"Ain't That A Kick In The Head."

[THE BACKGROUND OF THE CORNERSTONE EPISODE: “OPALESQUE”]

“Justice is said to be blind. In the framework of a forty-five minute television programme, perhaps it can afford to; and for a time it’s captivating…for a time.” The camera focused on the folded arms of the man speaking, before slowly panning to show his face; piercing the eyes with intensity.

“We’d rather extend the bounds of that sterile, fixed illusion,” continued ‘Conundrum’ lead actor Lennart Bartel, speaking with the sterility and seriousness that one must ‘put on’ for that forty-five minute edited interview series ironically entitled ‘1 Hour’.

“That idea really came to a head when Lennart brought up the idea for Opalesque. Given what he was going through at the time, I was debating with him: ‘I'm not too sure you’ll get this through to Gershwin…, this could really put a target on the show-on you, right now…!’ but he was very determined,” Gerald Powers, the director of ‘Conundrum’ added. Clearly trying his best to carry the energy of the pitch black room as evidenced by his gestures and expressions, Powers still sat coolly behind his darkly tinted shades.

As the interviewer nodded along, his narration began to play, leading into montage of scenes of the episode:

Opalesque follows Bartel’s character, Detective Blake, in one of his most captivating and intense showcases within the tales of the faux-future city where ‘Conundrum’ takes place; New Bedlam. Unlike most detective series, ‘Conundrum’ forgoes the detective work; instead pinning its focus on the deeper motives of its characters.

That episode, like most, plays out in reverse order; starting with Blake’s monologue detailing the order of events and motives of the caught criminal. In this case, one single pearl of a young widow’s necklace, which had been stolen, was found at her most frequented train station’s bed; a murder on the tracks.

Bartel’s acting shines uniquely in this scene as an overbearing and intense investigator, who has his culprit cornered. For regular viewers of the show, his countenance was quite shocking.

It then leads into a seemingly disconnected point in the perpetrator’s life before the murder; a segment which begins to give shape and volume to the person within, and matches up eventually with the detective's outlined motive.

Following that, however, is an oddity in the directing of the series: 13 minutes and 43 seconds of first person footage of a stranger making his way to the train station interspersed with scenes of the young widow seemingly rendezvousing to the same location.

We see the crime play out straight. The stranger arrives just in time to see the crime take place; we see through his eyes. But the culprit? Invisible.

Just before a final blow is made, the stranger raises his hands. Painted with blood, he lets out a whimper as the train passes by;

“oh...God…!”

A familiar voice.

The episode ends with Blake first receiving the case of the dead widow. He then says his famous sendoff in a solemn tone, “oh, what a conundrum…”

“The choice to have Malcom Blake be the stranger at the scene of the crime added a layer of the surreal. Perpetrator? Bystander? Accomplice? Guilt? All of it was portrayed without words,” Lennart explained.

Gerald Powers interjected, “It was meant for you to question just what kind of man you were watching; but not necessarily to condemn him. I feel we’ve painted a detailed picture of the Blake character. He is no arbiter, and it could be perceived that blood is on his hands; but there’s no doubt he is human, and deserves the right to be given more than a cursory glance. It's up to the audience to decide”

The interviewer then turned to Lennart Bartel, looking to conclude the segment by asking him a question.

“Many would say this episode is partly autobiographical in nature; that it is a purely personal work and even a little indulgent…to the point of bad taste. What would you say to that?” The interview asked leadingly.

“I challenge them. If they so choose, to allow another person to pick a scene in their life to represent their entirety on the face of the planet. Would you let them choose your darkest moment?” Bartel continued.

“Well I have, and I had no choice in the matter; this is public life after all. If I must be represented by one scene, in one guest starring role on the stage of this planet; I will stand on the contents of my character.” The camera focused on Bartel’s eyes as he spoke.

We will be back with: ‘1 Hour’.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A principled man; I am a man of true princip-oh who am I kidding! Strung up and frustrated, the false ego of a man had buckled.

And like that, the sum of an actor’s life is laid bare. At any one time, they portrayed two or more faces to the public. On one end, the famous actor: another, perhaps the star role on a serial drama, or movie. In the end all the people want to know is who you are when no one's watching. How ironic.

As for this man, it took everything out of him to put on this mask one last time. For one reason or another, the famous actor’s acclaimed role was crushing him from the inside.

But you see, the thing about Lennart Bartel; he wasn’t one to take his job lightly even if it killed him. He was an ‘actor’s actor’. Lennart was the first to support up-and-coming talent, and first to advocate for better wages for stagehands, minorities and actresses. And what's more; he put his money where his mouth was by devoting large amounts of his earnings to involve quality cast members in the production of his show. He was a devout, believing man; a family man.Yet, none of it would’ve meant a thing to anyone if it weren’t for his unparalleled talent.

He had his lane, no doubt; but he created the Bartel archetype from the ground up. Never has a lead actor been so passionately coy with ‘cold and serious’ characters.

The timbre of his voice could fluctuate at any given moment with such idiosyncrasy that one could not tell if he was being serious or tearing down the wall that was the screen and peering through. It was scary, and he was so, so funny; and entirely gripping. He was pure rock n’ roll.

Bartel, now at the height of his powers, was involved in a work of which he had concentrated his whole focus. This effort was in tandem with the director who until now had produced his best film; the enigmatic Gerald Powers. Together the duo was helming the primetime TV mystery series titled ‘Conundrum’ for over 11 years.

This unique series had reached its climactic final episode, and it was only to be expected that Bartel was going to capture the sublime in every ounce of his last performance: and he was going to do it even if it killed him.

That was the overplayed, self aggrandizing and all-so ‘in-the-know’ eulogy of the man named Lennart Bartel that he forced himself to play into day after day on last week’s press tour. Now, as he sat in his trailer, his ears could feel all the ringing of the layered, repeated phrases, and all he wanted was for it to end.

Ring! “Lennart? It's Gerald. Beck and the boy are out here to see ya.”

Once again, Lennart stared through his vanity mirror. Behind him within that luxuriously cramped space were some boxes and packed up suitcases. Some were full of items and memorabilia from past seasons that held a special place in his heart alongside his 401k. Others were clothes, pictures, and other junk he brought in there to make him feel not too far away from home.

He spent a lot of time in that room. Bartel had almost a pre-show ritual involving a profuse amount of rumination, which could sometimes be heard from outside. No one on set knew exactly why. Well, no one except Powers. Powers, and of course…

Knock-knock-knock. “Oh Lennart, would you stop that ghastly exercise and let us in, you’re scaring the boy!” It was his wife, Rebecca; and she was quite irritated. “Barry would really like to see you before the last shoot, so please lighten up and come out.”

Well, Bartel thought to himself. It was about that time to kick this thing off.

“Alright hun, but it's hard to take such a pretty lady seriously when they get so angry; no disrespect, I just feel that really it is quite beneath you.” Lennart answered back, hoping to puncture the pressure she had held in just to relay those words.

“Oh Lennart…” she started to blush behind the wide glasses she was wearing as she held her son a bit closer, pinching his cheek to get him to laugh a little as well. He tried his best to not respond in kind.

“Hey now, ha-ha; I don’t write the rules on your ship, but this is my show; and unless you want to sleep on that ol’ couch in there tonight just get down here my friend.” Gerald said in effort to add more levity, though no warmth was felt in any way by anyone in earshot.

The trailer began to rustle slightly until Bartel reached the door and opened it.

“Powers…” Lennart nodded at his friend with a slight smile. “Beck, glowing as usual…, and who is that gremlin-is that Barry?! How are ya kiddo?” Lennart clearly loves children. And if it wasn’t apparent, then the discomfort he has for his stepson made it all the more clear.

“I’m eight years old, Lennart.” After that cold response, he turned to his mother, “Mom, can we just go back inside; I don’t wanna ask him anymore.” This response ignited a hurried excitement in Lennart. For once, he was elated that someone had something to ask him about himself.

“No, no, it's fine, Barry, I'm sorry for the wait, I’ll take any question you have for me! Come on son, let’s go get some soda pop and talk.”

Barry tried his best not to respond in kind.

After climbing out of the RV and taking a hold of the boy, he turned to his wife and the director, “Excuse us, the men must discuss business.” Something more resembling a smile appeared on Lennart’s face.

“Talk you to ya later Powers, I won't miss that meeting we’ve been meaning to have before the shoot today, you can bet on it.” He held his hand out to Powers.

Gerald stared at him through his shaded sunglasses, then at Lennart’s hand, before reluctantly shaking it. “ Of course, and you are sure you're alright?”

“Trust me, Powers; once we start we’re gonna knock it out of the park.” The actor assured him.

And with that Lennart walked off with the boy.

“Lennart, please drop your arm from over my shoulder; you’re kinda a heavy guy… ” They could hear this kind of conversation developing in the distance as they watched them walk up ahead from the RV.

It was then, when Powers and Rebecca were alone, that Powers felt comfortable asking a question that had been intensely on his mind. An invitation, really, to find out more about his friend, and in some ways, the actor’s muse.

“He’s…still suffering with it isn’t he?” Gerald asked Rebecca that question with care. He truly respected the man, and they were as close as Lennart allowed him to be. But as of recently, Powers found it difficult to approach any conversation of real concern with Lennart, and it was eating at him. It seemed by the look on Rebecca’s face that he was not alone.

“Lennart…; at times I just-I don't know what’s going on with him. I wish he wouldn’t draw away and-”

“I feel the same, Beck, If he would just know that if he were to explain it to us, that we could understand..,”

Rebecca interjected as Powers began to remove his sunglasses.”I mean really, really understand. And I feel that, at least in a favoring-, in a forgiving way, I do. I know it's not his fault it's a part of him.”

With arms partly crossed while one rested alongside her cheek, the woman began to fade into thought for a minute. It would be the following thoughtless words from Powers that would bring her out of it.

“Of course, to him it has to be his fault, that's the only way he can forgive himself.” It was only halfway through his next sentence that he remembered just where he went wrong.

“Smart guys like that always try to solve the crazy and insane ... .ah! Isn’t that partly why he married his first wi-” Gerald, in all his wisdom, tried not to turn around and face Rebecca, but her exclamation made it quite difficult.

“Did he…, so that's what he's been telling you now isn’t it?!”A sense of betrayal was expressed in the sharp tone of her voice. “He told you it's something else didn't he, that it's something after him?” her voice faded after asking the question as if she had realized something mid sentence.

She made that clear when she hurried off into the actor’s trailer.

One by one she began to investigate the drawers of the desk in front of the vanity window. After that, the suitcases that sat squarely in the middle of the room.

“No…, it can’t..it can’t be.” Like a limp doll, Rebecca drooped down to kneel along the carpeted trailer as her french bob cut ballooned over her face; wholly despondent.

After standing frustratedly outside the trailer, fidgeting with his glasses while she had that episode, Powers finally tried his hand at consoling her and walked up into the RV.

“Look, Beck, I'm sorry I upset you; it's not like he’s crazy, you know that, he just has to put everything in its own little perspec-” It was then that Powers turned his gaze from the woman crouched down on the floor in distress to the vanity mirror.

Sitting there was a full, untouched bottle of prescribed medicine; Thorazine.

After Lennart and Barry stopped by the concession stand, Lennart decided on the nearby pier as the local for their conversation. That Thursday afternoon was quite the scorcher, but the reflective waves and the briskness of the sea made the heat all the more bearable. Together they stared across the loaded docking bay, watching as speckled seagulls flew overhead; peppering the skyline.

Barry, now eight years old, had chugged down his can of soda. With a look to his right, the boy soon took notice that Lennart hadn’t touched his drink at all; not even opening it.

“You’re not gonna drink that, Lennart?” Barry asked.

“Oh, the pop? No son, really, I only bought it for you. I don't take to this stuff well.” Lennart responded as he humorously inspected the properties of the can, including the so-called nutrition label. He then held out his hand to offer the drink to the boy.

“Want another? I won’t tell your mother…” Lennart responded in a sing-song-like manner.

Quietly, the boy ignored the man’s proposal. More than any other moment in their detour, Barry was primed and ready to ask his burning question.

“Lennart, about what I wanted to talk about; It's about, well, it’s about your show.” Barry nonchalantly began to eye the soda can he just emptied, miming Lennart’s inspection just to see if there was anything of actual issue his senses could discern.

“Shoot, Barry! Ask me anything; heck, it all ends today doesn't it?! ‘All will be revealed.’ Hahahaha…” Lennart continued to laugh with himself, finding his sudden mimicry of one of his own famous lines to be peak comedic timing.

“...Yeah, so; I’ve watched a few reruns, and… they weren’t bad; not bad at all…” Barry continued.

“But something always confused me about it. Why does it feel like when you get to the end of the episode; after all the flashbacks I mean; why does it seem that when he says his catchphrase…it’s like Blake somehow watched the whole thing with ya? Most’f the time he sounds awfully sad. It’s real eerie, Lennart…”

Lennart was at once surprised and also highly amused. “So…you are a fan of Conundrum, aren’t you! That was quite insightful; I'm impressed!” Barry, though now feeling a bit impressed with himself as well, tried not to respond in kind.

Continuing on, Lennart pondered his answer.

” Well…how about I put it this way. Yes, me and Powers, we wanted to make a picture that felt like that. No, there isn’t any trickery. But with what they call ‘framing’, you can make a regular scene seem truly, truly ominous.”

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense. But it’s kinda different in one episode I saw. I think the famous one that's called “Opal-esque?” The boy answered with relative excitement, making it somewhat apparent that it was an episode he truly enjoyed.

“Yeah?” Lennart stated as the grip of his smile loosened.

“In that one, you were really irate; I mean heated at the beginning! The ‘sherlock bit’ stood up to every reveal, I mean it had to be right! But it still seemed like in the end Blake had something to do with the murder…”

“Uh-huh…” Lennart said, disaffected.

Barry’s excitement left him blind to the growing disinterest of Lennart’s responses.

And so Barry continued. “A-and the one scene was why. It was real eerie, sir…where you reach the empty train station on the night of the crime, but we don't see the other side of the tracks. Just a slow closeup of your face in the wind as the train passes by- ”

“Watching my hands trembling as I try to plug up my ears to stop the raucous…yeah, yeah.” Lennart said dramatically while miming the rest of Barry’s recollection of the story he had heard so often in full detail, complete with the gesture of his hands that screamed ‘what have I done.’

Hey, how’d they make that scene look so trippy? Why, you would’ve thought it was Hitchcock or somethin!” Barry said excitedly.

“Just a dolly zoo-wait; Beck lets you watch Hitchcock?” Lennart, the concerned stepfather said; caught unaware.

“My theory is that the detective didn’t want to reveal what he saw 'cause he’s guilty.” Barry deduced while ignoring his stepfather’s inquiry.

Resituating his stance, Bartel fell silent for a bit before taking a look at his watch and setting his course back towards the lot; confusing the caffeinated boy. The man could stand a few more moments on the topic which had so truly, thoroughly exhausted his spirit.

“There’s no theory,” said Lennart sharply.

“Well, what do ya mean?” Barry asked.

“The title of the episode, son…, it has some meaning to it.” Lennart continued.

“Opalesque? It's not the jewel that was stolen in the murder?” Barry asked inquisitively, turning to look at his stepfather.

“Well, yes…, and for another reason. Opalesque material; they are a bit see through, but only a bit. Kind of murky, you see. But they can change color when light shines and reflects through them” Lennart’s answer was not clear enough even for that bright boy to understand, which he perceived through his befuddled expression.

“Everyone thinks they have some idea, some light they think they can shine on a man’s case to get to some sort of conclusion so it’ll all make sense somehow.” He stated self assuredly before turning to Barry in all seriousness.

“But really…half the time you and I don't even know why we do what we do; and now they’ve even got shrinks with so-called PhDs telling us why…!” The rambling continued.

“We’re murky creatures, Barry; every last one of us…” Lennart’s eyes hardened wide as he stood rampaging along in his speech.

“So I say, to hell with the theories…! a crime is a crime, but a measure of a man is not fourty-five minutes….I refuse! You don’t get to see what he saw that night…Never; I refuse.” Lennart exclaimed, adamantly.

“Wait, So it's not supposed to be solved, a-I thought that was the whole point, Lennart? Now I’m really confused…” Barry responded as he scratched underneath chin, now a bit frightened by the electrifying performance.

“Fifty-two.” Bartel said.

“More riddles? Ahhh…!” The boy responded.

“That’s how many episodes there were before that one. If you want the answer…I guess you’ll have to watch those ones too…” The actor said, now tired after wearing his energy thin on his soapbox of which he was quite impassioned.

“Gee, that’s mighty convenient for reruns, ain’t it?” For once, Barry put on a smile; though not without an air of mischief.

And soon, almost as if the boy realized his incongruent displays of emotion, he reverted back to more measured responses.

“Lennart, y’know that wasn’t my only question…but my mom wouldn’t allow me to…” The boy said, stringing along his plea.

“Go ahead son, but we’ll have to get going soon so make it short.” Lennart rebutted while looking at his watch once more.

“Are you really a murderer…like my father says?” Barry bravely queried.

The man's heart sank.

“Do…I look like a murderer to you?” Unable to face the boy, he stood there rigidly.

“Pops says you can’t always tell when they're really crazy…but, well I hope not mister…” Barry continued. “Because if you were to hurt mom, I wouldn’t keep mum…I-..I’d tell my pops on you..!”

Returning to center, the man turned around, and with swift strength, he picked up the boy…

“Aaaaah…!” Barry cried.

…And firmly sat him over his shoulders.

“That's just what I’d expect of ya, boy; a real man! Hahahahaha…” Lennart continued. “But no, I'm no murderer as much as your pops n’ you care for Beck. Trust me, I know…!” He smiled brightly. “I, well, I married her after all!”

And so, they walked; mostly silently, back to the lot.

“Opalesque; you’re right. That episode…it's different…different.” Lennart stated quietly, and with finality as his voice began to fade, leaving a trail of riddles that had hooked Barry from then on.

“For your mother’s sake, I hope you stay as innocent as a dove.” Bartel thought to himself.

*Sign* WRITERS’ OFFICE 1F: WG PRODUCTIONS STUDIO 2

Thwack!

Never had such a chiseled jaw, (so perfectly manicured and massaged), felt such a violent tap until it was struck by the hands of that woman.

“Tell me why I slapped you just now, Lennart…” Rebecca vocalized sadly as her amber eyes flickered irate.

“Hey, now, where do you get the right…!” Lennart quickly puffed up, ready to engage in the argument. That was at least until Rebecca took out her damning evidence; the full bottle of Thorazine.

A silence fell over the cramped and disorganized, yet empty office room Lennart chose for the conversation.

“Well...Beck…I,” Turning his cheek the other way while stroking the stress out of his neck, Lennart fell back into the chair behind him.

“Well, Beck, I…Well Beck I, what?” She slams the prescription bottle on the office table next to him.

“Well, did you ever think to wonder-,” and with that Lennart pulled out an item from his pocket; an item that caused Rebecca to raise her eyes in shock. Carefully, he placed it next to the Prescription bottle on the table.

It was another prescription bottle; almost empty.

“Ever think to wonder...That I know I need to be on these things; hmm? Have a little faith.” Lennart’s expression turned from that of concern slowly into a gratified grin.

“That doesn’t prove a thing…” Rebecca softly combated while she gathered her thoughts. “w-what about what Powers told me; that you could even tell him but not your. Own. Wife. It speaks volumes…!” She continued as her voice started to lose its volume.

“That you’re still believing it’s your fault what happened to Claire…, That a killer is chasing you…!” Throwing up her hands, she felt a sense of relief after letting out the frustration. It was quite the pensive topic to approach; at least now there was reason to address her concerns.

“Wait just a moment, don’t start with this now…changing goalposts, telling me what I believe and what I think of my own self in my own head. I’ve had it with that!” Lennart adamantly argued as he slowly rose from his seat, almost now towering over Rebecca as her once upright stance began to falter to a more vulnerable position.

“I just wanna know you’re ok, but you don’t speak to me; you, you won’t let me listen…” Her face now in the pillow of her hands, Rebecca slowly began sniffling.

Lennart was a man who liked to stay on point when he was accused, as any man would. Clearly, though, the matter was deeper.

Sure, he was aware of the problem, but he had always averted his gaze; always trying to push the matter to another day. He was forced to confront it now.

“When…, when Angela was…taken from us, I was terribly grief stricken.” With a pause, Lennart began clearing his throat so as to more clearly relate his feelings. All it did was make it easier for the pain to register.

“My daughter, though…when I found out Claire was gone forever too…, it was like time stood still; just for me to relive that moment at every waking hour. The world was over.” Lennart's eyes fell low while he tried to open up the sore wound of a memory.

Rebecca rose up again, listening intently to every word Lennart uttered.

“My work with this show was the only thing that kept me going. So I took to it more, and more-and then more; bleedin’ away.” Turning away from Rebecca, the man started stroking his neck again out of anxious habit.

“It…made me sick.” Lennart, holding on those words, began to feel weak.

Rebecca’s eyes became wide as she saw the weight fall over Lennart’s shoulders.

“And then, one day on set…I saw this beautiful, intelligent-just drop dead gorgeous gal…you know the rest…” Turning slowly to face Rebecca again, he tried his best to maintain his eyes focused on her face, lifting his head.

Slowly, a smile crept onto her face just at the right time to overcome her unstable emotions.

“What I’m trying to say is, Beck you’ve changed things for me in ways you can’t possibly imagine; you and Barry.” Lennart said with a bit more power and joy.

Lennart, coming to center, took hold of Rebecca’s hand, rubbing his cheek along her knuckle. “There is no one else whom I’d rather have alongside me; share a new life with. Why’d you think I quit the show?”

“You…, you mean you quit?” Rebecca asked.

“I gave up the world...” He responded happily.

“Oh, Lennart…” Rebecca said with elation; drawing closer.

“D-oh, Lennart” Bartel quietly added under his breath; falling inward.

The two embraced each other in the sort of way where trust had taken over; each with their face sitting over the shoulder of the other, unable to see the other’s expression. All they knew was that they were fully enveloped in the other.

“Of course, I blame myself for what happened, but I can’t just let go of it…it’s only natural…” Lennart continued.

“But, you really must forget…at least forgive yourself… ” Rebecca tenderly tried to reason.

“Ah, but….I can't forget...” Lennart stated matter-of-factly.

“Please try…” Rebecca cried, endearing him.

CRASH!

In seconds, Lennart released himself from their embrace and slammed his fist on the table, dropping the two bottles that sat upon it to the floor.

“I. Said. I will NOT. Forget…!” The large burst of energy reverberated through his body; the heat seeping through his face. He took on a bewildering countenance.

Silence befell the room again. Each of them now had no courage to continue on; even to look the other in the face.

“Don’t you see…That man, he must die., Before I can rest…before the weight on my soul-” Quickly Lennart turned around, gesturing rapidly to the tune of his lament so as to input meaning into any of the words he spoke, which, to Beck, were but pure madness.

She did not turn back; as if it did not even register that he had spoken a word after his outburst.

“You go prepare for your shoot; Lennart…You can’t perform with stress like that…though I think you're thoroughly warmed up now…!” The woman said as her voice broke down mid sentence. Swiftly, Rebecca opened the door to the office room, and after pausing for a bit, took courage and walked through.

Standing at the front door was the young boy. Lennart turned to face Barry.

“Lennart..what did you do…?” Barry said angrily in a strange, sing-song like cadence.

“Smart-arse.” Lennart thought in response.

The final scene would be filmed on a studio set on the WG Productions lot in a certain room all the members of the cast were all too familiar with; Detective Blake’s private office room.

With all big finales, the big wigs roll out to assume the prize of adoration from their cohorts, who in themselves come to receive the same priceless attention from the other.

The biggest wig of all, however, was the company president; Warren Gershwin, the namesake for the company. There he stood alongside some of his board. That is, until he took notice of the true stars on set; the actors.

“Ah, Gwendlyn! How’s life been treating you, my dear? And where’s Gerald, and his bosom buddy, Hahaha..! Ahh, those rascals…” The heavy, robust man said jovially to the lead actress and love interest of the series while puffing his smoke.

“Oh, sir, I’m well…but if I may, why is it that whenever you ask of me, it's instead for someone else?” The slender, long haired blonde had the kind of smile that felt old, stale; like it had been waiting for you to arrive so it could roll over in its grave to be seen upright. That's about all one feels they need to know about her before, well…; brilliant actor though.

“Ah yes…because..y’know…,oh- I’ll look for them myself…!” The president hurriedly said in forfeit as he walked off to speak to another of the actors, trying his best not to make eye contact with the still grinning woman.

“Harold Edgars! I’ve been meaning to talk with you there…, come on, come-on now, and you too Bo, the stars of the episode!” Gershwin began to cough after exercising his jaw in more ways than one, and perhaps one too many.

Harold Edgars was another actor on Conundrum. He played rival detective Arthur Schezwald for the New Bedlam Defense Police Force, which was commonly shortened to NBDF. He was a rival not only in picking up and putting to bed cases, but also for capturing the heart of Roxanne Considine, the lead love interest and daughter of the Constable. Roxanne was played by the still grinning Grendlyn.

This of course, was no competition; either in the series proper or during life outside of the small screen. As for Gwendolyn, Edgars loved her madly; and everyone was quite convinced, too, that she loved the fact that the man loved her madly.

“How are you, Mr. Gershwin; Good to see you!” Edgars said untruthfully. Of course, that too was for her sake.

Bo Eidelman was the featured actor of the episode, and had been on but one episode previous of Conundrum in the first season. He was to play a suspect named Rick Hunter.

“Good afternoon, sir, Good to be back!” Eidelman responded.

“Do you boys know where Powers and Bartel ran off to, I really want to speak with them about this script…truly peculiar, don't you think?” Taking a break from his pipe, he took rest of his arm around Eidelman, and let out his objections. That alongside alcoholic fumes, which emanated from his voice the louder he projected it.

“All this time, all these years, we’ve twisted the order of things…, the present starts in the future, the future in the past, all that psyche nonsense I don’t get…Now. Now, they want to tell it straight?!” Pulling back from Eidelman just to express his bemusement (to Eidelman’s delight), he sighed. “Why can’t time just stand still for once in the guy's life; really it's got me spinning…”.

“I do think it’s quite the bleak story too, boss; Blake following the life of the man he apprehended for a whole decade, just see if he who pleads innocent can at least enjoy the grace of a saint on planet Earth; Lennart himself…, Aww I just know he put the Shirada up to this script.” Harold complained alongside the boss.

It was clear that Edgars enjoyed Bartel’s company.

“H-hey hey, I think it ties in really well with the pathological character Blake is, and with what the audience wants to see…They’re always wondering if the people actually did it aren't they?” Brown nose Eidelman had no complaints, this may have very well lit a match under his career, after all. It had been a long while since he had such attention on his name. In fact, it was really since the previous Conundrum feature.

“...Yeah, you are right, Edgars, I ought to find all three of them right now…” Gershwin said, overlooking Eidelman's response.

Eidelman, being rightfully ignored for not giving a more honest opinion (even if it were something like “I couldn’t care less,” or, “the Flintstones is more my speed,”) decided to walk away from the conversation.

Not long after, Lennart, Powers, and head writer Takafumi Shirada in fact entered the room, and it did not take long for Gershwin to find them and give them a piece of his mind.

“Oh-hey! There they are now…a couple of lousy…” Gershwin coughed up under his breath before gesturing towards the group.” Powers, hey, all of ya, Come-on, come along now…” Looking at each other knowingly, the three of them walked up to meet the president.

“What's this about, Warbucks?” Powers responded slyly.

“Oh…, you know what it's about; it’s this script. Have you all heard of a proper happy ending? It’s common decency…!” Gershwin stood his nose up, snubbing them in protest.

“Shirada, whose idea was this, you?” Gershwin quickly turned to Shirada, who shrank back timidly.

“I’ so, so sorry sir. Please, we can’t change anything now. Even now we are behind…” The man responded.

“Now, Warren; You signed off on all production for the final episode months ago, why now; why this?” Lennart said tiredly, rubbing the two brain cells he had left together through his brow.

“It’s just…, I think it could anger people…and well,” Before Gershwin could finish, a single tear cascaded along his reddish face.

“Aww, I'm gonna miss having you all on the lot…, Come here you sickos!” To which the man quickly drew close to the three, hugging them and patting them on the back while still crying sweet tears of joy.

“You..you all make me so happy…, you make me so much money! Hahahaha!” For Gershwin, there was no blurred line between love and profit.

Edgars, unhugged and unloved, despite being an important factor in the success of the series, watched perturbed while the men quickly got their way.

With that, all quarrelling and hijinks had come to a close. The final show was to begin.

Despite all the difficult conversations earlier that afternoon, and all the anxiety over his final performance, Lennart Bartel had convinced himself he was at peace with it all.

The consequences of that afternoon were not set in stone; they were simply in limbo, waiting. Waiting for the time when he could break the chains and release the shackles he had locked himself in with the show. Soon he was going to return to a more regular life. Something manageable. Something real.

At least, that was his hope. In this world, time waits for no man…

FINALE - “Intermediary”: Scene 10; Take 1; ACTION

Upon walking up to his office room door with Rick, Blake could sense that someone had just paid him a visit. At first apprehensive, the man quickly opened the door to meet his guest. He was far from surprised to find that man inside.

“Schezwald…, this is a surprise; having the guts to break into my office. Maybe the fool in you has outlasted your pomp…” Blake said with utter disregard for the presence of Roxanne, who stood besides Schezwald.

“Truly, perhaps I am a fool.” Schezwald said flatly before subsequently hardening his eyes.

“I came here to be entertained; at your expense of course. But this was not even worth the trouble. In this state, you are far from anything conscious, yet you parade around like a man of some principle. Do you truly believe that this man you are following cares for the sympathy of a mad person?” Schezwald harshly rebutted.

“Arthur, that's enough…!” Roxanne insisted as she held on to Schezwald’s arm.

“Blake, we just came to tell you…you mustn't go through with what you are doing… Why are you so consumed with this case?” She asked the detective.

“I…I am a principled man.” Blake coughed up under his breath.

“...I am a principled man…!” He said now more excitedly and sternly. Quickly turned to Rick and pulled him to the middle of the room, he stood proudly. The man of which he had poured eleven years of his soul into stood there as if to be some testament to the detective’s statement

“I’ve finally found the answer to that question which has puzzled me for all these years… This man lied about his brother’s death being an accident; for that he answers to the law, and has. But the problem was the motive.” Blake continued, now pacing around the room.

“Rick,” Blake said, quickly calling for the man’s attention.

“Yes, detective…” Rick Hunter Answered somberly.

“Your Brother…, he asked-no, he convinced you to kill him, didn't he?” Blake said, staring directly into the man's eyes.

A silence fell over the now worn and tattered man as he averted his gaze, looking down. His time in prison degraded his faculties. He found adjusting to regular life terribly difficult. No longer did Rick have a family to call his own.

If there was such a secret that he was bound to down to the grave, it must have been all he had to hold on to. What reason would there be to reveal such a thing to the very man who put him in and held onto that fact for eleven years?

Schezwald thought along those exact same lines; Roxanne as well. Even if they were to get a confession, would such a statement be trustworthy; and would it change anything at all?

“I told you, I’m innocent…time and time again. Why won’t you believe that I simply didn't murder my own brother?!” Rick answered, looking away.

“Because I know you well…, a man like you, you wouldn't have the guts to do such a thing even if your brother had cheated you out of the family business. There must have been more…more…!” Blake pivoted to stand in front of the man’s face once more.

Strengthening his neck, Rick pulled his chin up to face Blake. “I told you all I have. Enough…I-You…I don't have to take this anymore…!” With that the man turned towards the door, and with first a pause, began to walk outside the door. That is until Schezwald began speaking.

“How sad, Lennart Blake; another failed confession…truly pitiful.” Schezwald assessed as he drew on a bitter smile.

Looking sternly disappointed, Blake stood in place.

Splash, Woosh, Splash, Splash!

As the growing sound of waves rang in Blake's ears, the man raised his eyes in ecstatic epiphany.

“Rick…, look before you…” Blake promptly proclaimed. Rick turned his head, looking forward to seeing the detective gesturing his hand towards Arthur Schezwald.

“This man…, soon to be a Constable…he is just like your fallen brother.” Blake said, with the inference of a pointed smile lurking underneath his projected bravado.

“I beg your pardon?” Schezwald replied shortly.

“I said you are a dead man alive…because on that night, fifteen years ago; you wished me to kill you…!” His deduction began.

Schezwald scoffed quickly before turning his head.

“I did not push you off the pier that night; I was blunt drunk…, we both were; or so I thought…!” Blake exclaimed.

“It had been so long since we had ever had a drink together that it hadn’t even crossed my mind; You hold your liquor quite well…As for myself, I forget everything. You were counting on that. It was only because of this case that even the false memories came back to me. ” Blake said, walking up closer to Schezwald, who held his stern expression.

“It can’t be…Arthur is this true?” Roxanne asked with a confused and worried expression on her face. She slowly removed herself from Schezwald’s arms, waiting for some response.

Blake continued.

“Yes, Roxy; it is true just as in the case of that man Rick Hunter. Men like this, they get to live in peace while well meaning men like us carry their sins for them down to the grave. Well I’ve had it.” Becoming more feral in expression, Blake continued, walking even closer to face Schezwald, Rick Hunter himself began to pace himself back into the room, following in lock step behind Blake.

“When I went to meet the boat to leave town, you decided to accompany me…that was when you revealed to me how you lied to the Constable about my intentions with Roxanne, long before you were found to be a foolish petty thief…, long before she ever took to you. To this I answered angrily.” Blake stated as he looked at Roxanne.

“After that, all my memories went blank. Except for the exact scene. Arthur and me on the pier…now I finally remember why he wanted me to kill him.” Blake said, preparing for his conclusion.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Lennart…” Schezwald demanded, almost now inches away from Blake.

“As I held him by the neck over the pier…he strung together only a few phrases; but from them I understood everything…” Blake kept his gaze upon Roxanne, who continued to stare back; confused.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what those words could be, now would you, Roxy?” Blake watched as she shook her head as innocently as a child.

“Rat’s like us; we deserve to die fighting over what was never possible for us to begin with.” Blake stated dramatically.

Roxanne stood there still, absent from the implication; distant from it all.

“That was about us, about you, Roxanne. Your father…he never saw us more than lowlifes unfit to climb atop that city’s organization; unfit to have the audience of his gentile princess.” Blake said with a crass smile.

Well, really it was more so for me that I associated with this lowlife here, Schezwald. Guilt by association, if you will…” Blake finally turned to Arthur, looking at him square in the face.

“But Arthur, you and Roxanne were engaged then, weren’t you…; after I was kicked out of the force. Why did you two…separate again..?” Blake said deviously, prying into the past.

At that Schezwald took a violent hold of Blake’s coat and held him up to his face. “She could never love you and she never will…the woman is frail and you know it..!” Schezwald continued. “She has only helped you all these years on my recommendation out of pity; pity that you have turned into THIS…! Just an appalling display of a so-called man of justice. Why-you mean to imply I would forfeit my own life just to spite and defame you…So what if she didn’t truly love me…you were nothing to her..we were nothing to her!”

All the while the camera panned in one shot from that center stage interaction of Edgars and Bartel. Bartel’s face was of wide-eyed surprise as Edgars belligerently rattled on, confessing fully to all the petty vitriol he had held in for so long. After circling them, the camera positioned itself to face Edgars while revealing behind him the shocked and emotional expressions Gwendlyn effortlessly produced.

“A-and cut…!” Powers said. “That was great everybody..let's take five…!” The camera man proposed following the director’s announcement.

“Nice job, Harry; I could really feel the hatred. Really good character work…” Lennart said crassly as he fixed his coat. Without even waiting for a crude rebuttal, Lennart quickly took off of the set to get some fresh air.

Noticing his sharp exit, the worried director quickly followed the actor.

“Hey Lennart, where are you going bud…?” Powers asked with concern.

“Hey bud, no time to talk right now, just getting some O2. Oh, And- don’t you think we’ve done enough talking…, you, enough damage. Y’know, with Beck?” Lennart responded bitterly

“Lennart…! We just talked about this, I said I'm sorry...I didn’t mean to bring it up!” Powers responded exhausted.

“Yeah, well let me go think about it…” He added quickly.

“Ay, no domestic disputes on my lot! Hahahaha-oh, ah..” Warren Gershwin shouted from the sidelines before beginning to cough exhaustedly.

Harold and Gwendlyn looked at each other knowingly while listening to the conversations, waiting for the man to leave before they too would gossip amongst themselves.

Eidelman, on the other hand, stood there aimless, with not a single soul to praise his performance. This killed the man on the inside.

Upon touching the doorknob to the exit, Lennart heard something that stopped him in his tracks.

You’re not going anywhere.

“Who said that…!” Lennart shouted powerlessly, feeling a chill to his chest.

And yet, bizarrely no one took notice of his call.

In all his hallucinations and outwards manifesting distresses, never had he heard a voice that sounded so malicious. Somehow he could sense that he ought not pass through that door, but that thought raced through his mind as quickly as water down an empty drain.

And so he did pass through the door. He was bewildered, yet adamant still about getting through the rest of the shoot.

Well, if he wanted to go through the shoot, then his prayers were answered. But as they say; be careful what you wish for.

Splash!

Somehow, some way, the man had fallen through the door into…the ocean by the pier? In the cool of the pitch black evening, he finally resurfaced while he was coughing up saltwater.

Faintly, Lennart could hear something familiar…something awful, playing in the distance.

And it just kept. Getting. Louder.

It was the kind of music you hear at the movies. At, well, every movie nowadays. In every parlor, in every bar. It was schmaltzy, catchy, feel-good show tune pop that he absolutely despised. And it was coming closer.

Lennart swam closer to the dock and started to climb up on top of the pier. He could vaguely see in the distance some figure holding something that seemed to be the source of the sound.

The music stopped for a bit, and so did the figure. Slowly, Lennart got atop the pier and slowly stood up. The moment he was upright, the figure began moving again.

And that song started again, with that abrupt drum pulse to kick off the blaring horns:

How lucky can one guy be?

I kissed her and she kissed me

Like the fella once said

"Ain't that a kick in the head?"

Becoming intensely confused, Lennart slowly walked up to meet the figure; and it to meet him.

It was a slender woman wearing a pencil suit. She held in her hand a record player, and on it the accursed vinyl disk.

“What’s the meaning of all this nonsense…Final shoot pranks?...Who are you?” Lennart said, pulling away the record player from her hands and quickly throwing it into the water.

“That will cost you, Leo.” the woman responded.

Once the man got close enough to see the haunting face of the woman, he quickly staggered back.

“What in the…”

She was the spitting image of Claire.

No, it wasn't her; Lennart’s daughter died as a young girl. But there was no mistake; she looked very similar.

Slowly, Lennart's eyes fell back asleep; this was the icing on the cake. Could the day get any worse than what had transpired within the last 10 hours? No, he imagined; because it could not be real. All he wished was to wake up from this terrible dream.

Aueghhh!

That irregular yawn of Lennart’s was the start of the new day. Almost in autopilot, the man had forgotten debacles of the previous day; how they pressed on his every nerve. All he wanted to do was move on with his morning and-

The television was on.

“Truly, perhaps I am a fool.”

Lennart stood silently; not yet ready to face the box that was arresting his full attention. He had heard those words, by that person, and in that inflection before. But something was missing; something to do with…him.

“I came here to be entertained; at your expense of course. But this was not even worth the trouble. In this state, you are far from anything conscious, yet you parade around like a man of some principle. Do you truly believe that this man you are following cares for the sympathy of a mad person?”

“That's enough…!” Another voice said. This one too, he was familiar with, but he was not sure why he could not put it together at the moment.

She spoke again. “...we just came to tell you…you mustn't go on with what you are doing… Why are you so consumed with this case?”

“I am a principled ma-....I am a Principled ma-...I am” Suddenly, Lennart spoke, stammering repeatedly. Taken aback, The man now felt compelled; he had to see what was on the screen. Quickly, he rushed to the front of the box.

There was nobody on the screen; just the background of a room. It seemed to him as if the camera had panned to the wrong edge of the set.

Lennart, now of his own accord, tried to speak. Shouting, he said, “I am a principled man!”

Suddenly, the camera changed angle. He could see other people on the screen, but one was still seemingly a missing figure in the shot.

The camera began walking towards the man on the right of the screen.

“Lennart.” The man said to himself instinctually in his bedroom.

“Yes, detective…” The actor on the right side of the screen said with a somber face.

“You’re saying your halluc- you’re saying that Dean Martin convinced you to kill your wife and only daughter…, is that right sir?”

Lennart, now terrified, quickly covered his mouth after uttering those grim words.

The screen then did a 180 turn from the somber-faced Rick Hunter, all the way…

Into Lennart’s private bedroom.

“We’re waiting for you on set, Lennart.” The voice of the woman at the pier said.

After which, the man was met with the chatter of the dozens of people on the set; laughing, jeering excitedly, and crooning to the song

Ain't that a kick in the head. Ain't that a kick in the head. Ain't that a kick in the head. Ain't that a kick in the head….