Monsters and Madman
ACT TWO: SCENE TWO
Darkness. A street corner, not far from IAN WHITWORTH'S house. Footsteps are heard on opposite ends of the stage, an ominous, lonely echo. Thunder rumbles softly and gently in the background. Lightning flashes occasionally. WHITWORTH and JONES enter from opposite ends. They walk slowly toward one another, meeting at center stage. The stage remains dark throughout the entire scene, for it is nighttime. The only light should come from a street lamp or, perhaps, a spotlight. Either way, it should cast an eerie glow on both of them, making their faces appear long and shadowed and vague.
WHITWORTH
(LIGHTING A CIGARETTE) Get tired of waiting.
JONES
You stayed away on purpose...didn't you?
WHITWORTH
Yes. There was no bomb threat.
JONES
You knew I'd come, sooner or later.
WHITWORTH
Yes.
JONES
I told your wife.
WHITWORTH
Did she believe you?
JONES
That doesn't matter.
WHITWORTH
No...it doesn't. Does it?
(PAUSE)
You came too soon, Jones. I didn't think you'd escape so quickly. I heard the news on the radio. You're a wanted man, doctor.
(PAUSE)
I was going to move away, change my name. Start anew.
JONES
You're lying. You thought I'd be on ice forever. You knew they'd never let me go free, not in a million years.
WHITWORTH
You're right.
JONES
You'd like to kill me...wouldn't you?
WHITWORTH
No.
JONES
Yes. You would. You want to kill me. You were going to kill me fifteen years ago...on that night. But Berringer surprised you. He came into my office unexpectedly. You were hiding, waiting for me. You didn't plan on guests, though. Did you?
WHITWORTH
(VAGUELY) I didn't plan on anything.
JONES
Oh, you planned everything. Everything was carefully choreographed. That was its charm, its macabre appeal.
(HE PULLS A RUSTY BUTCHER KNIFE OUT OF HIS SACK)
You threw this into the bushes outside when you heard Berringer coming. I picked it out of the hedge by the door this afternoon. Here...
(HE OFFERS IT TO HIM. HE TAKES IT, LOOKING AT IT WITH WONDER AND FEAR)
Bring back fond memories? God, if people only knew what a rich history that knife has. It should be in a museum.
(PAUSE)
How many since then? Twenty two is the total score, I believe. Twenty two little girls are laid to rest. And the same question has haunted my dreams for the last fifteen years. Why? And why didn't I see it sooner?
(PAUSE)
Why did you do it, Whitworth? Why are you still doing it...you goddamn monster?
(WHITWORTH TENSES UP. HE CLUTCHES THE KNIFE BY THE HAFT AND RAISES IT LEVEL WITH HIS BREAST, AS IF TO STRIKE.)
Go ahead. Go ahead, you don't scare me. It's what you've wanted to do all along. Go on, see if you can finish the job.
(WHITWORTH TAKES A STEP TOWARD HIM, RECOILS HIS ARM AND BRINGS IT DOWN FULL FORCE IN FRONT OF HIM, STABBING ONLY THE AIR.)
WHITWORTH
NO! NO! NOOOO!
(SILENCE. THEN THE SOUND OF THUNDER. A VOICE OFFSTAGE, PRESUMABLY A NEIGHBOR'S YELLS "HEY, QUIET DOWN OUT THERE BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!")
What do you want from me, Jones? You can't prove a thing. Berringer's in prison and Young's dead. I killed him. You didn't know that...did you?
JONES
I suspected it.
WHITWORTH
And if that goddamned Berringer wouldn't have barged in on me, none of this would be happening.
JONES
Now that was a stroke of luck, wasn't it? Bothersome, huh? Both of them showing up like that? Especially Young. Because you would've escaped, you slime...even though I already knew you were the man of the hour. You still are.
WHITWORTH
You shouldn't have followed me. I knew you were following me. I knew you'd come back to your office that night.
JONES
I had to find out. I was hoping for the best and wound up with the worst.
WHITWORTH
Why did you follow me?
JONES
I wanted to see about your blackouts.
WHITWORTH
You found out...didn't you?
JONES
Yes. I did.
WHITWORTH
Your bravery surprised me. I might've killed you had you tried to interfere with my work.
JONES
I had my sword.
WHITWORTH
You had balls. And that's all.
JONES
And a sword.
WHITWORTH
And I had my work to do. I do my work well, doctor. I do it very well. I'm the best.
(PAUSE)
I had more work to do tonight.
JONES
My God...
WHITWORTH
But you'll never prove it. Remember that. You'll never prove it...never ever. That's what being the best is all about. I'm unique. And I'll hurt you if you get in my way. I'll hurt you very badly. I'll kill you. Goddamnit, I'll kill you.
(PAUSE. HE BEGINS TO CHANT.)
Down. Down we go. Where monsters and madmen stage their gruesome show. Please cling to the rocks, for you mustn't fall. You can coax some courage from the nadir of your soul.
(PAUSE)
Cry, children cry! You'll never be heard if you don't. Except by monsters. And madmen. Ha, ha...and demons who snort in the dark. Foul creatures who relish your silence and leave a bloody mark.
(SILENCE)
Pretty good, huh?
(SILENCE. JONES JUST STARES AT HIM, DUMBFOUNDED.)
I said, pretty good. Isn't it?
JONES
You're gone...
WHITWORTH
It's great. It's goddamned great! I'm a poet. A good poet.
JONES
I thought you were...a novelist.
WHITWORTH
Didn't work out.
JONES
(TRYING TO COMPREHEND WHITWORTH'S TWISTED LOGIC) Why?
WHITWORTH
It just didn't, that's why.
JONES
What happened?
WHITWORTH
I quit. Took up poetry.
JONES
Why?
WHITWORTH
I didn't like the story.
JONES
What story?
WHITWORTH
My story.
JONES
Your confession.
WHITWORTH
Confession? What confession?
JONES
Of your...work.
WHITWORTH
(EERILY DISTANT) What do you mean? I'm an educator. What is there to confess about that?
(SILENCE. LIGHTNING, THEN THUNDER.)
JONES
I want money, Whitworth. Lots of it.
WHITWORTH
No.
JONES
I'll go to the police.
WHITWORTH
They won't believe you. There's no evidence. They'll just throw you back in your cage.
JONES
Oh?
(HE REACHES IN HIS BAG AND EXTRACTS A PISTOL AND A SMALL TAPE RECORDER)
WHITWORTH
Anything else in that junk bag of yours?
JONES
All my worldly possessions. My entire estate is contained in a number-fifty grocery bag.
(PAUSE. HE BRANDISHES THE TAPE RECORDER LIKE A WEAPON.)
Your confession is all on tape, Whitworth.
(WHITWORTH'S FACE IS BLANCHED WITH HORROR)
Think the police will believe me now?
WHITWORTH
And what if I tried it take it away from you?
JONES
(COLDLY) I'll shoot you.
(PAUSE)
You won't kill me. Too risky. For all you know, I might've already told somebody. And there's always the outside chance that they believed me. Right? They'd start looking into your affairs. And you don't want that, do you? It'd interrupt your work.
(PAUSE)
So, I guess you're stuck with me. It is blackmail, of course. But that seems trivial compared to mass murder...doesn't it?
(PAUSE)
We can talk business tomorrow night. At your house.
(SILENCE)
WHITWORTH
All right. Meet me at my house tomorrow at three. I'll leave school early so we can talk in private.
JONES
All right. It's settled.
(THEY BOTH TURN TO LEAVE, CROSSING THE STAGE IN OPPOSITE DIRECTIONS. JONES STOPS, ALMOST OFFSTAGE, AND TURNS TOWARD WHITWORTH.)
One other thing.
WHITWORTH
What's that?
JONES
I want you to retire. No more...
(HE EXITS, LEAVING WHITWORTH STANDING ALONE AT THE CORNER OF THE STAGE. HE LOOKS AFTER HIM FOR A SECOND, THEN LIGHTS A CIGARETTE.)
WHITWORTH
A man can't abandon his work...no sir. A man's life isn't worth living without his work.
(THUNDER IS HEARD. HE LOOKS UP.)
Feels like rain.
(HE COUGHS UP A LAUGH, THEN TURNS AND LEAVES. THE STAGE REMAINS AS IS FOR A FEW SECONDS, THEN THUNDER, THEN DARKNESS.)
CURTAIN