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,
