The Cult, Act II

[Two weeks later. The same office, morning. PRITCHARD is once again in good spirits and is, for the most part, as confident in himself as he was in the beginning of the play. TIMOTHY enters.]

PRITCHARD: Good morning, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: Good morning, sir.
PRITCHARD: It’s a beautiful morning, is it not Timothy?
TIMOTHY: [looking out the window] It appears that it is, sir.
PRITCHARD: [standing up, gesturing grandly] It is a beautiful morning, Timothy. It’s warm, the green is returning to our beautiful surroundings, life is returning to the land. Can you feel it?
TIMOTHY: [looking out the window again] Everything is greener, sir.
PRITCHARD: Yes it is! Timothy—you might think this sounds strange. But could you sing me a song?
TIMOTHY: A song, sir?
PRITCHARD: Yes! Any old thing. I just would like to hear the sound of music. I mean, there are the chants, but—those just don’t have any life in them. I need some life, Timothy! Something effervescent, something vibrant, something alive!
TIMOTHY: I don’t know many songs, sir.
PRITCHARD: Anything!
TIMOTHY: Well I do know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves, sir. Would you like me to sing that?
PRITCHARD: [frowning, seriously considering the proposition] Hmm. This song is annoying, you say?
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well I don’t know if I want to hear a song if it will only be an irritation.
TIMOTHY: I understand, sir. I wouldn’t want to spoil your good mood.
PRITCHARD: On the other hand, who am I to judge the merits of the song unless I hear it first? It seems to me that I would miss out on many of life’s greatest pleasures if I listened to the opinions of others without judging for myself. I don’t mean to insult you or impugn your judgment, Timothy—
TIMOTHY: No, of course, sir.
PRITCHARD: It’s just like the apple orchard we build on the east of the development. People said “we don’t need apples, it’ll be a bore, you’ll plant all the trees and a week and a half later you’ll forget you ever planted it,” and now what? Everybody loves it! They take their Goodness and Loyalty Tablatures and they read them in the shade and the breeze.
TIMOTHY: It was an unmitigated success, sir.
PRITCHARD: Good word, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: Thank you, sir!
PRITCHARD: Anyway, as I was saying—I believe I would like to hear the song and then make a decision on its irritability for myself.
TIMOTHY: That’s always the best way, sir.
PRITCHARD: Though again, I don’t want it to be a completely uncomfortable experience.
TIMOTHY: One would never wish such a thing, sir.
PRITCHARD: If this song really does, as you say, get on everybody’s nerves, perhaps it would be best if I did not hear the whole thing, lest it get on my nerves and dampen my spirits.
TIMOTHY: Perhaps I could begin singing and wait for you to tell me when to stop?
PRITCHARD: No, Timothy. You know the song better than I do so I wouldn’t want to cut you short. Perhaps you could just sing the first verse of this song that gets on everybody’s nerves.
TIMOTHY: That sounds fair. Should I begin?
PRITCHARD: Surely!

[TIMOTHY clears his throat.]

TIMOTHY: [sung to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic.] I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves! I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves. I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves and this is how it goes.

[TIMOTHY stops. There is a silence. PRITCHARD scratches his chin, then begins chuckling.]

PRITCHARD: Is that it, Timothy?
TIMOTHY: It is, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well that wasn’t so irritating!
TIMOTHY: You didn’t find it so?
PRITCHARD: Not at all! Not in the least! I think that the people to whom this song refers are simply approaching the song with the wrong attitude!
TIMOTHY: Perhaps you’re right, sir. A positive attitude can go a long way towards making an otherwise unpleasant situation enjoyable.
PRITCHARD: Exactly, Timothy, exactly! Chin up, I say! It’s a beautiful world. It should be enjoyed. One can’t approach the world cynically or the world will seem an unfriendly place.
TIMOTHY: Your attitude is truly inspirational, sir. Perhaps you should circulate a memorandum.
PRITCHARD: I do believe I will, Timothy. Add it to the end of the agenda. But first, there are other matters to be dealt with, am I right?
TIMOTHY: As always, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well let’s have at them!
TIMOTHY: Well first, sir, there’s the juice.
PRITCHARD: The juice, Timothy? Didn’t we address this issue two weeks ago? Or a similar situation anyway?
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir, but this problem is seemingly a result of the first.
PRITCHARD: Explain.
TIMOTHY: Well, sir, apparently word got out that you preferred orange juice and now that’s all anyone will drink. We have gallons of excess grape juice.
PRITCHARD: [chuckling congenially] Boy, those people sure do take my opinions seriously, don’t they?
TIMOTHY: They do, sir. A result of decades of fine decision-making, I’d say.
PRITCHARD: Well thank you, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: It’s true, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well, I suppose a decision needs to be made on this issue then, yes?
TIMOTHY: It would appear so, sir.
PRITCHARD: Something must be done. A decision must be made. And who is going to make the decision if not me?
TIMOTHY: No one, sir.
PRITCHARD: That’s right. So I suppose recommending the grape juice won’t do much good.
TIMOTHY: It will make people drink the grape juice at the expense of the orange juice and we will have an identical problem with the other juice.
PRITCHARD: Exactly! Well deduced, Timothy. So we’ll sell our grape juice reserves to the town and spend the excess on more orange juice.
TIMOTHY: But then won’t we have an excess of orange juice, sir?
PRITCHARD: Not if we simply deposit the extra cash into the orange juice fund and only release it gradually, when we need it.
TIMOTHY: But sir, if I may.
PRITCHARD: Of course, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: We are not having any orange juice shortages. We’re buying just as much as we need, no more and no less.
PRITCHARD: Yes, but this money would form an extra security cushion should we ever have an orange juice crisis of some sort.
TIMOTHY: Sound planning, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well, you have to be prepared for everything, don’t you?
TIMOTHY: Yes sir.

[Suddenly, there is a clamor of excited voices outside the office. Voices can be heard saying “He’s back!” and “Where are we going?”, etc. TIMOTHY walks over to the window and looks down.]

PRITCHARD: What’s going on out there, Timothy?
TIMOTHY: I appears there’s a crowd coming this way.
PRITCHARD: Into the building?
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir.
PRITCHARD: What do they want? What are they talking about?
TIMOTHY: I don’t know, sir. Should we let them in?
PRITCHARD: Yes, yes. I’m sure it’s nothing serious. Just find out what the situation is first.
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir.

[TIMOTHY exits. The voices are now directly outside the door in the lobby and some of them sound angry. One sharp voice demands entry into the office and a hush descends over the rest of the crowd. TIMOTHY reenters.]

TIMOTHY: The Sheffer boy is back, sir.

[There is a short pause. PRITCHARD looks at a loss for words.]

PRITCHARD: Back?
TIMOTHY: Yes, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well what does he want? Does he want to return?
TIMOTHY: I don’t know, sir. He is demanding to see you immediately. [Short pause.] Should I let him in?
PRITCHARD: Yes.

[TIMOTHY starts to move towards the door.]

PRITCHARD: Wait! No. What do you think, Timothy?

[There is a pause.]

TIMOTHY: I think whatever you think is best, sir.

[There is a silence. PRITCHARD is visibly worried by TIMOTHY’s confidence.]

PRITCHARD: OK.
TIMOTHY: Let him in?
PRITCHARD: Yes. Let him in. I suppose—yes.

[TIMOTHY exits. Voices can be heard in the lobby. PRITCHARD rolls his eyes, plays nervously with his hands, coughs. TIMOTHY is only gone for a few seconds.]

PRITCHARD: What in the hell is taking them so long? [Short pause.] I’m talking to myself.

[TIMOTHY reenters with DAVID SHEFFER following, looking out of place wearing a pair of tight jeans, an old Philadelphia Eagles sweatshirt and sneakers. PRITCHARD clears his throat nervously and stands up straight, trying to reflect a benevolence without diminishing his authority. DAVID is followed by a crowd that he has picked up throughout the convent on his way to the office.]

TIMOTHY: Should I let them all in sir?

[People continue streaming in, fifteen in all. PRITCHARD sees that he has no choice, but doesn’t let on.]

PRITCHARD: Yes, yes, let everyone in. We have nothing to hide. This is—
DAVID: Bob Pritchard!

[There is a powerful silence. The crowd looks at one another, confused. TIMOTHY, understanding the significance, looks at PRITCHARD, eyes bulging in shock and terror. PRITCHARD is caught off guard. He looks down and forces a casual smile. He is afraid.]

PRITCHARD: Ye—yes.

[Someone in the crowd gasps.]

DAVID: Your name is Bob Pritchard. You were born on December 9, 1958 at New Britain General Hospital.

[There is another silence. The crowd murmurs nervously. PRITCHARD tries to keep a congenial smile on his face, but is staggered. He considers whether or not what DAVID has just revealed hurts him in other ways. His knees are weak.]

PRITCHARD: [chuckles] Yes. That’s right. That’s very good.
MAN 1: How dare you speak to the Prophet that way!
PRITCHARD: No no, it’s quite all right—
DAVID: That man is no prophet!

[Exaggerated outrage in the crowd. Soon, one is just trying to outdo the next and prove that they are the most devoted to PRITCHARD, who waves his hands, trying to calm everyone down.]

PRITCHARD: Please, please. Now son, you know that is a serious accusation.
DAVID: You ran a nursery school in Andover for seven years before you went under and converted the land into a farm. You always had a thing for authority, it seems. Then you whipped up your little handbook and bought more land off the state and started this joint. You were a failure in business and that’s the only reason this place exists.
WOMAN 1: No! It’s not true! It’s not true!
MAN 2: I would lay down my life for you, Prophet!

[MAN 2 rushes forward and punches DAVID in the face. DAVID falls and the crowd cheers wildly. MAN 2 gets up on the couch next to PRITCHARD’s desk and raises his arms in victory, smiling widely. Another man kicks DAVID as he is standing up. TIMOTHY rushes over and separates the two, protecting DAVID.]

PRITCHARD: [shouting now] That’s enough!

[There is a long tense silence. MAN 2 jumps off the couch and tries to blend in with the rest of the crowd. PRITCHARD looks embarrassed.]

PRITCHARD: Sorry. I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to shout. Or scare you.
TIMOTHY: Sir—
PRITCHARD: Uh, please, please, give me some time alone with the boy so we can sort this whole thing out. You can all wait in the lobby if you’d like.

[The crowd files out respectfully. PRITCHARD and DAVID look at each other. DAVID is suspicious, PRITCHARD is trying to look as harmless as possible to make him feel at ease. PRITCHARD looks at his sweatshirt.]

PRITCHARD: Did you go to Philadelphia?
DAVID: No.
PRITCHARD: [making a lame joke] Did you see any eagles?
DAVID: No. It’s a professional sports team.
PRITCHARD: Yes, I know. I was—joking. I’m not that cut off, after all.
DAVID: The others are. They didn’t know what it meant. [short pause] Why don’t you let us watch professional sports?
PRITCHARD: Well, we have our own sports. No one has ever raised any objections before. [He sees that this is inadequate.] We have studies—Timothy?
TIMOTHY: Yes. We found that intramural sports are enhanced—
DAVID: You’re not going to brainwash me.
PRITCHARD: [Defensive] Brainwash? When have we ever tried to brainwash anyone here?
DAVID: You—
PRITCHARD: Never! This is a voluntary commune. If you want to leave, then leave! I don’t appreciate you sticking your nose around here and causing trouble with people who just want to live a happy, quiet life!
DAVID: It is brainwashing! What do you call all the religious claptrap you feed these people? Prophets! Visions! You’re a failed headmaster. You always had a thing for authority, didn’t you?
PRITCHARD: I have never overstepped my bounds. I have done nothing that I thought wouldn’t benefit the entire commune. I ask you—I dare you to show me evidence of any time where I used my authority unfairly here at Dairyview or ever!
DAVID: You’re a failure!
PRITCHARD: [hissing] A failure? Would a failure have close to a hundred people following his every word? His every suggestion? You’re the silly failure. These people listen to me. You— [he is embarrassed. He speaks normally again.] Look. The religious implications of the commune—
DAVID: Cult.

[PRITCHARD takes offense at this word but carefully hides any reaction.]

PRITCHARD: Dairyview is about brotherhood and leadership. Again, if you find life on the outside preferable, then you are free to leave as you have done before. But please, I just ask that you respect that these people want—they have—they believe in me.
DAVID: And that’s wrong.
PRITCHARD: [condescendingly] Uh huh, I see. And just how is it wrong, David?
DAVID: Because it’s wrong! You had no vision! You fooled these people!

[There is a pause. PRITCHARD takes these words to heart. He leans back in his chair and sighs.]

PRITCHARD: OK, David. I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone before. Timothy, I want you to hear this too. This is very embarrassing for me. It sounds silly—I used to take a lot of drugs. And one day, I thought I had a vision. And that’s where Dairyview came from. You know the rest of the story, it’s all there in the literature you’ve been taught since you were born. But that’s how it started. I believed in that vision. Now—I know—what it was. But I believed it. This wasn’t some cynical deception. It was a mistake.
DAVID: That’s wrong.
PRITCHARD: What’s wrong about it? My only goal from the very beginning was to make this place good and comfortable for everyone. I’ve tried to make the right decisions. For everyone! Have I taken advantage of people? Do I live in luxury? No, I live in the same lodgings as everyone else here. I’ve never forced anyone to stay or do anything against their will. There are no political prisoners, no executions. What more do you want from me? I can’t do anything more. These people are going to stay no matter what. I’ve done my best for them.
DAVID: But it’s based on a lie.
PRITCHARD: There was no lie!
DAVID: It’s based on a falsehood!
PRITCHARD: [standing up, now shouting] Oh, so what! People have been wrong since the dawn of time! Everyone who has ever lived has been wrong! The smartest, the greatest people the world has ever known have been wrong! Socrates was wrong, Napoleon was wrong, Columbus was wrong. Isaac Newton thought all motion could be explained by gravity, and for a while it looked like he was right. All the math checked out. And then what happened? Quantum mechanics! Newton! One of the smartest men to ever walk the earth! Was wrong! And God knows how long quantum mechanics will last until the next thing comes along.
DAVID: What does any of this have to do with—
PRITCHARD: Everyone is wrong. I was wrong. It happens. People have always lived with ideas that have been or will be laughed at later. This is another one of those. So be it.
DAVID: Who’s to say, you sad little nihilist! Who’s to say something out there now can’t work?
PRITCHARD: It doesn’t work! And look at history, it won’t work. And it won’t be long before everyone finds out and the next new trend comes along. I’m no nihilist, there’s some truth somewhere, but you’re a damned fool if you think you’ll ever live to see it.
TIMOTHY: [shocked, unable to contain himself] Sir!

[PRITCHARD swallows, looking uncomfortable and ashamed.]

PRITCHARD: Yes, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: I don’t even know where to begin.

[There is a short pause. MRS SHEFFER bursts through the door and hugs her son, sobbing. MR SHEFFER follows closely. The door is left open and the crowd begins to filter back in.]

MRS SHEFFER: My son, my son!
DAVID: Mom, please.
MRS SHEFFER: Where have you been? Why did you leave?
DAVID: I went out to find the truth about this place.
MRS SHEFFER: What’s wrong with this place? What have we done wrong?
DAVID: This place is a lie, Mom. His name is Bob Pritchard. He just told me everything. Ask him.

[A silence. The crowd looks at PRITCHARD who stands still.]

PRITCHARD: I think you should all leave.
DAVID: [breaking away from his mother] No! Tell them! Tell them what you just told me. About how all of this was a mistake. How there’s no truth to anything they believe in. How it was all just one of your drug-induced masturbatory fantasies.
PRITCHARD: [shouting] That’s enough!
CROWD: What does he mean? What’s he talking about? Etc.
PRITCHARD: There’s nothing to tell! And you, young man, have crossed the line! You have committed crimes against the Prophet! Slander!
DAVID: You’re not a prophet! You’re fried!
PRITCHARD: Everybody out! Everybody out!

[The crowd starts to move back into the lobby but is pushed back into the office by MARYANN, the daughter of PRITCHARD.]

MARYANN: What are you going to do to him?
PRITCHARD: Maryann, what are you doing here? What do you know about this lying miscreant?
MARYANN: He’s not a miscreant, Daddy.
PRITCHARD: Honey, I don’t know what he’s told you, but it’s all fiction.
DAVID: It’s not fiction! Lying to your own daughter, there are no depths you won’t sink to.
PRITCHARD: I’ve had enough of your slander! This is unprecedented! Timothy, what are the procedures for trial on the grounds of treason and slander against the Prophet and Dairyview? [Pause as Timothy just looks forward, lost in thought seemingly not paying attention.] Timothy!
TIMOTHY: Oh, uh what? Sir?
MARYANN: You can’t try him for treason! I—I’m in love with him!
PRITCHARD: Love?! You know how I feel about love! Timothy!
TIMOTHY: [shaken, speaking the words hollowly.] A shallow socially-constructed artifice that only serves to justify intercourse and other sundry acts of meaningless lust and abject depravity, often used to manipulate otherwise unwilling partners into engaging in said acts, sir.
PRITCHARD: That’s right, Timothy!
MARYANN: No! I feel things for him!
PRITCHARD: What do you even know about him? Enough of this absurdity! He’s a runaway and a slanderer and a traitor and I’m not going to allow this.
MARYANN: You’re being unfair.
DAVID: Unbelievable.
PRITCHARD: Silence! Not another word out of you! Not another word! I’ll let you know when I want you to speak. Out! Out! Everybody out but the miscreant and Timothy. Everyone else go!
MAN 3: Why?
PRITCHARD: Excuse me?
MAN 3: Why do we have to go?
WOMAN 2: Yeah, what’s going on?
PRITCHARD: Official business! Nothing you need to know about. Who are you people to— [softening] nothing. Nothing’s going on, we’re just going to have a talk with the boy and straighten some things out.
DAVID: Did you hear that? Another lie!
PRITCHARD: [shouting again] Out! Get out of here!

[The crowd begins to file out slowly. Again, MR SHEFFER and MRS SHEFFER don’t move, staying beside their son. PRITCHARD sees this and turns to them.]

PRITCHARD: [again calm] You two as well. Please, you have nothing to worry about.
MAN 4: At least let the parents stay.
PRITCHARD: OUT!

[The crowd, MR and MRS SHEFFER included, now hurry out of the office. They leave the door open. PRITCHARD shuts it after them. He is now alone with DAVID and TIMOTHY.]

PRITCHARD: Well, young man, you’ve gotten yourself into a lot of trouble today.
DAVID: I don’t care.
PRITCHARD: You’ve gotten all of us into a lot of trouble today. That you should care about. These poor people here today, you’ve shattered their—
DAVID: I’ve told them the truth.
PRITCHARD: Things were just fine before!
DAVID: No they weren’t!
PRITCHARD: Look, I’m not going to have a philosophical discussion with a sniveling little teenager. Timothy, what is the procedure for a trial on the charges of slander and treason against the Great Prophet.
TIMOTHY: That’s unprecedented, sir.
PRITCHARD: We have an unprecedented problem, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: I just don’t know if this is the best—
PRITCHARD: When I want your opinion, Timothy, I will ask for it! What is the procedure?
TIMOTHY: The Great Prophet will present evidence for both sides and make the decision for himself, acknowledging the guidance of the Guiding Spirits.
DAVID: Guiding Spirits. Rich.
PRITCHARD: Don’t mock me. Sit down.

[DAVID doesn’t sit. PRITCHARD pays no attention. Through this scene, DAVID is quiet and confident as PRITCHARD’s anger grows. Neither believes it will end as it does.]

PRITCHARD: Evidence for the defense: he is simply a child, he doesn’t know of what he speaks, he has been deluded by outside forces, he should be banished for his own good and for the good of the entire commune but any further punishment is unnecessary and would simply be meaningless, benefiting no one but the Prophet’s sense of vengeance.
DAVID: Did the spirits tell you that? Or do you need another Mystical Injection first.
PRITCHARD: Evidence for the prosecution: he’s a no-good miscreant poisoning the minds of other residents of Dairyview.
DAVID: Evidence for the defense: you’re a quack and a liar.
PRITCHARD: Evidence for the prosecution: the defendant shoots off at the mouth and has no respect for the Great Prophet.
DAVID: Evidence for the defense: the Great Prophet is a deluded failure.
PRITCHARD: Evidence for the prosecution: the defendant’s insul—insolence.
DAVID: Evidence for the defense: the prosecution is stuttering.
PRITCHARD: Evidence for the prosecution: shut up I’ll do what I want! The defendant is found guilty—
DAVID: Hah!
PRITCHARD: of all charges. Timothy, what are the penalties.
TIMOTHY: Uh, I don’t—
PRITCHARD: Timothy!
TIMOTHY: Choice of the Great Prophet, sir.
DAVID: Reasonable.
PRITCHARD: It is reasonable! I choose Penalty Phase Four.
DAVID: Governmentspeak. Nice. You’re good at this.
PRITCHARD: Penalty Phase Four, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: There is no Penalty Phase Four, sir.
PRITCHARD: Well what’s the highest one, then?
TIMOTHY: Penalty Phase Three.
PRITCHARD: That one then!
DAVID: Hah.
TIMOTHY: Sir, this is unprecedented, I don’t—
PRITCHARD: Timothy!
TIMOTHY: [now frantic] You don’t know what you’re doing!
PRITCHARD: [he pauses, then speaks with his voice thick with threat.] Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.

[There is a long pause. TIMOTHY is petrified. He quickly moves to a file cabinet and pulls out an old handgun. DAVID jumps.]

DAVID: What the hell is this?
PRITCHARD: Penalty Phase Four.
DAVID: Three.
PRITCHARD: Three. Timothy, into position.

[TIMOTHY holds the gun to DAVID’s temple. DAVID laughs.]

DAVID: No fucking way.
PRITCHARD: I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands.
DAVID: You wouldn’t.
PRITCHARD: I am. Do you have any last words?
DAVID: Yeah, I boned your daughter.
PRITCHARD: Timothy!
TIMOTHY: Sir?
PRITCHARD: Timothy!

[TIMOTHY pulls the trigger and kills DAVID, who drops heavily behind the couch. There is a significant silence. TIMOTHY doesn’t move, leaving the gun hanging in the air. The silence lasts for four seconds until we hear the anguished tortured sobs of MRS SHEFFER coming from outside the door. No one moves. PRITCHARD, who has been standing, starts shaking and collapses into his chair. He points feebly towards the door. TIMOTHY starts walking out.]

PRITCHARD: [whispering] Timothy!

[TIMOTHY stops, then notices he is still holding the gun. He flips it off his hand as if it were on fire, horrified. He looks at PRITCHARD who cannot return his stare. TIMOTHY rushes out of the room. We hear MRS SHEFFER being led away, her cries growing softer until they are no longer heard. PRITCHARD is alone in the complete silence, sitting at his desk. Finally, TIMOTHY returns, shutting the door behind him. He does not move into the room. The two men stare at each other.]

PRITCHARD: Timothy. I’m sorry. [pause] I’m so sorry.
TIMOTHY: I killed him.
PRITCHARD: Timothy, please.
TIMOTHY: You killed him.
PRITCHARD: Timothy, please.

[There is another pause. TIMOTHY moves over to the body, lifts it as if to move it, then drops it. He steps away from the couch. Blood has seeped into the bottom of his robe. He lets out a small cry and starts ripping furiously at the bloody fabric.]

PRITCHARD: Timothy. Timothy! Get a hold of yourself!

[TIMOTHY snaps up. He sits on the couch, holding his head, dizzy. There is a silence.]

PRITCHARD: You have to understand. They have to understand. I was just doing what I thought was right. I was just trying to help. I was just helping.
TIMOTHY: [frenzied, gesturing towards the body.] This! Doesn’t help anybody!

[PRITCHARD looks down, ashamed. Suddenly, he is seized by purpose and grabs a telephone out of his desk. He plugs the cord under his desk. He picks up the receiver and looks at the phone for a second, as if to remember how it works. He dials two numbers. Suddenly, his nervous breathing is heard over a powerful PA system. He speaks slowly and haltingly.]

PRITCHARD: Attention, Dairyview residents. This is the voice of your Prophet—Bob Pritchard. Dairyview is closed. I am not really a Prophet. That was—a mistake. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.

[He tries to say something else, but then just hangs up. He taps his fingers on the desk, then dials three more numbers.]

PRITCHARD: Hello, police? There’s a dead person at Dairyview. He’s been shot. It was a murder. Yes. Thank you.

[He hangs up again. He sighs deeply.]

PRITCHARD: I’m sorry, Timothy.
TIMOTHY: Yeah.
PRITCHARD: I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would end this way.
TIMOTHY: I knew it would end this way.
PRITCHARD: Maybe you did. [There is a long pause.] We did the right thing, though. [There is a long pause.] We did. Telling all those people. They deserved to know. We did the right thing. And for the right reasons. That’s always the best thing to do, Timothy. These things come back around. This will pay off. It’s good karma.

[There is a short pause. TIMOTHY looks at PRITCHARD hopefully.]

TIMOTHY: You believe in karma?

[There is another long pause. PRITCHARD sighs.]

PRITCHARD: Nah. It’s just something you say.
TIMOTHY: Yeah.

END