A large decorated BOX with a pretty bow and a pretty note that reads, TO: DORA is being delivered up her walkway and just before the delivery person has a chance to ring Dora's bell, the door opens.
(surprised)
Hello? Oh! Let me take that. Sure
is light!
The BOX is placed on a fine coffee table littered with antiquities, including a MAYAN DAGGER. She walks with slenderness back to the front door.
Sign where?
(beat)
Thanks for the present!
Entering the living room Dora passes all manner of ancient relics, old maps and aged marble statues of the finest variety. She silently kneels, back straight, before the BOX and Dora eyes this gift mysteriously. She slyly picks up the MAYAN DAGGER and skillfully slices the bow and note off. Stabs three times. SNAP SNAP SNAP. Dora places the dagger down on the table, stands up and she grips the BOX in the middle then tears it right open.
Inside is HER KNIFE. Dora turns pale and begins to cry.
The waves batter about with a rain bearing round and she's holding HER KNIFE and she's bleeding through a gash in her gossamer wrap. Her legs are pale and slender, and they glisten as a large burly beast of a man falls to the ship's deck, his own blade sheathed inside his skull. Things were tough in the time before Christ. The rest of HER CREW haul and dump the dead man over the side of the boat. Small fits of sunlight pour a calm over the sea. She raises her arm straight ahead and points with HER KNIFE to a patch off in the distance beyond the rocking horizon.
She spots land.
Dora grabs and upends the BOX making HER KNIFE drop into the wooden table, point first. It holds there long enough for Dora to place the bow, wrapping and note inside the BOX. It holds there as Dora, BOX in hand, whisks out her front door.
It holds there until HER KNIFE falls over.
She skips down her walkway and takes a hard right when she hits the sidewalk. Dora walks with purpose and her neighbor, MS. BUSYBODY, calls out to her.
Hey! Dora! Where are you going
Dora? Dora!
She keeps walking.
The storm is receding as she walks away from HER SHIP, which HER CREW is trying to tether to a large tree. One of them calls out to her. The sound is muffled at first. Then it sounds like Dora. Then it sounds crystal clear and as sharp as a cold day.
Pandora!
She stops in her tracks. She is breathing hard. PANDORA looks up past the sky for a beat. One hand on her wound, the other on the hilt of HER KNIFE, safely tucked in, resting gently on her bent hip. Poised like a cowboy. She cocks her head back and to the side as HER CREW of now SIX catch up. They all look very weathered.
Where am I going? Am I going? And
to where?
A large man leaning on a brick wall near a shabby door overhears Dora. His name is FRANKLIN. He is a 56 year old drunk and 65 year old loser.
How's 'bout back to my place.
Dora stops dawdling long enough to look over at this man. A moments glance and her eyes begin to wander everywhere. She sees a retirement home across the way, a delivery van for Frank and Lynn's Winery, a broken down wedding chapel on the corner, and an alley cat eating a lump of sausage. Her gaze falls back to Franklin.
Hello Franklin. You retired old
drunk you. How's the failed
marriage? Once upon a time,
Franklin, I was married. Can you
imagine? Little old me -- wed to
the great Hermaphroditus himself.
Well, itself.
How's you know all that? 'Bout me?
Franklin looks bent up before he scuttles off. His departure reveals a sign beside the shabby door. He mutters away.
You ain't right. Not right at all.
Part of the sign reads: Second Floor - J. DOE P.I.
It was a lousy lay!
Dora walks toward the door and in she goes.
Massive cliffs keep Pandora and HER CREW from venturing inland. They hug the coast as the SIXTH MATE falls behind.
We should sit a spell. Been sailing
all week, walking all day. Rest.
And your wound?
(jerks her thumb back)
Talking orders from the sixth now?
The SIXTH MATE has found a nice and flat rock to relax on. He looks pleasantly comfortable as he rests; his wide frame melting into the picturesque background.
The FIRST MATE grins sheepishly.
Just as Pandora is about to say something the ground starts up something fierce. HER CREW is knocked around and a loud CRACK breaks apart behind Pandora. She squints through a cloud of sand and debris.
A large pile of rocks relaxes on a nice and flat SIXTH MATE.
Pandora sighs.
JUNE DOE is sitting in her chair admiring her CHALK BOARD. On the left side is a list of past cases, a few current, some struck out, some not and to the right a mess of pictographs, doodles, clues, names, numbers, dates and a constellation of clarifications. The rest of her office appears to have been cleaned with a clerical bomb. June lays a gaze sideways toward Dora as she enters.
Can you get to the bottom of things
for money?
In this business that thing found
at the bottom usually is money.
At the top too.
Dora gently slams the BOX down on June's desk.
Where did this come from?
Through my office door no less than
a minute ago.
June stands up. She leafs through the BOX and pulls out the note.
You Dora? This box was sent to you?
Yes.
To your home?
Yes.
By regular mail or special delivery?
I don't know?
You don't know? You sign for it?
Yes.
And nothing pops out? A logo? Were
they wearing a hat?
Maybe? My focus was more on the
present.
(sighs silently)
And what was in the box? What were
you sent?
Nothing.
There was nothing inside the box?
Dora looks perplexed, with hands raised in gestured doubt.
Nihil.
Alright. Some message that sends,
an empty box. Or do you think
whomever sent this just happened to
forget to put an actual gift inside?
Have any admirers shooting mental
blanks?
...No.
Quite the case you've given me
here, Dora. I charge a hundred
dollars a day plus any
expenditures. Deal?
Deal.
June waltzes over to Dora and extends her hand. Dora looks at it for a beat.
Your word will do.
June nods and heads over to the CHALK BOARD and erases part of a case that is all but ancient history.
She writes DORA & THE CASE OF THE EMPTY BOX.
How do I get a hold of you?
Dora looks concerned, smiles and --
Pandora looks unconcerned.
Pandora, some of the mates are
getting a might restless over us
not finding a way inland and all.
The FIFTH MATE and FOURTH MATE are arguing near the water's edge. Wild accusations and muffled threats begin to push and pull at one another until they coalesce into this wrestling vessel. Sand sprays everywhere. Pandora checks an ornate yet crude compass as the rest of HER CREW distracts themselves on the ensuing fight.
This crew lacks cohesion.
What we may lack in unity is
garnered by that unspoken guarantee
of treasure easier split 'tween
a meager two than ample three.
Wouldn't you agree?
Bards.
The fight flails to the shallow ocean water.
The FOURTH MATE is looking victorious, having pinned the FIFTH MATE beneath the watery mat. The FOURTH emerges from the knee deep brine, along with the remnants of a spiny sea urchin colony sticking to his unprotected shins, calves and ankles.
The FOURTH MATE raises his hands in mock celebration as his body switches from processing adrenaline to poison. He tries to laugh and gurgles over, quite dead.
Pandora sighs.
Dora opens the door to a surprised June. An unsurprised BOX is held by June's hand.
I thought I only gave you my phone
number? Why are you here --
Now, now. Normally I wouldn't pop
by so unannounced without the
benefit of a phone call --
It would have been nice, yes! Such
a simple little thing.
June takes out her phone and dials the number, seemingly from memory. A ring emerges from inside.
Wait, the machine picked up.
Dora is trying to look unamused. June has her very serious face on.
Hello Ms. Dora Doric, this is Ms.
June Doe. You hired me earlier this
afternoon and I have an urgent
matter to discuss with you. I was
wondering if I could please speak
to you in person as soon as
possible --
Hello Dora!
Dora motions for June to drop the charade, smiles and extends her hand through the doorway.
Please come in.
The pair enter and June places the BOX on the fine coffee table. Dora offers her guest a seat. June accepts by sitting with her head craning about at the wealth of the ancient world, near ancient world, and world at large that surrounds them.
You're a collector? That would
explain some things.
I suppose that's a fair assessment.
Yes, I guess. I am a collector.
June takes a hard look at the MAYAN DAGGER that sits near the BOX.
Now, now. See, Dora, the way this
works, that is to say, the way our
relationship should work, should
function, is by holding on to a
certain degree of fairness.
Yes!
If I am to help look for a solution
to your problem then we have to expect
some respect from one another.
I couldn't agree more.
Do you think it was fair of me to drop
by like I did?
No!
Without you giving me all your
information. Having to call in a few
favors in order to find out where you
lived. Not a very honest way of going
about things, now is it?
Exactly! I hope you've learned a
valuable lesson.
And do you think it was fair of you to
lie to me, like you did?
Dora fidgets and she looks through June. A wave of apprehension arrests Dora's rigid complexion.
The box wasn't empty.
Dora turns her back to June then around again.
All I need is to find out where the
box came from. The box. Nothing more.
If, and I mean a magnificent if --
if there were contents inside that box
then that's between you and said contents.
Clues were riddled about, near the box's bottom.
Identifiable marks.
June leans forward, picks up the MAYAN DAGGER and tosses it inside the BOX.
Mystery solved.
Dora sits down. She looks pretty and tired. Her hand reaches over and hits the play button on her answering machine.
The message plays all the way to the end.
Hi Dora.
Pandora and HER CREW of THREE are watching the THIRD MATE break down.
I'll be the next to go! I have seen
it, with me own eyes, the pattern!
This strange strangle of a land,
with its lack of night, and me with
no sleep. No dreams. We're cursed!
I am cursed!
Settle down boy and all. You'll be
scaring the lady.
Pandora looks at the bard.
I am being punished, I am. For
falling in with the wrong crowd,
for living a life of wants and
desires! For me lust! How death
conspires against me and mine,
patiently waiting to embrace. How
will you come, me friend? From high
above, am I to be snatched up by
the Sirens? By natural means?
Unnatural? I tire of these petty
games and trivial events, no longer
got the strength to get on. If
you'll have me then, me friend, it
will be --
The THIRD MATE pulls out his short sword.
-- by me own design.
Just before the THIRD MATE has a chance to fall upon his sword a scream and a winged-shadow drop across him.
The SECOND MATE has pulled his bow out and fires off an arrow.
The scream turns from joy to pain as a bird-woman, one of the bigger ones, lands down on the THIRD MATE in a puff of sand and blood. Silence fills the air.
I'm too tried to even sigh. We
should keep moving and rest up
ahead, over on that low plateau.
HER CREW of TWO settle in near some broken rocks by a large spring, the fresh water having fallen from high off the cliffs before swirling around just beyond Pandora. She looks exhausted. And wounded. She checks her compass and still manages an even smile. Pandora is getting closer.
The SECOND MATE has pulled his lyre out and fires off a lullaby. Big, fluffy clouds lazily waft away in the deep blue sky.
I heard about this long day, one
evening, while resting my eyes,
a light tale about a bright shiny sun
wandering through some tired skies.
I heard about the moon come undone,
refusing to quarter or even rise,
night having lost hope, as had dawn and
dusk, and all that dark just dies.
The FIRST MATE yawns as Pandora walks over and begins to lay down in the sandy shade.
You take first watch.
The bard, still plucking his lyre, nods his head and Pandora rests.
Pandora wakes with a start. She rouses the FIRST MATE from his slumber and scans the surrounding landscape. The FIRST MATE rummages about.
His lyre is gone. Left a note and all.
Bards.
Shall I read it?
No. Take the next watch.
The FIRST MATE stands up as Pandora settles in.
He listens to her thoughtful and measured breathing before he begins exploring the scenery. The sun seems stationary as the shadows slowly move along.
The FIRST MATE finds a heavy oaken log, in front of a large wall of greenery, and has himself a seat. He even leans a little back, pressing into the foliage as his eyelids dance.
Two very hairy arms, brown on bronze with curved nails that extend from each finger, break through the leaves. They curl around, tenderly, until the FIRST MATE is almost being held by these strange muscular branches.
A quick rustle plus a few gentle snaps and the FIRST MATE is gone from this here life.
Pandora sleeps soundly in the distance.
The satyr named TIMAEUS, with his bronze skin and golden horns, has another drink from a large jug. He quietly clears his throat and makes his way down to Pandora, jug in hand.
The soft sounds of cloven hooves on a moist earth turn to a clear CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP as Timaeus skillfully walks on the broken rocks.
Pandora's eyes go wide then turn into dangerous slits. She hears the sound go soft again as this unknown presence is close enough to smell of sweet sweat and musk.
Pandora lifts herself quickly, her upper body propped up by her right arm, with long legs spread lengthwise across the beach. Her left hand slowly reaches for HER KNIFE. She turns her head slightly to see --
Timaeus has squatted down, his smiling face crooning toward Pandora. His jug, held by the neck, sloshes in his right hand.
Any fear Pandora had shapes itself to one of annoyance. Her head quickly retreats back, as does her fingers which dig deeper into the sand. A quiver of revulsion snakes through her entire body.
Good day. Would you care for a drink?
From my jug? These are dangerous lands.
Are you out here all by your lonesome?
TO BE CONTINUED
