What Lies Beneath

FADE IN:

Moving through a murky haze. Dark blues and greens, shafts

of prismed purple. A pale shard appears in the distance.

Gliding closer, a group of tiny fish dart before the camera.

We're UNDERWATER. Arriving at the form, it finally sharpens

into focus. It's a WOMAN'S BODY submerged in dark water,

arms floating lazily at her side. The face is obscured by

flowing hair. All that is visible is a pair of COLD, STARING

GREEN EYES, which blink closed...

MORPH TO:

...then open as BLUE EYES, as a DIFFERENT FACE emerges from

water. CLAIRE SPENCER awakens from this unsettling dream in

her bathtub. She pivots the large BRASS SHOWER HEAD (the

kind that moves up and down on a pipe) off to one side,

reaches toward her feet and we hear the sound of a plug being

pulled.

INT. BATHROOM - DAY

A HAZY SHAPE -- accompanied by a whirring sound.

A steam covered mirror is cleared with a BLOW DRYER. Claire

starts to come into focus. The dryer stops. She presses the

red G.F.I. button on the socket. ZAP! A big blue spark shoots

out. Claire pulls her hand back... and the dryer starts

whirring again.

She clears the mirror and replaces the dryer on a hook. She

regards herself in the mirror, and attractive, elegant-looking

woman around forty.

Claire traces a finger along a small but noticeable SCAR

above her left eye, then slowly drops the hand to her cheek,

as if confirming her existence.

INT. CLAIRE'S HOUSE - DAY

Claire, now dressed, presses her face against a door,

listening for the sounds of stirring from within. Silence.

She quietly pushes open the door.

INT. ROOM - DAY

Claire makes her way past half-filled boxes and duffels to a

window, then pulls the curtains to reveal:

A LOVELY, WOODED LAKE. It couldn't be more picturesque. A

24' SAILBOAT is moored at the dock and an OLD STONE LIGHTHOUSE

sits on a point across the lake.

The sunlight motivates an unconscious groan from A FIGURE

still shrouded by covers.

Claire sits beside the sleeping form. She scans the room

briefly, taking in a Greenpeace flag and a picture of a

tomboyish ten year-old girl at camp.

She gently pulls back the covers and peers down at the same

face, now a waifish, pretty seventeen year-old, with chopped

hair and tiny nose ring. Claire leans over and inhales the

sleeping scent of her only daughter, CAITLIN. She places her

hand on a cheek. The girl's eyelids flutter softly.

CLAIRE:

Morning, beauty.

Caitlin lets out a grunt and rolls over onto her belly.

CLAIRE:

Let's go. Or we'll never leave on

time.

From out of the pillow comes Caitlin's voice.

CAITLIN:

(muffled)

I'm totally ready.

Claire glances around at the piles of unpacked clothes.

CLAIRE:

Come on, I'll make you some waffles,

maybe we'll squeeze in a trip to the

mall.

(beat)

Caitlin...

Claire gently swats at the tiny lump that is Caitlin's behind.

CAITLIN:

Mother...

Claire stands and instinctively scoops up some clothes from

the floor, then folds and neatly stacks them on a box.

Caitlin turns her head sideways on the pillow.

CAITLIN:

You're such a morning person.

Claire turns at the door.

CLAIRE:

It is unwise to heckle the keeper of

the plastic.

She starts to leave. Caitlin calls out.

CAITLIN (O.S.)

Blueberries!

Claire smiles as she closes the door behind her.

INT. HALLWAY - DAY

Claire bends down to pick up one of Caitlin's socks. When

she stands, something catches her eye out a window. She gazes

down, transfixed.

ANGLE:

Through a stand of trees over a HIGH WOODEN FENCE, A YOUNG

COUPLE is in the midst of a heated argument next door. Claire

watches as the HUSBAND, a large imposing man with an unruly

shock of red hair, snarls at his wife across the hood of

their huge old Buick. She tries to get a glimpse of the woman,

but all that's visible is THE BACK OF HER BLOND HEAD.

A TAN, SINEWY ARM encircles Claire's waist. She lets out a

small gasp as a hand closes on her breast. It's Claire's

husband, DR. NORMAN SPENCER, nibbling gently at her neck.

He's older than she, pushing fifty, with silver streaks

beginning to permeate the shaggy mop of hair that makes him

look more like a preppy rocker or a lacrosse coach than the

prominent academic that he is. Claire, however, can't take

her eyes off the scene below.

NORMAN:

They at it again?

Claire nods.

NORMAN:

Christ, that's twice in... When did

they move in?

CLAIRE:

I think three...

NORMAN:

Three weeks.

She continues to gaze downward. The man leans over the hood,

murmuring darkly at his wife, though for Claire and Norman

the scene is entirely silent.

CLAIRE:

What's their name?

NORMAN:

Feur, I think. Psych department.

Figures. They're all psychotic.

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