Wes Craven’s Page #4

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Dylan shakes his head. Heather kisses him.

CHASE:

Just an earthquake, Dylan. Every once in

a while we get a few.

HEATHER:

No biggie, really.

Chase rumples the kid's hair. Then Dylan says solemnly.

DYLAN:

Daddy, blood.

Heather follows Dylan's eyes to Chase, to his bloody hand.

Chase notices with a start, grabbing one of Dylan's T-shirts

and wrapping it, saying a bit too quickly.

CHASE:

Nothing, guys, just a scratch.

But it's already been dripping through the cotton.

HEATHER:

Where'd you...get that?

Chase shrugs.

CHASE:

The picture, I guess. When it fell.

It's nothing, really.

He gives her a look, like 'cool it in front of the kid, at

least', and turns.

CHASE (cont'd)

I'll put a bandage on it. Don't worry

about it.

And he goes out. Heather looks at Dylan and he looks at her.

It's hard to say which is more frightened.

INT. KITCHEN/DEN - DAY

Heather, keeping to herself, tries to make order from the

mess in the cabinets. Chase, hand bandaged, brooms broken

crockery until the kettle whistles, then abandons the cleanup

to make instant coffee.

HEATHER:

One of mom's cups got broken.

CHASE:

I'm sorry. At least we're in on piece.

She says nothing. In the living room, the TV NEWSCASTER

drones on about the morning's 5.5 quake, ('...latest of what

Seismologists are calling a swarm').

HEATHER:

Do we have to watch that?

Chase, washing down a fast piece of toast, yawns and blinks.

CHASE:

I thought you turned it on.

He zaps it off. Heather eyes him, then turns on Dylan who's

making a face in his oatmeal. Scary eyes. Gape of mouth.

HEATHER:

Dylan, it's breakfast. Not arts and

crafts

(feels Chase watching)

What?

CHASE:

You get any sleep last night?

HEATHER:

More or less.

(swipes hair from eyes)

Dylan, time to get dressed. I'm late.

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