A cabin interior. CAL sits on a cane chair, ax across his knees, staring at a spot on the floor. Outside, the wind moans. Close by, a coffeemaker sputters.
Footsteps materialize outside. They approach on the run, growing closer, closer, pounding on earth then crunching briefly across gravel. The last two steps thud hollowly over a wooden porchand the door is flung open.
WES stands, panting. He stares.
WES: Where you put him?
CAL: Under the floorboards.
WES: Under the floorboards. Good call. Good call. (beat, then a thought) Won't he smell?
CAL: (chuckles) Hardly. State he's in?
WES: Nowon't he give off a smell. Odor?
CAL: Oh. I get ya. Yeah, eventually. Should wewhat.
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