Mercy
© 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 t
ime, 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!