The other side of Untitled Finale Episode, from Phillip and Grace's perspectives.
To follow this arc by itself, listen to S1.5E1, S1.5E3, S1.5E5, and S1.5E6.
Timmy Vilgiate: Phillip
Michelle Pearl: Grace, German Man, Marcia
Aaron Mayfield: The Chief
Collin Estes: Dusty
Written, produced, and engineered by Timmy Vilgiate.
Music by Timmy Vilgiate: Rivers of the Mind Season 2.5 Theme
Sound effects either produced in house or downloaded from FreeSound (see webpage)
SFX from Freesound(.org)
the-bizness: sim police siren
shall555: sh-shop-door-bell-openclose
An hour left on our shift. A Friday. Slow day. Only two calls. So they put us out on traffic duty. Grace was looking down at her phone in the passenger seat. I was watching the cars drive by, nestled in a hidden driveway surrounded by tall trees. 35. 36. 34. 35. 35. 40…40. Was it worth it? 39. 37. 20. Hey come on buddy, can you keep with the flow of traffic? Weird…I peeked my head forward just a bit. Colorado plates. Bet that’s why they slowed down so much. “Grace.”
“Huh?”
“We got a white Subaru with Colorado plates going 15 under the speed limit. Looks like a rental.”
She sighed, and locked her phone, “Alrighty. Let’s go.” I turned on the sirens and pulled forward, racing up behind the car. The two kids inside started frantically talking to each other. Flailing around. Probably trying to hide something. Who knows. They pulled off to the shoulder. “We gotta suspicious vehicle from the great state of Colorado out here, please standby.”, I spoke into the radio, before turning to my partner, “You wanna get it, or me?”
“I can do it.”
GRACE
Anything to get out of that goddamn car. Being around Phillip was different since that night with the field, and I don’t blame him or think less of him for it, but if he was in a bad mood then it was to hard not get sucked in. Hanging around this Dusty character was making him worse. Rubbing off on him. You couldn’t talk to him for fifteen minutes without hearing about how the…how the deep state was…was putting flouride in our water, or how there were hidden cameras in the woods outside of his house. I went up to the side of the car. The fella driving had long brown hair, blue eyes, sort of stubbly face—his girlfriend looked hispanic or something, couldn’t really tell. He rolled down his window.
“Good afternoon officer.”, he said, in a thick German accent.
“Sprechen-zie, Deutsch, mein herr?”
“Ja, meine Frau und ich sind hier im Urlaub. Sie sprechen gut deutsch, wo haben Sie gelernt?”…
PHILLIP
I could hear Grace talking in muffled German through the window—the man she’d pulled over laughed, and his wife reached forward to shake her hand. She asked them a few questions, before the man stepped out and led her to the back so she could look through her trunk. She glanced back at me, raising her eyebrows. The two didn’t have anything but some luggage. Probably tourists, I supposed. She strode back to the car. “He’s from the same town as my husband. Rosenheim. What are the chances?”
“Probably pretty slim, I’d imagine.”
“Yup, small world. Wife was from Italy, I guess. Visited family in Denver and came out to see the hill country. He kept getting pulled over for speeding so he was trying to go slower.”
“Right. Makes sense, I guess.”, I shrugged, and drove us back to the speed trap. 45 more minutes and we could leave. I was anxious to get the hell out of there. Had to meet up with Dusty after he got off work. We pulled back into our spot and I resumed taking readings of the passing cars. 35. 36. 34. 33. 35.
“So tomorrow, I guess, is the big day, huh?”
“Yep, sure is.”
“You got your…uh. Your Nike sneakers ready?”
“Oh come on, it’s not like that.” I tried to laugh. The humor didn’t come across.
“No need to get so defensive.”
“I’m not getting defensive. Just...(sighs) We’re going with Reeboks for this one. I’m supposed to pick up the Koolaid, and Dusty’s bringing along the rat poison.”
“Right. (weakly laughs) You really think something is gonna happen?”
“I’m not sure. Dusty seems pretty convinced.”
“He does. Maybe he’s on to something. Then again, maybe he’s just skipped one too many doses of his medication.”
“I don’t know, Grace. Seems like a pretty level headed fella to me.”
“Yeah, right…”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I asked him what he thought of the weather and he ranted for half an hour about the United Nations, FEMA Camps, and secret alien bases under the Gulf of Mexico.”
“He’s just a very serious minded person. You’ll see tomorrow. You’re…you’re still gonna tag along, right?”
“Well something’s sure as hell going on here, and no one else is looking into it, so, yeah. I’ll be there. It’s just gonna depend, uh…Tanner’s got a soccer game tomorrow so I’ll have to be there either in the morning or the afternoon. But I’ll be there.”
“Gotta put family first, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah. You…uh. You talked to Kurt about this?”
“Don’t know how. But he’s probably gonna be doing homework over at that, uh, Isabelle girl’s house.”
“Homework huh?”
“That’s what he keeps sayin’.”
“This is Isabelle Grove, right? Same Isabelle Grove we arrested for shoplifting five years ago? Her dad works at the scrap metal yard, doesn’t he?”
“Yep. That’s the one. She’s not gotten into trouble much since then, guess she’s in some kind of uh…computer club or something. Whenever I see her, she tries to sell me these, uh..these Byte Coins or something like that. Some kind of, uh, computer money. Kurt’s always talking about it too. Long as its keepin them out of trouble, and away from drugs, I suppose.”
“Right, right. So, what, you think they’re fixing to date or…”
“Oh, they probably are, just haven’t got around to tellin’ me yet.”, I gulped. The truth of it was, I hadn’t talked all that much to Kurt. I didn’t know what was going on with him. He’d just get home, shut himself in his room, and play his computer games since I caught him smoking pot. Wasn’t sure what to do. Least he was less angry at me than he was at his mom. Hardly talked to her, neither did I. I tried changing the subject. “This old speed trap sure ain’t what it used to be, is it?”
“Everyone and their brother knows about it. (sighs) Guess we should probably head back to the station soon, huh?”
“Suppose we could. Think rush hour’s just about petered out anyway…”
GRACE
The two of us pulled out of the speed trap, and sped on down the highway, back to the station. It was a sleepy day there too. The same guy who’d been sleeping off a hangover in one of our three holding cells that morning was now clutching his head, and staring down at his bruised hands. Marcia, the lady at the front desk, briefly looked up from a copy of People magazine, and waved at us with a smile. I waved back at her, even though Marcia was a catty bitch who seemed to think this was a goddamn high school cafeteria and not a police station. We lost the normal front desk person—Laura—last year when she finished her CNA license and went to work at the nursing home. Now she was a good receptionist. I don’t know who the fuck decided to hire Marcia.
Right as Phillip was leaving, someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Grace, you mind if I have a word with you?”, I heard the chief ask in a polite, business like voice. Phillip looked back over his shoulder, suspicously. “See ya tomorrow.”, I said.
“Yup, see ya tomorrow.”
“You folks got plans for the weekend?”
“Kids got a soccer game, we were all gonna grab some dinner afterwards. Tanner really looks up to Phillip.”, I explained. Not a complete lie. Tanner’s always a bit starstruck around Phillip since I told him about the time Phillip apprehended a suspect in an armed robbery after seeing him in a gas station.
“Ain’t that sweet.”, he shut the door behind him, “Actually, I was hoping to chat with you about Phillip for a moment.”
“Al—alright. What’s going on?”
“Well, I know he’s had a hard time lately, and he had that little incident where you were thinking somebody drugged him. And since then seems he’s been a little…well, he just ain’t been himself lately. Seems a little on edge.”
“He’s been depressed. Doctor has him on some new medication is all, as far as I know. Got it mixed up.”
“Seems like he’s been awfully interested in these um…angel sightings around town.”
“Sure, but I think most folks are, huh?”
“Interested, sure, but don’t think it really warrants serious investigation, do you?”
“Serious investigation? Oh, no, no. That’s not what I meant.”
“He’s not been looking into any of this on his own, has he?”
“(Grace audibly hesitates—she gets the impression the chief already knows Phillip AND HER have been investigating, and that he knows about the records she pulled) Well, on the day all those sightings came in, we did go around to double check some of the stories. He was thinking it might be some kind of organized prank or something.”
“Right. I was wondering about that. So are you all…I don’t know…planning on filling out a report of some kind about that?”
“Well, of course. He’s just been trying to…to narrow down a description of some kind, you know? Sounded like it was all the same person to him.”
“Hmm. Interesting. You know, this is the kind of thing I’d like to hear about. Not sure why y’all didn’t keep me posted on it.”
“I’m sorry sir.”
“It’s fine. I understand. Well, thanks for letting me know. When you find the time to write the report, I’d love to see it.”, he crossed his arms.
“Right. We’ll have it on your desk soon as we can.”
“Good. And…well, I hope you don’t mind me asking. Noticed that you’d…um. You’d pulled some old case records. Mind telling me about that?”
“Well…I was…curious. About the…the data collection facility, you know? They took us down and debriefed us…but…”
“I see. Now, I understand your curiousity here, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way since you two are some of the finest officers we have but…I’d strongly recommend keeping your curiousity about that old base to a minimum. Do you understand? It’s a very sensitive installation.”
“[Grace nods, but what the chief is saying to her irks her] Right. It’s just…well there was a case I came across in the files. A girl named Mary Ann, guess she disappeared from a bar in San Antonio. Someone saw her mouthing for help from a car in town. Case closed pretty abruptly. It just stood out to me…[she clears her throat]…No one followed up on that evidence.”, the chief, caught off guard, frowned, faintly, but tried his best to withhold any emotion. I continued “Cold cases like that always stick out to me, especially when there was evidence no one bothered looking into. I wasn’t sure why I’d come across it looking for information about the base either, but there’s no statute of limitations for murder in the state of Texas.”
The chief gulped. and came closer to me. He looked…he looked genuinely disturbed. Guilty even. My heart started pounding. I sure as hell didn’t expect him to look this guilty when I brought up a murder that happened when he was barely ten years old. “I understand.”, he looked me dead in the eyes and came closer, muttering under his breath, “You bet your ass I understand, officer. Back when I was a detective, I spent every night in the cold case files. But just trust me when I say there’s certain rabbit holes in those files that you do not want to go down.” I hadn’t seen the chief act this way before. Usually he was amicable, professional, even when upset—now he looked worse than Dusty. Paranoid, conspiratorial. “Trust me Grace. I’m not trying to threaten you, I’m trying to keep you and Phillip out of trouble.”
“I see. So I should just…forget about it, I guess.”
“That’s what I’d advise.”, he grumbled, backing away towards his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Best case scenario, all you do is end yourself in a goddamn bureaucratic nightmare.”, he shook his head, “Just between you and me, alright, that place wasn’t always a data collection facility. Back in the day…well. Even I’m not sure. I just know that when I…when I started looking into it back in the seventies, I had government agents showing up at my door in the middle of the night, warning me to stop. I know that sounds crazy, I’m just saying, Grace. Something…I don’t know what…happened there. I’m sorry to be so frank. I shouldn’t have…told you any of this.”
Phillip
I started to leave, suspicious of the chief talking to Grace, but not wanting to pay it too much mind, before I noticed that…uh. That pretty new receptionist had a nice painting in the background on her desktop. I leaned in to have a closer look. Suddenly it hit me…she had on this perfume that smelled absolutely heavenly, these red painted nails, curled brown hair. I recognized the painting. “Sorry to bother you, miss uh…is that Camille Pisarro on your desktop?” She set the magazine down and looked over her shoulder, smiling. Holy goddamn that smile. She had her lipstick on just perfectly, her faint brown eyes sparkling in the light.
“I didn’t peg you as a fan of French impressionism.”
“I didn’t peg you as an art history type, either. The Banks of the Oise near Pontoise, isn’t it?”
“Impressive. We had the original at the museum where I did my internship before I came here.”
“Where was that?”
“Indianapolis.”
“Now how in the hell did you go from one of the biggest art museums in the country to the front desk of a police department in the middle of Texas?”
“I find myself asking the same question every day. I guess it’s not what I had in mind when I got my Master’s in Art History, but here we are.”
She stared back at me, sort of blushing, but I couldn’t tell.
“Well, we’re all glad to have you here. We’ve got a lot of problems with uh, art forgery you know, in this area.”
“Oh, do you?”
“Oh yeah, just the other day, I had to bust up a gang of ruffians tryin to sell a forged copy of The Port at Morgat by Redon for a dime bag of meth.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t call me in. (laughs weakly) You know, I’ve been dying to find someone I could talk to about this stuff.”
“Well, it’s not every day you run into someone who even knows who Camille Pisarro is around here. We should…”, remember your sensitivity training Phillip. For the love of GOD, remember your sensitivity training, “We should chat more often.”
“If you’re free this weekend, maybe we could grab some coffee.”
“Oh, uh. Coffee. Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to grab some coffee, uh. Some coffee. I got a, uh, a thing going on tomorrow. Maybe, uh, maybe Sunday morning, round eight o’clock if you’re free?”
“How’s eight thirty?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“You ever been to a place called Java Ranch? It’s right by my house!”
“Can’t say I have, but I’ll look it up, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Alright, I’ll put it in my calendar. Phillip, that’s your name right? Sorry, I’m terrible with names.”
“Yep. That’s what they call me. I’ll see you then. I should, probably, uh, probably get home, but nice talking to you.”
“Sure, see you on Sunday.”
MARCIA
A person! I talked to a human being! I had a conversation with a man about something other than a truck, a gun, or football for the first time in a year and a half! It was a miracle! I tried not to look to excited to have a friend. I didn’t want to seem like, I don’t know, I was desperately lonely or anything. I wasn’t. No, of course I wasn’t. I wasn’t weird. I had not spent the last week obsessing over an alien conspiracy theory alone in my apartment. I was a perfectly normal woman, I had perfectly normal interests. I took a deep breath and looked back at the magazine. Good work, Marcia. You have a friend. A work friend. Now don’t screw it up.
The door to the right of me opened, and Grace came out. I stiffened up my back and tried to look as normal as I could. I smiled up at her. She sort of scowled back. I could never read her. I couldn’t read…most of the people here. Was she angry? Did I have something on my face? “Have a good weekend.”, I said. “You too.”, she smiled, briefly, and paused. Was she waiting for me to say something? I should say something, right? That’s what a receptionist does. “Got any plans?”, I asked. “Just spending time with family.”
“You know there’s a story going around online there’s supposed to be some kind of UFO landing or something.”, I said. Was that the right thing to say? Do receptionists talk about things like that? She looked a little irritated. “Didn’t hear about that one.”, she chuckled, “Was that in the news, or…”
“Some, uh, blogger, took a video of this alien earlier this week. Pretty funny, huh?”, that’s funny. This is a funny thing, the thing that I am talking about. Right? She wasn’t laughing. It was…it was not a funny thing. Right. I sound like I think its real. Okay. “People sure are crazy.”, I said, hoping to insinuate that, yes, I believed the people were crazy. She rolled her eyes. “Sure are. You get a lot of crackpots around here.”
“Well, I’ll see you later! Have a good day!”, I paused. It’s not day. It’s night. (Door shuts) “Night!” I started to pack up my stuff. 8:30am on Sunday. Coffee. Work friend. Work friend=Phillip. Cool. Great.
Phillip
I waited by my car in a mostly empty parking lot in the next town over. It was almost night time. The air felt heavy and cold. Dusty pulled up in his truck, his face anxious, and he stepped out of the car. He mouthed something to himself in frustration and got out, striding across the parking lot.
Dusty: (slams the door to the car, walks across the parking lot) Do you have the documents? (Phillip hands a stack of
papers to him) Fascinating.
Phillip: Now you don't tell anyone I got those to you. You could get me suspended.
Dusty: Of course not. I can keep a secret. (looks through the document) Look at this
here—her friends reported that she'd been seen leaving the bar with a man, described as
a six foot tall caucasian male with dark brown hair. That matches the description of the
last case almost perfectly.
Phillip: Sure does.
Dusty: Jesus Christ...who knows what they did to her? ...Last seen in Fredericksburg, TX
at an intersection, mouthed the words “Help me” to a Miss Molly Perkins while she was
out walking her dog. Police never found a body.
Phillip: What do you think?
Dusty: I—it's too soon to say for sure. I'll need to cross reference it with the other
documents. If I start printing just anything, I'll lose my credibility. But...thank you.
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