4. Signal to Noise

And in this place, can you reassure me?
With a touch, a smile...while the cradle's burning?
All the while the world is turning to noise
Oh, the more that it's surrounding us
The more that it destroys
Turn up the signal, wipe out the noise

Send out the signals, deep and loud

Man, I'm losing sound and sight
Of all those who can tell me wrong from right
When all things beautiful and bright sink in the night
Yet there's still something in my heart
That can find a way to make a start
To turn up the signal, wipe out the noise
Wipe out the noise

Peter Gabriel


Prologue

The house is mostly dark, but we find Jason sitting alone on the couch. He looks very deep in thought: chin resting on his hand, tapping finger, that kind of thing. He starts talking, but not to us.

JASON: So, um, I was thinking, um....No, no....Um....So. Um. Angela. Uh. You and me, we -- no. Fuck. Fuck!

As he always does, Robert enters. He casts a look to Jason, who pays him no mind.

JASON: You know that I...uh...you and I...dammit.

ROBERT: Um...uh, do you mind if I...?

JASON: Huh? Oh, no. Go ahead.

ROBERT: Thanks.

Robert turns and faces us, while Jason stands and starts pacing behind the couch, still muttering.

ROBERT: Hello again. It's been awhile, eh? [from paper] Last time, Louis's ex-girlfriend, Stephanie, broke in and left a note, calling everyone soulless and evil. And...yeah, that's pretty much it. [puts paper away] Now, I'm s'posed to tell you that some time has passed -- a few months, I guess. It's--

JASON: FUCK!

ROBERT: ...July now. And over that period of time...well, nothing has much has changed.

Jason kicks the couch.

ROBERT: ...Which is, I guess, part of his problem. So, there you go. Oh, and it's a Saturday.

Robert exits.


Scene 1 -- the house, noon

Jason sits on the couch, working with his laptop computer. Next to him, Angela is struggling with a video game. In the chair nearest the door, Michael reclines sideways -- legs draped over the arms -- and reads a magazine. In the kitchen, we can hear pots and such things banging around.

The cordless phone is sitting on the table, a tower of technology amidst the clutter. Throughout this scene -- and, indeed, throughout this entire episode -- whenever it's on the table, unused, Jason will glance at it nervously every once in a while. Jason is also very distracted in this scene and all others.

Angela makes a few disgusted noises as she once again fails at whatever it is she's trying to do. Michael looks up and watches her play for a few moments.

MICHAEL: You know, Angela. You were never very good at this game, but I remember you being better than this.

ANGELA: The controller is sticking.

MICHAEL: Ah-ha!

He twists in his chair to look at Jason.

MICHAEL: I told you the controller was messed up. I told you yesterday.

JASON: Yeah?

MICHAEL: Yeah. You didn't believe me.

JASON: Because you always blame the controller when you play badly.

MICHAEL: I do not blame the controller. [beat] Always.

ANGELA: I'm afraid you do, Mike.

JASON: Which is why I didn't believe you. You're the Boy Who Cried The B-button Doesn't Work.

MICHAEL: That's...an exaggeration.

ANGELA: Sure.

JASON: Patrick!

The banging in the kitchen ceases. The door opens and Patrick sticks his head out. He appears to be sweating.

PATRICK: Yeah?

JASON: ...What the hell are you doing in there?

PATRICK: Makin' something for lunch. Thought I'd make something for everybody.

ANGELA: You've been in there for over an hour.

MICHAEL: Are you making a bomb or what?

PATRICK: It's something my mom used to make when I was a kid. It's got hamburger meat, and ranch dressing, and...cheese. I think.

ANGELA: ...um...?

PATRICK: Well, I can't remember exactly what was in it. So I'm kind of...winging it.

A pause. Then Michael speaks to Angela and Jason.

MICHAEL: Hey, I hear that new Mexican place in town is really good, you guys wanna try it?

PATRICK: Har har. Seriously, this'll be good. I'll tell you when it's ready.

He starts to go back into the kitchen.

JASON: Wait, Patrick.

PATRICK: Yeah?

JASON: I need you to...uh. What did I need?

MICHAEL: Controller.

JASON: Yeah. If you don't mind, when you go to the grocery store later, stop at the mall and buy another controller. This one's dying on us. I'll give you the money.

PATRICK: Yeah, sure.

He backs into the kitchen and closes the door, and then immediately yanks it open again.

PATRICK: Wait, why am I going to the grocery store later?

JASON: It's your turn.

PATRICK: No, it isn't.

MICHAEL: Jason, me, Angela, you, Rebecca.

ANGELA: And I went last time.

PATRICK: You sure?

ANGELA: Absolutely. A jar of that special spaghetti sauce you wanted broke open in the trunk of my car. Remember?

PATRICK: ...Oh. Yeah. Damn. I, uh, can't go.

JASON: Why not?

PATRICK: I...really don't want to?

ANGELA: Hmm. Judges?

JASON: You're going, Patrick.

MICHAEL: The money and the list is by the door.

PATRICK: Yeah. Right.

He returns to the kitchen.

The phone rings. With unnerving speed, Jason lunges for it, grabs it, presses the TALK button, and brings it to his ear in one smooth motion

JASON: Hello? ... Oh, hi. ... Yeah, he's here. Just a second. [to Michael] It's your sister.

Michael stands, takes the phone, and disappears back into the hallway. Jason returns his focus to his computer.

Angela is still fighting with the game, but then drops the controller onto the table in disgust.

ANGELA: Oh, to hell with it. The game's hard enough when I can get the guy to do what I want. When he starts taking my commands as suggestions, there's little point.

JASON: Yeah.

ANGELA: That wireless modem working okay?

JASON: Exactly as advertised.

She looks at his monitor.

ANGELA: That a weather report?

JASON: Yes.

ANGELA: What's happening?

JASON: At the moment, Christina is -- why the fuck do we name hurricanes, anyway? I have never understood that -- Christina is raging across southern Florida.

ANGELA: It's pretty bad?

JASON: Category 4.

ANGELA: What does that mean?

JASON: I actually have no clue. Except that it's worse than a Category 3.

ANGELA: Your dad get out?

JASON: Don't know. He was supposed to call. He hasn't.

ANGELA: ...Oh.

JASON: Yeah.

ANGELA: I'm sure he's gonna be okay.

JASON: Yeah.

ANGELA: I mean, he's gotta used to these things by now.

She offers a smile, to make sure Jason knows she joking, but the smile Jason gives in return is only half-hearted.

ANGELA: Well. I have laundry I need to do. You'll come and get me when -- or if -- Patrick finishes with his chemistry final in there?

JASON: Sure.

Angela exits via the hallway.

Alone, Jason sighs. He sets the laptop aside, leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes. Clearly, the look of an unhappy person.

His eyes snap back open when Rebecca enters through the front door.

REBECCA: I don't get it.

She closes the door, then walks over and falls into the nearest chair.

REBECCA: I don't understand why people insist that I talk to them. All the time, I'm dealing with people bitching at me because I won't talk. "How come you never talk?" Like I'm some kind of freak because I don't feel the need to fill every single waking moment with inane chatter. This girl at work -- real airhead, I've told you about her before, the one with the Rob Thomas fixation?

JASON: Uh-huh.

REBECCA: She fucking corners me last night at work. "You don't smile very much." Well, gee, maybe if you shut the fuck up and left me alone, I'd be happier. Bitch.

JASON: Uh-huh.

REBECCA: And then today, just now, I'm at the bank -- the goddamn bank, okay? -- and I get the same garbage from the teller. He's all, "You're never smiling when you come in here!" Have you seen my balance, asshole? You wouldn't be smiling, either. I cannot fathom where people are coming from. Why can't they leave me alone?

JASON: They have to learn that you're to be left alone.

REBECCA: And they always act like I'm the one with the problem, too. That's what kills me.

JASON: You could give up all endeavors of personal hygiene. That would keep them away.

REBECCA: Yeah, thanks for your advice. I guess I'm the only one who deals with this.

JASON: Being bombarded with stupid questions when all you want is to be left alone? Yeah, you're flying solo on that one, 'Becca.

REBECCA: ...Oh. Sorry. Bitching to someone who wants to be left alone about wanting to be left alone. Was that ironic?

JASON: If it wasn't before, it certainly is now.

REBECCA: You know me. I get off on a tirade like that, there's really no stopping me. Especially when -- I'm still talking, aren't I?

JASON: Yes.

REBECCA: I'll stop.

JASON: Thank you.

As they're exchanging those last two lines, Michael returns from the hallway. He places the phone back on the table.

MICHAEL: Carter's out.

REBECCA: Out?

MICHAEL: Of prison.

REBECCA: Your brother got past the parole board?

MICHAEL: Yep.

JASON: Guess everyone rolls sevens once in a while.

MICHAEL: Hey. It's not like he was Carmen Sandiego. He stole a car.

REBECCA: Well, I think he stole three cars, but...you're right. I'm glad he's out. I suppose.

MICHAEL: You suppose?

REBECCA: Yeah. I mean, I'm happy your brother is a free man again, but...he did steal cars.

MICHAEL: Yeah, but he's served his time now. He's rehabilitated.

JASON: Sure.

MICHAEL: Don't start, Jason.

JASON: What?

MICHAEL: You never liked Carter.

JASON: That is inaccurate.

MICHAEL: Inaccurate?

JASON: I hated Carter.

Patrick sticks his head out of the kitchen.

PATRICK: Hey, is shredded cheese on that shopping list?

JASON: No.

PATRICK: Oh. You might want to add it.

JASON: Okay, Iron Chef, that's it -- whatever you're doing, stop. We're not that hungry.

PATRICK: No, this is gonna be good -- I've just about got it now.

MICHAEL: Hey, Carter got out of jail.

PATRICK: Cool. Wait -- out like parole, or out like The Shawshank Redemption?

MICHAEL: The former.

PATRICK: Ah. Then, cool. He coming over here?

MICHAEL: Yeah, later this afternoon.

PATRICK: Cool.

REBECCA: Cool.

JASON: What?

MICHAEL: What?

JASON: He's not coming here.

REBECCA: Uh-oh...

Patrick quickly ducks back into the kitchen.

MICHAEL: He'll be here in a few hours.

JASON: And then he can get back in his car and leave. I don't want him in my house.

MICHAEL: Your house? I thought we considered this our house.

JASON: I changed my mind.

MICHAEL: Come on, Jason -- he's my brother. Don't be a dick.

REBECCA: Oh hell...

Rebecca cringes at this and the rest of their argument.

JASON: Me? Your brother's the dick, not me.

MICHAEL: What is your fucking problem? You don't want him here -- why? 'Cause he's a convict?

JASON: No, I don't want him here because he's an asshole!

REBECCA: Guys...

MICHAEL: Hey! Maybe you two don't get along, but he's my brother. I don't talk shit like that about your...huh.

JASON: Didn't really think that one through before you started talking, did you?

MICHAEL: Jason...look, he's only going to be here for a little while. He's on his way to our parents'. He hasn't told them he got out -- I think he wants to fuck with their heads, tell 'em he's escaped or something. He'll be here for half an hour, at most.

Jason stares back at Michael for a long moment.

JASON: Thirty minutes. Fine.

MICHAEL: All right.

Rebecca relaxes.

MICHAEL: Sorry I said you were a dick.

JASON: Sorry I called your brother a dick.

MICHAEL: You called him an asshole, too.

JASON: Don't push it.

MICHAEL: Right.

There's commotion in the kitchen -- a pan falling to the floor, and Patrick yelling.

MICHAEL: Okay, I've got to see this travesty for myself.

He goes to the kitchen.

Jason once again puts his head back and closes his eyes.

REBECCA: You know, I didn't realize you hated Carter that much.

JASON: I did.

REBECCA: I can tell. But why?

Long pause.

JASON: Honestly?

REBECCA: That would be preferable.

JASON: Honestly...I don't really remember.

REBECCA: Ah.

She looks over at the phone, and seems to make a realization.

REBECCA: You haven't heard from your dad yet, have you?

JASON: No.

She starts to say something else, but stops. She's silent.

There's another crash from the kitchen. A few seconds later, the door opens to reveal Patrick...who has great gobs of ranch dressing all over his face and torso.

PATRICK: And ranch...add ranch dressing to the list, too.


Scene 2 -- the house, a few hours later

The front door is open.

Everyone but Patrick is sitting around the table -- Angela and Michael in the chairs, Rebecca and Jason on the couch. Jason, in fact, hasn't moved. He's still sitting in the same place on the couch. He still has his computer.

The four of them are feasting on takeout again -- looks like Mexican food this time.

Patrick comes in the open door, bags of groceries in each hand. He closes the door with his foot, almost losing his balance in the process. But he rights himself and heads to the kitchen.

JASON: That the last of it?

PATRICK: Yeah. And I didn't need help or anything, thanks.

ALL: You're welcome.

Patrick goes into the kitchen. We hear rattling noises as he puts things away.

REBECCA: Remind me later to go in there and put everything where it actually belongs.

MICHAEL: Gotcha.

The kitchen door opens and Patrick exits, controller in hand. He gives it to Angela.

PATRICK: Here ya go.

ANGELA: Oh, thanks.

He goes back to the kitchen; more rattling, banging, etc.

Angela gets up, unplugs the bad controller, plugs in the new one, and returns to her seat. She starts playing her game again. After only a few moments of play:

ANGELA: Ah, yes. This is much bet--dammit!

MICHAEL: You're gonna want to avoid the gunfire, there.

There's a knock on the door.

MICHAEL: I'll get it.

JASON: Thirty minutes. I'm counting.

MICHAEL: Yeah, I know.

He opens the door, but instead of his brother, he sees a MAILMAN/DELIVERY-TYPE-PERSON. He's holding a package.

MICHAEL: Ah. Hello. Rebecca, I believe this is for you.

She looks, sees the mailman, and leaps from the couch.

REBECCA: All right...about time you showed up.

MICHAEL: Yeah, you've been deprived of your children's literature for almost an hour longer than you should have been.

REBECCA: And you can shut your mouth, Mr. Snob.

Rebecca takes the package.

While she's up, Angela sees the empty spot on the couch, and quickly plants herself in Rebecca's seat. Jason finally looks up briefly, then returns to his monitor.

Michael walks back to his chair.

Rebecca closes the door, turns back to the couch, and sees her seat as been filled.

REBECCA: Hey, I was sitting there.

ANGELA: Were you?

REBECCA: Yes, I was.

ANGELA: Was?

REBECCA: Yes.

ANGELA: Past tense?

REBECCA: Yeah-- ....Okay.

ANGELA: I have a better angle to the TV here.

REBECCA: Sure.

ANGELA: And there's a perfectly comfortably chair right--oh, dammit!

MICHAEL: Yeah, remember, avoid the--

ANGELA: Oh, to hell with it! Again!

She tosses the controller down.

ANGELA: The game hates me. And I hate it back.

Rebecca starts to respond, but she glances out the window and sees something.

REBECCA: Ah...Michael, the malefactor is here.

MICHAEL: What?

REBECCA: Your brother.

MICHAEL: Oh.

He gets up, and as he does, Rebecca sees something else out the window. She points, giving a frantic look to Michael.

Michael looks. He doesn't understand.

Rebecca points again. She puts two fingers to her mouth, makes puffing motions: smoking.

Knock on the door.

MICHAEL: Here we go.

He opens the door.

CARTER -- a biggish, muscular guy with long hair -- is on the other side. He's wearing nondescript, generic clothes. He's got a pair of cheap sunglasses snug across his face, and a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

With a "HEYYYYYY"-like utterance, Carter steps in and wraps his arms around his brother.

CARTER: Mikey! What's up, man?

Michael returns the embrace, avoiding the lit cigarette that hangs rather close to his face.

Angela and Jason look from the couch. Angela's is merely curiosity; Jason's is pure murder.

Carter lets Michael go and swings the door closed with his foot. (He maintains his balance.)

MICHAEL: Hey, Carter. How you be?

CARTER: I be excellent, brother, excellent. The gorgeous taste of free air once again!

He takes a big drag on his cigarette and blows several cubic feet of gray smoke into that free air.

He sees Rebecca.

CARTER: Hey there...Stacy?

REBECCA: Rebecca.

CARTER: Yeah, Rebecca. That's right. You look good.

REBECCA: Thank you.

CARTER: What's in the box?

REBECCA: Hmm? Oh. A book.

CARTER: Ah. Say, you still with that Patrick guy?

REBECCA: Um. Well, no, but--

CARTER: Eh, good. He was kind of a little -- oh, hey, Jason!

JASON: Hello, Carter.

CARTER: What's up, man?

JASON: The ceiling.

Carter doesn't comprehend for a moment, then gives a little laugh.

CARTER: Right, right. [to Michael] So you finally got away from the 'rents, huh?

MICHAEL: Well, the opportunity presented itself. And...they kind of made me.

Carter finds this hilarious. He's still puffing on that cigarette, which draws all sorts of uncomfortable looks from everyone. Except Jason, who still eyes it with pure malice.

CARTER: Yeah, I'll bet. [re: cigarette] Hey, where can I put this?

JASON: [very much under his breath] Up your ass.

MICHAEL: Well, really, Carter, we, uh--

JASON: There's no smoking in the house.

CARTER: Yeah?

JASON: There's actually a sign outside that says so.

CARTER: Oh. I didn't see it. Oh, damn, that's right, Jason -- your mom got that shit from smoking, huh?

JASON: Yes. She got that shit from smoking.

CARTER: That's a bummer, man. How's she doing?

JASON: She's dead.

Only the vacuum of space is as quiet as the stage.

After a long, tense moment:

CARTER: I'll go finish this outside.

He exits.

The others all look at Jason.

JASON: What?

MICHAEL: Jason--

JASON: Twenty-nine minutes.

MICHAEL: Right.

Mike goes outside to find his brother.

The kitchen door opens. Patrick sticks his head out.

PATRICK: Is he gone already?

ANGELA: No, he went outside to finish his cigarette.

REBECCA: Take my advice: stay in the kitchen.

PATRICK: Right-o.

Back in he goes.

And just in time, too, because the front door opens and the brothers return. Carter swings over into the empty chair nearest Jason.

Michael and Rebecca talk very quietly behind them.

CARTER: Hey, I'm sorry 'bout your mom, man. I didn't know.

JASON: Obviously.

CARTER: So you're Dad's in Florida, huh?

JASON: Yeah.

CARTER: Bitchin'. [to Angela] Hey there. We haven't met, I'm Carter.

ANGELA: Angela.

CARTER: Hey.

He gives Jason a playful punch in the arm.

CARTER: Good for you, man.

JASON: Huh?

CARTER: I used to tease you all the time, remember?

JASON: Vividly.

CARTER: But now you got a girl. Good for you.

JASON: Oh, well--

CARTER: I mean, I was harsh on you. Remember that time you wanted to ask Cassie Robertson to that school dance or whatever? You spent weeks trying to build up confidence.

JASON: Yeah.

CARTER: And I hounded you all the time, remember?

JASON: Yes.

CARTER: Man, I wouldn't let that go. And you never did ask her, did you?

JASON: No.

CARTER: Nope.

JASON: She went with Corey McCartney. That basketball asshole.

CARTER: That's right.

JASON: Which you also mocked me for.

CARTER: Yeah.

JASON: Relentlessly.

CARTER: Heh, yeah. You were useless with chicks, man. But hey -- not anymore, huh? How long you two been at it?

JASON: Well, we're--

ANGELA: Six months.

Wide stares from the group, especially Jason.

CARTER: Cool.

ANGELA: And this timid, reclusive teenager you describe is nothing like the Jason I know.

CARTER: Oh yeah?

ANGELA: Yes, apparently your attempts to destroy his self-confidence were unsuccessful.

CARTER: Well--

ANGELA: Jason is smart. He's funny. He's creative.

CARTER: He always was.

ANGELA: Damn right.

CARTER: Look, I wasn't saying--

ANGELA: You were making fun of him. Oddly enough, you were making fun of him by pointing out how you didn't need to make fun of him anymore.

CARTER: I wasn't--

ANGELA: You were mocking him, and I didn't appreciate it. And neither did Jason, but he wouldn't say anything because your Michael's brother.

CARTER: ...Well. I'm sorry.

ANGELA: You should be.

CARTER: Uh, yeah.

ANGELA: Okay.

CARTER: Look, Jason, I'm sorry. I didn't mean nothin' by it.

JASON: I know. It's okay. I'm used to it. And I know you may have teased me a lot, but you...well, you've always been a malefactor to me, Carter.

CARTER: Oh. Well. Thanks?

JASON: Sure.

MICHAEL: We should probably get going.

CARTER: Yeah.

ANGELA: Oh, leaving so soon?

MICHAEL: Yeah, I'm gonna go with him up to our parents' place. I'll be back in a while.

Carter stands.

CARTER: Found yourself a good there, Jason.

JASON: You have no idea.

CARTER: Angela, nice to, uh, meet you.

ANGELA: Of course.

CARTER: Uh, well, Laura--

REBECCA: Rebecca.

CARTER: Yeah. Shit. Right. Rebecca. Sorry.

REBECCA: Nice to see you again, Carter.

CARTER: ...Yeah. See you guys later.

JASON: Bye.

REBECCA: See ya.

ANGELA: T.T.F.N.

Michael opens the door. Carter leaves. Michael gives one last look at his roommates, who all offer sarcastically gleeful waves. He exits.

Angela -- again -- picks up that controller and tries the game again.

ANGELA: What a tool.

REBECCA: Jason, I think I figured out why you hated him before.

JASON: Yeah, me too. I called him something mean just then, right?

REBECCA: "Malefactor"?

JASON: Yeah.

REBECCA: It means "criminal." Or "evildoer."

ANGELA: You were mean, and you were right.

JASON: Yeah. Thank you, Angela.

ANGELA: Hmm?

JASON: For the pretending-to-be-my-girlfriend bit.

ANGELA: Oh, yeah. No problem. He left too soon, I was going to go into a lot more detail.

REBECCA: Detail?

ANGELA: Bet your ass. Graphic detail, if necessary. With sound effects.

Angela gives Jason a playful wink. He and Rebecca laugh.

The kitchen door opens. Patrick comes out hesitantly.

PATRICK: I take it he's gone now.

REBECCA: It's once again safe to come out of the kitchen.

PATRICK: Cool.

He makes his way for the door. As he passes:

PATRICK: Hey, whose turn is it for the groceries after me?

REBECCA: Mine.

PATRICK: That's right.

REBECCA: Why?

He opens the door.

PATRICK: I forgot bread. Gotta-go-bye!

He quickly departs.

REBECCA: [sigh] How typical.

ANGELA: Could be worse. He could have -- oh, dammit!

She once again throws the controller down.

ANGELA: I surrender.

JASON: Again.

ANGELA: Again.


Scene 3 -- later that night

Jason is -- surprise -- still sitting in the same place on the couch, working at his computer.

Angela is -- surprise -- sitting on the couch playing the evil game.

The phone is still sitting on the table.

Rebecca enters from the hallway, looking straight down into her book. She's mumbling a song to herself.

REBECCA: "She'll ransack Pakistan and run a scam in Scandanavia"...duh duh duh..."She put the 'miss' in misdemeanor when she..."....she...she...uh...

JASON: "...stole the beans from Lima."

REBECCA: "Tell me, where in the world is--"

JASON: [deep voice] "Carmen Sandiego?"

REBECCA: Where's Patrick and Mike?

JASON: Michael's staying at his parents' tonight.

ANGELA: And Patrick went to flirt with that waitress he likes at Denny's.

REBECCA: Shannon?

ANGELA: Yeah.

REBECCA: She's cute.

ANGELA: Yes.

REBECCA: He doesn't stand a chance.

ANGELA: No.

JASON: How delightfully cruel.

REBECCA: As always. I'll see you guys tomorrow.

JASON: You going to bed?

REBECCA: That's the idea. But I'd have to put this book down first.

ANGELA: Yeah, about your book, there--

REBECCA: If you're going to make fun of me for reading a kids' book, you can kiss my--

ANGELA: I was going to ask to borrow it when you were finished.

REBECCA: ...Oh. Yeah, sure.

ANGELA: Thanks.

REBECCA: 'Night, all.

Jason and Angela bid her goodnight, and she exits.

JASON: You read those books?

ANGELA: Sure. They're fun.

JASON: Yeah, I know.

ANGELA: You too?

JASON: Yeah. Don't tell Rebecca, but I've been sneaking them out of her room.

ANGELA: Why the secrecy?

JASON: I don't know. But I get enough geek accusations from Michael without this.

ANGELA: You know all the words to the "Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?" theme song, and you think some books are going to make you look like a geek?

JASON: ...Good point.

ANGELA: Besides, I like geeks.

JASON: ...Okay.

ANGELA: They're much better than....Oh my god.

Jason looks up at the TV.

JASON: Hey, you're at the end.

ANGELA: I'm at the end!

JASON: Just shoot that guy...

ANGELA: Okay.

JASON: ...go around -- left! left!

ANGELA: Ahhh!

She moves with exaggerated gestures.

ANGELA: Go!

JASON: All right...keep at it. Look up.

ANGELA: Ah, die, bastards!

JASON: Okay...now go right...

ANGELA: Go right...

JASON: And...there you go.
ANGELA: I did it!

JASON: You did it. You beat...the first stage.

ANGELA: Hey, don't you rain on my parade with your sarcasm, geek-boy.

JASON: Sure thing.

ANGELA: But there's no way I'm trying the next part tonight.

She puts the controller down.

ANGELA: So what have you been doing on that computer all day? Tell me you haven't been staring at weather reports.

JASON: No.

ANGELA: Well, then. What?

JASON: I've been programming a game.

ANGELA: A game?

JASON: Well. A piece of interactive fiction.

ANGELA: Really?

JASON: Yeah.

ANGELA: About what?

JASON: Pretty basic stuff. You're a cop, trying to solve a murder.

ANGELA: Ahh...interesting.

JASON: And people are trying to stop you from getting at the truth. You know.

ANGELA: Sounds great.

JASON: I guess.

ANGELA: I'll play it, when you're done.

JASON: Okay.

ANGELA: What's it called?

JASON: Wish You Were Here.

ANGELA: Awesome.

JASON: The victim is a big Pink Floyd fan. So.

ANGELA: Oh, man, that reminds me -- I've still got your Dark Side of the Moon CD. It's in my car.

JASON: Okay. ...That was my mom's.

ANGELA: Oh. Didn't know that.

JASON: Her favorite album, actually.

ANGELA: She had good taste.

JASON: Yeah.

ANGELA: I never got to meet your mom.

JASON: No, you didn't. She would've liked you.

ANGELA: Really?

JASON: Yeah. She liked all my friends. Well, she thought Louis was a little immature, but...yeah. She would have liked you.

Jason draws a breath and opens his mouth to speak again.

But he closes it without saying anything.

There's a pause.

ANGELA: Well. I'm gonna crash.

JASON: 'kay.

ANGELA: See you 'round, geek-boy.

JASON: You, too.

She exits to the hallway.

Jason puts the computer aside.

And puts his head in his hands.

JASON: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You're an idiot. And you're spineless. Fuck.

He closes the lid of his laptop, turns off the TV, and exits to the hallway.

The phone rings.

Jason comes back in and picks it up.

JASON: Hello? [sigh of relief]....Hi, Dad.

Lights out.