Page 64 of Gifted & Talented

59

Scene: The Wren House.

The Players:

Arthur Wren

Gillian Wren

Yves Reza

Cass Mizuno

Eilidh Wren

Meredith Wren

Dzhuliya Aguilar

God, also known casually as Lou

Monster, the holy progeny

John, the elderly lawyer

Ryan, the smarmy lawyer

Arthur enters the house from the front door. Lou is behind him, struggling with a small toddler who really loves to climb stairs but isn’t necessarily any good at it. Gillian is in the living room, prettily dressed, pacing.

Gillian: You’re back!

Arthur: Yes.

Gillian: Thank god. Everything okay?

Arthur: Not really. Gillian, did you kill Philippa?

Gillian: What?

Arthur: Well, your phone call was very cryptic, and I just had to be sure—

Gillian: Oh my god, what?

Eilidh enters from the living room with Cass, and Dzhuliya, who lingers at the rear.

Eilidh: Oh good, Arthur’s here. Is that everyone? Oh, hi Lou.

Lou gives a winded motion of her hand that appears to be a wave. Monster is immediately taken by a small ceramic bookend.

Monster: Doggie!

Cass: Where is Meredith?

Meredith is sitting quietly on the stairs in the dark, such that nobody notices her right away.

Meredith: Here.

Eilidh jumps.

Eilidh: Holy balls!

Meredith: What?

Gillian, still disturbed, turns to Arthur.

Gillian: Arthur, I’m sorry to interrupt, but what do you mean ‘did you kill Philippa’?

Meredith: Yes, back to that. Gillian asks a very important question, Brother Accusatory.

Lou looks at Arthur, who isn’t really looking at anyone. Not in the sense that he is ignoring them; more like he is underwater and can’t physically hear them.

Lou: It kinda seems like a lot to dig into right now.

Arthur: Yes. In fact I’d love it if we could take care of this quickly. I’m still in a great deal of shock, I think. Oh, and Yves—they’re waiting for us at the hospital.

Yves looks up from where he has been making pancakes in the kitchen.

Yves: The hospital?

Arthur: Well, the morgue.

Arthur barks an incredibly unstable laugh. Gillian looks worriedly at him, as does Eilidh.

Eilidh: Are you okay, Arthur?

Arthur: I actually can’t feel my fingers, so let’s just go talk to the lawyers.

The family shuffles into the dining room where the lawyers are waiting. Meredith has seen Lou but not acknowledged her presence. Which is very astounding because Lou is holding a wriggling Monster, or not really holding, as it were. Certainly not successfully.

Eilidh: Should… everybody be here?

Meredith then looks at Lou. Arthur looks at Dzhuliya. Eilidh looks at Yves. Monster looks at the chandelier and points to it. Then he points to the light fixtures on the wall.

Monster: Ball! Ball. Ball. Ball!

Lou: Those are sconces. But close!

Arthur looks pale, like he will vomit at any moment. Yves stands beside him and sets a hand on his shoulder. Gillian looks as if she’d like to do the same but can’t quite figure out the mechanics of such a motion. Instead, she stands erect beside him, the perfect politician’s wife.

Arthur: Let’s just get this over with. Do we really even care who hears this? It’ll be public knowledge soon anyway.

Eilidh looks at Meredith, who is being unusually quiet.

Meredith: Yeah, let’s just hear it.

The lawyers exchange a glance. Ryan shrugs insouciantly, so John proceeds.

John: So, the judge ruled that Mr. Behrend does indeed have the valid last will and testament. There may still be some legal challenges, depending, but it does not appear that Thayer was coerced in any way, and medically he was, as far as we know, of sound mind.

Lou mouths As far as we know? with a questioning look on her face. Yves gives her a small wave with his free hand and replies soberly I’m Yves!

John: And so—

John clears his throat as if hoping someone, specifically Ryan, will interrupt and take over. It’s clear he isn’t happy at all about what he has no choice but to say.

John: As to the most contentious matter, which is that of the ownership shares in Wrenfare Magitech. Your father has bequeathed the entirety of his majority shares to—

John clears his throat again. His eyes dart helplessly around the room.

John: His eldest daughter. Meredith Honora Wren.

Everyone looks at Meredith except for Eilidh. Eilidh stares straight ahead at a fixed point on the wall. Meredith looks at Lou and seems unsurprised.

John: And as for the, ah, the money. And such. That is all to be split equally between his descendants. Meredith Honora Wren, Arthur Everett Wren, Eilidh Olympia Wren, and—

John stops again. Monster points to something, then claps and looks at Lou as if for confirmation that he has done well.

John: The unborn child of Thayer Wren and Dzhuliya Aguilar.

Now every head in the room swivels to Dzhuliya except for Ryan, the younger lawyer who has known the contents of the will this whole time. He is looking smugly at Meredith for reasons that are probably very petty, based purely on the type of glance it seems to be.

Now both Eilidh and Arthur look as though they will vomit.

Eilidh: Is. This. A fucking. Joke.?

Gillian makes a compulsive attempt to pacify the situation.

Gillian: This is… it’s wonderful news, of course—

Eilidh: I’m going to be sick.

Arthur: How much money is there, exactly?

John looks heavenward for bolstering. Predictably no one answers.

John: Thayer Wren’s net worth is in the billions, but nearly all of that is tied up in Wrenfare. His actual assets include this house, the flat in San Francisco—

Eilidh and Meredith, in unison: What flat in San Francisco?

Dzhuliya reddens. Eilidh’s expression doesn’t change, though her eyes begin to look unfocused with rage. She looks as though distracted, as if there is a buzzing in her head growing louder and louder, a swarm incoming.

Meredith speaks faintly, some of her careful stillness slipping.

Meredith: Oh.

John continues on as if nobody interrupted.

John: And there is the summer house that Thayer Wren co-owned with his late wife Persephone, and the cars. As for the money in his personal accounts, they contain about two million dollars, not all of which is liquid.

Meredith: Is that including his investment accounts?

John: Yes.

Arthur: And that’s split between the… four of us.

It isn’t a question; more like someone repeating out loud the most ridiculous thing they have ever heard, just to be sure everyone else is hearing it too.

John coughs as if something is stuck in his throat.

John: Yes.

Silence.

Lou: Okay, look, I know I don’t actually go here, but we’re all thinking it. Obviously that’s a substantial sum of money for anyone, but we’re talking about one of the richest men in the fucking world.

Meredith and Lou lock eyes and skitter away.

Nobody: Where did all the money go?

Eilidh looks repulsed, physically sick, like her appendix is bursting. The next words out of her mouth seem to pain her, as if someone has surgically removed them from her throat. She forces them out like she should be enjoying them; like she should mean them. Like shoving another piece of sickly sweet cake between her lips.

Eilidh: Let’s not be greedy.

Meredith scoffs, as if this, more than anything she has heard over the course of the last few minutes, is the dumbest thing anyone has ever said in the history of the world. As if somewhere, angels wept over the stunning emptiness of thought. As if the idiocy was such that dark arts could only be blamed, for such incompetency is written, prophesied for centuries by hell itself.

Eilidh: Is there something you’d like to say to me, Meredith?

Eilidh’s mask is slipping. Her hair seems to cascade from its usual sleek bun.

Meredith turns to her with unmissable combativeness.

Meredith: Dad’s dead, Eilidh. You don’t need to win him over anymore. You can admit that he fucked us with this.

Eilidh struggles to breathe, warring internally with her wrathful swarm.

Eilidh: Is that really what you think? That he fucked us, plural?

Meredith scoffs again, this time with no small showing of pity.

Meredith: You don’t know the half of it.

Eilidh: Oh? Then fucking enlighten me, Sister Bitch.

Meredith’s posture goes rigid. Arthur isn’t listening, lost in his own thoughts. His inattentiveness to his usual role of arbitration makes the situation rapidly worse.

Meredith: Excuse me?

John looks profoundly uncomfortable.

John: I should add—there are some personal stipulations. Part of Thayer’s bequeathal necessitates that Eilidh Olympia Wren will always have employment at Wrenfare, should she choose it.

Eilidh looks stricken by this, the swarm temporarily stilling between her ears.

Eilidh: Are—are you serious?

Meredith looks smugly repulsed.

Meredith: There you go, Eilidh. Daddy’s little princess will never have to hunt for food, she’ll never have to starve. Happy now?

The two sisters stare at each other.

Eilidh: Do you really think I don’t know what that means?

Meredith: No, I don’t think you do, Eilidh.

Arthur’s knuckles turn white; beneath the sconces, the dining room lights flicker with the cadence of a racing pulse. Lou notices. She looks at Arthur, more concerned than questioning, which awakens Arthur’s impulses for mediation. He rouses as if from the dead.

Arthur: Come on. Eilidh, she’s right. Death, leave Eilidh alone.

Meredith: Oh, thank you, Brother Saintly—

Arthur: Meredith.

He looks as if he’d like to say more but can’t. His hands are trembling, the chandelier overhead beginning to shower the floor with sparks, a cascade of light that twirls in ribbons as it spirals onto the dining room carpet. Lou observes all this with a puzzled frown. Monster claps his hands. Yves disappears into the kitchen.

Gillian looks painfully up at Arthur, speaking quietly to him.

Gillian: You never needed anything from him, Art.

Arthur: I needed lots of things from him, actually. But you’re probably right that they were never going to be in the will.

Yves returns with a casserole tray full of water and places it on the lightly smoldering carpet by Arthur’s feet. Monster reaches for it.

Monster: Ahhhhh!

It’s a pleasantly disruptive sound of youthful delight. Unfortunately, it does little to dissolve the tension. John looks desperately for an escape hatch. Sensing that nothing further will happen over which he can gloat, Ryan nods curtly to the room.

Ryan: Well, we’ll leave you to discuss. Should any of you need anything, here’s my card.

He places it on the table. Then he leaves, although first he tries to tickle Monster, who lurches away, clinging shyly to Lou. For what it’s worth, Lou remembers Ryan, though he clearly doesn’t remember her.

Ryan: Cute kid.

Lou: Please don’t touch my child.

Ryan: Whatever, geez, relax.

John opens his mouth as if to say something comforting, but ostensibly realizes there is nothing to be said.

Before he takes his leave, though, he turns to Meredith.

John: You should expect a phone call from the board at Wrenfare shortly. I will inform them of the will’s contents now, and they can get you up to speed on the current state of the company.

John turns to the other two siblings.

Well, three, including Dzhuliya’s womb.

John: I don’t suppose I should say this… but I think you should know that the will Thayer originally drew up at the time of Persephone’s death split the shares equally among his children. If Meredith is willing to sell or give away some of the shares she’s inherited, you could certainly own the company equally.

Eilidh flinches, raising a hand to her head as if it throbs.

John: I wish I knew what prompted this. But he must have had a lot of faith in you, Meredith.

John rests a hand on Meredith’s shoulder. She says nothing.

John: Well! This has been…

He nods and doesn’t finish the sentence. Mercifully, he leaves.

Outside it is dark at two in the afternoon. It’s unclear when, if ever, any of the occupants will see the sun again.

The silence among the room’s occupants, deafening as it is, seems to have… an unusual weight.

Lou: Does anyone else hear a buzzing sound?

Nobody answers. Yves looks cheerfully at Dzhuliya.

Yves: So, you are pregnant!

Dzhuliya: I am. Yes.

Yves: When are you due?

Dzhuliya looks very uncomfortable. She turns to Eilidh, who instantly flinches away.

When Dzhuliya speaks, she is quiet, barely audible.

Dzhuliya: I should have said something, I know, but I just couldn’t… I didn’t know how to…

She stops.

Dzhuliya: It was only a couple of times.

Eilidh raises one hand to her head, squeezing her eyes shut. The pain appears to be searing, which Meredith notices and takes as a personal offense.

Meredith: Jesus. You can stop being so dramatic.

Eilidh’s eyes remain shut.

Eilidh: Shut up, Meredith.

Meredith: What do you have to be so upset about? This is happening to all of us.

Eilidh: Is it?

She glares furiously up at Meredith.

Eilidh: You think I don’t know why he chose you? Why he decided that his legacy was safe with you ? You think I don’t know that he respected you the most—that he saw the most potential in you? I get it, Meredith, okay? I’m the one he had to keep safe because he knew I couldn’t do it on my own! So there, are you happy? Are you happy now?

Meredith: Are you serious?

Now Meredith looks pale with anger.

Meredith: He left his shares to me because he knew I would fumble it. Because he wanted me to be the one holding the ball when the whole thing went down. It’s a shithole, Eilidh——Dad was a terrible investor. He lost almost all of it trying to go to fucking space. The rest of it he threw away on companies that were only copying mine. He tried to take me down, and when he couldn’t, he handed me a flaming pile of shit. Don’t deny it.

Meredith looks hard at Lou when she says it. Lou receives the glare with utter bewilderment and looks around for answers, confused.

Lou: What?

Meredith: I know you were developing something to compete with Chirp. I know you were trying to force me into obsolescence.

Lou: Dude, I don’t care about your ’solescence. I don’t fuck around with neuromancy.

Meredith: Your company pitched him a neuromantic chip!

Lou: I don’t have a company! I work at a fucking Wrenfare store! I pitched Thayer something totally different——which isn’t even relevant, by the way, because he never made an offer! I think he was probably just fucking with me.

Dzhuliya: No, he wrote up an offer.

Everyone looks at Dzhuliya then. She takes the opportunity to return the conversation to Eilidh, who is doubled over, hugging herself.

Dzhuliya: Eilidh, just so you know, I didn’t know he planned to give it all to Meredith. Until Ryan called me the other day, I honestly thought he was planning to give it to you—

Lou looks around, distracted.

Lou: You guys really don’t hear that buzzing sound?

Gillian frowns.

Gillian: Actually—

Eilidh squeezes her eyes shut and motions for Dzhuliya to stop talking.

Dzhuliya doesn’t listen.

Dzhuliya: You were the one he always talked about, Eilidh. And… and I was happy to listen, I really was. I’ve always had feelings for you, and I didn’t think… I just didn’t think anything would ever happen with us, you’d made it so clear you weren’t interested, and Thayer was… I don’t know. I don’t even have an excuse, I was just lonely, I was fed up with dating, and he was so… so attentive, and—

Meredith: Oh my god .

Dzhuliya: I’m not talking to you.

Meredith: You’re a fucking cliché!

Dzhuliya: I’m not talking to you.

Meredith: Do you even hear yourself?

Arthur’s sparks shower again. His hands start to shake violently.

Gillian: Art? Are you okay?

Meredith turns to Eilidh.

Meredith: You know, I just want to hear you say it.

Eilidh’s teeth are gritted so hard she can hardly speak.

Eilidh: Say. What.

Meredith looks terrifying with ill-begotten triumph.

Meredith: That I was right about him. That he was always a complete fucking shitbag. He never loved us. He used us.

Eilidh:

Meredith: You were the devoted one. The only devoted one. And how did he reward you?

Arthur: Death.

By now the pulse of faltering electricity is jarring and epileptic. Meredith ignores Arthur’s warning, continuing to address her sister.

Meredith: You let him steal your life, Eilidh. You let him swallow you up, and for that, I’m fucking furious with you. I’m so fucking angry at you I can barely even look at you. You really thought his love was worth it. You’re honestly that fucking stupid.

Eilidh looks at Meredith. It’s the first time that Eilidh has looked lucid, and painless, in the last five minutes, as if something inside her has finally ruptured. As if, at long last, something broke.

Meredith stares at her as if she is seeing something in her sister’s eyes for the first time.

Dzhuliya steps forward hastily to intervene.

Dzhuliya: Look, I really don’t think—

Eilidh: Shut up, fatherfucker!

The buzzing has become unmistakably audible to the others in the room. Monster shrinks into Lou’s chest, burying his head apprehensively in her neck. A hot burst of flame hits the dining table from the chandelier just before Arthur falls to the floor.

Gillian: Arthur!

She drops to check his pulse and begins CPR. Yves lets out a cry and kneels to hold Arthur’s head in his hands. Eilidh is still staring at Meredith, but she is standing straight now, as if the pain has burst from somewhere inside her and materialized in vapors from her skin.

Eilidh: Don’t you understand that I had to be this stupid? That if he didn’t love me, then no one would?

Meredith looks at Eilidh as the swarm grows nearer. Outside, the darkness is so thick that it’s not possible at first to see its parts; the way it has become a cloud of black wings hurling themselves at the house’s windows. The force of the collective bodies is such that the panes seem to physically strain.

On the floor, Arthur is no longer breathing. Death comes in threes. Gillian bends her forehead to his and weeps. Eilidh’s resolve seems to break, the last of her mask dis solving just as the windowpanes give way, as she sobs to her sister,

Eilidh: WHY COULDN’T YOU JUST LOVE ME?

The force of the swarm is so great that the room is rendered unseeable almost instantly, within seconds. The high, desperate sound of a child crying pierces through the clamor of insect wings, the room’s inhabitants beginning to scream as the air in the room grows thick with an ancient plague of flies. They are drawn to shit, is the thing —— they consume it. An appropriate plague, if not a sequential one.

For a long moment, there is nothing but the swarm.

Then a thick blaze of light cuts through it.

No, not light.

Fire.

Arthur: Run.

And they do.