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FADE IN: OVER BLACK We hear heavy breathing. A seagull CAWS in the distance. The gentle crunch of sand comes underneath a pair of feet. The CRASH of various small waves hit close by. The BLACKNESS slowly transitions into a bright yellow and back to black again. A rhythmic humming, we realize we are in a the POV of a MAN. His breathing gets heavier, footsteps faster, breathing, footsteps, breathing, footsteps.... SPLASH. The MAN sighs, a happy sigh. Footsteps lead away from the water again. The sounds of sands have been replaced with the sounds of wood. A LOUD trumpet plays a blues song. Two coins cling and land inside a paper cup. A brief SCHWING – and we hear the sound of a metal object tap along the wood. COMMOTION RISES. More voices, more people, none of them really distinct or interesting. The metal tap goes in rhythm with the sound of footsteps across the wood. WOMAN: Let me get that for you. A door CREAKS open. Metal hinges. MAN: Thank you. The metal tap is softer now. The footsteps scoot across a soft carpet. Another door SWINGS open and a rush of SOUND comes from all directions. There are voices, live music, loud speakers, clangs, bells, sound effects and the random ecstatic scream. YOUNG MAN: Welcome back, Sir. Would you be enjoying the Taj Mahal's luxury breakfast buffet on this fine morning? FADE OUT. NOTE: Thanks Eric & Scott, these challenges have been an awesome creative boost to every day this week!

EXT. STREETS - DAY The Goon pulls Matthew from the back seat of the car. The boy's feet find pavement as he's hauled upright - And he hears everything. Everything. The ring of a fingernail tapping fine crystal. The soapy friction of amber pebbles rubbed together in the hand. VOICES in a thousand languages. A violin plays Smetana - Matthew turns his head, and now it's the string quartet playing Mozart, and the church bells, and the river… Matthew smiles - And we see what he can't. The dark, crooked back lanes of the Old Town, with their amber shops and crystal sellers and street musicians. MATTHEW: Prague. We're in Prague. Goldberg strokes his thin beard thoughtfully. GOLDBERG: So you did manage to bring me the right boy this time.

INT. TAXI CAB, CAMBRIDGE, MASS - DAY Overcast fall day, city trees burst out in beautiful autumn foliage. Elegant in tweed and Wayfarers, white walking stick resting against the back seat, CHARLIE WALKER (40) clicks a text from his phone. Passenger window down, Charlie stares out, as if to reminisce. Road noise changes to a lighter rumble, as the cab crosses the JFK Bridge. On the water below, eight pairs of oars hit water in perfect unison. Their metronomic splash pierces the air, as a bull-horned voice exhorts her crew to push harder. Charlie allows himself a gentle smile of recognition. Southie, born and bred, SULLY (55) shouts through the plexiglass, an accent so strong, you could almost taste the chowder he had for lunch. SULLY You okay back there? It gets chilly this time of year. CHARLIE I'm fine... really. Cab leaves the bridge, makes it's way along JFK St. Charlie approvingly sniffs the air. CHARLIE When did the Indian place open? SULLY Jeez, you said you used to teach here?-- But before Charlie can reply, cab comes to a sudden stop, brakes squealing in pain. Sully violently hits the horn as a swanky BMW with New York plates tries to cut him off. SULLY Hey idiot, d'you get your license with a box of cereal? (to Charlie) New Yorkers, think they own the frigging world. CHARLIE (nodding in agreement) Tell me about it. Taxi crawls into Harvard Square, bustling with students, locals and tourists. A hollow whooshing of air races from the T station, crowd of commuters emerges from underground making their way home. From Harvard Yard, a sophomore screams from an upper floor in violent anger to her boyfriend below. Reflexively, Charlie cringes... he'd hate to be in that guy's shoes. Cab pushes along Mass Ave a block or so, sound of people fades away leaving just the busy rumble of city traffic, slows down as it approaches the curb. EXT. CORNER OF ELLIOTT AND MASS AVE. KATE HENDERSON (35) stands at attention, waiting for this cab. INT. TAXI CAB Taxi comes to a stop. Sully sets the hand break, trunk thuds opens from behind. SULLY Here you go, Harvard Law. Kate leans into the passenger window. Grins. KATE Hey Charlie, long time no see. Sully can't help himself from chuckling. This one's got a real pair. CHARLIE Funny, Kate. Real frickin' funny.from an upper flor

PITCH BLACK / SOMEONE'S POV: A few BREATHS drawn in suddenly. Like someone coming to. The BREATHS come faster now, but unevenly – like Morse code. Sounds of a MAN STRAINING, trying to pull onto his knees. Then… ICE CRACKING. Not very much. Just enough to make THOSE BREATHS grow SHALLOWER. MAN: (short breaths) Shit… what… where…? He EXHALES as he sits back on his haunches. The ICE CRACKS again. More this time. MAN: Fuck… A few STRONG SNIFFS of the air. ONE MORE to confirm… MAN: Can’t be. Sound of HANDS CLUTCHING at something close. Clawing. Scratching. Failing. MAN: What the— Why is this on my head…? (louder) Why is this on my head?! More CRACKING— MAN: Shit, shit… I don’t understand. I don’t… The faint build of a RINGTONE. It grows LOUDER on repeat. A CELL PHONE. Sounds of FUMBLING AROUND, DIGGING INTO POCKETS. The Man EXHALES with excitement. MAN: Please… Please… H-Hello? Hello? Please— MAN’S VOICE (V/O): Do you know who this is? No answer. Just SHALLOW BREATHING. MAN’S VOICE (V/O): Can you smell it? The smell of ice thawing? Do you know where you are? MAN: (half-sure) …Fairbanks. MAN’S VOICE (V/O): I can’t think of a worse death than going into the cool drink with cuffed hands and a bag tied over my head. …Can you? MAN: I… W-What do you want? MAN’S VOICE (V/O): I have questions. And you have answers. And the ice is cracking. First question… MAN: Please… MAN’S VOICE (V/O): How did you first meet my wife? FIN

DAY. EXT. COMMUTER TRAIN STATION. A pigeon coos overhead. Announcer v/o drones on, interspersed with tea cup clatter, people talking, vendors selling newspapers. V/O : The train arriving on platform 1 is the eight minutes past ten fast train to Churchgate. This train will not halt any stations except at Bandra, Dadar... cackle…(rest of the announcement is lost, sizzle of bread pakora frying in oil. Rhythmic steel on steel clatter of the ladle on the griddle from the food stall, rich masala aroma) Intrusive Horn. Clang. Train clatters into the station. Chaos, people push in and out of the doors. Tap tap tap…(taps white cane on platform)…Special compartment? Special compartment? (Someone grabs his hand and pulls him in just as the train begins to move) Yes, Surdas…. Here… sit down .. window seat (Sound of crutches on metal floor as someone leads him) (Loud voices from the ladies compartment next door. Someone is singing. A vendor calls out pins ribbons buckles passbook cover… pass cover.. .cheque cover…). (Clatter- clang , train shakes as it races past…static as announcement system cackles…Next station Bandra. Next station Ban…train slows imperceptibly …snatches of a muezzin’s call, that must be Santacruz). (Excited girl’s voice…Oh really! So he said… so I said…OMG D’you know…I must, I must! ….Get up, you’re sitting on my seat I booked this before you did, my seat.. scuffle.. fight breaks out) V/o (mechanically) Ban-dra .. Ban-dra ... Train brakes to a halt with a screech. Look look look this one’s all empty! (excited girl’s voice, someone steps into the compartment) Reserved compartment silly! (laughter, girls get off.) Tea cups rattle on the platform. Loud shouts as people push into the next compartments. Loud whistle. The train begins to move slowly, then picks up speed. Rhythmic clang-clang- clatter.

Really great job on this scene Adam. I want to see the whole movie!

EXT - STREET - DAY A car pulls up against the kerb, from the rear door steps ERIC NEWLY (67) leather faced, white-bleach hair, hands of iron. Stands stock still, arms straight down at sides, palms forwards with fingers stretched out. Close on face. Shuts eyes, inhales deeply ERIC NEWLY (V.O.) Halyards slapping on the many masts Water lapping on gently rocking hulls Trolley wheels softly clack along the pontoon I hear the shriek of the robber gulls (turns head 20 degrees) A diesel engine sputters to life It's fumes briefly choking the crisp clean air The air is different here, free of the fog of life (eyes open, revealing bleached retina) And out there, I can clearly sense the menace of her leviathan depths, hoping to embrace me in one last dance. I am lucky that I cannot see, for it all *feels* much more beautiful, to me. Eric pulls something out of his inside coat pocket, he unfolds a white cane and confidently taps his way along a narrow pontoon to a jetty bristling with sailing yachts.

Thank you!

VICTOR’S POV Popcorn POPS, like a volcano erupting. A seagull CAWS. VICTOR (to the seagull) Don’t even think about it. Scat. The sound of a cable car as it ROLLS along the street. It STOPS. A BELL CLANKS. GRIPMAN Nob Hill. FOOTSTEPS on pavement. Closer. Closer. Stopping a few feet away. Max, a yellow Lab service dog, BARKS at the Presence. VICTOR How ‘bout some Popcorn? It’s fresh. The BARKING turns into GROWLS. Low, guttural. CLICK. The glass door on the popcorn popper opens. A paper bag RATTLES. SCOOPING sounds as the bag fills. VICTOR (CONT’D) (irritated) Sir, I’ll get that for you. The glass door CLICKS shut. PRESENCE How do you know I’m a man? CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH. The Presence eats popcorn. VICTOR Your footsteps. They’re heavy. Lips SMACK. PRESENCE Damn, this is tasty. Just the right amount of salt. Buttered to perfection. I always said you made the best. VICTOR Do I know you? I don’t recognize your voice. PRESENCE It changes. From time to time. VICTOR (confused) Look, mister. This stuff ain’t free. That’ll be two dollars. PRESENCE But I’m done. The bag HITS the ground. Victor steps forward, toward the voice. Popcorn DISINTEGRATES underfoot. Feathers RUSTLE as the seagull CAWS victory. It SWOOPS to the ground. VICTOR You’re an ass-hole. In Victor’s right ear. PRESENCE (whispering) I’ve been called worse. Victor whips around. Stretching arms out in erratic movements. Searching for contact. Finding only air. From his left side. PRESENCE (CONT’D) I’m over here. By Max. Victor follows the voice. BANGS into a lamp post. Grabs it for support. Checks his bearings. Max BARKS wildly. VICTOR (worried) Max? Come here, boy. Victor touches his forehead. Blood. He tastes it. Max leans against his leg. Victor reaches down for the leash. Pulls it tight. CLANGING in the distance. A cable car RUMBLES closer. PRESENCE He’s a good dog. Victor backs away from the voice. The leash SNAPS and falls limp in Victor’s hand. VICTOR (to the Presence) What the fuck are you doing? PRESENCE Setting him free. A WARNING BELL CLANGS. The cable car SCREECHES. Something BUMPS into Victor. COMMOTION onboard. People YELLING. SCREAMING. VICTOR (yelling at the Presence) What do you want? PRESENCE Remember the day you lost your sight? Victor looks down at his body. SEES it mangled under the cable car. Max licking his face. VICTOR Oh, man. Seriously? The Presence grabs a handful of popcorn from the popper. Closes the glass door. CLICK. PRESENCE Told you I’d be back. CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH. FADE OUT.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY PETER leans into the wheelchair carrying his father CARL, and ancient, grey-haired patriarch, hands folded on a tartan blanket, a white straw sun-hat shielding the dark glasses he wears. Carl turns his head to one side as the distant sounds of seagulls on the wing floats in on a summer breeze. CARL Let's go to the front Peter. PETER Sure? It'll be a bit breezy? CARL I spent days on end in the trenches, knee deep in water and blood... a sea breeze isn't going to hurt me. PETER Okay, long or short? CARL Follow the parade crescent... your mum loved that walk. PETER shakes his head, with a grin. PETER Long it is then. CRESCENT ROAD A regency style crescent on one side of the road, looking out over the English Channel. Sea-food stalls adorn the green space on the opposite side of the street. Carl's head turns once more as he sniffs. CARL Whelks. PETER Same to you. CARL Fool! The stalls are still there on the green? PETER Yeah, Chummy's catch of the day is still there... think it must be Chummy's grandson by now. CARL That's where I first met her you know... your mum. Sunday afternoon, with the lads, she was clearing the tables on the front. Most beautiful thing I ever saw... ever will. Peter says nothing but continues to push the chair forward. CARL Our first date was at the Palais... whatever they call it today. PETER It's Bouncers now... was La Parisienne when I was clubbing. It's still over-priced and plays crap music. CARL It was the place to be when we were courting -- take me to the fire exit. Peter pushes his father across the road to the club. It is all closed up for the season, but faded posters coat the walls, a faint reminder of the receding summer. CARL It's here somewhere. Peter stops by the fire exit as Carl reaches out for the handle of the door. He touches the metal latch moving his hand out to the wall, feeling the rough sides of the red bricks. He finds the corner of the wall, counts four bricks up and caresses a faint etching in the brick. CARL Carved this just a few weeks later... when we knew. Can't believe it's still there. Peter peers at the brick, a pair of initials in a heart, almost completely rubbed away. PETER CW and JF survive. Carl smiles, turning his head as his attention is drawn elsewhere. CARL Simple... kids these days... dunno they're born... all this ipad stuff... makes them sound like pirates -- candyfloss. PETER Wha...? CARL To the pier... I smell candyfloss... pink... it was her favourite. END OF PIER Carl sits in his wheelchair, eating his pink candyfloss as Peter sends a text message on his phone. CARL Came here a lot when courting. He reaches out to touch a telescope pointing out to sea. CARL We were stood here when she told me she was ill. There is nothing but the sound of waves and gulls until Peter breaks the silence. PETER Let's get back. CARL No, I like it here... Peter moves to his father and puts a hand on one shoulder. Carl leans his cheek against his son's hand to feel the warmth. CARL It's also where she said "yes"...

FADE IN: OVER BLACK EXT - MONTREAL - OLD CITY - NIGHT The sharp, clean smell of a clear autumn night. A cash register KACHINGS over the HUSTLE-BUSTLE of patrons, servers and an overworked kitchen. Mouth-watering food smells. MAN#1: Merci, ma cherie. Bon soirée! A door BANGS shut. The restaurant sounds stop. The two-tone TAP of a cane on cobblestones in synch with confident FOOT STEPS. The TAP of the cane changes tone upon reaching a sidewalk. A second set of FOOT STEPS, heavier, louder, match the rhythm of the first. As the FOOT STEPS continue, random strains of JAZZ MUSIC on clouds of bitter cigarette smoke and the tang of alcohol that stop abruptly with the BANG of doors. MURMURS of passersby in French, English, other languages. A miasma of perfume, cologne, body odor. FOOT STEPS slow and BREATHING a little heavier as the sidewalk slopes upward. The HEAVY STEPS maintain their pace behind. A busker plays ACCORDION and belts out Quebeois FOLK TUNES in a hearty baritone joual. Less cologne, more body odor. A pause in the footsteps. The CLINK of coins landing on more coins. BUSKER: Merci bien! FOOT STEPS and cane TAPPING resume a brisk walking pace: a flat stretch of sidewalk. The HEAVY STEPS follow-- A CRASH of an accordion hitting the ground, coins CLATTERING everywhere-- --MAN#2 GRUNTS, a large man guessing by his voice. The light FOOT STEPS and CANE accelerate into the distance. BUSKER: M'sieur, I am so sorry, are you-- Man#2 GRUNTS again. The Busker YELPS. The acrid smell of fear. The HEAVY STEPS resume, then pause... The light FOOT STEPS merge with the noise of a growing rowing number of PASSERSBY. More MURMURS, more nearby FOOT STEPS. The "safe to cross" SONG of a crosswalk light. Vacuum-sealed doors open with a POP like a canning jar and a mighty WOOSH of sucked-in air. CACOPHONY of passersby's VOICES and FOOTFALLS, the TICKS of turnstiles, and the RUMBLE of an arriving subway train echo in a cavernous space and drown out the sound of the cane. Hot, sweaty, stale air. The sounds stop as the doors CLICK shut again. The passersby all gone now, the light FOOT STEPS and CANE can be heard more clearly once again: confident, steady, brisk. The CLIP-CLOP of horses and the RICKETY CLICKETY CLACK of the wheels of a calèche. The farm smells of manure and animal sweat out of place but reassuring in the heart of the city. YOUNG MAN: Whoah. Easy girl. (under his breath) That mec back there, he following you? The light FOOT STEPS and CANE keep pace with the CLIP-CLOP and RICKETY CLICKETY CLACK. WOMAN#1: Oui. YOUNG MAN: Half way up this block there's a narrow alley. You know it? WOMAN#1: Mm. YOUNG MAN: Cut through there to the main street. I'll stop the calèche and block it. WOMAN#1: Merci! The light FOOT STEPS and CANE hurry away as HEAVY FOOT STEPS approach. YOUNG MAN: (calling out) Take care! The light FOOT STEPS and CANE echo slightly in the narrow alley. The RUSTLE of garbage moving. The CATERWAUL of lovesick cats. Rank, rancid odors. In the distance, CLIP CLOP and RICKETY WHEELS approach then stop. YOUNG MAN: (distantly) Tour the Old Town, sir? The light FOOT STEPS and CANE accelerate towards the BLARE of traffic on a major thoroughfare. The metallic smell of car exhaust. WOMAN#1: Taxi! The SQUEAL of tires pulling to a stop. INT/EXT TAXI DRIVER (beautifully accented Haitian French, subtitled) Where are you going, madam? The SCRATCH of paper being pulled from a pocket. WOMAN#1: (in French, subtitled) This address. Please hurry. DRIVER: As madam wishes... And your friend in the other taxi? WOMAN#1: Not my friend. DRIVER: Ah... Tires PEEL OUT like an Indy 500 race. Horns HONK. CLICK. Upbeat Haitan COMPAS MUSIC drowns out the traffic noise. Tires SQUEAL to a stop. DRIVER: Here you go. WOMAN#1: Thank you. Damp, earthy smells of recently watered landscaping, sharp smells of cedar. The cane TAPS are sharp now, the FOOT STEPS more cautious, ascending marble stairs. GUARD: (filtered through intercom) You have an appointment? WOMAN#1: With the Ambassador. I am expected. The BUZZ of a security system. The RUSTLE of clothing in a hearty hug. A faint hint of expensive European perfume. WOMAN#2: The rendezvous? WOMAN#1: Fine. WOMAN#2: Le microfiche? WOMAN#1: Le voilà. WOMAN#2: Any problems? WOMAN#1: None at all. LE FIN