They Play FM Radio in the Purgatory Waiting Room (or, Stairway to Heaven)

By Grace Roberts

A man wearing business attire sits in a square room, empty but for one poorly upholstered chair and a small table. MUZAK’s 1974 LP plays from invisible loudspeakers.

JAMESON

(to himself) At least it’s not decorated like it’s the forties.

There’s a long pause as he looks around the room. His eyes narrow.

JAMESON

Sparse. Not exactly a five-star lodging, I’ll say that. And God knows how long I’ll be stuck in here for.

He laughs out loud, the sound echoing in the small room, an eerie noise.

JAMESON

Precisely, I mean literally God knows how long I’ll be in here! Right on the money, look at you Jameson, defying the odds, cracking jokes, even once dead. You simply cannot be stopped!

JAMESON shakes his head, smiling wryly, then focuses his eyes on the door, and they rest there for an unsettling amount of time, before he looks away, pretending it hasn’t made him uneasy.

JAMESON

(under his breath) At least you looked presentable when you died. A man’s got to keep some of his dignity.

JAMESON

Damn, not even a TV in here? Not an outdated copy of Sports Illustrated? A crossword puzzle? A little something to pass the time would be nice, courteous, even. Could we maybe change the radio station, get some news or something other than this, uh….

He directs this last quip up, to where the ceiling should be, trailing off.

His fist slowly curls in his lap and he shifts uncomfortably in the chair, leaning back to appear at ease but failing. He straightens his tie, and in doing so reveals a clean bullet-hole in his shirt through to his chest. He adjusts his cufflinks. He re-ties his shoelaces.

The DEVIL enters, wearing a tailored pinstripe suit and red tie, grinning from ear to ear.

DEVIL

Well, what exactly did you expect?

He gestures at the room, then smirks at Jameson.

JAMESON

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

DEVIL

(giving a mocking hum) Mmm, someone’s a little on edge. I was talking about the upholstery, but I’m curious what you thought I meant. Oh, there really is nothing quite as good as a guilty man’s justification.

JAMESON doesn’t say anything, squinting his eyes at the DEVIL.

DEVIL

Come on, let’s have it out! I’ve got all day…

JAMESON

I’ve got nothing to say to you, pal. I haven’t done anything to deserve anything besides, uh, well anything besides the best.

DEVIL

(making a tsk sound) Ah, going to stop you right there. “The best,” let's be honest, is a relative term. I quite enjoy the heat and I think you might too.

His eyes appear to glitter.

JAMESON

Absolutely not!

DEVIL

A couple nights of prayer isn’t going to do it for you either, I hate to break it to you. Actually, I don’t hate to, but for the sake of sounding professional, ha!

JAMESON grits his teeth.

JAMESON

I don’t know what you mean.

DEVIL

Oh, please, you know exactly what I mean. You were an arms dealer for God’s sake.

JAMESON

(firing back) Right, the only sake that’s going to save me now.

There’s a pause. JAMESON breathes. The DEVIL looks on with mild delight.

JAMESON

Fine. Perhaps I didn’t have daily encounters with the, erm, finest of people, per se. But that’s the line of work, that’s just the job, buddy.

He’s getting frustrated, color rising in his cheeks.

JAMESON

I mean, what exactly does that have to do with this, huh? I was honest, I was, I- I never cheated people, I was fair. I was fair.

He grips the chair. The Devil licks his lips, and leans against the wall.

JAMESON

(desperately trying to change the subject) No food in here, no water. I mean not even one of those automatic coffee things they have in office lounges nowadays. Cup of joe would really hit the spot right now, huh old boy?

He lifts his head to look at the DEVIL, who has moved spots and is now occupying the other wall.

JAMESON

I was a good person. Especially for someone in my line of work, I was the best, people, they always came up to me, “Jameson, how you doin’, what’s the word, ay, I got a couple of boys need a favor” and I always provided, I did. Fairly, legally, I said legally, you know. I got a brother in the service, I’m not stupid.

He looks at the DEVIL.

JAMESON

I’m not stupid.

The DEVIL raises both hands.

DEVIL

I never said you were stupid. You are, but besides the point.

JAMESON

I never did nothing illegal! I ain’t stupid and I ain’t gonna sit around here waiting for you to—

DEVIL

Okay, let’s reel it in, the grammar is getting a bit difficult for me to follow. If you wouldn’t mind bringing it down, just a level, I’m nursing a rather nasty hangover.

JAMESON

I don’t give a flying—

The DEVIL looks up gleefully. JAMESON, realizing he’s only egging him on, stops himself and breathes. He adjusts his tie again.

DEVIL

Back to the matter at hand. You don’t have the first idea of what people did with those things once they walked out of your office. I’m sure you must have some idea, you’re not stupid, as you’ve so carefully reiterated. But really, Jameson, you don’t really think all of that was for sport, for show? Do you? There are plenty of things you turned a blind eye to. Chose to ignore. All of that comes back to you. You are to blame.

He speaks the last words as if speaking to a small child.

JAMESON

I never hurt anyone! I didn’t touch a soul, not one. There’s not a drop of blood on my hands, you’re being absolutely ridiculous. I’m not responsible for the actions of others, what kind of sick world would that be. That's not on me, pal, it doesn't just work like that.

JAMESON holds out his hands, palms up, as if to prove his point.

DEVIL

Well if that were true, you wouldn’t very well be here, would you?

JAMESON scoffs and looks back down at his hands. But they are now dripping red onto the carpet. The music distorts slightly, like a vinyl that’s been warped, as he looks down, horrified. He looks up at the DEVIL, who pouts sarcastically, and then back down to his hands. They’re now perfectly clean, just as before.

JAMESON

I’m not a bad person, I deserve Heaven. This is the reason for my being here, in this waiting room of sorts, it’s like a court thing. Yeah, like when you have the right to speak to a lawyer; I have the right to speak to the Man Upstairs.

A man appears in the room opposite the DEVIL, wearing a bright white suit, holding a clipboard. The man has wings.

ANGEL

(looking up from his clipboard) Mr. Jameson?

Silence. JAMESON looks expectantly at the ANGEL, apparently unphased by his materization and wings. The DEVIL rolls his eyes and lazily picks fizz off his suit pants.

ANGEL

The Boss has a lot to discuss with you. If you would just follow me.

JAMESON

Great.

He stands quickly.

JAMESON

—I had a meeting at three but now, now, I’ve got nothing but time on my hands!

There’s a pause. JAMESON chuckles in terror and swallows.

ANGEL

Interesting you should say that.

ANGEL looks down at his clipboard, then back up at JAMESON, calculated.

ANGEL