Sink! | Scene 4, Act 1

Sara

She takes up a microphone. SARA is recording a podcast.

Imagine spending every week pretending to murder your friends. One week, you’re shooting your best pal, the next stabbing, strangling, dropping a toaster into his kiddie pool, cutting her Dodge Caravan’s brake line. Welcome to the imaginary world of the True-Blue Murder Crew.

SADIE: Kennedy has to head out. But, hey, H-E-B cookies!

I am in the outskirts of Austin, Texas, in someone’s backyard. It’s hot and getting late. This group of, well, enthusiasts have spent the last hour staging a series of gruesome killings. They meet every other Thursday night and act out—and try to solve—“true crimes.”

I am in the outskirts of Austin, Texas, in someone’s backyard. It’s hot and getting late. This group of, well, enthusiasts have spent the last hour staging a series of gruesome killings. They meet every other Thursday night and act out—and try to solve—“true crimes.”

Specifically, unsolved murders. Tonight I’m their guest. I’m Sara Kayneg. And this is Surreal. One story told week by week. In this week’s podcast: “What’s True About True Crime?”

KENNEDY: My wife gave me the night off, Sadie.

That’s Kennedy, a 42-year-old adjunct at the local community college. A minute ago, he was “Dean James,” in a scene replicating the notorious 1990s accident that killed film director Scott Moody. The task of solving this mystery fell to Evelyn.

KENNEDY: I play “DC.” Stands for Detective Crew. We created his character as our fictional stand in. Topo?

They offer me a kind of sparkling water they drink in Texas. It tastes funny. No alcohol allowed here. They eat cookies and couple of them spar with swords.

FRANCES: Yah, dude.

There are a lot of weapons lying around, by the way. I spotted a snake’s cage labeled, “Maltesian rock viper.”

KENNEDY: Doesn’t make sense. According to my research, they were going to fire him anyway.

They come from different walks of life. The youngest is 27, the oldest 68. Some have kids. Some are straight, some gay, some in-between. Divorced, engaged, married, single. Politically, they are everywhere on the map.

CECILIA: Socialist.

Some live in big houses, others in apartments. Frances sleeps on his brother’s couch and Kennedy lives in a boat on the lake. Mayra is a trucker. Evelyn is a doctor. Cecilia is a tattoo artist.

CECILIA: Did all their tattoos.

This is the one thing they all have in common: the tattoo.

Frances: TBMC. Hurt so bad.

That’s about it. Their talks become arguments.

LOBSTER: Why is the Irish character named “Patrick”?

So why are you here?

SADIE: The human brain loves puzzles. The oldest stories on the planet are murder mysteries. Cain and Abel.

Not much of a mystery.

SADIE: I was, uh, looking for something real when I posted the meet-up online.

That’s SADIE, the founder of the group.

SADIE: Actually, I was inspired by you, Sara. I think we all were.

I seem to be the only thing they agree on.

KENNEDY: So, what brings you here?

I received an anonymous email.

SADIE: Huh. Did any of you send the invite?

They shake their heads. A look of confusion on their faces.

SADIE: You played his part tonight. He’d love that.

I needed a break. I was investigating a case of a John Doe pulled from the San Marcos River.

The mention of a recent crime electrifies them.

KENNEDY: I’m telling you it was the husband. It’s always the husband.

This seems to frustrate Sadie.

GIULIA: You can always meet without me.

I can tell they won’t. In every group, you need the person who writes the emails, who buys the Topo Chico and builds the Titanic replica. This is Sadie. Tonight, I’m here to witness the death of the True-Blue Murder Crew.

KENNEDY: I need to call Hope.

Sadie plays music.

SADIE: Come on. Let’s dance for real for real. No scripts, just let go!

She begins to dance, and then, reluctantly, the others get into it.

…

Music picks up—when suddenly, there’s a blackout.

KENNEDY: The lights got unplugged. I got it.

When the lights come up, Sadie is dead. Death by a snakebite.

MAYRA: Crew. This was no accident. It was murder!

No.