Unlocked
An opening scene.
FADE IN:
EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - NIGHT
A quiet block. One porch light two doors down. A KID'S BIKE tipped in a yard. A crabapple tree drops dead leaves onto the curb.
A CAR turns off the frontage road and glides in like it’s done it a thousand times.
INT./EXT. DREW'S CAR - DRIVEWAY - NIGHT
DREW (late 30s, work jacket, tired eyes) kills the engine.
He sits. Hands on the wheel. Listening.
Nothing.
He looks up at the house.
Normal.
Too normal.
The living room shade in the front window is straight. Perfectly straight.
Drew frowns at that like it’s a threat.
EXT. FRONT WALK / PORCH - NIGHT
Drew steps out. Shuts the door carefully.
The porch light is OFF. The house is a dark shape with clean edges.
He climbs the path. Each footstep sounds too loud.
At the door, he slides his key in, turns—
The DEADBOLT is already unlocked.
He stops. Stares at the knob.
He pushes the door open.
INT. ENTRYWAY - NIGHT
Dark. Familiar shapes.
A small table with a ceramic bowl for keys. A framed photo of DREW and MARLA at a lake.
The key bowl is empty.
Drew doesn’t turn on a light.
DREW
Marla?
No answer.
He takes a few steps. Slow.
INT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The room is neat. Too neat.
A throw blanket folded like it’s in a showroom.
A mug on the coffee table, half lit. The words on it are cut off by shadow:
DON’T TALK TO ME UNTIL I’VE HAD MY...
The TV is OFF, reflecting Drew as a dim shape.
From the hallway—
A hard slice of LIGHT spills out.
The kitchen light is on.
Drew heads toward it.
INT. HALLWAY / DINING AREA - NIGHT
A DINING CHAIR lies on its side, caught on the rug like it tried to get away.
A crumpled NAPKIN on the floor with a dark stain.
Drew stops, swallows.
DREW
Marla...
Still nothing.
He moves again, pulled by the light.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
The overhead light is blazing.
Counters wiped down. Too clean. Surgical.
The dish rack is empty, but a damp ring sits on the laminate.
The knife block is perfectly straight.
The bread box is shut.
Drew stands in the doorway.
And then he sees her.
MARLA (late 30s) lies on the white tile between the island and the fridge. Half on her side, half on her back.
Her hair fans out dark on the tile.
Her eyes are OPEN, staring past him at the underside of the counter.
A dark POOL of blood under one shoulder. A thin line of it trails toward the baseboard.
Drew’s mouth opens.
Nothing comes out.
He steps in.
His heel SLIPS on something wet.
He freezes, arms out, trying not to fall.
He catches himself on the island. His fingers smear through cleaner and something else.
Drew stares at Marla.
DREW
Hey...
(beat)
Hey, baby.
He drops to his knees beside her.
He doesn’t touch her at first.
He reaches— brushes her cheek with the back of his knuckles.
Her skin is cold.
DREW
Marla.
He searches her like he doesn’t want to find what he’s looking for.
A bruised crescent on her neck.
A small, neat dark hole below her collarbone. Blood crusted at the edge.
Drew presses two fingers to her throat.
Nothing.
He leans close, stupid hope.
Only his own breath, loud.
DREW
No.
He says it again, louder.
DREW
No.
He sits back, staring at his hands like they belong to someone else.
He fumbles for his phone. Drops it. Snatches it up again.
His thumb hits the wrong icon. Messages flash.
He stares, blinking hard.
He goes to dial 9—
Stops.
A thought hits, quiet and ugly.
Drew lifts his eyes.
The BACK DOOR is AJAR. Just a crack. Cold night air slips in.
The sheer curtain breathes.
Drew stands too fast. Sways. Grips the counter.
He looks around without turning his head.
The PANTRY DOOR has a dent low, like a shoulder slammed it.
Fresh scratches near the knob.
His eyes flick to the fridge.
A magnet board cluttered with coupons and reminders.
A grocery list in Marla’s handwriting:
MILK
EGGS
COFFEE
—call Deb
And beneath it, in a different pen, blocky letters:
DREW. DON’T—
The rest of the note is TORN AWAY.
Drew stares until the ink stops being words.
BUZZ.
His phone vibrates.
He looks down.
UNKNOWN NUMBER calling.
He doesn’t answer.
It stops.
A TEXT appears immediately:
YOU HOME.
Drew reads it twice. Like it’ll change.
BUZZ.
Unknown number calling again.
His thumb moves without permission.
He answers.
DREW
Hello?
Silence.
Then a calm MAN’S BREATH, close to the mic.
A beat.
MAN (V.O.)
Drew.
Drew’s eyes drop to Marla on the tile, eyes still open.
Drew can’t look away.
DREW
Who is this?
MAN (V.O.)
Don’t call anybody yet.
Drew’s throat tightens.
MAN (V.O.)
You got about sixty seconds.
Then you’re gonna do what you’re told.
CLICK.
The line goes dead.
Drew holds the phone to his ear anyway.
The kitchen light hums.
Marla’s eyes stay open.
Drew stands there in the bright room like he’s waiting for permission to breathe.
CUT TO BLACK.