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Vol. 15, No. 4

The Redeemers
by Ethan Coen

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 porch—and 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?

Beat.

WES: No—won't he give off a smell. Odor?

CAL: Oh. I get ya. Yeah, eventually. Should we—what.

To read the rest of this story and others from the Winter 2011/2012 issue, please purchase a copy from our online store.

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