FADE IN:

TITLE: TOPWORLD -- ON BLACK, CLOSING IN AND THROUGH THE SECOND “O.”

EXT. UPSTATE NEW YORK - GRAVEL PIT - MIDDAY

A piece of hillside begins to crumble, and large sweaty CAT DRIVER barely manages to pull his earth mover away to keep from being buried by the avalanche of rock and dirt.

He pulls the CAT back and watches helplessly until the avalanche stops.

The man stops the CAT, shaken, gets out, staring straight ahead.

He returns his gaze forward, freezes. The avalanche has caused the hillside to recede several feet, exposing a large cave, coughing up a huge cloud of dust. A thin trickle of dirt continues to fall from the inside top of the maw.

A few other workers make their way over.

Something catches Cat Driver’s eye, something within the cave. Cautiously he steps over to the opening, and with his colleagues behind him, peers inside.

Cat Driver gasps. His jaw drops, his face a mask of rapt surprise.

INT. PETERSON HOUSE - DAY

A Victorian home, quaint, speaks to a simple life with a woman's touch. A noticeable layer of dust is visible on almost everything.

An upright piano sits in the dining room, lid closed. Copies of elementary sheet music sit undisturbed on the music holder. On top of the piano sits several photographs of a family: a handsome black man, 40-ish, an attractive woman in her thirties and an unsmiling teenage girl.

The photographs are varied in theme and mood and locations. In all, this girl maintains a serious expression.

THE KITCHEN

is a mess. Dirty dishes are piled high in the sink and on the kitchenette, which looks to be the only place anyone frequents in the house!

THE TELEPHONE

with a built-in answering machine on the wall next to the refrigerator RINGS four times before it stops. The machine never kicks on.

As we continue to the back door, through the screen we can see RON PETERSON, mid-thirties, the father in the family photos, a sullen man, unshaven and painfully casual in a pair of worn khaki pants and a wrinkled Buffalo Bills T-shirt sitting on the back stoop.

EXT. PETERSON HOUSE - BACK STOOP

Ron stares grimly out at a neglected aboveground swimming pool, which birds use as a bath. Beside him on the stoop is a collection of travel brochures. He holds one for South Dakota in his hand, studies a photo of Mount Rushmore.

His cell phone RINGS from his belt once, twice...Ron sighs, mouths the word "shit" and answers it.

RON

               I thought the fact that I didn't answer

the ground line would indicate I didn't

               want to talk to anyone.

INT. OFFICES OF THE HALLEY-BYRD INSTITUTE - SAME

ANGIE ABERNATHY, 50, black and striking, sits behind her desk, besieged by mounds of paperwork. Her computer monitor even has papers on it. She is calm and casual. For having such a messy desk, she is dressed quite professionally.

ANGIE

               And I thought, since your thirty days

were up, you'd be ready to get back

to work, Mr. Wal-Mart Man. Oh, wait!

               It's been eighteen months, hasn't it?

I'm sorry. Still haven't read the

employee handbook, have you?

INTERCUT - RON ON THE BACK STOOP/ANGIE IN HER OFFICE

RON

Oh, I just like to feel these things

out, let my instincts have full reign,

you know.

            ANGIE

Your job would be a lot easier, though.

Fewer surprises.

                   (beat)

               How are you, Peterson?

RON

               Just fine. Why?

ANGIE

               All right, it was a stupid question.

I'm clumsy when it comes to being--

RON

               --Sensitive? Don't be silly.

ANGIE

               Actually, I was going to say

“empathetic." Have you dusted that

place yet? Done the dishes?

RON

               Of course.

ANGIE

               Liar!

                    (beat)

I need you, Ron.

RON

              I sent you my resignation.

ANGIE

              And I got it, thanks. Ira Davenport

              Memorial. Right in your neck of

              the woods.

RON

              You know I’m not up to this.

ANGIE

              Had an interesting case come to

              light.

RON

              Ange…I love you and I’m going to

              miss you. But I’m done!

ANGIE

              On the Twenty-third.

RON

              No. I said the Thirteenth. This is

              Fifteenth.

ANGIE

              I’m looking at your letter right

              now Ron. Twenty-third.

RON

              It’s a typo. I verbally told you

              the Thirteenth.

ANGIE

              Letter says the Twenty-third, and

              I’m afraid its binding.

RON

              Ange…

ANGIE

              I could sue you into the very fires

              Of hell.

Ron sighs heavily.

ANGIE

              It’ll be good for you. Ira Davenport.

EXT. HOSPITAL - EMERGENCY ENTRANCE - LATER

An ambulance sits right in front of the doors, its lights flash.

A White 82 Chevy Nova pulls into the drive, drives past the ambulance and into one of the appropriate parking slots.

Ron sits behind the wheel. He stares at the South Dakota brochure a moment, sighs, then stuffs it into the glove compartment.

He moves with more life than we saw formerly.

He gets out of the car, carrying his briefcase in one hand, his car keys in another, and a half-eaten apple clamped in his jaws.

He closes the car door and enters the sliding glass doors. The apple drops from his jaws! He watches it roll away.

INT. HOSPITAL - CONTINUING

Ron digs into his pants for his wallet, nearly colliding with a nurse.

RON

               Sorry. Sorry.

He finds his way to the Information Desk, where a shrewd-looking, DESK NURSE sits and talks on the phone. She sees him coming and puts the phone party on hold, looks Ron up and down suspiciously.

DESK NURSE

     May I help you?

RON

                   (fumbles with his wallet)

               Uh, yes...I'm...Ron--

Ron drops his wallet, picks it up with difficulty.

RON

               I'm Ron Peterson with...

     (finally shows credentials)

               Halley-Byrd Institute. I'm here

               about a girl and a boy...found  

               in a cave...?

DESK NURSE

               Of course. You can go in Number

Two to see the girl. The boy is in

surgery across the hall.

She hands him a visitor's badge. He clips it to the collar of his T-shirt.

RON

               You don't have one that goes around

the neck?

The nurse shakes her head.

Ron nods a thanks to her and finds his way along the hallway to

ROOM #2

where a doctor, DR. GABE LAUFMAN, 50s and TWO NURSES try their best to subdue a battered and bruised girl who seems to be in her late teens, dressed in a short, pearl-colored outfit. This is ELIYSO. She is milk-pale yet exotic, perhaps even Asian, with expressive eyes that could warm the Arctic Circle.

Eliyso lies on a gurney and struggles, as they try to transport her from the gurney to an examination table. Eliyso notices Ron's arrival, her eyes pleading.

For his part, Ron stares at her hard. His mouth drops for a moment, as though he recognizes her. Then he clamps it shut, comes back to himself.

ELIYSO

                 (to Ron)

               Seekan mu gasson, wey! Wey! Seekan

Gammie karl!

LAUFMAN

               Nurse--grab her left arm, dammit!

NURSE #1

               I'm trying, doctor!

NURSE #2

               She's awfully strong. Ready?

LAUFMAN

               Just give her the damn sedative,

before she breaks my hand!

NURSE #2

               There, it's in.

RON

     Don't hurt her.

Almost immediately, Eliyso's struggle lessens, her cries weaker. She is looking past Ron now into the operating room across the hall.

NURSE #1

               We're trying to help her, sir.

LAUFMAN

               Soon as you can, get a blood

               workup done. She's awfully pallid.

               Probably just shock. Do a workup.

And have radiology get some pictures,

               see how extensive her injuries

               are.

RON

               Just…don't hurt her, all

right?

Ron follows Eliyso's gaze. He can see inside surgery that the team is losing the battle to save the life of a teenage boy, also pale, dressed like Eliyso. A HIGH, STEADY PICTH indicates flatline, and they step away from the boy on the table.

One of the trauma team members rushes to draw a curtain around the bed, blocking it from view.

Ron looks deflated, returns his gaze to Eliyso behind him.

Her eyes are dim as the team succeeds in finally lift her onto the table.

ELIYSO

                    (whispers)

               Gammie...oleo...Gammie...

LAUFMAN

                    (to Ron)

               You! Are you a translator?

RON

               No. No, I'm with Halley-Byrd.

DOCTOR

               Someone better get in here who

knows what this kid is saying...

Ron gazes at the ELIYSO. The sedative takes effect. Her gaze shifts from the operating room to Ron briefly, and she closes her eyes. A tear cuts a trail through the dirt on  her cheek.

LAUFMAN

               Let's get these clothes off

               her.

NURSE #1

               I've been trying. The material

               doesn't cut very easily.

LAUFMAN

               What these kids wear these days.

Ron leans against the doorframe.