INT. SOUTH GUARD GATE - SUNRISE
Through the security camera, the interior of the guard gate, and the road outside can be seen. The security camera is intended
to monitor the south gates incoming traffic. There is no color, little sound, and the time code in the lower right corner,
as is the case with all shots of the south gate hereafter. A female guard stands impatiently in the doorway. She taps her
foot, checks her watch, huffs, and so on. She nervously looks around, wondering if she should leave. After one last look at
her watch, and a glance around the gate, she sighs "whatever" and leaves.
INSERT - MONTAGE
The sun is coming up over a golf course. Sprinklers are chittering away in front of homes, guard gates, and the majestic
clubhouse. The community is lush, and full of various flowers and palm trees. The lakes are misty and serene. Expensive cars
sit, speckled with dew, in the driveways of lavish but indistinguishable houses. The opening credits roll over this. At the
front of the neighborhood, as the score reaches its apex, the "Huntington Estates" sign can be seen in front of the largest
guard gate.
EXT. SMALL PARKING AREA BEHIND ACTIVE GUARD GATE - EARLY MORNING
Standing beside a Jackowitz security vehicle with Florida licence plate, looking pensively toward the sunrise, is CHIP.
He is a forty-something caucasian man with brown hair in a Jackowitz uniform and large, reflective aviator glasses. He reflectively
and lingeringly smokes a cigarette. A second Jackowitz vehicle pulls up beside his and parks. Out steps TYLER, a similarly
built and aged African-American male also in Jackowitz uniform. He has a large, blunt moustache. TYLER joins CHIP in standing.
They are obviously good working friends. Character note: They are intellectual in the company of one another, but obstinate
and illogical with others.
TYLER
You know, on the way here, I was stopped at a red light, and I was noticing the erratic patterns of the turn signals on
the cars in the left-hand lane. Each one was blinking at a completely different rate, but at regular and calculable intervals,
two or more would seem to be blinking at almost exactly the same time. They would be temporarily in rhythm with one another,
but they would slowly drift apart until they were blinking at completely opposite times, one on the upbeat of the other, until
they finally came full circle. And I got to thinking: Those turn signals are just like the neural pathways of the brain. There
are all these electrical impulses constantly firing at regular intervals, and if two or more people were to fire the same
neural pattern at exactly the same time, there would some kind of harmonic convergence between their separate beings, you
know? Some sort of sublime connection between them on some intangible, immeasurable level.
Reflective pause. CHIP takes a big drag on his cigarette and faintly nods his head.
CHIP
Its funny you should say that. Just last year, they did this study in Australia, on the neural pathways of
identical twins, and discovered about 15% of twins, with the exact same genetic coding and everything, exhibited opposite
brain patterns, and used completely different lobes. Now, Im not saying that a "harmonic convergence" couldnt happen, but
if twins, who are the same right down to the slightest bit of genetic encryption, have converse brain patterns to one another,
then the chances against a random interconnection of the separate minds of two individuals who have never even interacted
with one another are astounding.
CHIP tosses away his cigarette, as they walk toward the guard gate-house.
CHIP
Its an interesting postulate though.
TYLER
Yeah, well, just food for thought.
They open the gate-house door, and find MAYNARD inside. He is a gaunt, frazzled, gray-haired man who is obviously sleep-deprived
and possibly deranged. He holds a cup of coffee in his left hand, and with his right hand points his Jackowitz-issued pistol
in his mouth. He trembles. CHIP and TYLER only seem slightly irked, not disturbed. Theyve been through this before.
CHIP
Aw, cmon Maynard, how long have you been sitting there like that?
TYLER
That guns not even loaded. You know they dont let us use bullets.
MAYNARD
Leave me alone...Dont look at me...Please...
CHIP
Look, man, your shifts over, why dont go home and get some sleep?
MAYNARD
(leaving)
I was really gonna do it this time..I was really gonna do it...
TYLER
Just shake it off, buddy.
MAYNARD is gone, they sit.
TYLER
You know, hes not really so crazy. I mean, whos to what is crazy?
CHIP
True.
(Pensive pause.)
Say, arent you supposed to be on duty at the South gate today?
TYLER
Hm?
CHIP
The South gate. Arent you on duty there today?
TYLER
I dont know. I dont think so. Isnt it your day on the South gate?
CHIP
Not to my knowledge.
TYLER
Well, one of us is supposed to be there.
CHIP
So, if Im not there...and youre not there...
TYLER
...that means...
CHIP
...nobodys on duty.
TYLER
Hm... fascinating.
CHIP
How so?
TYLER
Well, if neither of us believes that we are supposed to be on duty, then, in essence, isnt it true for each
of us? If each of us firmly believes in his own interpretation of events as truth, doesnt that essentially shape reality?
CHIP
I suppose so...
TYLER
See, this is exactly what I was talking about before. If both of our minds simultaneously conceive the same
thought, then the mutual personal realities perpetuated by our individual thoughts collectively form a reality of their own
on a larger scale. The mind is altering the state of its surrounding medium purely by amplification of its own power.
CHIP
But reality itself doesnt change. Sure, our individual conception of it changes, and we can convince ourselves
of what we both mutually believe, but the fact remains that one of us is expected by a larger third party to be on duty at
the South gate. All that has changed is our perception of events... But then again, what is reality except ones own perception?
(Pregnant pause.)
INT. WHITMAN FAMILYS MASTER BEDROOM - EARLY MORNING
DON and JANINE WHITMAN, a rich couple in their late forties, are sleeping. JANINE has short platinum blonde hair, and a
thin frame. DON is graying at the temples and is slightly overweight. The interior of the bedroom is expensively and tastefully
decorated. JANINE wakes up in a groggy stupor wearing her silk nightgown and eyeshade. She pulls of the eyeshade to reveal
bloodshot eyes and smeared makeup. Ewww.
JANINE
(Groggy, mumbling)
God, I feel like shit. Where the fuck did I put...
JANINE rolls over and opens up her nightstand, out of which she produces a bottle of brown liquor, and takes a huge swig
of it. She stumbles across the room and into the master bathroom, bottle in hand. She calls back to DON while brushing her
teeth.
JANINE
Hey, honey?...Don?
DON grunts, rolls over lethargically.
JANINE
Don, did you hear if Mark came in last night?
(No answer)
Don!
DON
Would you quit nagging me? I just got into town last night, I spent five fucking hours waiting in the airport
for my luggage, and all I want is to get some well-deserved rest, so if you would just shut the fuck up, that would be absolutely
super, thank you.
JANINE gargles a mouthful of liquor and spits it in the sink
JANINE
(returning to bedroom)
Dammit Don, Im trying to talk to you about something important. Would it kill you to give a shit about your
kids once in a while?
A ladder suddenly smacks against their bedroom window, and their son MARK, through much ordeal, attempts to climb stealthily
through the window. Halfway through, he looks up and realizes with shock that he is in fact in his parents bedroom instead
of his own.
MARK
Fuck. Fuck!
He bumblingly tries to climb back out the window and down the ladder in hopes that they did not notice. JANINE approaches
the window and drags his ass in. He falls gracelessly on the floor.
JANINE
What the hell are you doing? Are you just getting in? Its 7 in the goddamn morning!
MARK
Shit, I- Shit, I thought this was my window. Shit, I dont believe this.
MARK is eighteen years old. He is noticeably shorter than his mother. He has a trendy haircut. You know, the haircut all
the kids are wearing these days. He is wearing designer brand jeans and t-shirt, along with a silver crucifix necklace. He
is very stupid and spoiled.
JANINE
Where were you all night? What were doing out so late?
MARK
(Obviously bullshitting)
I told you, I was at the movies.
Brief pause.
JANINE
(As before)
Its 7 in the goddamn morning!
MARK
(Slightly phased)
It was a long movie.
JANINE
What movie was it?
MARK
I dont know!
JANINE
You were at a movie for 12 hours and you dont know what it was? Who were you with?
MARK
I dont know, Jesus, quit hassling me!
JANINE
Ill have you know your father and I were worried sick about you...
DON
(Immediately)
Sweet shit of God, Janine, would you two please shut the fuck up?
JANINE
Your fathers trying to sleep, Mark. He doesnt need this shit.
DON
No, I damn well dont.
MARK
God Mom, why do you have to be such a bitch?
JANINE
That does it, youre grounded... for a month!
The dialogue breaks down into a shouting match at this point.
MARK
Fuck you, mom!
JANINE
Two months!
MARK
Youre not gonna do anything!
JANINE
Three!
MARK
You cant make me do anything, Im a grown man!
JANINE
Three months, no car!
MARK
Im 18, I dont have to do what you say!
JANINE
No t.v.!
MARK
Youre not the boss of me!
JANINE
No phone, no allowance, no computer, no food, no...
MARK
Fuck you!
JANINE
GO TO YOUR ROOM!!
The argument screeches to a halt.
MARK
I"m 18, you cant make me go to my room.
Tense pause. JANINE impatiently slaps MARK in the side of the head before grabbing him by the back of his collar and dragging
him down the hall to his room. MARK flails helplessly and indignantly. MARK is seen being thrown in, and the door slams after
him.
MARK
You cant watch me all the time. Ill just escape when youre not looking.
From the outside it is revealed that JANINE has propped a chair up against the doorknob. The door trembles feebly as MARK
tries to open it, but cannot. His voice is heard from within.
MARK
Aw, man...
