Disclaimer/Warning/Whatever: Hm, how to introduce this? Okay, let me put it this way-- this is a weird story that I just sort of stumbled on to while I was reading "Heart of Darkness." It plays a lot on some of the themes of the book, but not all of them. There are also a number of changes in the plot, and in the characters as well. If you're expecting a crossover, then you'll be sadly disappointed. If you're looking for a weird take-off on it, though, this is the right place. If you read the book, "Heart of Darkness," it might help a little, but it's not required reading. (If you do read the book, I'll warn you that there is some language that you may find pretty darn offensive. Please keep in mind, though, that it's a product of its time.) Heck, even watching "Apocalypse Now" would help some, as the movie is also based on the book, but follows it a lot more closely than I do.

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Joseph Conrad (Not William Conrad, of "Jake and the Fatman" fame) for writing a very interesting story. It really made me think. Thanks also to the folks who made "Apocalypse Now" a very interesting interpretation of "Heart of Darkness."

Legal Stuff: "Daria" and all related characters are copyright and TM of MTV and VIACOM. The following is a work of parody, created solely for the Author's personal amusement, for the purpose of learning the method of writing a teleplay, for the purpose of having fun with a very strange and dark book, and not for any commercial purpose whatsoever. The Author does not wish nor intend to do any of the wonderful creative people at MTV Animation out of any part of their market, as he respects the hard work, dedication, and Old-world craftsmanship they put into each and every show. See Campbell v. Acuff-Rose Music 510 U.S. 569 (1994).

All rights not belonging to MTV, VIACOM, their successors, or assigns, are reserved by the Author of this parody.

Production Note: You'll see a lot of VOs in this piece, and that's because there's a lot of narration. Daria's narrative voiceovers are marked Narr. VO. I probably could've done this in a prose format, but, enh, I'm lazy, and I don't like to do these things in prose as much-- it takes too long. If you have any questions, or just want to give me some feedback, please email me. I always enjoy getting feedback, even if it's the "Huh?" variety.

Roll Into. to Daria in "Hearts of Darkness."

ACT I.

Fade In.

Int. -- Lane House -- Basement -- Sunday Afternoon.

Daria and Trent are standing, facing each other. Each one is looking down, away from each other's eyes.

I don't know Trent, isn't this kind of a big step?

Aw, c'mon, Daria, sometimes you've just got to take a chance on something like this. I mean, how many opportunities like this come along?

Daria looks up at Trent.

I don't know. It just seems so... impulsive.

Trent looks up at Daria.

Yeah, but isn't part of life about taking chances? You know, nothing ventured, nothing gained? Sometimes you've gotta try, or you'll always wonder "What if?" (Beat.) I can't live my life always wondering about what could have been, Daria, I just can't.

I guess, but will your friends approve of this? It is kind of sudden and unexpected.

Trent smiles at Daria.

Nah, I've already discussed it with them. They approve. They think it's a wonderful idea. (Beat.) You know, I've been wanting to do this for some time now.

Really?

Yeah, I was just afraid, y'know, that things would get, uh, complicated. But I think that this will be a great move for us.

Well, I just don't want anyone to get hurt. You know what can happen when these things get out of hand. Someone could really get hurt.

Well, we'll start slow, then. You know, sort of ease in to it. It's not like we have to crank things up all the way. (Leans closer to Daria, smiles suggestively.) Wanna try and see what happens?

Um, okay.

Cool, then let's get this thing started.

Trent leans forward towards Daria, then...

ZOOM OUT to show Trent bending down and turning a switch on a box-like machine. Fog starts to pour out of it and fill the basement. Trent smiles contentedly as the room starts to fill with fog.

Man, I've always wanted to have a fog machine.

You know, you never really struck me as the fog machine type, Trent.

Hey, like I said, sometimes you just gotta try something and see if it works. When I heard that The Band Of Hair was breaking up, I figured we could get their fog machine cheap. It adds a certain amount of irony to our music.

The room continues to fill with fog at an increasing rate. Daria starts to cough a little.

Yeah, but I thought the idea was not to asphyxiate your fans.

Whoops, sorry about that.

Trent turns the machine down as Jane and Tom come down the stairs into the basement. Jane waves her hand in front of her face in an attempt to disperse the thick fog.

Trent, did you burn out another amp again?

No, we're just checking out the fog machine that I scored off of the former Band of Hair. Let me get a fan going here.

Trent walks over to the back of the basement to get a fan.

And here I was, worried that you were going to try to pull some sort of Hendrix act. (To Daria.) Hey stranger-- where've you been the past few days?

Yeah, you missed a lot of weirdness. It was another Sick Sad World marathon. They even had a special "Freakiest of the Freaky" episode. You would've enjoyed it.

Trent comes back with a fan on a pole, and plugs it in.

Oh, I saw plenty of weirdness, and plenty of freakiness. I saw enough to last me a for quite a while.

Well, why don't you tell us about it while we clear all of this fog out?

Okay, but I'll warn you. It's disturbing, even to me.

Really? I gotta hear this.

Okay, it all started after school on Wednesday, right before the teacher work-days started. I was in the parking lot, getting ready to drive the dragon wagon home, when...

Cross Fade to:

Ext. -- Lawndale High School -- Parking Lot -- Wednesday Afternoon.

Daria is approaching her beat-up station wagon.

Dammit! (Beat.) Ow! DAMMIT!

I should've known better than to look, but I couldn't resist.

Daria turns to see Ms. Barch by Mr. O'Neill's car, hopping on left foot, grimacing in pain.

Ms. Barch? Are you okay?

Ah, I kicked Skinny's car because it wouldn't start, and now I think I've broken my foot! (Beat.) Um, Daria, could you do me a favor and run me by the Doc-in-a-box? Because I just know I've broken something.

Um, sure.

Nothing like compounding one mistake with another.

Daria bends down and picks up a ragged, well-worn copy of I'm Ok, You're Ok.

Is this yours, Ms. Barch?

No, it must be Skin-- I mean Mr. O'Neill's. I'd recognize it anywhere. He never goes anywhere with that thing.

I leafed through it quickly, and there were all sorts of strange notes written in the margins. He must've been writing all over that thing for 20 years.

What should we do with this?

I guess we'll just take it along. I'll see Tim soon enough.

Daria helps Ms. Barch limp over to the car. They get in, and start to head to the Doc-in-a-Box.

Int. -- Car -- Wednesday Late Afternoon -- A Few Seconds Later.

Daria pulls the car out of the parking lot and into traffic.

Thanks again for doing this for me, Daria. I'm not imposing, am I?

No, it's okay. My parents are away on business, and Quinn's at some sort of fashion club retreat or something. I'm pretty much on my own for the weekend.

I should've just kept my mouth shut, but you know how it is when you're concentrating on driving; sometimes you lose your focus.

Int. -- Lawndale UrgentCare 24 -- Waiting Room -- Wednesday Late Afternoon.

Daria is sitting in the waiting room, reading a book called "The Pleasures of Probability." She looks up as Ms. Barch limps out of the door of the treatment room into the waiting room. Her right foot is in a cast, and she is walking with the help of an aluminum cane.

Dammit! That's all I need.

Let me guess, you broke your foot?

Three bones! Now I can't drive to get those two idiots back! Angela will fire the both of them if I can't get them back in time.

Which idiots?

Timothy and Anthony. Anthony was invited to give a paper on history pedagogy at a convention in Atlantic City. He didn't want to go, but Angela forced him to. Tim went along for "moral support."

Moral support?

(Grimaces.)

You know how Anthony is around casinos.

Oh, yeah. And I'd almost managed to block that memory out, too. So, I take it that they're still there?

That's just it, we don't know. They left on Saturday, and were supposed to be back by Tuesday. Well, anyway, we haven't heard anything from them since they left, and if we can't get them back here by next Monday, Angela's going to flip, and then it'll really hit the fan. Fortunately, we've got those two teacher work-days to find them, but now I can't drive. (Beat. Slams her fist into her palm.) Dammit!

What about the other teachers?

Them? Forget it. They all bailed out for the weekend as soon as Angela announced that she was going to the big "Arms and the Man" weapons convention at an undisclosed location in Texas.

Have you ever noticed how sometimes Fate seems to force us into situations we'd ordinarily avoid like the plague?

Alright, alright, I'll help. Since it's not too far away, I guess I can drive you up and back. But I'll need gas money. This car drinks gas like it's nobody's business.

Thanks, Daria. Don't worry, we'll all make the trip worth your while. (Beat.) Especially Anthony. Oh, he'll owe us, alright. (In an undertone.) Boy, will he ever owe us.

Some bargain. The extra credit was almost worth it. (Beat.) Almost.

Well, we might as well get this over with, then. Do you need anything before we go?

No, I've already got a bag in Timothy's trunk. We can get it at the school on the way out of town. Do you need anything?

Nope. Let's just get this over with.

Amen, sister.

Ext. -- On The Road Somewhere Between Lawndale and Atlantic City -- Wednesday Night.

Daria and Ms. Barch are in Daria's station wagon, driving towards Atlantic City.

And that was when I found out that that rotten insensitive bastard had been recycling my anniversary presents for the last 10 years!

Mmm.

And do you know what the worst part was?

That he managed to escape, and I didn't?

No, what?

He had been using the presents I gave to him as presents for his father's birthday! That cheap bastard!

Ms. Barch?

Um, yes?

If men are so worthless, why are we traveling a few hundred miles to rescue two of them?

It's complicated.

That's okay, we're going to be here for a while.

It's really complicated.

It's okay, I'm clever.

Okay, look, I'll make no bones about it; I don't particularly care for Anthony.

Really? I never would've noticed.

But I will admit that he's an adequate History teacher. Besides, I don't want to get stuck having to fill in for him. You know how cheap Angela is-- she'd make us all cover for him, rather than hire a sub, let alone a new teacher.

Uh, huh. And Mr. O'Neill fits in how?

Well, poor Tim is always trying to help everyone else-- it would be unfair to leave him there, just because the majority of his gender are knuckle-dragging morons, incapable of having emotions beyond primitive urges, let alone being able to express their feelings with some degree of emotional maturity.

A loud BANG! is heard, and the car starts to wobble a bit.

Damn. I knew that tire looked a little too worn. Oh, well, that's what I get for being a cheapskate.

Int. -- Lane Basement -- Sunday Afternoon.

Hey, I thought you said you were going to buy decent tires for the wagon.

I was, until I found a better use for the money.

Really? What'd you get?

A few books I'd been looking for finally turned up at the second-hand store.

A few books at the second-hand store shouldn't've kept you from being able to buy tires. (Beat.) C'mon, out with it, how many did you really buy?

Daria mumbles something.

Huh? I didn't hear that.

Daria shrugs.

Alright, I bought 15 books. Happy?

Jane grins.

And have you read them all yet?

No, I still have a couple more to finish. (Beat. Looks at Jane.) Although I have had a few extra free weekends as of late.

Jane and Tom exchange guilty glances.

Well, listen, you really need to put some decent tires on that thing, even if it does butt into "fun time." I thought I taught you better, o heap-driving apprentice.

Ext. -- The Side of a Lonely Road -- Wednesday Night.

Daria is struggling to try to change the tire, and is getting frustrated quickly, while Ms. Barch is propped under a tree, off to the side. As she has been struggling, she's gotten very, very dirty, as anyone who's ever had to change a tire on the road at night would know.

Believe me, Trent, I learned that lesson the hard way.

As Daria tries to jack the wagon high enough to remove the tire, it rolls forward, sending the jack and the rear of the car falling to the ground. Daria throws the tire iron to the ground angrily.

Damn! (Beat.) Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!

Daria, do you have an auto club membership?

No.

Ms. Barch starts digging around in her purse.

Well, then, use mine. Just don't forget who you are. Here, take my cell phone, too. There's no point in you trying to change that thing with that ancient equipment.

Thanks.

Int. -- In the Car and On the Road Again -- Wednesday Night -- An Hour Later.

I've got an idea for a shortcut.

Do you really think we should be pushing our luck like that?

Well, look at it this way-- we lost an hour getting that tire fixed, it's already getting late, and we could both use a break. Besides, it'll cut a few miles off of the trip.

Okay, I'll bite. What is this magical shortcut?

The ferry.

The ferry?

Well, it'll at least give us a chance to let someone else do a little driving.

Sold. The ferry it is, then.

Ext. -- Ferry Dock (You know, the one in Delaware) -- Night -- Another Hour Later.

As the car pulls up to the dock, the ferry pulls away.

Int. -- Car -- Wednesday Night -- A Few Seconds Later.

Damn!

After an moment's pause, both start chuckling.

With the way my luck has been running today, maybe it's for the best. I bet the damn boat'd sink if we got on it.

Well, I guess I'll take the first watch.

No, Daria, get some sleep. I'll watch for the next boat.

Okay.

Ext. -- Ferry Dock -- Wednesday Night -- A Couple of Hours Later.

Daria's Car is at the front of a line of cars, waiting to board the ferry as it docks. The gate opens, and the cars drive in.

Cross Fade to:

Ext. -- Ferry -- Wednesday Night -- A Little While Later.

Daria is leaning against the rail along the side of the ship, looking out at the water. A middle-aged couple, wearing cheap polyester outfits walks past her, talking.

We'll hit it big this time, Bernice.

You betcha, Al. We've got it figured out, now. What should we do with the winnings?

I was thinking we could always make a down payment on a new Caddy.

Oooh, I was thinking we could also pick up some of those wonderful Hummels we saw at that really cute little store!

Well, sure, we could do that, too.

Or you could always set some money aside for your kids' education, but that might actually be prudent.

As the couple wanders off, Daria looks at them with a slight air of distaste. A pair of women wander by, one is middle-aged, one is elderly.

Ma, when we get to the hotel, do you want to go to the buffet first, or do you just want to play the slots?

Oh, the slots, of course! Granny needs a new pair of shoes!

Both laugh and wander off. Daria starts to look annoyed.

Or maybe you could set aside a little money to make sure you don't wind up eating Alpo in two years.

Daria walks away from the rail, and into the main cabin of the boat.

Int. -- Ferry Boat Snack Bar -- Wednesday Night -- A Few Minutes Later.

As Daria is standing in line to get something to eat, she overhears three men talking in front of her. They all have the downtrodden, sleazy look of frequent gamblers.

Heh, Joe, didja find any money to bring with you this time?

Of course I did, you knucklehead, r'else I wouldn't be on this damn boat.

You're gonna get it when your missus finds out you raided her cookie jar again, though.

Morty and Larry laugh, while Joe is indifferent to their remarks.

It's no big deal, it's not like we needed the money right away, it's just something she's been setting aside for the future. The way I see it, I'm just investing the money for her.

Investing? You gotta be kidding, right?

Nah, gambling is just like investing, it's just that the risks and the rewards are a little higher.

A "little" higher? You gotta be kiddin' me! The way you play cards, you'll be lucky to have two quarters to rub together, let alone to have enough to "replace" the money you "invested."

Joey, what are we gonna do with you?

Before anyone else can speak, they approach the counter.

How about dropping Joey in the ocean before he can squander the entire family's savings?

Can I take your orders?

As Daria's VO continues, ZOOM IN on a very-mad-looking Daria waiting behind the three gamblers. Towards the end, she looks as though she could spit nails right through them.

It was disgusting and pathetic at the same time. All everyone on that boat wanted to talk about was "hitting it big," in Atlantic City, and "finally cashing in," when the reality that they were facing was that they'd all be lucky to have two quarters to rub together by the same time tomorrow night. I mean, casinos sure as hell aren't built on winners. Maybe if they'd applied that same squandered energy on their sad attempts to "strike it rich" on improving themselves, they wouldn't be on a dumpy little boat to New Jersey, leaving their kids with God-knows-who, doing God-knows-what, instead of doing something constructive, like reading with them.

Int. -- Lane Basement -- Sunday Afternoon -- A Few Seconds Later.

Jane, Tom, and Trent all look at Daria with raised eyebrows.

But I digress.

Fade Out.

SLO-MO of Trent turning on the fog machine as the bumper music runs.

Commercial Break.

Act II.

Fade In.

Ext. -- Ferry Dock in NJ -- Wednesday Night -- A Little While Later.

Daria's station wagon pulls out of the ferry, and onto the road.

Ext. -- Atlantic City City Limits -- Wednesday Night -- A Little While Later.

The wagon drives past a sign saying "Welcome to Atlantic City! We Bet You'll Be Glad You Came!"

I'll take the house odds on that.

Int. -- Car -- Wednesday Night -- A Few Minutes Later.

As Daria and Ms. Barch are cruising the streets of Atlantic City, looking for the missing men...

Well, here we are. Now what?

Let's head towards the casinos first. I bet-- uh, I mean I'm pretty sure we'll find them there.

Okay.

As the car heads towards the casinos, Daria starts looking at all of the various people in various stages of disrepair, in stark contrast to the flashy new buildings.

The grotesque tackiness and unbridled despair of the place were palpable. They had a weight and texture to them all of their own. It was as if something had enveloped the place as you looked around, as if everything had been smothered by some sick, distorted, diseased cloud. A cloud that tainted and tarnished everything it touched.

Int. -- Lane Basement -- Sunday Afternoon -- A Few Seconds Later.

Jane, Tom, and Trent give Daria another surprised look.

Are you working on a book or something?

No, I was just trying a few things out. (Shrugs.) Hey, it'd make a pretty good short story.

For O'Neill's class?

Well, no, I guess not for his class. I don't know, it'll be useful for something, if only as another experience to add to the pile. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah.

Ext. -- A Street In Atlantic City, Near a Casino -- Wednesday Night -- A Few Minutes Later.

Park over there-- we're going to have to get out and do this on foot.

Are you sure you want to do that with your injury?

Do we have any choice? If I know Anthony, he's already gambled away all of his hotel money, so they're probably out on the street somewhere.

Daria parks the car, and they get out and start wandering near the casinos.

Ext. -- The Streets of Atlantic City -- Wednesday Night -- A Few Minutes Later.

Daria and Ms. Barch are wandering the streets by the casinos.

Let's check around here first, then I guess we can check the pawn shops.

Sounds like a good plan to me.

As they're walking around a corner, they see a dejected Mr. O'Neill loitering near a casino entrance. He looks as if he hasn't slept in a few days, and hasn't had a chance to bathe or shave, either.

Timothy? Is that you? My God, what happened to you?

Ms. Barch run-limps towards Mr. O'Neill. Mr. O'Neill starts jumping up and down, gesticulating wildly.

Janet! Daria! You found me! Thank God!

The way he was jumping up and down suddenly reminded me of a drawing I did of him in his class one day-- he was capering just like the Harlequin that I drew. He resembled him, too-- his clothes looked an absolute mess. Not that I usually care about such things, it's just that the image was so clear, it struck me.

Phew! Tim, what happened?

Oh, Janet, it was just terrible! He suffered a full relapse! All of his brilliant ideas, lost to the siren song of the casino! He didn't even make it to the elevators! And do you know what the worst part is?

What, Tim?

I lost my book!

Ms. Barch embraces Mr. O'Neill, and speaks to him in a soothing tone.

It's okay, Tim, it's okay. Daria found your book. She even brought it with her.

Mr. O'Neill breaks the embrace and looks at Ms. Barch, his countenance a study in hopefulness.

Really?

Yep, I've got it right here.

Daria rummages around in her backpack and hands him the well-worn book. Mr. O'Neill takes the book in an almost reverent manner and quickly turns to a page, reads and smiles to himself.

Oh, thank you, Daria, you have no idea how much this book means to me.

He treated that book the same way that a child treats a favorite stuffed animal. It wasn't like he hadn't already read the thing a billion times over, but it seemed as though he needed physical contact with that book to reassure himself that he truly was "okay."

Okay, Tim, enough reading. Now what happened to you and Anthony?

I've got an idea-- why don't we go somewhere and get Mr. O'Neill something to eat first, then he can tell us what happened.

Oh, could we? I haven't eaten for a while, actually. Anthony has all of our meal money.

You mean had.

You're probably right about that. Let's go.

Ext. -- A Diner -- Late Wednesday Night/Early Thursday Morning -- A Little While Later.

Establishing shot of one of those really neat old shiny diners.

Int. -- A Diner -- Late Wednesday Night/Early Thursday Morning -- A Few Seconds Later.

Daria and Ms. Barch are sitting on one side of a booth, sipping coffee, while Mr. O'Neill is sitting on the other side, wolfing down what's probably his first hot meal in a day or two.

So, Tim, what happened to you?

Oh, it started out well enough. I was helping Anthony work on some of the finer points of his paper before he presented it to the convention...

CROSS-FADE TO:

Int. -- DeMartino's Car -- Last Saturday Afternoon.

Anthony, there are some really good ideas in here. The Teachers' Association is going to love it!

THANK you, Timothy. I've spent the last THREE YEARS doing the background research. I only HOPE that it's not TOO LATE to save society from the STUDENTS we as TEACHERS have been CARELESSLY DUMPING on them.

Well, I must admit that some of your ideas are really coming out of the box, buuuut...

Yes?

I'm not so sure about the use of corrective electrical shocks to improve recall.

Timothy, traumatic experiences are EASILY remembered and NEVER FORGOTTEN. Just ask ANYONE who ever went to MILITARY SCHOOL. (Beat. O'Neill still looks uncomfortable.) Besides, it was meant as a JOKE.

Oh, I get it. (Beat.) Well, look-- there's our hotel. (Beat.) Oh, dear.

The Diamond Hotel... and CASINO? Those HEARTLESS BASTARDS!

Don't worry, Anthony, I'll be here for moral support! Just remember, stay focused on what's important-- giving the paper.

You're right, Timothy, I will FOCUS on what is IMPORTANT.

Int. -- Hotel Lobby -- Saturday Afternoon -- A Few Minutes Later.

Mr. O'Neill and Mr. DeMartino are finished checking in at the front desk, and are getting ready to go to their rooms.

Um, I don't seem to see any elevators. How do we get to our rooms?

The Manager points towards the Casino.

It's right through there.

Mr. DeMartino looks tortured, while Mr. O'Neill attempts to put a positive spin on things.

Uh, well, remember, Anthony, let's keep that positive focus!

Int. -- Diner -- Late Wednesday Night/Early Thursday Morning -- A Minute Later.

Mr. O'Neill looks depressed. Daria and Ms. Barch try to look sympathetic.

Mr. DeMartino never stood a chance. (Beat.) Neither did Mr. O'Neill.

Oh, Timothy, I don't think anyone alone could've stopped him from relapsing. (In an undertone.) Unless, of course, they had some Thorazine on hand. (Normal tone.) Okay, so he relapsed on the way to the rooms?

Yes, it was terrible. We made it past the slot machines, past the blackjack, roulette, craps, and even the keno tables, but then he hit the limit of his endurance.

Let me guess-- the poker table was the last straw, wasn't it?

It wasn't so much the table as the couple from Iowa who stopped in the middle of their poker game to say "Hi" to him. It was just too much.

Well, did you try to stop him?

Of course! But every time I tried to reason with him, he just snarled at me, and threatened to hurt me. I told him that he was squandering his opportunity to present his brilliant paper to his colleagues, that he could help future generations of students, but he just threatened to do some very nasty things to me and told me to leave him alone.

Where is his paper, anyway?

Oh, I kept a copy of it with me somewhere. In fact, Anthony threw it at me when I tried to reason with him. Oh, here it is.

Mind if I take a look?

Go right ahead.

Daria starts reading the paper while O'Neill and Barch continue.

So how did you wind up on the street?

He had Security throw me out.

Daria looks up from her reading.

Well, of course. You were interfering with them when they were busy with a victim.

Well, not exactly.

What do you mean, "not exactly?"

Right before they threw me out on Sunday morning, he had quite a pile of chips in front of him.

Sunday Morning?? You've been out on the streets for four days?? No jury would convict me!

Now, Janet, remember, it's his disease!

I'll give him a disease to worry about! Where is he now?

I don't know, he could be anywhere.

He was right. As I was reading Mr. DeMartino's paper, I realized two things. One was that he really did have some great ideas to improve teaching methods. I must say that I was very impressed. But the other thing I realized was that he must've had some spare time to work on it between losing hands of poker, because he had written "Kill all the brutes!" at the bottom of the paper in blood red ink. I knew then that Mr. D. had probably gone completely off the deep end, and you know what that means.

Int. -- Lane Basement -- Sunday Afternoon -- No Time Has Elapsed.

No, what does it mean?

Huh?

I think what my narcoleptic sibling is asking is now that we know that Mr. D. has finally thrown off his water wings in the pool of mental instability, what could he possibly do next?

Oh. Well, let me get to that in a second.

Int. -- Diner -- Thursday Morning.

Well, wherever he is, he's not going anywhere soon. Tim, we could all use a shower and some sleep, and you need it more than we do. Let's go grab a couple of rooms somewhere cheap, and we can all freshen up a little before we start beating the bushes looking for Anthony.

Mr. O'Neill looks torn, but looks over at Daria, who is nodding off, and looks exhausted.

But will he be okay?

Frankly, Tim, I don't give a damn anymore. We've been up all night, we all look like we could use some sleep, and right now if I saw Anthony, I'd reach down his throat, rip his lungs out, and beat him over the head with them, disease or no disease. If he dumped you on the street for four days on your own, then he can wait 12 hours more in his own personal Hell.

As Ms. Barch says this, Mr. O'Neill looks deflated.

You're right, Janet, you're right. It's not fair to you or to Daria to put either of you through any more for now. He'll just have to cope on his own a little while longer.

Look, Tim, he's a big boy-- he's managed to survive on his own for, what, 46 years now? You can't save all the stray dogs at once. (Beat. Smiles a little at him.) Although I must admit, that's part of your charm.

Mr. O'Neill blushes a little under his 3-day growth.

Oh, that's nice of you to say, Janet.

Come on, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can get home. Daria and I will take one room, and you can take the other.

Int. -- Lane Basement -- Sunday Afternoon.

You had to share a room with Ms. Barch? Yikes.

Well, it could've been worse.

Jane winces and cringes as she uses her imagination.

Ugggh, you're right. It could've been much worse.

You know, I'm beginning to think that that should just become our motto.

You're probably right. It always does seem that way, doesn't it?

Fade Out.

SLO-MO of Mr. O'Neill jumping up and down as the bumper music runs.

Commercial Break.

Act III.

Fade In.

Ext. -- Motel Corridor. -- Thursday Afternoon.

Daria, Ms. Barch, and Mr. O'Neill meet in front of their rooms. Mr. O'Neill looks normal again, and Daria and Ms. Barch look more alert as well. Ms. Barch is still limping around in her cast, using her aluminum cane to get around.

Well, I've got a list of local pawnshops, let's check those out first.

You don't think we should try the casinos first?

No, knowing him, he's already burned through his cash, and maxed out his plastic. I bet he's already tried to sell his cheap watch again.

Well, let's head out then, and start searching.

Begin a MONTAGE of scenes-- Daria, Ms. Barch, and Mr. O'Neill check a number of pawn shops. At each one, they pantomime some of Mr. DeMartino's behaviors, pointing to his bulgy eye, or indicating his height. Each time the pawn broker shakes his head, "Nope."

Int. -- Car -- Thursday Evening.

Daria is driving, Ms. Barch is riding "shotgun," and Mr. O'Neill is between the two in the back seat.

Well, we've got two more pawn shops. Should we bother, or just go ahead and start hitting the casinos to search for him?

One more pawn shop. That's about all I can take.

I know what you mean. I've never seen so many depressing places in my life.

Ext. -- A Pawn Shop -- Thursday Evening -- A Few Minutes Later.

Daria's car pulls into the parking lot, and then the three of them get out and approach the building.

Int. -- A Pawn Shop -- Thursday Evening -- A Few Seconds Later.

A sour-looking, balding man sits behind the counter of the shop. He looks up as the strangely-matched trio enters.

Can I help you?

We're trying to find someone.

Uh-huh?

Yes, you see, our friend had a relapse, and we think he may have been around here, trying to sell some of his things for more gambling money.

Well, what did he look like?

He's 6 feet, late 40's, salt and pepper hair, rough voice, bulging eye, and tends to emphasize words for no apparent reason. He probably hasn't shaved or bathed in about four days.

Well, I did see someone like him, but he was buying, not selling. (Beat.) Are you sure you want to get him back? He sounded a little crazy, even to someone like me.

Yes, well, we have no choice.

Yes, my colleagues and I need him. Did he say where he was going?

He mumbled something about going for broke big time. Said he hadn't had a streak like this since 1978. (Beat. Shopkeeper looks up at the ceiling, trying to remember.) I think he said something about going to the Slump Obelisk.

Oh, no.

Well, you heard the man, let's head out. Thanks for the information.

No problem.

Daria, Ms. Barch, and Mr. O'Neill head out of the pawn shop, and back to the car.

Int. -- Car -- Thursday Evening -- A Few Minutes Later.

Well, you want to check out the Diamond first, just in case? Or do we just go for the Slump?

Can we go by the Diamond first? I'd like to get my suitcase back.

Sure. I'm not in any hurry to see him again, anyway. Besides, maybe we can find out what happened there after he threw you out.

Int. -- Diamond Hotel Front Desk -- Thursday Evening -- A Few Minutes Later.

Ms. Barch and Daria approach the front desk -- they left Mr. O'Neill behind, just in case.

Excuse me, but I was wondering if you could help us?

Yes, ma'am?

We're looking for a Mr. Anthony DeMartino. He seems to have disappeared from the Teachers Association convention a few days ago.

Oh, yes, I remember him.

Ext. -- Outside of Daria's Car -- Thursday Evening -- A Little While Later.

Daria throws a suitcase into the trunk, then gets behind the wheel, as Ms. Barch talks to Mr. O'Neill.

Apparently he hit the jackpot there a few days ago. He walked out of there with quite a bit of money. The management was just a bit suspicious, so they were all too happy to see him go. He said something to them about the Slump Obelisk as well.

Well, I guess that cinches it. Let's go get him, and get out of here.

Shouldn't we have some sort of plan, first?

I've already got a plan. Just follow my lead.

Ext. -- Slump Obelisk -- Thursday Night.

Establishing shot of the Obelisk. (It's a giant obelisk, covered in flashy lights, and looks garish and tacky.) Daria's wagon pulls up a block away from it. Daria, Ms. Barch, and Mr. O'Neill get out of the car, and head over to the casino.

Int. -- Slump Obelisk -- Casino -- Thursday Night -- A Few Minutes Later.

Daria, Ms. Barch, and Mr. O'Neill look out over the vast sea of flashing lights and gamblers.

We'd better split up. I'll go left, Tim, you go right, and Daria, you take the middle. If you spot him, come and get the other two.

Okay.

Roger.

They split up and start searching. As she walks through the casino, she looks around at the people either feeding the machines or playing the games.

It was like watching some sort of unholy feeding frenzy of avarice, to the accompaniment of bright flashing lights and cheap sound effects, punctuated by random shouts. It was difficult to tell which were shouts of glee, and which were howls of frustration. Either way, it was interesting to watch the line between predators and prey blur continuously under the uncaring eyes of the security cameras.

Daria looks and catches a glimpse of Mr. DeMartino at one of the poker tables. She ducks behind a pillar and looks at him from her unobserved location. He doesn't look too different, except that he looks a little crazier than before, and he's actually smiling. The reason for the smile is not apparent, at first.

The change in him was surprising. At first, I second-guessed my first thought -- that he had gone off the deep end-- I mean, he was smiling, so he couldn't've gone off the deep end. But then I got a good look at him, and then I understood. Yes, he had a big pile of chips in front of him, and it looked like he had finally hit a winning streak. But there was one problem-- how could he be enjoying himself when he knew that he had tossed Mr. O'Neill out on his own? Something was wrong. I went after Ms. Barch and Mr. O'Neill-- this was probably going to be ugly.

Int. -- Casino -- Thursday Night -- A Few Minutes Later.

Daria, Ms. Barch, and Mr. O'Neill meet together at the slot machines.

So, you found him playing poker, and winning? Okay, just follow me, and we'll get him out of there.

They walk towards the poker table. Ms. Barch walks up right behind Mr. DeMartino and waits. As he continues to play for a minute or two, she finally clears her throat.

Well, well, Anthony, fancy finding you here.

At the sound of her voice, Mr. DeMartino jumps.

Ah, Ms. Barch! Timothy? Daria? What are you doing here?

Ms. Barch starts slapping her cane into her left hand.

We're waiting for you to finish your game so we can get the hell out of this sewer! (Beat.) Now, we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way.

Sir, your bet?

Uh, ah...

Ms. Barch pushes the majority of his chips forward, and looks at Mr. DeMartino with a challenging gleam in her eye.

Well, Anthony, you're feeling lucky, aren't you?

Mr. DeMartino just gapes at her in horror. He knows what'll happen if he tries to weasel out.

Sir, do you wish to bet that much?

Uh, yes.

Very well. Does anyone else wish to call?

The other players look at the pile of money riding on the hand and fold.

Very well, then, the house calls.

The Dealer puts down a King, a 10, a Jack, a Queen and and Ace. Of spades.

Royal flush.

Mr. DeMartino deflates as he puts down three 3s and two 8s. The dealer scoops up the chips, leaving a few little stacks in front of Mr. DeMartino.

The house wins.

Alright, Anthony, we leave. Now.

Ms. Barch grabs Mr. DeMartino, while Mr. O'Neill grabs his remaining chips. As they start to leave, two security guards start to make their way towards them.

We can make this easy or very, very hard. (Beat.) I recommend easy.

Sir, is there some kind of problem?

Mr. DeMartino takes one look at Mr. O'Neill, Daria, and finally, Ms. Barch, and deflates as he starts to realize just what he's done.

No, no problem at all. We were just leaving.

Alright then, sir. Have a nice evening.

Mr. DeMartino grabs a couple of chips from Mr. O'Neill, and hands one to each guard.

Thanks, you too.

As they head towards the cashier, Mr. O'Neill looks over the remaining chips.

Well, Janet, Daria, this should cover all of our expenses rather well. Come on, Anthony, let's go home.

By the way, Timothy, if I may ask, what time is it?

It's 9:30 PM. (Beat.) Thursday night.

Mr. DeMartino looks even more depressed as he realizes how late it truly is. They lead a dispirited-looking DeMartino out the door of the casino and towards the car.

Int. -- Car -- Late Thursday Night/Early Friday Morning.

Mr. O'Neill is driving Daria's wagon back home so that she can get some rest, and so that she can keep an eye on Mr. DeMartino, who has been very quiet. Slowly ZOOM IN on Daria as she does the VO. She looks at Mr. DeMartino, and looks on him with some degree of pity as he sits, hunched in on himself, as close to a fetal position as he can get in a cluttered station wagon.

It was kind of sad, really. Not only did he not want to go to Atlantic City in the first place, but when he came home, he was much worse for the trip. After we got in the car and started heading out of town, he was silent for the rest of the trip, save when we left Atlantic City. He saw the sign that said "We Bet You Had A Great Time!" and he whispered quietly to himself, "The horror, the horror!" I think I was the only one who heard him utter those words. I don't know exactly what he meant, but I do get the general gist of it-- here was a man who had always been intelligent, and always aware of it. Yet he had never managed to do anything that he felt was worthwhile with that intelligence. He had his one big chance to make a difference in his field, and his one weakness, his love of gambling, not only ruined his chances to make a name for himself, but he also lost a piece of his humanity when he realized what he's done not only to Mr. O'Neill, but also to Ms. Barch and to me. As he saw that sign, I think it all came crashing down on him at once.

Ext. -- Lawndale -- Early Friday Morning.

The wagon pulls into town, and is headed to drop everyone off at various places.

As we headed back home, I began to wonder just how many DeMartinos there are, quietly struggling with powerful personal demons behind those faux Colonial doors, recently painted houses, neatly trimmed lawns, and freshly washed garden gnomes, and then I remembered something. (Beat.) Something important.

Int. -- Lane Basement -- Sunday Afternoon.

What?

This is Lawndale we're talking about.

True enough. (Beat.) But that still doesn't explain something.

What?

If you got home on Friday Morning, where were you Friday Night and Saturday?

I needed to do two things. One, I needed plenty of sleep.

Fair enough.

And two, I needed some time alone to digest the whole incident, because, let's face it, it was a very strange trip. (Beat.) Oh, yeah, and I also had to make sure that no one at my house ever figures out where I went.

Seems logical. Thanks for the story, Daria. It was very unsettling.

Well, you're welcome, I guess.

You're right, though, it was definitely disturbing. I don't think I'd ever want to know that much about my teachers, that's for sure.

Tell me about it. (Looks down at her watch.) Aw, hell, I've gotta go. My folks should be home soon, and I don't want them to start having some sort of hissy fit if I'm not there.

Let me walk you to the door.

Jane and Daria start heading up the stairs. When they get to the door, Jane turns to Daria.

Is there anything else I need to know?

What do you mean?

Well, I just noticed a few things you didn't say, like why you hate gambling so much.

Let's just say that I have very strong feelings on the matter, and leave it at that.

Okay, fine, but if you ever feel the need, the door's always open.

Daria opens the door and smiles at Jane.

I know. Thanks.

Ext. -- Morgendorffer Home Base -- Sunday Afternoon -- A Few Minutes Later.

Daria approaches the front door and walks in.

Int. -- Morgendorffer Living Room -- Sunday Afternoon -- No Time Has Passed.

Daria walks in and closes the door.

I'm home, is anyone else?

Jake walks in from the kitchen, holding what looks suspiciously like a Racing Form. He looks up at Daria and brightens a little.

Oh, hey, kiddo, how was your weekend?

Daria looks pointedly at Jake and extends her hand. Jake guiltily hands over the Racing Form. Daria tears it in two, then throws it into the nearest trash can. She almost smiles.

Oh, you know, Dad, same 'ol, same 'ol. Why don't we sit down, have a cup of coffee, and you can tell me about your weekend?

Fade Out.

Roll Credits to "You Better You Better You Bet" by the Who.

Notes:

This one was a bit of a toughie at first, but once I got it going, it flowed surprisingly well. This one will probably leave a lot of folks scratching their heads, so here are a few somewhat useful notes. If these aren't enough, by all means, email me using the link above.

Okay, first off, for those of you who haven't already figured out the "Heart of Darkness" characters that relate to the characters here, Daria is the Marlow character, Ms. Barch is sort of an amalgamation of the Manager and the Pilgrims, Mr. O'Neill is sort of the Russian, Jane, Trent, and Tom are the audience on the ship that hears Marlow's story, and, of course, Mr. DeMartino is Mr. Kurtz. (Yeah, I know, DeMartino as Kurtz is kinda obvious.) Atlantic City serves as a metaphor for the deep jungle, and the staff at the casinos serve as a metaphor for the angry natives. Instead of Ivory, everyone lusts after money, but that's not really much of a stretch, either.

Another thing you're probably wondering, if you've read the book, that is, is why aren't there more parallels to the book? The answer is simply that if I made too many parallels to the book, the story wouldn't have any legs of it own to stand on. You don't need to read the book in order to enjoy the piece, although it does help a little. Again, I just wanted to make enough allusions to the story in order to have a little fun at Mr. DeMartino's expense.

One thing you may have noticed-- just as in the book, neither DeMartino nor Kurtz tell much of their own stories-- their stories are revealed by eyewitness accounts or stories told by others to the searching character(s). That's why Daria, Barch, and later, O'Neill wander all over Atlantic City. You'll also notice that they don't actually talk to DeMartino until Act III-- same as the book-- you don't see or hear Kurtz himself until the last third of the book.

Here's something else you may or may not have noticed-- the scene where Daria wanders through the casino is supposed to echo ever so slightly the scene in the book where Marlow catches a few glimpses of the "unspeakable rituals" that went on in Kurtz' camp, right down to the yells and flickering lights. Neat, huh?

Another thing you may have noticed-- Daria alludes a few times that perhaps one of her parents could've spent a little less time playing the ponies, and a little more time reading to his daughter. I'm not saying that Jake is some sort of compulsive gambler or anything, but his tendency to play the ponies every now and then irritates Daria. Maybe he missed a recital of hers or something while he was out at the track. Either way, now you understand why she reacted the way she did to him when she got home from Jane's. I think she also realized that if she gave him an alternative to the Racing Form, it'd be easier for him. She learned quite a bit from her trip. And just like in "Heart of Darkness," she doesn't tell her family what really happened-- she doesn't want to disturb them too much-- besides, they might make her change teachers after they heard about what happened, and considering the dirt she has on the three of them, well, that just wouldn't be prudent for her. (Besides, Helen would go nuts if she ever found out that Daria went to Atlantic City.)

Yes, you can get hurt by a fog machine-- have you ever been slam dancing in a club with one of those things on? If it gets a little too dark and too foggy, well, people can get hurt, especially when they misjudge the slamming distance due to fog. (Slam dancing is pretty much the forerunner to the mosh pit, only it's not quite as obnoxious.)

Oh, and finally, a note to the 'Shippers-- sorry about pulling your leg like that in the first scene, but it was vital to the story. Yeah, that's it, it's vital to the story.