FADE IN:

Moving through a murky haze. Dark blues and greens, shafts

of prismed purple. A pale shard appears in the distance.

Gliding closer, a group of tiny fish dart before the camera.

We're UNDERWATER. Arriving at the form, it finally sharpens

into focus. It's a WOMAN'S BODY submerged in dark water,

arms floating lazily at her side. The face is obscured by

flowing hair. All that is visible is a pair of COLD, STARING

GREEN EYES, which blink closed...

MORPH TO:

...then open as BLUE EYES, as a DIFFERENT FACE emerges from

water. CLAIRE SPENCER awakens from this unsettling dream in

her bathtub. She pivots the large BRASS SHOWER HEAD (the

kind that moves up and down on a pipe) off to one side,

reaches toward her feet and we hear the sound of a plug being

pulled.

INT. BATHROOM - DAY

A HAZY SHAPE -- accompanied by a whirring sound.

A steam covered mirror is cleared with a BLOW DRYER. Claire

starts to come into focus. The dryer stops. She presses the

red G.F.I. button on the socket. ZAP! A big blue spark shoots

out. Claire pulls her hand back... and the dryer starts

whirring again.

She clears the mirror and replaces the dryer on a hook. She

regards herself in the mirror, and attractive, elegant-looking

woman around forty.

Claire traces a finger along a small but noticeable SCAR

above her left eye, then slowly drops the hand to her cheek,

as if confirming her existence.

INT. CLAIRE'S HOUSE - DAY

Claire, now dressed, presses her face against a door,

listening for the sounds of stirring from within. Silence.

She quietly pushes open the door.

INT. ROOM - DAY

Claire makes her way past half-filled boxes and duffels to a

window, then pulls the curtains to reveal:

A LOVELY, WOODED LAKE. It couldn't be more picturesque. A

24' SAILBOAT is moored at the dock and an OLD STONE LIGHTHOUSE

sits on a point across the lake.

The sunlight motivates an unconscious groan from A FIGURE

still shrouded by covers.

Claire sits beside the sleeping form. She scans the room

briefly, taking in a Greenpeace flag and a picture of a

tomboyish ten year-old girl at camp.

She gently pulls back the covers and peers down at the same

face, now a waifish, pretty seventeen year-old, with chopped

hair and tiny nose ring. Claire leans over and inhales the

sleeping scent of her only daughter, CAITLIN. She places her

hand on a cheek. The girl's eyelids flutter softly.

CLAIRE:

Morning, beauty.

Caitlin lets out a grunt and rolls over onto her belly.

CLAIRE:

Let's go. Or we'll never leave on

time.

From out of the pillow comes Caitlin's voice.

CAITLIN:

(muffled)

I'm totally ready.

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