Untraceable Page #9

GRIFFIN:

You got it.

They hang up. All business now, she begins to type, her face

taking on a fierce expression that carries over into-

EXT. MARSH’S BEDROOM WINDOW -- LATER -- NIGHT.

FROM ACROSS THE STREET: Framed in the glass, Marsh works at

her desk under a bright lamp.

INT. MARSH’S BEDROOM -- DAY/NIGHT.

VARIOUS SHOTS OF MARSH HARD AT WORK, her computer screen

flashing with data on Kinross, chat rooms pages, news group

postings. She’s clearly not finding what she’s looking for.

At one point, Annie interrupts, pulling Marsh from the desk

by her hand.

At another, Marsh, dead on her feet, watches from her window

as Stella and Annie play catch in the front yard.

INT. ANNIE’S BEDROOM -- LATER -- DAWN.

In bed, Annie lies sound asleep, sprawled amid paste,

scissors, construction paper, and a stack of red-white-andblue

decorations.

.

Marsh sits down next to her, smiling tenderly at the mess.

She clears some of it away, then pulls Annie’s blanket up

higher.

45.

She kisses Annie’s cheek, then slowly lays her head down. As

Marsh’s eyes flutter shut, the CAMERA DRIFTS TO THE WINDOW,

where the sun rises and birds sing.

EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET -- MORNING.

Birds also sing on a charming neighborhood of generous middle-

class homes set back amid thick foliage. American flags hang

from many of them. A big, black BMW glides down the block.

INT. BMW -- SAME -- MORNING.

JERRY CARVER, 40’s, handsome, tanned, well-coiffed, drives

slowly, looking between a slip of paper in his hand and the

passing addresses.

Finally, he pulls into the secluded driveway of a middle-

class home and parks behind a big, gold Cadillac.

EXT. MIDDLE-CLASS HOME -- MOMENTS LATER -- MORNING.

Carver, admiring the house, walks up to the front door. He

pushes the doorbell. While he waits, he looks around,

admiring the garden, the oak tree, the fence.

.

Right next to Carver, at a side window, a curtain parts and a

YOUNG MAN looks out. Carver doesn’t notice.

MEET OWEN, 30, his skin unwholesome, his eyes devoid of

light. He studies Carver for a few long beats, then he

disappears.

Moments later, just as Carver is about to press the bell

again, Owen opens the door. His smile is bright, but stiff,

as though his face might crack.

Carver tries to hide his surprise at the young man’s

disturbing appearance.

OWEN:

You’re right on time.

CARVER:

Yeah, it’s a curse. I’ve spent

half my life waiting for people.

Carver flashes a warm smile and extends a manicured hand.

CARVER (cont’d)

Jerry Carver.

Owen looks at the hand as though he has never seen one

before. Then he smiles and shakes it without force.

46.

CARVER (cont’d)

Great address, by the way. Eights

bring prosperity.

OWEN:

I didn’t know that.

CARVER:

Love the Caddy, too.

As Carver moves past him and disappears inside, Owen looks

out at the car.

OWEN:

It had a dent, but I got it fixed.

EXT. MARSH’S BACKYARD -- DAY.

Griffin stands on a picnic table, threading a garland of

Annie’s decorations into the branches of a tree.

GRIFFIN:

You made ‘em all by yourself?

ANNIE:

Grandma helped a little. My mom

couldn’t, ‘cause she was working on

the computer.

GRIFFIN:

She works hard, huh?

Annie nods emphatically.

GRIFFIN (cont’d)

How’s that?

Annie grins up at her handiwork.

INT. MIDDLE-CLASS HOME -- LATER -- MORNING.

Owen stands in the living room, his face impassive, while

Carver admires the decor, which is in a contemporary Asian

style.

CARVER:

You like Asia, I guess.

OWEN:

Just Korea.

Awkward beat.

47.

CARVER (O.S.)

Well, you make it work.

OWEN:

Thank you.

Another awkward silence.

CARVER:

So...you gonna let me see ‘em?

OWEN:

Of course.

FOLLOW OWEN, leading Carver through the spotless house. All

of the rooms are decorated in the rosewood, teak, and

porcelain. Carver chatters uneasily-

CARVER:

I gotta tell ya, a 710 Pullman and a

712 Observation Car? When I read

your e-mail, I almost passed out.

If they’re really in mint condition-

OWEN:

Dad and I used to play with them.

And we played Ping-Pong. And we

built things. Toys. Contraptions.

We had quite a workshop.

Owen stops and fixes Carver with a dead stare.

OWEN (cont’d)

.

He passed away last year.

CARVER:

Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.

Owen nods slowly, then opens a small door, revealing a dark,

narrow staircase, descending into pitch blackness. He hits

the light, smiles, and gestures for Carver to go first.

Carver obeys, a bit reluctantly. As he passes by, Owen

touches a Taser to the back of Carver’s neck. 50,000 volts.

Carver drops like a sack of potatoes down the stairs, which

blends with-

EXT. MARSH’S BACKYARD -- DAY.

Griffin dumps charcoal into the grill. Marsh, arranging

beverages in a cooler of ice-

MARSH:

So how was your date?

48.

GRIFFIN:

Not bad. But I think today’s will

be better. She’s a social worker.

She’ll be hear any minute.

MARSH:

(amused)

You’re kidding.

GRIFFIN:

No -- so behave.

(beat)

How was your weekend?

MARSH:

I only made it through a few months

of Kinross’s posts. It’s insane.

The kid was on line sixteen hours a

day...pushing websites, sharing

links, uploading videos....

.

GRIFFIN:

Was? Not anymore?

MARSH:

Not since he died.

(off Griffin’s shock)

A month ago. Of something called

diabetic ketoacidosis. It happens

when you skip your insulin for a

few days. Within a few hours of

his body being discovered, the site

went up and his recommendation

appeared.

GRIFFIN:

You think our guy killed him?

MARSH:

I don’t know. The coroner called

it accidental.

(beat)

What’d you find on Miller?

GRIFFIN:

Not much. His company caters mostly

to corporate attorneys and bankers

who need to get in and out of D.C. in

a hurry. No serious ties to politics

or high tech.

Griffin tosses in a match and the coals burst into flame.

49.

INT. OWEN’S BASEMENT -- DAY.

Naked but for boxers and black socks, Jerry Carver lies

unconscious, bruised, gagged, slumped against the folded-up

picnic table.

His torso is snaked with patriotic bunting. An I.V. tube is

buried in his clavicle and taped in place.

.

A few feet away, we see the rotting shape, embedded in the

cement floor, of where Herbert Miller was cut in two.

Suddenly, one of Jerry Carver’s lifeless arms jerks to life

like a marionette’s. Then the other one does. They both

snap up and bang back against the Ping-Pong table.

We realize that his arms are being controlled by Ethernet

cables tied to both wrists, and connected to a crank. As the

cable is stretched tighter, Carver’s body rises and his arms

spread wider and wider.

Coming to, Carver begins to moan, turning his head from side

to side. Owen walks out from behind the table. He kneels,

opens a tool box and removes a metal tool meant to scrape

paint from window panes.

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