and says, I've had enough of Quentin Collins to last me 10 lifetimes!!--I don't need to hear anymore about him from some decrepit old hermit. Chris dangles the bait, "Not even if it helps you to find out who you are--or don't you care?" I care, says Grant--I want to know more than I want anything in this world, but I'm not Quentin Collins! Laughing, Grant says, I'll go with you, if it will help you to get in, I'll claim I'm Quentin. OK, says Chris, because when we get there, I want to do the talking.
We see Barnabas' foyer portrait. Liz tells David, I failed him--he told me to deal with Julia, and I haven't. David, arms crossed on his chest, assures her, you will, when the time is right. I wish I knew when that was, says Liz. You will, David says, I must go to see Barnabas and make sure he isn't angry with you. Liz watches David leave, then looks up at Barnabas' portrait.
The speaker outside Tate's home orders Grant and Chris to go away. You'll see me, insists Grant, because I am Quentin Collins. The door opens; the two men enter. Tate sits in the same chair. Don't come any closer, he orders--I want to take a good look at you--liar! cries Tate, you are not Quentin Collins--you are a young man. So are you, says Grant, who turns to Chris and says, "I thought you told me he was old." Yes, old in years, says Tate, but there are ways of remaining young, if one has true genius, and one is a true artist--isn't that right, Quentin?--you see, I call you Quentin because you are merely another example of my genius. You know him? asks Grant--do you think I'm Quentin? How could I ever forget you? demands Tate--you took Amanda Harris from me! Who is that? Grant asks.
Tate lets loose with one of his ugly chuckles. What's the matter, why are you laughing? demands Grant. Tate asks if true love... STOP IT! shouts Grant. I always knew she was a fool, chortles Tate. Grant picks up and tosses something at Tate, trying to stop the awful laughter. It appears Tate's head has been knocked right off his body. Grant covers his ears, unable to blot out the hideous laughter. Even though Chris tries to stop him, Grant takes off, rushing from the house. Chris stares in horror as Tate falls forward onto his desk. His head appears to come off, rolling towards Chris, who picks it up. Tate's eyes are wide and staring...
NOTES: Definitely a creepy scene the first time around, when Tate lost his head. Loved Selby playing drunk and Julia's realization that he didn't turn into a werewolf the previous night, but was just in a mundane bar fight.
I think Liz was right when she said she couldn't kill Julia because of her feelings for her, rather than the Leviathan connection. Julia has done a great deal for Liz and the entire family; and there have to be residual feelings for this special doctor.
Chris and Quentin are related, although Grant doesn't know it yet. This is really a startling thing, considering they're about the same age. Cool!
919/20/21 - Chris stares into the dead eyes of the fake head of Tate (they did show Roger Davis' real head, and that looked very creepy, but the dummy head just looked...dumb). This isn't real, says Chris, stepping forward and affixing the dummy's head to the dummy's body. "All right, I know you're in here," says Chris--I'm not leaving until I find you. He searches the room, finally finding the real Tate sobbing behind a curtain (a comparison of this whole business to WIZARD OF OZ is inevitable). This man is ancient, his face a mass of craggy hills and valleys. Tate died years ago, he tells Chris--because *I* killed him when he got old and ugly, and I made a new Tate who was young and handsome--and now, he says, gazing at the "dead" dummy and taking the head into his arms, "He's gone, too." Tate sobs. No one is gone, says Chris--this thing is a creation, and you know it. My creation--and you destroyed him--you destroyed him! cries Tate--why did I let you in?--go away! I can't--not yet, says Chris. I have jewels and money, offers Tate. I don't want your money, says Chris--I want you to paint my portrait, the way you did Quentin's--I know about that, about how it solved for Quentin the awful agony of the full moon! Then you're a...begins Tate. That's right, I'm a werewolf, admits Chris, who grabs Tate's lapels and gets right in his face--and you're going to start painting right now and not stop until you finish. I can't paint anything, protests Tate softly, if I'm imprisoned. He releases himself from Chris' grasp. Chris apologizes--I've been searching for an answer for so long, I'm desperate. I know that, says Tate, but I'm no answer. Not true, says Chris. I can paint, but it won't help you, insists Tate--that was before, many years ago, there was a power, a force. I don't believe that, insists Chris. Only because you don't want to, says Tate--everything I've told you is true--you can leave this house, leave now, says Tate, or I'll set my dogs on him. You've got to try, begs Chris. I can't paint and I'm not going to, says Tate. And I told you you ARE, insists Chris, grabbing him away from what looks like an old intercom on the wall--is it used to call somebody in the house, or your dogs--whatever it is, it won't work until you do that painting--and Chris yanks the wires out, rendering it useless. I'm not going to pain, says Tate again. I'll see about that, says Chris--give me the key to the room! I don't have one, says Tate. A man like you has keys to everything, says Chris--now give me the key to this room! Tate shuffles over to the desk where his dummy still sits, and hands the key over to Chris, who closes and locks the door. Tate holds the dummy head, sobbing as if someone had really died. Get out your canvas and paints, demands Chris. No, I don't have to help you, says Tate--nothing can make me do what you want. Not true, says Chris; you've been in this room for a long time with no concept of day or night, but they still exist, and there's going to be a full moon tonight--and you aren't going to leave this room tonight until you do my portrait! Chris waves the key and warns, "If I were you, I'd finish it before the moon is up." Realizing the predicament he's in, Tate reconsiders.
Antique shop - Carolyn dusts. We're treated to the sight of another nasty animal head with big teeth. Someone covers Carolyn's eyes and she giggles, thinking it's Alex. They'll play later, she promises. She turns and sees not Alex, but Michael, who solemnly surveys her. It isn't Alex, says Michael, he's gone--it couldn't be helped--"I'm Michael." Carolyn stares at him in shock.
After the accident, relates Michael, there was no one else to look after me, I had to come here, and that meant Alex had to "go away." Carolyn expresses her sympathy--it must have been terrible for you. It was, says Michael. Your cousins will do everything they can to make up for your loss, says Carolyn, and see you're as happy can be. Michael curls his hand over Carolyn's. I'm sure I'll be happy here, he says--because you're here. He gazes at her, obviously smitten. Uncertain, embarrassed, she turns, chuckles, and sets a spinning wheel spinning. Don't do that, Carolyn, he says (it sounds like a command)--don't laugh at me--you must take me seriously. I do, she assures him; I'm sure we'll be good friends. He rises and walks away from her. I have a cousin about your age, says Carolyn, and a little girl staying at the house; I'm sure you'll like her a lot--make you forget all about me. Michael, totally serious, accuses, you're laughing at me again--I told you not to (treat me like a silly child, a line either flubbed or cut). I don't think you're a silly child and I wasn't laughing at you, she says--I'll prove it. How? he asks. Sort the stack of magazines on the desk for me, she asks, in chronological order--I wouldn't ask a child to do that, a child couldn't. He goes over and begins sorting the magazines, but seems pissed. She sits down and begins to dust a silver candelabra. Michael finds Megan's Naga locket on the desk under the magazines. I have a gift for you, Carolyn, he says--hold out your hand and close your eyes. "And you will get a lovely surprise," finishes Carolyn, amused--I will if you promise not to put a snake or frog into it. Michael solemnly assures her, I wouldn't do anything that childish--do as I say. She closes her eyes and extends her hand. Michael places the locket into it. She opens her eyes--it's Megan's locket, I recognize it, she says. It was hers, says Michael, but she gave it to me to give to you. You can't give away something that doesn't belong to you, says Carolyn. Infuriated, Michael says, "How dare you not believe me!" "How dare you take Megan's locket." counters Carolyn. She apologizes--it's very generous of you to want to give me a present. Philip comes downstairs. You and Michael seemed quite involved, remarks Philip. We were arguing about a present he wants to give me, says Carolyn, and shows him the locket. Philip coolly says, I'll return it to Megan. You can't! cries Michael, she gave it to me. Perhaps jokingly, says Philip, but there's no reason. Yes, there is, says Michael, so I could have something to give to Carolyn. Philip and Michael lock eyes. Carolyn, observing the intensity between them, says, I'll be just as happy with an ice cream soda, and even pay my own way--I should get back to work. Ask Megan, commands Michael, see what she says, see whose locket it REALLY is.
And the baby-faced Michael looks much like Baby Face Nelson.
Grant walks the woods, wondering, why did I run away--was I afraid I'd kill him, or afraid he'd tell me more about myself? Who is Amanda Harris, and who am I, and how did he know me, and why did he just keep laughing at me--why? Pondering all these questions, he moves on.
Tate paints Chris' portrait, but finally stops--I'm tired and need a rest, he complains. No rest, insists Chris, in a couple of hours, the moon will be up, and then, Mr. Tate...Suitably threatened, Tate rises to his feet and continues to paint.
Antique shop - Philip watches Michael watching Carolyn. She turns, catches his stare, and walks to another part of the shop, still dusting. Michael's eyes follow her;
Carolyn turns and notices him still staring. I'm going for a cup of coffee, says Carolyn--may I bring something back for anyone? Michael immediately offers to go with her, but Philip stops him. Some other time, says Carolyn, I have some errands to run this evening--and she exits. Carolyn lied--because of you, Michael accuses Philip. No, because of you, says Philip--you made her uncomfortable staring at her. I can stare if I want, says Michael. Not yet, you can't, insists Philip. Incensed, Michael runs. Philip pursues him--I'm doing it for your own good, for the good of all of us, he insists--don't rush things, let them happen in their own time. Michael turns away. We've waited a long time to take our place in the world, Philip says--you have no right to endanger everything by moving too fast. And you have no right to talk to me like this, says Michael angrily. Yes, I do when you're stupid, says Philip--giving Carolyn Megan's locket was stupid. When are you going to ask Megan whose locket it really is? demands Michael--or are you afraid to? I'll ask her when she comes home, says Philip. When will that be, it's getting dark? asks Michael. It's hard to tell how long an auction will last, says Philip. Here's something easier to tell, says Michael, I miss her and I want her here--she leaves me alone too much. Only when she has to, says Philip. She didn't have to go to the auction, insists Michael. Yes she did, says Philip, we're trying to run a business. Nonsense, says Michael. Not nonsense, retorts Philip, it's something we've wanted for a long time! Well you'd better stop wanting things, says Michael cruelly--what I want is all that's important. We have lives of our own! cries Philip. DO YOU REALLY? demands Michael, and starts upstairs. Philip calls to him. When Michael turns around, Philip says, you've got to try and understand--we appreciate the honor that was given to us and are doing the best that we can. "Are you? I don't think so," says Michael--"You only talk to me this way because I'm not as big as you are, well I won't be small always--remember that, because I'm going to." He goes upstairs, Philip gazing hatefully after him.
Something is bringing me back to that crazy man and his crazy house, Grant mutters to himself, and continues on.
The full moon has risen when Tate puts finishing touches on Chris' portrait. Chris is in pain already when Tate announces, "It's done--take it and get out of here!" Chris moans. What's the matter with you? asks Tate. Chris rises from the chair--the pain has already begun, he gasps. Take your painting and get out of here, says Tate. I can't go! Chris shouts--I can't even move! You must, says Tate, you must! Get away from me, cries Chris, don't you understand, it didn't work! I told you it wouldn't, says Tate--don't blame me for that, I did what you asked, what you could. Chris lies writhing on the floor. I can't stay here with you now, says Tate. "I can't do anything," moans Chris, transforming. Tate, locked in with the werewolf, tries fruitlessly to get out.
The animal growls. Grant comes to the door, hears Tate's scream of agony, and tries to get in.
NOTES: Will Chris, in werewolf form, kill C. D. Tate once and for all? Will Grant be able to get in and prevent it?
Isn't Michael a total brat? His hormones are in high gear for Carolyn, but she already seems uncomfortable with his scrutiny. This kid takes what he wants, that's obvious, but will he cross the line with Carolyn and botch his chances for love? Perhaps Michael is right, and the locket is supposed to end up with Carolyn, but he should be sure first before he just presents it to her. Sounds like we've got a rebel on our hands, doesn't it? And his relationship with Philip is deteriorating more and more as the Leviathan kid ages.
Love, Robin
