Tuesday, August 9, 2016
Happy Tuesday, crime slicksters. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where the girls are hot, the drinks are cold, and the hardboiled-pulp-noir action is non-stop, right here, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.
In Chapter 25 of THE INVISIBLE GIRL, the invisible Bettie Bee pays a visit to Gretchen, one of the popular kids that bullied her ... and gets bloody revenge ...
INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT
The sound of WATER RUNNING. Clouds of STEAM.
We see the silhouette of a GIRL
behind the rippled opaque shower stall.
Softly singing some shitty top-forty hit.
Water SHUTS OFF. The door OPENS.
A feminine HAND comes out.
Reaches for a towel -- and out steps GRETCHEN.
Two scoops of fresh-scrubbed blonde,
now wrapped in white terry cloth.
She wraps her wet hair in a towel,
softly humming. Pads into -
INT. GRETCHEN’S BEDROOM - NIGHT
The haughty vixen walks over to her desk.
Sits. Boots up her laptop. She works the mouse.
Fingers fly across the keyboard.
A CHAT WINDOW fills the screen.
IN THE WINDOW
We see Brad’s leering face.
Hey, babe. Looks like somebody ALREADY got wet.
Leans toward the camera. Leers.
Why do you think I’m wearing a towel?
Are you touching yourself?
Yeah. I’m stroking it for you, baby.
C’mon. I wanna see you touch yourself.
Gretchen’s hand disappears under her towel.
Her eyes flash.
C’mon, I wanna SEE IT.
C’mon, Gretchen --
What would Muffin do if she caught you
doing this with me?
FUCK Muffin. She’s a stuck-up BITCH.
OUTSIDE HER WINDOW
Lonny stands in the dark,
videotaping the proceedings.
Eyes wide as saucers.
Takes a cookie from his pocket. Eats it.
IN THE BEDROOM
Gretchen smiles nastily at the computer screen.
She’s a stuck-up bitch who won’t PUT OUT --
Not like ME.
That’s right, baby.
MALE VOICE (V.O.)
You’ve got mail!
Whoops. Just got an email. Hold on a sec.
Don’t, wait --
She clicks the mouse.
Minimizes the video chat window.
Goes to her email.
Checks to see who it’s from.
IN THE EMAIL INBOX
We see it’s from BETTIE BEE.
Looks at it. Scared. Opens it.
THE EMAIL READS
Prepare to die, bitch. See you in HELL.
Starts freaking out.
She opens the video chat window again.
Brad. It’s Bettie. She just sent me an email.
Shit. What did it say?
Suddenly the towel on Gretchen’s head
comes FLYING OFF.
What the FUCK?
It’s meat curtains for YOU.
ON THE COMPUTER
Brad’s face fills the screen.
What’s going on? Did SHE do that?
IN THE BEDROOM
The towel wrapped around Gretchen’s body FLIES OFF.
Prepare to meet your maker, WHORE.
Continues videotaping. Riveted.
Leans into the computer.
It’s HER. She’s HERE. Call the POLICE.
Hold ON. I’m calling nine-one-one --
I always thought you were quite the cut-up.
A pair of scissors RISES UP
out of a cup full of pencils --
and FLIES DOWN into her hand,
HARPOONING IT to the desktop.
IN BRAD’S BEDROOM
He talks on his cell phone with one hand,
hopping around, trying to pull up his pants
with the other.
She’s being attacked --
Yes, right now.
I told you. BETTIE BEE.
Because we were VIDEO CHATTING.
(looks at the computer)
Ohmigod, she just STABBED her
with a pair of scissors.
Tell them to HURRY.
IN GRETCHEN’S BEDROOM
A book comes FLYING OFF the bookshelf
on her desk --
Read any GOOD BOOKS lately?
And HITS her on the head.
She GRABS the scissors,
tries to pull them out --
And YANKS them free.
Blood starts GUSHING from the wound.
She LEAPS UP off her chair.
Starts JABBING at the air around her,
trying to stab Bettie.
You go, girl. Fight for your LIFE.
Let’s see some BLONDE AMBITION --
More books start FLYING off their shelves
and start PELTING her in the head.
The stomach. Her arms. Legs.
She COLLAPSES in a heap on the floor.
Bettie starts KICKING her.
BETTIE (V.O.) (CONT'D)
That’s for all the YEARS --
You’ve all been PICKING ON ME.
Gretchen’s body LIFTS UP off the floor.
Starts heading toward an AQUARIUM
full of tropical fish.
Wow, don’t know my own strength.
I’m SORRY, I’m SORRY --
Too late for that, hot stuff.
Time to SLEEP WITH THE FISHES.
And her head goes
FLYING INTO THE GLASS with a CRUNCH.
Water and fish SPRAY into the room.
Broken glass SLICES HER NECK OPEN.
She FLOPS onto the floor.
Blood GUSHES down her front.
Gee, I hate to CUT this short,
but I gotta split.
Thanks for the mammaries.
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW
Lonny turns off the camera.
Eyes like saucers.