Reindeer Games

FADE IN:

FIGURE IN A SANTA CLAUS SUIT

lies face-down in a nighttime expanse of snow. One of the

body's red-sleeved arms is twisted at a sickening angle. The

white snow beneath the figure is spreading with red.

REVEAL EXT. SNOWY ROAD - NIGHT

The figure in the suit lies motionless. Snowflakes drift.

INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT

Dark, rustic wood, an office with broken windows and whistling

winter beyond. A second BODY in a Santa Claus suit lies dead

in the doorway.

It's a man with a large build. The suit is riddled with holes.

His face is missing.

EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT

More snow falling. A handful of cars in the lot. A third

BODY in the same red-and-white outfit lies atop the hood of

an old Pontiac. His head is not visible, having smashed

through the windshield. His suit is charred and blackened.

A halo of broken glass outlines him. His black boots hang

off the front bumper. The parking lot is silent.

INT. ROOM - NIGHT

A floor scattered with shiny silver quarters. Reflections of

neon. There's a fourth SANTA here, face-down in a red pool.

The suit is far too big for him. Not that it matters now.

EXT. SNOW-FILLED RAVINE - NIGHT

where the fifth and final Santa lies at the edge of a ravine,

which plummets a hundred feet down. The man rests precariously

atop the slope, upside-down, eyes closed.

His burned suit is smoldering. He has a sly but tired face,

late-20's, sandy hair, cold and scarred. This is RUDY DUNCAN.

He opens his eyes.

RUDY (V.O.)

I never was much for the holidays.

CUT TO BLACK:

THE SOUND OF A WINTER WIND

rises, as a TITLE appears: "SEVEN DAYS BEFORE..."

And then, to complete the sentence: "...XMAS."

FADE IN:

EXT. IRON MOUNTAIN STATE PRISON - DAY

Snow drifts down onto the stone walls and wire fences of the

Iron Mountain, Michigan S.I.C. Winter's been here awhile.

INT. PRISON CELL - DAY

Rudy Duncan lies in his top bunk, staring at his ceiling --

where a handful of paper-cut snowflakes have been pasted.

The sounds of YELLING INMATES and GATES slamming shut echo

through the fortress. Rudy watches a spider scurry across

the paper snow. It's his excitement for the day.

He turns to the wall, where there's a photo of his teenage

self with some co-workers at an auto body shop. And a family

photo, cheery Midwesterners, with Rudy a scowling Artful

Dodger.

A WALL CALENDAR:

Shows the dates have been crossed off up to December 18th.

December 22nd is circled again and again.

Rudy muses at the calendar, then hops out of his bunk. Drops

to the floor, crosses to a desk, finds a chewed-on pen.

Turning back to the beds we reveal --

THE LOWER BUNK:

where Rudy's cellmate, NICK MASON (32), rugged, mustached

and well-built, sleeps soundly. In contrast, his bed-wall is

a COLLAGE OF PHOTOGRAPHS, twenty, maybe thirty of them. Almost

a mural.

All of them photos of A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG GIRL, mid-twenties,

smiling out from beaches, parties and snowy scenes. Gorgeous

brown hair, heartbreaking smile. Effortlessly sexy.

RUDY:

stares at the pictures for a moment, wistful. Nick snores,

turns over. Rudy climbs atop his bunk again, with the pen

this time. And crosses December 18th off the calendar.

CUT TO:

EXT. PRISON YARD - DAY

The two of them, Nick and Rudy, shivering by the fence. Nick

absently whistles some "Silver Bells," then digs for a smoke.

NICK:

What's the first thing, man? What's

the first thing you're gonna do?

RUDY:

Haven't thought about it.

NICK:

Hell you haven't.

RUDY:

Get to thinking about it, it won't

happen.

NICK:

We walk outta here, we hit that road,

what's the first thing you're gonna

do.

RUDY:

Ain't there yet.

NICK:

Three days, man.

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