Captive in Purgatory by Mark McCracken

LIGHTS UP. 

A small, bland waiting room. Used furniture. Old magazines. Bad carpet. Weird paintings. Plastic plants. Muted Muzak. A middle-aged lady, Claire, sits looking a bit shocked and confused. There’s a knock at the door and a young man enters. It’s Steve. He looks like a Jehovah’s Witness with a clipboard, pen and white walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. He’s not a Jehovah’s Witness. 

STEVE: Hi. I’m Steve.

Claire looks at him. Steve reads from his clipboard. 

STEVE: Claire Gifford. 226 Willow Crest Lane, Hammond, Missouri? 

CLAIRE: Yeah. Uh—I’m sorry. I was—

STEVE:(at the clipboard) It’s okay. You’re dead. You’re just having the usual cosmic transitional disconcertion. 

CLAIRE: Dead?

He continues writing on his clipboard. 

STEVE: Mm-hmm. 

CLAIRE: And this is—?

STEVE: Purgatory.

CLAIRE: What!

He raises his hand to silence her. She waits. He finishes writing and turns to her. 

CLAIRE: I’m dead?

He looks back at the clipboard.

STEVE: Lung cancer. Smoking. Nasty habit. Did it myself. Okay. It’s pick-a-purgatory-task time. 

CLAIRE: (getting up to leave) There’s been a mistake! 

Steve watches her walk to the door and try the knob. The door won’t open.

STEVE: Touch-sensitive security. Intake staff only. Read the plaque on the door. 

She reads the little sign on the door. 

CLAIRE: Purgatory Holding. This section allocated by the Father, Son and Holy Ghost—in collaboration with the Holy Roman Catholic Church—for the occupation and eventual expiation—

She looks at Steve for an explanation. 

STEVE: Expiation. That’s like atonement.

CLAIRE: (continuing to read)—expiation of authenticated sinners. This shall remain a dedicated waiting area until such time as it is deemed the occupant’s sins have been summarily and sufficiently discharged. At such time, and then and only then, will said occupants be allowed egress and be eligible for heavenly processing. Ecumenical Code C-41/F. 

She turns back to Steve.

CLAIRE: What the hell is that? 

STEVE: Well, it’s pretty self-explanatory. 

He looks at his watch.

STEVE: Okay. Time to decide.

CLAIRE: There’s been a mistake,… Steve. I’m not Catholic. 

He checks the clipboard.

STEVE: Baptized. Communion. Confession. Confirmation. All the telltale signs of membership. 

CLAIRE: I was a child. I wasn’t thinking for myself. I haven’t been inside a church in—

As she thinks, he reads off the clipboard. 

STEVE: Forty-three years, eight months, two weeks, six days, seventeen hours, thirty-eight minutes and—

He looks at his watch.

CLAIRE: Never mind! I left. I stopped believing. I never believed. 

STEVE: Let’s just pick out what you’re going to do. 

CLAIRE: Wait a minute! Purgatory? Why not Heaven?

STEVE: Well, you sinned.

CLAIRE: What?! 

He looks at the clipboard.

STEVE: You killed a—Jonathan Heronimous Slater—when you were in college. 

CLAIRE: That asshole attacked me after work. Late at night. By myself. In a parking lot. Changing a flat tire. I beat him with the jack. The police took the report. The court sided with me. It was self-defense.

STEVE: He died from his injuries.

CLAIRE: He was going to rape me. What ever happened to unconditional love and infinite mercy?

STEVE:(perking up) Oh! So you do remember something.

CLAIRE: I want out.  

STEVE: Would it make you feel better to know where he ended up? 

CLAIRE: No! 

STEVE: Look. You’re dead. Okay? You only have a few choices. This may not be ideal. But it could be a heck of a lot worse. 

Frustrated, she sits.

STEVE: I’m sorry you don’t think you belong here. But according to everything I’m looking at—

He sits next to her.

STEVE: We’ll get you something to do. Take your mind off things. And then, after a while—

He indicates the plaque.

STEVE: When you’re done, we’ll get you into a better place. 

She looks at him.

CLAIRE: I was sick. A long time. Alone. And I prayed. For the first time since I can remember…

He refers to the clipboard. 

STEVE: I can check.

CLAIRE: Don’t! And you know what happened? 

STEVE: What? 

CLAIRE: Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Why, Steve? 

Not his department, Steve offers a half-hearted response. 

STEVE: There’s a reason for everything? 

She stares at him. An uncomfortable pause. Steve gets back to the clipboard. 

STEVE: Can we just pick a task? If I can recommend something. (he reads) Cloud herding. You’re outside. Getting exercise. 

She looks confounded. He goes back to a list. 

STEVE: Halo crew? Assembly line. Easy. You stay busy. 

She’s unimpressed. He checks his list. 

STEVE: Prayer transcription. Can be kind of fun. And a little titillating. All the misbehavior they want forgiven. 

She doesn’t approve.

STEVE: More cerebral? 

He refers again to his clipboard. 

STEVE: Records. Calculating days lived, sins committed, blessings dispensed. Real in the heavenly weeds stuff. 

Claire’s been thinking of something else. 

CLAIRE: Who decides when you’re paid up? 

STEVE: Oh! There’s a committee. Very upstanding group. Very fair. 

She gets an idea.

CLAIRE: What happens if I don’t want to do anything? 

STEVE: You mean—? 

CLAIRE: Yeah. What if I decide to just stay? 

STEVE: Just… stay?

CLAIRE: Yeah.

STEVE: Here? Forever? Never try to… graduate? 

CLAIRE: And hang out with all the do-gooders? 

He leans into her and speaks almost secretively. 

STEVE: You know, they weren’t always do-gooders. Makes for some interesting conversation. 

She is unmoved. He gets frustrated. 

STEVE: So, you’re opting to stay and do nothing? 

She sees it’s a bad idea and likes it.

CLAIRE: Yeah.

He gets frustrated, stands and grabs his white walkie-talkie. 

STEVE: Steve, here. I have a bogie in Section G-709/F. 

He replaces the walkie-talkie. A pause. Then a knock at the door. An older lady, Susan, a bit Catholic school nun-ishstarched clothes and demeanorenters. She is also sporting a white walkie-talkie and accompanied by an older man, Bob. She’s not happy. 

SUSAN: Hello. I’m Susan. This is Bob. 

Bob waves nervously. 

SUSAN: Steve. I understand we have a B-109/K? 

Steve indicates Claire. He hands her the clipboard. 

SUSAN: Didn’t she read the plaque? 

STEVE: She did.

SUSAN: And you gave her the ‘options’? 

STEVE: Yes. 

CLAIRE: I don’t belong here. I’m not Catholic. Not voluntarily. And I didn’t murder anyone in cold blood. It was self-defense. And, by the way, what the hell kind of décor is this, anyway? Isn’t this supposed to be paradise? 

STEVE, SUSAN AND BOB: Paradise-adjacent. 

CLAIRE: According to my beliefs—my chosen beliefs, what feels right to me—I’m supposed to go into a bright, warm, loving light and become one with universal energy. A great oversoul that we’re all a part of. The source of any spirit that lived or will ever live. 

Steve and Susan look at each other. They want to laugh. 

SUSAN: Well, Claire, that’s not the first time we’ve heard that one. 

She indicates Bob.

SUSAN: Claire, meet Bob.

Bob nervously waves again.

SUSAN: Bob had transitional issues, too. Didn’t you, Bob? 

Bob nods.

SUSAN: But he understood the rules and has been very good about sticking to his chosen task. Right, Bob? 

Bob steps forward.

BOB: I’m gonna be an angel.

Claire looks at Bob. Then Steve and Susan. 

CLAIRE: So, his penance—?

SUSAN: (interrupting) I’m sorry, Claire. It’s not—

CLAIRE: (interrupting) Oh, it’s definitely penance. Look at him. 

They do. Bob meekly smiles.

CLAIRE: So Bob’s ‘task’ is going around telling people like me that if I do what you say I’ll get into Heaven? 

They won’t answer. Claire turns to Bob. 

CLAIRE: Bob? 

He lightly nods. Claire’s had it.

CLAIRE: Right! I’m done! How do I get outta here? 

SUSAN: Claire, you need to understand—

CLAIRE: (interrupting) Bullshit! I can’t be the first. And by the looks of things, you haven’t got the budget to keep anyone here who doesn’t want to cooperate. Am I right, Bob? 

Bob starts to speak.

BOB: Uh—

STEVE AND SUSAN: Bob!

He clams up. They all look at each other. A long, tense moment. Finally, Susan smiles. 

SUSAN: All right, Claire.

She grabs her white walkie-talkie and speaks into it. 

SUSAN: Code Red in Section G-709/F. Repeat, Code Red in Section G-709/F. Any available extraction crew, please report. Got an NPC. 

CLAIRE: (laughingly unimpressed) NPC? 

SUSAN: Non-penitent catechumen. (on Claire’s puzzled expression) Look it up, Gandhi. 

Steve turns to Claire.

STEVE: Are you sure you won’t reconsider? It’s really a beautiful way to spend eternity. 

SUSAN: Steve, let her have her airy-fairy energized mosh pit. Who knows? She may even be called to live again. That’s another option, isn’t it? And fix all the screw-ups of your former lives. And—if I am any judge—you’re certain to have had a few. 

CLAIRE: Bet you wish you’d done some when you had the chance. 

Susan sits on her anger.

SUSAN: I know my place. What I’m doing. Where I belong. Just like Steve. 

CLAIRE: And Bob?

Bob doesn’t look so happy now.

SUSAN: We’ve got everything figured out. So much peace and comfort. Something a bright, warm, all-embracing nebulous cloud of galactic love goo cannot guarantee. 

Claire looks hard at Susan.

CLAIRE: Yeah. But I like that better. 

Susan forces a grin, then turns to Steve. 

SUSAN: Steve?

They turn to leave. Bob raises a meek little hand. 

BOB: Excuse me, but I haven’t heard about any of these other—

Susan grabs Bob’s arm. 

SUSAN: Bob, you’re so close. Don’t screw it up now. 

Susan pushes Bob thru the door and turns to Claire. 

SUSAN: They’ll be coming to remove you soon. Hope you don’t mind the wait. It was a blessing meeting you. 

She turns to go. Steve stops and turns back to her. He wants to say something but can’t. He leaves. After a moment Claire notices the magazines, reaches over and grabs one, reading the cover. 

CLAIRE: Farah Fawcett? This is fucking ancient. 

She sniffs the tattered magazine. 

CLAIRE: Smells like ass. 

BLACKOUT.


Mark McCracken is from Greensboro, North Carolina and started writing plays for his high school drama club. He won the SETC’s Betty Smith Award for original work. He attended the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York. Performed original works Off Broadway. Started a comedy improv troupe in Miami. Moved to LA. Optioned two screenplays. While acting, he continued to write. This time for Clear Channel’s comedy services. His work has been produced by the Silverlake Children’s Theater Group, Hollywood Fringe and independently throughout Los Angeles. He is tolerated by his lovely wife and beautiful daughter.