SOUND of rain lashing against glass, a rhythmic FLICKER of a fluorescent light overhead (BZZT-CLICK... BZZT-CLICK)
The waiting area is a cavernous, yellow-lit tomb. Empty save for LEO (17, sharp but anxious) and SAM (17, fierce, hiding a deep exhaustion). They sit on a scarred wooden bench.
The world outside the thick plate glass window is a blur of sodium orange and oil-slick black. Leo stares into it, unblinking. A half-full styrofoam cup of brown sludge sits in his hand.
ANGLE ON Sam. She methodically shreds the rim of her own cup, a pile of white styrofoam "snow" accumulating on the bench between them.
Leo doesn't turn. His eyes are fixed on his own reflection, distorted in the rain-streaked glass.
Sam snorts, a sharp, unladylike sound that echoes in the dead space.
Her voice lacks its usual bite. She sounds tired.
Sam kicks a heavy canvas duffel at her feet. It makes a soft, disappointing thud.
The fluorescent light above them flickers again. BZZT-CLICK. Leo winces, a subtle twitch. His hand, holding the coffee, has a fine tremor. He tries to steady it.
In the distance, a JANITOR pushes a grey mop bucket.
SOUND of the bucket's wheels squeaking like a dying mouse.
Leo takes a sip of the awful coffee. The heat scalds his tongue, a grounding pain.
She finally looks at him. Her eyes are dark, rimmed with red, but dry. She doesn't cry. She just gets sharper.
Sam flinches.
Leo shifts on the hard bench. His denim jacket is still damp, cold against his skin.
Leo sighs, defeated. She's not wrong.
The rain hammers harder against the glass, rattling the frames. He glances nervously toward the dark parking lot.
Sam rolls her eyes, but her hand trembles slightly as she brushes hair from her face.
Sam groans, dropping her head into her hands. Her tough facade finally cracks.
Leo reaches out, awkwardly patting her shoulder.
SOUND of overhead speakers CRACKLING to life. They both jump.
Leo stands, stretching. His knees POP audibly.
Leo walks toward a bank of vending machines across the lobby. He digs greasy coins from his pocket.
SOUND of coins CLINKING into the slot. The machine WHIRS, GROANS, and spits out a plastic bottle of water.
He turns back.
Sam is on her feet. She's pressed against the window, her posture rigid. Alert.
Leo walks over, the water bottle cold in his hand. He follows her gaze out into the rain-lashed lot.
LEO'S POV - THROUGH THE WINDOW
A car has pulled up to the curb, right in the 'No Idling' zone.
It's a matte black sedan. Late model. The windows are tinted so dark they look like voids.
His heart hammers against his ribs.
She backs away from the window, grabbing her duffel bag. Her movements are jerky, panicked.
Leo grabs her arm.
The driver's side door of the sedan opens. A heavy, black leather boot hits the wet pavement. Then a leg. Then a torso.
A TALL MAN IN A TRENCH COAT emerges. He moves with a terrifying purpose. He looks up, his gaze seeming to find them even through the rain and distance. He adjusts his collar and starts walking toward the entrance.
They turn. The only rear exit is past the ticket counter, blocked by a 'WET FLOOR' sign and the janitor's yellow bucket.
They start walking, trying for casual. Leo fails, his boots SQUEAKING loudly on the linoleum. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
SOUND of the front automatic doors HISSING open.
A gust of cold, wet air swirls in, carrying the smell of exhaust and something else... like burning matches.
Leo can't help himself. He glances over his shoulder.
The Man in the Trench Coat steps onto the mat. He shakes the rain from his shoulders. His eyes scan the room, passing over a sleeping homeless man, a bored SECURITY GUARD on his phone... and land squarely on them.
He doesn't yell. He doesn't move.
He just SMILES. It's not a nice smile. It's a shark's smile.
They bolt.
Sam hurdles the 'wet floor' sign. Her duffel bag swings and knocks over the mop bucket. Grey water SPLASHES everywhere.
Leo hits the soapy slime, his sneakers finding zero traction. He flails, windmill-arms, but manages to stay upright.
They ignore him, slamming through double doors into—
—the cold, roaring downpour. The rain is a physical blow, soaking them instantly.
They sprint along the concrete platform, ducking between the dark, sleeping giants of parked buses. The smell of diesel is overwhelming. Leo's chest burns.
Sam scrambles up a chain-link fence at the edge of the lot. She tosses her bag over, then hauls herself up, metal digging into her palms. Leo is right behind her.
They drop down onto the gravel on the other side, rolling with the impact. Leo scrapes his hand on a rock. A sharp sting.
Sam peers back through the fence mesh.
FWOOM.
Two brilliant beams of light cut through the darkness, blinding them. High beams.
The black sedan is parked right there on the service road. Waiting.
The passenger window rolls down with a smooth, electric HUM.
The Man in the Trench Coat leans across the seat. The interior dome light illuminates a face that looks like it was carved from granite and left in the rain. His voice is calm, conversational.
Sam takes a step back, her hand finding Leo's. Her grip is crushing.
The man taps the steering wheel with a ring-adorned finger.
He stares at them. The rain pours down. There is nowhere left to run.
FADE TO BLACK.
Share This Script
