// MARSCAPONE SR. RANCH //

The home of MYRTLE MARSCAPONE stands darkened in the night. Two bats perch on the underside of the porch. In a puff of smoke, the pair materialize. TRENTE GAGARIN, the daughter of the CHAIRPERSON, stands next to LENARD McCOY.

McCOY sniffs the air. A nearby ashtray is cluttered with butts.

McCOY

SMELL THAT?

THAT’S IT. THAT’S WHAT I SMELLED ON HIM THE LAST TIME I SAW HIM.

TRENTE

THE CIGARETTES?

YOU’RE OBSESSED.

McCOY

AND YOU CAN’T SMELL FOR SHIT.

HE’S BEEN HERE.

He continues to smell the air, walking toward the door.

McCOY

SO HAS THE TRAITOR AND THE HAG.

TRENTE

WELL SHE LIVES HERE, SO…

McCOY

(wincing) YOU REALLY CAN’T SMELL THAT?

TRENTE

WELL IF I STUCK MY FACE IN IT, SURE.

It’s a quiet night. Clouds threaten rain but withhold for the time behind. It’s chilly.

TRENTE

DOESN’T YOUR DOLL SMOKE?

Irreverence seeps thick through her use of the diminuitive.

McCOY

NOT THIS KIND OF TRASH.

THE HAG BUYS THE CHEAPEST –

WAIT.

SHUT UP.

A frown creeps over TRENTE’s face. She’s become accustomed to the mannerisms of the Doctor, but she despises being given commands.

He continues to sniff, trying to trail.

McCOY

BESIDES. I’M WORKING ON THAT.

TRENTE

OH, BUBBLES, HUH? BECAUSE THAT’S SO MUCH BETTER.

At this point, McCOY has stepped off the porch and into the side yard.

McCOY

THE HAG HAS PROCURED A NEW CAULDRON. LOOK.

TRENTE

MUST I?

McCOY continues to smell the air.

McCOY

FRESHLY TURNED DIRT. THEY’VE TRIED TO COVER IT UP WITH FRESH SOD, BUT I CAN SMELL IT.

He walks toward the wall of the house. On the ground is a small tombstone.

D.C. - A friend.

McCOY

HERE HE IS.

TRENTE cautiously weaves through the bushes, giving the cauldron a large berth. She stands next to McCOY and stares down at the black tombstone.

TRENTE

‘A FRIEND’?

McCOY

CORONADO WAS ONE OF …STRAUD’S. TWO TRAITORS HAVE A LOT IN COMMON.

MY OLD FRIEND HAS A THING FOR LIBRARIANS.

TRENTE

THEY’RE GETTING FEARFUL THEN, KILLING OFF THEIR OWN.

McCOY is silent.

TRENTE

LET THEM BE AFRAID. IT’S A WISDOM.

McCOY

I HAD HOPES FOR DUSTIN.

TRENTE

DIG FOR THE GLIMMERSTONE.

McCOY

WHAT?

TRENTE

THERE’S A SHATTERED GLIMMERSTONE HERE.

McCOY

THERE’S NOT ENOUGH TIME.

TRENTE

WHY WOULD THEY BURY HIM WITH A BROKEN GLIMMERSTONE?

A dog barks and the two dissolve into a cloud of smoke, reappearing as bats that scatter off into the night.