Millennium (The Series) Was Barking Mad

 

Barking Mad

By Vince Stadon

 Millennium Season 2, Episode 2: Beware of the Dog

 

First published in Outside In Wants to Believe

Editor: Stacey Smith

Sometimes in the dark lonely night, Frank Black calls me.  It may be 2am, or it may be 11pm, or it may be as the dawn is breaking.  My phone will ring, and I know it is Frank Black, and I know that he is in pain, and I know that he is barking mad.

            “Hello?”

            “Hey, it’s Frank.”

            That low rumble of a voice, like far distant thunder. 

            “It’s late,” I say. 

            “It’s never too late,” says Frank.  “Never too late to start caring.”

            He’s always saying these frustratingly cryptic things that seem designed to passive aggressively guilt trip me, like a mid-70s John Lennon lyric.

            “What do you want, Frank?”

            “I just want to talk.  I just want to make some sense of it all.”

            “Make some sense of what?”

            “The case I’m working.  The Group.  People.  The world.”

            Jesus, he’s hard work.  “What case, Frank?  And be specific - I’m tired of your enigmatic bullshit.”

            “We’re all tired.  The world is tired.  Everybody’s tired of it, except maybe the dogs.”

            “Dogs?”

            “The case.  Wild dogs attacking people.  Packs of dogs.”

            “I thought you did serial killers and stuff?”

            “Watts got me chasing these dogs.  There’s something in this.”

            I hear dogs barking on the phone.  “Frank?”

            “They’re at my door.  I think they’ve always been at my door, and I just didn’t realise it.”

            “Where are you, Frank?”

            “Nowhere.”

Sigh.  What is it with this guy?  “You gotta be somewhere, Frank!  Are you home with Catherine, your wife, and Jordan, your daughter?” I think it’s best to spell things out to Frank. 

“No, we’re separated.”

“Oh, sorry.”  I’m not surprised.

“Perhaps we were always separated, and I just didn’t realise it.”

“Yeah, whatever.  So where are you right now?”

“Some crummy hotel in Bucksnort.”

“Bucksnort?”  Who names a place Bucksnort?

“It’s dark, and I can feel more darkness coming.”

“Maybe you need some sleep, Frank.  Or watch a comedy, or something.  Have you seen Ace Ventura: Pet Detective?”

There’s more barking on the phone.  “The dogs are a sign.  The dogs are avatars of the coming darkness.”

Frank sounds worried.  His voice is the sound of the world in pain.  Jesus, now he’s got me doing it.

“Get out of Ducksnort, Frank.  Go home.”

“Bucksnort.”

“Whatever.”

“I can’t go home.  The dogs are out there.  The dogs are always out there.”

And suddenly I hear more dogs.  But they’re not coming from over the phone.  They’re outside my door. 

“I hear the dogs, Frank!”

“I hear them, too.”

“Are we mad, Frank?  Is that what this is - a kind of shared delusion?”

“It’s just the world.  It’s just the darkness at the end of the world.”

I think about this.  The rain, the dark, the blood.  Frank sees it.  Frank always sees it, and tries to do something about it.  I’ve misjudged him.  We need Frank.  The world needs Frank Black.

“I’m sorry, Frank,” I say.  But there’s no reply.  I can only hear the dogs barking down the phone and outside my door.

“Frank?  Frank, are you there?”

But Frank is gone and I am alone and the night is dark and lonely.