Mercy
Author: Max Allan Collins
Date: 2012-10-15 09:43:16+00:00
Description: Mercy Mathers looks like a blonde angel, but everyone knows she’s the wildest party girl in Clarion High. But when her boozy, slutty antics cause the death of nearly the entire high school football team’s starting lineup, Mercy seeks forgiveness by way of religion. Once she’s saved, Mercy feels compelled to save the bad boys she once sought out for her own pleasure. But bad boys tend to be bad, and to prevent them from backsliding, Mercy has to sacrifice them before they can fall from grace. But what guy would ever guess that the sexiest, most beautiful girl in school is a homicidal maniac on
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing

© 2018 by Max Allan Collins

Library e-Book : 978-1-5385-1803-8
Trade e-Book : 978-1-5385-1804-5

This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

CHARACTERS (in order of appearance):

MERCY – eighteen. Vixen who gets religion, not in a good way.

ROD – captain of the football team who makes a bad decision.

NURSE – walk on.

PASTOR STRICKLAND – sixty-ish, apparently well- meaning, but extreme Fundamentalist views

CINDI – initially unpleasant classmate of Mercy’s; girl friend of late Rod, blames Mercy for his death

RANDY JOHNSON – self-styled retro j.d.

DAN DICKEY – philandering guidance counselor, late twenties.

PETER BISHOP – spoiled rich kid, eighteen. Brief.

OSCAR PIKE – nerd computer guru, eighteen.

MUSIC:

FANGORIA THEME

ANNOUNCER:

You can run but you can’t hide. It’s far too late for that. Welcome to the dark side, where the night never ends – as Fangoria presents. . .Dreadtime Stories. With your host, Malcolm McDowell. Tonight’s Dreadtime Story: “Mercy” by Max Allan Collins.

SOUND:

The happy sounds of high school kids at a kegger-type party. Drunken laughter, girls and boys. Beer pouring. Generic rock or hip-hop music.

MERCY:

(a little drunk) Listen, Rod – you round up as many of the guys on the team as you can. . .first-string only. . .I’m no slut! And pile into my van. We’ll go out to the Hollow and I’ll. . .take one for the team. . .

ROD:

Mercy, you can’t mean this. I mean, I heard you were kinda wild, but –

MERCY:

Sounds like a good time, doesn’t it? You don’t think I can handle it? Try me!

ROD:

Okay, okay, I’ll call your bluff.

MERCY:

I don’t bluff. Remember that when we play strip poker.

ROD:

. . .I’ll round up the guys. . . (off mic). . .Meet you out front in five. . .

MERCY:

(to herself) Touchdown.

NARRATOR:

Mercy Mathers had, once upon a time, been a good little girl. As a child, she had platinum blonde hair, sky-blue eyes, a perfect pale complexion, and a smile that would melt the heart of a misanthrope. But after her mother and father died in a plane crash, when she was just thirteen, Mercy had gone to live with her wealthy, elderly grandmother. Grandma provided Mercy with two things: everything she wanted, and no supervision. And when puberty came calling, the good little girl grew up and out and every which fetching way, the most beautiful perfect blonde any red-blooded boy or man might dream of. The kind of young woman who seemed utterly unattainable. But the thing was. . .Mercy was attainable. Very attainable. She loved attention, she loved to party, and the worst kept secret at Clarion High was that everybody’s favorite cheerleader, the prom queen, the girl most likely to succeed, was in particular the favorite of any number of boys. She’d never gone steady, Mercy, because she liked variety. She liked fun. The good little girl quite liked being bad.

SOUND:

Party sounds muffled. Outdoor ambience. Guys talking, laughing, excited, drawing closer to the camera.

ROD:

Okay, Mercy. We’re game if you are.

SOUND:

Guys hooting, hollering in agreement. Ad lib, “Oh yeah,” “Game on!”, etc.

MERCY:

(drunker) I was born game. You boys may be conference champs, but I am gonna rule your asses. You are mine!

SOUND:

More whistling, hooting, ad- libbing, “Bring it!”, “It’s on,” etc.

MERCY:

Save your energy. You’re gonna need it. Get in.

SOUND:

Van door opens. Sound of guys piling into van. More male boasting, adlibs.

MERCY:

This is gonna be the best homecoming ever.

ROD:

Hey, Merce. You better let me drive. You’re a couple sheets to the wind, sweet-cheeks.

MERCY:

Rod, I am doin’ all the driving tonight. Otherwise, you and your jock pals can find some other way to end a perfect evening.

ROD:

Okay, but take it easy. Lot of cops out tonight, looking for party animals. A DUI wouldn’t look cool on your permanent record.

MERCY:

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get in and buckle up.

ROD:

(off-mic) Oh-kay. . .

NARRATOR:

The Hollow was everybody’s favorite make-out spot, but it took any number of back roads to get there.

SOUND:

Vehicle traveling fast, making a fast turn on gravel.

ROD:

Merce! Take it easy.

MERCY:

Don’t be a pussy. . .

NARRATOR:

Mercy would have been fine if she hadn’t passed a slow-moving vehicle. . .

MERCY:

Get outa my way, farmer!

SOUND:

Gunning vehicle.

NARRATOR:

. . .on that hill.

ROD:

Mercy!

SOUND:

The worst car crash ever heard. Tearing metal, screaming (young) passengers.

ANNOUNCER:

Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories will continue in a moment.

ANNOUNCER:

Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories, and “Mercy.”

SOUNDS:

Hospital hallway sounds.

NURSE:

Pastor, she’s just woken up. She’s heavily medicated, and dazed, so please. . .be gentle when you talk to her.

PASTOR:

I’m here as much as a family friend as in my official capacity. Her late father was on the church board. What does she know?

NURSE:

Nothing. Not about her friends, or her grandmother, either. If she gets upset, ring me. And don’t talk with her long. . .

SOUND:

Door opens, closes. Hospital

MERCY:

sounds muffled now, then fade away. Footsteps. (weak, even groggy) Pastor Strickland. . .is that you? Pastor, the last I remember. . .

PASTOR:

Take it easy, young lady.

SOUND:

Chair pulled up. Sits.

PASTOR:

We’re just going to sit here like old friends and take our time with this. Give me your hand, child.

MERCY:

My friends. . .Rod. . .the others?

PASTOR:

They’re with the Lord. At least I hope they are.

MERCY:

Hope they are?

PASTOR:

If they were right with God.

MERCY:

And if not?

PASTOR:

(soothing) Then I’m afraid they’re burning in Hell, dear.

MERCY:

(alert, alarmed) They’re dead? They’re all dead? And I’m alive. . .

PASTOR:

(mildly amused) Well, this isn’t heaven, child. It’s just Iowa. You’re going to be fine. That air bag saved you. But all the passengers. . .and the driver of that combine you hit. . .well, we’ll pray they were right with God.

MERCY:

My Grandmother. Where is she? Has she been here?

PASTOR:

Now, you don’t have to worry about your grandmother.

MERCY:

Good. Good. She won’t judge me. Everybody will, but she won’t. . .

PASTOR:

I won’t lie to you, child. She was concerned when she heard. You know, you’ve been unconscious for a week.

MERCY:

Call her, would you, Pastor? Tell her I’m okay. That I’m not in a coma or anything.

PASTOR:

I’m sure she knows, dear, where she is.

MERCY:

Why? Where is she?

PASTOR:

She’s left this vale of tears, God be praised.

MERCY:

What?

PASTOR:

(gentle) She had a fatal stroke the night she heard.

MERCY:

Oh my God. . .

PASTOR:

Yes. Let us pray.

MERCY:

Pastor, she’s dead, too?

PASTOR:

She walks the green pastures with the Lord. I know she does because she prayed with me before she died. The Lord forgave her. She was born again. Washed in the blood of the lamb.

MERCY:

Oh, my God. . .what have I done? I’ve sinned. . .I’ve been such a bad girl. . .

PASTOR:

It’s too late for those boys, Mercy. But not for you. You can get right with God.

MERCY:

I’m going to jail, aren’t I?

PASTOR:

No.

MERCY:

Pastor, I was drinking. I was drunk on my ass.

PASTOR:

That kind of language, young lady, is hardly the first step on your path to redemption.

MERCY:

My what?

PASTOR:

Those boys in that van, who died with you, who died in sin? For the sake of our community, for the sake of their parents, the Sheriff has declined to press any charges against you.

MERCY:

That’s crazy. . .

PASTOR:

No. To the community, those eight members of the Clarion High football team were fine young men. Let them set an example in death that they did not in life. That they were drinking and on their way to defile a sweet young thing like you, Mercy, well. . .what lesson would that teach?

MERCY:

Maybe that God struck them down for sinning.

PASTOR:

That’s an interesting thought. A topic worthy of discussion. Why don’t you come live with Agnes and me? Our daughters are grown up, and I could be a father to you, you could have the guidance you need.

MERCY:

Thank you, Pastor, but. . .I’ll go back home. I’m eighteen. I can finish the school year and then decide what’s next for me.

PASTOR:

That’s a very grown up decision, dear. May I suggest that you start attending services again? Your grandmother never missed a one.

MERCY:

All right.

PASTOR:

And you can study with me, privately, if you like. The Scripture. Why, before you know it, you’ll be a theological whiz.

MERCY:

Why do you want me? I’m a bad girl, Pastor. I was drinking. I invited those boys. I was going to. . .I was going to do bad things with them.

PASTOR:

You’re confessing your sins. What better start is that? You can be born again, child. All those sins washed away.

MERCY:

But I’m weak. What if I sinned again?

PASTOR:

There is no limit to the Lord’s forgiveness.

MERCY:

But what if I slip? What if I’m not right with the Lord when I die?

SOUND:

(chair scrape) I think you know the answer to that, child.

NARRATOR:

And so Mercy turned over the proverbial new leaf. She went home to the gothic near-mansion where she and her late grandmother had lived, so big and empty and foreboding now. Yet somehow it seemed just right her new life, living alone, her spare time given to reading the Bible. Several evenings a week, she and Pastor Strickland studied and discussed scripture. She dressed more conservatively now, often in angelic white, but her natural beauty came screaming through. But when she returned to school, the welcome of some classmates was less than warm. Like Cindi Wesson, who had been Rod’s steady girl. . .

SOUND:

A bell rings quickly followed by bustling high school hallway sounds between classes. Talk, movement, a little laughter.

CINDI:

Hey! Skank!

MERCY:

Cindi, I understand how you feel. . .

CINDI:

No you don’t. I think you’re evil. Oh, I know all about this new goody-two-shoes act of yours. You’re all churchy now. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t going straight to Hell.

MERCY:

I’m not going to Hell. I’ve been saved. You can be, too.

CINDI:

Oh, my God!

MERCY:

Yes, your God. He loves you. He’ll forgive your sins.

CINDI:

My sins? You were gonna gang-bang the first string of the football team and got ‘em killed instead, because you were drunk as a skunk! If you weren’t designed for Hell, who was?

MERCY:

I’ll pray for you.

CINDI:

(off-mic) Don’t do me any favors, scuzz queen.

RANDY:

(off-mic) Hey! Merce.

SOUND:

Locker shutting.

MERCY:

Oh. . .Randy. Hi. You look nice

today.

RANDY:

Yeah, it’s a retro thing. Black leather like James Dean.

MERCY:

Who?

RANDY:

Just another stud who died in a car crash.

MERCY:

. . .I have to get to class.

RANDY:

Bad joke. Look, some of these clowns around here are treating you pretty rotten. When’s the last time you had a little fun?

MERCY:

I’ve sort of given up fun.

RANDY:

Aw come on, baby. Let’s hook up. What do you say?

MERCY:

I’m not that way any more, Randy. But if you want to come over to my place, tonight, and study, that would be cool.

RANDY:

Yeah, study what? We’re seniors. We already know we’re graduating.

MERCY:

How about something a little more spiritual?

RANDY:

What, Bible school?

MERCY:

Yes. It’s never too late to get right with God.

RANDY:

Uh. . .your grandma croaked, didn’t she?

MERCY:

Yes. She passed away.

RANDY:

That’s a shame. So, then, you’re, uh. . .living alone?

MERCY:

I am.

RANDY:

Okay. I’m cool with a little Bible study. I could stand to get straight with the Man Upstairs, I guess.

MERCY:

That’s wonderful! Stop over at seven. We’ll sit by the fire, have snacks. . .

RANDY:

Yeah, I’m salivating already.

NARRATOR:

So that evening, a cool autumn night, Mercy puts on a white dress and makes crackers and cheese and starts a fire.

SOUND:

Several hard knocks at the door. Door opens.

RANDY:

Hi, babe.

MERCY:

You surprised me! I was listening for your Harley.

RANDY:

Hey, I only live three blocks over. Nice night like this? Thought I’d just have a nice walk out under God’s majestic sky.

MERCY:

You look great – no biker leathers?

RANDY:

So ya like in me a jacket and tie? Hey, it’s Sunday school, right?

MERCY:

You’re teasing. Come on in.

SOUND:

Door shuts.

NARRATOR:

Soon Mercy and her guest are nibbling snacks and having soft drinks as he listens to her talk about the need for him to get right with the “Man Upstairs.”

RANDY:

Yeah, baby, I could can see gettin’ cool with the Almighty. . .I done bad shit in my time, and what the hell, I could go for this Born Again trip.

MERCY:

You’re not just saying that.

RANDY:

No. You gettin’ a little warm? I am. Why don’t you slip out of that dress.

MERCY:

No, Randy, I. . .

RANDY:

Hey, you were talking about sacrifice before! Like that dude you read me about that was up for killin’ his kid ‘cause God told him to! God likes sacrifice, right?

MERCY:

He does.

RANDY:

Well, then, give it up, baby. Sacrifice a little bit to Randy.

MERCY:

I don’t think you’re sincere.

RANDY:

Hey, my frickin’ sincerity is sticking out all over the place!

MERCY:

Pray with me Randy.

NARRATOR:

So they prayed. And Randy asked for forgiveness and he got right with God, and soon their kneeling position became prone and Mercy made the sacrifice. She enjoyed it. It was like old sinful times, but for a good cause. Randy fell asleep there in front of the fire place, and Mercy – still naked as God had made her – slipped into the kitchen and found the biggest butcher knife she’d ever seen. She was raising it in two hands, clutched in her prayer-like grasp, when Randy awoke and looked up at the blade pointing at his bare chest.

RANDY:

Mercy! What the hell!

MERCY:

Randy, you’re right with God now. But what if you slipped? What if you slipped?

RANDY:

No!

SOUND:

The knife stabs deep.

RANDY:

No. . . (gurgling). . .muh-mer-see. . .

SOUND:

Stabbing. Again and again and again.

MUSIC:

Fangoria theme comes up.

ANNOUNCER:

We’ll return to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories – after these few words.

ANNOUNCER:

Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories and “Mercy.”

NARRATOR:

Living alone as she did, Mercy performed the clean-up herself, at her leisure. That she and Randy had both been nude had been helpful. But disposing of him was problematic.

MERCY:

(to herself) Can’t go dragging Randy off and just dropping him somewhere. Might be seen. . .God would understand, but would the police?

NARRATOR:

So she went to the body of the boy she’d saved from hell, took him by the ankles, and dragged him to the old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub. Somehow she got him up and over and in. Her father had been in the grocery business and she’d seen sides of beef cut up often enough as a child; and she was just about the least squeamish person in Biology class. So cutting Randy into pieces was difficult work but less disturbing then you might think. She sang “Amazing Grace” as she worked, and had two epiphanies: one, she had nice enough a voice to join Pastor Strickland’s choir; and two, saving Randy from Hell by offering herself to him. . .by using the perfect body God had given her as a sort of offering. . .suggested that path to redemption the Pastor had spoken of. Mercy had found her calling. . .

MERCY:

(to herself) Okay. . .now what?. . .Of course, tonight is garbage night. . .

ANNOUNCER:

And so Mercy tidied up – the parts that had been Randy fit nicely in three triple-bagged garbage bags, taking up two of her grandmother’s garbage cans. . .with room for another bag from the kitchen on top. Hauling the trash cans out to the curb took only minimal effort. And cleaning the tub and the hard wood flooring was a breeze. . .

SOUND:

Morning sounds – birds chirping, cars starting. A garbage truck rumbles toward mic, stops down the street. Throughout next dialogue sequence, garbage truck keeps moving and stopping, as cans at the curb are emptied in back of the truck. Phone rings.

MERCY:

(sleepy) Hello?

PASTOR:

(telephone) Sorry to call so early, child. But I wanted to remind you about Bible studies this evening.

MERCY:

Thank you, Pastor. I hadn’t forgotten.

PASTOR:

(telephone) You’re still in bed, aren’t you child?

MERCY:

Afraid so.

PASTOR:

(telephone) Well, go to the window and look at the beautiful Fall day the Lord has provided, and get your pretty little bottom off to school.

MERCY:

Yes, Pastor. Thanks for calling. . .

SOUND:

Bed springs. Feet pad on floor, then window opens, letting morning sounds in, including garbage truck, about a door away now.

MERCY:

(to herself) What a lovely day. Thank you, God. Thank you.

SOUND:

Garbage truck louder, stopping nearby. Garbage can being emptied into back of truck. Out front of Mercy’s house. Another can, its contents thudding noisily into back of truck.

MERCY:

(sincere – no irony) You’re welcome, Randy.

NARRATOR:

The absence of Randy Johnson at school the next day went unnoticed – neither his failing to return home the night before, nor his failure to be in class today, were at all out of the ordinary. Today was like any other day at Clarion High, except for an appointment Mercy had been putting off, with Mr. Dickey, the guidance counselor. After school, in his third-floor office.

DICKEY:

Come in, Mercy! Come in. Sit right there on the couch.

MERCY:

All right, Mr. Dickey.

DICKEY:

Please, Mercy. We don’t stand on ceremony, remember? Not old friends like us. Call me Dan.

NARRATOR:

Mr. Dickey – Dan – wasn’t just a counselor. He also taught a few classes of algebra. For a teacher, Mercy supposed, he was pretty young – late twenties? He had a wife and a little baby at home. And last year, in this office, she had earned an A from Mr. Dickey in a subject that up till then she’d been failing. . .until her oral exam. . .

DICKEY:

You don’t mind if I sit next to you, here on the couch?

MERCY:

No, Mr. Dickey.

DICKEY:

Dan. Make it Dan. We’re overdue for a talk about this terrible tragedy.

NARRATOR:

And for half an hour, with hardly a word from Mercy, the counselor counseled her – assuring her that she need feel no guilt for making this one small mistake. . .”One small mistake,” Mercy thought, that had cost Clarion High most of its first-string footballers!

DICKEY:

Oh, I’m afraid I’ve gone on and on. . .do you have anywhere you need to be?

MERCY:

No, I’m living alone now.

DICKEY:

That’s right! That’s right, I heard that. . .do you mind if I shut the door?

MERCY:

I don’t mind, but I think all the office staff is gone already.

SOUND:

Dickey getting up off couch. A few footsteps.

DICKEY:

Everyone does seem to have skedaddled. But still, better we preserve your privacy. Delicate subject.

SOUND:

Door closes. Lock click. Quick footsteps. Dickey sits down again.

DICKEY:

I understand you’ve had something of a. . .religious conversion.

MERCY:

Well, Grandma went to Pastor Strickland’s church regularly. Sometimes I went, too. But I never took it seriously till now.

DICKEY:

You’re, uh. . .born again?

MERCY:

I’m right with God.

DICKEY:

So you, uh. . .your sins are forgiven?

MERCY:

Oh yes.

DICKEY:

Well, that’s wonderful. Mercy, uh. . .about last year. . .our little relationship. . .

MERCY:

It wasn’t a relationship exactly.

DICKEY:

No, but you were very warm to me, and I hope I was, uh, understanding in return, and, well. . .now that you have this new- found faith, I’m wondering if you must, uh. . .are you compelled to. . .?

MERCY:

I’m not going to tell on you, Mr.

Dickey. Dan.

DICKEY:

(very relieved) Good, I. . .well, that was inappropriate, last year, and I’m really sorry.

MERCY:

It was sinful. You’re a married man. You have a small child.

DICKEY:

I am. I only wish I could make amends to you, somehow.

MERCY:

You need to make amends with God.

DICKEY:

Yes! Yes. I’m a pretty religious person myself, actually. That would a fine solution. Shall we. . .pray together?

NARRATOR:

And once again, Mercy got on her knees in Mr. Dickey’s office. But this time so did he. They knelt together. Prayed. And, with Mercy’s prompting, Mr. Dickey indeed got right with God. Just after he got right with God, however, Mr. Dickey put his hands on Mercy. . .in an inappropriate manner. . .

MERCY:

You see, Mr. Dickey! You’ve slipped already.

DICKEY:

You’re so lovely. . .such an angel. . . (out of breath) Air. . .I need some air. . .

NARRATOR:

Mr. Dickey got to his feet and went to the window.

SOUND:

Window raises. Night sounds.

DICKEY:

I’m not a nice person, Mercy. I’m really not.

MERCY:

We’ll pray again. You will be right with God, Mr. Dickey. You will be.

NARRATOR:

So they prayed there at the window, in the crisp fresh air, until dusk turned into a starry evening. When their prayers had ceased, Mr. Dickey took her in his arms.

MR. DICKEY:

You’re a special young woman, Mercy. Very special.

NARRATOR:

There wasn’t much time. Mr. Dickey was faltering. Before he could slip from grace, Mercy gave him a firm but loving shove. . .and he slipped from the window. . .

SOUND:

Dickey screaming, then SPLATTING.

NARRATOR:

. . .to the hard cement three stories below.

MUSIC:

Up.

ANNOUNCER:

We’ll return to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories – after this.

ANNOUNCER:

And now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories and the conclusion to “Mercy.”

NARRATOR:

The tragic “suicide” of guidance counselor Dan Dickey attracted no more attention than the disappearance of Randy Johnson, who had after all been threatening to “blow this pop stand” for years. So Mercy became convinced of the righteousness of her calling. As fall turned into winter, Mercy saved a number of troubled souls from perdition. Take that spoiled rich kid, Peter Bishop, who took advantage of his parents being away to invite Mercy over to try out his new hot tub.

SOUND:

Jacuzzi bubbling.

PETER:

Ah, it feels good to be right with God, you sweet thing. . .so gooood. . .

NARRATOR:

The hot tub provided Mercy with the chance to perform her first Baptism. Peter was a dissipated youth, but holding him under would have been a problem. When the opportunity to wrap her legs around his neck presented itself, that problem disappeared along with Peter’s sins. . .

SOUND:

Jacuzzi bubbling. Splashing, growing more and more frantic.

PETER:

No, Mercy! No, Mercy! (gurgling)

SOUND:

Bubbling and splashing, then bubbling, then easy waves. Click of Jacuzzi motor shutting off.

NARRATOR:

With the buds of May displaying themselves in colorful profusion, Mercy went on a picnic with gifted nerd Oscar Pike, whose computer skills were for sale to his fellow students.

SOUND:

Outdoors, birds, breeze, maybe a distant dog bark; running water of a nearby stream.

OSCAR:

Yeah, Mercy, you wouldn’t believe how much dough I got stashed away, L.O.L. Selling porn site codes to tweens, fixing grades in the school’s data base. Man, there’s nothing I can’t do online.

MERCY:

But Oscar, you can’t get right with God with a few key strokes.

OSCAR:

(disappointed) I thought you’d be impressed. . .D.F.I.!

MERCY:

Oh, I am by your skills. Your mind. But intellectual values pale next to spiritual growth. I could never be with a boy who wasn’t one with the Lord.

OSCAR:

Well, uh. . .B.T.W., I’m willing to learn!

NARRATOR:

And there, in the cool shade of a magnificent oak, with a babbling brook nearby, sharing a picnic lunch on a checkered tablecloth with not even an ant to disturb them, she schooled Oscar in the ways of righteousness, and he confessed his many (though to Mercy somewhat boring) sins.

OSCAR:

So, uh. . .I’m free of sin now, right? Now maybe we could, W.T.F.,. . .I dunno know. . .

MERCY:

How about a skinny dip?

OSCAR:

O.M.G., yeah!

NARRATOR:

And soon, swimming under the sun as God had made them, they splashed and kissed and she rewarded him.

SOUND:

Splashing, frolicking.

OSCAR:

I can’t believe this! Woot! This is frickin’ great! R.M.S.! The most beautiful girl in school. . .the most beautiful girl anywhere. . .and she’s mine, all mine! Nailed it!

MERCY:

(having fun) How long can you stay under? I’ll time you. . .

OSCAR:

Okay! W.T.F.N.?

SOUND:

Oscar goes underwater with a big splash. Then sounds of struggle, splashing, gurgling, gurgling, gurgling.

OSCAR:

(underwater) W.T.F.! W.T.F.!

NARRATOR:

And performing this second Baptism was much easier. Mercy barely needed both hands holding Oscar under. . .and, after, when he floated on his belly like a fish without a loaf, he seemed so peaceful. He had left these earthly woes behind, on his laptop hard drive. He was in a better place.

SOUND:

School hallway, bell rings, kids bustling, as before.

CINDI:

Mercy! Hey, wait up.

MERCY:

(sincere) Hi, Cindi. You look nice today.

CINDI:

Yeah, well. . .look, I wanna make amends.

MERCY:

(hopeful) Oh?

CINDI:

I was wrong about you. I thought this I-found-hay-zeus thing was just an act. Something you put on to try to make people think you were sorry for what happened last fall.

MERCY:

I am sorry.

CINDI:

(no irony) Yeah, I think you are. I know we’ll never be friends, but I just wanted you to know. . .no hard feelings.

MERCY:

Bless you for that.

CINDI:

I mean, with all these deaths lately, it makes you think. Sorta. . .re-evaluate. It’s almost like God has it in for poor little Clarion.

MERCY:

No! God loves everyone here and everywhere.

CINDI:

Sometimes He has a funny way of showing it. I mean, first Peter Bishop. . .I mean he was an awful person, but. . .to get boozed up and fall asleep and drown in your own hot tub. Ewww. Then Oscar Pike goes swimming by himself, like he could swim, and the poor nerd drowns, too? It’s an epidemic! And our guidance counselor kills himself? What kind of way to guide impressionable young minds is that?

MERCY:

The Lord moves in mysterious ways.

CINDI:

No shit!

MERCY:

Cin – if you ever want to talk, you can come over to my house. Sometimes it helps to just. . .unburden yourself.

CINDI:

Okay, maybe I will. (laughs) I been thinkin’ maybe it’s time to take the “sin” out of “Cindi.”

MERC:

Never too late.

CINDI:

Anyway, I was gonna mention. . .I signed up for that church retreat this weekend.

MERCY:

Awesome!

SOUND:

Bell rings.

CINDI:

(off-mic) I’ll see you there!

SOUND:

Narrator’s speech below, drop in some car engine noise and perhaps a car door slamming at appropriate points.

NARRATOR:

Mercy had already been looking forward to the Bible study retreat out at the church camp grounds. In jeans and t-shirt, she drove out there late Friday afternoon, pulling up the gravel drive into the open space set within a cathedral of sun-shimmering trees. She was surprised that only one other car was there – Pastor Strickland’s. Was she early?

SOUND:

Outdoor sounds.

PASTOR:

(off-mic) Mercy! Mercy, come inside the lodge house!

SOUND:

Footsteps on gravel. Door opening, closing.

MERCY:

Where is everybody?

PASTOR:

The rest of the kids won’t be coming till tomorrow around noon. This is just my little surprise.

MERCY:

Oh?

PASTOR:

After meeting so often at my house for our Bible Study sessions? Figured this would make a nice change of setting. We can get a jump on this retreat.

MERCY:

(game) All right.

PASTOR:

You can bunk in the girl’s wing, and I have my own quarters. It’ll be strictly, uh. . .

MERCY:

Kosher?

PASTOR:

Yes, perhaps not the exact word I might have chosen. Do you have your Bible with you?

MERCY:

I do.

PASTOR:

Let’s sit by the fire. I have sandwiches made and soft drinks. We’ll dig in. . .to the food and to our studies!

NARRATOR:

For several hours, Mercy and Pastor Strickland talked scripture and theology, and she was very pleased when he praised her for how much she’d grown. Several times he put his arm around her and she had a momentarily queasy feeling. . .but she guessed this was just fatherly affection on the Pastor’s part.

PASTOR:

I’m so proud of you, Mercy. Of what you’ve accomplished over these months, redemption.

MERCY:

I have worked on your path to hard.

NARRATOR:

Then, when he bunk, he gave sent her off to her her a kiss on the cheek that maybe lingered a little too long. Or was that her imagination? She was just starting to undress when she sensed something, and turned.

MERCY:

Pastor! You scared me.

PASTOR:

Not my intention, child. Not my intention.

NARRATOR:

But he had scared her, as he stood there in the doorway, in an old- fashioned dressing gown. Purple and satin, sashed with a yellow droopy belt. Like the old prize fighters used to wear before starting the match.

PASTOR:

You are such a beautiful child. Do you know this verse? ‘Thou art fair. . .though hast doves’ eyes within thy locks. . .thy lips are like a thread of scarlet. . .thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed the lilies.’

MERCY:

I. . .I don’t know that one.

PASTOR:

The Song of Solomon. Continue.

MERCY:

What?

PASTOR:

Please. . .continue. . .disrobing. Let me feast my eyes on God’s great handiwork.

NARRATOR:

Oh dear. It seemed now the Pastor was slipping. How ironic that Mercy would have to save him. . .She slowly removed her things, and he watched her with half-lidded eyes, trembling, unsteady, as if he might fall over. Then she was before him as God had made her. But, of course, after puberty had finished the job.

PASTOR:

Now, dear. . .behold your maker.

NARRATOR:

The Bible said that man was made in God’s image, but Mercy hoped that wasn’t true in the Pastor’s case. This man was a skinny, awful creature with splotchy pale flesh mottled with splotchy white hair. His pitiful erect manhood shook like a scolding finger. Mercy had never seen a naked man so old, so wrinkled, so. . .disgusting. It was difficult for her to reconcile this shriveled beast with the kind reverend who had schooled her in the ways of goodness.

PASTOR:

Take my hand, child. You will make your offering to me under God’s great sky.

NARRATOR:

Mercy took his hand, and the perfect naked young woman and the ghastly older man walked into a pleasantly cool evening under a million stars and one glowing ivory moon. The sky was God’s handiwork at its greatest – the Pastor was more like an off-day. At Strickland’s command, she lay on the grass before him.

PASTOR:

Perfection. Perfection. There is a God. . .there is a. . . (pain) God!

MERCY:

Pastor! What’s wrong?

PASTOR:

My pills. . .they’re in my room. . .get them child. . .

MERCY:

First you must ask for forgiveness for the sin you were about to commit.

PASTOR:

Luh. . .lord. . .forgive me!

MERCY:

Good. Now ask my forgiveness.

PASTOR:

I’m sorry. I am only human. A frail imperfect man. . .ow! I need my pills! Don’t just lay there. . .get up! Get my pills!

NARRATOR:

Watching Pastor Strickland die wasn’t any worse than cutting up Randy Johnson’s body in that bath tub. Mercy felt a kind of serene goodness, sitting there naked, watching him gasp and groan and froth. He’d done something terrible, and was paying for it; but he was right with God, so it would be worth the suffering.

PASTOR:

(weak) Damn you. . .damn you. . .

MERCY:

Bless you, Pastor.

SOUND:

A groaning death rattle from the pastor. Night sounds. A distant howl of some animal. . .fade to morning sounds again. (No garbage truck.)

SOUND:

Phone ring.

MERCY:

(sleepy). . .Hello?

CINDI:

(telephone) Mercy, it’s me – Cindi. You want a ride out to the camp grounds?

MERCY:

Camp grounds?

CINDI:

(telephone) The church retreat? I can pick you up.

MERCY:

(still a little sleepy sounding) Uh, no thanks, Cindi. I’m a little under the weather.

CINDI:

Too bad. Well, I’ll say hello to your pal, the preacher man.

MERCY:

(flat) Do that, please.

CINDI:

Hey, you sound funny. You haven’t lost your faith all of a sudden?

MERCY:

Not at all. Not my faith. Or my calling.

MUSIC:

Ominous sting.

NARRATOR:

So before we say an amen to our dark little sermon, let me remind the randy boys among you. . .and the dirty girls, as well. . .that Mercy is still out there, right now, among you. . .saving souls. And to those boys especially, I must offer this friendly counsel – think twice when some beautiful angel offers herself to you in sacrifice. It might be our little Mercy. . .ready to send you screaming to your maker.

MUSIC:

Sting. Then into Fangoria Theme.

ANNOUNCER:

“Mercy” is an radio play by Max Allan Collins. Heard in the cast were:

Script copyright 2012, Max Allan Collins

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Mercy