Panic Room Page #2

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EVAN:

I was waiting to see if you'd

notice! On caravan, no one from our

office had the slightest idea.

He pushes on the top of the mirror on the wall. It makes a

faint CLICK, then glides open a few inches off the wall. He

pulls it toward him, opens it all the way, a hundred eighty

degrees, and it fastens magnetically to the back of the

closed door. There is smooth wall behind it, but if you look

closely, there is a faint vertical crack in the wall.

Meg looks at him -- what in the world? Even pushes again,

twice this time, first at the top, then at the bottom, and

the smooth wall CLICKS ajar. He pulls it wide open. Meg and

Lydia step forward, fascinated.

INT. PANIC ROOM - DAY

From the opposite end of a lone, narrow, windowless space, we

see the three of them standing in the open doorway,

silhouetted by the sunlight streaming through the bedroom

windows behind them.

EVAN:

It's called a panic room.

He hits a switch and a row of bulbs flick on overhead.

MEG:

A what?

EVAN:

A safe room. An inner sanctum. A

castle keep, in medieval times.

LYDIA:

Oh, I've seen these...

EVAN:

It's quite in vogue in high end

construction right now. One really

can't be too careful about home

invasion.

The other two walk inside, but Meg lingers near the door,

looking around, studying the neatly arrayed survival supplies

-- water, food packs, batteries, flashlights, tools, rope,

clothes, blankets -- you get the idea.

LYDIA:

Hey, this is perfect for you...

(Meg scoffs)

Absolutely! You're a woman, you're

living alone now. Your alarm goes

off, or you head glass break, or for

whatever reason you think someone's

broken into your home in the middle

of the night. What are you going to

do? Call the police and wait until

they get here on Tuesday? Traipse

downstairs in your sexy little

underthings and check it out? I

think not!

EVAN:

Reinforced steel core walls. Buried

phone line, completely separate, not

connected to the house's main line

and never exposed throughout the

house's infrastructure or outside

the house -- you can call the

police; nobody can cut you off.

Your own ventilation system,

complete with oxygen scrubber, so

you've got plenty of fresh air for

as long as you like. And a bank of

video monitors --

He hits a switch next to a dozen tiny video monitors,

revealing a dozen different views of the house.

EVAN:

-- covering almost every corner of

the house.

Meg nods, starting to sweat.

MEG:

Makes me nervous.

LYDIA:

Why?

MEG:

Ever read any Poe?

LYDIA:

I don't think so, but I love her

album.

MEG:

No, Edgar Allen.

LYDIA:

(thinks)

The furniture guy?

MEG:

(giving up)

What's to keep them from prying open

the door?

Evan reaches past Meg and pushes a red button on the wall

behind her. With a sudden WHANG of steel, a heavy metal door

leaps out of a slot in the wall and SLAMS shut, like a

submarine hatch. A series of metal latches CLICK into place

inside it, from top to bottom, securing it into place.

EVAN:

Steel, four inches thick.

Meg takes a step back. They're now enclosed in the room.

EVAN:

Everything's spring-loaded, even if

the power's out it's fully

functional.

MEG:

Open it.

LYDIA:

Old Bernie didn't miss a trick with

this room, did he?

MEG:

Open the door.

LYDIA:

And with kids like he's got, no

wonder he wanted a place to hide.

EVAN:

That's highly inappropriate.

MEG:

I said open the door.

Evan hits a green button and the door GROANS slowly open,

recoiling its massive spring, and revealing Sarah, the little

girl, standing in the entryway, grinning widely.

SARAH:

My room. Definitely my room.

She bolts in, just as her mother bolts out.

INT. MASTER BEDROOM - DAY

Meg stands just outside the door to the panic room, regaining

her composure. Not crazy about tight spaces. Which we

already knew.

LYDIA:

That door is a safely hazard.

EVAN:

Not at all.

He points. There's a tiny red beam that shines across the

doorway, one at shoulder height --

EVAN:

Infrared. Like the beam in an

elevator doorway. Won't let the

door close if something's blocking

it.

-- and one at shin height. Even bend down, blocks the one at

shin height with his hand.

EVAN:

Watch.

He reaches up, to push the close button, but with one hand

anchored at the floor, he can't quite reach it.

EVAN:

(to Lydia)

Push that button for me, will you?

MEG:

Don't!

Lydia pushes the close button, nothing happens. Evan pulls

his hand put of the beam, takes a step back. Lydia pushes

the button again.

WHANG! The metal door rockets shut, the metallic slang

reverberating in the room. Almost immediately, the fake

piece of wall HUMS shut, of its own accord, followed a moment

later by the mirror, which detaches itself from the back of

the closet door and HUMS silently back into place, closing

over the hidden door, making the corner of the room look like

a corner again.

As the mirrored door closes, it shows Meg her own reflection.

She looks at herself, still rattled. She wipes a trickle of

sweat from the side of her face.

CUT TO:

INT. TOWNHOUSE - FOYER - DAY

The same house, two weeks later. The entry floor is piled

high with moving boxes. Sarah and Meg lie sprawled out in

the middle of the black and white tile, arms and legs splayed

wide, exhausted.

They stare up at the ceiling, beat.

SARAH:

Too many stairs.

MEG:

Got us in here, didn't I?

SARAH:

Shoulda got an apartment.

MEG:

Well, I know that now.

SARAH:

478-0150.

Meg raises her hand to her face, she's got her cell phone in

her palm.

MEG:

Battery's dead.

CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN - DAY

Meg picks up the wall phone in the kitchen, gets a dial tone.

MEG:

The phone works.

(to Sarah)

Hey, I hooked up the phone.

SARAH:

(sarcastic)

The crowd goes wild.

MEG:

(ignoring the slight)

478...

SARAH:

0150.

Meg finishes dialing. It rings, someone answers.

VOICE:

Perry's Pizza, please hold.

CUT TO:

INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT

Night has fallen. Meg and Sarah sit at a small table in the

middle of the kitchen, surrounded by packing boxes. They eat

pizza. They chew, silently. Sarah drinks a diet Dr.

Pepper. Meg finishes a glass of wine.

Meg's eyes are moist. Sarah notices. She notices her

noticing, shrugs. I'm human, what do you want me to do, hide

it?

Sarah looks away, goes back to chewing. After a moment:

SARAH:

F*** him.

MEG:

Don't.

SARAH:

F*** her too.

Meg looks at her, not sure how to confront the open defiance.

MEG:

I agree. But don't.

Sarah stares at her for a moment, then goes back to eating.

Meg picks up the bottle of wine.

Sarah's eyes flick over and watch as wine GLUGS into her

mother's glass.

CUT TO:

INT. SARAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Sarah's bedroom is full of unpacked boxes, but her twin bed

has been set up and Sarah is in it, hair wet, pajamas on.

She reads from a book ("Tom Swift and His Repelatron Skyway")

while Meg, drowsy, lies next to her, listening.

SARAH:

"Tom's throat felt so dry and tight

that it was a moment before he could

make any sound come out. "Dad!" He

croaked. "I'm - inside - the -

machine!" "Great Scott!" The elder

scientist gasped. He dashed across

the laboratory and switched off the

repelatron's motor. "What happened,

son?" "The Durafoam hardened, Dad.

Get a solvent, quick -- you know the

formula!"

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