Andrea: The Front Yard

A WHITEOUT.

Snow devours the sky. The road. Every possible way out.

A DARK SHAPE emerges through the storm.

A STREETLIGHT.

The wind DIES.

Absolute silence.

A blade of sunlight cuts through the white, illuminating a weather-beaten sign:

INCEPTION HEIGHTS, COLORADO

SUPER: PRESENT DAY — 2026

The WIND SLAMS BACK.

ANDREA REFUGE (18), athletic, drops from the sky and CRASHES into the snow.

For one fleeting moment, the impression beneath her resembles a hospital mattress.

Then the wind erases it.

Andrea GASPS, finishing a breath she began somewhere else.

Her fist is clenched around a HUNTING KNIFE.

She staggers upright.

A trail of tire tracks crosses the road and ends halfway.

Andrea touches the back of her neck.

A fresh circular MARK sits beneath her hairline.

She FLINCHES.

Andrea studies the empty road.

Inception Heights.

A FOOTSTEP crunches behind her.

She whirls, knife raised.

Nobody.

Another FOOTSTEP from across the road.

Andrea turns.

JACK REFUGE stands where there was nothing a heartbeat ago. He appears EIGHTEEN, the age he would be now, although something younger and frightened remains trapped behind his eyes.

Snow gathers in his hair, but never melts.

Sweat beads across his face.

You remembered.

Andrea freezes. The knife trembles in her hand.

Jack?

Her grip tightens around the knife.

I saw you die.

I know. You remember that part.

Don’t move.

She approaches cautiously, studying his eyes, his mouth, the way he stands.

Searching for the brother inside the imitation.

What are you?

I’m here because you came back.

Dark tattoos twist around his arms like tangled vines.

Andrea notices them.

You didn’t have those.

Jack looks down at his arms.

Didn’t I?

Andrea raises the knife between them.

She studies him with practiced precision, breathing, posture, pupils.

What was under my bed?

I don’t remember.

Jack would remember.

Jack searches her face as though the answer might be written there.

Andrea BLINKS.

JACK LIES DEAD IN THE ROAD.

His neck bent at an impossible angle.

She BLINKS AGAIN.

Jack stands before her. Alive. Unbroken.

Andrea recoils.

That isn’t how it happened.

How long have you been here?

Long enough to stop looking for a way out.

Andrea kneels and presses her palm against the snow-covered road.

Her fingers sink through the surface into a depthless BLACK VOID.

STATIC ERUPTS from everywhere at once.

Andrea tears her hand free.

The road becomes solid again.

It fixes itself when you notice.

She looks at Jack.

Terrified, but resolved.

We’re getting out.

She reaches for his hand.

Jack pulls back.

Too late.

Andrea GRABS HIM.

Jack squeezes her hand twice.

Andrea freezes. Their old signal.

You remember that?

Jack looks at their joined hands.

My hand does.

The entire street FLICKERS.

Andrea pulls Jack through the snow-choked neighborhood.

Dark houses. Empty driveways.

Andrea leaves footprints. Jack leaves none.

Andrea’s breath clouds the air.

Jack’s doesn’t.

He wipes SWEAT from his forehead. Andrea pulls her jacket tighter.

You’re warm.

Aren’t you?

A snowflake drifts between them and passes through Jack’s open palm.

He studies his empty hand.

What snow?

Andrea reaches out.

The same flake lands on her fingertip. Melts against her skin.

She looks at Jack, truly looks at him now.

We’re standing in two different versions of the same memory.

Then why can you touch me?

The red-brick house waits at the end of the road.

Dark windows. A sagging roof.

Bent trees crowd the property, their roots buckling the sidewalk as if reaching for the foundation.

In the front yard, a RED SWING hangs from a rusted frame. Its paint is faded, its seat worn smooth. Beneath it, nearly hidden, two initials have been scratched into the metal: A + J.

Where the front door should be, there is only a rectangle of depthless darkness.

No entrance. No way inside.

Andrea stops cold.

Her breath catches in the same broken rhythm as when she arrived.

Our house.

I’ve never seen it before.

Then how did you know the way?

Jack looks down at his feet as though they belong to someone else.

My feet knew.

His body JERKS across the property line, toward the front yard.

Jack digs in his heels at the edge of the lawn.

I didn’t do that.

RADIO STATIC tears through Jack’s throat.

Andrea grabs his arm and pulls him back.

Jack’s body JERKS forward again.

Andrea refuses to let go.

The force drags them both across the property line.

The instant Andrea’s boot touches the grass.

THUD.

A FRONT DOOR materializes inside the dark entrance and SLAMS into its frame.

A deadbolt turns by itself.

CLICK.

Andrea spins toward the house.

The neighborhood remains behind them, but every house has gone dark.

What’s pulling you?

Jack stares at the newly formed front door.

I don’t know.

A SHADOW crosses an upstairs window.

PHILIP EVILTON (44), immaculate in a tailored suit, watches them from behind the glass.

Andrea blinks.

Philip is gone.

His silhouette remains burned into the glass.

Was that Philip?

Don’t let him tell you what’s real.

Jack struggles to focus on her.

He can show you things. He can’t make you believe them unless you let him.

His attention drifts toward the side of the house, toward the kitchen window.

The snow STOPS.

Thousands of flakes hang motionless in the air.

He followed me inside.

He didn’t follow you. You let him in.

Then I can shut him out.

A tree leans over the house, perfectly still.

Then one branch begins to sway.

No wind. Nothing else moves.

The other branches follow. The entire tree WRITHES against its roots.

Don’t look at it.

The trunk CREAKS.

Its bark shifts like fabric settling across a man’s shoulders.

Don’t listen to him.

Philip, show yourself.

A branch SNAPS and crashes onto the lawn.

When it lands, Philip stands beside it.

He bends, picks up the fallen branch and examines it with mild disappointment.

His attention shifts to the crooked black shutter.

Still crooked.

Andrea catches that.

You know this house?

Philip takes a fraction too long to answer.

Only through you. I was never part of the memory preserved in this yard.

Then, smooth again.

Hello, Jack.

His eyes settle on Andrea.

Hello, Andrea.

Andrea raises her knife.

Are you really here?

My body’s beside yours. This is the part of me connected to you.

You’re not real. None of this is real.

Real enough to hurt you. But this isn’t Inception Heights, not exactly. It’s how your mind remembers it.

Andrea studies the house, the street, and Philip.

Then I’m leaving. I already lost six years to this place.

Philip clocks that.

I’m not giving it another day.

She grabs Jack’s hand and marches down the gravel driveway.

Andrea.

Stay out of my head.

She reaches the sidewalk.

The Refuge house disappears behind her.

Andrea keeps walking.

The snow thickens until the road, trees, and surrounding houses vanish into white.

’Drea...

Keep moving.

Through the snow, the silhouette of a red-brick house takes shape ahead of them.

Andrea slows.

It is the Refuge house.

They are standing at the top of the same gravel driveway.

Andrea looks behind her.

Their footprints lead in a perfect circle around the yard.

Your mind rebuilt the house one piece at a time. Right now, it won’t let us past the yard.

Andrea looks toward the locked front door.

What’s behind it?

I don’t know. The yard is the only part you’ve opened.

Then what keeps it closed?

Something happened here that you never finished remembering.

Andrea looks toward Jack.

What happened to him here?

Look for something that survives every version unchanged. That’s an anchor. It can lead you back to the true memory.

And if I choose the wrong object?

Then the yard gives you a story built around the wrong evidence. And if you believe that story...

Philip looks toward Jack.

...you may never know it was a lie.

Andrea forces her fist closed.

The frozen air TREMBLES.

Then I start with Jack.

The lawn reappears beneath her feet.

Sound SLAMS back into the world.

The red swing hangs exactly as before: the same faded paint, the same worn seat, the same A + J scratched beneath it.

Andrea looks up.

Philip is gone.

Jack stands on the gravel driveway behind her.

His imagined eighteen-year-old body collapses into the age preserved by the yard.

JACK AT TWELVE. Smaller. Frightened.

The age he was when he died.

’Drea. Come on. It’s our game.

Andrea releases Jack.

She walks toward the side of the property.

Andrea, wait. That edge won’t bring you back gently.

Good.

Andrea steps over the property line.

The grass disappears beneath her boot.

She drops into a BLACK VOID beneath an endless snow-covered sky.

The Refuge house hangs impossibly above her.

Andrea plunges deeper.

Andrea!

Andrea reaches for the lawn.

Too far away.

Her fingers close around empty air.

WHAM.

Andrea lands on her back beneath the tree, inside the yard.

She gasps for breath.

The circular mark beneath her hairline briefly DARKENS.

Philip stands over her.

Whatever this yard is hiding, it starts here.

Andrea looks from the looping driveway to the void, then to the locked front door.

Then I stop running.

Jack can only be what you still remember of him. I’m sorry, Andrea. I know that isn’t enough.

That isn’t true.

Andrea pushes past Philip and storms toward the porch.

She tries the front door.

Locked.

Jack!

Jack remains near the driveway, staring at the roof.

She raises her knife and jams the blade between the door and the frame.

The blade BENDS.

The deadbolt does not move.

Andrea stares at it. The house has refused her.

Andrea pulls it free.

The metal immediately straightens in her hand.

She stares at it.

You can’t cut through this. Believe me, I’ve tried.

Beyond the narrow window beside the door, only DARKNESS.

For an instant, A LIGHT flickers somewhere deeper inside the house.

Then black again.

I didn’t create this.

You sealed it.

Andrea grabs the doorknob again.

This time, something FLICKERS through the narrow window beside the door.

Remember what happened in the yard, and the door should open.

And you?

I tell you what doesn't fit. You decide why.

Why are you doing this?

Philip stops just outside her reach.

Because people like me already decided which memories you were allowed to keep.

Andrea studies him.

Were you one of them?

A beat too long.

I told myself I was only following orders.

That wasn’t my question.

Philip cannot meet her eyes.

I was one of them. You survived what we did.

That doesn’t make you my protector. I stopped waiting for somebody to protect me a long time ago.

No. It makes me one of the reasons you’re trapped here. The least I can do is get you out alive.

Andrea races to the tree and starts climbing after Jack.

Andrea grabs the lowest branch. The bark is carved with two faded initials:

A + J

She touches them.

The yard SHUDDERS.

Survived what?

You always caught me from up there.

Andrea reaches for his ankle.

Philip stands below them, gazing up.

What we did to you. The attacks. The memories we took apart.

Andrea touches the carving again.

Nothing.

Not the anchor.

The branch shifts beneath Andrea’s hand.

Not from her weight.

Something moves beneath the bark.

Andrea pulls away.

Above her, Jack reaches the roofline.

His bare foot dislodges a LOOSE SHINGLE.

It slides down the roof and lands at Andrea’s feet.

Andrea looks from the shingle to Jack.

Andrea looks toward the front door.

The deadbolt remains locked.

From behind the door, A CHILD’S FOOTSTEPS race through the house.

Then silence.

Jack balances along the peak of the roof.

Andrea stands beneath him in the dead leaves, unconsciously moving with every step he takes.

As if she has done this before.

’Drea, remember this game?

Andrea looks up.

I jump. You catch me. Just like before.

Philip watches from the yard, uneasy.

We still haven’t found the anchor. If you follow this fragment now, you won’t know what it changed.

It feels real.

I know. That’s what makes it dangerous.

Jack backs toward the edge of the roof.

He spreads his arms. Smiling.

Andrea’s smile does not return.

You never let me hit the ground. Remember?

Jack, wait...

He hurtles toward the edge.

Jack steps backward off the roof.

The yard LURCHES.

Andrea is suddenly beside him, grabbing his wrist.

Then beneath him, arms raised.

Then back on the roof.

Three conflicting memories fight for control.

The house, tree, and leaf pile shift with every version. Behind them, the red swing does not.

Jack slips through every version of her hands.

He strikes the leaves below.

CRACK.

His neck rests at an impossible angle.

Jack?

She reaches for him. Her fingers come away covered in blood.

The image JUMPS.

Jack is alive again, laughing breathlessly beside Andrea.

A WOMAN’S VOICE whispers from inside the house.

What did you do?

Andrea looks toward the front door.

It remains closed.

You were supposed to catch him.

The dead leaves creep over Jack’s body.

Andrea pulls them away, but more take their place.

Andrea looks from Jack’s body to the roof.

The dead leaves beneath him are undisturbed.

The blood triggered another fragment. These leaves must be the anchor.

Philip kneels beside the leaf pile but does not touch it.

Or they’re the bait.

What’s the difference?

An anchor survives every fragment unchanged. Bait confirms the false memory you’re already afraid is true.

No impact. No indentation.

Andrea touches Jack’s blood on her hand.

It breaks apart into BLACK DUST.

If he landed here, the leaves would be crushed.

Philip watches her closely.

Don’t congratulate me. Tell me what altered it.

I don’t know yet.

Oh, my God.

I dropped him.

What’s the last thing you know?

Andrea looks at Jack's body. The untouched leaves. The blood turning to dust.

His hand left mine.

That's all.

Andrea looks down at Jack.

It was my fault.

The front door SHUDDERS.

A second lock slides into place.

CLICK.

Philip’s fear is immediate.

Andrea, please. Don’t let it decide that for you.

Andrea looks toward the house.

Two deadbolts now seal the door.

The yard has accepted her confession.

The blood reaches the mark beneath her hairline.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The electronic rhythm bleeds into the yard.

SUPER: BOULDER, COLORADO

A two-story red-brick building stands alone at the edge of town. More private library than medical institute.

Beyond it, the snow-covered ROCKIES disappear into a colorless sky.

No neighboring buildings. No visible road. Nothing but snow and silence.

Sterile white walls. No windows.

Andrea lies unconscious, strapped to a hospital bed. Electrodes disappear beneath her gown.

A HEART MONITOR tracks her pulse.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

TWO NEURAL TECHNICIANS monitor Andrea from behind a bank of screens.

On one screen: a crude three-dimensional map of the Refuge house.

Only the FRONT YARD is illuminated.

Every door inside the house remains dark.

A second display reads:

MEMORY INTEGRATION: 61%

The number climbs.

She put up one hell of a fight.

Not anymore.

Technician One presses two fingers against Andrea’s temple.

Let’s see what she’s made of.

A deliberate THROAT CLEAR behind them.

They turn.

Philip stands in the doorway, immaculate in his tailored suit.

I’m going back in.

Sir, after what happened, are you sure that’s wise?

Philip steps into the room.

She’s in there alone. Put me back in.

Integration just crossed sixty percent.

What does she believe happened?

That she killed her brother.

Philip looks at Andrea.

For the first time, his composure fractures.

No. That’s the lie we buried inside her.

The technicians exchange a look.

We followed the containment order.

So did I.

He lowers himself into the second neural chair.

Put me back in.

You can’t undo what we did by getting yourself killed.

I know I can’t undo it.

He looks at Andrea.

But I won’t leave her alone with what we put in her head.

Technician Two throws the switch.

Electricity tears through both chairs.

Philip’s body arches.

Andrea GASPS beneath the mask.

On the monitor, two brain-wave patterns collide, then lock together.

Andrea kneels beside Jack’s body.

Philip reappears across from her, but weaker now, his outline flickering.

Andrea forces herself to look past Jack’s body.

The leaves beneath him are untouched. No indentation. No broken stems.

Andrea presses her palm into the pile.

The leaves collapse beneath the slightest pressure.

A fall from that height would’ve crushed them.

The blood covering her hands crumbles into BLACK DUST.

Somebody put his body here later.

Andrea surveys the yard:

The RED SWING.

The loose ROOF SHINGLE.

The BLOODY LEAVES.

The scorched GRAVEL DRIVEWAY.

The bent TREE.

These aren't separate memories. They're pieces of one incident.

The RED SWING creaks behind her.

No wind. No one sitting on it.

Andrea approaches it.

I start before the fall.

Andrea wraps one hand around the chain.

The yard STUTTERS.

**CONTROLLED FRAGMENT — THE SWING — 2020**

The yard is warmer. Brighter.

JACK, TWELVE, pumps his legs on the red swing.

ANDREA, also twelve, stands behind him, pushing.

Across the yard, NANCY REFUGE (46), gray-haired and wearing glasses, watches from beneath the tree.

Jack swings higher.

Not over the bar this time.

I know.

That's what you said last time.

Andrea laughs. Nancy can't help smiling with her.

For a moment, they're just a family.

Then Nancy's smile disappears.

Jack. Come here.

Jack looks toward her.

The fragment FREEZES.

**PRESENT**

Andrea releases the chain.

The fragment collapses.

He was alive when Mama called him away.

A beat.

Andrea catches herself.

That's all this proves.

She looks toward the roof.

I need another angle.

She picks up the LOOSE SHINGLE beside the porch.

A streak of dried blood marks one edge.

Andrea turns the shingle over.

Two small fingerprints are pressed into the tar beneath it.

Jack’s fingerprints.

The roofline GROANS.

It bends downward until the missing space above Andrea aligns with the shingle in her hand.

Andrea presses the shingle into place.

The yard DROPS AWAY.

**CONTROLLED FRAGMENT – THE ROOF**

Jack stands at the roof’s edge.

Below him, Carson rakes leaves into a pile.

Jack kicks a loose shingle toward the gutter.

Hey. Your mother sees that, I'm telling her it was you.

You'd never rat me out.

Carson looks up at his son.

Try me.

Jack grins.

Carson almost grins back.

Then his hand tightens around the rake.

His expression empties.

Get up there, son.

Really?

Carson's eyes remain fixed on the roof.

His expression empties.

You have to.

Andrea appears beside Jack on the roof.

Jack, don’t listen to him.

Jack cannot hear her.

A WOMAN’S SHADOW crosses the upstairs window behind them.

Jack turns toward it.

Jump.

The fragment CUTS OUT before Jack moves.

**PRESENT**

Andrea jerks away from the porch.

Mama told him to jump.

You heard her voice.

Andrea looks at him.

You still won't call it her.

Not yet.

A drop of blood falls from the roof shingle.

It strikes the pile of leaves.

The leaves instantly turn RED.

Andrea approaches them.

Jack’s false body is gone, but the leaves beneath where he lay remain perfectly smooth.

No indentation. No sign of impact.

Andrea kneels.

She lifts one bloody leaf between two fingers.

The blood is already dry.

This isn’t where he fell.

She closes her hand around the leaf.

The yard drains to BLACK AND WHITE.

**CONTROLLED FRAGMENT – THE LEAVES**

Leaves spin through a black-and-white yard.

Jack falls, the image SKIPS.

Jack is suddenly lying in the leaves, his neck twisted.

Nancy kneels beside him.

Her hands are covered in blood.

What did you do?

Andrea appears several feet away, also covered in blood.

Nancy turns toward her.

Murderer.

The fragment REWINDS.

Jack’s body rises out of the leaves.

The blood races backward into Nancy’s hands.

For one frame, Nancy is not holding Jack.

She is holding a MASS OF BLACK VINES.

END FRAGMENT

**PRESENT**

Andrea pulls her hand from the leaves.

Andrea digs beneath the leaves.

The grass underneath is dry.

She looks from the untouched ground to the roof.

This is where they put him. Not where he landed.

A trail of dead grass cuts across the driveway.

It ends where Carson’s vehicle would have been parked.

Andrea follows it to a patch of asphalt scorched black.

This came from Papa.****

**CONTROLLED FRAGMENT — THE DRIVEWAY — 2020**

The Refuge house is slightly less weathered. The trees are smaller.

Carson’s car turns into the gravel driveway.

ANDREA AND JACK, both twelve, stare through the rear window.

They are not arriving at a new home. They are watching something move through the trees behind Carson’s car.

Was that following us?

Following Papa.

Jack turns around, trying to see through the rear window.

I don’t see anything.

It went under the car.

The car stops.

CARSON REFUGE (48) climbs out wearing a mountain jacket.

Melted snow darkens the shoulders of his jacket despite the warm day.

Nancy exits from the passenger side.

She looks at the house.

Then at the bent tree.

The tree bends toward her.

Carson.

It followed the car all the way down.

What did?

Carson looks toward Andrea and Jack in the back seat.

Nothing.

Carson removes his expedition pack from the trunk.

A SMALL DIGITAL RECORDER falls from its side pocket and disappears into the gravel.

Black residue coats one rear tire.

Something crawls from beneath the car and burrows into the tree’s exposed roots.

END FRAGMENT

**PRESENT**

Andrea digs through the gravel.

Her fingers strike metal.

She pulls out CARSON’S DIGITAL RECORDER, its casing scratched and weather-damaged.

The display is dark.

I never saw the recorder before.

It was. I just didn’t know where to look.

Andrea presses PLAY.

STATIC.

Carson’s frightened breathing.

Field recording. March 18, 2020. Expedition day seventeen. The lake is making a sound beneath the ice.

The temperature PLUMMETS.

Frost spreads across the recorder and over Andrea’s hand.

**CONTROLLED FRAGMENT — CARSON’S RECORDER — MARCH 18, 2020**

A frozen mountain lake beneath a gray sky.

Carson stands alone on the ice, recording equipment strapped across his chest.

A LOW-FREQUENCY HUM vibrates beneath his boots.

The readings are impossible.

He kneels and presses the recorder against the ice.

Something enormous MOVES below him.

Carson drives his ice axe into the surface.

CRACK.

A circle of BLACK WATER opens beneath the ice.

Not water.

A PORTAL.

Jointed shadows climb toward him from the impossible depth.

Carson scrambles backward, dropping the recorder.

One black tendril curls around his boot.

END FRAGMENT

**PRESENT**

Andrea drops the recorder.

It continues playing in the gravel.

If anyone finds this, do not let it follow you home.

CLICK.

The recording ends.

It used Papa to get here.

A Mystic. It came home with him.

Andrea looks toward the bent tree.

Its roots withdraw from her.

She approaches. The trunk bends away.

If you go into that tree, I can’t drag you back. You’ll have to choose to leave. If you stop recognizing the way out, I lose you in there.

I won’t.

Andrea presses her palm against the trunk.

The bark closes around her fingers.

Black veins spread beneath its surface, connecting the roots to the bloody leaves.

The present-day yard DARKENS.

Branches sweep across Andrea’s vision. When they separate, the yard has rebuilt itself around her.

**CORRUPTED FRAGMENT — JACK’S DEATH — FALL 2020**

Andrea stands at the edge of the reconstructed memory, watching but unable to intervene.

Nancy’s hands close around Jack’s throat.

Behind them, barely visible, a second pair of BLACK, JOINTED LIMBS controls her wrists.

Jack goes limp. Nancy lowers him into the bloody leaves.

I’m sorry.

The branches tighten around the image.

You killed him.

Nancy looks directly at Andrea.

That’s what it wants you to...

A branch tears through the fragment.

Nancy’s words distort.

I killed him.

The branches fold inward, crushing the image between them.

The reconstructed yard disappears.

Andrea tears her hand from the tree. Her fingertips bleed.

Nancy killed Jack.

That's not what you just saw.

Andrea turns on him.

Or you changed it.

The evidence around Andrea activates at once:

The SWING moves.

The SHINGLE chatters.

Blood fills the LEAVES.

CARSON’S RECORDER plays beneath the gravel.

Papa said I have to.

Do not let it follow you home.

I killed him.

The voices repeat, increasingly distorted.

Andrea listens instead of recoiling.

They all want Nancy to be the answer.

Nancy stands beneath the tree, blood covering both hands.

Andrea?

Andrea turns on her.

You killed Jack.

The blood crawls backward beneath Nancy’s sleeves.

It reappears across Andrea’s palms.

No. You killed him.

Andrea, don’t give her your voice.

You don’t give the orders here. I’m her mother.

You’re not her mother. You’re the Mystic wearing her face.

Nancy smiles. For an instant, BLACK VEINS move beneath the skin of her throat.

And you’re something using her guilt.

The porch boards CREAK.

Carson sits in the rocking chair as if he has always been there.

Don’t upset your mother.

Andrea studies Carson, then the black vines around Nancy’s wrist.

The Mystic came home with Papa.

Or that’s the story Philip needs you to believe.

An INHUMAN SHRIEK tears through the yard.

Philip FLICKERS, briefly revealing his body strapped into the neural chair.

Jack appears beneath the roofline.

We were all afraid of you.

Jack?

Black vines wrench his arms behind him and drag him toward the roof.

You changed me.

No.

Nancy closes her hand.

Andrea’s fingers clench into a fist.

Let go of me.

I’m not touching you.

Andrea clocks it.

Philip is pulled away from her.

Andrea...

Jack falls.

Andrea catches his bloodied body.

Confess, and he stays alive.

Jack opens his eyes.

Just say it, Andrea.

Andrea freezes.

What did you call me?

Andrea.

Andrea takes his hand.

Are you scared?

What?

She waits.

His hand remains still.

Jack called me ’Drea.

She releases him.

And when he was scared, he squeezed my hand twice.

The false Jack stares at her.

You’re not my brother.

The image JUMPS.

BLACK AND WHITE.

Jack lies dead in the grass. Andrea kneels beside him, her hands covered in blood.

Nancy enters.

What did you do?

I don’t know.

The image JUMPS.

I killed him.

Andrea reacts to the words forced from her mouth.

I didn’t say that.

Jack’s body FLICKERS.

His head points toward the house, then toward the driveway.

You moved him between cuts.

Murderer.

The false Jack stands before her.

Why can’t you admit it?

Because you called me Andrea.

What’s wrong, ’Drea?

Too late.

Andrea, stay with me. It knows what you're testing now.

Prove you’re still Philip.

Jack’s body left no mark in the leaves.

And your limit?

I can tell you what doesn’t fit. You’re the only one who can tell me why.

Stay there.

One of the two deadbolts turns.

CLICK.

Andrea and Philip look toward the door.

It remains closed, but only one lock now holds it.

Nancy stands beside the partially open door.

Black vines curl around the frame, preventing it from opening farther.

Confess, and Jack stays alive.

You can’t keep him alive.

Neither could you.

Nancy closes her fist.

Andrea’s knees slam into the grass.

Jack appears beside her, a vine around his throat.

Say it, ’Drea.

Andrea examines him.

No bruising. No blood.

She looks at her own hands. Blood appears then vanishes.

Andrea looks toward the roof.

Every version begins after Jack was told to jump.

Nancy’s smile fades.

You never show me who gave the command. You only show me the body and demand a confession.

The remaining deadbolt STRAINS.

Andrea forces herself to her feet.

This isn’t the memory of Jack’s death.

She faces Nancy.

It’s the confession you tried to build afterward.

The door opens another inch.

Still locked, but weakening.

The neural console flashes:

ACCESS DENIED.

Philip’s body CONVULSES beneath the mask.

Technician One reaches for the emergency release.

The controls do not respond.

Manual override!

Philip RIPS the mask from his face.

Blood runs from his nose.

Who else is inside her head?

No one. The neural link is a closed system.

Not anymore.

On the monitor, Andrea looks toward the roof.

The image GLITCHES.

For three frames: CARSON stands beneath the tree, staring up at Jack.

Go back. Freeze the frame with Carson.

That fragment didn’t come through the neural feed.

On the monitor, Andrea remains on her knees.

Nancy stands directly behind her.

Nancy turns toward the observation camera.

She looks directly at Philip.

(through monitor)

She doesn’t need to see this.

The monitor goes black.

Sunlight washes over the yard.

Birds sing. Leaves stir in a warm breeze. For one impossible moment, everything is peaceful.

The front door is closed again.

One deadbolt remains locked.

At the end of the driveway, Andrea studies the perfect lawn, her hunting knife at her side.

It changed the subject.

Philip stands in the grass, gripping his injured shoulder. He takes a cautious breath.

Philip turns.

You found the moment it doesn’t want you to see.

Every false memory cuts around the command.

Philip understands.

So find the voice.

Andrea studies the yard.

The bloody leaves.

The loose roof shingle.

The bent tree.

Carson’s rake rests against the porch.

The red swing moves between them.

Carson rocks on the porch, sipping tea.

You children are plotting against my wife now?

No, Papa. I’m remembering where you were.

Carson’s hand trembles around the teacup.

Andrea grips the red swing’s chain.

The yard FLICKERS.

The house, tree and leaf pile shift between conflicting versions.

The red swing remains unchanged.

Andrea gives it a hard push.

The yard changes again.

The swing doesn't.

Jack and I are always here before the fall.

Philip starts toward her.

Andrea raises a hand.

Don’t tell me.

She places Carson’s recorder on the swing.

The bloody leaf beside it.

The loose roof shingle across the seat.

The recorder CLICKS ON.

Black residue travels from the driveway into the tree’s exposed roots.

Vines spread through Carson’s shadow.

His arm JERKS toward the roof, the same unnatural motion that pulled Jack toward the house.

Papa said I have to.

You have to.

The voices overlap.

Andrea looks from the rake to the roof.

I was across the yard holding the rake. Jack was on the roof. You were beneath the tree.

Carson’s teacup trembles.

The Mystic came home with you. It entered the tree, then it entered you.

Carson’s arm JERKS again.

I didn’t call Jack onto the roof.

She faces Carson.

You did.

Andrea.

You told him to jump.

The bloody leaves lift into the air.

Each object holds one piece of the incident.

For the first time, the pieces align.

Andrea places her hand on the swing.

When I open it, you observe. You don’t alter anything.

Understood.

Andrea grips the chain.

Open it.

The red swing moves once.

Carson stares at Andrea.

The black veins beneath his temple begin to pulse.

If you open it, you can’t forget it again.

I’m not opening it for you.

The temperature plummets.

Snow settles over the summer grass.

SUPER: FALL 2020

Color drains from the yard, but the red swing remains RED.

ANDREA, TWELVE, stands beside a mound of leaves.

JACK, TWELVE, races across the lawn.

Carson appears near the tree, rake in hand.

His movements are slightly delayed, as if something else is learning how to operate his body.

Present-day Andrea watches from beside Philip.

Twelve-Year-Old Jack dives into the leaves.

Again!

Carson looks toward the roof.

A black vein pulses beneath the skin of his temple.

Get up there, Jack.

Twelve-Year-Old Andrea stops raking.

The roof?

You wanted to fly.

Carson smiles.

It is not his smile.

Papa, that’s too high.

Carson turns toward her.

His pupils expand until his eyes are almost entirely black.

Keep raking, Andrea.

Twelve-Year-Old Andrea grips the rake.

Present-day Andrea watches her younger self.

The rake is still in Twelve-Year-Old Andrea’s hands.

The distance between her and Jack is unmistakable.

Jack, don’t.

Jack looks between them.

Papa said it’s okay.

Jack runs toward the side of the house.

Present-day Andrea follows Jack.

Twelve-Year-Old Jack looks back toward Carson for reassurance.

Twelve-Year-Old Jack climbs onto the roof.

Below, Carson stands beside the leaf pile. Black vines thread from the tree into his back.

Twelve-Year-Old Andrea still holds the rake across the yard.

Jack, come down!

Carson’s arm rises with the same mechanical motion that dragged Jack toward the house.

Jump.

Jack edges toward the roofline.

You’ll catch me?

Carson opens his arms.

I promise.

Twelve-Year-Old Andrea drops the rake and runs.

Jack, wait!

For one instant, Carson fights through the vines.

Jack...

The vines tighten around his throat. His eyes go black.

Jump now.

Jack steps off the roof.

Jack!

She scrambles up the porch railing and reaches.

Her fingers brush Jack’s sleeve after he is already falling.

THUD.

Silence.

Twelve-Year-Old Andrea kneels beside Jack, the rake lying several yards behind her.

Present-day Andrea studies the rake, the roof, and her younger self’s outstretched hand.

The pieces finally align.

Carson lowers his eyes.

The Mystic used my body.

But Jack heard your voice.

Carson looks at Jack’s body.

He trusted me.

His voice breaks.

I promised I would catch him.

Around them, the fragments resolve at once:

The swing stops.

The roof shingle settles.

The blood drains from the leaves.

The driveway straightens.

The tree releases Carson’s shadow.

CLICK.

The final deadbolt unlocks.

Andrea kneels beside Jack.

I didn’t kill you.

The truth releases her guilt, but not her grief.

I still couldn’t save you.

Andrea allows herself to cry.

I’m sorry, Jack.

The snow-covered void beyond the property line recedes. The neighborhood returns.

The front doorknob slowly turns.

Cracks spread across Nancy’s face. The human disguise splits, revealing BLACK VEINS beneath it.

The Nancy-shaped avatar is failing. The Mystic controlling it is not.

Take it back.

Andrea rises.

No.

The black vines drop from the sky.

Nancy retreats through the partially opened front door, her borrowed face damaged but defiant.

You remembered what happened out here.

A fractured smile.

That doesn’t mean you’re ready for what happened inside.

The last vine slips beneath the door.

SLAM.

The false sunlight dies, leaving only the real daylight.

The yard has released Andrea.

The house has not.

Andrea looks toward Carson.

He stands beside the tree, already beginning to disappear.

I’m sorry, Andrea.

Were any of you real?

Carson considers this.

You remembered me.

A sad smile.

That has to count for something.

Carson dissolves into drifting leaves.

Andrea turns to Jack.

He stands near the swing set.

Jack holds out his hand.

Andrea takes it.

He squeezes twice.

This time, Andrea squeezes back.

You know where I’ll be.

In the house?

In every place you left me.

Their hands separate as Jack fades.

Andrea is alone with Philip.

The Refuge house SHUDDERS.

Its damaged exterior reconstructs itself, brick, shutters, windows, roof, until the house stands whole again.

A LIGHT switches on inside.

Not upstairs.

Not in the kitchen.

Only one room is illuminated:

THE DEN.

Warm amber light spills into the otherwise dark house.

A TELEVISION CLICKS ON inside.

The yard was the part you were willing to remember. The den is where you decided to forget.

Through the narrow window beside the front door:

The sofa.

The television.

The motionless figure facing the screen.

Andrea recognizes the room.

Something in that room knows you opened the door.

The unlocked front door slowly swings wide.

Beyond it, the entry hall remains dark.

At the far end, the den doorway glows with warm amber light, the only available path through the house.

Andrea approaches the porch.

Philip catches her arm.

The door didn’t open so I could leave.

Andrea looks toward the illuminated den.

You opened the door. That doesn’t mean you owe it anything.

The den light PULSES.

Nancy wanted you to find this room.

From somewhere inside, Nancy HUMS along with the television theme.

Andrea processes this.

From inside the house:

And now, another adventure with Andrea and Jack.

Andrea recognizes the voice.

I used to watch that.

Philip studies the pulsing den light.

If that room closes around you, I may not be able to pull you back out.

Andrea steps across the threshold.

The front door SLAMS shut behind her.

Andrea enters the den.

The room is warm and strangely inviting: forest-green walls, wood trim, a brick fireplace and a television facing the sofa.

Philip is already seated on the sofa, a drink in his hand.

He stares at the blank television screen.

How did you get in here?

I didn’t.

For once, Philip looks as frightened as Andrea.

Andrea looks back.

The doorway is gone.

Only a solid wall remains.

The television clicks on by itself.

Philip...

He rises.

I’m not awake yet.

The warmth drains from the room.

The forest-green walls subtly PULSE.

Static consumes the television screen.

GRAINY HOME-VIDEO FOOTAGE.

A date flickers in the corner:

JULY 4, 2011.

FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER.

The same den, long before Jack’s death.

ANDREA AND JACK, both THREE, sit on the floor in front of the television.

Nancy sits on the sofa.

Carson adjusts the camera.

They are happy. A family preserved inside a damaged recording.

Andrea moves closer to the screen.

Something shifts behind the sofa.

PHILIP, TWENTY-NINE, stands in the corner of the den. Younger, but unmistakably the same man.

He watches the Refuge family.

Present-day Philip goes still.

Philip says nothing.

You said you were never part of the memory preserved in the yard.

I wasn’t.

Andrea turns on him.

But you let me believe you were never part of our lives.

Philip looks at his twenty-nine-year-old self.

I should’ve told you.

You didn’t come into my mind to protect me.

She advances on him.

You came in because you were afraid I would remember you.

On the television, Younger Philip slowly turns toward the camera.

He looks directly through the screen at Andrea.

Andrea.

The television cuts to BLACK.

Andrea turns toward Philip.

He is no longer beside her.

What did your people do to my family before Jack died?

From somewhere inside the den:

If you remember everything at once, it could kill you. And I’m not letting that happen. Not again.

That still doesn’t make you one of the good guys.

A long silence.

I know.

The television FLICKERS.

The frozen image of Philip in 2011 returns. Andrea looks back at it.

On the television, the twenty-nine-year-old Philip smiles.

**END OF PILOT**