The Accidental Torturer

by Jordan Harper

A short play

SETTING: A garage attached to a modest house somewhere in the Midwest.
CHARACTERS:
ANNE, 36, a barroom beauty past her prime.
THE VICTIM, 30s, a young man on the hood of a car.
DEVIN, 29, a handsome guy coming from a nightclub.

SCENE ONE
Morning.

A dark garage. A car sits. The body of THE VICTIM protrudes from the shattered windshield. He lays on his stomach on the hood. Blood drips off the side of the hood from an unseen wound. ANNE enters from the house, hung-over and barely awake. She’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt, but she’s still wearing last night’s makeup. She stares for a long moment at the body laying on the hood of her car. She leaves.

Time passes.

Anne comes back in carrying a cup of coffee.

ANNE: Jesus.

She moves closer.

Hey. Hey!

She touches the body.

Are you okay?

A beat.

Are you dead?

The Victim moans.

Oh, thank God. Hello?

She pulls a cigarette pack from her bathrobe pocket and lights it. The Victim coughs.

VICTIM: (trying to look around) What? Hello?

A beat. His face is bruised and scratched.

Where am I?

ANNE: You’re in a -- a garage. (forces a laugh) My garage. I’m Anne. That’s … yeah. A garage.

VICTIM: What am I doing here?

ANNE: You were in the road.

VICTIM: I was … (moans) What? I was –

ANNE: Mister, I swear, you were smack – (laughs) oh my God. You were like, right there in the middle of the road.

VICTIM: You … (he touches the car underneath him) You hit me? You drove –

ANNE: I didn’t … I was just trying to get home. See?

A beat, but before he can answer:

Can you get up?

He tries and falls back.

VICTIM: Oh. Oh, Something’s …

The Victim cries out in pain.

ANNE: (Puts hands to her head) Oh, my head. Can’t you just -- You can’t get out? You’re stuck?

He can’t get up. He tries.

VICTIM: My legs –

ANNE: I can’t deal with this. No way. Nu-uh.

Steps away.

I’ve got to go to work.

A beat.

Oh, shit. My car.

VICTIM: Go? Go? You can’t – you can’t leave me. You can’t leave me here.

ANNE: What? Look, I’ve got to go. I can’t miss work. What do you want me to do?
She exits. He yells after her until his breath fails him.

ANNE: (offstage) Cheryl? Hey, this is Anne. How’s it going?

A beat.

Good. Look, there’s something … wrong with my car. Can you come get me?

The victim screams.

Lights out.

 

SCENE TWO
Evening.

The Victim has managed to pull himself partially free of the windshield. His legs still hang through the hole in the glass. There is more blood.

Anne returns in her office wear. She’s fixed herself a cranberry and vodka. The Victim is moaning.

ANNE: Hey, you moved a little! You look more comfortable. Feel any better?

VICTIM: Help me. Please …

A beat.

You can’t do this. You can’t –

ANNE: What? I’m not doing anything.

VICTIM: You can’t ... You can’t not …

ANNE: I feel really bad about all this, you know? I mean, this isn’t me. If you met me at a bar or something, you’d probably spend the whole night wondering how to get in my britches. And who knows? I might have let you.

A beat.

It’s just – well, this happened instead.

VICTIM: Please. Hospital. Please. It hurts.

ANNE: Shut up. They’d like blame this on me. Nu-uh. I mean, you were in the middle of the road. I mean, the fuck? (her voice changes) Hello, I’m mister dumb-ass!v(she pantomimes ) I like to walk in the middle of the road! (sing-song) Doo-pee doo-pee do! I mean, you know?

She finishes her drink.

So here we are. I mean, what do you expect me to do? Look, it’s just, like, I’m not going to throw my whole life away just because of one stupid thing. I mean, people drive after a few drinks all the time. Bars have parking lots, you know? But if I tried to tell them you were in the road …

VICTIM: (moans to himself) Crazy …

ANNE: Yeah, right. I’m crazy because I don’t want to go to jail for the rest of my life. I’m a looooooonie!

VICTIM: My name is –

ANNE: Shut up, shut up, shut up. Don’t tell me that. I don’t care. You did this. I’m just dealing with it.

The Victim, with great effort, turns on his side, revealing a large wound in his stomach.

ANNE: Oh my God. How on earth did you do that?

VICTIM: Please help me –

ANNE: Help? You want help?

A beat.

Fine. I’ll help.

Anne leaves.

She returns. She is holding a paper bag. She watches him from the doorway. He moans. She takes a drink and heads down the stairs. She places the bag on the hood and empties it: a bottle of vodka. Another glass. A bottle of cranberry juice. Some gauze. Some scissors. A stapler. A pair of yellow rubber gloves. She pours a very pale drink. She holds it up.

I’m going to help you. First, you’ve got to drink this.

VICTIM: Yes. Thank you. Please.

She tilts the glass into his mouth. He takes a swallow, then spits.

No!

ANNE: Come on now! It’s just vodka. It makes the pain go away.

He struggles, but he is weak. She pinches his nose shut and forces the drink down his throat.

Come on.

He gags and swallows.

Good. That’s a good boy. You’re going to be glad you drank that.

She puts on the gloves.

Now, don’t get any blood on me.

VICTIM: What.

A beat.

What are you going to do?

She picks up the stapler.

What?

ANNE: You said you wanted help, I’m going to help. Oh, God, know what would be gross? If like that drink just like jetted out of your stomach right now, you know? Like, I’m sorry, but really. But don’t --

VICTIM: Oh, Christ. No, no, no.

ANNE: Look, I don’t like it either. But that hole is so gross.

She gestures with the stapler.

I mean – you said it hurt. Maybe if I close it we can stop the screaming – the pain.

VICTIM: Please. Please kill me. If you won’t –

ANNE: Kill you? Shut up. Who do you think I am? Look, I told you. This is not my fault.

She gets near him. She gingerly touches his stomach.

Gross.

He tries to wiggle away, but he cannot.

Hey, hey, hey! This is how they do it. It’s only going to hurt for a second.

His surge of energy is through. He collapses back. She leans in. She uses both hands to lay down the first staple. He screams.

Oh, shut up. I mean, it’s like having your ears pierced, right?

She snaps the second staple in.

One time, back in high school I was getting one put in my -- up on top of the ear? What’s it – cartilage? That’s it. Remember when that was cool? And this ditzy bitch, she didn’t pull the trigger on the piercing gun hard enough, and the damn thing only went in halfway!

She snaps the third one.

And the girl -- I was like take it out take it out -- the girl pushed the stud through my ear with her thumb. Now, that hurt. That was through cartilage. This is –

She snaps the fourth one.

Just skin.

She snaps a fifth one.

Now, don’t ever say I never did anything for you.

Lights out.

 

SCENE THREE
Day.

Night.

Day.

Night.

The Victim’s stomach is covered in stained gauze. He sleeps. The tools from the surgery still lay on the hood next to him. A door slams offstage.

Anne laughs offstage. She’s talking to someone.

ANNE: (offstage) … and I was all like whatever. Bitch wears brown lipstick. Like, what is that?

DEVIN: (offstage) Yeah. Come here, baby.

The Victim stirs.

Victim: Hello? Hello?

ANNE: (offstage) Hold on a second, honey. Let me …

Music cue: “Love in This Club” starts a slow jam playlist that continues through the scene.

VICTIM: (weakly yelling) Help! Help me, please.

DEVIN: (offstage mumbling)

ANNE: (offstage) Stupid neighbor. Hold on. Stay hot, honey.

A beat.

Anne opens the door. She’s made-up and dressed up for a night on the town.

ANNE: (whisper) You’ve got to shut up. For serious.

VICTIM: You have to help me.

ANNE: (whisper) I don’t have to do anything. Not a peep for two days, and now you start yelling?

VICTIM: You can’t … I’m a – what’s wrong with you? I’m a human being.

A beat.

ANNE: (whisper) Well yeah. Who isn’t?

A beat.

What’s that even supposed to mean? Look, I’ve been trying to get with Devin forever. And he has roommates. You just gotta be quiet tonight. I promise to help you tomorrow. I totally promise.

VICTIM: The hospital.

ANNE: First thing.

A beat.

VICTIM: You’re lying.

ANNE: Nu-uh.

A long beat.

VICTIM: (yelling) Help! My name is Jonathon –

Anne muffles his mouth with her hand.

ANNE: Shhh!

She grabs the scissors off the hood. Puts them in his face.

You shut up right now. Nobody cares what your name is.

The Victim’s yells, muffled by her hand, grow weaker.

Nobody cares. Have a name, have kids, a family, nobody cares. I’m not fucking up my life. Nu-uh. No way.

The Victim is silent. Anne removes her hand from his mouth.

ANNE: (whisper) Okay. Good.

VICTIM: (yelling) Help me! Someone please –

She’s on him again. Scissors in hand.

ANNE: Oh, you did it now.

She punches the scissors into his stomach.

ANNE: Just look what you made me do.

She keeps stabbing.

Devin enters. He freezes in on the stairs.

Anne doesn’t notice him.

ANNE: (to the Victim) You just had to push it. You just had to.

She stabs and stabs. Blood covers her.

He is dead. She stops.

DEVIN: Anne? Anne, what did you do?

She turns to face him.

ANNE: Oh! It wasn’t my fault! For real.

DEVIN: Not your …

ANNE: Nu-uh. He was in the road. You like me, don’t you? Help me hide him.

DEVIN: What? Are you nuts?

She runs a bloody hand through her hair.

ANNE: I’ll make it worth your while.

DEVIN: No. Keep back.

He takes his cell phone out. Starts backing up the stairs.

ANNE: No. Don’t You can’t.

DEVIN: Oh, Christ!

He exits, the phone to his ear.

ANNE: Oh, go on then. You big pussy. See if I care. See if I even care.

DEVIN: (offstage) Hello? Hello? Police?

Anne sits on the hood next to the Victim’s body. Places her hand in a blood puddle. Looks at the smeared hand.

ANNE: Oh, just great. Perfect.

A beat.

This is such bullshit.

Lights out.