FADE IN:
EXT. CITY - NIGHTA myriad of coloured lights twinkle across the bustling metropolis.
Always busy.
Never sleeping.
A tall apartment block that may have once been called luxury, but is now just old, worn and dirty, like its inhabitants.
From a distance we see a WORKMAN, tool box in hand, stride towards the front entrance.
INT. LIFT - NIGHT
DEXTER (40), the workman we saw moments ago, stands expressionless in the far corner of the lift, next to the button panel.
He wears a blue workman’s overall, baseball cap, brown hair underneath, glasses and a tool box. A screwdriver in his breast pocket. An ID card hangs from a strap around his neck.
Tinny Muzak plays.
The halogen light exacerbates Dexter’s pasty skin and the dark circles under his eyes.
The lift pings. The doors open.
Dexter sinks back further into the corner of the lift.
In steps a YUMMY MUMMY, all tattoos and hair extensions. She gives Dexter a brief cursory glance, before leaning across him to press her desired button.
YUMMY MUMMY
You’re working late.
Dexter doesn’t acknowledge her, drops his head so his cap peak shields his face.
The Yummy Mummy snorts, turns her own head away in annoyance at his rudeness.
Nether Dexter or the Yummy Mummy glance at each other, eyes fixed on the lift wall in silence. They might as well be ten feet apart, not two. It’s an awkward few seconds.
The lift pings and the Yummy Mummy exits. She doesn’t look back.
Dexter urgently presses the fourteen floor button repeatedly, lifts his head again as the doors close.
Finally the lift pings as it arrives at Dexter’s desired floor.
He exits into...
FOURTEENTH FLOOR CORRIDOR
Automatic lights flicker on, some missing, illuminate the pale green walls in a eerie glow. The colour reflects off Dexter’s skin, makes him look like one of the living dead.
Dexter walks to the far end of the corridor, halts in front of apartment one-four-five.
He knocks with a latex gloved hand.
A long moment...
...then the door opens a crack.
THOMPSON (33) peaks through, flashes a questioning look. Dexter shows him his ID.
THOMPSON
‘Bout time.
Thompson opens the door wide, leads the way into...
THOMPSON’S APARTMENT, HALLWAY
Dexter closes the door behind him.
THOMPSON
Bloody thing’s been playing up all afternoon.
Dexter pulls the screwdriver from his top pocket to reveal a cleverly disguised syringe...
THOMPSON (CONT’D)
Fucking freezing in here.
...and stabs Thompson in the neck, depresses the button.
Thompson half turns, surprised. He tries to grab the now empty syringe but his legs give way.
He’s unconscious before he hits the floor.
THOMPSON’S APARTMENT, BATHROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Dexter enters, deposits his tool box on the floor, opens it, takes out two empty bottles of pills and one partially filled.
He lines them up on the lip of the bath, knocks the third one over, spills its contents.
THOMPSON’S APARTMENT, HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER
Dexter slips his hands under Thompson’s arms, hoists him upwards, with great effort hefts him onto his shoulders in a fireman’s lift, and carries him carefully towards the bathroom.
THOMPSON’S APARTMENT, BATHROOM - MOMENTS LATER
Dexter settles the unconscious Thompson in the bath.
Dexter reaches into his tool box, extracts a bottle of Jim Beam and a funnel, presses Thompson’s fingers to the top and the body of the bottle, and to all the pill bottles.
Dexter opens and discards the Jim Beam bottle top on the bathroom floor. He opens Thompson’s mouth, uses the funnel to pour the whiskey and a few of the scattered pills down his throat.
Still unconscious Thompson gags, vomits a little back up.
Dexter places the bottle back into Thompson’s hand and steps back to admire his work.
Satisfied, the funnel goes back in the tool box, the lid closed.
Dexter’s legs suddenly go weak, he doubles up, clutches his side in pain, drops to his knees.
Dexter struggles to catch his breath, waits for the pain to subside.
Finally he stands.
He exits on wobbly legs, holds onto the door frame for support.
Happy writing.
No comments:
Post a Comment