The Dark Half

Miss Bird...

...said...

...brightly.

Does that make you feel funny, son?

You don't feel woozy? Like you might faint?

- No, sir. - Good.

I know it's writin', Thad.

This all started just about the same time you started with your stories.

- Sittin' in the dark, squintin' to see. - Hm.

Couldn't that be it, Doctor? Couldn't all this come from strainin' his eyes?

Possibly. But these sounds, these bird sounds he's hearing.

Sometimes a smell or a sound can be a sign of something more than eyestrain.

I don't think we have an emergency, but we'll have to watch it, Thad.

- Wanna be a writer, do ya? - Yes, sir.

If he's so determined, you oughta buy the man a typewriter.

We have our eye on a used one.

Been savin' up for it.

Maybe we ought to go ahead and buy it, huh, Thad?

Seven-thirty, Thad. You'll miss your bus.

Let's go, hotshot.

Thaddeus.

My Lord. All this in one mornin'?

Thaddeus!

Polly! There's something wrong with Thad Beaumont.

Stay in your seats. Stay in your seats.

Thad? What's wrong, honey?

Three-by-five-centimetre window in the upper-left anterior portion of the skull.

- BP is steady at 120 over 80. - I'm opening.

- Oh, my. - Slight fluctuation.

Hilary! Remember where you are, please.

Respiration normal at 65.

- Get someone in here. - What in the world is it?

It's nothing. Once it was a twin.

- Now it's nothing. - A twin?

Unborn, but absorbed into the system.

We'll continue with 18 units of valium, packed cells.

We have an eye...

...part of a nostril...

...two teeth.

Hm. One of the teeth has a small cavity.

A year ago this was probably submicroscopic in size.

Somehow it... got itself going again. The damn thing actually started to grow.

- Incredible. - Don't ask me why.

All I know is that we've located a very rare sort of... tumour.

Close call, folks, but I think we got here just in time.

I'm getting a slight elevation in blood pressure.

What the hell...?

Beautiful in Atlanta, no delays. Dallas, Fort Worth, experiencing thunderstorms.

Watch out for serious weather in this area. Could be some tornado activity.

Strong thunderstorms back through the central Rockies as well.

Honey, can I... Can Mommy have that? Thank you very much.

William. Don't... don't do that, buddy.

- Oh, I'm sorry. - A born editor.

It's not that bad, is it?

Guess it is. Just a sec. I got something for you.

I act like a pure klutz.

There. Play with these things.

- What do you think, Mommy? - Sh. Just a minute. I'm on the last page.

- Not much? - Not much?

- It's wonderful. - There's not a lot there.

I stay up all night and produce nine lousy pages.

- Nine perfect pages. It's great. - But is it a best seller?

Who cares? It's gonna be a great book, Thad.

You're doing it. You are actually really doing it.

Oh...

It's not comin' outta me easy.

We are human beings. Plural.

Each one of us is two separate beings.

There's the outer being, the one we show to the world at large.

Inhibited, timid...

Often a pathological liar.

And then there's the inner being.

The truthful one.

Passionate, uninhibited, even lustful.

And most of us keep that inner being hidden away, locked up.

But the fiction writer doesn't have to hide it, doesn't have to keep it from anything.

He can let it out, bring it out in the open, let it live.

Hell, he can give it the car keys, let it ride!

Yes!

In fact, he has to do that.

It's essential. The writer has to let that inner being out of the lockup.

He has to let it have a voice in his work

otherwise the work itself will be inhibited.

Timid. Without passion.

It'll be a pack of lies.

I think we'll cut it short today. I was up all night working.

That inner being kept me awake. I...

Your stories are due on Wednesday. Don't forget.

Uh, w... would you autograph your book for me?

Just make it out to Fred. Fred Clawson.

- That's not my book. - Isn't it?

No. Look here.

Hm?

The picture's a phoney.

The name too. "George Stark. "

Phoney.

I know all about it.

It's my turn to be storyteller, OK?

There's this writer, see? Let's call him "Beaumont".

He writes a coupla highbrow books about yuppies and faggots.

The critics rave but nobody buys, so he changes his style.

He starts writing about tits and tough guys.

- He dreams up this badass character. - Machine.

- Yeah. - Alexis Machine.

He calls himself George Stark, so his mother won't find out he writes this shit.

He slaps a phoney picture on the back, boom! He sells a million copies.

So he writes three more of these things. Boom, boom, boom. He gets rich.

- Not that rich. - Rich enough, I think. Rich enough.

So, what's he gonna write next?

A nice big cheque, if he wants me to keep my mouth shut about this.

And if he doesn't want?

- What if he doesn't care what you do? - Oh, he wants. He cares.

And if he doesn't, the people around him do.

They got a major-league scam goin' here.

There's a million Americans out there just waiting to lay out their 29 and change...

...for George to give 'em another hard-on.

They believe in George Stark. They believe he's writin' about shit he knows.

They find out they've been lied to, that 29 and change might go back in the pocket.

And I don't think you or the people around you wanna take that chance.

- How'd you find out? - This babe who works for your publisher.

I live in New York. She gave me the whole story. It's like Machine says in your book.

"At nine o'clock, she came. At ten o'clock, she came across. "

I've written about slime before, Clawson, but none of it as low to the ground as you.

- Maybe you'll put me in a book someday. - Oh, I will.

And I'll make you suffer.

Before you die.

Uh, look, I got a bus to catch back to New York.

You think about it.

- "To Fred"? - Huh?

Oh, yeah.

Look, you talk to your people, see what it's worth to keep this outta the papers.

I'll call you in a few days, and we can negotiate the, uh, payment plan.

Oh, and thanks for the autograph.

Don't go crazy over this. We'll figure out a way to handle it.

Oh, it's just such an invasion. Who needs this shit?

Oh...

OK, come on. You're gonna help me. They're both up.

Who's the best boy? Who's the best boy?

Who's all wet? Whoo-oo.

OK. OK.

There you go.

OK, just a minute, swirly-whirly.

I know how you could blow this guy off, really knock him for a loop.

I'd like to knock him for a loop.

Little stinker. That dirty little stinker. That little rat.

I oughta go get him. That's what Alexis Machine would do.

He'd cut off his pecker and shove it in his little rat mouth...

...so when they found him, they'd know he was a squealer.

- How can I knock him for a loop? - Go to the press yourself.

Tell them "I'm George Stark. "

OK, come on.

Eat hearty. If I do this crazy thing your mother's talkin' about...

...we'll end up livin' on cat food.

I think Thad Beaumont can sell enough books to keep his family off the streets.

What do you guys think, huh? Is it time to say "Bye-bye, Uncle George?"

Yeah. Hm.

Well, I guess it's unanimous.

Bye-bye. Bye-bye.

Oh, no.

- Shit! - That's all right.

- I think I cooked it a little too long. - No, it'II... it'll be good.

So that's the story, Rick. It seems like going public is the right thing to do.

I just need to know you're all right with it.

Stark earns a lot more for you than I do.

Well, hey, if you don't want me to do this, I'll give it some more thought.

Yeah.

Yeah... No, absolutely.

Oh, yeah, sure we have.

- Miriam? What, is she there? - Are you kidding?

You guys patching things up?

No such thing. We're committed to making our divorce work.

But she still is my business partner. She's picking up the extension.

Thad, your new book is gonna win awards and sell 200,000 hardback.

Who needs George Stark? We'll help you get rid of him.

I'll put out a press release, you can do the talk shows. I say hallelujah.

You heard the lady, Thad. We're with you 100o/, baby.

Bye, Thad. Kiss the babies for me.

- Bye-bye. - Talk to you soon.

- Shit. - He shouldn't be writing trash.

We have a lot of clients who can make us money with trash.

I like trash. I love trash. I read George Stark cos it's fun.

I read Thad Beaumont because it's my job.

That's why we now live across town from each other.

Let's get back to work.

So we kill off George Stark. OK, that's OK. We kill off Stark.

Hey, maybe Beaumont's books start to sell. Who knows?

Stranger things have happened. Stranger things have happened.

- You're not sold on this? - It's the money, Liz.

We're used to a pretty nice life. Flushing that away just...

Be honest, Thad. You don't wanna give up George. You've become attached to him.

Yeah, well, I mean, is that so weird? I've been working with the guy for a long time.

I'm used to him. I like having him around.

Sure. He lets you do what you want, say anything you want, be anything you want.

He's your drinking buddy.

Liz, I'm not an alcoholic. Hm?

- George Stark is. - Oh, come on.

You don't realise what you're like when you write those books, do you?

- It's like watching Jekyll turn into Hyde. - That's a little extreme.

I'm not out raping barmaids.

Thad Beaumont gave up drinking. He gave up smoking. George Stark didn't.