Scene Title Transmission
Synopsis Darryl Lincoln has a terrible day…
Date July 3, 2010

Morningside Heights

Radio, Live Transmission

Morning sunlight shines bright through the dirty windows of the Crown Heights - Boro Park bus. Seated with his back to the window, staring between the heads of two elderly men reading the morning paper, Darryl Lincoln looks like a man ready to be marched into his own grave. Ghostly pale with dark circles around his eyes, he sweats nervously, one leg jittering to the beat of the small portable radio in the vacant seat beside him, playing out tinny music, Joy Division's Transmission.

Radio, Live Transmission

Running his tongue over his parched lips, Darrly's eyes flick over to the radio, staring vacantly at the clock on the front, then back to the window he'd been occupied with just a moment before. Shaky, pale hands cling together, fingers lace and unlace and steps are taken to measure his breathing. Everything feels suffocatingly tight and claustrophobic though, everything is muffled and noises seem wrong. That high-pitched tinnitus whine in Darryl's right ear is getting worse.

Listen to the silence, let it ring on

Brown eyes snap to the radio again and Darryl's foot keeps bouncing to the fast-paced rhythm of the song, in his chest it feels like his heart is too. Looking up past the playing radio, Darryl's eyes focus on the young man it belongs to, with a magazine folded over in one hand, brows furrowed and lips pursed thoughtfully, a pencil scribbling at a Sudoku puzzle.

Eyes, dark gray lenses frightened of the sun

One of Darryl's shaky hands lifts up to cover his mouth as he swallows nervously, looking ahead to the bus driver, meeting his eyes in the rear-view mirror, teeth chattering to the beat of the song playing loud in the back of his head. The bus jerks to a stop, people shift like a human wave from the slowing momentum, the brakes screech and the doors slide open and one of those two old man creakingly gets up from his seat and folds his newspaper under one arm, shuffling to the head of the bus to get off.

We would have a fine time, living in the night

Darryl swallows dryly, eyes wide as he watches the old man get off of the bus. His chest flutters with a shallow breath as the bus picks up movement again, eyes alight towards the route printed above the windows. Teeth chatter again and Darryl's fingers curl in the fabric of his slacks, knuckles white and a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his head, tongue pressing against the backs of his bottom teeth.

Left to blind destruction

"Can— " Darryl's own voice startles him as he realizes he's talking, shoulders hunched forward and posture tense as he eyes the young man sitting beside him. "Can— you turn that off?" The halting cadence of his speech comes with a twitch of one brow, a quirk of the corner of his mouth and the shake of his right hand. The boy is heedless of Darryl's request, writing in his Sudoku puzzle.

Waiting for our sight

Jaw trembling, Darryl sits up straight just a little, mouth opening to speak and a hoarse, croaking sound slipping past his lips. "Please," he emphasizes, only then getting the boy's attention, hazel eyes settled on Darryl confusedly. "Can you…" Darryl's far darker eyes avert down to the radio, then back up, "can you turn it off?"

And we would go on as if nothing was wrong

"What?" The boy asks with a crease of his brows, looking down to the radio and then back up. Darryl's wiry frame tenses up, his head jerks to the side with a tick and he makes a faint clicking sound with his tongue, index and middle fingr tapping on his knee to the bass-beat of the guitar strumming out of the radio.

And hide from these days we remained all alone

"Your— your fucking radio!" Darryl tightly rasps, fingers curling in the fabric of his slacks again, hands giving a tremble as his heel bounces up and down to the beat of the song. "Can— you please turn off your radio, I— I'm asking nicely." The boy sets down his paper in his lap, looks down at the radio and then back up to Darryl with a squint.

Staying in the same place, just staying out of time

The boy shakes his head and picks up his folded magazine again, "Man, fuck off…" the kid mumbles, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his puzzle, sending Darryl into a twitching fit as his brow jerks up and down, eyes track back to the window and the speeding scenery rapidly passing by the finger smudged glass.

Touching from a distance

The bus jerks to a stop, people shift like a human wave from the slowing momentum, the brakes screech and the doors slide open and the other old man creakingly gets up from his seat and folds his newspaper under one arm, shuffling to the head of the bus to get off. Darryl's brown eyes flick up to the route map, and he bolts to his feet, stumbling as he reaches out for one of the print-smudged aluminum bars, briefly touching it before recoiling his hand and staggering towards the front of the bus.

Further all the time

Sweat rolls down from Darryl's wavy bangs, trickles down the side of his face and tickles his short beard hairs. The radio hums in the back of his mind, the beat makes his fingers tap against his hip and feet find an awkward shuffle to the rhythm. The bus driver meets Darryl's eyes in the rear view mirror again, and Darryl looks away as he sees his own pallid, sweaty face and the improper way his brown suit fits his lanky frame.

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio…

Practically pushing to get off of the bus, Daryl breathes in the warm summer air thickly through his nose as he shuffles off of the bus and onto the curb. He hunches forward, right hand twitching and trembling hand brought into his right pocket. Brown eyes shift over to the stone buildings lining the street, focus eventually shifting up to the placard above one double set of doors, then over to the police cruisers parked out front.

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio…

Feet still shuffling awkwardly, Darryl advances on the Crown Heights Police Station, passing by two uniformed officers who pause as they pass him, looking over their shoulders and then at each other as the sweat-streaked and trembling man makes shuffling progress up the steps and towards the front doors of the police station.

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio…

By the time he's got his hand on the door, Darryl's fingers are shaking harder and the noise of the traffic on the street behind him sounds like a muffled roar all blending together. His eyes flick left and right, looking over his shoulder to the police officers now standing by their cruiser, catching their eyes as they look up at him, one of them on his radio. Darryl looks away, hears a honking car behind him and squeaking brakes, then pushes one side of the double doors open into the nosy and crowded lobby of the police station.

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio…

Lifting up one hand to rub at his ear, Darryl's fingers tug at his earlobe. The police station lobby is packed with busy folk, all of their voices joining together in a humming murmur, people packed shoulder to shoulder, some shouting and others being hauled away in handcuffs. Police officers on radios descend from the stairs, storming out the front doors while chatter crackles noisily in Darryl's ears.

Well I could call out when the going gets tough

"Excuse me…" Darryl murmurs as he approaches the front desk where five busy attendants are both conversing with people filing complaints and juggling phone calls. "Excuse me?" No one hears Darryl as he's approaching, his shoulders roll forward and brows rise up to his hairline, eyes wide and tongue sliding across his lips as his forefingers and thumb roll together. "Ex— excuse me!"

*The things that we've learnt are no longer enough**

"Will— Will somebody fucking listen to me!?" Darryl screams with his eyes wrenched shut, "S— somefucking listen to me!?" One of the clerks eyes land on Darryl, as well as an officer in uniform sipping at a coffee who's hand settles down on the gun holstered at his hip, eyes darting around the room to follow Darryl's spastic stare.

No language, no sound

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down and get in line," the clerk diplomatically states as he motions to the back of a long line of people winding to his station. Darryl's eyes shut, his hands clasp over his ears and he hisses out a breath through shakily parted lips as his feet carry him shakily towards the front desk. "Sir? Sir are you alright?"

That's all we need know, to synchronize

"They— they're going to disappear! They're all going to vanish! Shelly Winbrook! Shelly is going to be taken! I heard it— I— I know what's going to happen!" Darryl's voice practically chokes at the end as he starts advancing on the front desk rapidly, eliciting that officer who'd been watching him to put down his coffee and start coming around the crowd up behind Darryl. "Please— please no one will listen to me! Please! They're going to get her! She's going to— to disappear! Shelly Winbrook, one twenty-one Edgecombe Avenue, apartment 604! H— Hamilton Heights! Please!"

Love to the beat of the show

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down and take a seat!" The officer approaching from behind barks, causing Darryl to whip around, dark eyes wide as he staggers back towards the front desk. "Sir, if you have a vision to report we can have you fill out that will be processed when we have time, you need to be— "

And we could dance

"Fucking listen to me!" Darryl shouts, throwing himself at the officer, fingers curling in his jacket, feet slipping on the floor and both of their weights toppling over and onto the tile. Two more officers immediately vault the front desk, rushing over to grab Darryl by the arms and struggle to pull him off of the other officer. "Listen to me! You have to listen to me!"

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio

Legs kicking and arms swiftly bound behind his back and bound in handcuffs, Darryl screams in a quavering voice, sweat rolling down the bridge of his nose and body trembling. The world is a muffled mess of voices, pain, noises and a steady rhythm in his heart. "You have to believe me! You have to believe me! They're coming for her!"

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio

Shoes leaving little black streaks on the tile, Darryl is hauled back and away from the officer he attacked, shoes scraping on the ground and eyes wide, staring up at the flickering fluorescent lights of the ceiling. "You have to believe me! They're coming! They're coming! There's nowhere to hide from them, they're coming!"

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio

"They'll come for you too! They'll come for us all!" His voice rings through the police station as he's dragged back by both arms, kicking and screaming, thrashing wildly in the officer's arms. "They're coming for her! You have to listen to me! You have to listen to me!"

Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio

"They're coming!"

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