Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24

INT. MR. KIDDERMAN’S BASEMENT — EVENING

Mr. Kidderman sits hunched over Rich’s phone. The magnifying glass has been pushed to the side, and the ruptured screen of the phone is gone, revealing its mechanical intestines and electrical veins. Rich sits half-out of his seat, leaned up against Mr. Kidderman and watching him intently. Mr Kidderman probes the inside of the phone with the ground and live probes of a multimeter, which lights up to display 3.3 volts in neon-green numbers on the screen.

MR. KIDDERMAN (honorably defeated)

Well gang, I don’t know why your screen blew up.

Mr. Kidderman drops the probes, shakes his head, and picks up the broken screen, turning it in his hands. The inner side of the screen looks burnt along all the cracks.

MR. KIDDERMAN (CONT’D)

It’s like it was dropped or something, almost stomped,

but all of the internals work just fine.

And then it’s like it was blown out from inside.

Mr. Kidderman hands Rich the screen. Rich turns it around to look at the burn-marks. Mr. Kidderman’s daughter, ANNA, unseen, opens the door above them, which leads to the basement.

ANNA (letting the hint roll down the stairs)

I and Grace might take the kids downtown

in just a bit.

MR. KIDDERMAN (calling up)

OK! We’re almost done.

Rich sets the screen of the phone on the table.

RICH

It was really weird.

MR. KIDDERMAN

What was?

RICH

It was

just for a moment, but R.J.’s voice was changed.

It felt more real, somehow.

MR. KIDDERMAN

What did he say?

RICH (quoting R.J.)

Run number one, remember?

There is a pause. Rich, maybe embarrassed, turns his face from Mr. Kidderman.

RICH (CONT’D)

It’s the first play we learned

when we were playing travel basketball…

it’s just a simple pick and roll, you know?

Mr. Kidderman looks at his mechanical dog, BUSTER, which is resting on a worn-out dog bed in a far corner of the room.

MR. KIDDERMAN (honestly comforting)

You know…lately…similar things have been

happening to my dog.

Buster opens his plastic eyes and raises its head in a strangely smooth motion as if called.

RICH

Like what?

MR. KIDDERMAN

You know…

barks and things like that. For the last week

or so, just every so often, his bark changed.

It felt too real… if that makes sense.

RICH

That’s what

it was like.

MR. KIDDERMAN

That’s that magic of the app, I think.

Both Rich and Mr. Kidderman seem to sense the profound. Perhaps, for a brief second, Mr. Kidderman’s basement has become a tomb. Rich and Mr. Kidderman seem ghostly. They are quiet as graves.

MR. KIDDERMAN (CONT’D) (reaching for Buster like the robot is a life-saving rope)

He really is a thing of magic, is what

I mean. I can’t look at him without thinking

about my wife. She meant the world to me.

Hereafter let me save a bit of that world

when she left it.

RICH

I heard what you said at

R.J.’s funeral.

MR. KIDDERMAN (gently patting the metal side of his Buster after a beat passes)

You know exactly

what I mean, then. There’s a reason why

I’m a local representative.

Buster nuzzles Mr. Kidderman’s leg. Rich seems to be thinking about what to say next.

MR. KIDDEMRAN (CONT’D)

You can pet him if you want.

RICH (patting the dog)

OK —

what’s his name?

MR. KIDDERMAN

It’s Buster.

RICH

Hey there, Buster.

Buster rolls over to nibble at Rich’s shoe. Mr. Kidderman and Rich watch him, and Rich smiles. Maybe you can divine the healing in that smile, perhaps some sort of unlooked-for friendship blossoming in that instant across a troubled face.

RICH

My full name’s Richard Hardman. R.J. was

the only guy who didn’t call me Dick when we

were in third grade — I think that we were in

third grade by then, and that was when it seemed

like everybody learned that Dick was a joke.

Or something. I don’t know. And that was when

R.J. moved to Mitchell. Did you know that

his real name’s Raj? His adopted parents called him

R.J. because they thought it’d help him fit in.

I was the only guy who knew his name

was Raj, and he was the only guy who called

me Rich, back then. That’s how we became friends.

Before another sentimental pause can set in, the door leading to the basement opens again.

ANNA

Hey! we’re heading out.

MR. KIDDERMAN

I’ll be there in

a bit.

The door closes above the stairs with a screech and a click.

MR. KIDDERMAN (CONT’D)

Well, Rich, I’ve done what I can for now.

You can leave your phone here, if you want,

and we can take another crack at it

tomorrow. Maybe after church — how’s that work?

Mr. Kidderman starts up the stairs without asking Rich to leave or offering to show him out. Rich lingers momentarily. He seems surprised. But then, when the last footstep creaks overhead across the foyer and the soft sound of the front door closing floats down to the basement, he suddenly and awkwardly realizes that he is alone in Mr. Kidderman’s house. Quickly, almost without thinking, he grabs the pieces of his broken phone and leaves.

CUT TO: