Disclaimer: I do not own Whistler and Doyle, but I do own everything else.
A/N: This was written for Challenge 3 on BW. The challenge was to write the beginning of a spinoff about original characters and/or established characters that aren't usually considered for a spinoff.
Episode 1.01 of The Management: Welcome to the Afterlife
Teaser:
Fade in to a dimly lit basement. The walls and floor are bare concrete. A naked light bulb hangs from the ceiling. A tiny patch of the floor is illuminated by the sliver of moonlight coming through the small window set high in the wall. A middle-aged man paces back and forth in the center of the room, muttering to himself. He abruptly cuts off the string of mumbled words with a loud cackle. The camera zooms in on his head and shoulders as a crooked smile spreads across his face. Behind him, another man, Whistler, decked out in a vibrant orange shirt beneath a black suit and a bowler hat, slowly fades into being. He coughs as he steps out of the shadows, alerting the other man to his presence.
Man: Who the hell are you?
Whistler: Nice place you got here. Don’t take it personally, but I think it could use a woman’s touch.
The man’s eyes narrow as Whistler walks around the small room.
Man: Get outta here.
Whistler: Oooh, scary. Sorry to break it to you, pal, but I’m not one of those school girls you like so much. And I’m here to tell you something big, something that’ll change your life forever. You got any beer?
Man (growls): No.
Whistler: Didn’t think so. Anyway, I’m here to tell you to go back there. To the place you found. You know, the magic place?
Man: Magic’s just some dumb kid’s story.
Whistler: Magic’s as real as you and me. I know where you went last night. You thought it was crazy, but I’m here to tell you it’s not. You’ve got a choice now: hang around in the dark like a bat, or go out into the world and make a difference. Become someone.
Man (scornfully): You mean like a wizard?
Whistler: The preferred term is ‘warlock’. But listen, magic’s no joke. It’s powerful as can be, and with it you can do all manner of things most people could hardly imagine.
The man’s smile grows as he slowly wraps his fingers around the Swiss Army knife tucked in his pants.
Man: Is that so?
He quickly pulls out the blade and launches himself at Whistler, who is just fast enough to get out of the way of a killing blow, instead taking a slice to his side.
Whistler: Damn! What was that for?
The man circles slowly around Whistler, knife still at the ready.
Man: Ugliest damn shirt I’ve ever seen.
Whistler looks down at his shiny orange shirt, now torn and blood-stained, then back up at the man.
Whistler: Well, I’d love to stay and chat but–
He snaps his fingers and vanishes from the basement. Cut to the lawn outside the house where Whistler reappears a second later, stumbling across the grass as rain pours down and makes the night even darker. With one hand wrapped around his side, he staggers toward the black car parked on the side of the street and pulls the door open. He collapses onto the driver’s seat and fumbles through the glove compartment for a small bottle of blue liquid. He splashes the liquid liberally on his side, and leans back in the seat with a sigh as the skin begins to heal.
Whistler: Just another day on the job.
He puts the bottle back in the glove compartment, starts the car, and begins to drive away.
End Teaser
The Management
Credits (theme song: “Angels and Devils” by Echo & the Bunnymen)
Max Perlich as Whistler
Glenn Quinn (R.I.P.) as Doyle
Rosario Dawson as Camilla
Chiwetel Ejiofor as Jeremy
Martin Freeman as Frank
Anjelica Huston as Ophelia
Guest Starring:
Gabrielle Union as Jessica
Clive Owen as Charles
Act I:
Open on a parking lot in front of an office building, the same night. A black car pulls to a stop, parking crookedly across two spaces. Whistler steps out of the car. He walks up to the front of the office building and pushes open the glass doors. Above the doors is a large sign that says “AMERICAS DIVISION”. Cut to the inside of the elevator. Whistler leans against the back wall, his bowler hat pulled low over his eyes. The elevator dings as it reaches his floor and he steps out. The camera follows him as he walks down the hall, past doors with plaques saying ““PUBLIC RELATIONS,” “RESTROOM,” “LOUNGE,” and “MEDITATION ROOM.” He goes through the door at the end of the hall and the camera zooms in on the sign saying “THE MANAGEMENT”.
Cut to the inside of a large office room, full of desks, computers, and people. The camera follows behind Whistler as he walks through and waves to an olive-skinned woman behind the front desk.
Whistler: Check me in, will you?
He sits down at his desk and opens a new file on his computer. He types the words “Field Report # 394578616” at the top. After staring blankly at the screen for awhile, he comes to the conclusion that a report is not forthcoming.
Whistler (muttering): Aw hell. Coffee.
Cut to a close-up of the coffee machine as Whistler pours himself some coffee. Cut to a wider shot of Whistler standing next to the coffee machine while Camilla, a slender brunette, comes over to join him.
Camilla: Yo, Whistler. You seem glum.
Whistler: Hey Cam.
Camilla frowns as she pours herself a cup of coffee.
Camilla: Okay, I’m too impatient to play the guessing game. What’s the matter?
Whistler: That job. It was for their side.
Camilla simply nods sadly, understanding immediately what he means.
Camilla: Right.
Whistler: I hate it when they make me the bad guy.
Camilla: Sometimes I wonder if Upper Management isn’t just screwing with all of our heads. Job like this is enough to drive anybody crazy. Though I’m not sure you need the help.
Whistler tries to muster a smile in response to her crooked one.
Camilla: You know, the help . . . with going crazy . . . get it? (She sighs) Okay, Operation Cheering Up is commencing now. I’ll be back; don’t move.
Whistler snorts as she walked away. He leans against the wall and sips his coffee as his thoughts turn back to his last trip to the outside world. Thankfully, Frank, a short guy with glasses, approaches and shakes him from his thoughts.
Frank: Hey there. (coughs nervously as he pours his coffee) You and Camilla seem to be getting on, um, well. You know. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. Know what I mean?
Whistler: You been at the Monty Python tapes again?
Frank (shrugging): Nothing good was on TV.
Whistler: You’ve got to get out more.
Frank: I’m no good at field work. It’s a curse.
Whistler: Not work, man, out. There’s a whole universe and you hardly ever go down to the cafeteria!
Camilla and Jeremy walk up to Whistler and Frank.
Jeremy: I hear we’re on a mission.
Frank: A mission? You mean an assignment?
Jeremy: No, I don’t mean an assignment. I mean a mission. A mission to have some good old-fashioned fun.
Camilla: Shut up, you two. We’re going out.
Frank: Say no more!
Whistler groans.
Whistler, Camilla, and Jeremy walk out of the office, Frank trailing after them. As they disappear through the wooden door, Frank’s voice carries down the hall.
Frank: The cafeteria’s that way!
Camilla: I don’t want to go to the cafeteria. Whistler, do you want to go to the cafeteria? No, wait–you want to go to a Manhattan bar.
Whistler: No place like home.
Cut to the interior of Whistler’s car as all four of them squeeze into it, Whistler in the front seat.
Jeremy (to Frank): He was born and raised in the bar, went to school in the bar, until he finally moved on to Immortal Balance Demon Academy of Management. It’s a beautiful story, really, full of love, adventure, beer . . .
Cut to a wide shot of the inside of a packed bar. Rock music blares from speakers near the small dance floor, where a few couples are gyrating to the beat. Whistler, Camilla, Jeremy, and Frank are seated at the bar, talking and drinking as the camera zooms in on them.
Angle: looking down the bar, with Whistler in the forefront.
Camilla: My last job, wow. That man was terrifying. I mean, sure, he was a good guy, but lighten up already! Talk about paranoid. How do these people get to be champions?
Jeremy (darkly): They’re not all champions.
Whistler: Cam, that’s nothing. Couple years back, I was assigned to a Slayer and, man, that was one intense kid. She actually said she would rip out my rib cage and wear it as a hat. Course it wasn’t all that scary coming from a little blond kid, even if she did have me shoved up against a wall.
Cam: I’ll bet she did.
Whistler: Well, she did have a thing for older men. Vampire. But anyway, for a few seconds I thought she might actually do it.
Frank (awed): What convinced you?
Cam: She wouldn’t have done it. She’d get gunk in her hair.
Whistler raises his hand to get the bartender’s attention as he asks for another drink.
Whistler: Another beer.
He takes the mug the bartender hands him and begins to sip. Cut to a shot of all four of them, with the camera behind them, looking at their reflections in the mirror over the bar.
Jeremy (laughing): Women. Gotta love ‘em.
Whistler: Got that right, man.
Cam: Hey!
She smacks them both upside the head, leaving Whistler spluttering over a pool of spilt beer on the counter. Angry, he opens his mouth to protest but is cut off by a shrill beeping. They all turn to look at Frank, who sheepishly fishes his phone out of his pocket. They all sigh with relief as the high-pitched noise cuts off. Frank puts it to his ear and listens for a few seconds, his face growing pale.
Frank: Shit, Whistler, Upper Management wants you. They want me to send you on up. I don’t know if they know, you know, we’re not, uh, in the office. If they find out, if they ask me, I couldn’t lie, I’d have to tell them, but it was your idea, it was . . .
Jeremy places his hand on Frank’s shoulder and looks him in the eye.
Jeremy (earnestly): Breathe.
Frank: But–
Jeremy: No. No buts. I am in a good mood tonight and the Uppers aren’t spoiling that no matter how hard they try.
Whistler: I sure hope they don’t. I dunno how well I could handle another one of your mood swings right now.
Camilla stands and gestures for the others to do so. She tosses a few bills onto the wet counter.
Camilla: Come on. Designated Driver says it’s time to go.
Cut to a shot of the outside of the bar, illuminated by a blue neon sign that reads “Ferdinand’s”. Camilla, Jeremy, Whistler, and Frank come out of the bar and climb into the black car. This time, Camilla slides into the front seat.
Angle: from the back seat, looking out the windshield.
Camilla (over her shoulder as she drives): So how was Operation Cheering Up?
Whistler: Better than Desert Storm.
Camilla: That’s not saying very much.
Whistler and Jeremy share a laugh. Frank just looks confused.
Frank: Is that a mortal world joke? You know I don’t go down there very often.
Whistler: Yeah Frank, it’s a mortal world joke.
Camilla is now driving on the highway. She turns her head to look at her companions.
Camilla: Where’s our exit? Anybody see it?
They are quiet for a few seconds until Frank shouts in excitement and begins gesticulating wildly.
Frank: Oh! There it is! I see it! I found it!
Camilla: Crap.
She spins the wheel in her hands and hauls the car over to the right, ignoring the honking of horns and screeching of tires as she pulls the car onto the ramp she almost passed.
Whistler: Jesus, Cam, you’re an awful designated driver.
Camilla: Like you could’ve spotted it, even if you were sober.
Angle: Outside of the car as it drives into the distance. The camera focuses on a sign saying “Exit ∞: Next Dimension”.
Cut to the interior of the office as the four of them return.
Angle: Behind them, looking over their shoulders.
Whistler: Alright. I’m going in. (Turns to Frank) I’ll buy you Life of Brian if you write up my field report. It was a potential warlock: real dodgy character who gets off on pain. I convinced him to start experimenting with the occult. Predicted results: well, he might do some initial good, and then go crazy with the power. Sound good? The file’s on my desk.
Angle: looking over Whistler’s shoulder as he faces his three companions.
Frank nods, used to this treatment. Camilla scowls and shakes her head disapprovingly while Jeremy looks on and laughs.
The camera follows Whistler again as he walks all the way through the office until he reaches a white door with the blinds lowered over the little window. He fishes through his pockets, pulling out a few crumpled dollars, some spare change, a parking ticket, keys, and a mysteriously sticky rubber ball. Finally, he pulls out his ID which he slides through the small security box next to the door. It flashes green and he goes through the door into a small white room. A phone booth stands in the middle of the room. Whistler steps into the booth and takes the phone off the hook. The camera zooms in on him inside the cramped booth as he pushes the only button on the phone: “UM”.
Whistler puts the phone to his ear and waits a few seconds before speaking.
Whistler: Upper Management summoned me. The name’s Whistler . . . Code # 8749 . . . A job interview? For a new applicant? Okay, okay . . .
Whistler pulls the parking ticket out of his pocket again, along with a small red pencil that resembles the pencils used at golf courses. He holds the phone between his shoulder and ear while he takes notes on the back of the ticket.
Whistler (writing and listening): Applicant is half-Brachen . . . Allen Francis Doyle . . . recently deceased.
End Act I
Commercial break
Act II:
Open to a shot of Camilla and Jeremy peering through a shuttered window. The camera is behind them as a few demons walk by, sending the eavesdropping pair odd looks.
Whistler (O.S.): So. Allen Francis Doyle. That’s a lot of names.
As Whistler speaks, the camera slowly moves in towards the window. When it can go no farther, cut to the inside of the room. The camera moves across white walls to a clear table in the middle. On one side sits Whistler, leaning back in his chair so that only two chair legs are on the ground. Doyle slouches uncomfortably in the chair on the other side.
Doyle: It’s just Doyle these days.
Whistler: Heh. Well, looks like you’ve already got one part of immortality down pat. The name thing. The best names in the universe get boring after a few decades, or centuries for those with more patience than me.
Doyle (leaning forward slightly): I wore out both Allen and Francis in just twenty years. Wonder how long Doyle’ll last.
Whistler: Look at me. I’ve been Whistler for the past . . . forty? fifty? years. Can’t even remember what it was when I signed on to this gig, ages ago. You just wait, twenty years will feel like nothing, you get this job.
Doyle: Now when you say “ages,” are we talking decades or centuries or millenia . . .
Whistler gives him a look.
Doyle: Right. Ages.
Cut to a shot of Camilla and Jeremy’s eyes, just barely visible through the shutters they’ve pried apart with their fingers.
Camilla (whispering): Can you hear what they’re saying?
Jeremy (also whispering): No. (Grunts) Looks like they’re getting along famously.
Cut back to Whistler and Doyle.
Whistler: Just so you know, my friends are probably listening in right now.
He swivels in his chair towards the window where, sure enough, he spots two sets of eyes that quickly disappear behind the shutters. Whistler turns back to Doyle and notices that the half-demon’s eyes have clouded over slightly.
Whistler (casually): I hear you ran with Angel.
Doyle nods but does not speak.
Whistler: How’s he doing? Still alive–well, undead, anyway–I hope.
Doyle: He’s still playing the Dark Avenger, if that’s what you’re asking.
Whistler: Good to know. I haven’t checked in on him in awhile, not since he up and left the little Slayer. (Chuckling) I needed a break from the drama, and I wasn’t even there!
Doyle (shifting nervously): Not to be rude or anything, but seeing as how this is a job interview, shouldn’t we be talking about the job or my qualifications for said job? You know, something like that?
Whistler (putting his hands behind his head): There are plenty of things that should be but aren’t. ‘Sides, there’ll be time for that later. If there’s one thing we’ve got plenty of up here, it’s time. (Frowns) Except when the Uppers are doing their performance assessments. Then there’s never enough time to get all of your reports filed. Speaking of reports, I’d better check on mine. (Stands) Come on. I’ll show you around.
Cut to the main office room. Whistler is walking along while Doyle follows right behind him.
Whistler (calling out): Oy, Frank! You get that report filed?
Across the room, Frank gives Whistler a toothy smile and a thumbs-up.
Whistler (to Doyle): That’s Frank for you. He’s the office geek. Doesn’t do much work in the field – not suited for it really – so he mostly handles paperwork, and sometimes acts as a go-between for us and the Uppers.
Doyle: About these “Uppers” . . .
Whistler: Yeah?
Doyle: Well, just how exactly are they related to the Powers That Be? I spent awhile as something of a go-between for the Powers and their champions. Not pretty, let me tell you. Miserable hours, low pay, and migraines made that the worst job I’ve ever had.
Whistler (hesitating): Well . . . it’s not really clear. They might be the Powers, or the Powers might be their superiors. They don’t exactly keep their employees in the know.
Whistler is looking at Doyle instead of watching where he’s going, and as a result nearly knocks over Ophelia. Doyle’s eyes widen at the sight of the old woman. She is tall and thin, almost brittle. Her black hair is streaked with gray, and her face is heavily lined. She is sending something of a predatory glare Whistler’s way.
Whistler (with fake cheer): Ophelia! How’ve you been? Have you met Doyle?
Ophelia: I’m very well, thank you. It is so kind of you to ask. No, I have not met this young gentleman but I know who he is. (Off Doyle’s confused look) You two haven’t exactly been quiet. (To Whistler) And your companions haven’t either.
Whistler laughs at that, then attempts to pass it off as a cough. Doyle appears rather worried when Ophelia turns her attention to him.
Ophelia: If I may be so bold, why do you want this job?
Doyle: Well, I, uh, I’ve been working as something of a, uh, champion down on Earth. And well, I guess it sorta went to me head. Anyway, I, um, I died, obviously. And being a half-demon messenger for the Powers That Be, I was offered a choice between nirvana and this.
Ophelia: So why is the Management preferable to nirvana?
Doyle: Well, what’s life – afterlife – without a little bit of suffering?
Ophelia appears unsatisfied with his answer.
Ophelia: It’s dreadfully important work, you know. Keeping the universe in balance. Do you know why?
Doyle looks to Whistler for help, but the demon looks down at his shoes. If Whistler knows the answer, he’s not sharing.
Doyle: So that Evil don’t take over? No wait, so that Good don’t . . . um, no.
Ophelia: I thought not. Do you know of the Zoroastrians?
Doyle (squinting as he tries to remember): They those scaly fellows with the fire-eyes?
Whistler hides his chuckle beneath a laugh, eliciting a look from Ophelia that instantly silences him.
Ophelia: They are followers of an ancient religion called Zoroastrianism, founded, not surprisingly, by a man called Zoroaster. There aren’t many of them in the modern world, but there used to be. When the Prophet Muhammed was taking his first baby steps, the entire Sasanid Empire was practicing Zoroastrianism. According to Zoroaster, the forces of darkness have been engaged in a struggle with the forces of light since the dawn of time. In the end, Good will defeat Evil.
Doyle: Comforting thought.
Ophelia: One might think so. But as you said yourself, what’s life without a little bit of suffering? You see, it is implied that when Good triumphs, the end of the world will truly be nigh. The Zoroastrians are far from alone in their belief in an ongoing struggle between Good and Evil. Everyone wants their chosen side to win, but nobody likes to think about what would happen after victory or defeat. When the fate of the universe has been decided, what is next? Perhaps nothing. But that is why we fight not for Good nor Evil, but for Balance between the two. The battle, like the show, must go on. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my own work to do.
She begins to walk away, then turns back and looks at Whistler.
Ophelia: Z is gone.
Whistler is startled, and he immediately stands upright from his position of slouching against the nearest desk. Ophelia departs before he can question her retreating back.
Doyle: Why do I get the feeling that I’ve missed quite a lot of vital information since she started talking?
Whistler takes his hat off and runs one hand through his black hair. He does not acknowledge Doyle’s question. Doyle tries again.
Doyle: What did she mean by “gone”?
Whistler (quietly): Z was on our side. Gone is just . . . gone. Immortals don’t exactly die, but we don’t always last forever. The soul gets worn out or something like that. I gave up on trying to understand all this mess centuries ago. Point is, most demons here aren’t gonna be around forever. Maybe Ophelia is. Notice how she mentioned the dawn of time? Popular theory is that she was there.
Doyle: That’s a long time.
Whistler: Forever usually is. Anyway, when immortals . . . go away, they just . . . they just fade.
Camilla (O.S.): You’re not depressing the new recruit, are you Whistler?
The camera, along with Whistler and Doyle, turns to reveal Camilla standing a few feet away.
Camilla (to Doyle): Hi, I’m Camilla.
Doyle: Doyle.
Camilla: Yeah. Anyway, don’t worry about that fading business. If it does happen to you, it’ll be a long time coming. And I mean a long time coming.
Whistler: Z’s gone.
Camilla: I thought you were talking about him, but I guess I hoped . . . I don’t know what. Now our sides down one.
Whistler and Camilla look at Doyle, then each other, then Doyle again.
Whistler: I wouldn’t be too sure of that.
Doyle: Now I know I’ve missed several somethings.
Camilla: Why don’t we go out in the hall?
Cut to a shot of a plaque on the wall that says “LOUNGE”. Cut to the inside of the lounge. The three of them are seated in stuffed blue chairs around a small circular table. Camilla and Doyle are both leaning forward, elbows on the table, while Whistler relaxes in the chair.
Camilla: So what do you say?
Doyle: Let me get this straight. You guys work for Balance, but some of you are Good and some of you are Evil. (Leaning back and shaking his head) Goddamn Zoro-whatsits.
Whistler: It’s crazier than a nutcase in a white coat, but it’s real. Our office is unofficially split down the middle. Cam and me are on Team White Hat. We try to help the good folks out there in the world, but it’s tough seeing as how we’re, you know, supposed to be impartial Balance demons who are willing to help or hinder either side for the greater good – ahem – balance.
Doyle: And the bosses don’t know about this?
Camilla: Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. They don’t seem particularly troubled by it though, not that any of us really know what troubles them. Thing is, the people they’ve hired have always made a, for lack of a better word, balance between the two sides. They’re always even.
Whistler: Everybody knows who’s on what side. Our desks are even arranged that way.
Camilla: Except for Ophelia.
Whistler: Except for Ophelia. Her desk is right smack dab in the middle. Nobody knows what side she’s on. Heh. Maybe she’s the only really impartial one of us all.
Doyle: This is crazy.
Whistler: I thought we already covered that.
Camilla: Crazy or not, what do you say? Think you’ll join us on Team White Hat?
Doyle (to Whistler): You do realize that you’re wearing a black hat.
Whistler: Hey, leave my hat out of this.
Camilla (conspiratorially): He’s sensitive about his clothes. But you still haven’t answered my question.
Doyle: Just take a look at my resume and you’ll see. (Suddenly anxious) Well, actually, just look at the last few years. Months. The last day, anyway.
Whistler (waving the parking ticket): This here’s the only resume I’ve seen and it doesn’t have much in the way of information.
Doyle (affronted): I worked for Angel.
Whistler stands and the others follow suit. He stretches a bit, then starts to walk out of the lounge.
Whistler (clapping Doyle on the back): Yeah yeah, I know, kid. I was just giving you a hard time.
The camera follows the three of them as they leave the lounge and walk back to the office, talking all the while.
Camilla: Whistler here filling you in on life as an immortal?
Doyle: Well, yeah, I mean, it’s a lot to take in. Pretty overwhelming, and then that Ophelia woman spun me around a bit.
Camilla (laughing): That’s Ophelia for you. You get used to it eventually. (Her smile falters) I think. I hope.
Doyle looks from Whistler, on his right, to Camilla, on his left.
Doyle: So you haven’t been here forever? I mean, obviously not, but . . . how long have you been here?
Whistler: Well, I’ve always been immortal.
Doyle: How’s that work?
Whistler: Eh, it’s kinda hard to explain. I mean, we’re not exactly born. We just sorta, well, become. You get these baby immortals and there’s not really anyone to take care of ‘em. Some grow up real fast, and I’m talking literally here. You saw Frank, back in the office? He grew up real fast. Maybe it’s why he’s so messed up.
Camilla (amused): You on the other hand . . .
Whistler: I was your regular little Peter Pan. Didn’t want to grow up, all that jazz. But I did, and here I am.
Zoom in on Doyle’s face as he thinks about this. Cut to an image of a mini-Whistler, looking exactly the same as he does know only toddler-sized. Mini-Whistler is sitting in a crib surrounded by white space, shaking a rattle in one hand.
Mini-Whistler (chanting): I don’t wanna grow up! I don’t wanna grow up . . .
Cut back to actual-size Whistler, Doyle, and Camilla in the hall.
Camilla: But then he went through a second childhood when he discovered Manhattan. You don’t wanna witness an immortal having an identity crisis. It’s not pretty.
Whistler: Hey! Who helped you through your own little identity crisis?
Camilla (to Doyle): What Whistler’s oh-so-subtly hinting at is the fact that I had a bit of a rough transition to immortal life. Although not as rough as some.
Doyle: You were mortal once?
Camilla: Oh yeah. Long time ago.
Cut to a slightly hazy image of rolling plains with tall grass blowing in the wind beneath a clear sky. A child’s laughter can be heard, but then the laughter trails off only to be replaced by a scream. Cut back to the three of them in the hall.
Whistler: Don’t ask how long.
Doyle, who was indeed about to ask how long, closes his mouth before opening it again as he thinks of something else. None of them notice that they’ve stopped walking.
Doyle: What’s it like?
Camilla (softly): Weird. Disorienting. Exhausting. Exhilarating. All of the above. You know, the one thing I miss the most is dreaming. I haven’t had a dream that wasn’t a message from the Uppers in disguise since I took this goddamn job.
Whistler: She didn’t actually take it too bad. Some bouts of crying, some stony silence, little bit of rage . . .
Doyle: Jeez. That’s not too bad?
Camilla: Yeah. I thought I had it bad, but then I saw Jeremy. He’s out on a job now, but you’ll meet him if you stick around. Now he was a wreck.
Whistler: Big time. Whatever you do, don’t talk to him about civil rights, Heaven or Hell, the Scourge . . .
Doyle: The Scourge? What’ve those bastards got to do with anything?
Camilla and Whistler exchange a surprised and slightly worried look.
Camilla: I take it you know who they are.
Doyle: I died facing them.
An image from Hero, of Doyle grimacing in pain and desperation as the flesh on his face is burned off, flashes on the screen.
A beat.
Camilla: Oh. You and Jeremy should get along well then.
Whistler: Back in the sixties, in the good old U.S. of A., our boy was a twenty-something half-demon enjoying the counterculture when the Scourge came to town. Jeremy found himself surrounded by a world of hate, on both sides. Not a demon and not a man, he turned to the only society he could find. The half-demon equivalent of the Black Panthers, only more violent.
Cut to a shot of Whistler sitting at his desk, sipping from a steaming mug and staring contemplatively at the typewriter in front of him.
Ophelia: Whistler! You look bored. Why don’t you show the new recruit around, help him get accustomed.
Whistler looks up as Ophelia and a sullen Jeremy approach. Ophelia gives Jeremy a light shove in Whistler’s direction then turns and walks off.
Ophelia (over her shoulder): I’m sure you’ll be the best of friends!
Cut back to the hallway.
Whistler: Jeremy’s what mortals call bipolar, and those aggressive demon tendencies don’t help the matter none. Add it all up, and you got trouble.
Cut back to Whistler and Jeremy seated in front of Whistler’s desk, staring at each other.
Whistler (breaking the silence): Some weather we’ve been having, eh?
Jeremy glares at him.
Whistler: So. What made you want this job? I mean, you died and all, eternal rest and all that.
Jeremy (stonily): I don’t know about you, but fire and brimstone isn’t really my thing.
Cut back to the three of them in the hall.
Whistler: Committed a fair number of hate crimes in his day. Enough so that his soul’s fate was a bit . . . insecure. Decided further employment was the way to go. You know, suck it up to the bosses so that they’d pardon his sins. That was the plan, anyway.
Camilla: I have a sneaking suspicion that maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to enjoy himself here.
Doyle: Really? Cos from what I’ve heard, it don’t sound like there are too many perks, life like this.
Camilla and Whistler look at each other.
Camilla: You missed Operation Cheering Up earlier today.
Whistler: I needed some cheering after a rough assignment. So Cam, Jeremy, and me – Frank came too – went down to Ferdinand’s in Manhattan. Had some drinks and headed back up.
Doyle: Drownin’ your sorrows, eh? I been there. Don’t always help.
Whistler: Well, see, there’s a perk: you can drink a gallon of vodka down on Earth, cross the dimension line and poof! Say goodbye to your inebriated state.
Doyle: Does that mean – no hangovers?! I’ve died and gone to heaven. If heaven is, you know, an office building full of disgruntled workers.
Camilla: Oh god, not another one! Well, I for one have a job that I should be doing instead of discussing the finer points of drinking. May I remind you, Whistler, that we don’t get paid to chat up newcomers in the hall?
Whistler (indignantly): Chat up? Not getting paid? I’m showing him the ropes!
Camilla (walking back into the office): Which includes chatting in the hall.
Whistler: Naturally.
They enter the office and Frank calls out to them from about fifteen feet away.
Frank: Camilla! Upper Management’s sent you an assignment.
He hurries over and gives her the file, which she skims. Doyle peeks curiously over her shoulder and sees a photograph of the client: a young black woman.
Camilla: It’s a quickie. Good.
Frank: They uh . . . they also said you should take number . . . sorry. The new guy.
Camilla glances at Doyle, then back at Frank.
Camilla: Really? Well, alright.
Whistler: Great! You two go have fun. I’m gonna catch an hour or two of shuteye.
Frank: Are you tired?
Whistler: What kind of a question is that? Am I tired? Of course I’m tired! I’ve been awake for days!
Frank: But you don’t really need that much sleep.
Whistler: Sure, not physically. But unlike you, I need to give my brain a rest more than once a month. (To Camilla and Doyle) Anyway, best of luck. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.
He saunters over to his desk, slips into his chair, and pulls his hat over his face. Soon soft snores can be heard.
Frank: Well, I’ve got to go do Melaka’s field report.
As he leaves, Ophelia walks over to Camilla and Doyle.
Ophelia (smiling): Hello Camilla dear.
Camilla (smiling hesitantly): Hi Ophelia.
Ophelia: And hello again, Mr. – Doyle, was it? – You are going with Camilla on this assignment, I take it?
Doyle opens his mouth but Camilla hurries to respond.
Camilla: Yes, he is. It’s a young Wicca in Cleveland. Do you know anything about the situation?
Ophelia takes the file from Camilla. She opens it, looks at it for all of three seconds, then hands it back to Camilla.
Ophelia: It’s a dangerous area. A dangerous case. And it will not, despite any contrary belief, be a quick assignment. Perhaps initially, but something tells me you’ll be working closely with this girl for at least a few weeks.
Camilla (unhappy): Really? I hadn’t realized.
Ophelia (condescendingly): So it appears. But yes, this is a complex case. The witch’s temper is rather volatile, and she has a great deal of power. Yes, she is a real fencer.
A man, Charles, brushes past Camilla, head down. She shoots an annoyed look at him, but if he notices he does not react.
Doyle: She’s a sword fighter?
Camilla (quickly): No, not that kind of fencer. She means he’s on the fence. He could go either way.
She eyes him meaningfully. He looks at her uncomprehendingly before his eyes widen.
Doyle: Oh, of course, haha. A fencer. Could go either way. So . . . we’ve got to . . . be real careful. And we will be.
Ophelia: See that you are.
She walks away, shooting a disparaging look at the sleeping Whistler.
Doyle: Well, she’s certainly a . . .
His eyes widen and stare, unseeing, at a point over Camilla’s right shoulder. His mouth opens and closes and he makes a few strangled noises.
Camilla: Doyle?
He slaps his palm against his temple as his eyes roll frantically in their sockets. His other hand grips the nearest desk which is, thankfully, unoccupied as he practically doubles over it.
Camilla (grabbing his shoulders): Doyle! Are you okay? Doyle, answer me! Whatever it is, snap out of it!
End Act II
Act III
Open on Camilla and Doyle in the office.
Camilla: Snap out of it!
Abruptly, he does. His eyes slip shut for a few moments but he lowers the hand that was pressed against his forehead. He is still leaning heavily on the desk, breathing hard. She releases his shoulders.
Doyle: I wasn’t expecting that.
Camilla: What was that?
Doyle: A vision. Goddamn Powers, I was done with it! I passed ‘em on; I did my part!
Camilla: You were a seer in your mortal life, weren’t you?
Doyle: I guess you could call it that. Bloody painful. God, I need alcohol. Or painkillers.
Camilla: Sorry. They don’t – well, they don’t work up here. They’re not needed up here. I don’t know if maybe your condition is special, but I would expect that you wouldn’t need them either once you committed to this job.
Doyle: What’s the afterlife without pain, I said. I’ll tell you: a damn easy ride, that’s what. God, I should’ve taken eternal bliss.
Camilla (hurt): Hey, you don’t really mean that. It may seem that way now–
Doyle: Have I made a big scene? The freaky new Irish bloke with the migraines?
He glances around, but doesn’t find much of a reaction beyond a few strange looks. Whistler is still sound asleep. A demon not six feet away from them is listening to his walkman and moving his head slightly to the beat, oblivious.
Doyle: Guess not.
Camilla: We’ve all seen weirder. It’s hard to surprise immortals, although honestly . . . What did you see?
Doyle: Her. That girl from the file. I didn’t really get anything else that was clear. I think there was us, and two other guys, but I didn’t see who they were. Just a feeling that there’s gonna be trouble and we’d better bring whatever backup there is to speak of.
Cut to Doyle, Camilla, and Whistler walking down an apartment block in Cleveland at night.
Whistler: Tell me again why I woke up for this?
Camilla (exasperated): For the twelfth time: Doyle had a vision. There’s gonna be trouble. Who else do you expect us to ask for help?
Whistler: Good point. And not to toot my own horn, but I am quite the martial arts expert.
Camilla: I’d laugh, if it weren’t true. (Holding up her hand) Wait a sec. I think this might be it.
They’ve come to a stop outside a filthy building with a neon green arrow pointing down. A few stairs lead down to a basement level. They walk down the steps and Whistler pulls open the door. They are immediately assaulted with blaring music and voices.
Doyle: This must be the place.
Whistler strolls confidently in. Doyle looks at Camilla’s slight figure, then hurries to go in front of her. She sees what he’s trying to do and puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him in his tracks.
Doyle: Don’t worry–
Camilla: Please. The knight in shining armor act is all very sweet, but I’ll have you know that this here knee has sterilized plenty of unsuspecting scumbags.
Doyle, unsure how to react, just stands there as she walks past him into the dive. Shaking his head, he hurries in after her.
Inside, the three of them shove through the undulating crowd. Flashing lights of various colors bounce off the disco ball hanging from the ceiling, creating a rather dizzying effect. There is a small stage, but no live band. Just a booming stereo.
Camilla: Looks like you won’t be using those martial arts skills tonight. Not much good in a place like this.
Whistler: Then it sure is a good thing I happen to be well versed in the art of bar fighting.
Camilla: Hey, wait a minute. See that guy over there by the stage?
She points to a man standing rather awkwardly apart from the writhing crowd. Whistler follows her finger with his eyes and frowns at the sight of the man.
Whistler: It’s that guy, Charles. He’s on the other side.
Doyle: He must be one of the guys in my vision. Maybe you’re the other one. Hopefully there won’t be anybody else, but it ain’t exactly easy to find familiar faces in a place like this . . . Hey, there’s the girl!
He gestures at the girl from the file. She is wearing a mini skirt and skimpy black halter, weaving through the crowd with a tray of drinks balanced on one hand. Her hair is done in many delicate braids, pulled together into a loose ponytail that hangs halfway down her back. She does not look happy as she serves horny men who keep trying to feel her up.
Whistler: Oh man, she’s just a kid. And she’s got not one but four immortal beings about to shove her into an eternal war. The one thing I hate most about this job is when we send kids like her out to get killed in the name of Balance or Good or Evil or whatever the hell you wanna believe in.
Camilla: What about when they make you the bad guy?
Whistler: The two things I hate the most about this job are when they make me the bad guy and when they make me send these kids out into the thick of it. When they make me hate myself.
Doyle: Look, can we save the introspective trip for later? That Charlie guy’s making his move.
Charles moves through the crowd to stand directly behind the girl. He places his hands on her elbows and whispers something in her ear. She stiffens and looks to the side. He waves a wad of cash in front of her then strides out of the bar. Whistler, Camilla, and Doyle duck into the shadows as he passes them. Wordlessly, Whistler grabs Doyle’s arm and pulls him out of the bar, after Charles. As the girl slowly makes her way towards the door, Camilla steps in front of her.
Camilla: Hi. Can I talk to you, Jessica? It is Jessica, right?
Jessica (annoyed): It’s on my name tag.
Camilla: Of course it is. I’m Camilla, by the way. So nice to meet you.
Jessica: Pleasure’s mine, I’m sure.
Camilla: Right, well, enough small talk. That guy who was just talking to you? I don’t know what he said, but I do know him and believe me when I say he’s bad news. My friends are going to keep him off our backs for awhile. Feel like a drink?
Cut to the two of them seated at a small table in a café that looks much nicer than the sleazy bar.
Jessica: But he was going to pay me. I-I need the money.
Camilla: Uh, well, in that case . . . I’ll pay you too.
Camilla fishes through her pockets but doesn’t take anything out.
Camilla: Just not right now. Right now I’ll buy you a nice Shirley Temple or something. What are you, sixteen?
Jessica: Eighteen.
Camilla glares at her sternly.
Jessica: Seventeen.
Camilla: Hmph. Anyway, down to business. You’ve got two . . . well, three choices now. You could follow Charles. You could follow me. Or you could go back to the bar and serve drinks to lecherous old drunkards for the rest of your life. And I’m telling you right now that way would be easy, and probably short, but certainly not rewarding.
Jessica: What the hell are you going on about, lady?
Camilla: Your life. And the lives of others. How long have you lived here?
Jessica: I came here with my mom when I was real little.
Camilla: Have you ever noticed anything . . . strange? Anything not just abnormal but paranormal?
Jessica shifts uncomfortably in her seat.
Camilla: Okay, you might think I’m crazy, but Cleveland is not a normal city. It’s what we call a Hellmouth, although it’s not a very strong one, it’s still strong enough. The supernatural is drawn to this place. (Takes a deep breath) And so were you. You see, Jessica, you’re a bit paranormal yourself. (Hastily) It’s not a bad thing! I’m not even human, you know. Neither’s Charles. But I’m a much nicer demon than he is.
Cut to Whistler and Doyle facing off with Charles.
Charles: How brave of you to come. But you must think I’m stupid if you thought I came alone.
Four blue demons with red eyes and spikes all down their backs emerge from the shadows. Whistler and Doyle look around anxiously. They are surrounded.
Whistler (trying to remain calm): I don’t know you fellows, do I? I don’t think you work in the office.
Charles: No, they’re not exactly the desk job type. Office boys are rarely good in a fight. So I called in a few favors with the locals.
Whistler (angry): Rarely good in a fight? You think so? Well, I happen to be one of those rare exceptions.
Charles (smug): Is that so?
The demons growl menacingly but do not move.
Whistler: Well, they do a nice lawn ornament impression, Charlie Boy. But seriously, are they gonna stand there and growl all day or are they gonna attack?
Charles scowls and waves at the demons. All four of them rush Whistler and Doyle who stand back to back.
Doyle (ducking a punch from Demon #1): Are you sure taunting them was a good idea? I think you made ‘em mad.
Whistler (pulling Demon #2 into a headlock and reaching for a weapon): More fun this way! Haha!
Demon #3 tosses Whistler away from the now unconscious Demon #2, while Demon #1 throws Doyle on top of Whistler, who is still laughing maniacally. Demon #4 and Charles rush into the bar in search of Jessica.
Whistler (grabbing Doyle’s sleeve): Hang on.
Doyle: What?
Whistler teleports them out of there.
Cut to the café with Camilla and Jessica talking at the table.
Camilla: He’ll use you, just like a tool. He’s like those men in the bar. To them, you’re not a person. You’re just an object.
Whistler (O.S.): To Charlie Boy, we’re all just objects.
Camilla spins around in her chair and sees Whistler and Doyle, the latter looking a bit queasy.
Doyle: What the hell was that?
Whistler: Teleportation. Nifty trick, us immortals get to use in a crisis. (To Camilla) Thought I’d find you here.
Camilla: You know me too well.
Whistler: Yeah, and I know Charles too. Thinks everyone’s his personal ping-pong ball, he can whack around whichever way he wants.
Whistler and Doyle both pull up chairs. Jessica scoots a little closer to Camilla.
Camilla: So Jessica, back to what I was saying.
A loud crash interrupts her. They all turn to see Demons 1-3 standing amidst the wreckage of the front door.
Doyle: Uh, how did they find us?
Whistler: Hell if I know!
Jessica (wide-eyed): Friends of yours?
As she says that, the demons turn to face Whistler, Doyle, Camilla, and Jessica. They growl and start to make their way through the screaming masses, tossing people and tables out of their way. Whistler pulls a knife out of his boot and launches himself at the nearest demon. As they grapple on the floor, Camilla and Doyle struggle with the other two. Whistler quickly dispatches his and moves to help Doyle, who is being strangled. Meanwhile, Jessica is watching, terrified. She sees Whistler try to stab the demon in the back of the neck, only to have the knife knocked from his grasp. Doyle, who is now gasping on the floor, dives for the discarded weapon as Whistler starts smashing chairs over the demon’s spiky back. Camilla is having some difficulty with her own opponent. It has her backed up against a wall. Her knife is embedded in its shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to care. She lifts her right leg and drives her high heel into the place where its groin ought to be. It snarls and is distracted just long enough for Camilla to wriggle out of its grasp and move behind it. However, she is still weaponless.
Jessica: Camilla!
Camilla turns and catches the object that the girl throws to her. She eyes it dubiously for a moment, but then the demon is upon her. Without time to think, she presses the little button and sprays the demon. It roars and begins to claw at its eyes before falling to the ground in the now nearly empty café. Whistler and Doyle, having defeated their own opponent, start to move towards Camilla and Jessica.
Camilla: Nice pepper spray.
Jessica: Thanks. Nice heels.
Camilla: As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, Charles doesn’t see you as a person. He sees you as something he can and will use to his advantage. He’s blind to your power, but you don’t have to be. You–
Jessica: Those were demons, right?
Camilla: Yes.
Jessica: Sent by this Charlie guy?
Whistler: Yeah.
Jessica: And you’re saying I’m a witch?
Camilla: Yes, you are.
Jessica: I think I’d rather go with the people who don’t have spikes.
Doyle coughs loudly at that, but doesn’t say anything.
Camilla: Just so we’re clear, it won’t be easy. There will be good times and bad times, but the good times will be so much the better for it. And you’ll be doing real good. Much more than you’d be doing as a waitress.
Jessica: I get it; I’m in already.
Camilla: Really? Great! I’ll be back to check on you in a few days. Don’t worry, I’ll know how to find you.
She nudges the nearest blue demon with her toe.
Camilla: And these guys shouldn’t be bothering you anymore.
Whistler: Take care of yourself, kid.
That said, he grabs Doyle and they vanish. Camilla gives Jessica a smile and a wave before she too disappears.
Jessica: Right-o. Time to wake up now? Guess not.
She moves slowly out of the now abandoned café.
End Act III
Commercial break
Act IV
Open on Jeremy sitting at his desk. He has a huge grin on his face and is typing excitedly. He hears the door opening behind him and spins around. Whistler, Camilla, and Doyle traipse through the door.
Camilla (to secretary): I’m back from my assignment, Frida.
Jeremy (on his feet, ushering them over to his desk): Whistler! Cam! Where’ve you guys been? You won’t believe what’s happened to me! (Noticing Doyle) Who’re you?
Doyle: The name’s Doyle. I’m applying for a job here.
Jeremy: Oh, sweet. Anyway, (suddenly melodramatic) I’ve got to tell you Cam, it’ll never work between us, baby. I’m sorry, but my heart belongs to another.
Camilla: Jeremy . . .
Whistler: Not again! It hasn’t even been a month since the last one. Where’s that fabled immortal patience?
Jeremy: This time it’s different, I swear! She really is the girl of my dreams. And the best part: it’s a long-term assignment.
Camilla wearily sits down. Whistler hops onto Jeremy’s desk, and Doyle leans against a neighboring desk.
Camilla: Great. As if we didn’t already have enough crap to deal with, now we’ve got a lovesick puppy on our hands too.
Jeremy (suddenly worried, sits down): What are you talking about? What happened?
Camilla (wearily): Well, Doyle here had a vision. About my latest assignment, which I was supposed to take him on anyway. So he saw that there was going to be trouble.
Frank (O.S.): Camilla!
She turns to face him. He’s pale and fidgety, more so than usual.
Camilla: Frank? What is it?
Frank: Upper Management, uh, wants to t-talk to you. I-I think they’re angry, Camilla. It’s about the job you just went on. Something about c-civilians and c-casualties and a big h-hullabaloo.
She sighs and stands, running her hands anxiously over her clothing and hair.
Camilla: Once more unto the breach.
As she walks off, Frank calls after her.
Frank: Good luck! (Muttering) I think I need a break. See you guys later.
He scurries out of the office.
Jeremy: Okay, would one of you please explain what’s going on?
Cut to Camilla in the phone booth.
Camilla: Yes, I do realize it’s supposed to be secretive. . . . Yes, I am sure that only the demons were hurt. . . . No, that was self-defense! . . . Why would they attack us? I don’t know; I didn’t get a chance to . . . I’m sorry. . . . Yes, I will do my best to keep things under control when I go back. . . . Thank you.
Cut to Camilla rejoining Jeremy, Whistler, and Doyle. Jeremy stands as she arrives.
Jeremy: Are you alright? What did they say?
Camilla: I’m fine. They let me off with a warning. These guys filled you in?
Jeremy: Yeah. I can’t believe those bastards!
He turns and angrily kicks his desk. Camilla raises an eyebrow at this behavior.
Doyle: For a balance demon, you’re awfully unbalanced.
Camilla: Has Charles made an appearance?
Whistler: Not yet. Somehow I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of him. And we all know he’s not exactly alone in his beliefs.
Camilla: This turn of events does not make dealing with them every day any easier. (To Doyle) You’ll have to put up with them too if you get the job.
Doyle: Speaking of which, well, did I? How will I know?
Whistler (shrugging): They haven’t called me in yet. Maybe they’re about to. Or maybe they’ve been listening and watching and judging all along, just to make us all paranoid.
Doyle: This is crazy. What do I do until I find out? There an immortal motel around here somewhere?
Whistler: Well, like Frank mentioned earlier, you don’t really need to sleep every night anymore. Besides, the night is young.
Jeremy: Yeah, how about we hold a little impromptu celebration? Give Doyle a proper welcome to the afterlife.
The camera begins to zoom out as they continue talking and laughing. Cut to the exterior of the building. A grey car comes screeching to a halt in one of the parking spaces. The door opens and out steps Charles. He slams the door and stomps over to Whistler’s black car. Charles kicks it angrily. The car alarm goes off. He slumps despondently on the curb.
Charles: That went well.
End show
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