Kyle yanks open a dryer.
Clothes spill out—warm, tangled.
He scoops them up in a frantic armful.
Socks drop.
A shirt slips from the pile.
Kyle doesn’t notice.
He turns and runs.
[APARTMENT COMPLEX – CONTINUOUS]
Kyle hurries across the courtyard, clothes falling behind him like breadcrumbs.
A neighbor walks a dog.
Someone starts a car.
No one notices Kyle almost in a panic.
No one notices the faint smear of BLOOD on his sleeve.
[KYLE’S APARTMENT]
Kyle fumbles with his keys.
Drops them.
Swears under his breath.
Finally—
The door flings open.
He rushes inside.
KYLE:
“Yo. Ma'! You here?”
No answer.
He kicks the door shut behind him.
Throws the clothes onto his bed.
They spread out—
Clean mixed with stained.
Kyle freezes.
He looks down.
Red.
Darkening fabric.
He’s breathing faster.
He backs away from the bed.
Pulls out his phone.
Dials LOLITA – CALLING
Rings. Voicemail.
He hangs up.
Dials again.
Same result.
Again.
Again.
Kyle paces now.
Running his free hand through his hair.
He dials one more time.
Nothing.
Kyle stops.
Stares at the phone in his hand.
Then scrolls.
One contact.
He hits CALL.
[INTERCUT – PHONE CALL]
AUNT MAGGIE (concerned):
“Hey, again. nephew.”
(pause)
“Did your mom or Rod do something, or are you going to tell me what's going on?”
Kyle doesn’t answer.
He’s staring at his forearm.
A long, angry SCRATCH runs down his forearm—skin broken. Blood crusted along the edges. Kyle slowly lifts his arm, turning it, trying to understand how deep, and long the scar is. His grip tightens. The room seems to dim around him.
AUNT MAGGIE:
“Kyle?”
He doesn’t hear her.
His breathing becomes shallow.
He's lost in thought. What was that thing?
His hand trembles as he touches the wound.
AUNT MAGGIE (stretching the words):
“Kyle… hello?”
Her voice cuts through.
Kyle blinks.
Shakes his head hard.
Grounds himself.
KYLE:
“Aunt Maggie… I—”
His voice cracks.
He swallows.
KYLE (gaining courage):
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
He looks back at the bed.
At the blood-stained clothes.
KYLE:
“My arm is bleeding…
and I need your help.”
A beat.
AUNT MAGGIE:
“Okay.”
Not panicked.
More…alert.
KYLE (more rushed now):
“I can’t tell you over the phone.”
Kyle sits on the edge of the bed now.
Still staring at his arm.
KYLE:
“How fast can you get here?”
AUNT MAGGIE:
“I'm at the gun range. Stay where you are.
I'll be there shortly.”
KYLE:
“Okay.”
A pulse of sound—
Low.
Distant.
Not in the room.
Kyle stiffens.
AUNT MAGGIE:
“Kyle?”
Kyle looks toward the window.
The curtains barely move.
Nothing there.
KYLE:
“I’m here.”
Another beat.
AUNT MAGGIE:
“I’m on my way.”
Kyle exhales.
Relief mixes with dread.
He lowers the phone.
Stares at his bleeding arm.
The truth settling in—
Whatever happened out there…
It followed him home.