Scene 5
(Lights up on the park, the same one where GREG and ALICE had their date so long ago. GREG looks more uncomfortable than we have ever seen him, and for good reason: he’s expecting the worst, and the BOXER hasn’t given him any reason not to. He sits on the bench with a hand on the butt of his gun, scanning the park for any sight of his opponent. He shivers because the air is chilly. There is no sign of the BOXER. The only sounds for miles are wind and chirping crickets. GREG’s cell phone rings, startling him. He answers it.)
GREG: I’m here. Where are you? (A woman screams on the other end of the line. It is loud enough for the audience to hear. GREG jumps up, still holding the phone.) Alice, is that you? What’s he doing? Are you hurt? (Another scream. It dawns on GREG that this time, it’s not coming from the phone. He hangs up and puts the phone back in his pocket, taking out the gun instead.) Where the fuck are you? Show yourself! (The sound of twigs cracking, branches breaking, leaves rustling. An owl hoots. GREG points the gun offstage, hands shaking as he does so. He doesn’t look like he wants to fire it again, although he knows he might have to. At last, a figure steps out of the trees. This is the BOXER.)
BOXER: Hello, Greg.
GREG: (He turns the gun on the Boxer, hands still shaking.) Fucker.
BOXER: Put the gun down, Greg. Let’s both be civilized.
GREG: That went out the window when you murdered my dog.
BOXER: Alice’s dog.
GREG: You son of a bitch. (The owl hoots again, startling GREG so badly that he fumbles and drops the gun. He scrambles to pick it up. The BOXER remains calm. Seeing this, and realizing the BOXER is making no attempt to grab the gun himself, GREG slowly straightens up.) You’re not afraid of me.
BOXER: No.
GREG: I could kill you.
BOXER: Perhaps.
GREG: That still doesn’t scare you? (He reaches for the gun, hesitates, but the BOXER doesn’t stop him. GREG stands.)
BOXER: You don’t want to kill me.
GREG: You have no idea.
BOXER: You won’t want to kill me once you hear my proposition.
GREG: I’m sick of listening. Tell me, where’s Alice? (He cocks the hammer and points the gun at the BOXER.) Tell me, God damn it.
BOXER: What if I could restore your channel, make it so your little livestream upload never happened?
GREG: (He takes a step closer.) I don’t care about the channel.
BOXER: The channel is your life, Greg.
GREG: No. I thought it was. God, I wasted so much time pouring my heart out to virtual strangers, people who don’t have my back and can’t support me in my daily life. Through the real shit, like this. Alice is the only one. Alice is my life, not the fucking channel.
BOXER: Now you see. I just wanted you to see. (He takes a step toward GREG, and GREG takes a step back.) Are you going to shoot me?
GREG: I want to.
BOXER: I know.
GREG: But I want to see Alice.
BOXER: Of course. I’ll take you to her. Please give me the gun. (GREG hesitates again. Perhaps against his better judgment, he hands the gun off to the BOXER. The BOXER tucks it into the waistband of his pants, much to GREG’s relief.) You made the right choice.
GREG: If you say so. (The BOXER kneels and starts running his hands over the ground, pulling at roots. GREG watches, confused, but also transfixed. At last, the BOXER uncovers a hatch and opens it. He and GREG peer into the hole. ALICE cries out.)
ALICE: Greg!
BOXER: If you’d killed me, you never would have found her. She probably would have starved. (The BOXER looks up, and his eyes meet GREG’s. At that moment, it seems he knows what will happen next, but it is too late—GREG latches onto the BOXER and grapples with him. After a brief scuffle, the two men topple into the hole. We hear shouts, cursing, ALICE screaming—a gunshot. A keening wail. Then, silence. ALICE pulls herself out of the hole with a great deal of difficulty. She is disheveled, and blood is splattered on the side of her face and clothing. After a moment of collecting herself, she reaches a hand down to GREG. She pulls him up beside her. He’s also covered in blood. He looks at ALICE, still in shock.)
ALICE: Let’s get out of here. (Lights fade.)