EXT. STRIP MALL - DAY
A fresh and clean example of the species, aspiring to be more than it is. Several single-story buildings in two ranks, the first facing the feeder road of a major freeway, the second nestled in the space carved out of the pine trees.
We pass over a building in the first rank, with its pho place and hair stylists, then see the one place rented out on the end of the building behind it, with a cheap, plain sign reading CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
In front of the nearest empty spot are a Red Mini and a nondescript "white gold" (dark beige) SUV.
INT. INNER OFFICE OF CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
There's plenty of space for this beige-carpeted, beige-walled office, but not much money to fill it. That leaves it furnished with the cheapest office furniture from big-box stores. On clearance. A too-small cherry veneer desk with a cheap laptop and the handset of a wireless phone surrounded by papers and books in short stacks. Bookshelves of various sizes and colors sag against the walls and the lower half of the one window, all overfilled with both ratty old books and glossy new ones.
ALAN CHURCHGRIM, a tall, wiry, racially indeterminate man, 30-45, leans back in the cheapest plastic office chair available. Black cowboy-booted feet on one clear corner of the desk. Wears department store white dress shirt and black slacks that billow on his thin frame. The one spot of hue on him is a Day of the Dead tie, all festive skeletons in a color riot. Mild Texas accent, all in the tempo rather than the twang.
CALLY BARBEAU, a somewhat heavyset, pale, dark-haired white woman, 25-30, leans against the jamb of the open door leading out to the reception/waiting room. Her outfit is even more aggressively grayscale than his, a black, lacy, and gothy dress over fishnets and black steel-toed boots, with ornate rings, ankh necklace, etc. The dress is theoretically demure, but tailored to fit close to her shape; not "profressional" in many workplaces. Faint English accent. Eyes strikingly made-up, on the outer edge of "smoky" and heading toward "raccoon" to some.
CALLY
(at his tie, curious)
Day of the Dead, Alan?
ALAN
(annoyed)
Don't you get on me about cultural appropriation. Half my ancestors got appropriated and shipped to this country.
The ankh necklace swings in the air as she tilts her head toward him.
CALLY
(unperturbed)
My culture is all appropriated. Just didn't think you were the sort.
ALAN
The "sort"?
CALLY
You're more of a Thanksgiving sort. Have a great big feast with your family, then sprawl like lions in front of football on the TV.
ALAN
(chuckles)
Same thing, really. It's all about family, and most of everyone's family is dead.
CALLY
(smirks)
Morbid and sweet, that's my Alan.
ALAN
"My Alan"? I thought you were dating that guy in a punk band.
CALLY
No, he decided bathing was "bougie". And one can be possessive of good friends.
(thinks)
Even if Gran -- and even my parents -- still think I should have married you.
ALAN
Despite us never dating?
CALLY
The chastity would be a plus to my parents. Sex ony for procreation and all of that. Gran finds that both funny and depressing, but wayward daughters, you know.
Cally winks at Alan. He grins long enough to nod once.
CALLY
(slumps against the door jamb)
I need a damned cigarette. Bit early for one, though.
ALAN
(dryly)
It's an expensive vice. Not that I bring up money for any particular reason.
CALLY
Except no jobs for the last two weeks?
ALAN
(looks out window)
You know how this works.
CALLY
(dryly)
Dry spells, then five jobs at once. Nobody has the courtesy to schedule their mysteries.
(off Alan's look)
Sorry, "cases". No, it all has to come like a Nile flood.
Cally look outside at the sound of tires on pavement.
EXT. STRIP MALL - DAY
As before, except now an white Volvo comes down the parking lot between the buildings, pulling into a spot in front of Chuchgrim Investigations.
The DRIVER of the Volvo is a balding white man, 50-55, with thick glasses, light green sport coat with brown leather elbow patches. Eccentric choice for coastal Texas, even in spring.
No music from the stereo, just the blast of the air conditioner.
CALLY
(v/o, slyly)
Ah, but there's the first raindrops, right now.
The driver stares hopelessly at his steering wheel, hands clutching the wheel, as if trying to gather up his will.
INT. INNER OFFICE OF CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
Cally's still looking out at the driver.
ALAN
Boring or fun?
CALLY
Almost certainly a fun one.
She stands straight, then looks back at Alan.
CALLY
(apologetically)
Professor-type, though. 70% chance of him using terms like "miscegenation" or "degeneration".
ALAN
(sighs)
I'd rather deal with the rednecks shooting at things in the woods.
(wistfully)
Maybe he just wants me to find his estranged gay kid and give him a message.
Cally smiles at Alan and walks out of the inner office.
INT. RECEPTION/WAITING ROOM OF CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
Doorways to the office and a restroom. Just as cheaply furnished as the inner office, though at least all four of the stackable chairs against the wall match. Cally's desk is even smaller than Alan's, but neater, with another cheap laptop, a wireless phone handset, and a blank legal pad with a pen resting on it.
Cally strolls to her chair, sits down. Composes herself into the model of a straight-backed receptionist.
EXT. STRIP MALL - DAY
The driver of the Volvo closes his eyes. Breathes slowly. Opens eyes. Looks up.
Though the floor-to-ceiling glass front, we see Cally at her desk. She meets his eyes. Smiles brightly, encouragingly.
EXT. STRIP MALL - NIGHT
A storm recently drenched everything and wandered away. A red Mini drives up fast, on the edge of safety. Pulls in a spot in front of the dark Churchgrim Investigations office. Only car in sight at any of the buildings.
Cally steps out, moving casually despite her driving. She heads for the corner of the sidewalk in front of the office. Fishes a cigarette out of her purse. Rummages for the lighter. Looks sidelong at the door.
The door is just barely ajar.
Cally looks around quickly. Drops cigarette back in purse. Looks at the closed door to the inner office.
She walks around to the office window, squishing and slushing through mud and puddles. Peers in warily.
INT. INNER OFFICE OF CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
As before, but dark. We see Cally look in the window.
EXT. STRIP MALL - NIGHT
Over Cally's shoulder, through the mirror, we see at least one bookshelf toppled and books scattered over the floor. Nobody obviously inside.
She walks quickly to the front of the office, squishing and slushing again.
A SHAPE rises from behind the desk.
INT. INNER OFFICE OF CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
Cally flips on the lights, pulls out her phone. Takes pictures of the office. Steps behind the desk, takes pictures of the disarray of the open drawers.
Cally looks at the inner office door. Not sctually closed, but also ajar. She pushes it open, not touching the knob.
A BURGLAR in worn jeans, oversized black hoodie, and disposable gloves, hood pulled over his head to hide his face, bursts through the door. Shoulders Cally and swings his arm, clearly meaning to fling her back, knock her down.
Cally doesn't fling, keeps her balance. Lunges at the burglar, shoulders him into the wall with a bang and rattle.
The burglar grunts in pain, tries to punch her despite the bad angle. Cally kicks at the back of his leg; not the best angle either, but the burglar still cries out at the steel toe slamming into his calf. She pelts his lower back with a fist, which can't feel good, either.
Cally shies back, closer arm up, as the burglar drives his elbow down at her face. This deflects the blow, but pushes her back, giving him time to pull away and run out the front door.
He darts left, down the sidewalk. Cally follows, hand in her purse.
EXT. STRIP MALL - NIGHT
Cally comes out the door, pulls pistol out of purse. Flips off safety while watching the burglar.
He's more than halfway down the front of the building.
Cally doesn't bother to aim. Puts safety back on, gets in Mini.
The Mini pulls out of its spot and turns so fast it SQUEALS and drifts on the wet pavement. Keeps control, surges forward even as the burglar turns the corner of the building.
The Mini takes the turn as tightly as remotely sane, circles around. Hopefully, she looked for cross-traffic, but there is none.
INT. CALLY'S MINI
A cute little bat ornament swings from the rear-view mirror.
Cally looks around as she drives, grievous assault in her eyes.
EXT. STRIP MALL - NIGHT
The Mini hunts around the buildings of the strip mall. The burglar is nowhere in sight.
INT. CALLY'S MINI
Cally looks increasingly frustrated.
EXT. STRIP MALL - NIGHT
The Mini stops.
INT. CALLY'S MINI
CALLY
(accent strong with anger)
Bloody Hell.
INT. RECEPTION/WAITING ROOM OF CHURCHGRIM INVESTIGATIONS
Cally sits behind the desk, filling out a statement. A green leather book sits on the corner of her desk A BLOND COP studies the dent in the cheap, beige-painted wall. From the inner office, a camera flashes.
BLOND COP
(disbelieving)
You did this to him?
CALLY
(not looking up)
Roller derby.
The blond cop absorbe that. Looks back to the inner office door as OLD COP, his portly, balding superior comes out, putting away his phone.
OLD COP
You sure you can't tell if anything's missing, Ms. Barbeau?
CALLY
(shakes head)
I'll have to itemize the books and check with Mr. Churchgrim. He might have taken some home. He's not the best when it comes to work/life balance.
OLD COP
Any luck reaching him?
CALLY
He goes do-not-disturb at night. He usually answers my texts, but he hasn't, yet. I'll wake him when I drop off this book he sent me to get.
The old cop looks dubiously back toward the inner office.
OLD COP
Any reason your boss has so many books about...monsters and the occult?
CALLY
(smiles)
That's for what I call our Scooby-Doo cases.
OLD COP
Scooby-Doo cases?
CALLY
(glances up)
We put ads in the Houston Press and certain online forums, and so, some of our cases are...silly. We get people convinced the abandoned house down the street is haunted, or that the Mothman shows up in their backyard. Mr. Churchgrim investigates and inevitably finds the homeless people squatting in the old house or the big owl nesting in a nearby tree.
BLOND COP
Wait, a mothman? How big an owl is that?
CALLY
(smirks)
A Great Horned Owl can be two feet tall. They like to perch upon the edge of car trunks, porch railings, etc. In the dark, they look all for the world like a person standing behind what they're perched upon.
Cally finishes the statement. Stands and gives statement to the OLD COP.
OLD COP
Can't promise anything, but we'll keep our eyes and ears open. Just, next time, call and have us go inside, first.
CALLY
(far too seriously)
Oh, I will, officer.
The cops nod to her and head out. She gathers up the book and her purse. The cops' headlights shine in the office, then slide away.
EXT. OUTSIDE ALAN'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
A door and a window, the latter with closed blinds. A black-painted metal railing behind Cally.
Cally impatiently knocks. Waits even more impatiently.
CALLY
(through the door)
Alan? Alan!
She finally pulls out her keyring and opens the door.
INT. ALAN'S LIVING ROOM
Not small or large. Battered but comfortable-looking couch behind a cheap, blocky coffee table barely visible under books and scrawled-in notebooks. A lamp in the corner is on, but not the overhead light. More light comes the hallway to the rest of the apartment.
Cally closes the door behind her.
CALLY
Alan! Are you here?
Cally listens. Hears nothing. Pulls the pistol out of her purse. Drops the purse. Takes piston in both hands, flips off the safety. Stalks into the hallway, gun out.
INT. ALAN'S KITCHEN
Clean and tiny, with a steak on a plate under glass.
Cally lifts the glass cover. Sniffs, looks disgusted. Replaces the cover. She moves on down the hall.
INT. ALAN'S BEDROOM
Many overflowing bookshelves, a desk, and a rumpled bed. A lamp is on, but not the overhead light.
Cally moves quietly into the room. Goes to the closet. Aims gun at the door, opens door in burst of motion. Nothing.
She goes to the bathroom, moving out of sight. We hear a shower curtain rapidly slide open. She comes back out.
Cally glares at the bed and goes over to the light switch. Flips it on. Then she steps toward the middle of the room and quickly drops to her hands and knees. Rolls onto her side. Aims her gun under the bed.
Nothing.
She gets up. Brushes at her side. Glowers.
The glower fades. She starts to look worried.
Cally pulls out her phone and starts pictures of everything on the desk and all the bookshelves. Hesitates, looking around.
CALLY
(to herself)
No texts, no messages.
(looks at desk)
No notes.
(looks around)
No Alan.
No comments:
Post a Comment