RUNNING

by
Elijah Taylor

1st draft (10/21/09- 11/10/09)

2nd draft (11/17/09- 12/08/09)
3rd draft (12/12/09- 12/17/09)
4th draft (12/22/09- 12/27/09)

5th draft (completed 1/04/10)

6th draft (1/11/10)
7th draft (1/20/10)
8th draft (2/18- 2/19/10)
9th draft (2/25/10- 2/27/10)
10th draft (3/12/10- 3/27/10)
INT. LOBBY - MOVIE THEATER - NIGHT
Dressed casually in jeans and a pullover, PAUL OSLO sits in
an armchair, his eyes glazed over with boredom and
exhaustion. HOWARTH, the manager, stands at the work table.
He nurses a small glass of clear booze with one hand and
holds the telephone with the other.
HOWARTH
Yeah, I guess so... He already
knows the place inside out anyway,
and we could use the help...
(laughing) I’m not trying to fool
you... Yes, this place has seen
better days... I’m sure he is...
Okay, bye.

Howarth puts the phone back on the receiver. Oslo looks up.
HOWARTH
Your uncle has been campaigning
hard for you.

Howarth takes a sheet from a small stack of papers on the

table and hands it to Oslo.
HOWARTH
I just need you to fill out an
application so that we have all
your contact info... I have to go
start a show. You’ll be fine up
here for a minute, right?
Oslo nods. Footsteps patter against the linoleum. Finally,
the door shuts.
Oslo rises and walks over to the storage closet. He crouches
down, sticks his hand inside, and withdraws the glass bottle
of alcohol.

He feels around in his right pocket and pulls out a small

plastic bag a quarter of the way full with white powder.

INT. LOBBY - LATE AFTERNOON

THOMPSON and SZWAJA shuffle inside, bleary eyed and

hungover.
Howarth stands in the lobby. Oslo, silent and stoic, stands
next to him.
 2.

HOWARTH
Guys... this is Paul Oslo.
SZWAJA
Welcome to Hell, Paul Oslo.

The guys laugh. A smile edges at the corner of Oslo’s mouth,

but never reaches fruition. Its stays there, fixed like his
gaze, as they continue laughing, ignorant to his reaction.

INT. HALLWAY - EVENING

Thompson stands in the hallway next to Oslo, who is staring
off into space.
THOMPSON
Like it here so far?
Oslo glances at Thompson.
THOMPSON
You’ll get used to it. But don’t
stay here too long. It’s bad for
the soul.
OSLO
I don’t have a soul, so I think
I’ll be fine.

Oslo smiles politely and then walks away from Thompson, who
stares after him, slightly disturbed.
He stops at the entrance to the theater.

EXT./INT. HALLWAY/THEATER - EVENING

Oslo watches Howarth argue with its sole patrons: a young
man, whose feet are propped up on a chair facing him, and a
young woman, who stares indifferently at the screen. Howarth
finally turns away.
Thompson appears next to Oslo as Howarth emerges.
HOWARTH
(raising his hands in defeat)
I’m done.
He turns to Oslo.
 3.

HOWARTH
Kick them out.

INT. BOX OFFICE - EVENING

Thompson sits in the box office counting money, mouthing the

numbers as he goes.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Oslo pumps a shotgun as he strides into the theater.

INT. BOX OFFICE - CONTINUOUS

Thompson is counting a second stack now. A deafening gunshot

goes off. Thompson stops. For a moment, he is confused. Then
it sinks in.
A sharp, violent scream cuts through the silence. Thompson,
out of both fear and shock, sits still.

The young man appears, limping across the floor. He falls

and the young woman catches him. She struggles to level him
as they move.
YOUNG MAN
My foot! My fucking foot! Oh God,
my fucking foot!

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Thompson opens the box office door. Oslo stands in the

walkway, the shotgun pointed in Thompson’s direction. He
motions Thompson forward, smiling slightly.
Thompson starts towards him hesitantly. The two meet, each
slowing down near the entrance.
OSLO
Turn around.
It happens in an instant. Thompson turns, then arches back
swiftly, grabbing hold of the shotgun. Oslo crashes back
into the wall, his hands clutching the shotgun strenuously.
 4.

INT. PROJECTION ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Howarth pours a glass from the liquor bottle and takes a
long sip. He looks around casually.
HOWARTH
Sure is quiet.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

The struggle ensues for a few brief moments and then Oslo
lets go. Thompson wobbles unsteadily and falls back, his
hands still gripping the shotgun.

INT. PROJECTION ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Howarth drains the rest of the glass, then winces in
pleasure. He pours another.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Oslo beats around the corner running. Thompson tosses the
shotgun away, gets back to his feet, and goes after him.

INT. BACK ROOM - LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

The door creaks open and Szwaja steps out. His breath comes
in short gasps. He scans the area warily with slightly
bugged eyes.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

Thompson dashes after Oslo. They ascend the sloped floors,
increasing speed, turning sharply. Oslo reaches the steps to
the exit doors and mounts the first one.
He fails to reach the second. Thompson grabs his ankle and
he collapses.
Oslo quickly gets to his feet and scrambles up the steps.
Thompson slams into him, stopping his ascent. They collide
with the doors. Oslo pushes Thompson back down the stairs.
He grabs Oslo by the shirt and they both tumble to the
ground.

Oslo pulls out a pocketknife, flicks the blade out, and

plunges it into Thompson’s arm. Thompson cries out in both
pain and shock. Clutching his wounded arm, he forces himself
into a sitting position. Oslo is gone.
 5.

He makes his way slowly up the steps. Once on the landing,

he pushes the releases. The doors don’t budge. He tries
unsuccessfully to open them again. They are barricaded from
the outside.

Thompson runs...

INT. LOBBY - NIGHT

Szwaja hits the cancel button on his cell phone. Howarth
stumbles into the lobby.
HOWARTH
(rambling)
Where is he? Where is he? He put
something in that bottle. I don’t
know what, but there was more than
Samuel Buca in it.
Howarth wavers and tips over. Szwaja runs, catches him.
SZWAJA
Howarth! What the fuck is going on?
Howarth opens his mouth as if to vomit, but speaks instead.
HOWARTH
I feel... terrible.

Howarth passes out. Szwaja lowers him slowly onto the floor.
Thompson runs into the lobby. His eyes take in the scene:
Szwaja, kneeling over an unconscious Howarth. Szwaja does
the same, glancing at his bloodied arm.

SZWAJA
I called the station...
Thompson runs over to them, crouches down, and takes Howarth
by the feet. Szwaja grabs his arms, and together they heave
him across the lobby and out the front doors.
The noise persists throughout the theater. Finally...

INT. CITY STREET - NIGHT

Thompson and Szwaja carry Howarth up the street, away from
the smoke and debris of the explosion. They stop halfway
down the block, splaying Howarth out on a nearby bench.
Szwaja checks his pulse.
 6.

SZWAJA
Steady. He’ll be fine.
Thompson exhales roughly. He takes out a box of cigarettes,
taps one out, clamps it between his lips, and lights it.

A squad car screeches up the street. It stops sharply,

braking in front of them. A young officer steps out.
THOMPSON
James...

James looks up at the thick fog of smoke and then at his

brother.
JAMES
What happened?

THOMPSON
I don’t know... he got away.
JAMES
Who? Who got away?

THOMPSON
Oslo.

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

Thompson sits at a table. An unseen man walks in. A beige

folder dangles from his left hand. He extends his free hand
and Thompson shakes it absentmindedly. The man takes the
seat opposite him.

UNSEEN MAN
I’m Detective Jake Norman. And you
are...
The detective opens his beige folder and looks down at the
single sheet of paper inside. Printed in thick, dark letters
at the top are:
NAME: MILO THOMPSON
DOB: 12/7/1988
DETECTIVE NORMAN
... Milo Thompson! How are you, Mr.
Thompson?
THOMPSON
I want to talk to my brother.
 7.

DETECTIVE NORMAN
Your brother is not on this case.
Both men are silent for a moment.
DETECTIVE NORMAN
Who is Oslo?

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

Szwaja sits across from Detective Norman.

DETECTIVE NORMAN
You’re probably wondering why we’re
here, why we’re not at
headquarters?

SZWAJA
Not really.
DETECTIVE NORMAN
At approximately 8:41 pm, a pipe
bomb went off, injuring two
officers. One was nearly killed. I
need you to tell me everything you
know about Mr. Oslo.

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

THOMPSON
His name’s not Oslo. It’s Paul.
Paul Oslo.

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

SZWAJA
I’d guess he’s about twenty, twenty
one.

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

THOMPSON
About 5’8", 5’9"...
 8.

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

SZWAJA
Really intense eyes.

INT. DREARY ROOM - NIGHT

THOMPSON
I don’t know what to tell you. You
really don’t know much about him,
and I get the feeling that’s the
way he wants it.

INT. HOSPITAL ROOM - DAY

Thompson stands near Howarth’s bed. Howarth looks up at

Thompson in blank confusion.
HOWARTH
I was drugged?

THOMPSON
A common club downer, they say.
Seven of those mixed with the
booze... you’re lucky to be alive.
HOWARTH
And the theater is... gone.
THOMPSON
Most of it.
HOWARTH
I always hated that place... Did
they find Oslo?
THOMPSON
Not yet.

HOWARTH
You know what, Thompson. I don’t
remember a thing.
A moment of silence.

HOWARTH
Can you go into my pants and get
the flask.
 9.

THOMPSON
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
HOWARTH
Come on, be a sport.

THOMPSON
(chuckling)
Howarth, no!

INT. SHOPPING MALL - DAY

Thompson strolls through the doors of the local shopping
plaza. His exhausted eyes take the place in.
He makes his way down the strip and stops at a unisex
clothing store. He enters absentmindedly and walks down an
aisle, casually scanning the merchandise on the racks,
before finally coming to the customer service counter. A
young female employee sits behind it reading a paperback.
THOMPSON
Excuse me.
The girl looks up from her novel.
THOMPSON
You guys wouldn’t happen to be
hiring at the moment, would you?
GIRL
No, sorry. You can fill out an
application though.

Thompson sighs audibly, then takes the application.

THOMPSON LOOKS FOR A JOB:
1. A twenty-something guy sits behind the counter of a
musical supply store.
TWENTY-SOMETHING GUY
No, dude, not right now.
2. A young woman stocking shelves in a department store.

YOUNG WOMAN
I really don’t think we are.
3. A teenage boy at a fast food vendor.
 10.

TEENAGE BOY
No.
4. A woman behind the counter of an ice cream parlor.
WOMAN
Unfortunately, no. Lord knows we
can use the help, my boss has me
doing everything by myself...
5. A hairstylist in a salon.

THOMPSON
Are you guys hiring right now?
HAIRSTYLIST
Do you have any experience styling
hair?
Thompson raises his arms, then drops them in frustration.
THOMPSON
I’ll sweep floors.

HAIRSTYLIST
Sorry, we don’t need a floor
sweeper.

INT. FOOD COURT - DAY

Thompson counts the last of his cash: seven dollars and
change. He buys a sandwich and a coke and walks towards the
overlook with it. He chooses a bench, unwraps his sandwich,
and takes a bite. He looks down at the shoppers below.

Thompson is halfway through his sandwich when he sees him.

Oslo. He is sitting at a table, flanked by three people.
Thompson shoves the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and
chews voraciously. He jumps to his feet, downing the rest of
the coke simultaneously, and heads towards the escalators.
He takes the steps two at a time and soon reaches the
ground. His eyes frantically dart around. Finally they land
on Oslo, who looks up at Thompson, his speech broken.

Oslo calmly gets up and walks away. His lackeys turn around,
and then disburse, each going in a different direction.
Thompson starts after Oslo, his pace reaching a sprint, his
sprint becoming a run.
 11.

He turns the corner and halts. Oslo is still walking, not

running like he expected.
Thompson slows down, keeping a decent distance away from
him. They turn another corner. Oslo stops and turns around
to face Thompson, his hands placed reassuringly behind his
back.
Thompson stops half a foot away from him.
THOMPSON
I’m surprised they haven’t caught
you yet. After all the shit you’ve
pulled...
Silence. Thompson continues.

THOMPSON
You think that because you’re
quiet, you come off as strong and
mysterious, don’t you?
Oslo’s emotionless eyes bore into Thompson.

THOMPSON
Say something!
A snort of laughter escapes Oslo, and then an eruption
occurs and he breaks out into a full blown riot. His breath
becomes short and he brings his hand up to his chest. The
hand clutches a paring knife. His laughter finally dies
down.
He looks full on at Thompson. Tears glisten on the rims of
his eyes.
OSLO
My head hurts.
Oslo reaches for his temples and massages them roughly. His
eyes are closed for a moment, and when he reopens them, they
flutter in their sockets. Oslo slowly collapses, dropping
the knife in the process.
Thompson breaks his fall and kicks the knife across the
floor before he lays him down upon it. He checks his pulse.
Nothing.
Thompson plops down on the floor next to Oslo and looks down
at him with a mixture of pity and disgust. He notices a slip
of paper peeking out of the pocket of his shirt. He pulls it
out slowly, then unravels it.
 12.

TO DO
(check if completed)
1. See if T.N.A. is done with the
timing mechanism.

Check.
2. Get more wire.
Check.
3. Merge E.D. with the timing
mechanism. You will need T.N.A. to
help with the wiring and the
synchronization.
Check.
We’ve just assembled a somewhat
crude but highly effective time
bomb! Watch it all from a high
place. Detonate at 3:27 pm.
Thompson brings his wrist up to his eyes in a swift,
sweeping motion. 2:54 pm.

Thompson shakes his head, sighs, and lowers his head in

shame, more than anything else.
FADE TO BLACK