March 13, 00:04, cloudy.
The storm subsides, and the moonlight casts a dark indigo hue over the horizon, like a bruise.
The boy crawls out of the closet.
Jack: You're not my dad. Who are you?
Blonney: No, really? What are you doing hiding in here, kid?
Jack: Playing hide and seek with Dad.
Blonney: Anyone ever tell you your eyes look like an animal's?
Blonney: I bet those eyes of yours could land you a spot in the movies.
Blonney: If you want, you could be the star of my latest flick!
Jack: But what if Dad comes back while I'm out making a movie with you and he can't find me?
Blonney: Your dad?
She recalls the photo and then asks in surprise.
Blonney: Mr. Stahl?
Jack: You know my dad?
Blonney: Not really know, but he seems like a real central character. Seems like everyone wants to find him.
Jack: ...
Blonney: I just know there's a story worth digging into behind all this.
Jack: He should be looking for me.
Blonney: I think you're the one that ought to go find your dad, you know. He's your legal guardian, and if you wanna be in the movies, we're going to need him to sign off on it.
Jack: Well, if you help me find my dad, then sure, I'll be in your film.
Blonney: It's a deal then.
The shadows of the trees loom from above, devouring the two figures.
Blonney: The boss didn't come back last night. Who knows if he got it, but I left him a note—whether he sees it or not.
She shines the flashlight into the dark, revealing the tangled trunk of an old cypress tree. A critter's eyes flash, then disappear into the dark den below.
Blonney: Stay close, Jack.
She looks back toward Jack. He's mesmerized by the shriveled corpse of a blackened beetle on the ground.
Jack: Blonney, why do insects get all dry and empty when they die?
Blonney: 'Cause all the gooey stuff in their bodies gets eaten up by bacteria and fungi and things, but their shells are too tough to eat, so that's what gets left behind.
Jack: I think maybe it's 'cause they lost their souls. Once the souls are gone, they just shrivel up.
Blonney: A soul? Nah, they rot because they're dead. That's all there is to it.
Jack: My dad likes to read me stories about death and souls from Mr. Dark's poetry collection.
Blonney: You should probably cut back on that stuff, kid. I like a good dark film as much as the next gal, but there's enough pretentiousness in the world already.
Blonney: Every wanna-be "auteur" out there goes on and on about the meaning of the soul and death, always death! They just think being edgy will win them awards.
Blonney: Art films, especially.
Jack: Are they bad stories?
Blonney: I don't think they're great, but even crappy movies have their uses. They give people a start in the business.
Blonney: And people need to eat, after all.
Blonney walks deeper into the forest.
The sawgrass around her is filled with narrow, vein-like puddles. After making a closer inspection, she realizes they were formed by rainwater collecting in old tire tracks.
Blonney: These are old and deep. Maybe Mr. Stahl drove out here. It's worth a look anyways.
Blonney: But if this is anything like a horror movie, the car will probably be empty, or ...
A faint yellow light flickers deep within the dark forest, briefly flashing past her eyes before vanishing.
She catches a whiff of a foul, tar-like chemical odor, sweet yet nauseating.
Blonney: That's gasoline.
The distant sound of an engine grows louder, rapidly approaching. Blonney turns toward the noise, spotting a yellow Camaro veering wildly from the side and heading straight for her and Jack.
Blonney: Watch out!
The car screeches past, almost hitting them, before careening into a tree with an ear-splitting crash.
Blonney: The driver's seat's empty? No way.
The car door bursts open with a bang, unleashing an intense wave of heat. Several critters come tumbling out.
The smoke seems to be blinding them; they scurry around in confusion. One critter seems to be in charge, a familiar little guy in black and yellow.
Blonney: Critters?
Blonney looks at the wrecked car, now a twisted metal sculpture.
A flag is fixed to the windshield, bearing the Stahl family crest and the motto "Live in Hope."
Blonney: That's so ironic!
Jack: I don't think my dad's in there.
Jack: Blonney, do you think we'll find him if we keep going?
Blonney: I can't say, kid, but if your dad's car is here, we've got to be on the right track, right?
Jack: Okay, I'll just think about what I'm gonna say to Dad when we find him. How about "Found you" or "Look, Dad, I won"?
Blonney: Hold up. There's something over there! Shh.
Blonney stops, and Jack follows her lead.
Jack: Is it Dad?
Blonney: ...
She's not sure what she's looking at, but the flashlight reveals a deep pit with a charred mass, mixed with the smell of wet rain and blood.
She picks up the familiar scent of burnt decay, and then ...
Blackened beetles.
Two blackened shells lie on the ground in front of her, but far too big to be beetles.
Blonney: Oh, my God!
Two charred bodies, one protectively covering the other in an embrace.
She notices an arm sticking out like a burnt branch from the larger figure. Her eyes track down its length until reaching a glint of metal and charred glass.
Blonney: I recognize this watch from the pictures!
Her chest tightens, and her blood turns cold.
Blonney: Then, this must be ... Mr. Stahl.
Blonney scans over the two charred bodies, feeling as if their hollow eyes were gazing back at her.
Blonney: But then, who is he holding? It looks like a kid. It can't be ...
Blonney: No, that's impossible! Jack is right here with me!
Blonney: But then, who could this dead kid be?
???: Help me.
Blonney: It couldn't be him, could it?
If this smaller body is Jack Stahl, then who was the "Jack" she found in the attic of the Night Owl Inn? Who did she bring here?
Blonney: Jack?
No one responds. Blonney turns, realizing she is now alone.
Distant thunder rumbles, and heavy, wet raindrops begin to fall, drowning out the footfalls approaching from behind her.
*thud*
She is struck hard on the left side of her head, and her vision fades to black.
Blonney: Ugh.
