Another short story for your listening pleasure! Transcript below is the first draft of the script, there were some slight changes made during the recording, and a few more during the edit, so it doesn't line up exactly, but it's pretty close. Enjoy!
The Life That I Can SaveWritten & Produced by Jesse Ferguson
Cast:
Travis, George, Narrator: Jesse FergusonDarlene: Ariel Ferguson
“Have you got eyes on him?” A voice in her ear asks.
“I see him,” she says. “He’s on his way to the bar.”
“You need to be there when he gets there, Darlene.”
“Relax, Travis. Time machine, remember?” She heads to her car and looks around. No one in sight. Perfect.
“Uh huh, just be careful, don’t let anyone see you shift.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll check in once I’ve made contact.” She taps her ear to end the call, pushes a button on the dash, and she and the car are gone.
----
George was in a foul mood before he got to the bar. Three drinks in, he’s ready to beat the shit out of the next person who looks at him wrong.
“How we doin’, sir?” The bartender asks as she wipes down the counter. He’s trying to remember her name. Darcy? Darla? He supposes it doesn’t matter. “Need anything else?”
“One more and then I’m out.”
“Out of here? Or out of cash?” She cocks one brow up and grins. Teasing, but not mocking. He should be mad, but isn’t.
He grunts. “Both, I guess.” She pours two fingers into the bottom of a fresh glass, then puts the bottle away.
“You’re in here more often lately. Something the matter?”
He winces as the whiskey goes down, and his face darkens. “An anniversary.”
And then he’s back there, in the ambulance with his son. He can smell the blood, the bile, the shit.
He pays his tab and heads for the door.
“Be careful, okay?”
“I’m Mister Careful.”
She chuckles. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Careful.”
“Hmmm. Probably.” He shuts the door a little harder than he means to.
----
He’s staggering more than he’d like to admit. He slips on the curb, stumbles out into the street. A car honks as it swerves out of the way. As the headlights flash in his eyes, suddenly it’s nine years ago, Cameron is fifteen, and they’re out for a run, way too late. He sees the driver lose control, his reactions too slow for the weather, ill-equipped to handle a car this late at night. Too much alcohol in his blood. He can smell the tires squealing as the man behind the wheel snaps back to awareness and tries frantically to prevent what’s about to happen.
----
He flinches instinctually, and now he’s George again, tripping on the street, falling backwards onto the sidewalk. He lands on his wrist just so, and a shockwave of pain shoots up his arm, all the way to his shoulder. He cries out, and winces as he leans against the building.
Now he’s on the floor in the hospital, leaning against that disgusting wall, while Cam is in the ICU. He can barely breathe, and he’s doing everything he can to hold his shit together. He looks over at Molly. She’s crying. He’s already tried to comfort her, but he can’t get past his own worry. The door to the ICU opens, and the look on the doctor’s face tells him everything. His vision goes blurry, and he tastes salt in his mouth.
----
Back on the street, he can’t see through the tears. He’s still sobbing when a hand lifts him up by his arm and eases him into the back seat of a car. He tries to stop crying as the figure gets in the driver’s seat and shuts the door, but a solemn, feminine voice says, “It’s okay, George.” He recognizes her voice, but can’t quite place it.
“Cry,” she says, and he cries.
----
George is on his knees now, straddling the man who took Cameron away from them. He feels each impact his fists make on the man’s skull. He thought it would feel good. Cathartic. But it doesn’t. It feels… empty. Hollow. It hurts. Why does it hurt?
The man’s nose is broken. His eyes are swollen & caved in. Several of his teeth are on the ground. There’s blood everywhere. In the driveway. Splattered on his shirt. The man hasn’t been moving for severa
