(gentle, soothing, and calm music plays)

WILLOW: Welcome to the third installment of our bedtime stories podcast, Catch Your Zs. We’re so happy to have you. My name is Willow and beside me is my lovely co-host, TS. 

TS: Good evening, Willow. 

WILLOW: I see you’ve brought me my favorite tea. 

TS: I have. We’re learning each other, right? 

WILLOW: We sure are! TS and I are new to this whole podcast thing. And kinda new to each other.

TS: We are. So how are you this fine evening, Willow?

WILLOW: Splendid. Just terrific. And you?

TS: Well, if I’m truthful, I’m going through a little identity crisis. Feeling like I need to get back to my roots. 

WILLOW: Oh yeah?

TS: Mmmm-hm. So I’m asking people I know to start addressing me by my full birth name. Just trying that on, ya know?

WILLOW: Wow. (pauses, sound of sipping tea) You know, I’m ashamed to say it but I don’t think I know what TS stands for.

TS: That’s okay. We haven’t known each other that long.

WILLOW: Even so. I can imagine it’s probably something poetic though?

TS: Traffic Stop.

WILLOW: Excuse me? 

TRAFFIC STOP: Traffic Stop.

WILLOW: Traffic Stop?

TRAFFIC STOP: That’s right, Willow. Traffic Stop.

WILLOW: Hmmmmm.

TRAFFIC STOP: Each of us has a conception story.

WILLOW: Yes, that’s true.

TRAFFIC STOP: Like Jesus.

WILLOW (clearing throat): Except I’m assuming yours wasn’t exactly like Jesus’s.

TRAFFIC STOP: Not really. I mean, I was there, but I don’t remember it.

WILLOW (sipping tea and laughing): It sounds like yours may have involved a red light. 

TRAFFIC STOP: Actually, my parents had been pulled over. 

WILLOW: Oh.

TRAFFIC STOP: By the police.

WILLOW: I see. (sips his tea)

TRAFFIC STOP: For fleeing a murder scene. 

(prolonged silence)

TRAFFIC STOP: It’s a long story. And not particularly interesting. But you know what is interesting? 

WILLOW: What’s that, TS? Sorry. I mean, Traffic Stop?

TRAFFIC STOP: Tonight’s bedtime story. 

WILLOW: Well, I sure hope so. But not so interesting that our listeners will be kept awake! (laughing)

TRAFFIC STOP: I don’t think there’s any worry of that happening. So last week, we geared our story for the young lawyers in our audience. But tonight, the story I’ve crafted is specifically for the blossoming psycho- or sociopaths out there.

WILLOW (jokingly): One could argue there is some overlap between this week’s and last week’s audience then. Am I right? 

TRAFFIC STOP (deadpan): Perhaps. Though psycho- and sociopaths are really a different breed.

WILLOW (pausing): So, wait. You’re serious?

TRAFFIC STOP: Dead serious.

WILLOW: Just a quick question, (sound of long sip of tea) If I may?

TRAFFIC STOP: Shoot.

WILLOW: Why psycho- and sociopaths? I mean, no offense, but shouldn’t we be gearing these stories to the children who will eventually become valuable members of society?

TRAFFIC STOP: Because honestly, Willow, the way I see it, every child needs love. Even if they’re going to take this said love and use it as a justifiable excuse for dismembering a small animal.

WILLOW: I suppose you have a point, (pause) albeit a weird one. At the very least, they’re likely to be more valuable than social media influencers. 

TRAFFIC STOP: Agreed. So everyone sit back and enjoy this week’s edition of bedtime stories. Tonight’s story will be read by my younger brother who is currently working on his degree in communications.

WILLOW (unconvincingly): Terrific. 

TRAFFIC STOP: He hopes to someday become a game show announcer. 

WILLOW: Hmmmmm.

TRAFFIC STOP: Take it away, Meat Locker. (sound of Willow spitting out his tea)

MEAT LOCKER (in exaggerated game show announcer voice): Thanks, sister! I hope everyone’s having a fantastic night out there as we get ready for this night’s installment of BED. TIME. STORIES!!!

WILLOW (clearing throat): Excuse me, Meat Locker… was it?

MEAT LOCKER: Thaaaaaaat’s right, Willow! 

WILLOW: Okay. Alright. I’m gonna just pause the recording here for a minute. (turns off recording)

Willow leans in toward Traffic Stop. “Hey, can we have a word in private?” he says, running his fingers through what’s left of his thinning hair. 

“Of course,” she responds.

Willow and Traffic Stop get up from their chairs and go to a darkened corner of the makeshift space they call a studio. In reality, it’s the back of a decades-old deli where Traffic Stop works during the day.

“Look,” Willow whispers. “I don’t mean any disrespect to your brother, but I kinda wish you’d cleared this with me first.”

Traffic Stop cocks her head and regards him with a steely glance. “I wasn’t aware that I had to get your permission.”

“Oh, no. Don’t misunderstand. This is a partnership. All the way. But I just don’t think that… Meat Locker,” he clears his throat, stumbling on her brother’s name, “is exactly the right voice for this particular story.”

“And why not?” 

“Why not!?” Willow gasps. “Did you hear him? He sounds like Johnny Gilbert from Jeopardy! And again, no disrespect to Johnny either. I mean, the guy’s a legend. He’s a highly trained professional.”

“What’s your point, Willow?”

“He’s just not who I’d choose to read a bedtime story.”

“No?” she pierces him further with her cold glance. It’s a side of her that he hasn’t previously witnessed. He passes it off as her being a bad mood.

“Just who did you think was going to read it then?”

“Well, you,” he says. “You’ve been reading them the past two weeks and doing a damn good job of it. Your calming voice has become our trademark.”

“Do you mean that?” Traffic Stop says, quickly turning on a dime and transforming her cold stare into one of adoration.

Willow feels slightly alarmed by her sudden shift in demeanor. “Of course I do.”

She continues to smile warmly at him and he feels a little ashamed for thinking she was a bad mood a few moments before. “Ya know, I gotta ask,” he says, leaning toward her. “Meat Locker?”

She’s still staring at him adoringly, but now there is a glassy look in her eyes.

“So is that another conception story? In a meat locker? Because your parents sound pretty kinky.”

Traffic Stop coils a lock of her hair around her finger and starts twisting it. “No. Not a conception story,” she says in a dreamy voice. “But you know that already, Daddy.”

For a second he thinks she’s kidding. Then he realizes she’s serious. “What’s going on, TS?” he says, accidentally slipping back to her old name – a slip of tongue he immediately regrets. 

“You know my name, Daddy,” she says, the anger returning to her face. 

Willow begins to feel hot. And dizzy. “I’m feeling a little strange. I think I need to sit down,” he says, lowering himself into a chair at one of the tables.

“That sounds about right,” Traffic Stop glances at her watch. “The tea must be kicking in now.”

“Kicking in?”

She smiles again. This time in a devilish way. “You don’t have much time left.” 

His heart begins to race and he grips the table to try to stand up. But he can’t seem to move. He slumps to the floor; unable to speak. 

“Hush now, Daddy,” she says in her trademark soothing bedtime story voice. “It’s time to go to sleep.”

Willow stares up at her with terror in his eyes.

“And don’t you worry. We’ll keep you safe and sound for the night in the meat locker,” she gently rubs the side of his face and her brother peers out over her shoulder at him. “Which, in response to your inquiry earlier, is how my brother got his name,” she says. “Isn’t that right?”

“Thaaaaaaaaat’s right, Traffic Stop!” Meat Locker says in his announcer voice, laughing. “Have a terrific night, Willow!” 

“Nighty night,” Traffic Stop kisses Willow gently on the forehead. 

FADE TO BLACK