74

Life was tough in Hedgeport; that's what everyone believed, so it had to be true. You were born squalling and died in squalor. Babies had dirt under their nails. The gas jockey was considered rich. Despite the poverty, nobody ate anything that didn't come out of a can or box. Nobody took care of their junk, but instead let it rot out in the yard when whatever cheap thing it was broke, they were tired of it, or they just forgot where they laid it. If the thing wasn't busted or rusted to start with, it was by the time the long, long winter was over.

73

Sirens called out to one another in the distance and Jill heard the muffled "thump" that was the subtle real-life indicator there had been another explosion across the city. It wasn't the double, "pwuhch-PWUHCHHH!" sound that all the action movies made.

The streetlights were on, which meant electricity was still on, and most people were glued to their televisions. Jill was hurrying back to her apartment from tutoring work, leather shoulder bag banging against her leg. She passed some people out in their driveways, watching the sky. A dark car flew down the street, slowed for the stop sign, and continued with a roar. Jill picked up the pace.

72

ACT I

The living room of a grand country mansion, formerly owned by the recently deceased Lady Underwood and long deceased Lord Underwood. The ornate furniture is covered by dirty white tarpaulins. Some items, including floor lamps, chairs and, at center stage, a sofa, are easily recognizable. The walls, where not covered with dark oak paneling, are wallpapered in an equally dark and stuffy old style.

(Sounds of a key in the front door, stage left. The key does not open the door, and more key sounds follow. Sounds of a large set of keys being dropped. Frustrated noises. More key sounds until, finally, the door is opened by a youngish man, ANDREW SCOTSLEY.)

ANDREW. (Makes a satisfied sound and sets down a small suitcase.) Home sweet home.

(Leaving the front door open, ANDREW strides to a tarpaulin that is covering a floor lamp and pulls violently and without care for the dust. Dust flies everywhere causing ANDREW some breathing trouble.
ANDREW proceeds more cautiously to the covered sofa; however he pulls just as violently, this time turning his head and covering his mouth with his sleeve. Sitting upright in the middle of the sofa is a CORPSE.)

ANDREW. (Laughs triumphantly at thwarting the dusty tarpaulin.) I will have to hire a mai... (Trails off, noticing the corpse.) Woah.

71

He was sitting in the window of a Starbucks holding a huge, hot beverage. This Starbucks had a long table tucked into the window nook so people could look out. Inevitably, they were also looked at. There was a bookstore across the street with a few black ironwork tables and chairs out front under an awning. A small rack of books they didn't mind anyone stealing were for sale outside. It was a beautiful fall day.

A long, earth-toned coat was hanging on the back of his chair. He was wearing earth-toned cargo pants and a blue shirt that matched his eyes. His hair was silver. He had a book open, but was only glancing at it while he people-watched.

She had been planning to go to the bookstore that day, but kept getting sidetracked by projects, dishes, the phone. The Universe turned and waited for them to finally meet.

70

Helen seemed to have the dropsies today. She poured water from the Brita pitcher all over the counter, dropped the towel before she got to the puddle, hurt her finger trying to open the "Sunday" tab of her pill case, dropped the pill case, and dropped one of her vitamins when she finally did get it open.

Helen groaned because she hadn't cleaned the kitchen floor in too long and there were crumbs along all the edges. The vitamin was sure to have hair on it, she fretted, crouching down before the five seconds of the Rule were up.

The vitamin, however, was not on the floor. It was not in her slipper. It was not in her robe. It was not in the bottom cupboard. Helen had watched it fall and knew it hadn't bounced or rolled because she would have noticed. The darn thing was gone.

69

"Dude!" Trevor waved from the second story window of his frat house. Stella raised her chin and ignored him as her heels tried to punch holes in the sidewalk. "Dude!"

Stella stopped and whirled, her eyes blazing up at the shirtless man in the window. "I am not a 'dude', nor do I associate with 'dudes' any longer. Dude." She waited for a beat, wondering what Trevor had to say for himself. It turned out to be a plaintive,

"Duuu-ude..."

Stella pivoted and continued her stomp, the eyes of Trevor the Dude, incredibly, misting as he watched his now ex-girlfriend leave his life.

68

The sun was setting somewhere behind the uniform gray of clouds, the only indication a further dimming of the weak winter light. Hard pellets of newer snow hissed across the frosted-over surface of the layers and layers of the old. The undulations of the land were smoothed nearly flat, filled in with those layers and drifts.

Trees poked out, dark and brittle-looking, giving no sign of the spark of life hidden deep within, waiting. When individual trees became groups, and the groups of trees finally became forest, the snow thinned enough for dried leaves and bare earth, made still by the freezing temperatures.

67

Put it down, I thought. Just put it down. Put it down. Put it down. The words were a chant in my head, an ineffectual spell meant to save my life. Put it down. Put it down. Put it down.

The knife came up. The knife came down. The knife pulled out, up, down. Out, up, down. I said put it down, not this. My knees weakened and I went down. The knife went with me and we both went down. Even as I fell, I was careful not to fall on it and push it in deeper. My hip went down. My shoulder went down. My head went down. My spell changed to Help. Help. Help.