11. The Bishop’s Answer

INT. THE CANDLELIT DINING ROOM OF THE GRAY HOME — EVENING

Dinner is winding down. Plates are pushed away, crystal goblets are emptied, and cigarettes are lit. In the captain’s chairs of the formally set banquet table are Jack and Betty. At Betty’s insistence, Jack dons a three-piece suit and tie. His beard is neatly braided, his head is freshly shaven, and his left cheek is bandaged. Betty, her fiery blue hair wrangled into princess braids, manages to coordinate her laden tactical vest with her evening gown. Seated on Jack’s right is his “twin cousin,” the Bishop William Gray. William wears an ornate Roman Catholic cassock. The bruise on his neck is only partially covered by the high white collar. A ruby encrusted brooch — the Omega and Cross Emblem of the Crimson Confession — is pinned over his heart. Kyle, seated at Jack’s left, flaunts a silk paisley dinner jack over a black t-shirt and black slacks. His blonde mullet is moussed and puffed up. Young Liam, fidgeting at Betty’s right, pulls uncomfortably at his finest wool cardigan.

WILLIAM: Excellent duck, Elizabeth. Did it protest its demise? Have the fowl begun speaking here?

BETTY: Yes, but I wouldn’t know its final words. It was dead when it hit the ground.

WILLIAM: Ah, then surely it must have cried out when the pellets pierced its hide and it realized its doom.

KYLE: What difference does it make?

WILLIAM: Haven’t you noticed? The more fearful an animal before harvesting, the more delicious it is when consumed.

BETTY: Liam, why don’t you go up to your room? You can put on your pajamas and read for a while. Besides, I’m sure the dogs need some company.

LIAM: Are we having dessert?

BETTY: Later. I’ll bring it up to you.

Liam jumps from his chair and races from the dining room.

WILLIAM: (to Jack) Why do you hide your dogs from me? Surely it can’t be because of what happened at Uncle Hank’s cabin. That was… what… 33 years ago?

KYLE: What happened at Uncle Hank’s cabin?

WILLIAM: Elizabeth, is there coffee?

BETTY: It’s brewing now.

KYLE: Jack?

WILLIAM: You’ve never told the story, Jack? No! Not even to your wife, or so says her furrowed brow.

JACK: Let’s not.

WILLIAM: You’re so dramatically unforgiving.

JACK: Why are you here?

WILLIAM: Yes, I did promise to tell you. Of course. (he takes a long drag from his cigarette) Some time ago, I gifted your father a bronze statue of Saint Jude. Do you still have it?

JACK: Not here. Why?

WILLIAM: Where is it?

JACK: You want it back?

WILLIAM: Do you have it?

JACK: Yes, but it’s not here.

WILLIAM: Where is it?

JACK: It’s impolite to ask for a gift to be returned.

WILLIAM: Jack, this is very important. There’s something inside the statue. Something I need to retrieve. Please tell me you didn’t sell it.

BETTY: Something inside the statue?

WILLIAM: Yes, a key. Please tell me you didn’t sell it.

KYLE: A key? Is it for your chastity belt? No, I know! It’s for your footlocker full of child porn. (to Betty) That’s got to be it: child porn.

WILLIAM: (to Kyle) Fuck you with Satan’s cock! Jack, why is this hillbilly mutant allowed at your table?

KYLE: (laughing) Hillbilly? Excuse me, but I’ve lived in the valley all my life.

JACK: So, the façade drops. I’m not used to seeing desperation — or fear — in your eyes, cousin. Allow me to revel in it.

BETTY: What the fuck is inside the statue? A key to what? And why was my father-in-law keeping it for you?

WILLIAM: Jack, your father knew of the key, but he didn’t know what it unlocks. He only knew that it was inside the statue. Had the world not ended and had your father died under normal circumstances, the statue would have been returned to me upon his death. So according to his will that he amended after receiving it.

JACK: What the fuck are you on about?

WILLIAM: He was a lay member of the Holy Order of the Crimson Confession. We had thousands across the continent. They served us clandestinely: a secret brotherhood within the Order. Your father, Brother Robert Phineas Gray, was recruited personally by me. His devotion to the Church was second to none, and so he was rewarded with membership and a sacred trust.

JACK: (visibly angry) What does the key unlock, William?

WILLIAM: I don’t know, but the Pope has asked me to retrieve it.

BETTY: The Pope? In Rome?

KYLE: (solemnly) No shit.

WILLIAM: Yes. He dispatched a messenger directly. Took him months to reach me, sailing with wind and sextant from the Mediterranean and across the Atlantic, landing once again in the New World under the banner of the cross. The messenger and his party disembarked in Philadelphia and then rode by horse and wagon all the way to my monastery in Red River. The Holy Father’s seal was on the envelope. The wording was correct. The proper password was given. I am to retrieve the key.

BETTY: But you don’t know what the key is for?

WILLIAM: The Crimson Confession answers only to the Pope, but that doesn’t mean the Pope offers answers to our queries. We do his bidding without question.

There is a protracted silence. Jack and William stare at each other, as though they are battling head-to-head in a high stakes game of poker.

JACK: (deciding to fold) The statue of Saint Jude you are looking for is on my father’s desk at the auction house.

WILLIAM: The auction house down the road in Olyphant? On the banks of the Lackawanna River?

JACK: Yep.

WILLIAM: So… it is almost guaranteed that your auction house is host to monsters who have crawled from the river.

KYLE: Go at night. Less of a hassle.

WILLIAM: On the contrary, we have found that once the zombies take up residence inside a structure they will defend it no matter the time of day.

BETTY: Yeah, that’s been our experience during salvage runs.

WILLIAM: I’m sure. And from how many buildings that are right on the rivers have you salvaged goods?

BETTY: Barely any these days. Early on we tried, but the stuff inside is usually destroyed.

WILLIAM: Exactly my worry. However, seeing that I don’t have a choice, my knights and I will leave at dusk tomorrow. I will trust God that the statue is still within the auction house. I will recover it and be on my way. (he stands) Elizabeth, thank you for your hospitality and an excellent meal. At the risk of being rude, I will skip coffee and dessert. I must inform and ready my knights for our departure tomorrow evening. Goodnight to you. And to you, Jack. We will speak before I depart. I’m sure you’ll want to berate me one final time. And, Kyle: fuck you.

Kyle laughs. William exits the dining room. The front door squeaks with the Bishop’s departure.

KYLE: (standing) I’m going to head out, too. What do you say, Jack? Cigars and whiskey on your porch in an hour? Seems like it’s going to be a fairly pleasant evening. Not too chilly.

JACK: Sure.

Kyle leaves. The same front door announces his exit from the house.

BETTY: How fucked up is all that? I thought for sure you were going to prolong his torture over the location of that statue. What do you think —

JACK: I don’t have the energy for a post mortem. And quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. I don’t care what the key is for. If telling him where that statue is gets him out of here, then fuck it. (he loosens his tie and unbuttons his waistcoat) We don’t need these lunatics hanging around any more than necessary.

BETTY: Jack, what happened at Uncle Hank’s?

JACK: (after a long pause) Uncle Hank had a cabin up in Susquehanna County. My dad and William’s dad used to go there as kids. So when it was deemed that we were old enough, William and I were sent there for a week during that summer. We were 12 years old. It was fun: fishing, hiking, target practice, camp fires, and funny stories about our fathers from when they were kids.

BETTY: Sounds nice.

JACK: Uncle Hank was a good man. Patient. Kind. He loved the outdoors and thought everyone should know as much about wilderness living as possible. He was an avid hunter, but he was reverent. He loved animals. He loved dogs. He always had a dog by his side. So I was thrilled when he told me that I could bring my dog… when I was 12 years old… Her name was Lucy. She was an English Mastiff. Massive dog, but a tender companion. I had her from the time she was a puppy. She was only three years old. The night before we left, that last night… we were all sitting around the fire. Suddenly, Lucy let out a squeal. We didn’t know what bit her, but she was bleeding from her left hind leg. She wouldn’t walk. Uncle Hank tried to lift her to bring her inside, but trying to heft 180 pounds of dog when she was in pain… Nah. So Uncle Hank and I ran into the cabin to get an anesthetic and some bandages. That’s when we heard the shot. We ran back outside. William was standing over Lucy. The .22 revolver was still pointed at her head. William looked at me before he squeezed the trigger again. “Needed to make sure,” he said.

BETTY: Fucking hell!

JACK: Other than a stiff slap across the face from Uncle Hank, William suffered no consequences for murdering Lucy. I was inconsolable for weeks. I told my father I was going to kill William the same way he killed her. So our family — and the priests and nuns at school — held a mediation. I was browbeaten into forgiving William, into accepting his apology, into being “like Christ.” For my wrath and for my elevation of an animal over a human, I was tasked with penance. Years later, when I deconverted, I retracted my absolution.

BETTY: I didn’t know. I’m sorry.

JACK: William is a horrible person. He hides behind his collar and his orders and his Gospel. He is a piece of shit. He is dangerous. To learn that my own father was part of his religious delusion… I knew Dad was devout, but I never thought… (he stands) It doesn’t matter. I’m going to change out of this ridiculous suit and I’m going to meet Kyle on the porch for whiskey and cigars.

The squeaking of the front door is heard again. Kyle enters the dining room, but he is not alone. With him is Oliver Hess: barely an adult, tall, gaunt, and pale. His hair is wild, his chin is dark with stubble. He wears a bathrobe and striped pajamas. Kyle directs Oliver to where the Bishop was sitting and then reclaims his own seat from dinner. Jack sits back down with a heavy sigh.

JACK: Good evening, Olly. What brings you out of your aunt’s basement?

Oliver points to Kyle with an uneasy finger.

KYLE: Now, Jack. You know I’m not one for conspiracy theories or ancient legends or any of that bullshit. But something was familiar to me about what your cousin was saying. So, rather than letting it bother me all night, I decided to appease my curiosity and pay a visit to our resident tin-foil-hat-wearer. No offense, Oliver. Anyway, I gave him the abridged version and he insisted he come speak to you right away. When an agoraphobe insists on leaving his house —

OLIVER: I’m not agoraphobic. I just value my privacy.

KYLE: Okay, sorry, but here we are. Lay it on us.

Oliver looks down. His body language gives away his hesitation.

BETTY: It’s okay. You won’t find any ridicule in this house.

OLIVER: Okay… So, um, Jack. Your cousin is the head of the Crimson Confession, right? Yeah… So, that’s not just a typical order. They don’t have a public mission statement. They don’t answer to any cardinal or council. They only answer to the Pope. Just like the other five.

JACK: Other five what?

OLIVER: Um, yeah, so the Crimson Confession is one of six orders. There’s one for each continent, except Antarctica of course. Ha! Though that might have been something if there was like the Priory of the Penguin or something... Okay… anyway… The Crimson Confession is here in North America. In South America, it’s the Perpetual Penance. In Europe, it’s the Legion of Longinus. In Asia —

JACK: It’s been a long evening.

OLIVER: Um… Sure... Yeah so, together… um, the six holy orders and the Pope in Rome, they make up what’s known as the Omega Protocol.

KYLE: Sound like a good name for a punk band.

OLIVER: Ha! Yeah, well, no. The Omega Protocol has one purpose. Should the world reach a state of despair so great… Each order is tasked with keeping a key. At the Pope’s direction, the head of each order is to use that key. It’s a closed, hardwired network, Jack, independently powered at the source of each lock. A computer network connected through thousands of miles of cable that runs underground and along the bottom of the oceans. Once the Pope sees on his interface that all six keys have been turned, he uses the seventh key. The seventh key! Yeah… Um… No one is certain just how many go off, but the agreement among investigators is that it’s at least dozens… all around the world.

BETTY: What goes off?

OLIVER: (with a mournful giggle) Hydrogen bombs, each the size of the Tsar Bomba that the Soviets tested in 1961.

JACK: Okay.

KYLE: What the actual fuck?

JACK: You think this is plausible?

KYLE: We live in a world where zombies come out of the rivers and your pit bull argues with you in English.

BETTY: Fair enough.

OLIVER: This may be absolute bullshit. But when Kyle told me about the conversation tonight? It’s too on the nose, Jack. It’s too much like the myth. You can’t let him! He has to be stopped!

JACK: Okay, let’s all take a deep breath. Oliver, I assume you have books or notes or videos on this Omega Protocol?

OLIVER: Yeah, sure.

JACK: Let Kyle take you home. Gather what you have. We’ll review it together and go from there. Sound good? Give me about 20 minutes and I’ll join you.

OLIVER: (he stands) Yeah, okay. I can do that. I can do that! But, uh, Betty… did you make a pie? I smell apple pie. Yeah? Jack, please bring pie.

JACK: I will. Now go.

Kyle and Oliver exit the dining room. The front door opens and closes. Jack stands up and stares at Betty.

BETTY: I mean… Come on, right?

JACK: You should have let me kill him.

FADE TO BLACK