(fuzzy, static sounds--resolve to fabric shifting)

(someone sighs)

NEWT: (hoarse, groggy) Gooood morning Vietnam. It’s bright and... early on Tuesday, and according to my timekeeper, the hour is 3:55 AM. You know what they say, kids. The early bird would have really liked those three to four more hours of sleep.

(still speaking quietly into recorder) I’ve been awake for about twenty minutes, trying to get back to sleep. No such luck. I fell asleep around... 2. I’ve been listening to one of those podcasts that help you... sleep. It does help me fall asleep, but...

So, a big one and a half hours of sleep on the clock for tonight.

I’m sorry, Dr. Mitchell. Negative language.

Or rather, positive language, said in groggy sarcasm.

Negatively said.

(...)

(still murmuring) I think I woke up because I was having a dream. I remembered it when I first woke up, then it disappeared. I don’t usually remember my dreams. But this one came back... for whatever reason. I was in a field, maybe a prairie. I just remember grass. I was following someone. I might have been a bloodhound. Or maybe I was following a bloodhound. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I thought, 'Someone is trying to wake me up.' My mind said, 'it’s your roommate--something’s wrong.' I felt the tap again. I woke up.

I haven’t had a roommate in about 10 years. I remembered this once my eyes were open. I live alone.

Just a dream, I thought. But I couldn’t shake the feeling, the memory, the impression, like--like someone had just touched me there. It felt like there was still an indent in my shoulder.

Then I felt it again.

Someone tapped my shoulder.

I woke up that time. For real. The clock said 3:34. No one was standing over my bed trying to wake me.

(sighs)

Still... creepy dream.

MAKO: Hey, Raleigh.

BECKET: (tinny through laptop speaker) Hey Mako. Hi Newt.

NEWT: Heyo.

MAKO: Where are you right now?

BECKET: I’m in Cluny. A few hours northeast of Limoges.

MAKO: Did you finally pick up Hawking’s trail?

BECKET: I did. I tracked someone down in Limoges who recognized him--the train station ticket clerk. Lucky for us, she’s one of those face-memory people. She said he bought a ticket to Cluny. So here I am. I’m having a bit more luck here.

MAKO: That’s great. What have you found?

BECKET: Well, as it happens, Cluny is home to another abbey.

NEWT: Of course it is.

BECKET: France, as a nation, is crawling with abbeys. So, this one is also dissolved, but it’s still standing. There’s still a few buildings, and a museum. I checked it out.

The Monastery at Cluny was founded in 910 by a pious duke who donated the land. When he founded it, he declared Cluny free of local governmental or noble jurisdiction. The only authority that could control it was the Pope.

MAKO: Wow.

BECKET: Yeah. That gave it a lot of independence, for the tenth century. The Cluny monastery welcomed pilgrims, wanderers, wild men, the poor, the destitute, deserters. Outside, the chaos of the era. Inside, holiness and peace.

Apparently, the “thing” at Cluny was singing. It was the tenth century, and everyone was gearing up for the millennium--judgment day, all that. Cluny was doing its best to get as close to heaven as possible. To imitate life in heaven, they imitated the choirs of angels. They sang every hour of every day, in praise of the Lord. The chanting never stopped. Myth has it that one monk hit the singing trance so hard, he started to levitate.

MAKO: Sounds fascinating.

BECKET: It’s a pretty neat place. It survived a long time, but it was mostly destroyed during the French Revolution.

MAKO: So did anyone recognize Tomás?

BECKET: Yeah, they did. They said he came by, and asked a lot of questions. He got an appointment with one of the actual historians.

NEWT: What did he ask about?

BECKET: Well, the historian said he was a weirdo. She said he mostly asked about a monk named Adémar. Adémar de Chabannes.

NEWT: Did the historian know who that was?

BECKET: Yeah--apparently he was a famous forger. But he never came to Cluny, as far as she knew. Hawking also asked about an obelisk. That reminded me of your painting.

MAKO: Yeah... Interesting.

NEWT: So what’s next?

BECKET: Well, I tried the train station again but no luck tracing him that way. So I’m going to try some more... back-door methods. Might cash in a favor with a hacker I know.

NEWT: Becket. You can’t just say stuff like that. Ugh. You know a hacker who owes you a favor?

MAKO: (to Newt) Don’t get too impressed. I’m sure the “hacker” is just his cousin.

BECKET: (laughs) I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources.

NEWT: Hi. Is this Karla?

KARLA: (through phone) (German accent) Is this Newton? From NPR?

NEWT: Yes. Please, call me Newt. Are you comfortable with me recording this conversation?

KARLA: Yes, certainly.

NEWT: Would you like to introduce yourself to the audience?

KARLA: (stiff, quiet sigh) My name is Karla Krasner. I changed my name when I was married. My given name was Karla Gottlieb.

NEWT: You’re Hermann’s sister.

KARLA: Yes. Hermann is my little brother.

NEWT: So, when you told me this via email, I was a little shocked. Dr--Hermann has never mentioned having a sister.

KARLA: Hermann is strange about things like that. I think if you had never asked, he could be your friend for life and never tell you one thing about his childhood. Our childhood.

NEWT: So, you sound a lot more German than your brother. You live in Germany now, is that right?

KARLA: Yes. I have lived most of my life here. We were both born in Germany. When I was five, and Hermann was two, we moved to America. I never quite assimilated, and when I was ten, I went back. For school. My father preferred that I be educated in Germany. Except for holidays in Massachusetts, I never really left again.

NEWT: Huh. But Hermann went to boarding school in England, didn’t he?

KARLA: That’s right. Our mother was English. She chose this for him. It was a point of contention between our parents. Just one of many.

NEWT: Do you and Hermann no longer speak?

KARLA: ...It has been a long time.

NEWT: Is Hermann estranged from your family?

KARLA: No, not really. But we haven’t seen him in a long time.

NEWT: Do you think there’s a reason for that?

KARLA: I think my brother is a private person. Perhaps to the point of his own detriment. ...But perhaps a better word would be sequestered. I mean this as, he sequesters his personal life and his work life from each other. He would not tell you, a colleague--I suppose--about his home life, just as he would not tell me, his sister, about his work.

Of course, such a split of the self is not truly possible. But he wishes it. When he was beginning his Institute, it seemed that every time we spoke, he had less to say about it. Eventually he told me nothing.

NEWT: So why did your family move to Lincoln?

KARLA: Our father was very absent. He traveled a lot for work. When we were small, much of his business was in America, on the Eastern Seaboard. So he and my mother decided to move there. They found a quiet place in a beautiful town.

NEWT: It’s a lovely home.

KARLA: You have seen it?

NEWT: Yes. Just once.

KARLA: It is as empty as it is splendid. This was what we discovered. Even with two small children, Lars could not be bothered to spend more than a few days a month at home.

NEWT: (thoughtful) Mm. And what was it that your father did, exactly?

KARLA: He never talked with me about it. I was given to understand that he dealt in antiques. Curiosities.

NEWT: What gave you that understanding?

KARLA: When he came home, he brought us little gifts. From abroad. When we lived in America, I would always hope for something from Germany, my home. I missed it terribly. When I was young, these gifts made him a hero to me, like a fantasy person, a, a fae.

NEWT: But when you were older...?

KARLA: I grew to mistrust him. And Hermann, he never trusted him.

NEWT: Why is that?

KARLA: I don’t know, exactly. But I remember how it was when we were children. Father would come home for one of his rare visits. I would be ecstatic. Maybe it was because having him there was more like home, more like Germany. (soft irony) Maybe it was because I am a materialist, and Hermann is not. But from a young age he seemed to sense that our father was trying to buy his love. For some reason I could not say, Hermann decided he would not allow it.

NEWT: He doesn’t talk about your father often. It seems like they had a distant relationship.

KARLA: I would not call it distant. At times it was very close. There is a closeness in resentment.

NEWT: (...)

NEWT: ...You’re quite different from your brother.

KARLA: (laugh) He does not know you are speaking with me. I can tell.

NEWT: (laugh, slightly nervous) You’re right.

KARLA: What makes you say this?

NEWT: You’re just so much more open. About the family.

KARLA: I’ve had a lot of time to think these things over. And I have a happier family now.

NEWT: When was the last time you and Hermann spoke?

KARLA: Must be ten years. Maybe eleven.

NEWT: Around the time Vanessa disappeared?

KARLA: Yes... Yes. He withdrew after she disappeared. I thought he would come back to us, you know. But he never did.

(pause)

NEWT: Did you know Vanessa well?

KARLA: Not well, no. They were married seven years before she vanished. We got along, but I never... She never warmed up to me. She was not cold. But I never got to know her. (...) It made me hesitate to trust her.

NEWT: (carefully) Did you ever suspect that Hermann... had anything to do with her disappearance?

KARLA: No... My brother is not that kind of man. He would not hurt someone. Especially someone who trusted him. But... Well. You see, that is not his way of being angry.

NEWT: What do you mean?

KARLA: He will not lash out. If he is angry with someone, he will just withdraw. Maybe you will not ever know that he was angry. This was what happened to us.

NEWT: That must have been difficult.

KARLA: It was.

NEWT: Before he stopped keeping in touch, did you know about his suspicions? His suspicions about your family being followed?

KARLA: In a way, I sensed them. But he never told me outright. He began to distance himself, and I could tell it was for a reason, a reason he would not say. He acted as if it was a matter of personality. He put on the role of our father and tried to play it for me. So I would understand, so I would see a reason for him to withdraw. But it was just a little too convincing. Hermann is not our father.

NEWT: No?

KARLA: No. He was our father’s favorite, but this only made Hermann push him away. Perhaps Hermann’s mistrust made our father more intent to win his affection in the same way. But maybe it was something else.

NEWT: Something else?

KARLA: I sometimes... Well, I sometimes had the feeling my father wanted Hermann for something specific. It seemed that there was some purpose to his interest.

NEWT: (mystified) How, exactly...?

KARLA: Well. (sighs) It was the gifts, I think. As we got older, our father would still bring me the usual--a pretty notebook, a fancy pen, a scarf. But the gifts he gave to Hermann were more... arcane. They were old books, rare archaeological items. He tried to... I don’t know, initiate Hermann into his world.

But then our mother got sick. Herm and I came home to take care of her, but Father was away. He did not come home. She died. And Hermann never forgave Father for that.

NEWT: He blamed him?

KARLA: It was a long life of blames. This was the last.

NEWT: (...) So, the tape Hermann showed me. It was made when the two of you were children.

KARLA: Yes. I know this tape.

NEWT: Do you remember that night?

KARLA: Yes...

NEWT: But?

KARLA: Well, it was not the only time I saw these... apparitions.

NEWT: You saw them often?

KARLA: Not often. But more than once.

NEWT: Can you describe them?

KARLA: Ah yes. Because they do not appear on the tape.

NEWT: No. But you saw them?

KARLA: (assured) Yes, yes. They were there. Herm saw them too.

NEWT: He claims he doesn’t remember.

KARLA: That may be. But he did see them.

NEWT: What... were they?

KARLA: (low) Tall men.

NEWT: Many?

KARLA: Many outside. Then Herm opened the door. And one of them came in.

NEWT: Can you... describe it?

KARLA: It was tall. Maybe the tallest. Even with a hunch in its back, its head was touching the ceiling. Its face was long, but black. No features--or so I thought, that it had no features. It was moving, twitching, a bit. Not twitching... it was vibrating.

Shaking its arms. Like it was excited.

NEWT: ...Oh.

KARLA: And then it smiled, and I wished it had no features. The eyelids opened and the eyes were enormous, white, no pupil at all. It smiled wide with lots and lots of teeth. Sharp teeth. Shiny and white, like the belly of a dead fish.

NEWT: (hushed) Wow.

KARLA: It was the only time I saw this creature so close. Or saw it smile. I’ll never forget it.

NEWT: Did anything else happen? After Hermann turned off the camera?

KARLA: I don’t know if it was before or after but... When it smiled, it was because of what it saw. It pointed. It pointed and smiled.

NEWT: At you?

KARLA: No. It pointed at Hermann.

NEWT: Oh, my god.

(pause)

KARLA: Herm became convinced that these things were after us, and our family.

NEWT: He said that to you?

KARLA: He was small. Only five. He didn’t just say it to me. He said it to our parents too.

NEWT: How did they react?

KARLA: Badly. Mother pretended she hadn’t heard. Father said he was telling ridiculous lies.

NEWT: That must have been hard for you both.

KARLA: It was.

NEWT: It seems... like this incident disturbed him a lot more than he lets on.

KARLA: Perhaps he has truly gotten past it. But I do not think so. He was so young. It is harder to forget such things, even once the details are gone. Perhaps they are gone from Hermann. But they teach you a lesson, even if you forgot how. The lesson remains.

NEWT: Did he ever talk to you about it again? As an adult?

KARLA: Of course he did not.

(pause)

KARLA: Do me a favor, Newton?

NEWT: Newt.

KARLA: Newt. Do me a favor. Ask Hermann about the boy in the pool.

NEWT: The what?

KARLA: Ask him. It’s not for me to tell.

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HERMANN: (muffled through phone) I don’t have any idea what she was talking about.

NEWT: No idea? The phrase “the boy in the pool” means nothing to you?

HERMANN: (tightly) No.

NEWT: Hm.

(beat)

NEWT: So is there a reason you didn’t tell me Karla was your sister?

HERMANN: It wasn’t relevant.

NEWT: I’m... not sure I agree, Hermann. (pause) I feel like you haven’t been very honest.

HERMANN: You feel that I have been dishonest?

NEWT: (...) At least, not very forthcoming.

HERMANN: (provocative) Is that so?

NEWT: Um?

HERMANN: Newton, I asked you quite specifically not to contact Karla. As soon as you left my house you did not hesitate to track her down and record an interview.

NEWT: (...)

HERMANN: So you’ll forgive me if I fail to see how I am the untrustworthy party in this interaction.

NEWT: (defensive) This is my job, Hermann. Like... why did you even show me the tape in the first place? Did you really expect me to do nothing? Just take it at face value?

HERMANN: No, but I expected you to respect my privacy.

NEWT: I’m sorry but, like I said, this is my job we’re talking about. If you’re uncomfortable with the bounds of our... agreement...

HERMANN: Do you understand that it is bigger than this? Newton? The world does not revolve around your podcast. I confessed I had been threatened and allowed you to broadcast it. Rather than take that at face value, you drag my sister into it when I specifically told you it would attract unwanted...

NEWT: First of all, Karla agreed to be recorded. That’s her prerogative, not yours. Second of all, Hermann, if you had been honest with me in the first place about her relationship to you, we could have discussed it! You give me nothing, then get affronted when I go behind your back for information--well I’m sorry, but, if you want to control the flow of information, you have to actually give me some.

(beat)

NEWT: Hello?

NEWT: (surprised) So you don’t think I was... being unethical?

MAKO: Unethical, no. Rude? Yes.

NEWT: (small laugh)

MAKO: I’m serious, Newt. You can’t burn bridges like that. But, no. I don’t think you were wrong--or rather, we were wrong--to contact Karla.

NEWT: So you’re not worried about my sleep-deprived judgments?

MAKO: Not this one, no.

NEWT: Why not?

MAKO: I mean, you said it yourself. If he wants to control the flow of information...

NEWT: Right.

MAKO: But the thing is...

NEWT: What?

MAKO: Well, I think he does want that. This conversation makes me a little concerned that Dr. Gottlieb is trying to... manipulate the story somehow. Control it.

NEWT: (doubtful) Hmm.

MAKO: You don’t agree?

NEWT: I just don’t see why he would.

MAKO: I don’t know. We should just be more careful.

NEWT: Do you mean trusting him, or not trusting him?

MAKO: I think we need to do more of our own research.

NEWT: Hi. Is this Dr. Resnick?

RESNICK: (cheerful, English accent) It certainly is. Is this Mr. Geiszler?

NEWT: It certainly is! Thank you for giving us the time.

RESNICK: Of course, of course. Hermann is an old friend.

RESNICK: So Hermann tells me you’ve got some questions about the Abbey of Saint Martial in Limoges.

NEWT: That’s right. We’re trying to track someone down, and we think he visited the old crypt there, as well as the monastery at Cluny.

RESNICK: Well, Cluny was a much more significant landmark.

NEWT: Seems like our friend went there looking for a monk named “Adémar.” Apparently he was a forger of some kind. But they told him Adémar was never at Cluny.

RESNICK: (interested) Well, actually, that might not quite be true. It’s all a bit apocryphal. But I can tell you where Adémar definitely was: Limoges.

NEWT: Oh--really?

RESNICK: Really. Frère Adémar de Chabannes was a brother at the Abbey of Saint Martial.

NEWT: Oh wow. Finally, something that makes sense!

RESNICK: Adémar had quite a fascinating life, actually.

NEWT: Do tell, Dr. Resnick.

RESNICK: Adémar lived at a very interesting time in Christian history. He was born in 989. Now, the hundred years leading up to the first millennium were a time of major upheaval. Do you know why?

NEWT: Why?

RESNICK: Because the entire Christian world believed the end of days was at hand. They didn’t know exactly when, but every little thing--war, power struggles, droughts, famines, comets, storms, dreams--seemed to point to certain doom.

NEWT: Isn’t this around the time the Cluny Monastery was founded?

RESNICK: Mr. Geiszler, you do know your stuff. Yes, it was. Judgment Day anxiety was part of the reason for its founding. But anxiety isn’t quite the right description. For some, Judgment Day was almost a welcome relief. For those who had wealth and success on Earth, perhaps not. But for those who toiled, those for whom life was suffering, or the very pious, Judgment Day was almost looked forward to. Almost like a reward. A finish line. All over Christian Europe there was this complex mixture of anticipation and fear.

So this is the world Ademar is born into. Those expecting the apocalypse to come in the year 1000 (when he was 11) were disappointed, briefly, before they set their sights on 1033. That would be the millennium of Christ’s death, rather than birth--equally viable for the arrival of the Antichrist, I suppose, in their eyes.

NEWT: Wow. That’s fascinating.

RESNICK: Indeed. Quite a time to be alive. So Adémar, a monk and a scholar, set about studying these things as well. Scholars back then were rather coy about the exact date of the apocalypse, but most Christians were fairly certain it would be 1033.

NEWT: Gotcha.

RESNICK: Right. So, now, one very interesting sort of portent was reported all across the land at this time. People were having terrible nightmares about the end of days--bees, storms, disembowelment, horrible things befell them in their dreams. And these dreamers all had one thing in common: they were nonbelievers. Heretics. These were non-Christians, receiving visions of a Christian end.

Adémar took a special interest in these so-called heretics. He talked about them a lot in his writings, which we still have. He wrote about them scathingly. He called them “Messengers of the Antichrist.” He described the forests around his monastery as if it were teeming with heretics. He was rather obsessed with them.

NEWT: Do we know why?

RESNICK: We do. Because one night as a young man, a terrible vision came to Adémar himself.

NEWT: Oh my. Was he a heretic too?

RESNICK: It’s likely that is exactly what he was afraid of. Apparently one night, he dreamt of Christ on the cross, as tall as the sky. And Christ was weeping. His tears flowed down and became the rivers of France. This vision was so vivid it disturbed him deeply, for years afterward.

NEWT: Interesting. So, what was this about Adémar being a forger?

RESNICK: Well, yes. At that time around Limoges, there was a rumor that St. Martial was actually one of the original apostles. St. Martial, who his monastery was named for, was a 3rd century bishop. He was the one who brought Christianity to that region. His remains are buried in that crypt you mentioned. But of course, if he lived in the 3rd century, he was never an apostle of Christ.

Unless, of course, you could find documents to prove that he was actually born much earlier. Wouldn’t that be neat?

NEWT: It would be!

RESNICK: Well that’s exactly what Adémar did. He found some documents.

NEWT: By forging them, I take it?

RESNICK: Precisely. He “amassed” documents that proved his idea that St. Martial was born centuries earlier, and forged a hagiography, a Life of Martial to back it up. Then he invited everyone to see.

NEWT: Wow.

RESNICK: It was quite a stunt. Of course, the people of Limoges were wild for it. Their saint, an apostle. Imagine! They were, until it was debunked by a visiting scholar. Adémar tried to defend himself, but it was no use. He was shouted down and run out of town.

NEWT: Ouch. Sounds rough.

RESNICK: Yes. He was absolutely disgraced. But Adémar did not back down on his theory. He doubled down on it, actually. In a frenzy of bitterness he forged more documents of definitive proof. He was desperate to prove his case before Judgment Day.

1033 rolled around and he left his monastery. The end was at hand--the end he had so long prepared for. He stopped at the library in Limoges, where he left his forgeries about St. Martial. He wasn’t about to give up his place in history. These papers were not debunked for over 900 years. That’s how good his forgeries were.

Then he joined the crowd heading east to Jerusalem for the Millennium. It’s possible he passed through Cluny on his pilgrimage.

It was a perilous journey, but he made it.

It was 1033. This was the year. This was the place.

And?

NEWT: And?

RESNICK: Why, nothing. Nothing at all. It seems it was the greatest disappointment of his life--and the last. He died in 1034. We have one of his last writings, from that year: “Come, eternal King,” he wrote. “Come and watch over your kingdom, our sacrifice, our priesthood. Come, Lord ruler; come snatch away the nations from error. Come Lord, Saviour of the world.”

NEWT: So this monk... wanted the world to end?

RESNICK: Yes. He wasn’t alone, either. A lot of the devout were sorely disappointed when Judgment did not come. They were ready to be judged. They felt they had prepared themselves to be exemplary servants of heaven. And then...

NEWT: And then nothing.

RESNICK: Yes. Now, what I’ve told you so far comes from concrete sources. This would be where we get into the more... apocryphal stuff.

NEWT: That’s what I like to hear, Dr. Resnick.

RESNICK: There’s a rumor, myth more like, that Adémar wrote another text before he died. His disappointment that the end did not arrive was profound. He had spent his whole life preparing for it. So, when it did not, he took matters into his own hands.

NEWT: How so?

RESNICK: The story goes, this book concerned the end of days--not how to prepare for it. But how to bring it about. How to invite the Antichrist into our world.

NEWT: (emphatically) Oh wow. That’s quite a character shift from devout monk to Antichrist-courter.

RESNICK: If we're taking this story as true, I would venture to say that Adémar did it for two reasons. This memory of his heretical dream was hounding him. He lived in a terrible fear that there was an innate evil in him--some dark thread, connecting him to the Antichrist.

And then, second, after his humiliations with the forgery, and the disappointments of 1033, perhaps he felt abandoned and betrayed by the faith he had lived to serve. He began to think, perhaps, perhaps this had been his destiny all along. To be a herald. So perhaps that is why he created this book.

Adémar may have considered himself the herald of this end. The messenger who knocks at the door to let it in. And when God did not send the apocalypse...

NEWT: Adémar asked Him to?

RESNICK: No. No, no. The supplications in this text are in the other direction.

NEWT: As in, towards Hell?

RESNICK: Supposedly, yes. Towards the Devil himself.

NEWT: Oh.

RESNICK: These days, the book is known by another name--The Ceonophus.

NEWT: (voice of realization) The Ceonophus. I knew I had heard of this before.

NEWT: Have you ever heard of the Capovolto Curse?

RESNICK: It sounds familiar, yes.

NEWT: There’s this Caravaggio painting with a sort of... occult reputation. It’s said to be cursed.

RESNICK: Ah yes. The one with the code.

NEWT: Yes. The code that is supposedly an incantation to open portal to hell.

RESNICK: (amused) Yes, yes. A compelling mythology. The painting is still missing, is it not?

NEWT: Yes, it is. What I wanted to ask you was, a portal to Hell incantation... How similar to the Ceonophus does that sound?

RESNICK: Fairly similar, I suppose.

NEWT: Do you think there’s a possibility the painting is a depiction of the Ceonophus?

RESNICK: (intrigued) Interesting... Up front I’d say, almost definitely not, but I’d love to take another look at the painting.

NEWT: I’ll send it to you. (click) There we go.

RESNICK: Right... Okay, so, there’s a few reasons why not. First of all, this book is too small. The Ceonophus, if it exists, is the size of a Bible. Lots of pages.

NEWT: I see. Could it be maybe a translation? An updated edition?

RESNICK: I suppose I don’t see why not; but I also don’t see any evidence for it. I wouldn’t suggest working from that theory.

The thing to remember about the Ceonophus is, we have no reason to believe it’s real. It’s only referenced in passing in a couple of other texts. The only thing we know for sure about it is that it’s a popular myth. A book that could usher in the end of days? What could be more romantic? But its very existence is, if you ask me, nothing but a story.

---------SPONSOR BREAK #2---------

⏮ ⏯ ⏭

(sound of door)

NEWT: Hey. What’s going on?

MAKO: Honestly? I’m not sure.

NEWT: Um, okay...

MAKO: In Studio C.

NEWT: Okay.

(two pairs of footsteps)

(door opens)

NEWT: Oh.

HERMANN: (distant from mic) Newton--good. I’m glad you’re here.

HERMANN: (slightly hoarse) Mark Roth is the Advocate. The one Motherwell was talking about.

NEWT: Um... Okay. What makes you think so?

HERMANN: He’s a lawyer. Or at least, he has a law degree.

(pause)

MAKO: ...And? What else? Lots of people have law degrees, Dr. Gottlieb.

NEWT: Do you think his people are surveilling you?

HERMANN: He was also involved in a dig outside Hillah.

NEWT: As in an archaeological dig?

HERMANN: Yes.

MAKO: In Hillah?

HERMANN: In Iraq. South of Baghdad. The dig was searching for something... something important. They filed the paperwork as if it was a pre-development dig, as if they were planning to build something there, such as a factory or mining facility. But nothing has been built. According to my findings here... (sound of papers) ...This dig functioned as a research excavation.

NEWT: Okay. What difference does it make?

HERMANN: Projects operate under pre-development status when they’re building something and need to “be careful” in a potentially sensitive area. In other words, they might find an artifact or ruin by accident, but they aren’t looking for one.

NEWT: And a research excavation... is looking?

HERMANN: Yes. In this case, for something specific. Something very significant.

MAKO: What makes you think so?

HERMANN: The expense, first of all. There were many far less expensive places to build in this region. This location makes very little sense for pre-development. It isn’t near anything. There’s no evidence of oil or other mineral deposits.

NEWT: Okay...

HERMANN: But also... there’s this.

NEWT: What’s this?

HERMANN: Tiamat.

NEWT: Tiamat?

NEWT: Oh. Cool.

HERMANN: Tiamat, also known as Cthulhu, Leviathan, the Kraken. It’s an ancient myth--the battle between a legendary hero and this chthonic monster.

NEWT: (...) Oh.

HERMANN: “Chthonic” means from underground. Usually the underworld.

NEWT: Right. Yes. I knew that.

HERMANN: The Babylonians had this myth as well. For them, the monster was Tiamat.

NEWT: Sounds scary.

HERMANN: The Hittites have a similar myths; the Greeks have Apollo and the python. It’s quite common. But the myth is binary. There are two parts: in the first part, she’s a creator goddess.

NEWT: And in the second part...?

HERMANN: She becomes the monstrous embodiment of primordial chaos.

NEWT: Oh. (...) Neat.

(interlude music #4)

NEWT: Okay, okay. So what does... Tiamat have to do with the advocate? What makes you think Rothco was looking for this artifact?

HERMANN: The nature of the exploration. This location, in particular. It was presented in a paper over 40 years ago.

NEWT: What paper?

HERMANN: (darkly) A paper that was never published. A paper hypothesizing a possible location for the Horn of Tiamat.

NEWT: If it was never published, how do you know about it?

HERMANN: ...My father wrote it.

NEWT: (...)

(pause)

NEWT: ...So your dad was into Sumerian and Babylonian mythology? As well as demon boards?

HERMANN: The Horn of Tiamat is a very particular type of mythology.

NEWT: What type is that?

HERMANN: (...) The Lars Gottlieb kind. My father was interested in a lot of different things. But nothing came close to his obsession with the Horn. Finding it was... his life’s work.

NEWT: Huh.

HERMANN: Believe me. I’ve already had enough of the Horn of Tiamat to last me a lifetime. ...But it looks to be back.

(beat)

NEWT: (hesitant) So you’re certain that Mark Roth is involved somehow?

HERMANN: He is, or his company is.

NEWT: Rothco.

HERMANN: Yes.

NEWT: But... why?

HERMANN: I don’t know why. Personally I’m more concerned with how.

NEWT: How?

HERMANN: (frustrated) How did he find this location? Did he somehow get his hands on my father’s work? How?

NEWT: ...How long has it been since you ate something?

HERMANN: (...) Probably... since this morning. Or possibly... Possibly yesterday.

(sound of chair)

NEWT: Let’s go get some food. I know a place.

HERMANN: I’m fine.

NEWT: (briskly) Come on. You’re burning the candle at both ends. You’ve found a third end, against the laws of physics, and you’re burning that one too.

HERMANN: (...)

NEWT: Just looking at you is making me exhausted. And hungry. Let’s go eat.

HERMANN: (...)

NEWT: (gently) Come on.

HERMANN: (standing up) We’ll come back afterwards and finish this--

NEWT: Yes, yes. Leave your stuff. We’ll come back.

(door opening)

NEWT: Hey. You said you wanted to talk about something?

MAKO: Hey, Newt. Yeah. Sit down.

(sound of chair)

NEWT: What’s up? You look, um, worried.

MAKO: I... Well, no. I don’t want to upset you--I’m just going to play it.

NEWT: Uh--okay. Play me what?

MAKO: (distressed) ...I was cleaning up one of your sleep notes. For the episode. The ones you gave me from your handheld.

NEWT: Yes?

MAKO: Yes. Yes. Well, one file was a lot longer than it should have been. I thought, “Oh, maybe he fell back asleep with his thumb on it.” And... maybe you did, but--

NEWT: (audibly nervous) But what?

MAKO: Well, there was something on it. After you stop talking... It’s all quiet for a while... and then...

(mouse click--recording plays)

(static, room tone)

(Newt breathing slowly--asleep)

(traffic)

(pipes)

(Newt rolls over)

(pipes)

(something rustles)

(hoarse whisper)

(whispering continues--words are foreign, indistinct. Not English.)

NEWT: (horrified) What...?

(whispering continues)

(sharp gasp)

(all sounds stop)

(steady breathing resumes)

(CLICK--end of recording)

MAKO: (hesitant) So I...

NEWT: (whispering) What the [expletive bleeped]...

MAKO: (sympathetic, but also frightened) Yeah...

NEWT: Mako, what the [expletive bleeped]? What was that? Who was in my bedroom?

MAKO: I don’t--wait. What do you mean, who?

NEWT: I mean, who was that, whispering?

MAKO: You don’t recognize that voice?

NEWT: Um, no, I did not?

MAKO: Newt, that was you. That was your voice.

NEWT: (...)

MAKO: You were talking.

(outro music begins)