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. .
