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I don’t have memory of it, got to say.
    Leonard: Lise Evans.
    Winston: Lacoeur, before she met me.
    The name strikes LEONARD. He stares at her, knows that LISE herself remembers.
    Lise: Mr. Butler was thinking colour photography. They can do such things now.
    Winston: What’s the cost on that?
    LEONARD stares at her.
    Mr. Butler?
    Leonard: Minimal.
    I’ll tell you what. I’m a family man myself. Wife, two kids. I will take some in colour, and if you don’t like the results, so be it. I’ll take the hit.
    Lise: That’s very generous of you.
    Leonard: What can I say. I’m a good person.
    Lise: Come on, children, Leo. Here on the couch.
    LEO doesn’t move. LEONARD steps towards him.
    Leonard: That’s a nice set of eyes on you, son. Gonna break hearts some day.
    He touches LEO on the shoulder and gets a zap.
    Friggin’ carpet.
    Lise: Come, Leo. Sit by your mother.
    Through the following is tableau after tableau of LEONARD pulling LEO back and forth across his family, different poses for a photograph no one seems to want.
    Chorus (Connie): His mother. It was all her fault, he was sure of it.
    Even his father had scars that set him apart. Leo had no evidence beyond intuition, but he was convinced that his father’s appearance was somehow connected to his mother as well.
    Brother, sister. Father and mother.
    And Leo. A piece of jigsaw that simply didn’t fit.
    Finally settles on LEO sitting at a distance from his family, and looking none too happy about it.
    Leonard: You wanna take that hat off, son?
    LEO obliges. LISE quickly puts it back on his head.
    Lise: That’s okay, Leo loves his hat.
    Leonard: Sure. Okay, everybody smile.
    Chorus (Connie): Leo could find nothing to smile about.
    Everyone else does.
    Leonard: Smile and open your eyes.
    Winston & Lise: Jerome.
    JEROME opens his eyes.
    Leonard: And hold it.
    The flash goes off.
    Lise: Oh my.
    Jerome: I can see stars. Momma, I can see stars.
    Leonard: That’ll pass, son.
    Jerome: Stars when I close my eyes, Momma.
    Leonard: And one more for luck.
    Another flash of the camera that repeats, fractures, turns into lightning. Silence and then thunder.
    Another clap of thunder and lightning and all lights go out.
    * * *
    In the darkness.
    Theresa: Momma.
    Lise: It’s okay, honey. We’re here.
    Jerome: Blackout! Blackout!
    Theresa: Mom.
    Lise: Take Jerome’s hand, sweetie.
    Jerome: I got her, Momma. Watch the corner, Theresa.
    Winston: Where is Leo?
    Lise: Leo?
    Winston: Jerome, go find your brother.
    Lise: Leo?
    Leo: I’m here.
    Theresa: I told you it was a bad one.
    Lise: Nothing to be afraid of, darling.
    Theresa: My head hurts.
    Lise: It will pass, you know it will.
    Winston: Leo?
    Leo: I’m here, I said.
    Jerome: I got him, Dad.
    Leo: Let go my hand.
    Winston: Let Jerome help you, Leo.
    Leo: I’m okay.
    Lise: That came on fast.
    Theresa: I told you it was a bad one.
    Lise: I know you did, sweetie.
    LISE lights a candle.
    I was hoping you’d all sleep through it. That’s why I sent you to bed so early.
    Winston: Must have taken out the transformer down the coast. Whole town is out.
    Jerome: I couldn’t sleep anyway. I’m wide awake.
    Lise: Well, you are now.
    Winston: Come sit, Jerome, away from that window.
    Jerome: Why?
    Winston: ’Cause I said so.
    Lise: Listen to your father.
    Thunder shakes the house. THERESA jumps.
    It’s all right. Nothing to be afraid of.
    Jerome: God, you’re embarrassing.
    Winston: Jerome.
    Lise: It’s all right. She just got a surprise, that’s all.
    Jerome: How can you be surprised and afraid of something when you know it’s on its way?
    Winston: Jerome.
    Jerome: I’m just saying.
    Lise: Sometimes knowing things makes it even scarier.
    Thunder.
    Theresa: There’s not even enough light to read by.
    Lise: Won’t kill us for one night.
    Jerome: Tell us a story.
    Winston: Yeah?
    Jerome: Like you used to before you started at the mill. A ghost story.
    Winston: A scary story, eh?
    Lise: No, please. No ghost stories. The last