CROSSFADE TO
A panoramic shot of a suburban neighbourhood on an intensely sunny day.
Though it is late fall, the temperature is scorching, causing rippling waves of heat to rise from the baking sidewalks and roads. Except for a few pets resting here-and-there about on the lawns of their homes, there is no outdoor activity going on.
SUPERIMPOSE: “YUMA, ARIZONA”
A navy blue sedan drives past the front yard of a home where a large black-and-white Border Collie/Labrador Retriever cross sits panting under the shade of an elm tree. The dog, half-interested in the vehicle’s passing, regards it with a slow turn of its head.
The sedan pulls up to a pretty two-storey house with a modestly landscaped front yard, coming to a stop in front of the garage. The front doors click open and TWO OFFICERS in crisp blue uniforms – one TALL and one SHORT – step out, regarding their surroundings as if on a recon mission. They walk up to the front door, the tall one in front. The short officer, a black folder tucked under his arm, regards the garage; a boy’s red-and-teal bicycle leans against the wall beside the garage door, obviously neglected and disused.
The tall officer – his tag identifying him as LIEUTENANT SILAS ANDERMAN – knocks on the door. Moments later the door opens a crack and a PRETTY ASH BLONDE in her late forties peeks out from behind the chain.
LT. ANDERMAN: Mrs. O’Neal?
The door is quickly closed again. The two officers, dumbfounded, exchange glances. As Anderman prepares to knock on the door again, it swings open, revealing the full form of SARAH O’NEAL, who regards the pair with an icy glare. The officers, intimidated by her cold eyes, unconsciously shrink back.
SARAH: (cold) Wipe your feet.
Sarah turns around and disappears into the house. The officers exchange glances again then follow her inside.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/ENTRY HALL – DAY
The two officers step inside the immaculate interior of the house, closing the door behind them. Moving further into the house, they find the living room to their left; perfectly clean and tidy, it is also completely empty. Turning to their right they find the kitchen.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/KITCHEN – DAY
Walking inside, the officers find Sarah busy slicing raw meat up on a cutting board.
LT. ANDERMAN: Mrs. O’Neal, is your husband home?
SARAH: (eyes fixed on the meat) Yes, he is.
LT. ANDERMAN: Ma’am, do you think we might be able to speak with him?
Sarah finishes cutting up the red flesh. Cleaning her hands off on some paper towel, she reaches into her front shirt pocket and retrieves a pack of cigarettes. Pulling out a cigarette, she lights it with a green plastic lighter then puts it to her lips. Taking a deep drag, she then exhales loudly, creating a small cloud of smoke about her head.
SARAH: You can try.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY
A MAN sits inside the dim interior of what appears to be a teenaged boy’s bedroom. Among the various items we see taking up space within the room is a Star Trek poster above the headboard of the room’s bed; a small shelf packed full of books, comic books, and magazines; various LEGO models; sports trophies; and a catcher’s mitt complete with softball. Seated in an armchair, the man is shirtless and unshaven, his face perfectly blank of expression. Staring straight ahead, his eyes unblinking, he grips the stock of an uncocked Smith & Wesson Model 29 loosely in his hands.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/HALLWAY – DAY
As Anderman and his comrade walk on down the hallway on their way toward the bedroom, they pass by several framed photographs hanging on the white wall to their left. All the photos depict images of life, love, and happiness among friends and family.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY
Perched atop the small shelf is a framed photo of a thirteen-year-old boy in a softball uniform, standing outdoors beside a beefy, red mustached-man in a coach’s uniform. The boy, tossing a softball into the air, is beaming into the camera. The boy is Tyler O’Neal, the last tenant to inhabit this room.
Staring at the photo, the unshaven man pulls back the gun’s hammer, cocking it.
LT. ANDERMAN’S P.O.V – BEDROOM DOOR
Reaching the door, Anderman seizes the door knob, twists it, and gently pushes the door open.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY
Sensing the officers’ arrival, the unshaven man quickly disengages the Model 29 and quickly – but stealthily – hides the weapon underneath the armchair’s cushion.
The two officers tentatively step inside the boy’s bedroom. The man they seek, though well aware of their presence, pays them no heed, continuing to stare straight forward.
SHORT OFFICER: Pardon us, Colonel O’Neal. We’re from General West’s office.
For the first time, JACK O’NEAL turns his head sideways toward the officers, regarding them stonily.
SHORT OFFICER: (holds out the black folder) We’re here to inform you that you’ve been reactivated.
O’Neal – shirtless, unshaven, with greasy, shoulder-length hair and clad in a pair of wrinkled blue jeans only – rises from the chair. Slowly, he turns toward them. Lt. Anderman, turning around, slowly closes the bedroom door.
EXT. O’NEAL HOME/FRONT YARD – DAY
The front door of the O’Neal residence opens and the two officers step outside. As they return to their car, it is apparent that the short officer no longer carries the black folder on his person.
From the kitchen window, obscured behind a heavy curtain, Sarah peers out at the two officers as they leave.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/KITCHEN – DAY
Sarah turns away from the kitchen window, looking toward the hall. Slowly, she leaves the kitchen, stepping out into the hallway. Stealthily, she makes her way down the hallway until she comes to the door leading into her son’s bedroom.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/TYLER O’NEAL’S BEDROOM – DAY
The door creaks open and Sarah peers in. Her husband is no longer there. Slowly she leans back out, closing the door once again.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/HALLWAY – DAY
Sarah steps back from the bedroom door. At this point she hears the faint sound of a shower running from the bathroom. A troubled expression on her face, she quickly begins walking toward another room – the bedroom she shares with her husband. She soon comes to the door leading into their bedroom and, hesitating only for a moment, reaches out toward the doorknob.
INT. O’NEAL HOME/O’NEAL BEDROOM – DAY
The bedroom door swings open and Sarah enters. As she looks out at what is in front of her, her mouth drops open.
There, lain out on the king-sized bed like a corpse prepared for a funeral, is her husband’s neatly pressed uniform. Resting beside it, like a profane idol dedicated to an obscene god, is the black folder.