BRIMSTONE
Episode #112
Written by Janis Diamond & Scott A. Williams
“It's A Helluva Life”



A car races through a parking garage, Ezekiel Stone in hot pursuit.  The driver, 
Joseph Renkmeyer, stops and looks back.  Stone fires three times at Joseph 
Renkmeyer, his bullets traveling through the open window to hit the windshield.  
Renkmeyer pulls away.

Stone chases after him, vaulting a barrier between levels in the parking garage.  
Renkmeyer makes his way down an aisle of parked cars.  But one of them is in 
motion – it backs out into his path, forcing him to stop.  Stone is there to 
take another shot at him, firing from behind and shattering the back window.  
Under pressure now, Renkmeyer slams the car into reverse and charges Stone.  

At the last moment, Stone cartwheels out of the way, rolls into a crouched 
position and continues to fire at the vehicle.  Renkmeyer bolts, bailing out 
with his shotgun and running for the edge of the garage, jumping off without 
the slightest care for what happens to be below.

Stone gets there right behind him and looks at the ground several stories below.  
Joe Renkmeyer is running off, but Stone catches sight of a woman closing a car 
trunk.  "Roz?"


“She’s aged well, hasn’t she?”  The Devil observes to him in the stairwell.  
“Your beloved widow, Rosalyn Stone.  You know, I think you’d better put your 
priorities in order, Mr. Stone.  How did those marriage vows of yours go?  
‘Til death do us part?’  You’re dead.  You’ve parted.  And you’re not going to 
reunite until you have succeeded in rounding up all of my strays.  Our mutual 
friend, Mr. Joseph Renkmeyer, bank robber extraordinaire, included.”

“What are you talking about, can’t get back together until after?” Stone 
protests, “That was never part of the bargain.”

“Oh, come, come, come, come, come, Mr. Stone, why is it that you think you’ve 
been back as long as you have and still haven’t contacted her?  What would the 
fateful reunion be like?  How would Rosalyn react when she found herself face 
to face with the man she loved?  A man who’s been dead and buried for a decade 
and a half?”

"All I did is make one damn mistake," Stone says.

Aghast, the Devil demands, “Do you really believe that, Mr. Stone?”

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“Was it now?  If you think your fate was determined by one momentary anomaly 
in your behavior, you are woefully mistaken.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Killing Gilbert Jax, the man who raped your wife, was merely the last act of 
a life that would ultimately have delivered you into my loving embrace.”

“Like hell it was,” Stone says, continuing his way down the stairs.

“You really believe you were zooming along on the highway to heaven?”  Stone 
stops to face him.  “My word, you do.  You really think killing Gilbert Jax 
was just a tiny, little pothole on an otherwise righteous path.”

“I’m getting sick of your lies,” Stone tells him as he tries to walk away.

“I’m not lying, Detective,” the Devil replies, following close behind.  “Well, 
I do it all the time, but not just now.”

“No,” Stone says, turning to confront his tormentor once more.  “It was a good 
life.  I did well.”

“Self delusion really doesn’t suit you.”  The Devil realizes an object lesson 
may be necessary.  “Oh, look, Mr. Stone.  Who’s that over there?”  Stone turns 
to see, as a bright light envelops them.

Suddenly, Ezekiel and the Devil are on a suburban street.  It’s daytime now, 
and appears to be in the 1950s.  Stone looks around for a moment, trying to 
figure out what happened.  Then he sees a boy walking with his father; it’s 
him as a child.

The young Zeke is taking a drink from his Coke as he walks, and another boy, 
Arlo, bumps into him and knocks the bottle out of his hands.  The glass bottle 
falls to the sidewalk and shatters.  Arlo is a scrawny little kid, and he 
stops, but doesn't say anything.  Zeke turns away, but his father is not so 
forgiving.

“I didn’t hear an apology, did you Zeke?” his father asks.

“That’s Arlo, Dad.  He’s kind of weird.”

“He’s not too weird to apologize for spoiling your drink.  And he ought to pay 
for it, too.”  Arlo takes a few steps down the sidewalk.  Young Ezekiel looks 
at his father, understanding what his father expects, but not liking it. “Well?” 
his father says expectantly.

Young Ezekiel runs after Arlo, blocking his path.  “Hey.  You made me drop my 
soda.”  He looks up to his father.  Mr. Stone nods approvingly.  “You should 
apologize.  And then pay me for it.”

“But I don’t have any money,” Arlo says.

Another nod from his father, and Ezekiel pushes Arlo to the ground.  He grunts 
as he hits the sidewalk.  Ezekiel goes back to join his father. “You can’t let 
them push you around,” he is told, a proud hand resting on his shoulder as they 
walk off.  “No sir, you cannot let them push you around.”

“Well, the little wretch had it coming, don’t you think, Mr. Stone?”  the Devil 
says.  “Of course, he carried the psychological scar around the rest of his 
life.”

“So my father was a son of a bitch.  You can’t blame me for that.”

“Oh, but you don’t need to lavish your rationalizations on me, Detective.  I 
love what you did.  I thought it was just... elegant.  And that glint of joy in 
your eyes as the little tyke dropped to the ground.  Very revealing.”  The 
Devil chuckles.  “If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I do mind,” Stone says, offended.

“I know, and I don’t give a damn.  You pummeled a defenseless weakling and you 
felt good about it.  End of story.  Or should I say – beginning of story?”  
The Devil motions for Stone to follow him, and he does.


                    B  R  I  M  S  T  O  N  E

            I was cop...
            Then my wife was raped.
            I caught the guy who did it,
            And I killed him.
            Two months later I died,
            And went to Hell.
                          (evil laughter)
            113 of the most vile creatures escaped.
                          They think they’ll beat the Devil
                          Nobody beats me.
            So, how am I supposed to them back?
                          The eyes, windows to the soul.
                          Destroy the eyes, and the damned get a one-
					way ticket back home to Hell.
                          But it’s not Hell you should be scared of --
                          It’s losing your second chance at life on Earth.
            Time to give the Devil his due.



ACT ONE

Stone follows the Devil to a window, and they peer inside.  Stone sees another 
version of himself playing happily in bed with his wife Rosalyn.  As they 
break apart from their embrace, Roz makes a suggestion, “What about... Max if 
it’s a boy?  And... Sarah if it’s a girl?  Hmm?”  Stone chuckles.  “What, you 
don’t like those names?”

“They’re okay.”

“Okay?  They came to me this morning.”

They kiss again, then Zeke looks at his watch.  “Damn it,” he says, and starts 
getting dressed.  

Rosalyn is concerned.  “Where are you going?”

“Keeny’s being interviewed this morning, and I have to be there.”

Her concern turns to frustration.  "Is that what you've been thinking about 
just now?" she asks.  She wraps herself around him, smiling.  "Zeke, this is 
your day off.  I'm ovulating, for God's sake."

"I know, that's why I'm here."  But he makes no move to return to bed.

Roz looks hurt, a sharp look of pain, as if she’d been stabbed.  There is a 
moment of silence, and then she asks quietly, "Then why are you leaving?"

“Come on,” he says.  Roz untangles herself from him and sits back as Stone 
puts on his shirt.  “I’ve been working on this case for six months.  Mel 
needs me.  If I don't go in there, I'm going to feel...”  Roz wraps herself 
up in the blankets on the bed, not even looking at him.  “I'm going to feel 
worse than you're making me feel right now."  Stone leaves without another 
word.  Roz picks up a book of baby names, and begins to flip through it.

“You can go in, if you like,” the Devil says.  It sounds like a kindly tone, 
but perhaps our ears deceive us.  “Go on.”  Stone watches his wife through the 
window, and decides he should.

Stone kneels in front of his wife, as she flips through the book.  Although 
she cannot see him, he looks up at her.  He reaches out to touch her hair...  
From behind him he hears a whiny voice, "C'mon man, you gotta let me go to 
the can."

Stone looks back, he is now watching himself in the police interrogation 
room.  The Devil is standing next to him, smiling, and Stone stands and looks 
around.  “Start talking,” his alter ego says.

“But I got to go...” the man whines.  

Stone watches himself lean on the table in front of Nick Keeny.  "Hey, I got 
ears, you got something to say to me?"  

“I ain’t no animal, you know.  I got rights!”

“Yeah, I got time.  I got all day.”

“Seriously Stone, I don’t think I can hold it any longer,” Keeny says, 
shifting in his chair.

"Really?" Stone asks.

Keeny relaxes, and we hear a splashing sound.  Detective Stone laughs.  The 
Devil beams at Ezekiel, who looks uncomfortable with the entire scene.

Detective Stone’s partner, Mel, who has been watching from behind the mirror, 
comes in, “Zeke, what the Hell is this?”

“I told him!” Keeny insists, “I told him!”

“Shut up,” the officer snaps back.

“Seems our friendly neighborhood drug pusher doesn't want to talk.”

“Don’t you think maybe you’re pushing this a little far?” Mel says.

“No, I got it under control, it’s fine.”

“What are you doing here?  It’s your day off.”

“File it under labor of love,” responds Detective Stone.

“Yeah, well, I hate to break your heart, but we gotta let him go.”

“What?”

“The warrant wasn’t properly filled out.”

“Come on, you gotta be kidding me.”

Mel tries to explain, but is cut off.  “Someone in the D.A.…” 

“Come on, you gotta be kidding me,” he repeats.

“Somebody in the D.A.’s office screwed up.  He’s walking.”

Nick Keeny is jubilant.  “That makes you oh for three, Stone,” he taunts, as 
Mel drags him out of the room.

“Shut up.”  Mel smacks him on the back of the head as Stone watches.

“Hey, maybe you oughta mop that up!” Keen calls.  He laughs and waves as he 
leaves.

In the empty room, Stone flips the desk against the wall, tipping over a 
chair, sending papers and cups flying.

”Ooh, that temper,” says the Devil,  “Takes my breath away.  Only you, the 
mighty Stone, could possibly deal with Keeny.  And on your day off, too.”

“He got off on technicalities twice.  I wasn’t about to let it happen again.”

“Oh.  Well, that justified your treatment of Keeny.  And your wife.”  Stone 
looks away.  “By the way,” the Devil needles, “How’d you finally manage to 
land the elusive Mr. Keeny?”

“I don’t remember,” Stone says, clearly lying.

“Oh, well, I do.”


In a flash, Stone and the Devil are transported into a dark alley as Keeny 
walks by.  Detective Stone and his partner are waiting in the shadows.  
“Keeny,” Stone calls.  

“Why, good evening, Detectives,” Keeny says, playing it cool.

“You know the position, Nick,” Mel tells him, prodding him towards a tall 
fence.

“Come, on, come, on,” Keeny protests.  

Stone pushes him into the fence, and begins to frisk him.  “Get any school 
kids hooked today?”  He takes a small bag of white powder from his pocket and 
slips it into Keeny’s jacket.  

“You know, you really need a new routine, Detective.”

“Is that right, I gotta get a new routine?”  Detective Stone says off screen.  
The Devil is giving his hellcop another look, but Stone is unrepentant.  
“All right, turn around and empty your pockets.”

“Aww, come on,” Keeny whines.

“Hurry up,” Mel orders.

“This is so pointless,” Keeny protests.

“Humor us,” Stone demands.

Keeny complies, flinging change onto the ground.  Then he finds the planted 
evidence.  “What is this?”

“What have we got here?” Stone says, taking it from him.

“You stop by the neighbor maybe, borrow a cup of sugar?” Mel suggests.  He 
spins Keeny back against the wall.

“That ain’t mine,” Keeny insists.

“Turn around.”

“He planted that!” Keeny says, trying to face his accusers.

Mel pushes Keeny into the wall.  “Resisting, you want me to add that?”

“You’re violating me!”

“What a repulsive thought,” Stone says dryly.

“My rights.  You’re violating my rights!” Keeny continues to shout as he is 
marched away.  “You can’t do this!  You can’t do this!”

Detective Stone, a man who has sworn to uphold the law, replies, "Just did," 
as he walks after them.

In the background, Keeny continues to yell, “Stone, you can’t do this to me!”


The Devil steps forward, and Ezekiel follows.  He finds that they have been 
transported to his apartment.  Stone immediately begins to justify his 
actions.  “He was getting kids addicted to drugs, in junior high school.”

“And that’s why you planted evidence on his person?”

“Yeah,” Stone agrees

“Hmmm...” The Devil ponders.  “What if he’d been innocent?”

“But he wasn’t.  The jury deliberated for what, fifteen minutes.”

“Basing their judgment on the coke you slipped into Mr. Keeny’s pocket.”

“Fine.  So that made us even.”

“You stomped all over Keeny’s rights.  You even stomped all over Keeny.”

“Yeah, I put him in prison.  That was my job.  Made the world a safer place.”

“Ahh, but you forget, Mr. Stone.  For every action, a reaction.”

The Devil lifts Stone’s hand, and runs it across the metal bars of the jail 
cell that they now find themselves just outside of.  Nick Keeny is inside.  

“Two dollars,” another inmate offers.

“Two dollar?  No, it’s five dollars,” Keeny tells him.

“Okay.”

Keeny gets up from his bunk.  “A nick?” he verifies.  The other inmate turns 
away, and Keeny recovers his drugs from their hiding place in the toilet. 
“All right,” he says, giving permission for the his buyer to turn back around.  
They make the transaction.  

Keeny shakes his head, and turns away.  Now the other man strikes, stabbing 
him in the back with a home made shiv.  Keeny groans, and is stabbed again.  
“Then again, the whole bag will do.”

The Devil begins to lecture Stone, “Had you not planted evidence on Mr. Keeny, 
the D.A. could not have convicted.  Ergo, he would not have gone to prison.  
Ergo, he would not have been murdered.  So you see, the moral of this story 
is, the murder of Gilbert Jax is not the only premature death for which you 
must take responsibility.”

Stone shakes his head, not buying it.  “I didn’t kill him.”  He looks at 
Keeny’s body.  “Besides, whatever he got, he deserved.”

“That’s my boy,” the Devil says proudly, patting him on the back before 
disappearing into the darkness.


Stone wanders away from the cell, and ends up back in his room.  He passes 
many restless hours, thinking over what he has seen.  Did he really deserve to 
go to Hell after his death?  Looking out at the city below, he ponders the 
fate of the others who walk the street, believing they lead a good life.  
Answers cannot be found, and Ezekiel curls up on his bed in the fetal 
position, subconsciously acting out a simpler time of his life.

A brilliant light washes over him.  “Ezekiel,” a voice says, “Listen to me.”  
Ezekiel turns and sees a figure standing bathed in white light.  It is the 
Devil, but wearing white... a white stocking cap, and white shirt, and light 
pants.  In his hands, he fiddles with a pastel bandana.

“Stay out of my head,” Stone tells him, “And dim the light.”

The Devil takes a step forward, decreasing the glow as he does so.  

“That’s quite an outfit,” Stone observes as he sits up on the bed.  “What are 
you supposed to be the ghost of Picasso?”

“Oh, well,” the figure says, smiling pleasantly as he twirls the bandana 
around itself, and ties it around his neck.  “Maybe I should introduce 
myself, then.”

“Introduce yourself?  What are you talking about?”

“Oh-oh,” comes the response as the being catches a view of himself in the 
mirror.  “Is this how I look to you, Ezekiel?  Just like him?  I’m not who 
you think I am, not at all.”  Stone buries his face in one hand as the other 
tries to explain.  “Oh, boy, oh, boy.  I’ve heard this happens sometime.  
Once a mortal sees one of us, they can’t tell us apart.  They think we all 
look alike.  Let me assure you, I am nothing like my brother.”

“You brother?”

“Yes, all angels are siblings, whether of the fallen variety or not.”

Stone scoffs.  “Now you’re an angel.”  His visitor chuckles, pleased that 
Stone has seen the light.  “That’s great.”

“I think it was Marcel Proust who said...”  He groans as he struggles to 
recall the quote.  “Oh, oh, here, ‘The real voyage of discovery lies not in 
seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

“What’s your point?”

“You can collect evidence to support any belief, good or bad.  My brother 
wants you to think that even if you get your life back, you’re still doomed 
to back down to Hell no matter what.”  He slams his fist into the countertop 
to emphasize his point. “Well, I say that’s wrong!”  Ezekiel looks at him, 
disbelieving.  He’s never seen the Devil act this way.  “Ezekiel, you come 
with me.  Come with me, and let’s look with new eyes.”




ACT TWO

It’s daytime, and Stone and the Angel are seated at a lunch counter.  There 
is a ice cream sundae in front of the Angel, and he is digging in.  “You 
know, that stuff will kill you.”  The Angel doesn’t care.  “Forget it,” Stone 
says, sipping from his coffee. 

“New eyes, Ezekiel, new eyes,” the Angel reminds him.

“Oh great.  More Proust.” Stone groans.  The Angel chuckles.  “Look, I think 
I’ve had enough remembrance of things past for one day.”

“It’s not the past that’s at stake here, Ezekiel,” the Angel tells him, his 
mouth full of ice cream.  “It’s your future.”

Stone finally lets his frustrations boil over.  “Why don’t you just get 
someone else to track down this wayward flock of yours?  Someone who’s 
‘worthy’ of redemption.”

“You’re more than worthy.”

“Oh really?  What about the trail of victims that I left as I bullied my way 
through life?”  The Angel can only laugh, and it’s too much for Stone.  “You 
know what?  I quit.  All right?.  I- I- I’ve had it.  You win.”

“All right, all right,” the Angel agrees.

“You win.”

“All right, let’s make it simple, though, all right?”  The Angel looks around 
the diner, finally settling on a mirror across from them.  “Look, look right 
there,” he directs, as a white flash obscures the mirror.  “Those are the 
Forresters.  That family is alive because of you.”

Stone looks into the mirror.  A family is there, looking at him.  There are 
five of them, a mother, father, two girls and a boy, all neatly dressed and 
smiling.  “Why are you showing me this?”

“If you hadn’t have arrested Nick Keeny when you did, he would have gotten 
into his car, high on drugs, and crashed into the Forrester’s van.  They were 
on a trip.  To Connecticut.  That van would have plummeted right over an 
embankment and all five of them would have died.”

As if on cue, the Forresters all raise a hand and wave.  “Thank you,” they 
chorus.  

Stone just watches.  “Wave,” the Angel says, prodding him, “Wave.”  When he 
gets no response, he waves to the family, and then digs back into his ice 
cream sundae.  After enjoying one final bite, he disappears.

“Vanilla!” roars the Devil, appearing at his right shoulder.  He is dressed 
in his usual dark clothes, and his manner is the same we have come to know 
and love; harsh and disagreeable.

“Well, that was a quick change.  What is this, some kind of joke?  What are 
you doing?”

“What are you talking about?” the Devil replies, more concerned with the ice 
cream sundae.  “Who ordered this?  Vanilla?  Where is that waitress?  I only 
eat Rocky Road.”

Stone is still puzzled.  “Do you have like, a twin brother?”

“What?” the Devil snaps, still looking for the waitress.  When his gaze 
finally falls on Ezekiel, he begins to ponder what has happened to him.

“Is it... Is it possible that I’ve been speaking with an Angel?”

“Him,” chortles the Devil, “Don’t make me laugh.  You could never live up to 
His standards.”

“Really?  What can I tell you?  He seems to think that I have.”

“Oh, nonsense.  This pious, saintly life you’ve been imaging for yourself 
never existed.”

“No, I never said ‘saintly.’  I never said ‘saintly,’ I said ‘good.’  I say I 
lived a good life.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t run a red light, or I didn’t 
cheat on an algebra test.”

“Don’t kid the King of Kidders, Mr. Stone.  Let me explain to you why you 
failed to lead a moral life.”

“No, no, no,” Stone says, his own tone rising along with the Devil’s.  “I 
don’t want to hear it.  I’m not interested, capisce?  You’re over, past, 
passé.  You’re a pet rock.  A Nehru jacket.”  Stone gets up and walks out of 
the diner.  The Devil plucks the cherry from the sundae and devours it, 
allowing himself a small, satisfied smile.

Stone stalks down the street.  Just a few doors down, dressed in white and 
waiting for him, is the Devil’s alter ego.  “That ‘King of Kidders’ line.  He 
got that from me.”  The Angel falls in step next to Stone, walking at his left 
shoulder.  “I used to call him that,” he claims.

Stone says nothing, just keeps walking.  Then he notices a woman flipping 
through used records on the side of the street.  It’s Rosalyn.  And next to 
her is him, alive and well, nose buried deep in a crate of records.  The Angel 
notices him noticing, and smiles warmly.

The young Stone kisses Rosalyn’s hand as he flips past records with the other.  
She giggles.  “Oh, my God,” he mutters, finding something.  He plucks out his 
treasure and stands up straight.

“What?”

“I don’t believe this.  I don’t believe this.  This is Lightning Hopkins.  
This has, like, an incredibly rare version of ‘Trouble Stay Away From My 
Door' on it."

"Who is Lightning Hopkins?" Roz wonders.

“Oh my God.”  Stone is still in awe of his find.  "I saw him play with BB King 
and John Lee Hooker in 1969," he says, his voice quick with enthusiasm. "All 
of which means nothing to you," he laughs.

"No, that's not true," she says smiling, "When I hear you talking about this, 
I want it to mean something... so it does."

"If you heard it, it would mean something to you."

"Well, why don't you buy it?"

"It's fifty bucks."

"So what, it's fifty bucks, just buy it."

“No,” Stone says, "Can't afford it."  He puts it back, and pats the stack.  
“Nope, nope, nope.  Nope.  Nope.”

“Come on.”

Stone walks away from the stand.  "Nope, nope, nope, no can do."  He grabs 
three oranges from a fruit stand and juggles them, "But this I can do."  

“You can’t do that,” Roz laughs, hanging onto him playfully.

“This I can do,” he insists, continuing to juggle.

“Put those back,” Roz says, “Put them back.”

“Sorry,” Stone tells the confused owners of the fruit stand as he returns 
the fruit.


Around the corner, Stone decides to buy a paper.  “Rosalyn, I need a quarter.  
You got a quarter?”
She leans her bag out toward him, and he begins to search.  “Where?”

“It’s in there,” she insists.  Her face gets serious.  “Oh, wait a minute, 
my scarf.  You know what, I bet it’s back at the antique store.  I’m gonna 
be right back.”

Stone comes up with a quarter.  “You had a scarf?”

“Yeah, I did,” she says.  “So, just stay right here, I’ll be right back.”

Stone shrugs.  The newspaper vendor hands him the paper, “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”


Stone is leaning against the wall, reading the paper ("President Reagan 
Supports Falkland Island Decision") when Roz comes back, smiling brightly.  
“You find your scarf?”

“No,” she replies, shaking her head.  "But... I did find this," she says, 
pulling the record out from behind her back.  "It's for you, take it."  

Stone stands there in shock.  “Man.  Oh man.”

Roz laughs, "You are so gullible.  When have you ever once seen me wear a 
scarf?"

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Stone replies, looking at the record, still 
struggling to find words.

"Did you know that his full name is Sam Lightning Hopkins," she says, Stone 
smiling at her in amazement.  Roz is looking up, concentrating and trying to 
remember, "and he was the founding father of blues guitar."

"One of them," he smiles, "Where did you hear that?"

"From Bob."

"Bob?  Who’s Bob?"

"Yeah, he is my new best friend now from the used record stall."

Stone looks back and forth from Roz to the record.  "Why did you do this?"

"Think about it," she says, and leans forward to kiss him.  "You'll figure it 
out," she kisses him again.  She brushes against him as she starts to walk 
again, a beautiful smile on her face.  She looks back at Stone, her face 
still lit up with joy.

"Kind of make you teeth hurt, doesn't it, Mr. Stone?"  The Devil says, his 
harsh voice jarring us back to reality.  

Our favorite hellcop watches Rosalyn walk away, trying to stretch the moment 
out just a little longer.
"That was why I loved her." 

The Devil laughs, "So you say."


We flashback to Stone playing pool in a bar.  He and a lady at the jukebox are 
repeatedly exchanging glances.  Stone finishes his game, and then walks over 
by her, then out the side door.  He waits for her in the alley.

After a moment she follows him, stepping out into the alley in her high heels, 
long legs visible beneath her dress.  The pair says nothing, they simply step 
into an embrace and begin to kiss.  Her arms are around his neck, holding him 
tight.  Stone’s grip slips lower, clasping her ass, pulling her toward him as 
they move against a brick wall.

The Devil and Stone watch the scene.  “Ah... lust and adultery...  They never 
seem to go out of fashion, do they?”  Stone says nothing, only continues to 
watch.  

The younger Stone pulls away from the girl, both of them still breathing heavy.  
“Wait a minute,” he whispers, his thoughts in turmoil.  Finally, he decides.  
“I really... I really can’t do this.”  Leaving the disappointed woman outside, 
he walks back into the bar.

“See,” Stone says to the Devil, “It wasn’t adultery.”

“You should run for political office,” the Devil suggests.

“It was just a kiss.”

“Forget the kiss.  It’s the thought that counts.”

“I threw her number away.”  Stone watches as the woman walks off.  “I never 
called her.”

“You threw it away, or did you lose it?  You chose not to call her, or did 
you chicken out?  Hmm?”

“None of your business.”

“You were meant for me,” the Devil tells him, “to quote an old song.”  
Breaking into tune, he sings, “And I was meant for you.”  The Devil dances 
out of the alley, onto the street, in front of a appliance store with a 
bank of TV’s in the window.  He points his fingers at them, and the news 
is on.

“...the third such robbery in as many weeks,” the reporter says, “He struck 
today at 12:30 pm. at Emerson National in Westwood.  Two customers were 
injured and a guard was killed.  The attack was caught on videotape.”

The video shows Joseph Renkmeyer, carrying a large duffle bag, pointing a 
shotgun into the crowd of bank patrons.  He raises it and fires twice into 
the ceiling.  The customers drop to the ground.

“Oh,” the Devil exclaims, “There’s nothing like a nice bloody armed robbery 
to get your heart pumping.  Thank you so much, Mr. Stone, for so clumsily 
bungling Mr. Renkmeyer’s capture.”

Stone watches as the video continues.  “You know, I can understand damning 
him for eternity.  But why me?”

“I’ve just given you a walking tour of your sins.”

“Which were hardly sins,” Stone points out.

“But they add up.  Life is cumulative.  In my business, you don’t start fresh 
every morning with a nice clean slate.”

A bright flash, and it’s day time.  Detective Stone is strolling through a 
city square, on the trail of one of his regular snitches.  “Hi, Cazzie,” he 
says, spotting her sitting on a park bench.  She sighs when she sees him, 
looking like she might be ready to leave.  He puts his foot up next to her, 
telling her not to go anywhere.  “How’s you doing?  I need some help.”

“Uh-uh, nothing doing.  No more snitching for me.  Too dangerous. I prefer 
my skin to stay ON my body, where it belongs.”

“Yeah, but I think you’re really going to want to help on this one.”

“I got a bus to catch.”  She stands up.

Stone gently forces her back down.  “Come on, sit down.  Sit, sit down, sit. 
I want to tell you about a case I’m working on.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yeah, well, you might even recognize this one.”  He sits down next to her, 
grinning as he lays out his information.  “See, there’s this 16 year old 
boy, all right?  Lives in a penthouse, Central Park West.  There’s this girl 
over, this girl was making eyes at him.  She got him to take him back to his 
apartment, and his parents weren’t there.”

Cazzie is getting a little uncomfortable.  “Can I go now?”

“No.  So Junior has his fun.  The woman drugs him, and goes on a little 
shopping spree around the apartment.”  Cazzie shifts around, and he 
continues, “Yeah.  See, here’s the problem.  I know who this woman is, and I 
should turn her in.  But she’s got five or ten priors, and if she gets 
convicted, she going to be sentenced to a long, long time...”

“All right, all right, what do I have to do?”

Stone senses blood in the water.  “Ned Raines.”

“That’s old news.  Ned and I are just friends now.  I got me a new man.”

“Oh, that’s good. See, the problem is, the cop that Ned shot a week ago in the 
Bronx just died.  So I want him.”  He gets out his notepad, ready to write 
down whatever she says.

“Wow, you don’t ask much, do you?”

“Where is he, Cazzie?”

“He’d cut my heart out with a spoon.”

“That’s why I got to lock him up,” Stone says.

Cazzie thinks it over.  She’s between a rock and a hard place.  “All right.  
You gotta promise to leave me and my boyfriend ‘G’ out of it, okay.”

“Deal.”

“I got to tell you, Detective, it was getting pretty hot in that ritzy 
apartment, with ‘G’ watching while I took that kid’s cherry.”

“You know what?  I don’t care if you and ‘G’ want to have sex in Macy’s 
window.  I just want Raines.”

“Can I trust you?”

“Of course you can.”

“454 West 47th.  Apartment 2B.  Okay?”

Stone repeats it back.  “‘West 47th, 2B’?”

“Yeah.  2B.”

“2B.  All right.”  Detective Stone flips his notepad shut and walks away.

The Devil stares at his employee, waiting for his to realize the point.  Stone 
doesn’t see anything wrong.  “So?”  he asks.

“’So?’”

“Yeah, so I arrested Raines, he got convicted, sentenced to life in Attica.”

“But you got promoted for arresting Mr. Raines, if I’m not mistaken.”

“That’s right.”

“So you let Cazzie and her boyfriend off the hook for your own personal gain.”

“Well, yeah.  She returned the stuff she stole, the kid was fine.  I put a 
piece of scum in jail.  It’s called good police work, and  I don’t regret it.”

The Devil laughs, as if he knows something Stone hasn't realized yet. “It’s 
all still sailing right over that fuzzy little head of yours, isn’t it, 
Detective?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Connect the dots, kiddo.  The boyfriend she called ‘G', the one who helped 
her loot the apartment, ‘G'.”

“’G’?”

“‘G' is for Gilbert, Gilbert Jax.  And you let him go.  Two months later he 
rapes your wife."

Stone is visibly upset.  "No," he says, "that's not true.  No.  Why should 
that be true?"  The Devil just smiles, and Stone pacing around, continues, 
"I don't believe you.  You're the prince of lies."  

"But you do believe me, don’t you, Mr. Stone?  You know I wouldn’t go to all 
this trouble to make it up?  You're not worth it."

Stone gets in his face.  "You son of a bitch.  You really push a man to the 
brink."

The Devil chuckles as he says, "I am the brink."

"Yeah... I am the man," Stone mutters, pulling his gun.  The Devil has a 
second to register this before Stone shoots, and he is sucked back to Hell.




ACT THREE

Stone is at home, slumped in his favorite chair, staring blankly at the TV. 
“The mission was a success,” the announcer explains, showing clips of 
training men, the sound of gunfire in the background, “These soldiers are now 
qualified to go to battle.”

The Angel arrives, however, his pastel bandana is not around his neck.  
“There, Ezekiel, you see?  You are a good man.”

“What are you talking about?” Stone says dully.

“You shot the Devil, didn’t you?”

“Oh yeah.”  The Angel turns the TV off.  “Somehow, I think he’ll recover.”

There is a heavy pounding on the door.  “House detective!” the Devil shouts, 
as he bursts into the room.  He stops, shocked at who he sees Stone with.

In the pause, Stone continues, “See?”

“Well,” the Devil says, “well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well, well, 
well, well, well, what have we here, your new best friend?" the Devil asks. 
Looking at Stone, he says, "I feel so hurt, so tossed aside."  This could be 
directed toward the Angel or to God.  

"Don't worry, Ezekiel," The Angel says, "he's not going to fire you.  He 
knows there is nobody else down there that can be trusted with the job you're 
doing."

"Wait a minute!" The Devil shouts, interrupting.  “Wait a minute!”  There is 
silence for a moment until he has Ezekiel's full attention.  "I'd like to talk 
about your little outburst on the street, Mr. Stone.  Imagine my surprise at 
being shot.  I was dumbstruck with terror - the gun, the bullets, the flames.  
Ooh-ooh, scary, scary stuff.”  He kicks Stone in the shin.  “Nothing like 
that will happen again, will it, Mr. Stone?"

"Maybe not."

The Devil looks up at the Angel, then back to Stone, who still has his jaw 
set defiantly.  "You're not up for grabs, you know.  You're mine  You were 
mine long before you ever came to Hell."

"Don't listen to him, Ezekiel," The Angel says, "He has lies to tell, and he 
thinks you are vulnerable.  Your future hasn't even been written yet, 
Ezekiel... and when it is, you, and you alone will be its author."

"C'mon, Detective, enough already, this is boring," The Devil says.

"He wants you to think human beings aren't redeemable.  That once you've 
sinned, you're through."  The Devil laughs.  The Angel jumps across Ezekiel, 
and they find themselves sitting at a fountain in a park.  He continues, 
"Well, it just doesn't work that way."  

The Angel leaps up.  “Look, look, look at that family right over there.  One 
time they hired a landscaper who used the alias George Smith.”  Stone 
recognizes the name.  “That’s right – Gilbert Jax.”  Stone stands up to take 
a better look.  “The lady’s name is Irene.  29 years old.  If you hadn’t have 
stopped him, she would have been Jax’s next victim.  In fact, every lady in 
this park is someone you saved from Gilbert Jax.”

"Wait a minute," Stone asks, "Are you justifying me killing Jax?"

“Oh... no.  But even universal law has what they call...” The Angel struggles 
with the phrase.  “What is it?  ‘Mitigating circumstances.’”

"Well, just about everything I did had mitigating circumstances and I still 
went straight to Hell."

“Pfft...” the Angel raises his hands, and a band begins to play.  Tiny 
sparkles of light flash across Stone.  He turns around to find himself at 
a party.

“What the hell?”  He wanders around, and sees someone he recognizes.  “Lt. 
D’Amato.  That’s my old C.O.  There’s Kerry O’Salem.  Ron Mallard... never 
could dance.  Bruce Patton... my God.”

“Careful,” warns the Angel, removing the pastel bandana from his pocket and 
tying it around his neck, “your face might crack.”

“The 1980 Policeman’s Ball.”  He remembers what happen here... and sees her 
for the first time all over again.  Standing against the wall, wearing a 
peach colored dress, is the future Mrs. Stone.  Rosalyn sips from her drink, 
looking bored.

The uniformed Stone steps away from the refreshment table, holding a beer.  
His buddy Marv is there, watching a pretty girl across the room.  “Come on, 
Marv.  Aren’t you gonna ask her to dance?” Stone wonders.

“Oh, no, Zeke, really, I’m cool.”

Zeke shrugs indifferently, and sets down his beer.  He strolls across the 
room, cutting into the circle that the girl is part of.  “I’m sorry,” he says 
as he brushes a man aside to smile at the woman.  “Would you like to dance?”

“Yes,” she agrees, smiling as she follows him to the dance floor.

Zeke holds her close, and they begin to dance.  “What’s your name?”

“Marjie.”

“Marjie, my name is Zeke.”

“Nice to meet you.”  

“Nice to meet you, too.”

Stone steers Marjie over toward where Marv is standing and watching.  Rosalyn 
realizes something is going on, and watches as Stone bumps into Marv.  “Oh, 
I’m sorry,” Stone says to Marv.  “You said you wanted to cut in?”

Marv is speechless.  “Uhh...”

“Did you just say that?” Stone persists. 

“Sure,” Marv agrees.

“Oh, okay.  If that’s okay with you,” Stone asks Marjie.

“All right,” she says shyly.

Stone introduces them.  “This is Marv.”

“Marvin,” Marv corrects.  Rosalyn is amused by the whole scene.

“Hi, Marvin,” Marjie says.

Stone points to Marjie, “Marjie.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Go ahead,” Stone says, and Marv steps out onto the dance floor with the girl.  
Stone picks up his beer, and grins, pleased with himself.  

Rosalyn approaches him.  “That was awfully sweet of you,” she says.

“What’s that?”  Stone wonders.

“You know perfectly well, what,” she replies, gesturing toward Marv and 
Marjie.

Stone realizes his course of action had been observed.  “Guy’s just a little 
shy, that’s all,” he says humbly.

“Well, it was still very nice,” Rosalyn tells him, her curly brown hair 
bouncing as she sips her drink.

“Thank you.”  Stone takes another look at her and likes what he sees.  “I’m 
Zeke.”

“Rosalyn.”

“’Rosalyn,’” he repeats. 

“Yeah.”

“Well... Rosalyn.  Would you like to dance?”

Rosalyn looks behind him, curious.  Straight faced, she asks, “What, you’ve 
got more shy friends?”

“Just me,” he says, grinning.  She agrees, and he takes her hand, leading 
her out to the dance floor.  The two can’t stop smiling as they dance.

Their clothes change, and they are now dancing at their wedding.  Rosalyn 
wears white, and they laugh and smile as they talk to each other.  We can’t 
hear what is being said, but the looks on their faces are enough to let us 
know they are deeply in love.  

“Do you want to hear what they are saying?” The Angel asks.  “Ezekiel?”

“No, that's all right.  I remember... every word.”

“You think that’s why you haven’t really tried to find her?  Maybe she fell 
in love again.  Got married... had kids... hmm?  Maybe you couldn’t face it.”

“Who could?”


Another white flash takes us to a cemetery.  It is the graveyard where Ezekiel 
is buried.  Stone kneels and reads his tombstone. “Ezekiel Stone, beloved 
husband, detective NYPD.  Died defending the citizens of New York.  The city, 
she weepeth sore in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks.”  He looks up 
at the Angel, “I don’t get it.  I know I'm dead."  

The Angel steps to the right.  Stone follows him, and kneels beside the 
second gravestone.  “Rosalyn.”

“She wanted to be buried next to you,” the Angel explains.  We see Rosalyn 
Stone's tombstone.  (In Loving Memory September 8, 1953 - February 4, 1999) 

“How?  How?”

“Bank robbery.  Wrong place, wrong time.  The Monument Bank on Addison 
Street.  But she died instantly, Ezekiel.  She was killed by a stray bullet 
fired by Joe Renkmeyer, that creature that got away from you this morning.”

Stone places his hand on the headstone, still trying to comprehend.  
“February 4th, 1999.  That’s today, isn’t it?  She was killed today.”

“Exactly 45 minutes from now.”

“From now?” Stone repeats.  The Angel nods.  “Well, then you’ve got to get 
me to L.A.”

“I’m sorry, Ezekiel.  This is as far as I go.”  The Angel stands up.  

“What are you talking about?”

“The rest is up to you,” the Angel affirms.

“Up to me?  I can’t get across the country in 45 minutes.”

“Remember, the future hadn’t even been written yet.  Faith, Ezekiel, have 
faith.”

“Faith?”  Stone says, getting pissed.  “We’re talking about my wife’s life.”  
He looks down at her grave, and when he looks back up, the Angel is gone.  
“What is this crap about faith!”




ACT FOUR

“I thought that glow worm would never leave,” The Devil says, suddenly 
appearing, perched on a gravestone.

“I need to get out of here,” Stone says.

“May I remind you, for whom you work?  I brought you back here to chase down 
my escaped souls.  I don’t have to let you save your precious Rosalyn.”  Stone 
hangs his head as the Devil rubs it in more.  “Do you have a precise time?  
How much longer does she have left?”

“Oh, please don’t do this,” Stone pleads.

“Nine minutes?  Eight minutes?” taunts the Devil.  “I want you to fully 
experience each passing moment.”

“I should have known.”

“You work for me,” says the Devil.  “Say it.”

“All right.  I work for you.”

“You do my bidding, don’t you?”  

“Yeah.  I do your bidding,” Stone says, instantly agreeable.

“Shall I forgive you your transgression?”

“Sure.  Forgive me.  Now get me back.”

The Devil laughs.  “You really fancy me the forgiving sort?”

“No.  Not really.  So here’s the bargain--”

“Oh, a bargain?”

“Yeah.  Keep your redemption, your second chance.  I’ll return all your 
damned souls, with no strings attached, just get me back.”

“No, I can’t, Mr. Stone, this is too good.  This has to be a lesson you’ll 
never forget.”  The Devil snaps his fingers.  “Damn.  If only I could alter 
time, and make these eight excruciating minutes last forever.”

“But you can't, can you?" Stone realizes.  "You can't alter time.  In fact... 
you can't... you can’t mess with reality at all.”  The Devil watches Stone 
with a smug smile on his face.  “You can only mess with my perception of 
reality.  None of this is real, is it?  I’m not in New York.  I'm not even 
in a cemetery.”  Stone smiles, knowing he has figured it out.  "You know 
anything about faith?"

As Stone turns and begins to run, The Devil replies, "Faith?  I was present 
at its creation."

"Yeah, look at you now," Stone mutters.

"Do you really think faith is going to set you free, Mr. Stone?" The Devil 
yells after him.

Stone runs out of the cemetery and finds himself back in the stairwell of 
the parking garage where he faced Joe Renkmeyer, the place where the whole 
illusion began.  He recalls the Angel’s directions, and runs through the 
streets, muttering, “Addison, Addison.”

At the Monument Bank, Joe Renkmeyer has just entered.  He allows a woman to 
leave, “Ma’am,” and then closes the door firmly behind her.  With that, he 
raises his shotgun and fires into the ceiling three times.  “Good evening, 
folks.  If you’d all be kind enough to kiss the floor.”  The customers get 
down, and he encourages them, “Let’s not be getting heroic now.”  To the 
tellers, he says, “Let’s get that money out.  Open the drawer please.”

But one customer is still standing, frozen at that table where you fill out 
deposit slips.  It’s Rosalyn Stone.  Renkmeyer looks at her and chuckles.  
“What are you looking at, doll face?” He puts a hand on her shoulder and 
steers her away.

Stone arrived outside just as Renkmeyer got there, and now sneaks into the 
bank by a side door. He’s coming up behind Renkmeyer when the bank’s security 
guard pops up.  “Drop it!” the guard yells, aiming his weapon.  Renkmeyer 
points his shotgun at him.  Rosalyn stands in the middle.

“Roz!” Stone cries, tackling her from behind.  She screams as the gunfire 
goes over her head.  Roz lands face down, and Stone covers her as Renkmeyer 
and the guard exchange gunfire.  When Renkmeyer's shotgun appears to jam, 
Stone jumps up and leaps at him.  They tumble into a side room.  

Renkmeyer lands on top, and clubs Stone with his shotgun several times.  
Stone is dazed on the floor, two pens hanging on chains swinging against his 
face. “You’re a real pest, you know that?” Renkmeyer tells him as he cocks 
the shotgun, “And I’m done dealing with you.”

Stone grabs the two pens in his fingers.  “You bet,” he says, then punches 
Renkmeyer in the eyes with them.  He screams, and falls backward, dropping 
on the ground, his soul escaping from his body and plunging into the bowels 
of the earth.

In the bank lobby, the security guard is taking control of the situation.  
“Everybody out.  Everybody out, move, move, let’s go, let’s go.  Let’s go, 
let’s go, come on, let’s go.  Up, up, up.  Let’s go.” Rosalyn gets up, still 
confused.  She tries to go into the room where Stone is, but the guard won’t 
let her.  “No, no, no, no, Miss, Miss, this way, this way, come on.  Let’s 
go, let’s go.  We gotta go, let’s go.  Move, move, move.  Let’s go.”  He 
shepards her out of the building.  Stone returns to the lobby and gets a 
glimpse of her.


Annie Lennox's 'Why' fades in, we hear voices slowly singing, "Why... why..." 
Annie’s first line is, "How many times, do I have to try to tell you, that 
I'm sorry for the things I've done?" as Stone watches Roz in front of the 
bank from a block away.  

The Angel approached him, trying to be supportive.  "I think you're right, 
Ezekiel.  You should keep your distance.  For now."

"Look at her," Stone says, his voice thick with emotion.  "She's so spooked."

"She'll be all right.  This will all just be a blur to her."

"So beautiful..."

”And you're happy to see her, aren't you?  You're not troubled at all?"

"Yeah.  I guess so."

"So, then don't underestimate yourself again.  The world is full of Rosalyns, 
and they need you to succeed.  Never mind what my brother says.  Yours is a 
divine purpose, Ezekiel."

Ezekiel chuckles.  The laugh seems to help him pull himself together.  "He 
would freak if he heard that."

"Good, let him freak." They laugh for a moment, and Stone's eyes return to 
Roz.  

He sighs.  "Thanks," he tells the Angel.  It is an all encompassing thanks, 
for the laugh, for showing him the world with new eyes, for helping prevent 
his wife's death.

“You’re welcome,” the Angel replies softly, understanding. “Oh, there is one 
more thing you should know.  Your fate was never determined until you killed 
Gilbert Jax.  All in all, you lived a good life, Ezekiel.  Have faith.  Your 
work is appreciated.”

Stone watches her for another moment.  The music swells to finish the scene, 
"Why can't you see... This boat is sinking... this boat is sinking... this 
boat is sinking." 

Roz is wiping tears from her eyes. "Let’s go down to the water’s edge, and 
we can cast away those doubts." 

Finally he turn and walks away. "Some things are better left unsaid." 

Roz finally looks down the block and sees him. "But they still turn me 
inside out," She starts to go after him, but after a few steps, realizes 
it can't possibly be her dead husband, and she turns back.  "Turn me inside 
out... turn me inside out... tell me... why..."

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