The Ray Bradbury Theater (1985–1992): Season 4, Episode 3 - Touched with Fire - full transcript
Mr. Foxe and Mr. Shaw, two retired insurance salesman, take up a new hobby. They have discovered that murders most commonly occur at 101 degrees, and to people who are exceedingly aggravating. They track down a woman, Mrs. Shrike, who they believe is the next person to be murdered because of her irritating ways.
[music playing]
RAY BRADBURY: People ask,
where do you get your ideas?
Right here.
All this is my
magician's toy shop.
I'm Ray Bradbury.
And this is.
Hey, it's hot.
A scorcher.
NARRATOR: The
barometer is steady.
The humidity is 95%
and the temperature
is 94 degrees with a high
expected today of 110.
[sirens]
MAN: 30 bucks?
Are you out of your mind?
Get back to lousy
[inaudible] already.
Money don't grow on trees.
WOMAN: No, it doesn't.
MAN: Stupid bitch.
WOMAN: If you didn't
spend it on drinking,
we wouldn't have to live
in this stinking sweat box.
MAN: That's enough out of you.
You keep your mouth shut.
I don't need to listen to this.
[growls]
Good grief, Mr. Foxe.
It's hot.
You telling the devil
about hell, Mr. Shaw?
It's hell, all right.
- Ah, I dare say.
- Coming through.
- Oh, come on.
- Hey, come on.
Watch it, will you?
This the right street?
- Right?
Course it's right.
Yes.
I've been watching this woman--
Every day for three days.
Now will you let me tell it?
I've been watching this woman
every day for three days now.
And believe me, she is
the ultimate subject.
You wait till you see her, if
she's still alive, that is.
Lord, what a case.
Yeah, but should
we be spying on her?
I mean, people will
think we're peeping toms.
Oh, no, no.
Rubbish, rubbish.
Psychologists, more like.
Census takers of
the almost dead.
Collectors of living nightmares.
Huh?
No, no, no.
We are professionals,
Mr. Shaw, and Samaritans.
Yeah, good Samaritans.
Hey, is that her?
Ah, you guessed.
Uh-oh.
[brakes squealing]
TAXI DRIVER: Why don't you
watch where you're going,
you stupid old bag?
Move it.
I ain't got all day.
Come on, quick.
Where?
The butcher's.
I want a good cut of meat.
[laugh]
Let's see what you got hidden
to take home for yourself.
RADIO: 95 degrees
but the barometer--
This chopped steak.
What's the price of steak?
$6.80 a pound.
That's too much fat.
[slap] Too much bone.
[slap] Never mind.
I'm changing my mind.
Give me hamburger.
[slap] Keep your
hands off the scales.
[smack] Charge it.
[thunk] Ugh.
Look at her, Mrs. Deathwish,
like watching a two-year-old
wander out onto a battlefield.
Any moment she'll run
into a mine and then, pow.
If you get temperature
just right,
little too much humidity,
everybody sweating and itching
and irritable, and then along
comes this fine lady, whining
and shrieking, and goodbye.
This lettuce isn't fresh.
I don't want any.
Well, do we start
business, Mr. Shaw?
Oh, come on.
Come on, Mr. Foxe.
We're not really going
to do this, are we?
Oh, sure.
But I mean, I thought it
was just a hobby, you know.
I mean, just for
fun, studying people,
their habits, their customs,
not actually getting involved.
Yes.
Oh, we've got
better things to do.
Have we?
Come on.
Aw, just look at her, Mr. Shaw.
Do we let her feed
herself to the lions?
Or do we convert her?
Convert her?
Yes, to civility and
love and a longer life.
Oh, this clean.
Takes you one whole day to
make a mess like that, huh?
Get it right.
She's in trouble, Mr. Shaw.
Murderee, almost for certain.
An accident waiting to happen.
Someday, someone will
favor her with a hammer
or a dose of strychinine.
Now we must plan our
strategy, Mr. Shaw,
otherwise our victim will
find her murderer for sure.
[sigh]
[beer pouring]
[radio blaring]
Albert.
- Samuel.
- Hi.
It's been a long time.
How's the insurance business?
We're retired.
We got a new business now.
Heaven help us.
We're detectives,
investigators.
Damn fools.
Searching for lost souls.
Street's full of them.
What will you have?
Ah, usual.
Do you have to tell
everybody what we're doing?
They'll think we're idiots.
It's respectable
work, Mr. Shaw.
What else are we going
to do between here
and the grave, huh?
Now look.
You see?
That's her place.
Her husband is a
longshoreman, you know,
big, hulking, brutal fellow.
Saw them walking together on
Sunday, her jabbering and him
saying nothing, not
even looking at her.
She on the top floor?
Yeah.
And no elevator?
Uh-uh.
And we are going to climb up?
After we've
planned our strategy.
Strategy.
By the time we reach the
top floor, you're dead.
No, no.
We tap on her door.
Mm-hmm.
And when she opens it?
When she opens it,
we show her this.
MR. SHAW: What's that?
MR. FOXE: Look.
So?
It's hot.
Aha.
Hot, aha?
Geez.
This heat is killing you.
Ah, no, you hear that?
Hear what the man said?
The heat is killing.
Does a two ton block of
ice have to fall on you?
Now, look, Mr. Foxe.
You may have some great idea--
RADIO: Surge in crime
over the last few days.
Listen.
Listen.
RADIO: Six murders have been
reported in the last 24 hours
alone.
Police chief
O'Shaughnessy commented
on the possible relationship
between the upsurge
in violence and the
rising temperatures.
There.
RADIO: And there is
no relief in sight.
Believe your ears.
RADIO: --should top the 100.
Believe your eyes.
Here.
At 102 degrees Fahrenheit,
more murders are committed
than at any other temperature.
Go on.
Over that, it's
too hot to move.
Under that, it's cool
enough to survive.
But right on 102 degrees
lies the apex of irritability.
Everything, everything is
just itchies and sweating
and your mind is like
a crazed rat rushing
around in a red hot maze.
And then just one word, just one
movement, one look, one sound
can produce irritable murder.
Now there's a terrifying
phrase if ever I heard one, eh?
And look.
Look.
96 degrees and climbing.
Hey, do you really
think she's in danger?
A nice cold ice box
is waiting for that lady
down at the morgue,
unless someone saves her.
Us.
Who else?
Who's going to do it?
Her husband?
Her friends?
The grocer?
The butcher?
No, no, they'll
sing at her wake.
No.
Will they tell her that she
needs to see a psychiatrist?
No.
Does she know?
No.
So who's going to tell her?
We know it.
We must tell her.
Now you don't keep--
Now wait--
--vital information like
that from a victim, do we?
[splutters] Ah,
it's too hot to argue.
So don't.
All right now, sixth floor,
Smith, Marconi, Simmons.
But can you really
help people like her
unless they want to be helped?
Oh boy.
You guess which name fits her.
Huh.
Shrike.
Yeah, Shrike.
Annabell Shrike.
Doesn't that have a ring?
Yeah, like a funeral bell.
You got it.
There's only her
name there, you see?
Only hers.
Pity her poor husband.
Poor guy.
He'd be lucky if she puts
his name on his tombstone.
Couldn't we-- couldn't
we call up first?
No, there's no
turning back now.
Come on, Mr. Shaw.
MR. SHRIKE: Give
me another beer.
[phone rings]
BARTENDER: It's for you, Shrike.
All I want to do
is post a warning.
Just tell her, you're a
potential murderee, a victim
looking for a perpetrator.
Come on.
You're a hopeless
optimist if you think
that we can change anything.
Well, maybe we can't.
But that one seed we're
going to plant in her mind
may flower and spread.
We can't not do
anything, Mr. Shaw.
[sigh] I suppose so.
I wouldn't want
her on my conscience.
I hope there's a
cold breeze up there.
No, only a victim
waiting to be killed.
My god, where will this end?
End?
This is only the beginning.
This is the first case for
Lost Souls, Incorporated.
We throw out the lifeline and
rescue the drowning victims,
mouth to mouth resuscitation.
I got a list.
I knew it.
[radio blasting]
Now don't check the
apartment numbers.
Let's see if we can guess
which apartment is hers.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: You bring
that paycheck home, [inaudible]
you worthless little grub.
There'll only be one choice.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: --go pissing
around and drinking around--
She doesn't need a phone.
All she needs to do
is open her window.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: [inaudible]
to hang out with.
- Go ahead, knock.
- Mm-mm.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: You come home.
Oh go on, knock.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: Right now.
[knocking]
You bring that paycheck
home right now,
you worthless little bum.
Don't go drinking it away
with those poor excuses for
human beings you hang out with.
[knocking]
You hear me?
I mean it.
You come home right now.
Well?
Mrs. Shrike?
What?
Mrs. Shrike?
Well, who the hell
else would it be?
Oh, fine.
Well, then, it's just that--
Well, speak up.
Could you turn the
radio down, please, ma'am?
[slam]
[radio stops]
I'm not buying anything.
No, no, it's--
Let's hear your pitch.
I got work to do.
I'm-- [clears throat] I'm Mr.
Foxe, and this is my colleague,
Mr. Shaw.
And we are retired
insurance salesmen.
Well, you're here
to sell me insurance?
No, no, no, no.
There's no money
connected with this.
No, it's just-- well, I--
[chuckles] I hardly
know how to begin.
Why don't we just sit?
Well, no.
Never mind.
You see, having been in
insurance these 40 years,
we've been seeing people from
the nursery to the cemetery,
so to speak.
And we formulated some
theories, some ideas.
And we've realized that
there are some people
who needn't die when they do.
Well, I ain't sick.
Oh, but you are.
You're telling me?
No, no.
Some people-- some people die
every day because they are
what we call accident-prone.
Accident what?
That's prone, ma'am.
Like-- well, now look
here above your tub there.
Now that light, that
electrical wire, that wire
is very frayed and worn.
And if you should
ever slip in your tub
and grab up and touch
that wire, why, ooh.
[buzz]
Are you criticizing
my housekeeping, buster?
No, ma'am, no.
But in almost every home,
you could see an ex--
well, now, there.
Look, look.
Your refrigerator
door is half-open.
And if the food spoils,
what do you got?
Botulism.
Death.
You came here to
close my fridge?
No No, no, no.
You came in here to
take out the trash?
Well, we thought we might--
Came here to tape up the
electric cord, the wire?
No.
No, it wasn't any of those--
oh, oh, it's hot, isn't it?
Very hot.
Ma'am, could-- could you
open a window, please?
Why don't you be my guest?
Thank you.
[horns honking]
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you.
It don't open.
[grunt]
[smash]
Oh, that'll cost you, mister.
Oh, I'm-- I'm
terribly sorry, ma'am.
Come on, Foxe.
No, no, no.
Please, ma'am, ma'am, just look
around you, would you, please?
Just look.
What-- what-- what
we are trying to tell
you is that people,
just like cars,
need their brakes
checked once in a while.
- Your time's up.
- Emotional brakes--
Your time's up, mister.
I ain't learned a thing.
You don't understand.
No, now listen.
Sometimes, sometimes, we all
take-- take a wrong turn,
like we pick the wrong job
or pick the wrong marriage
partner, you know.
A dozen irritating
little things.
And then before you know
it, you're taking it all out
on everybody everywhere.
What is bugging you?
We want to save
your life, ma'am.
Why, you don't say?
[clap] Ain't nobody ever
wanted to do that before.
It's not raining.
There's no lightning.
Come on, Foxe.
No earthquakes.
The plaster ain't falling.
Uh, The place
ain't burning down.
Let's go.
What are you going
to save me from?
Yourself, dammit!
No, you see, sometimes we
go around making enemies,
you know, making people think
that they would like to see
us gone, or sick, or dead.
You're sick.
Get out of here.
- No, no, listen.
Listen.
- Get out of here.
You don't know it.
You don't know it.
You don't see the way you act.
But you have tattoos all over
your body, in invisible ink,
of course.
And your face, your face
says, I don't want to live.
I don't want to live?
Me?
You're crazy.
And some night,
some night you'll
meet a murderer in the street.
And he'll read those
invisible marks on your face.
And he'll say, ha ha,
why, there's a murderee.
You're lunatics.
You're both lunatics.
No.
Now get out of here,
you crazy old coots.
No.
No.
Come on, come on.
Will you let go of me?
No, about a year ago, we decided
to find people who needed help.
Now Mr. Shaw, he was against it.
But I-- I showed
him, case after case.
Yes, he did.
And every time we found
people who were death prone,
they came to a bad end.
- Yeah, that's right.
That's right.
There was one killed
in the parlor room
and one pushed through a
window and that poor woman
run down by a street car.
Horrible.
What?
And we've been watching you.
We've been keeping tabs--
- He's been watching me?
Well, just for the sake of--
You've been following me?
No, for research,
you understand.
You-- get out!
MR FOXE: Oh, ma'am.
Get out of here!
No, no, no, ma'am.
Ma'am, please for--
Come on, Mr. Foxe.
Listen, will you let go of me?
You are a murderee.
Get out.
You need us.
Oh, good--
You need our help.
Who do you think you are?
You're a loser.
- Oh no, listen.
ANNABELL SHRIKE:
You're washed up.
Oh, no, ma'am, please.
Now that's--
No, you are.
You're a has-been.
That is offensive.
You're a senile old failure--
I'm not going
to-- how dare you?
ANNABELL SHRIKE:
--washed-up has-been.
You mean, miserable old--
[screams]
Oh no.
- Get out.
- No, no, no.
Get out.
Come on.
Come on.
Me?
Death?
Oh gee.
Did you see what I did?
Oh, that was close, close.
There was nothing to be done.
No, no.
I'm a fool.
You were right.
I see that now.
- Here, here.
Wipe your face.
[yelling]
Is that who I think it is?
That's the husband.
What was that in his belt?
It's a longshoreman's hook.
D-do you think we
should-- we should--
No, no.
You're right.
We shouldn't get involved.
Is that lazy bum still there--
102 on the nose, Mr. Foxe.
[scream]
[sirens]
RAY BRADBURY: People ask,
where do you get your ideas?
Right here.
All this is my
magician's toy shop.
I'm Ray Bradbury.
And this is.
Hey, it's hot.
A scorcher.
NARRATOR: The
barometer is steady.
The humidity is 95%
and the temperature
is 94 degrees with a high
expected today of 110.
[sirens]
MAN: 30 bucks?
Are you out of your mind?
Get back to lousy
[inaudible] already.
Money don't grow on trees.
WOMAN: No, it doesn't.
MAN: Stupid bitch.
WOMAN: If you didn't
spend it on drinking,
we wouldn't have to live
in this stinking sweat box.
MAN: That's enough out of you.
You keep your mouth shut.
I don't need to listen to this.
[growls]
Good grief, Mr. Foxe.
It's hot.
You telling the devil
about hell, Mr. Shaw?
It's hell, all right.
- Ah, I dare say.
- Coming through.
- Oh, come on.
- Hey, come on.
Watch it, will you?
This the right street?
- Right?
Course it's right.
Yes.
I've been watching this woman--
Every day for three days.
Now will you let me tell it?
I've been watching this woman
every day for three days now.
And believe me, she is
the ultimate subject.
You wait till you see her, if
she's still alive, that is.
Lord, what a case.
Yeah, but should
we be spying on her?
I mean, people will
think we're peeping toms.
Oh, no, no.
Rubbish, rubbish.
Psychologists, more like.
Census takers of
the almost dead.
Collectors of living nightmares.
Huh?
No, no, no.
We are professionals,
Mr. Shaw, and Samaritans.
Yeah, good Samaritans.
Hey, is that her?
Ah, you guessed.
Uh-oh.
[brakes squealing]
TAXI DRIVER: Why don't you
watch where you're going,
you stupid old bag?
Move it.
I ain't got all day.
Come on, quick.
Where?
The butcher's.
I want a good cut of meat.
[laugh]
Let's see what you got hidden
to take home for yourself.
RADIO: 95 degrees
but the barometer--
This chopped steak.
What's the price of steak?
$6.80 a pound.
That's too much fat.
[slap] Too much bone.
[slap] Never mind.
I'm changing my mind.
Give me hamburger.
[slap] Keep your
hands off the scales.
[smack] Charge it.
[thunk] Ugh.
Look at her, Mrs. Deathwish,
like watching a two-year-old
wander out onto a battlefield.
Any moment she'll run
into a mine and then, pow.
If you get temperature
just right,
little too much humidity,
everybody sweating and itching
and irritable, and then along
comes this fine lady, whining
and shrieking, and goodbye.
This lettuce isn't fresh.
I don't want any.
Well, do we start
business, Mr. Shaw?
Oh, come on.
Come on, Mr. Foxe.
We're not really going
to do this, are we?
Oh, sure.
But I mean, I thought it
was just a hobby, you know.
I mean, just for
fun, studying people,
their habits, their customs,
not actually getting involved.
Yes.
Oh, we've got
better things to do.
Have we?
Come on.
Aw, just look at her, Mr. Shaw.
Do we let her feed
herself to the lions?
Or do we convert her?
Convert her?
Yes, to civility and
love and a longer life.
Oh, this clean.
Takes you one whole day to
make a mess like that, huh?
Get it right.
She's in trouble, Mr. Shaw.
Murderee, almost for certain.
An accident waiting to happen.
Someday, someone will
favor her with a hammer
or a dose of strychinine.
Now we must plan our
strategy, Mr. Shaw,
otherwise our victim will
find her murderer for sure.
[sigh]
[beer pouring]
[radio blaring]
Albert.
- Samuel.
- Hi.
It's been a long time.
How's the insurance business?
We're retired.
We got a new business now.
Heaven help us.
We're detectives,
investigators.
Damn fools.
Searching for lost souls.
Street's full of them.
What will you have?
Ah, usual.
Do you have to tell
everybody what we're doing?
They'll think we're idiots.
It's respectable
work, Mr. Shaw.
What else are we going
to do between here
and the grave, huh?
Now look.
You see?
That's her place.
Her husband is a
longshoreman, you know,
big, hulking, brutal fellow.
Saw them walking together on
Sunday, her jabbering and him
saying nothing, not
even looking at her.
She on the top floor?
Yeah.
And no elevator?
Uh-uh.
And we are going to climb up?
After we've
planned our strategy.
Strategy.
By the time we reach the
top floor, you're dead.
No, no.
We tap on her door.
Mm-hmm.
And when she opens it?
When she opens it,
we show her this.
MR. SHAW: What's that?
MR. FOXE: Look.
So?
It's hot.
Aha.
Hot, aha?
Geez.
This heat is killing you.
Ah, no, you hear that?
Hear what the man said?
The heat is killing.
Does a two ton block of
ice have to fall on you?
Now, look, Mr. Foxe.
You may have some great idea--
RADIO: Surge in crime
over the last few days.
Listen.
Listen.
RADIO: Six murders have been
reported in the last 24 hours
alone.
Police chief
O'Shaughnessy commented
on the possible relationship
between the upsurge
in violence and the
rising temperatures.
There.
RADIO: And there is
no relief in sight.
Believe your ears.
RADIO: --should top the 100.
Believe your eyes.
Here.
At 102 degrees Fahrenheit,
more murders are committed
than at any other temperature.
Go on.
Over that, it's
too hot to move.
Under that, it's cool
enough to survive.
But right on 102 degrees
lies the apex of irritability.
Everything, everything is
just itchies and sweating
and your mind is like
a crazed rat rushing
around in a red hot maze.
And then just one word, just one
movement, one look, one sound
can produce irritable murder.
Now there's a terrifying
phrase if ever I heard one, eh?
And look.
Look.
96 degrees and climbing.
Hey, do you really
think she's in danger?
A nice cold ice box
is waiting for that lady
down at the morgue,
unless someone saves her.
Us.
Who else?
Who's going to do it?
Her husband?
Her friends?
The grocer?
The butcher?
No, no, they'll
sing at her wake.
No.
Will they tell her that she
needs to see a psychiatrist?
No.
Does she know?
No.
So who's going to tell her?
We know it.
We must tell her.
Now you don't keep--
Now wait--
--vital information like
that from a victim, do we?
[splutters] Ah,
it's too hot to argue.
So don't.
All right now, sixth floor,
Smith, Marconi, Simmons.
But can you really
help people like her
unless they want to be helped?
Oh boy.
You guess which name fits her.
Huh.
Shrike.
Yeah, Shrike.
Annabell Shrike.
Doesn't that have a ring?
Yeah, like a funeral bell.
You got it.
There's only her
name there, you see?
Only hers.
Pity her poor husband.
Poor guy.
He'd be lucky if she puts
his name on his tombstone.
Couldn't we-- couldn't
we call up first?
No, there's no
turning back now.
Come on, Mr. Shaw.
MR. SHRIKE: Give
me another beer.
[phone rings]
BARTENDER: It's for you, Shrike.
All I want to do
is post a warning.
Just tell her, you're a
potential murderee, a victim
looking for a perpetrator.
Come on.
You're a hopeless
optimist if you think
that we can change anything.
Well, maybe we can't.
But that one seed we're
going to plant in her mind
may flower and spread.
We can't not do
anything, Mr. Shaw.
[sigh] I suppose so.
I wouldn't want
her on my conscience.
I hope there's a
cold breeze up there.
No, only a victim
waiting to be killed.
My god, where will this end?
End?
This is only the beginning.
This is the first case for
Lost Souls, Incorporated.
We throw out the lifeline and
rescue the drowning victims,
mouth to mouth resuscitation.
I got a list.
I knew it.
[radio blasting]
Now don't check the
apartment numbers.
Let's see if we can guess
which apartment is hers.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: You bring
that paycheck home, [inaudible]
you worthless little grub.
There'll only be one choice.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: --go pissing
around and drinking around--
She doesn't need a phone.
All she needs to do
is open her window.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: [inaudible]
to hang out with.
- Go ahead, knock.
- Mm-mm.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: You come home.
Oh go on, knock.
ANNABELL SHRIKE: Right now.
[knocking]
You bring that paycheck
home right now,
you worthless little bum.
Don't go drinking it away
with those poor excuses for
human beings you hang out with.
[knocking]
You hear me?
I mean it.
You come home right now.
Well?
Mrs. Shrike?
What?
Mrs. Shrike?
Well, who the hell
else would it be?
Oh, fine.
Well, then, it's just that--
Well, speak up.
Could you turn the
radio down, please, ma'am?
[slam]
[radio stops]
I'm not buying anything.
No, no, it's--
Let's hear your pitch.
I got work to do.
I'm-- [clears throat] I'm Mr.
Foxe, and this is my colleague,
Mr. Shaw.
And we are retired
insurance salesmen.
Well, you're here
to sell me insurance?
No, no, no, no.
There's no money
connected with this.
No, it's just-- well, I--
[chuckles] I hardly
know how to begin.
Why don't we just sit?
Well, no.
Never mind.
You see, having been in
insurance these 40 years,
we've been seeing people from
the nursery to the cemetery,
so to speak.
And we formulated some
theories, some ideas.
And we've realized that
there are some people
who needn't die when they do.
Well, I ain't sick.
Oh, but you are.
You're telling me?
No, no.
Some people-- some people die
every day because they are
what we call accident-prone.
Accident what?
That's prone, ma'am.
Like-- well, now look
here above your tub there.
Now that light, that
electrical wire, that wire
is very frayed and worn.
And if you should
ever slip in your tub
and grab up and touch
that wire, why, ooh.
[buzz]
Are you criticizing
my housekeeping, buster?
No, ma'am, no.
But in almost every home,
you could see an ex--
well, now, there.
Look, look.
Your refrigerator
door is half-open.
And if the food spoils,
what do you got?
Botulism.
Death.
You came here to
close my fridge?
No No, no, no.
You came in here to
take out the trash?
Well, we thought we might--
Came here to tape up the
electric cord, the wire?
No.
No, it wasn't any of those--
oh, oh, it's hot, isn't it?
Very hot.
Ma'am, could-- could you
open a window, please?
Why don't you be my guest?
Thank you.
[horns honking]
Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you.
It don't open.
[grunt]
[smash]
Oh, that'll cost you, mister.
Oh, I'm-- I'm
terribly sorry, ma'am.
Come on, Foxe.
No, no, no.
Please, ma'am, ma'am, just look
around you, would you, please?
Just look.
What-- what-- what
we are trying to tell
you is that people,
just like cars,
need their brakes
checked once in a while.
- Your time's up.
- Emotional brakes--
Your time's up, mister.
I ain't learned a thing.
You don't understand.
No, now listen.
Sometimes, sometimes, we all
take-- take a wrong turn,
like we pick the wrong job
or pick the wrong marriage
partner, you know.
A dozen irritating
little things.
And then before you know
it, you're taking it all out
on everybody everywhere.
What is bugging you?
We want to save
your life, ma'am.
Why, you don't say?
[clap] Ain't nobody ever
wanted to do that before.
It's not raining.
There's no lightning.
Come on, Foxe.
No earthquakes.
The plaster ain't falling.
Uh, The place
ain't burning down.
Let's go.
What are you going
to save me from?
Yourself, dammit!
No, you see, sometimes we
go around making enemies,
you know, making people think
that they would like to see
us gone, or sick, or dead.
You're sick.
Get out of here.
- No, no, listen.
Listen.
- Get out of here.
You don't know it.
You don't know it.
You don't see the way you act.
But you have tattoos all over
your body, in invisible ink,
of course.
And your face, your face
says, I don't want to live.
I don't want to live?
Me?
You're crazy.
And some night,
some night you'll
meet a murderer in the street.
And he'll read those
invisible marks on your face.
And he'll say, ha ha,
why, there's a murderee.
You're lunatics.
You're both lunatics.
No.
Now get out of here,
you crazy old coots.
No.
No.
Come on, come on.
Will you let go of me?
No, about a year ago, we decided
to find people who needed help.
Now Mr. Shaw, he was against it.
But I-- I showed
him, case after case.
Yes, he did.
And every time we found
people who were death prone,
they came to a bad end.
- Yeah, that's right.
That's right.
There was one killed
in the parlor room
and one pushed through a
window and that poor woman
run down by a street car.
Horrible.
What?
And we've been watching you.
We've been keeping tabs--
- He's been watching me?
Well, just for the sake of--
You've been following me?
No, for research,
you understand.
You-- get out!
MR FOXE: Oh, ma'am.
Get out of here!
No, no, no, ma'am.
Ma'am, please for--
Come on, Mr. Foxe.
Listen, will you let go of me?
You are a murderee.
Get out.
You need us.
Oh, good--
You need our help.
Who do you think you are?
You're a loser.
- Oh no, listen.
ANNABELL SHRIKE:
You're washed up.
Oh, no, ma'am, please.
Now that's--
No, you are.
You're a has-been.
That is offensive.
You're a senile old failure--
I'm not going
to-- how dare you?
ANNABELL SHRIKE:
--washed-up has-been.
You mean, miserable old--
[screams]
Oh no.
- Get out.
- No, no, no.
Get out.
Come on.
Come on.
Me?
Death?
Oh gee.
Did you see what I did?
Oh, that was close, close.
There was nothing to be done.
No, no.
I'm a fool.
You were right.
I see that now.
- Here, here.
Wipe your face.
[yelling]
Is that who I think it is?
That's the husband.
What was that in his belt?
It's a longshoreman's hook.
D-do you think we
should-- we should--
No, no.
You're right.
We shouldn't get involved.
Is that lazy bum still there--
102 on the nose, Mr. Foxe.
[scream]
[sirens]