THE MAN DOWN BELOW

Written by

Gwendoline Caradec
 FADE IN:

UNDERWATER.

Darkness and pressure. No up or down. Just nothingness.

Muffled voices. Men barking at each other.

Suddenly, something swims by in the distance. Easily 4 feet

long. A Patagonian toothfish. Gone in a flash.

Another fish. Close this time.

Two others.

Fish everywhere. All swimming in the same direction. All

fleeing from the same thing.

A TRAWL NET.

The fish’s eyes, wide, dart backwards.

The net gains on them and pulls up, dragging a good hundred
of them inside.

The fish fight against the net uselessly.

Darkness becomes lighter as the net keeps pulling up. The

voices, still muffled, become louder.

And suddenly...

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

The net drops on deck, spilling twitching fish.

A handful of DECKHANDS immediately starts sorting through the

fish, weighing them, measuring them, tossing them in
different crates.

GUERRERO
(Spanish accent)
We got another bird!

GUERRERO (25), eager and youthful, rushes to get the little

gull struggling among the fish. He picks is up and cradles it
in his hands.

The gull flaps its wings uselessly, calling out in pitiful

whistling noises.
 2.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
The wing is broken. Look.

He shoves the bird right under the nose of ANDERSON (mid

40s), lean, rough around the edges, trying to work.

ANDERSON
It’s fucked. Chuck it.

This catches one of the deckhands’ attention. MARK RUTHERFORD

(mid 50s), a closed, tired face, but sharp eyes. He throws a
glance at Anderson and quickly resumes his work.

Guerrero looks down at the bird. Twitching and tweeting in

his hands.

GUERRERO
If we dumped the offal from
starboard instead of-

ANDERSON
Do it.

GUERRERO
The captain said we would-

ANDERSON
I fucking know what the captain
said. What do you want me to say?
Just do it.

Guerrero hesitates.

The bird whistles and cries and flaps.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Now.

Mark stands and strides over. He snatches the bird, wrings

its neck in one clean motion and tosses it overboard.

Everyone freezes in surprise.

Mark goes back to his spot by the pile of fish, sinks back to
his knees.

MARK
(Scottish)
Fuck’s sake.

And resumes his work.

 3.

EXT. THE TRAWLER -- DAY.

The old fishing trawler, rusty, unsafe and unsanitary, clunks

along on the still Antarctic waters.

Everywhere, big chunks of iceberg protruding ominously from

the waves.

Everything quiet but the rumbling of the ship’s engines.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

The deckhands, hard at work. Some chatting as they sort the

fish. Some laughing.

Guerrero runs around, bringing empty crates to the others. He

drops one next to Anderson and, walking behind him,
discreetly runs his hand against Anderson's back.

The man kneeling next to Mark - TREMBLAY (30) - notices this

and scoffs in disgust.

Mark doesn't look at anyone. His eyes are down on his work.
His movements are fast and precise.

Tremblay taps him on the shoulder.

TREMBLAY
Give us a hand with that.

He points to his full crate. Mark reluctantly stops sorting

and helps Tremblay lift the thing and carry it inside.

INT. PORT SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

The narrow passageway swallows Mark and Tremblay as they

struggle with the heavy crate.

Blueish lights flicker on and off as they walk.

The rumbling becomes louder as they walk by a darkened

companionway that slithers down, deeper into the ship.

Mark and Tremblay put the crate down in front of a closed

door. Tremblay pulls the handle down -it sticks- and pushes
the door open. They pick up the crate again and step into...

INT. THE HOLD -- DAY.

A room crammed with stacked up crates full of fish. At least

two inches of water on the floor.
 4.

TREMBLAY
Damn. Too close to the engines.

Suddenly, a cry from the deck:

ANDERSON
(O.S.)
Jesus fucking Christ!

Mark and Tremblay look at each other. And they both run out.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

Up in the sun again. Blinding brightness.

Stumbling forward, Mark tries to shield his eyes to see

what's happening.

The deckhands are grouped around the second net, gasping and
chattering. Tremblay has already run to the scene.

TREMBLAY
What the hell is that?

GUERRERO
It’s a man!

TREMBLAY
It’s not a man, look at it!

GUERRERO
Did someone call the nurse?

Mark elbows his way through the crowd, stretches his neck.

There, among the fish, is a person. A male body, lifeless,

white as a sheet with skin almost transparent. Hairless. The
face twisted and deformed with a prominent forehead and
hollow cheeks. THE NEWCOMER.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Buzzing of whispered conversations.

The sailors crowd the door to a cabin, each pushing the

others to look inside.

Away from the crowd: Mark.

 5.

INT. THE CABIN DOWN BELOW -- DAY.

The Newcomer lies on a bunk, covered in blankets, white face

and white arms almost luminous against the grey bed linen.
Unconscious still.

CORWELL (mid 30s) tends to him, measuring body temperature,

checking vitals.

He carefully touches the lumpy forehead.

CORWELL
Craniosynostosis.

GUERRERO
What are you doing?

CORWELL
My job. What are you doing?

Corwell examines the hands. The fingers are webbed. He pulls

the blanket back to look at the toes. Same.

CORWELL (CONT’D)
Syndactyly.

He turns back to the head of the Newcomer, whose eyes are now
OPEN WIDE.

Corwell lets out a high-pitched yelp.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Outside, Mark watches the movement of the crowd at the door,

listens to the conversations. Doesn't join in.

INT. THE CABIN DOWN BELOW -- DAY.

Corwell slowly recovers from the fright.

Tremblay giggles.

TREMBLAY
Oh, that was manly.

CORWELL
Thank you, Mr Tremblay.
(to the Newcomer)
It’s okay. We fished you out of the
water. You were in the ocean.
 6.

The Newcomer looks at the crew with round, blue eyes. His
head turns sharp and fast, like a bird's.

Guerrero fumbles with the little cross around his neck.

CORWELL (CONT’D)
Can you talk? Do you speak English?

The Newcomer's eyes fix themselves on Corwell.

CORWELL (CONT’D)
Do you remember anything? Your
name? Can you remember your name?

The Newcomer stares. Corwell shifts uncomfortably.

ANDERSON
What the fuck is that?

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark looks up as the others exclaim and protest.

CAPTAIN
(O.S.)
All right, fellas! Everybody out!

The sailors move away from the door in a cacophony of

swearing and excited chatter. They all go past Mark and
disappear up the companionway to the deck.

CORWELL
(O.S.)
You too. Sir.

And the captain stumbles out too, the door slamming behind
him. He notices Mark and clears his throat.

CAPTAIN
Enough gawking, Rutherford! Get
back to work!

And he too disappears.

Silence again.

Mark stares at the closed door like it's calling for him. He
takes a step towards it.

And another.

There's a porthole in the door. Just a few more steps and he

could look inside.
 7.

Another step.

Almost there. But then he turns and walks away. No.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

Mark works, eyes down. Picking up one of the big, heavy fish
and throwing it sideways into a crate.

Picking up, throwing sideways.

Picking up - and he freezes.

Behind the fish he just picked up, is a FACE. A young face,

about ten years old. Badly bruised and bloody.

ANDERSON
Rutherford?

Mark turns to Anderson, and when he looks back, the face is

gone. Vanished.

The others are all looking at him, silent.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
All right, Rutherford?

Mark shakes it off and begins working again. Anderson turns

back to the others. Tremblay shrugs.

TREMBLAY
Fucking nutter.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Silence.

The darkened passageway outside the Newcomer’s cabin.

Movement behind the closed door. A shadow shuffling

underneath, back and forth. A shape passing behind the
porthole at regular intervals.

The Newcomer is pacing inside.

INT. SLEEPING QUARTERS -- DAY.

A series of bunks. One next to the other. One on top of the

other. Everyone sleeping.

Mark, on a bottom bunk, opens his eyes.

 8.

A whispered chatter travels through the room. Soft hissing.

Mark shivers, turns his head to look around.

There, a few steps away: a WOMAN sitting in an armchair,

cradling a BABY in her arms.

Behind her, a fireplace, embedded in the metal bulkhead.

Mark blinks to make it disappear. To no avail.

The woman gets up and walks towards him slowly. She hands him
the baby.

Mark, in shock, shakes his head.

She moves closer, holding out the baby in front of her.

MARK
No. Please, no.

GUERRERO
Mr Rutherford?

And the woman and the baby vanish. The armchair and the
fireplace, gone too.

Mark looks about, a bit lost.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
Mr Rutherford, sir?

Guerrero jumps down from his bunk and stands before Mark's
bunk awkwardly.

MARK
What?

GUERRERO
Are you okay, sir?

MARK
Aye.

Guerrero doesn’t move.

MARK (CONT’D)
What?

Guerrero almost says something. But changes his mind.

GUERRERO
Nothing.
 9.

And goes back to his bunk.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

The deckhands at work, getting a net ready, moving empty

crates about.

Guerrero keeps glancing at the door to the starboard

passageway. Anderson notices, snaps his fingers to get
Guerrero's attention.

ANDERSON
Oi! Concentrate.

INT. LOUNGE -- DAY.

A few busted sofas and chairs scattered around an empty

cabin. Mark stands in front of Corwell.

CORWELL
Insomnia, huh?

MARK
Or something like that. I can’t
sleep. Get migraines. And I...
see... things.

Corwell frowns.

CORWELL
Things? Shapes and colours?

MARK
Aye, shapes and... colours. Look,
can you give me something or what?

Corwell raises an eyebrow.

CORWELL
I can give you Paracetamol or
something for sea-sickness. Other
than that, if you cut yourself, I
can give you a plaster. That’s the
extent of my resources.

The ship’s horn BLARES twice. Both Mark and Corwell sway on
their feet.

CORWELL (CONT’D)
Are we turning?

They move to the door.

 10.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

The deckhands are putting away the fishing equipment. The

captain stands and watches them. Not helping.

CORWELL
What’s going on?

CAPTAIN
We’re done fishing.

CORWELL
Can I talk to you in private? Sir?

INT. CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS -- DAY.

The captain enters, sighing loudly, followed by Corwell.

CORWELL
That is not what we agreed on!

CAPTAIN
What do you want me to say? The
figures speak for themselves.

CORWELL
Just for a few more hundreds, you’d
send him to some poacher you’ve
never even met before? Why not
straight to the butcher’s?

CAPTAIN
Don’t you go all ‘moral high
ground’ on me. You just wanna slice
him open and poke around inside.

CORWELL
No. I just want-

CAPTAIN
What the hell gave you the idea
you’ve got a say in this, nurse?

Corwell shuts up, white with rage.

CAPTAIN (CONT’D)
My ship. My catch. My decision.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Tremblay and another deckhand stand at the closed door to the

Newcomer’s cabin. They look through the porthole.
 11.

Mark and Guerrero come down from the deck, carrying a case
full of crushed ice.

GUERRERO
What are you doing?

Tremblay waves them over.

TREMBLAY
Come check out the Elephant Man!

GUERRERO
Just leave him alone. Please.

The other deckhand lets out a hyena-like cackle.

HYENA
(imitating Guerrero)
“Please!”

Tremblay laughs and nudges Hyena.

TREMBLAY
C'mon, that's mean.
(to Guerrero)
All right, Amigo?

GUERRERO
Fuck off!

HYENA
Ooooh!

TREMBLAY
Come and see, then!

Guerrero looks at Mark - "help me". Mark doesn't move.

Slowly, unconsciously fiddling with the crucifix around his

neck, Guerrero shuffles over to the door.

Hyena and Tremblay step aside to let him look. Guerrero steps
forward and looks and -

Tremblay pushes the door open, Hyena shoves Guerrero inside

and Tremblay yanks the door shut.

GUERRERO
No!

He tries to pull the door open, but Tremblay pulls on the

other side.

Behind Guerrero, the Newcomer's head snaps up.

 12.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
No, please! Let me out! Please!

Guerrero's panicked face pleads with them through the

porthole. His voice comes muffled.

The Newcomer stares, head tilting sharply to the side.

Hyena laughs. Mark watches, doesn’t move. Tremblay and

Hyena’s laughter sounds frantic, almost unnatural.

The Newcomer stands.

Guerrero is begging in Spanish now, terrified, crying. He

bangs on the metal door and calls for help.

Mark looks on and, suddenly, other sounds add themselves to

the mix of calls and giggles. Thuds. Yelps. A beating.

Mark turns and there, in the middle of the passageway, is a

TEENAGE SKINHEAD, shoving his boot into a BOY's prostrate
form on the floor. The boy yells and looks up. The bloody
face again.

Mark freezes in shock.

The boy, breathing hard, extends a pleading arm towards him.

Mark closes his eyes. Tightly. The noise becomes deafening.

Thud. Thud. Bang. Bang. BANG.

He opens his eyes again. Boy and skinhead are gone. He turns
back to the cabin’s door. Guerrero, still trapped. Mark steps
forward to help...

... but, faster, is Anderson. He strides from the deck to the

cabin’s door.

ANDERSON
What the fuck are you doing?

Hyena keeps laughing, but Tremblay sees danger in Anderson's

face. He lets go of the door handle.

Guerrero rushes out, gasping, and stands tall - not very tall
- wiping away his tears.

Hyena nearly chokes laughing.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
(to Guerrero)
Back to work.

Guerrero glares at Tremblay and Hyena.

 13.

GUERRERO
Bastards!

ANDERSON
Now.

Guerrero walks away, humiliated. As soon as he's out of

sight, Anderson grabs Tremblay by the collar and pins him
against the bulkhead.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Do this again and I'll throw you
overboard, is that clear?

He turns to Hyena, who immediately stops cackling, then back

to Tremblay.

TREMBLAY
Clear, yeah.

Anderson releases him and walks away, passing by Mark and

growling without breaking his streak:

ANDERSON
What are you looking at?

And Mark, still in shock.

INT. THE HOLD -- DAY.

Mark crushes blocks of ice, jaw clenched, his knuckles white

on the ice pick.

Thinking hard.

Crushing harder.

The ice pick escapes him and clangs on the floor. His fist
slams into the block of ice.

Groaning, cradling his hand, Mark bends down to retrieve the

ice pick. And when he gets up -

A BODY ON A SLAB, right in front of him. The boy. Not bloody

anymore, the cuts and bruises now clean.

Mark gasps. Freezes. Too scared to move.

He looks at the dead body.

Blinks.

Blinks.
 14.

And breaks down into tears.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark emerges from a transversal passageway.

Looks right.

Looks left.

No one there.

He shuffles over to the Newcomer’s door quietly and looks

through the porthole.

Inside: the Newcomer. Asleep on his mattress.

Mark inhales deeply. In his hand: an ice pick.

INT. THE CABIN DOWN BELOW -- DAY.

Mark enters the cabin without a sound.

Approaches the Newcomer, towers over him.

He tightens his grip on the ice pick.

Carefully kneels.

A deep breath and he rises the ice pick.

Just then, the Newcomer WHIMPERS in his sleep and curls up

into a ball.

Mark freezes.

The Newcomer breathes very fast, like a little animal.

Mark loosens his grip on the ice pick.

It clatters on the floor.

The Newcomer’s eyes snap OPEN. Fear. He recoils.

Mark freezes on the spot. Slowly, slowly, he brings his hands

up in surrender. Not armed.

The Newcomer watches.

Mark stands slowly.

The Newcomer tries to back up into the wall.

 15.

Mark backs away a few steps.

The Newcomer stops and watches. Head tilting to the side.

Nothing moves for a while. Hush. Mark’s shallow breathing.

The Newcomer’s. Just as shallow. Waves crashing on the sides
of the ship.

The Newcomer MOVES. Creeps... forward... and... STANDS. Tall.

At least 6’4”. Taller than Mark.

Mark swallows hard but stands his ground.

The Newcomer raises his own hands until they’re level with
Mark’s. Only a few inches shy of touching palms.

Mark’s rough, fifty-year-old, sailor’s hand. The Newcomer’s

long, delicate, webbed hand.

And the two men, looking at each other.

INT. SLEEPING QUARTERS -- DAY.

Mark enters quietly.

Guerrero, awake, watches him from his top bunk.

Mark sits down on his own bunk.

GUERRERO
Rutherford?

Mark, lost in his thoughts, doesn’t register.

Guerrero hesitates, then climbs down and approaches.

Carefully observing Mark’s reactions, he lowers himself down
next to Mark.

Mark allows him.

Neither speaks for a while.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
I...

He changes his mind.

Mark turns his head towards him encouragingly.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
I keep seeing my mother.

He looks down at his feet.

 16.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
She didn’t... she’s not well. I
shouldn’t have left her.

Mark doesn’t respond.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
You see things too. I know you do.

He hesitates.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
What do you see?

Mark closes his eyes. Tired of this.

MARK
My son.

GUERRERO
Is he waiting for you at home?

MARK
He’s dead.

Guerrero swallows hard.

GUERRERO
Oh. I’m sorry.

He begins to get up.

MARK
I killed him.

And Guerrero sinks back down.

GUERRERO
Your son?

MARK
He was, uh... had... difficulties.
Learning difficulties. And I kept
pushing him. I wanted him to be
normal. I just... I wanted him to
be normal.

Guerrero stares and listens intently.

MARK (CONT’D)
And one day, he asked me to come
pick him up from school. He knew
the way, it wasn’t far, and I
wanted him to walk home on his own.
 17.

Mark stares in front of him. The SKINHEAD appears in front of

him, KICKING THE BOY.

Mark hides his face in his hands.

GUERRERO
It’s that man. The sea man? I think
he’s trying to shame us.

Mark looks up. The vision, gone. He turns to Guerrero.

MARK
Actually, I don’t think he’s trying
to do anything.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark and Guerrero emerge from the transversal passageway.

Mark leads the way to the Newcomer’s cabin. Guerrero

hesitates behind.

Mark beckons him.

Guerrero pads over slowly.

GUERRERO
What if...

MARK
He won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt
him. He’s a person.

GUERRERO
Yeah. Of course. Of course.

He touches the cross around his neck, looks through the

porthole. And frowns. Huh.

He reaches for the handle and pushes the door open. Mark
comes closer, looks inside over Guerrero's shoulder.

The cabin is empty.

Guerrero and Mark exchange a look.

The lights flicker, then die out. Complete darkness.

Guerrero's laboured breathing.

MARK
Fuck.
 18.

GUERRERO
Rutherford?

Shuffling.

GUERRERO (CONT’D)
Mark?

MARK
Aye, just give us a minute. Trying
to get the lights back.

Something shuffles past, a shape barely visible in the dark.

Guerrero gasps.

GUERRERO
Did you feel that?

Mark grabs Guerrero’s arm.

MARK
Get the captain. Now.

INT. CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS -- DAY.

The door bursts open.

A huge gush of wind and rain pours inside.

In the doorway: Guerrero. Drenched and panting.

GUERRERO
He’s loose, sir! The sea man.
Cabin’s empty. He’s gone.

Corwell and the Captain exchange a glance. Shit.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark - alone in the dark.

The bluish light ahead flickers on and off.

On. Something RUSHES PAST. Mark spins around.

Off.

On. The ship SWAYS. Propels Mark into the bulkhead.

Off.

On. SURGE. Mark crashes on the floor.

 19.

Off.

MARK
Ahh, shit!

On. Mark on the floor, trying to get up. Lost. Something

FLASHES past him again.

Off.

Hurried footsteps.

ANDERSON
(O.S.)
You! Lights! Go!

On. Anderson, standing at the foot of the companionway. Sure-

footed. In control. Another DECKHAND rushing, as he’s told.

Off.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Rutherford!

MARK
Aye!

ANDERSON
All right?

MARK
Aye.

ANDERSON
Anyone else with you?

MARK
No.

ANDERSON
Guerrero?

MARK
Went to get the Captain.

ANDERSON
(to the DECKHAND)
The lights! Today, not next year!

And finally: on again.

Anderson strides over and helps Mark to his feet.

 20.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Did you see it?

Mark, blinking and finding his bearings again.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Where did it go? Did you see it?

MARK
Saw fuck all, with those lights.

Guerrero, Tremblay and Hyena emerge from the companionway.

GUERRERO
Captain and five men are on deck.
Make sure he doesn’t go for a dive.

Anderson spins around.

ANDERSON
We need people checking the cabins
and someone in the engine room.
Moore, Williams, with me.
Rutherford, down below. Go!

GUERRERO
What do I do?

ANDERSON
Stay out of our way.

Everyone stumbles away. Guerrero stands there. Mark taps him

on the shoulder.

MARK
Come on.

EXT. THE TRAWLER -- DAY.

Roaring storm.

The trawler, thrashing about in the waves.

Men running around. Shouting at each other over the wind.

INT. ENGINE ROOM -- DAY.

The ancient engine room. A maze of pipes and machinery.

Mark and Guerrero comb through it carefully.

 21.

GUERRERO
He doesn’t trust me. With anything.

MARK
What?

GUERRERO
Mr Anderson.

Mark throws him a glance.

MARK
I don’t think that’s what it is.

CLANG!

Mark and Guerrero startle.

Something slammed into a pipe.

Mark signals to Guerrero to go around and block the exit. He

walks silently towards the source of the noise. Turns a
corner, and:

There he is. Crouched down, trying to hide. A defensive HISS.

Mark kneels down in front of him. Raises his hands palms up

in surrender again.

The Newcomer hesitates.

BANG!

The door SLAMS OPEN and Tremblay rushes in. He freezes, takes
in the scene, then shouts back up the companionway.

TREMBLAY
In here! We’ve got him!

MARK
No, wait!

Too late.

A flash of panic in the Newcomer’s face.

TREMBLAY
Good job, Scottie!

MARK
Wait!

The Newcomer rushes forward, pushing Mark aside. Unexpectedly

strong. Mark flies into a pipe.
 22.

The Newcomer sprints for the door.

Tremblay tries to stop him, slams into a piece of machinery.

Guerrero steps out of his way.

INT. COMPANIONWAY TO THE ENGINE ROOM -- DAY.

Anderson, halfway down.

The Newcomer dashes up the steps.

Anderson grabs him by the shirt as he pushes past. No

stopping him. Anderson overbalances. The Newcomer drags him
up the companionway. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Until...

TEAR.

And the Newcomer disappears around the corner. Anderson

groans in pain on the steps, the torn shirt in his hand.

ANDERSON
Fucking hell!

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Anderson, Guerrero, Tremblay and Mark emerge from the

companionway. Panting and bruised.

They look left. Right. Nothing.

Anderson puts a hand on Guerrero’s shoulder.

ANDERSON
Make sure they have weapons up
there. Go.

MARK
No, don’t-

ANDERSON
Go!

Guerrero nods and runs to the end of the passageway and up to

the deck.

Deafening thunder outside.

Anderson turns to the others.

 23.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Right. We need to drive him outside
so the others can get him.

MARK
Weapons are a bad idea. I wasn’t
armed and he was calming down.

ANDERSON
Like hell he was!

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

Pouring rain. Waves crashing over the railing.

Everyone shouting at the top of their lungs to be heard.

The Captain is distributing harpoons, axes, ice picks:

whatever makeshift weapons they could find on board.

CAPTAIN
Okay people! Absolute last resort!
Like if you’re about to die! The
one that kills him owes me 50 000
bucks! Is that clear?

An indistinct chorus of “Aye, Sir”s.

The Captain turns to Corwell.

CAPTAIN (CONT’D)
What the hell is up with that
weather! Came out of nowhere!

CORWELL
Well, maybe if our radio was
working it wouldn’t have come out
of nowhere!

CAPTAIN
Oh, careful, Nurse Jackie!

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark, looking to his right into...

INT. BOW TRANSVERSAL PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Tremblay, looking to his right, out to...

 24.

INT. PORT SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Anderson, looking back at the other two.

Waiting. Nothing moves.

And then:

FLASH! The Newcomer darts out of a cabin in front of Anderson

and runs away towards the deck. Anderson runs after him,
limping pretty badly.

ANDERSON
Over here!

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark sprints forward too, following a parallel route.

Sharp right into:

INT. STERN TRANSVERSAL PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark, running.

At the end of the tunnel, the Newcomer recoils. Blocked. Only

one way left. Up the port side companionway and out.

I/E. PORT SIDE COMPANIONWAY -- DAY.

The Newcomer. Anderson at his heels. Mark just behind.

Almost at the top, Anderson’s foot catches in one of the

steps. He falls to his knees, groaning in pain. Mark catches
up and helps him up.

The Newcomer wheels round on them.

Guerrero appears at the top of the companionway.

GUERRERO
Look out!

Mark and Anderson’s heads snap up.

The ship SWAYS.

The Newcomer spins again.

Catches Guerrero’s temple with his elbow.

 25.

Guerrero stumbles, hits the railing, overbalances...

...and DISAPPEARS OVER THE EDGE.

Anderson and Mark throw themselves at the railing. Look down.

Nothing. He’s gone.

ANDERSON
Man overboard!

The wind blows, the rain pours. No reply.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Help!

Mark turns - the Newcomer gone - and staggers up the last few
steps to the deck.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

The deckhands surround the Newcomer, four of them holding him

down, a couple of others binding his wrists and ankles.

Mark watches, in shock.

The BOY flashes in front of his eyes, face bashed and bloody,
superimposed over the blurred scene on the deck.

Mark winces, shakes his head, wills it away. Not now.

The Newcomer stops fighting. Caught. He slumps to the floor.

EXT. THE TRAWLER -- DAY.

Blue skies now. Calm sea.

The storm is over.

INT. STARBOARD SIDE PASSAGEWAY -- DAY.

Mark stands at the cabin door, looking through the porthole.

Inside: the Newcomer. Restrained now. Barely able to move.

They lock eyes.

Moving away, Mark steps on something. Looks down.

 26.

Guerrero’s cross.

He kneels down to pick it up, gets up again, and there’s

Anderson. Watching him from the other end of the passageway.

Hurt and angry.

EXT. ON DECK -- DAY.

The sun, very low on the horizon. Setting.

The crew, all fourteen men, stand solemn in front of the

Captain. Heads down.

At the back: Mark. And a few feet away: Anderson.

CAPTAIN
Miguel Francesco Guerrero. We
didn’t know you very well, I’m
afraid. Not well enough. But your
life with us will be remembered.

Mark pulls the little cross from his pocket and looks at it.
He glances at Anderson. A closed face.

CAPTAIN (CONT’D)
You will be missed by your family,
your parents, your siblings - hem -
if you had any. And by us all.

Mark shuffles over to Anderson and makes a movement as if to

hand him the cross.

MARK
Look-

ANDERSON
Fuck off.

Mark moves away.

CAPTAIN
Farewell, kid.

And on the horizon: land.

INT. THE CABIN DOWN BELOW -- NIGHT.

The Newcomer sits slumped against the back wall. Wrists and
ankles still bound.

Mark approaches. Sits next to him.

 27.

They look at each other. What a mess.

Mark notices the Newcomer’s skin getting purplish at the

wrists and ankles.

He reaches and tries to untie the ropes. To no avail.

MARK
Fuck.

The Newcomer stares at Mark, with his round eyes and sharp
movements. He tentatively moves closer and rests his head on
Mark’s shoulder.

Surprise on Mark’s face.

LATER.

Mark and the Newcomer, asleep in the same position.

The Newcomer twitches, sensing something. His eyes OPEN.

Anderson is there. Standing in the cabin, quietly, watching,

arms by his sides, an ICE PICK in his right hand.

They stare at each other.

MARK (CONT’D)
(O.S.)
Anderson.

Mark is awake. He sits up, notices the ice pick.

Stands slowly.

MARK (CONT’D)
What are you doing?

Anderson’s whole body shakes with bubbling rage. Clenched

jaw. Fist tightening around the ice pick.

MARK (CONT’D)
Anderson, think about it. You don’t
want to do that.

ANDERSON
He was twenty-five years old!

MARK
I know.
 28.

ANDERSON
Twenty-five! His mother is waiting
for him at home!

He points the ice pick at the Newcomer.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
That. Fucking. Monster.

Mark steps between Anderson and the Newcomer.

The Newcomer SQUIRMS and HISSES.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
You think that’s gonna stop me? You
care more about that thing than you
did about the boy!

Suddenly his eyes move to the empty air next to Mark.

Mark notices.

MARK
What are you seeing?

ANDERSON
I’ll kill you, too.

Mark doesn’t move.

MARK
It was an accident, Anderson. It
wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t
anyone’s fault.

Anderson pants with the effort of holding on to his rage. A

dry sob. And he CHARGES AT MARK.

Mark grabs his arm and PUSHES him back into the bulkhead.

The ice pick falls to the floor. Anderson groans.

The Newcomer HISSES louder, fights against the ropes.

Anderson rams his knee into Mark’s stomach.

Mark stumbles backwards, gasping.

Anderson PICKS UP THE ICE PICK. Rushes at the Newcomer.

Mark throws himself at Anderson, PULLS HIM BACK.

Both CRASH on the floor together. Stumble to their feet.

 29.

Anderson facing Mark. Mark, shielding the Newcomer again.

Both exhausted.

Mark raises his hands in surrender.

MARK (CONT’D)
I’m done. I’m done.

ANDERSON
Move!

MARK
No.

Anderson LUNGES FORWARD again. Mark doesn’t move. Anderson

SLAMS into him.

Mark staggers and goes down. Anderson regains his balance and
waits for Mark to fight back.

But Mark doesn’t get up.

Anderson looks down at his empty hand.

Looks at Mark.

THE ICE PICK, SUNK TO THE HILT INTO MARK’S ABDOMEN.

The Newcomer freezes and stares at Mark. Waiting.

Anderson sinks to his knees next to Mark.

ANDERSON
Rutherford?

Mark blinks.

Anderson wraps his hand around the hilt of the pick.

The Newcomer snarls.

In one swift motion, Anderson PULLS the pick out.

Mark gasps.

Blood gushes out of the wound. Anderson presses his hand

against it.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Fuck. Don’t move. I’ll get Corwell.

He starts to get up, but Mark grabs his sleeve and holds him
there. He reaches shakily into his pocket and pulls out
Guerrero’s cross. Hands it to Anderson.
 30.

Anderson, shaking too, takes the cross and holds it tightly

in his fist. He gets up - ice pick in hand - and moves over
to the Newcomer.

The Newcomer hisses and growls and recoils.

Anderson kneels next to him, raises the ice pick. And starts
attacking the ropes with it.

The Newcomer’s eyes follow Anderson’s every gesture.

SNAP. The last rope gives.

The Newcomer rushes to Mark’s side. Runs his hands over the
wound. Panicked. Powerless.

MARK
Go.

The Newcomer doesn’t listen.

MARK (CONT’D)
Now. Go. Please.

The Newcomer rests his head against Mark’s chest. Mark lifts
his hand and touches the Newcomer’s head.

Anderson watches them from a corner.

The Newcomer doesn’t move.

Mark’s hand falls back to the floor.

Eyes open. Not breathing.

Dead.

Nothing moves for a while.

And then...

Footsteps approaching.

The Newcomer and Anderson look at each other.

ANDERSON
Go.

The Newcomer hesitates.

ANDERSON (CONT’D)
Go!

The footsteps become louder.

 31.

The Newcomer gets up and moves to the door.

Glances back at Mark.

And goes.

Anderson looks in the corner of the cabin. GUERRERO, standing

there, smiling at him. And disappearing slowly.

Anderson, alone with Mark’s body.

Buries his face in his arms.

Exhales.

FADE OUT.
 32.

Learning to Write

Well, as might be expected from a practical writing course full of exercises and
workshops, mistakes were made and stuff was learnt. No, not stuff. Stuff is boring, said
Colin. Structure was learnt. Structure and dramatic storytelling. Precision, discipline, and
other such firm-sounding words, said Andy.

I thoroughly enjoyed learning all about dramatic structure, about beats. Giant beats,
medium beats, baby beats. I used to break down my stories in post-its. A post-it could
be a single scene, it could be a sequence, it could be as concise as 'the bar scene' or as
descriptive as 'X walks into his flat to find this and that has been done by such and such
and then he says so and so to such and such because he feels this and that shouldn't have
been done". I found it much more interesting and efficient to look at a story in terms of
beats. Being able to sort out the big beats from the tiny little ones will make my stories'
rhythm more seamless, and my outlines much more readable.

The schematic outline taught by Blake Snyder in his Save the Cat! is especially helpful to
keep a handle on the big picture. Whenever I get stuck on a story, my first reflex will now
be to take out a piece of paper, divide it in three and start filling in the major beats, the big
pieces of furniture to put in their proper place before even thinking of putting the
paintings up.

Short form isn't my forte, as testified by the thirty-seven-page-long second draft of my

script, I have trouble evaluating how long my story will be and it has been a real challenge
getting my script to fit roughly in the allowed amount of pages. I tend to create long
character evolutions and back stories, complex arcs for my supporting characters, add
atmospheric scenes. That is not possible in a thirty-minute short film. It needs to be
clear, concise, visual, and it needs to move forward fast. By the end of it, it felt like I'd cut
out more dialogue than I'd written. It was a necessary thing, however and I believe it made
my story better. It is something I will apply to every other piece of writing I do. Because
if it can be shorter, it probably should be.

Another shock was how fast the work has to be delivered. I have never been good at
coming up with ideas fast. It takes me months to develop my characters and my plot. At
first it seemed impossible to do it in a week. To an extent, I still feel like I was rushed and
I could have done better with more time. But this is the thing. You don't get more time in
this industry. It is fast-paced, and content needs to be good straight away, and much
better a week later. This is something I will need to work on more. This was round one.
Now for round two.