Tightrope SeasonWinter 2025

The recent rains and these street lights together bestow streets, neon store signs, and this hotdog cart, a reverent glow. A facade of holiness in the dark that daylight steals from the city. Just a block away from the really busy part of the street where clubs and restaurants and bars have people spilling out and seeking spectacle and urgent satisfaction. It is summer, the trees are giant, old and lush and they sway lightly in the warm air.

It's this hotdog stand, with its jovial, non-judgemental service that gets the kind of people who are inebriated but seek respite from the suffocation of the crowds. The stand faces the street backed against a full parking lot. Some people are sitting on curbs and others eating and others still smoking and joking. The jeans are big, the band shirts are solid colours, and the jewellery is beaded hemp.

"BASED ON A TRUE STORY"

Across the street from this hotdog stand is a wide corner in front of a dark office building and two skaters working on tricks and the clatter of their decks echo through the intersection with each failed landing.

They were fucking awesome.

That Mustang! He customized the shit out of that guitar.

Fucking duck tape like Ian Mackaye’s shoes.

(They laugh)

"LONDON, ONTARIO. Summer 2002"

Hey man - can you get me a dog? I’ll get you back.

He just put more on - be a minute.

Fucking delicious. Relish and mustard and onions and delicious crunchy bacon bits.

Could kill a chili dog. You eating that fucking thing in front of me. Damn.

Get that sausage again so you can smell worse.

Daddy, would you like some sausage?

(All Laugh)

(ACROSS THE STREET, two skaters celebrate loudly. A one-footer off three stairs over the rail and a smooth roll away after many tries.)

Yo, I know that kid. Obsessed with Fugazi.

Who? Instant friend. Sign him up!

Who?

Brendan something. He’s at Fanshawe.

How’s that song go?

(mimics a vocal line from a song that doesn’t exist)

There’s no lyrics, Its an instrumental!

Just say no to posing, Shelly. Just say no.

(All laugh)

A deep-dented, eggshell blue, flatbed truck drives past them slowly, then speeds up through the intersection and turns right towards the two kids skateboarding across the way.

The tires slide and screech through the wet and then dry patchwork pavement of the intersection. The doors swing open and three gorilla-sized jocks jump out. They converge on the two kids and immediately wild punches are thrown. The taller kid is knocked right off his feet from the very first landed punch. He tries to cover up and is kicked repeatedly in the arms, body, and then finally the face which stops him from moving altogether.

From across the street our group watches in horror while the hotdog vendor calls the police.

The fuck…

Who the fuck are those guys? Look at that shit!

The fuck! HEY

(beat)

We should go over there. Those guys need help.

Fuck that. Those guys are dead.

COPS ARE COMING YOU FUCKING ASSHOLES

Cops are coming!

After getting tossed back and forth between assailants, Brendan, who loves Fugazi and is fresh at Fanshawe is knocked down so hard that his face slapping the pavement is heard across the street with the clap of an echo behind it.

Fuck that. Fuck that. Fuck that.

We should…

Owen is now standing halfway in the intersection, not a full commitment to getting involved. His friends, the entire crowd from the hotdog stand, all on their feet now and watching.

‘Roid raging asshole steroid freak fucks. Bro, don’t fucking go. ok?

Their victims laid out, the three assailants run back to their truck, each after the other like boulders rolling downhill. The shocks dip from their combined weight and the tires screech and scrawl as they tear away down the street.

People from down the street and across the street run to help the kids.

Blood is everywhere. Their clothes are torn. An upside down ball cap with a glow in the dark alien head rolls to its side.

Jesus fucking christ I think that kid is dead!

Not even close to a fair fight. Those guys were fucking massive.

A drunk woman in a bomber covered in band patches teetering by the hot dog stand is screaming, garbled drunk gibberish but Owen hears her few clearest words.

You pussies didn’t even do nothing. Nothing at all.

Owen can’t tear his gaze away from the aftermath. He is wincing from the phantom pain of taking an invisible beating he is experiencing in his mind, over and over again.

The setting sun is dappled through witch-finger branches down the ice-spotted street, marking the ground with patchwork hues of sky. This Forest City neighborhood had many large maples planted decades ago when it was built. Roots now upend sidewalks making launch ramps for kids in snowsuits to jump off of.

"Six months later"

OWEN drives his 2001 black VW golf with tinted windows and custom silver rims down the street. RACHEL, his new girlfriend sits in the passenger street pulling off her knit mittens which could have been a gift from a Grandmother to a toddler, and likely were.

RACHEL sees the vehicles parked around her aunt and uncle’s home. She sees her cousin's truck. Owen, focused on parking correctly and not scratching his custom rims on the snow-hidden curb, doesn’t notice the deep-dented, eggshell-blue truck.

My cousins are here. Remember what I told you, ok. Be careful what you say. They love to beat the shit out of people.

I thought you were joking to win an argument. They’re probably soft as kittens.

Just be nice in there ok, I’ve been talking you up for months. My mom might just think you walk on water so be cool. Even when they all get sauced. You stay sober. These are the most important people in my life so…

It's not my first rodeo. I got this.

What’s that mean? You’re a slut and you meet a lot of girls’ families at Christmas?

(They both laugh.)

That's what I love about you.

Oh yeah? What's that?

You’re funny and you’re deadly cute.

Don’t forget the deadly part - let's move.

EXT - OUTSIDE FAMILY HOME ENTRANCE

RACHEL steps up from the path to the doorstep, shifting her bag of wine and assorted small gifts. OWEN is behind by one step. They have to navigate around an assortment of giant Christmas themed Santas, and reindeer and wise men all displayed in a comedy of no intentional arrangement.

Hang on. How do I look? Fit to meet the fam?

Yep. Wait, let me look you up and down.

Rachel fully bends to look at OWEN toe to head. A comic gesture made more silly by pretending to hold a magnifying glass as she examines him closely.

All right, now. I was just asking.

Their eyes meet. OWEN pushes a strand of RACHEL’S hair behind her ear. She smiles at him with overwhelming warmth and kisses him sharp and quick.

Don’t be nervous. Don’t piss off my cousins. And stay out of the furnace room.

Wait what?

And with that, Rachel turns the knob and opens the door to warm light, holiday music, and laughter.

OWEN and Rachel are at the dining room table sitting across from each other. RACHEL’s Aunt JASMINE sits beside RACHEL. Some decorations are out but the dinner table is not set.

The house looks great, Auntie Jazz.

Thanks, love. We did a little bit every weekend for the last 4 weeks right until this morning. OH! Your Granddad’s nativity scene is on the mantle. Remember?

You found it! I’ll look after we eat.

I did. It wasn’t easy.

Owen, my granddad hand carved these when he was a boy in Germany and managed to bring them over.

He was handy with a knife, that one. Could gut a trout or dress a deer. Men back then were different. What about you, Owen? You look like you could wrestle a beaver. Wink wink.

Aunt Jazz! Scandal!

(All laugh)

If I dressed a deer I’d probably start with a smart lookin’ bow-tie.

Owen is my hero, don’t forget, Jazz. He hiked in that three-day blizzard, no taxis or buses running, everything closed, to the only open 7-11 on the other side of town to get me a bag of treats when I had the flu. Neo-citran and orange juice and Ginger Ale and Saltines and chicken soup. And most importantly, extra TP. He’s a legend.

You did that for my sweet girl?

I did and I’d do it again to make her feel better. I might do anything for her. Never know.

What about sports then?

Mostly board sports now, skating most of the year and snowboarding in winter. Of course I did a few years of hockey growing up and lots of soccer but that all ended in high school.

Don’t tell my boys that you skateboard.

Will they ask me how to do tricks?

JASMINE eyes her niece beside her, collects her drink and gets up from the table. OWEN looks on wondering what he missed.

Go down and introduce yourself to my uncle and say hi to my dad. I want to talk to the girls in the kitchen.

You’re sending me down alone?

Yes

By myself?

That's right.

So you’re not coming with me. Did I get that right?

Ok, I’ll come with you.

Really?

No, not really. I’m going in the kitchen and you need to go stare danger in the face.

I wish you hadn’t said it like that.

OWEN gets up from the table and walks into the hallway where the entrance to the basement stairs is well lit and the sounds of laughter and television greet him.

(startled, laughing)

Ah! Shit. I almost went headfirst down the stairs with a heart attack.

COUSIN DERRY is enormous, bulging muscle barely contained in a Christmas-themed sweater with trees, deer, and Santas in an absurd pattern. The water retention from the creatine over-use gives him a giant chubby-baby aura. He walks right up close to OWEN backing him up into the doorframe.

Like those skate shoes at the front door, new boyfriend. Only dirtbags wear skate shoes in the winter. Are you a dirtbag banging my little cousin? I don't think I like that.

Uhhh -- I'm only half a dirtbag, my other half a bag of Labatt 50.

COUSIN DERRY looks intensely at OWEN who is slowly shrinking from the impending threat of violence. OWEN opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Before either of them can say anything, COUSIN DONNY, also in an absurdly decorated, far too tight Christmas sweater walks through from the other side of the hallway pushing his brother wordlessly into the living room. There almost isn't enough room for all three of them in the hallway.

(to himself)

Holy shit…

Like most finished basements, the layout of this one revolves around the television and the sofa. A small bar sits against the back wall with tall stools. A dartboard in a thin cabinet with closed wooden doors is to the left of the short above-grade windows.

The hallway stairs lead down to the open concept living room and bar. A hallway leads away to the furnace room, and past that is what looks to be laundry. JACK, RACHEL’S father, and UNCLE JIM are sitting beside each other on the couch watching hockey.

We should watch the Knights get killed by the ‘67 next week. They’re at the Ice House Tuesday.

Ten-bucks says the ‘Dogs win this game.

Yeah Jim, I’m that dumb. That coach could fuck up a sandwich.

I wouldn’t trust them to win shit.

(beat)

Knights have been playing better and better - they’ll go the distance this year.

This is the year.

Put some money where your ass is.

Find a casino, you fat fuck.

That hurts my feelings. I may need a good cry to get over your hurtful, hurtful words.

Mr. Cadeau. Happy holidays.

OWEN breaks the sanctuary of the sofa and television to lean in for a handshake.

Nice to see you again.

Hi Owen. Happy holidays. Jim, this is Rachel’s new boyfriend. With that haircut I figure we can call him Axl.

JIM’S dead-eyed expression contradicts his words as he extends his hand for a crushing, unfriendly grip. OWEN forces himself not to react and fails just enough in his expression to get a smirk out of JIM.

Happy holidays, Axl. Did you just get back from tour?

That’s right, we’re practically twins. Can I join you?

OWEN motions to the empty recliner backed against the wall, under the unplugged neon Labatt 50 sign. The material looks worn and uninviting to OWEN like someone has been picking at the fabric on the arms for decades, a slow, deliberate deconstruction.

Sure. Have a sit-down. Did you get a drink?

I was banished from upstairs before I could get a refill.

Everything you could need is down here.

I’m ok for now, thanks.

(beat)

That doesn’t look like the Maple Leafs playing.

You must be the smart one. Boy she can pick’em.

Settle down.

No hockey for you?

Not really. Not in years.

I guess your size you’d get creamed out there.

(finishes his iced rum and coke)

My boys both still play. I raised‘em to be athletes. They go out there and crush all these fuckin’ fruitcakes with fucking hair out here right now. I’d take'em all hunting if you know what I mean.

No, I don't know what you mean. Please, say more.

I said shut the fuck up, Jim.

OWEN nervous from the realisation that he’s probably crossed a line, gets up from the aging recliner and walks to the framed photos on the wall. The dominant image is of JACK, JIM, COUSIN DERRY and DONNY in full hunting gear. A smiling DONNY holds a bowie blade handle-deep in the long neck of a 12 point buck laying glass-eyed at their feet.

This looks like it was a fun trip.

We ate that guy for a full year afterwards.

At least a year.

(Calling from the top of the stairs)

Need a hand, Jack.

Ya! Coming.

JACK gets up to leave and hovers over JIM with an outstretched finger and an eyebrow raised. Like mimes, JIM indicates a “who me?” without saying a word and then pretends to crack a whip in JACK’s face. OWEN with his practiced politeness pretends not to notice. A commercial interrupts the hockey game.

Missing over the holidays.

One family's plea for the help from the community. That story and more at 7.

The picture shown hovering over the announcer’s shoulder is that of a young MEDITERRANEAN GIRL, smiling in a class photo.

Those people’s kids go missing all the time. It's funny. My old aunt would say sand nigger all the time. Every time she’d see a greasy curl. Haha.

(Beat)

That offend you, twinkle-toes?

OWEN is stunned, refusing to say anything or turn fully away from the pictures of the many, many murdered wild animals. Behind him, JIM is pulling on his dick through his sweatpants watching the TV. OWEN sees a curly lock of what could be hair, just slightly poking out from behind one of the picture frames.

His hand reaches for the frame to look closer but behind him JIM jumps up knocking the hard wood coffee table with his shin sending snacks and empty glasses into each other and the floor.

OWEN turns his upper body, hand still in position to turn the frame. Eyes wide in surprise.

Leave it. Just keep off it. It's just how I like it.

Sorry - of course.

Maybe just fuck off for now, ok, Axl?

Right.

(From upstairs)

Fucking finally.

THE COUSINS, side by side at the dining room table, are set to eating with a steady and determined pace from oversized plates of food. OWEN and RACHEL sit opposite. They are joined at the table by RACHEL’s parents, JACK and ANNETTE, and RACHEL’s Aunt and Uncle, JIM and JASMINE. Light christmas music plays from the living room where the tree lights sparkle.

Nice bird, Jazz.

RACHEL and most at the table agree. THE COUSINS do not break pace to agree or compliment their mother.

(Aggressive)

Nice, BIRD, MOM.

Familiar with the tone, THE COUSINS both stop eating to say, thanks mom, like toddlers. OWEN notices the oddity of it.

Will your family have a big get-together this year, Owen?

He’ll be going back out on tour with the choir, no doubt.

Not this year, Mrs. Cadeau. My dad’s mother just passed away so he’s not in the mood and my step-mother doesn’t want to cook for anyone right now. We’re not all that close so I’m on my own most of the time.

Broken home. You can do better, Rachel.

I don’t care one bit. It's an honest home.

And any home that made this guy is fine with me.

OWEN and RACHEL smile at each other. ANNETTE notices and raises her eyebrows at JACK who smiles back.

Also shut your pie-hole, Jim.

Big talk when others are around.

Enough.

(beat)

Donny, take a second to chew and breathe.

There is plenty more food, boys.

Tell your impossible-to-please and irritating-as-static uncle about Owen braving a storm to make sure you had what you needed late one night in the middle of a blizzard. All the way from downtown to the suburbs to find an open store.

Did he ride his magic skateboard?

It was a blizzard, Derry. Skateboards have wheels.

Fags have skateboards. Everyone knows it.

Oh MERRY Christmas, Derry. Nice attitude.

(Laughs)

See they know. You don’t even have to tell them.

Natural as rain.

Neither cousin can meet OWEN’s eyes, DONNY barely looks past his plate and his expression is some mix of contempt and annoyance.

OWEN and RACHEL reach out to hold hands under the table. Just a comfort squeeze and release.

Derry, His name is Axl. Axl A. Fruitcake.

THE COUSINS laugh without shame thanks to the father’s approval. RACHEL is shaking her head at her mother seeking support.

Owen, help me get some things out of the car.

Now, dad?

Happy to.

OWEN squeezes RACHEL’s shoulder as he gets up and gets past. She looks after him as he goes, turning back with a glare for her cousins who are still chewing, eyes on their plates.

EXT - HOUSE SIDE DRIVEWAY - NIGHT

In untied boots and open coats, the two men stand outside the back door, breathing clouds of moisture at each other.

This is just normal stuff. You're the new guy and Rachel’s been talking about you nonstop. It's natural for the boys to get a little jealous, don't let it get to you.

Thanks, I appreciate it.

Well it ain't over. When they start in on the real drinks after dinner it could get worse and it usually does.

Oh, yay.

You not giving in will go a long way. If you act unaffected they’ll tire of playing with you and turn on each other.

Not unlike a bear. I’m picking up a theme around here.

Exactly! Just play dead or you will be.

Look Owen, If Rachel likes you then that's all that matters. It also means Mrs. Cadeau likes you and eventually in 20 or 30 years, I might even like you. Just focus on that and try not to judge us all too harshly.

You got it.

Great. Grab that case of beer and let's get some dessert.

RACHEL and AUNT JASMINE are bringing in dishes, putting food in containers for the fridge. OWEN scrapes bones off plates into the bin. RACHEL’s mom finishes wrapping up the last third of what was a giant turkey.

This bird is ready to go into the downstairs fridge behind the bar. Owen, would you mind?

Not one bit.

OWEN carries the turkey with two hands through the hall, down the basement stairs. The lights are still on and so is the television when he walks into the big living room.

He places the turkey on the bar at the back of the room and opens the fridge, he moves a few cans of Coke and Orange Crush and a clear plastic bottle of Canada Dry Club Soda. In goes the turkey and back goes the drinks and the door closes at the exact moment the television loudly goes from Wendy’s commercial to news.

Good evening. I’m Kathryn Hall. A teenage girl is still missing tonight, last seen leaving school, over a week ago. 17 year old Zeina Nassar who was responsible for caring for her older brother with special needs missed an appointment to pick up her brother leaving him stranded for hours. Her disappearance has left her family —members of London's Lebanese community— in deep shock and sorrow. In response, local residents and members of the Lebanese community from London and surrounding areas are rallying together, going door to door and handing out flyers in a determined search to bring her home..."

OWEN watches the video of the family with glassy, bloodshot eyes, of people holding piles of flyers in their hands walking up poorly shoveled sidewalks to knock on doors no one wants to answer. His eyes drift away to the pictures on the wall. And to the one in particular that had UNCLE JIM out of his seat.

(V.O.)

Maybe just fuck off for now, ok, Axl?

He lifts the frame off the wall. He was right - there is a snippet of black hair sticking out the back of the frame. Pulling apart the frame he can see no one in this picture, dead buck included, has hair this dark or this curly.

He looks behind him to see the empty stairs, and the echo of cleaning commotion and conversation happening in the kitchen. He leans in to get a sniff of the hair without pulling it out - it smells only of dust and staleness. A thud from behind the wall gives the room a subtle vibration. And a second muffled percussion rattles pictures just gently enough to be heard. He stands waiting for another sound which doesn’t come before walking towards the hallway, to the furnace room door.

The doorknob is ancient and tight, it won’t quite twist, the door frame is slightly warped but pushing on it there is a subtle-enough give that OWEN tries to push the door open while trying not to make noise. He fails. The door opens with a guttural stagger of wood on wood and against the curvature of the warped cement floor followed by a rattling of shelves and assorted detritus and in particular several jars of assorted nails and screws. OWEN winces, shoulders up to his ears, waiting for a thunder of people running towards the noise but none comes.

Inside the room, it looks like the original laundry room. Old-timey deep double sink by the far wall. A washboard and rotten-wood things that could have been for hanging clothes to dry. Clothespins in the style of old cartoons litter most surfaces. The only thing out of place is the massive black on white swastika covering most of the cinderblock wall behind the Goodman furnace and Ruud water heater. You could miss it if you weren’t looking. If you were used to not looking or ignoring things all together.

OWEN feels every second passing as he looks around, there is no more noise, the furnace kicks in and everything around it rumbles. This must have been the sound. Relieved, he turns to leave, rust coloured droplets on the floor leading into the wall. Voices in the hallway, loud enough to prompt him to move faster to close the door, dragged against the floor and pulled wood against wood until it closed hard, vibrating the wall and the jars on the inside shelf.

OWEN turns away from the door and steps out — right into view of DONNY, standing at the top of the stairs, scowling down at him.

OWEN walks up and stands three stairs from the top, waiting for the tree trunk legs of DONNY to kick him back into the basement and to certain death. He’s scared but he’s known enough assholes to play it straight-faced. DERRY enters the doorframe from the other side and now it looks like there is no way OWEN is getting up those stairs until DERRY shoves DONNY out of the way. OWEN stands on the stairs for a long time, catching his breath as though he’d just been on a long run.

RACHEL walks through the hallway and sees OWEN not moving.

Come on, we’re going to sing some carols and have a drink by the tree.

I made you some lemon tea.

OWEN moves wordlessly up the stairs and into the hallway.

COUSIN DERRY sits beside his mother in his repulsively tight Christmas sweater. They sing together, and he looks – almost innocent. The fire is full. Pine from the big tree is in OWEN’s nose. He doesn't sing much but he nods along. The tea warms him. He misses his family and the closeness of this family is both nice to be around and painful at the same time.

OWEN’s mind drifts as the family carols, solids slowly take on the texture of liquids, the walls start to swirl, he sees the heads of each family member go from human to reptile in spots, in different sizes all over their bodies in fits and stops. The hands of THE COUSINS are covered in blood as they hold the lyric sheets and play along in a false performance only OWEN can deconstruct.

It feels like LSD - he knows it well. His jaw is clenching. People have told him acid is cut with rat poison and that's why his jaw feels wired shut. Panic builds, nerves make him twitch in his seat. His leg is bouncing a million little bounces.

He puts down his tea, gets up, surprising RACHEL and grabs his coat from the hallway closet and steps outside the door without putting it on. Outside - the air is crisp and its fresh chill is almost a salve. His nostrils sting from its crispness. Rats scurry in shadows from the corners of his eyes. The streetlights moving with the wind now sway barren branches off-time as witch fingers raking upon the Earth. This too is how OWEN moves though he thinks he is standing still.

RACHEL joins him outside.

Babe. What’s wrong?

My jaw is clenching from rat poison and I’m nervous and wired and clammy and I just looked at my reflection in the car window and I really wish I hadn’t.

(beat)

I didn't think I could get over the last guy I was in love with. And then when I met you it was like all of that washed away - it was just gone like it never happened at all. And now you’re at my house – on Christmas – and you’re high as fuck and I can see it and if I can see it so can everyone else!

I swear on balls. I haven't been high in months. This happened to me. And it's been no shortage of strange since I got here… Let. Me. Tell. You.

(beat)

And you, you told me to stay out of the furnace room! Have you been in there – have you fucking seen it?

No, I have never been in there.

Why'd you say it then?

It's just always been a rule, growing up, stay out of the furnace room.

And you never thought to go in there?

It's someone else’s basement! I’m not going to disobey my aunt and uncle. It's their house and I’m not that rude.

Holy balls. Rude?

(to the sky)

At least I fucking know what Axl Rose fucking looks like!

(beat)

How’s that for rude.

(exasperated)

Dude. Pull it together.

That's my family.

That truck… I've seen that truck before - whose is that?

That's Donny’s truck.

I’ve seen that truck before…

Over OWEN’s black pupils and stunned wonderment is the realization of when and where that truck was last in his life. He can hear the sounds. He can hear the beating. And he can hear over and over, the drunk woman’s indictment.

(VO)

Nothing at all. Nothing at all. You pussies never did nothing.

This isn’t real.

It probably isn’t. How long is this going to last exactly?

Remember that crazy beating I told you about, the night I saw Sweep The Leg Johnny?

The kid who died?

The dented blue truck?

Fuck off, Owen.

I wouldn't lie to you. I never have and I never will. Fucking look me in the eye.

Your pupils are huge!

Look me in my giant black eyes. Someone dosed me. And that is the fucking truck.

You told me yourself they like to drive around and get into fights. Well guess fucking what they arent getting into fights they’re beating the shit of skinny kids half their size and one of those skinny kids fucking died.

(beat)

And I think there is someone tied up in the furnace room.

You fucking stoner asshole!

Listen to me! There is a room inside the furnace room and someone or something is in there. You have to come with me.

No, Owen, I have to come up with some excuse for your behaviour and try to get a few more minutes of holiday with my family before we have to leave.

Rachel.

Just - just get some fresh air and calm down and have some water when you come inside. I’ll drive us back.

The path OWEN is about to take, wants so badly to take —

Past his angry girlfriend.

Past her family.

Through the hallway.

To the basement stairs.

To the basement hallway and the door that sticks.

To the sounds in the furnace room.

Every step laid out before him.

But he cannot move.

RACHEL is just about to open the door to go back in - they can leave now, forget the entire mess - if he just says something. But he doesn’t and she walks inside and closes the door.

OWEN leans his back against the family Jeep Cherokee watching his breath billow out and dissipate in a mimic of the endless cycles of life and death, creation and destruction. He notices his shoes are untied and the laces are swimming.

OWEN stands in the doorway jacket on, he's hidden from the living room until he moves into view of the family.

Come and sit.

I - I am going into the basement - to get the girl.

(to herself)

jesusfuckingchristmas

What girl? Everyone is right here. Come and sit.

OWEN looks down the hall to the doorway of the basement stairs, a dark shadow moves against the door, smaller and smaller as a person walking down the stairs might cast.

He’s high!

High? On what? Turkey and gravy?

You asshole.

Yeah, you asshole.

Not him, YOU asshole

What?

You dosed him!

Derry you fucking PRICK

Jim.

Are you kidding me, Donny?

Fack off, they’re jusst having fun.

Get your boys in line.

Fuck that, I want to take him outside.

DONNY stands with his hands cemented as fists and steps towards OWEN who cannot take his eyes off DONNY’s angry face which is how he didn’t notice DERRY crossing the room to drive his fist into DERRY’s face which only stops DONNY for a second before he swings a wide left handed haymaker which DERRY ducks but knuckles still connect with the top of his head making a strange sound barely heard over the hollering.

JACK shoves JIM and JIM replies with a low left rib shot and a perfect uppercut executed by pure muscle memory from the guy who was just slurring his words. JACK’s nose explodes in a burst of blood spraying the couch and his wife who throws her drink in JIM’s face which gets an answer in the form of a backhanded slap from JASMINE.

And now, as they fight, RACHEL and OWEN are watching from the entrance way. OWEN grabs RACHEL’s hand and they back away.

Do you still think there's someone in the basement or is it the acid?

I really do not know.

I’m going to look in the basement. You start the car.

I should go with you.

But she was already running down the hallway and down the basement stairs.

OWEN quietly slips out the front door trying not to let it slam. The fighting in the living room, heard outside, is somehow getting worse as glass shatters, people holler, and Christmas decorations are reduced to pieces.

The crunch of the ice under his feet is satisfying and the quiet outdoor peace is made hilarious from the scene in the panel window looking into the living room. It even looks like they’ve started a fire - outside the fireplace.

RACHEL is walking out the door, her head down, tears streaming from her eyes. She walks to the driver side door.

(from outside the door)

Move over. I’m driving.

OWEN slides over to the passenger seat while RACHEL opens the door and gets in, wiping tears away as she starts the car.

Nothing? I’m high? There’s no one down there to save?

I don't ever want to talk about this night again. Ever. Do you understand? Its me and you and everyone else can get fucked. Everyone.

(beat)

We can only save ourselves.

OWEN nods his head in agreement. Stunned and wordless and doubtful and still somehow finally feeling like something he did lead somewhere new.

The End.