The Conservatory
Breaking into the derelict greenhouse was supposed to be a solitary escape for Edmond, but he finds the decay is already occupied. In the rot and rain, an erratic conversation with a stranger blooms into something dangerously hopeful.
EXT. ABANDONED CONSERVATORY - NIGHT
A relentless STORM. Rain hammers down.
A rusted IRON TRELLIS runs up the side of a vast, derelict Victorian conservatory. The brick is dark and slick with rain and algae.
EDMOND (19), soaked to the bone, scrambles up the trellis. His face is raw with desperation. His sneaker slips on the wet metal.
He yelps as his shin SLAMS into a rusted bolt. Pain flashes across his face. He doesn't scream, just hisses through his teeth, a sound swallowed by the storm.
He clings to the wall, chest heaving. He scrabbles for the high window ledge. The wood is rotten, CRUMBLING like wet cake in his grip.
He swears, digs his fingers into the gap between the frame and the brick. With a guttural GRUNT, he heaves himself up and over the sill.
INT. ABANDONED CONSERVATORY - CONTINUOUS
Edmond tumbles inside, landing hard on his shoulder. The sharp CRUNCH of shattering glass beneath him.
He rolls onto his back, gasping for air.
The space is cavernous, still, and humid. The air is thick with the smell of rotting mulch, stagnant water, and something sickly sweet, like flowers on a grave.
He stares up. The roof is a skeletal grid of iron ribs. Most of the glass panes are gone. Rain falls through the gaps, pattering on the leaves of massive, prehistoric-looking plants that choke the interior. It feels like being inside the ribcage of a whale.
A flat, unimpressed voice cuts through the dark.
VOICE (O.S.)
You're crushing the wandering jew.
Edmond flinches, scrambling backward on the dirt floor. His heart hammers. He fumbles in his hoodie pocket for a FLASHLIGHT, his hands shaking so badly he almost drops it.
He clicks it on.
The beam cuts through the gloom, illuminating dust motes and falling rain. It sweeps over tangled vines, massive ferns, and cracked terracotta pots.
The beam lands on MAREN (20s).
She sits on a rusted wrought-iron bench, legs tucked up under her chin. Her dark hair is a tangled knot, stuck with twigs and spiderwebs. She wears a stained, oversized coat.
In one hand, she holds a pair of large, rusty GARDENING SHEARS. They look more like a weapon than a tool.
She blinks in the light but doesn't look away. Her eyes are dark, ringed with exhaustion.
MAREN
The plant. Under your elbow. You're killing it.
Edmond looks down. He's crushing a purple, trailing vine into the mud. He quickly shifts his weight.
EDMOND
I... what?
MAREN
It bruises easily. Like a peach. Or a shin. You hit yours pretty hard outside.
Edmond stares, his mind misfiring.
EDMOND
You heard that?
MAREN
Sound carries. Especially when the glass is broken. Why are you here?
EDMOND
I needed... Shelter. It was raining.
MAREN
(gesturing to the roof)
It's raining inside, too. Roof's leaky.
EDMOND
It's drier than out there.
She considers this, tilting her head.
MAREN
Marginally. I'm Maren.
EDMOND
Edmond.
MAREN
Okay, Edmond. You can stay. But don't sit on the plants. And don't touch the Datura. It causes hallucinations and cardiac arrest. It's the one with the trumpet flowers over there.
She waves the shears toward a shadowy corner. Edmond swallows hard.
EDMOND
Okay.
He doesn't move, just sits in the dirt, the flashlight beam wavering. The adrenaline fades, leaving him cold and shaking.
Maren turns back to a dead rosebush and begins pruning it. The rhythmic SNIP. SNIP. SNIP. of the shears is the only sound besides the rain.
MAREN
(not looking up)
You're bleeding.
Edmond touches his lip. His fingers come away red.
EDMOND
It's fine.
MAREN
There's aloe over there. By the broken statue. It helps.
Edmond hesitates, then pushes himself up. He walks cautiously to a massive aloe vera plant spilling from a cracked urn. He breaks off a small tip. Cool gel oozes out. He dabs it on his lip. It stings, then numbs.
EDMOND
Thanks.
MAREN
Don't thank me. It's the plant doing the work. I just introduced you.
She finally looks at him again. A small, crooked smile touches her lips.
MAREN (CONT'D)
You look terrible, Edmond.
EDMOND
(drier)
Thanks. You look... cozy.
She lets out a sharp, barking laugh.
MAREN
Cozy. Sure. I live in a glass box filled with poisonous weeds. It's the height of luxury.
EDMOND
You live here?
MAREN
Squat. 'Live' implies I have a lease and a toaster. I have neither. I have shears and a sleeping bag.
Edmond's flashlight beam drifts over to a corner. A waterproof tarp is strung up. A pile of books wrapped in plastic. A small camping stove. It's a tidy, organic nest amidst the chaos. He walks closer to her bench.
EDMOND
How long?
MAREN
Three months. Since the winter broke. It was cold then. Had to sleep in two coats. But now... Spring. Everything is waking up. It's loud.
EDMOND
Loud?
MAREN
(intense)
Growing is loud. Roots cracking pots. Vines strangling the brick. It's violent. People think flowers are nice. They're aggressive little bastards. They want to live. They'll eat this whole house if I let them.
Edmond looks at the walls. Ivy forces its way through the mortar, crumbling brick dust to the floor.
EDMOND
So you're... stopping them?
MAREN
Managing them. Negotiating.
She stands and walks to a table covered in small clay pots.
MAREN (CONT'D)
Come look at this.
Edmond follows. She points to a tiny, pathetic-looking plant. It has two pale yellow leaves, drooping sadly.
EDMOND
It's dying.
MAREN
(whispering, reverent)
No. It's trying. It pushed through the concrete in the basement. No light. No water. Just pure spite. I brought it up here.
She touches one of the leaves with a dirty, impossibly gentle finger.
MAREN (CONT'D)
It doesn't know what to do with the light yet. It's shocked. It thinks it's a trap.
Edmond stares at the ugly, weak sprout. It reminds him of himself an hour ago, suffocating in his father's kitchen.
EDMOND
(voice cracking)
Does it make it?
Maren looks at him, her eyes reflecting the flashlight beam.
MAREN
Maybe. Probably not. But it's here now. That's the point. It got this far.
She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a slightly crushed pack of saltine crackers. She holds it out to him.
MAREN (CONT'D)
Want a saltine? They're a bit stale.
Edmond stares at the crackers. A short, choked laugh escapes him. The absurdity of it all.
EDMOND
Yeah. I really do.
He takes a cracker. It's soft and chewy. It tastes like cardboard and salt. It's the best thing he's eaten all day.
They stand in the dark, eating crackers, listening to the rain hammer against the glass ribs of the roof.
EDMOND
My dad threw me out.
The words just fall out. Maren crunches on her cracker, unfazed.
MAREN
What for?
EDMOND
Dropped out. Engineering. Couldn't do it. The math... it just didn't stick. I wanted to draw. He said I was wasting my life.
MAREN
Are you?
EDMOND
Maybe. I don't know. Feels like it.
MAREN
(gesturing to the sprout)
This plant. If it stayed in the basement, it would be dead. But it would be safe. No wind. No predators. Coming up here... it's risky. The sun might burn it. I might accidentally snip it. But it's not a waste.
(fierce)
Movement isn't waste, Edmond. Even if you're just moving sideways.
A stinging sensation builds behind Edmond's eyes. He blinks it away.
EDMOND
You're weird, Maren.
MAREN
(comfortably)
I know. I talk to vegetables.
EDMOND
Better than people, sometimes.
MAREN
Much better. Less judgment. More photosynthesis.
A heavy drop of cold water splashes onto Edmond's nose from a leak above. He wipes it away, smearing dirt on his face.
EDMOND
Can I stay? Just for tonight. Until the rain stops.
Maren looks around her kingdom of rot and green, then nods.
MAREN
You can take the hammock chair. But shake it out first. Spiders love it.
EDMOND
Thanks.
MAREN
And Edmond?
EDMOND
Yeah?
MAREN
If you see a vine moving when there's no wind... don't stare at it. Just look away.
Edmond freezes.
EDMOND
You're joking.
Maren gives a wide, slightly manic grin.
MAREN
Maybe. Maybe not. This is a Gothic conservatory, isn't it? Gotta keep the mystery alive.
She turns back to her work table, humming a dark, slow nursery rhyme.
Edmond walks to a mildewed hammock chair in the corner. He shakes it. A large, hairy spider scuttles away. He sits. The fabric holds him.
He watches Maren in the dim light. She's repotting the yellow sprout now, her hands moving with surgical precision, murmuring to it.
He leans his head back. The roar of the rain isolates them from the world. His father, the failed exams—they all feel very far away. He feels a strange spark in his chest. He isn't happy, but he isn't drowning anymore.
EDMOND
(mumbling, half-asleep)
Hey Maren?
MAREN
Yeah?
EDMOND
The yellow plant. I think it's gonna make it.
A pause. The soft clinking of pottery.
MAREN
Yeah. Me too.
Edmond closes his eyes. The smell of wet earth fills his lungs.
Outside, the rain continues to fall, washing the grime from the glass, bit by bit.
A relentless STORM. Rain hammers down.
A rusted IRON TRELLIS runs up the side of a vast, derelict Victorian conservatory. The brick is dark and slick with rain and algae.
EDMOND (19), soaked to the bone, scrambles up the trellis. His face is raw with desperation. His sneaker slips on the wet metal.
He yelps as his shin SLAMS into a rusted bolt. Pain flashes across his face. He doesn't scream, just hisses through his teeth, a sound swallowed by the storm.
He clings to the wall, chest heaving. He scrabbles for the high window ledge. The wood is rotten, CRUMBLING like wet cake in his grip.
He swears, digs his fingers into the gap between the frame and the brick. With a guttural GRUNT, he heaves himself up and over the sill.
INT. ABANDONED CONSERVATORY - CONTINUOUS
Edmond tumbles inside, landing hard on his shoulder. The sharp CRUNCH of shattering glass beneath him.
He rolls onto his back, gasping for air.
The space is cavernous, still, and humid. The air is thick with the smell of rotting mulch, stagnant water, and something sickly sweet, like flowers on a grave.
He stares up. The roof is a skeletal grid of iron ribs. Most of the glass panes are gone. Rain falls through the gaps, pattering on the leaves of massive, prehistoric-looking plants that choke the interior. It feels like being inside the ribcage of a whale.
A flat, unimpressed voice cuts through the dark.
VOICE (O.S.)
You're crushing the wandering jew.
Edmond flinches, scrambling backward on the dirt floor. His heart hammers. He fumbles in his hoodie pocket for a FLASHLIGHT, his hands shaking so badly he almost drops it.
He clicks it on.
The beam cuts through the gloom, illuminating dust motes and falling rain. It sweeps over tangled vines, massive ferns, and cracked terracotta pots.
The beam lands on MAREN (20s).
She sits on a rusted wrought-iron bench, legs tucked up under her chin. Her dark hair is a tangled knot, stuck with twigs and spiderwebs. She wears a stained, oversized coat.
In one hand, she holds a pair of large, rusty GARDENING SHEARS. They look more like a weapon than a tool.
She blinks in the light but doesn't look away. Her eyes are dark, ringed with exhaustion.
MAREN
The plant. Under your elbow. You're killing it.
Edmond looks down. He's crushing a purple, trailing vine into the mud. He quickly shifts his weight.
EDMOND
I... what?
MAREN
It bruises easily. Like a peach. Or a shin. You hit yours pretty hard outside.
Edmond stares, his mind misfiring.
EDMOND
You heard that?
MAREN
Sound carries. Especially when the glass is broken. Why are you here?
EDMOND
I needed... Shelter. It was raining.
MAREN
(gesturing to the roof)
It's raining inside, too. Roof's leaky.
EDMOND
It's drier than out there.
She considers this, tilting her head.
MAREN
Marginally. I'm Maren.
EDMOND
Edmond.
MAREN
Okay, Edmond. You can stay. But don't sit on the plants. And don't touch the Datura. It causes hallucinations and cardiac arrest. It's the one with the trumpet flowers over there.
She waves the shears toward a shadowy corner. Edmond swallows hard.
EDMOND
Okay.
He doesn't move, just sits in the dirt, the flashlight beam wavering. The adrenaline fades, leaving him cold and shaking.
Maren turns back to a dead rosebush and begins pruning it. The rhythmic SNIP. SNIP. SNIP. of the shears is the only sound besides the rain.
MAREN
(not looking up)
You're bleeding.
Edmond touches his lip. His fingers come away red.
EDMOND
It's fine.
MAREN
There's aloe over there. By the broken statue. It helps.
Edmond hesitates, then pushes himself up. He walks cautiously to a massive aloe vera plant spilling from a cracked urn. He breaks off a small tip. Cool gel oozes out. He dabs it on his lip. It stings, then numbs.
EDMOND
Thanks.
MAREN
Don't thank me. It's the plant doing the work. I just introduced you.
She finally looks at him again. A small, crooked smile touches her lips.
MAREN (CONT'D)
You look terrible, Edmond.
EDMOND
(drier)
Thanks. You look... cozy.
She lets out a sharp, barking laugh.
MAREN
Cozy. Sure. I live in a glass box filled with poisonous weeds. It's the height of luxury.
EDMOND
You live here?
MAREN
Squat. 'Live' implies I have a lease and a toaster. I have neither. I have shears and a sleeping bag.
Edmond's flashlight beam drifts over to a corner. A waterproof tarp is strung up. A pile of books wrapped in plastic. A small camping stove. It's a tidy, organic nest amidst the chaos. He walks closer to her bench.
EDMOND
How long?
MAREN
Three months. Since the winter broke. It was cold then. Had to sleep in two coats. But now... Spring. Everything is waking up. It's loud.
EDMOND
Loud?
MAREN
(intense)
Growing is loud. Roots cracking pots. Vines strangling the brick. It's violent. People think flowers are nice. They're aggressive little bastards. They want to live. They'll eat this whole house if I let them.
Edmond looks at the walls. Ivy forces its way through the mortar, crumbling brick dust to the floor.
EDMOND
So you're... stopping them?
MAREN
Managing them. Negotiating.
She stands and walks to a table covered in small clay pots.
MAREN (CONT'D)
Come look at this.
Edmond follows. She points to a tiny, pathetic-looking plant. It has two pale yellow leaves, drooping sadly.
EDMOND
It's dying.
MAREN
(whispering, reverent)
No. It's trying. It pushed through the concrete in the basement. No light. No water. Just pure spite. I brought it up here.
She touches one of the leaves with a dirty, impossibly gentle finger.
MAREN (CONT'D)
It doesn't know what to do with the light yet. It's shocked. It thinks it's a trap.
Edmond stares at the ugly, weak sprout. It reminds him of himself an hour ago, suffocating in his father's kitchen.
EDMOND
(voice cracking)
Does it make it?
Maren looks at him, her eyes reflecting the flashlight beam.
MAREN
Maybe. Probably not. But it's here now. That's the point. It got this far.
She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out a slightly crushed pack of saltine crackers. She holds it out to him.
MAREN (CONT'D)
Want a saltine? They're a bit stale.
Edmond stares at the crackers. A short, choked laugh escapes him. The absurdity of it all.
EDMOND
Yeah. I really do.
He takes a cracker. It's soft and chewy. It tastes like cardboard and salt. It's the best thing he's eaten all day.
They stand in the dark, eating crackers, listening to the rain hammer against the glass ribs of the roof.
EDMOND
My dad threw me out.
The words just fall out. Maren crunches on her cracker, unfazed.
MAREN
What for?
EDMOND
Dropped out. Engineering. Couldn't do it. The math... it just didn't stick. I wanted to draw. He said I was wasting my life.
MAREN
Are you?
EDMOND
Maybe. I don't know. Feels like it.
MAREN
(gesturing to the sprout)
This plant. If it stayed in the basement, it would be dead. But it would be safe. No wind. No predators. Coming up here... it's risky. The sun might burn it. I might accidentally snip it. But it's not a waste.
(fierce)
Movement isn't waste, Edmond. Even if you're just moving sideways.
A stinging sensation builds behind Edmond's eyes. He blinks it away.
EDMOND
You're weird, Maren.
MAREN
(comfortably)
I know. I talk to vegetables.
EDMOND
Better than people, sometimes.
MAREN
Much better. Less judgment. More photosynthesis.
A heavy drop of cold water splashes onto Edmond's nose from a leak above. He wipes it away, smearing dirt on his face.
EDMOND
Can I stay? Just for tonight. Until the rain stops.
Maren looks around her kingdom of rot and green, then nods.
MAREN
You can take the hammock chair. But shake it out first. Spiders love it.
EDMOND
Thanks.
MAREN
And Edmond?
EDMOND
Yeah?
MAREN
If you see a vine moving when there's no wind... don't stare at it. Just look away.
Edmond freezes.
EDMOND
You're joking.
Maren gives a wide, slightly manic grin.
MAREN
Maybe. Maybe not. This is a Gothic conservatory, isn't it? Gotta keep the mystery alive.
She turns back to her work table, humming a dark, slow nursery rhyme.
Edmond walks to a mildewed hammock chair in the corner. He shakes it. A large, hairy spider scuttles away. He sits. The fabric holds him.
He watches Maren in the dim light. She's repotting the yellow sprout now, her hands moving with surgical precision, murmuring to it.
He leans his head back. The roar of the rain isolates them from the world. His father, the failed exams—they all feel very far away. He feels a strange spark in his chest. He isn't happy, but he isn't drowning anymore.
EDMOND
(mumbling, half-asleep)
Hey Maren?
MAREN
Yeah?
EDMOND
The yellow plant. I think it's gonna make it.
A pause. The soft clinking of pottery.
MAREN
Yeah. Me too.
Edmond closes his eyes. The smell of wet earth fills his lungs.
Outside, the rain continues to fall, washing the grime from the glass, bit by bit.