Kyle sits on the dryer longer than he meant to.
The HUM of machines feels louder now.
He checks his phone again.
No missed calls.
No texts.
Kyle frowns.
He slides off the dryer and walks to the LAUNDRY ROOM DOOR.
A narrow, reinforced window is set into it.
Kyle leans in. Peers outside.
The early sun just crested enough to cut through the trees.
The THICKET beyond the fence stirs gently.
Then—
A FLASH.
A brief, unmistakable GLINT OF LIGHT.
Metal catching sunlight.
Moving.
Just for a second.
Then—
It’s gone.
Swallowed by branches.
Pulled deeper into the trees.
Too fast.
Too different.
His breath catches.
He presses closer to the glass.
Nothing now.
Just branches.
Just morning.
Kyle’s phone BUZZES in his hand as he instinctively redials.
It rings.
Straight to voicemail.
Kyle pushes the door open.
___
[APARTMENT BACK LOT / FENCE LINE]
Kyle steps out into the pale morning light.
He scans the area. No one around.
The CHAIN-LINK FENCE rattles softly in the breeze.
Kyle jogs toward the opening in the fence — the shortcut people always use. His phone still at his ear.
KYLE (under his breath):
“Lolita… come on…”
Voicemail again.
Kyle hesitates at the edge of the THICKET.
The ground beyond is disturbed.
Branches bent.
A faint path pressed down — recent?
Human?
Dragged?
Kyle swallows hard.
He steps in.
___
[The THICKET is a WOODED PATH]
Kyle pushes through brush, moving faster now.
Leaves snap underfoot.
He keeps dialing.
Listening.
The phone stays silent.
Ahead, the trees thin.
Darkness yawns beyond them.
A small patch of grass.
Another CHAIN LINK FENCE.
An opening in the earth.
A tunnel mouth.
Kyle slows.
The air feels different here.
Cooler.
He stops just short of the fence.
Then, subconsciously driven, hops the fence.
Kyle forces himself to walk forward, stopping
several feet from the entrance.
He Stares.
His phone slips from his ear.
He doesn’t go in.
Not yet.
___
[HOLD ON KYLE]
Fear finally catching up.
Something is very wrong.