Monsters and Madman
ACT TWO: SCENE ONE
IAN WHITWORTH'S house, five o'clock in the afternoon. Fifteen years have passed since the end of the first act. The front room is fairly ordinary. There should be a couch, a chair, a bar, a television set and, most significantly (and most obviously), two swords, identical to the ones in JONES' office, hung on one of the walls. A radio can be heard clearly from an adjacent room. The announcer is talking about a prison break, saying something about the inmate still being at large and warning citizens to be especially careful because the fugitive is believed to be armed and extremely dangerous.
At rise, there is nobody on stage. A few seconds pass, then IAN WHITWORTH enters through the front door. He has aged perceptibly, but also handsomely. He looks happy, or at least resigned to his own fate. He is now the principal at the same elementary school where he has taught for the past twenty years.
WHITWORTH
(LOOKING AROUND THE ROOM) Shawna?
(HE WAITS. NO ANSWER. HE SMILES, THEN CALLS LOUDER, ALMOST SINGING HER NAME) Shawwnnnaaa...
(THE RADIO GOES OFF. SHAWNA WHITWORTH EMERGES THROUGH THE BEDROOM DOORWAY. SHE IS ABOUT THE SAME AGE AS HER HUSBAND. ALSO AGING WELL, SHE APPEARS, ON THE SURFACE, TO BE THE TENNIS CLUB TYPE: MORE FOND OF APPEARANCE THAN OF REALITY, THE TYPE OF PERSON ONE WOULD EXPECT TO MAINTAIN ORDER FOR ORDER'S SAKE.)
Hello there.
SHAWNA
Hi honey. How was your day?
WHITWORTH
Long. I'm starved. What's for dinner?
SHAWNA
Well...we're eating out tonight. Or rather we're eating out here. I ordered Chinese from Fat Fong.
WHITWORTH
Sounds good. When will it be here?
SHAWNA
Any minute now.
WHITWORTH
I hope you ordered extra egg foo yung. I love Fong's egg foo young. All I had for lunch was a cup of yogurt and a Three Musketeers bar.
SHAWNA
Poor baby.
(EMBRACING HIM, SHE SPEAKS WITH AN EXAGGERATED MAE WEST VOICE)
How about something really delicious, big fella.
(THEY KISS)
WHITWORTH
I don't know...I'm pretty hungry.
SHAWNA
(UNBUCKLING HIS BELT) I can take your mind off food.
WHITWORTH
What about Fat Fong? You don't want the egg foo yung to get cold, do you?
SHAWNA
Why do you think God invented the microwave, dear?
(THE DOORBELL RINGS)
WHITWORTH
Speaking of whom.
SHAWNA
God?
WHITWORTH
Fat Fong.
(BREAKING THEIR EMBRACE, BUCKLING HIS BELT)
I'll get it.
SHAWNA
So much for romance. You pay for the food. I'll got set the table.
WHITWORTH
(PLAYFULLY) I think I'm getting screwed in this deal, my dear.
SHAWNA
(AT THE DOORWAY, SMILING BACK AT HIM) That comes after dinner, sweetheart.
(SHE LEAVES, THE BELL CHIMES AGAIN AS HE HEADS FOR THE DOOR)
WHITWORTH
I'm coming, I'm coming. Jesus Christ.
(HE OPENS THE DOOR. STOOPED OVER LIKE A WILLOW, AN OLD MAN STANDS IN THE DOORWAY. HE HAS A PATCH OVER ONE EYE. HOLDING A BROWN PAPER BAG, HE LOOKS HOMELESS, THOUGH THERE REMAINS AN AIR OF DIGNITY ABOUT THE MAN. IT IS JONES, AND THE PASSED YEARS HAVE TAKEN AN OBVIOUS TOLL ON HIM. SO MUCH, IN FACT, THAT WHITWORTH DOES NOT RECOGNIZE HIM.)
Evening. How much do I owe you?
(HE REACHES FOR THE BAG. JONES JERKS BACK. STARTLED, WHITWHORTH DOES THE SAME.)
God, all I want is the bag. I'm starved, you know. Haven't eaten all day.
(JONES GIVES HIM A QUEER LOOK. THEN SILENCE.)
JONES
May I come in.
WHITWORTH
What?
JONES
(WALKING INTO THE FRONT ROOM) Nice place.
WHITWORTH
Thank you.
JONES
You don't recognize me. Do you?
WHITWORTH
Should I?
JONES
It's been a long time.
WHITWORTH
(STILL NOT MAKING THE CONNECTION) We haven't had Chinese food in months.
JONES
(HIS TURN TO MISUNDERSTAND) What?
WHITWORTH
You are from Fat Fong's, aren't you?
JONES
Who?
WHITWORTH
Fat Fong's. The Chinese restaurant on the corner.
JONES
(LAUGHING) No, no, no.
WHITWORTH
You aren't?
JONES
Never heard of it.
WHITWORTH
Then who are you? What do you want?
JONES
Well, Ian, It's like--
WHITWORTH
How do you know my name? Who are you?
JONES
Who am I? An old friend. You don't recognize me and that hurts my feelings. I just ambled over from the state penitentiary it's been so long, I thought I'd pay you a little visit.
WHITWORTH
The state pen?
JONES
That's right. May I have a drink?
(HE DOESN'T GIVE HIM A CHANCE TO ANSWER. HE GOES OVER TO THE BAR AND POURS HIMSELF SOME WHISKEY.)
Anything for you?
WHITWORTH
(VERY CONFUSED) No...
JONES
You sure? You might need it before the night is through. Cheers.
(HE DRINKS. HE SEES THE SWORDS ON THE WALL, WALKS OVER TO THEM AND TAKES ONE DOWN.)
Nice, Whitworth. Nice touch.
WHITWORTH
Who are you?
JONES
It has been a long time...hasn't it? Are you still teaching?
WHITWORTH
No. I'm principal now. But who--
JONES
Really? Now that's a surprise, it truly is.
(RUNNING HIS HAND UP AND DOWN THE SWORD, ADMIRING IT)
Really nice touch, Whitworth. I've got to hand it to you, you're very good. You're so...smart.
WHITWORTH
Should I know you?
JONES
No, I take that back about your being principal. I should've known better. You really are a very capable man. How have you been feeling?
WHITWORTH
Fine...I guess.
JONES
No more blackouts?
(THE HORROR OF RECOGNITION. WHITWORTH'S FACE GOES BLANK. HE GIVES JONES A LONG HARD LOOK.)
WHITWORTH
It can't be.
JONES
That's it. Look at me.
WHITWORTH
Jones...
JONES
In the flesh.
(SILENCE)
SHAWNA
(OFFSTAGE) Honey, who are you talking to?
WHITWORTH
It's just the...the food. I'll just be a minute. Go ahead and start without me.
SHAWNA
(OFFSTAGE) I can't start without you. There's no food.
WHITWORTH
Drink some tea or something. I'll be right in.
SHAWNA
(OFFSTAGE) Honey...is everything all right?
WHITWORTH
Yes, dear. Everything's all right
(SILENCE. POINTING TO JONES' EYE)
How...?
JONES
Another prisoner did it to me. With a fork.
(PAUSE)
Ready for that drink yet?
WHITWORTH
Yes.
(HE GOES TO THE BAR AND POURS HIMSELF SOME WHISKEY)
Why are you here? What do you want?
JONES
(STILL LOOKING AT THE SWORD) Jesus God. Just like mine. No wonder the wounds matched.
(PAUSE)
What do I want? Need you ask? We have a very big mess to clean up, my friend.
(PAUSE)
Is that your wife out there in the kitchen?
WHITWORTH
Why do you want to know?
JONES
Is it?
WHITWORTH
Yes.
JONES
Tell her to leave.
WHITWORTH
(THE BOOZE HAS GIVEN HIM BACK HIS CONFIDENCE) No. What do you want, Jones? What's going to happen?
JONES
(DRAWING A KNIFE FROM HIS BAG AND SETTING IT ON THE BAR) That'll be largely up to you.
WHITWORTH
At least it's not a goddamned antique this time.
JONES
You mean my sword?
WHTIWORTH
Yeah, that's what I mean.
JONES
No, they took it away from me, I'm sorry to say. I'm stuck with this diminutive butter knife.
(PAUSE)
Get rid of her, Whitworth. We have a lot of ground to cover.
WHITWORTH
No, I've got a better idea. Why don't you leave?
JONES
(PICKING UP THE KNIFE AND JABBING IT INTO THE BAR TOP, WHERE IT REMAINS) Now Whitworth. Fifteen years in prison has taught me patience, if nothing else. But I am not, I repeat, I am not a rational man tonight.
(WHITWORTH REACHES FOR THE KNIFE. JONES GRABS HIS WRIST.)
I said now.
WHITWORTH
That bar cost a thousand dollars.
(SILENCE. HE DOWNS HIS DRINK AND POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER.)
All right.
(THE DOORBELL RINGS. THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER, CONFUSED.
May I?
JONES
It's probably your damned food. We can talk over dinner...you and me. Alone.
WHITWORTH
(VERY SERIOUSLY) Now listen here, Jones, I don't mind you drinking my whiskey and stabbing my bar. But by God, you're not gonna eat my Chinese food.
(THE DOORBELL RINGS AGAIN)
JONES
Answer the door.
WHITWORTH
(HE WALKS TOWARD THE DOOR, FURIOUSLY) Shit.
JONES
Make sure you tip him.
WHITWORTH
(AS HE OPENS THE DOOR) Screw you.
(THE DELIVERY BOY FROM FAT FONG'S IS AT THE DOOR. HE IS DRESSED IN A SAMURI WARRIOR OUTFIT. HE HOLDS A BROWN PAPER BAG IN HIS HANDS.)
DELIVERY BOY
(HANDING WHITWORTH THE BAG) Your order, sir.
WHITWORTH
Great. Please, come in.
(HE STEPS IN. WHITHWORTH CLOSES THE DOOR BEHIND HIM.)
JONES
(THREATENING) Whitworth...
WHITWORTH
(IGNORING HIM) You know, I've always been impressed with you guys' outfits. They look like...pajamas.
DELIVERY BOY
Thank you, sir.
WHITWORTH
How old are you?
DELIVERY BOY
Seventeen, sir.
JONES
C'mon Whitworth. Cut and crap. Let's eat. We have a lot to talk about.
WHITWORTH
(STILL IGNORING HIM) You know, you don't look Chinese.
DELIVERY BOY
No, sir. I'm Jewish.
WHITWORTH
I see. Would you like something to drink?
JONES
Whitworth, I'm getting pissed.
DELIVERY BOY
(GETTING UNCOMFORTABLE) No, sir. I have to get back. It'll be fourteen ninety-five for your dinner, sir.
WHITWORTH
(PULLING A COUPLE OF BILLS FORM HIS WALLET) Here's fifteen dollars. Keep the change.
DELIVERY BOY
Thank you, sir.
JONES
Make sure you don't over tip him, Whitworth.
WHITWORTH
(TO THE BOY) Sure you don't want that drink?
DELIVERY BOY
No thank you, sir.
JONES
Leave the boy alone. We have business to attend to.
DELIVERY BOY
(AS HE LEAVES) Thanks again, sir.
WHITWORTH
(AFTER HIM, LIKE AN ECHO) Thank you...
(HE TAKES THE BAG OF FOOD AND PLACES IT ON THE BAR. JONES RUMMAGES THROUGH IT, PULLS OUT A CARTON, OPENS IT, SMELLS IT, AND PUTS IT ASIDE. HE TAKES OUT A BAG OF CHOW MEIN NOODLES AND STARTS MUNCHING ON THEM. WHITWORTH GIVES HIM AN ICY LOOK AND POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER DRINK. HE GULPS IT DOWN AND THEN POURS ANOTHER)
Well...
JONES
(WITH HIS MOUTH FULL OF NOODLES) I think you know why I'm here.
WHITWORTH
No...I don't think I do.
JONES
You owe me.
WHITWORTH
For what?
JONES
And now I've come to collect.
WHITWORTH
For what?
JONES
(PULLING THE KNIFE OUT OF THE COUNTEROP AND SLAMMING IT BACK DOWN AGAIN) For fifteen years of my life!
(WHITWORTH TURNS HIS HEAD AWAY)
Look at me.
(WHITWORTH LOOKS DOWN AT HIS SHOES)
I SAID LOOK AT ME!
(HE DOES)
I was a middle-aged doctor with a good practice before I went to prison. I was innocent...but you played it well, Whitworth.
(PAUSE)
I'm nothing but...but this now.
(PAUSE)
And now this shattered heap of humanity has come a-calling for a bone. And you're going to give it to me.
WHITWORTH
(HE NODS AT THE CHINESE FOOD) If it's a meal you want, feel free. I do feel sorry for you. I can loan you money for a motel. And I have an extra suit you can borrow.
JONES
That's not good enough...and you know it.
WHITWORTH
(HE POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER DRINK) Any more than that...well, I'm just not obligated.
(SILENCE)
SHAWNA
(OFFSTAGE) Honey...are you coming or aren't you?
WHITWORTH
Just a minute. Okay?
(SILENCE)
JONES
You're a juicer...aren't you?
WHITWORTH
What?
JONES
An alcoholic. You've become an alcoholic, haven't you? That's how you cope. With the guilt.
WHITWORTH
No...of course not. I like...whiskey.
JONES
It's an anesthetic. It numbs the pain.
WHITWORTH
It relaxes me at the end of a long day.
JONES
(HE POINTS TO THE BOTTLE ON THE BAR) Half a fifth?
WHITWORTH
That is an exception.
JONES
(GOING BEHIND THE BAR) My ass it is.
(HE PULLS OUT FIVE EMPTY, THEN FIVE FULL, BOTTLES OF WHISKEY AND PLACES THEM ON THE COUNTERTOP)
The full ones will be gone by the end of the week.
(SILENCE)
WHITWORTH
I don't have to explain anything to you.
JONES
No...but you do have to live with yourself. Don't you?
WHITWORTH
I am not an alcoholic.
JONES
Suit yourself.
(PAUSE)
I'm going to have another drink. I'm going to get very drunk. You will too, I suspect.
(HE POURS HIMSELF A DRINK, RAISES HIS GLASS IN A MOCK TOAST)
To our reunion.
WHITWORTH
(HE HOLD OUT HIS GLASS) Since we're celebrating...
JONES
(HE POURS HIM A SHOT OF WHISKEY. THEY CLINK GLASSES AND DRINK.) I haven't had a drink in fifteen years. It tastes good.
(SILENCE)
WHITWORTH
There's something that's been bothering me all these years.
JONES
What's that?
WHITWORTH
Why did you try to get away that night?
JONES
I was innocent.
WHITWORTH
Then why did you try to run away?
JONES
Because I didn't want to go to jail.
WHITWORTH
Yeah. But still, why did you do all those crazy things?
JONES
At the time, I was crazy...in case you didn't notice. And I said so at the trial. You should know...you were there.
(PAUSE)
The only thing that makes sense in this world is that anything very rarely makes sense. Why do we do anything? Half the time we don't know.
(PAUSE)
My mainspring was wound too tight in those days. We're all scared of something. Very few of us know what.
(PAUSE)
And one other thing. Nothing is ever fully resolved. You know why?
WHITWORTH
No.
JONES
Then it's a mystery. We can hide uncertainty...but not extinguish it.
WHITWORTH
That's existential claptrap and you know it.
JONES
My point exactly, Whitworth. I don't believe in psychiatry anymore. I don't believe in anything...not even God.
(SILENCE. SHAWNA ENTERS THOUGH THE KITCHEN DOOR. SHE STARTLES JONES, CAUSING HIM TO SPILL HIS DRINK.)
SHAWNA
Honey, I'm getting tired of--
(SHE SEES JONES)
Uh...hello. I didn't know we had company.
WHITWORTH
Shawna...
(PAUSE. HE HANDS JONES A BAR TOWEL.)
Uh...this is Digby Jones.
JONES
How do you do?
SHAWNA
The Digby Jones? But I thought--
JONES
Paroled.
SHAWNA
I didn't think...
(PAUSE)
You look different.
(SHE LOOKS AT HER HUSBAND QUIZZICALLY)
Ian...
WHITWORTH
There's nothing to worry about, Shawna.
JONES
I'm as harmless as a puppy.
SHAWNA
What do you want with my husband?
JONES
Well...you see, we never finished our last session.
(PAUSE. HIS VOICE IS POISONOUS.)
I owe him one.
(HE LOOKS AT WHITWORTH AND GESTURES WITH HIS HEAD AT SHAWNA, AS IF TO SAY 'OUT')
WHITWORTH
Honey, we have something we have to discuss.
SHAWNA
We do? What?
WHITWORTH
No, no. Not us. Jones and I have some things we'd like to go over in private. Do you mind?
SHAWNA
(GIVING HIM A STRANGE LOOK) No. No, of course not.
JONES
Leave the house.
SHAWNA
Leave the house? Why? What about dinner?
WHITWORTH
I'm sorry, honey. We shouldn't be too long. I'll put it in the oven.
JONES
(TO SHAWNA) Maybe you'd better eat elsewhere. We might be all night.
SHAWNA
Ian, what is going on here? What is this man doing in our house?
WHITWORTH
I haven't the slightest idea.
SHAWNA
(TO WHITWORTH) Should I call the police?
JONES
And tell them what? That you have a paroled felon in your house, interrupting your dinner?
SHAWNA
(TO JONES) You...you watch it, mister
(JONES LAUGHS AT HER)
You can't kick me out of my own house.
JONES
Screw it. Eat your goddamned Chinese food, I don't care. Go on, eat it.
SHAWNA
(PICKING UP THE BAG) I'll set the table.
JONES
But since you're staying, you're gonna hear a story.
(HE SPEAKS SLOWLY)
And you're not going to like it.
WHITWORTH
(MOCKINGLY) You'll be staying for dinner, then? Lovely. Honey, set an extra place for our guest.
(HE POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER DRINK)
JONES
All right. That's enough bullshit. Sit down. Both of you.
(THEY OBEY)
Good. Now, kiddies, it's story time. And today we have a fable, a parable called "The Psychiatrist and the Schoolmaster."
SHAWNA
Ian?
JONES
Be quiet lady.
(SHE IS)
Good.
(HE POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER DRINK)
I sip...you guzzle. Now, our story starts out fifteen years ago, in a lonely little office in a dingy old building on Beaumont Street. The principals in our story are an aging psychiatrist...that's me, in case you didn't guess...and a distraught schoolteacher, played by the distinguished Ian Whitworth, famous educator. Minor roles are played by an experienced, but overworked, police detective named Edward Berringer, now residing at the Idaho State Penitentiary.
WHITWORTH
He's in prison?
JONES
That's right...he's in prison.
WHITWORTH
What did he do?
JONES
He killed his wife one summer night with a shotgun. How do you like them apples, Whitworth?
WHITWORTH
Why did he kill his wife?
JONES
No one knows. He uncorked and blew her right in half with a twelve gauge.
WHITWORTH
Goddamnit Jones. Is this necessary?
JONES
(STONILY) Yes. A minor role is also played by Edward Young, deceased.
WHITWORTH
I heard about that. Pity.
(A PHONE RINGS OFFSTAGE)
SHAWNA
(PAUSE. THEY ALL LOOK AT ONE ANOTHER, NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO) I'll get it.
(SHE LEAVES)
JONES
(CONTINUING HIS NARRATIVE) And such is the fate of "the detectives."
WHITWORTH
Jones, she's gone. Cut and crap and get to the point. Why are you here?
JONES
You already know the answer to that one.
WHITWORTH
No...I don't know the answer to that one.
JONES
(MYSTERIOUSLY) And I say you do.
(PAUSE)
I'm your momento mori. You knew you'd hear from me someday.
(PAUSE)
Just not so soon...eh?
(SHAWNA REEMERGES FROM THE DOORWAY)
SHAWNA
Honey, it's the school. They say it's urgent.
WHITWORTH
Can't it wait? We're right in the middle of...this.
SHAWNA
No. I told the guy you were busy. He said it was an emergency.
WHITWORTH
All right.
(TO JONES)
Don't leave. I'll be right back.
(HE LEAVES THE ROOM. JONES AND SHAWNA ARE ALONE. SHE CROSSES TIMIDLY AND SITS DOWN ON THE COUCH, OBVIOUSLY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THE SITUATION.)
SHAWNA
Well...
JONES
Well...
(SILENCE)
SHAWNA
Would you like a drink?
JONES
I've got one. Thanks.
SHAWNA
Welcome.
(SILENCE)
JONES
(STATING THE OBVIOUS) You know...something tells me you don't like me.
(WHITWORTH REENTERS)
WHITWORTH
(HE IS VERY ANIMATED. AS HE SPEAKS, HE PUTS ON HIS COAT, HAT, AND GLOVES) That was Bainbridge. There's been a bomb threat at the school. Sorry doctor, but our little discussion will have to wait. And I don't know when I'll be back, so maybe you'd better leave. I mean, it might be quite awhile. It doesn't sound like a hoax, because they want a ransom. Jesus Christ, bombing a school. What's the world coming to? So, Jones, maybe it'd be better if you came back some other time. Another fifteen years would be fine, don't you think? We can have lunch.
(AS HE LEAVES) Bye honey. I'll call and let you know what's up.
SHAWNA
(CALLING AFTER HIM) Honneyyy...
WHITWORTH
(OFFSTAGE) What?
SHAWNA
Honey, this is the third time you've been called away this week on some kind of an emergency. Why can't they call someone else?
WHITWORTH
Because I'm the goddamned principal. Jesus, Shawna...this is a bomb threat. A bomb threat! Not a goddamned P.T.A. meeting.
SHAWNA
(POINTING TO JONES, WHO HASN'T MOVED AN INCH) And what about him? He's not moving.
WHITWORTH
(REENTERING) Oh Jonesy...
JONES
(SWEETLY) Yes?
WHITWORTH
This is the exit.
JONES
I know. You'd better go...I think they're waiting for you.
WHITWORTH
Yes. And you're leaving with me.
JONES
No, I don't think so. It's cold out tonight. I'll just wait here for you, if you don't mind. Or even if you do mind, I'll wait here for you.
WHITWORTH
I might be very late.
JONES
I'll sleep on the couch.
WHITWORTH
No you won't.
JONES
Yes, I will.
WHITWORTH
No.
JONES
Yes.
WHITWORTH
I SAID NO!
SHAWNA
Ian...
JONES
(STERNLY) And I say yes. I've waited fifteen years for this day. So...yes, thank you, I'm staying.
WHITWORTH
(GIVING UP) I've got to go...
SHAWNA
But I don't want him here!
WHITWORTH
Jesus, why does everything have to happen at once? I've got to go. Call the police if he won't leave.
(HE EXITS)
SHAWNA
(CALLING AFTER HIM) Ian...please. Don't leave me alone with...
(SHE TURNS TO JONES, WHO IS GRINNING)
Him.
JONES
Alone at last.
SHAWNA
Screw you.
JONES
Oh, no thank you. I'll just sit here and wait for your husband to come home, if you don't mind.
SHAWNA
My ass you will. You leave right now, before I call the police and have you arrested for trespassing.
JONES
Given the circumstances, that would most definitely be the wrong thing to do.
SHAWNA
Bullshit.
JONES
Go ahead and call the police, then. You'll see what I mean.
SHAWNA
(SHE STARTS FOR THE PHONE) All right.
JONES
But I can guarantee you that tomorrow night at this time you'll be living alone.
(SHE STOPS, OBVIOUSLY VERY FRIGHTENED)
I'm not bluffing. Go ahead and call, if you don't believe me.
SHAWNA
Are you threatening my husband?
(PAUSE)
Why are you here?
JONES
To collect...shall we say. I was never reimbursed for our last session.
SHAWNA
You're a convicted murderer.
JONES
So I've been told.
(HE TAKES A STEP TOWARD HER)
SHAWNA
Stay away from me.
JONES
Are you afraid of me?
SHAWNA
Yes.
JONES
There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not going to chop you up. I don't chop up women.
SHAWNA
(BACKING AWAY) Oh...God.
JONES
I never did.
(PAUSE. HE WALKS OVER TO THE SWORDS.)
But your husband did.
(PAUSE)
And he still does.
(HE PICKS UP A SWORD, HOLDS IT UP AND LOOKS AT IT)
Yes...I'm sure he's still doing it.
SHAWNA
You're crazy.
JONES
No. He is. Your husband's a killer. A brutal and sadistic butcher. He's very professional, in fact, about his hobby, his avocation.
SHAWNA
I don't believe you.
JONES
(VAGUELY) You know, I was going to spare you. That's why I wanted you to leave. But you've put yourself right in the middle of things.
(PAUSE)
God help you if you get hurt.
SHAWNA
You're going to kill me. Aren't you?
JONES
No, I'm not going to kill you. I wanted to protect you from your husband's terrible secret.
SHAWNA
My husband is not a criminal. For God's sake, I'm his wife...I should know.
JONES
Would you have said that fifteen years ago? That you know? That you understand this man?
SHAWNA
My husband had...problems. But that was fifteen years ago. It's true, I was unaware of them at the time. But he worked things out. And everything was just fine until this evening.
(PAUSE)
You're a ghost from the past. Why are you here?
JONES
Your husband's still got problems.
(PAUSE)
Do you really think he left because of a bomb threat. Do you? He lied to you. He was running away from me. But I wouldn't bite. He probably would've killed me if I'd followed him.
SHAWNA
I don't believe you.
JONES
I'm really just a kind old man who made a mistake. Call me grandpa, if you like. They did in prison.
SHAWNA
That's not funny.
JONES
It wasn't meant to be.
SHAWNA
You still haven't told me why you've come here.
JONES
You really want to know?
(PAUSE)
Your husband knows I know. I'm sure of that. I've been sure of that for fifteen years.
(PAUSE)
I want him to help me.
SHAWNA
Help you do what?
JONES
Help me get back on my feet again. He owes me.
SHAWNA
(A REVELATION) You're going to blackmail him...aren't you?
JONES
That's such an ugly way of putting it.
SHAWNA
But with what? All you have are puffballs of your own imagination. A convicted murderer accusing a respectable man of his own crime? Who'll believe you?
JONES
You do. Don't you?
SHAWNA
No.
JONES
Yes, you do. Your husband will accommodate me.
SHAWNA
Accommodate? What do you mean?
JONES
Let's just say that I'm going to write a book. My memoirs. You and your husband are going to subsidize me, if you know what I mean.
SHAWNA
That's funny, doctor. I can't wait until Ian hears this.
JONES
(STRANGELY) Neither can I. He'll die laughing...won't he?
(SILENCE. THE CONVERSATION HAS RUN OUT OF STEAM. JONES POURS HIMSELF ANOTHER DRINK. SHAWNA TURNS ON THE TELEVISION SET, THEN FIDDLES WITH THE CHINESE FOOD, NOT HUNGRY AT ALL. THEIR EYES FIX ON ONE ANOTHER AS THE LIGHTS BEGIN TO FADE, LEAVING ONLY THE LIGHT FROM THE TELEVISION.)
CURTAIN