God of Hell (eBook)

Set: Early morning. Interior, very simple Midwestern farmhouse. Frosty windows looking out to distant vague, snowbound pastures-no details. Two rooms separated by a simple kitchen counter. Small kitchen stage left with faded linoleum floor. Modest living room, stage right, with plank wood floor, small couch downstage right. Many potted plants of various sizes line the walls of the living room, not arranged with any sense of design or order. An exterior door upstage right leading out to a small mudroom and porch landing. A black cast-iron school bell hangs from the porch ceiling on a short rope. Stage left wall of kitchen has an open arched entranceway leading to other rooms dimly lit offstage. The usual kitchen appliances, cupboards, and sink-all dating from the fifties. Down left corner of kitchen is a semiconcealed staircase leading down to the basement, dim yellow light leaking up from stairs. Handrail and first flight of stairs leading down are all that's visible to the audience.

Lights up on EMMA in blue terry-cloth bathrobe, slippers, moving methodically back and forth from the kitchen sink, where she fills a yellow plastic pitcher with water and carries it to the plants. She waters plants and returns to refill pitcher, then repeats the process. FRANK, her husband, sits on couch with pair of work boots in his lap, greasing them with mink oil. It's a while before they speak.

EMMA: He's not up yet?
FRANK: Haven't heard him.
EMMA: I thought they were supposed to be early risers.
FRANK: Who?
EMMA: These scientists.
FRANK: He's not a scientist. What made you think that?
EMMA: I thought you said he was a scientist.
FRANK: Nope.
EMMA: Well, what is he then?
FRANK: I'm not sure. I mean, I'm not sure about his official title.
EMMA: Official? So, he's working for the government or something?
FRANK: I think he's in research.
EMMA: I thought you said it was something to do with the government.
FRANK: No, I don't think I said that.
EMMA: Arms or something.
FRANK k: Arms?
EMMA: Munitions.
FRANK: I don't know. It has initials.
EMMA: What does?
FRANK: The outfit he works for. Out there in Colorado. DMDS or SSCI or something like that. You know how everything has initials now.
EMMA: DMDS or SSCI? Is that what you said?
FRANK: Something like that.
EMMA: What the heck is that? What does that stand for?
FRANK: I have no idea, Emma. I wasn't really following it. He was kind of panicky on the phone.
EMMA: Panicky?
FRANK: Yes. Panicky. Breathless. Like he was in a rush.
EMMA: Running?
FRANK: What?
EMMA: Running away from something, maybe?
FRANK: No-just-flustered.
EMMA: Oh, flustered. That's different. Flustered.
(Pause. She continues watering.)
Well, how come I haven't met him before this? He's such an old friend of yours, supposedly.
frank: Supposedly? There's no 'supposedly' about it.
EMMA: Well, how come you've hardly ever mentioned him?
FRANK: I don't know. He kind of disappeared for a while. I thought he was dead, actually.
EMMA: Dead?
FRANK: Yeah-or missing.
EMMA: Really?
FRANK: Yeah-or tortured even.
EMMA: Tortured? My God!
FRANK: Maybe.
EMMA: What kind of research is he involved in where he gets tortured?
FRANK: I didn't say he was tortured. I said, I thought he might have been-he could have been.
EMMA: Well, that's kinda serious, isn't it? I mean, tortured-criminy!
FRANK: He said it was all top secret.
EMMA: Oh-so that's why you're not telling me then.
FRANK: No, no-I'm telling you as much as he told me, Emma. It's just that-
EMMA: You don't get tortured unless you know something or...