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by Jeremy Mullins (sunshinedefilade@aol.com)

Rated: R   Genre: Drama   User Review:

This is the story of a shy young man who experiences the brunt of life's wrath and how he must learn to cope with it. Through the eyes of family members, he begins to deal with the uncontrollable nature of existence.

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.


DAMON BETANCOURT is a young man, 26 years old with medium
length hair and comfortable clothes; nothing flashy, but
somewhat stylish. Damon stands silently as the night manager
of mall security prepares Damon for his first day on the
                       NIGHT MANAGER
All right, Damon. This is your
code of conduct booklet. Here are
your keys to the janitor's closet.
Don't lose those. They're your
pass in, out, and around the
building. You lose those, you lose
the job. Fair enough?
Damon nods politely and takes his belongings, feeling pangs
of anxiety. Still there is a somewhat blank expression on
his face.
Damon, in his grey janitor's uniform, nonchalantly mops.
Elevator music can be heard softly in the b.g. Meanwhile,
Damon is listening to his own Walkman tape player. The
corridors of the mall are dark and empty save for the random
emergency lights, coupled with a neon sign here and there. A
security guard comes from the f.g. and walks past Damon,
nodding in acknowledgement. Damon's smile is slight as he
quickly returns to his mopping.
Damon clocks out of his job, looking somewhat tired. The sun
is beginning to come out when he sees ABIGAIL KAMINSKI, a
young, vibrant, yet still introverted girl with dirty blond
hair and a medium build. A pen is all that holds her hair up
while she carries a few boxes towards a thrift store next
door to the mall. Abigail sees Damon and calls him over.
Hey there! Hey! Hi. Would you mind
helping me bring these boxes in?
They're killing me.


Damon agrees with a shy smile. He walks over and grabs a
couple of boxes.
Heavy, aren't they? Who knew boxes
of knick-knacks could be so damn
Damon smiles softly and walks with her to the locked doors
of the thrift store.
Are you new? I haven't seen you
before. I wondered where Hank
went. He was the old night janitor
there at the mall. Hank was a nice
guy, but he was creepy. He was
very quiet. Not to imply that you
are creepy; Hank was just TOO
Abigail fiddles with the door locks for a moment. She then
sets her boxes down and looks at Damon.
Well, my silent accomplice. Thank
you for help. I hope to have more
of these conversations again,
Damon gives her a puzzled look. Abigail opens the doors,
setting the boxes on the inside.
How did you know my name?
Name tags are beautiful
inventions, Damon. Take it easy.
Abigail smiles just before closing the doors and waving. As
Abigail walks away, Damon watches her until she disappears
before heading to his car.
Damon shows up with food, greeted by Abigail's smiling face.


Well, hey there, stranger. Did you
bring me dinner?
Damon smiles, handing her the food. She hugs him. Damon
begins to exit before Abigail grabs his hand.
Well, sir. You might as well just
ask me out. I can't make it any
easier for you than that.
Damon goes pale, unsure of what to say in the moment.
Damon is driving Abigail to the movies on their first date.
The rain is heavy, but the tension is light.
Oh, I see how it is. YOU get to
pick the movie? I thought this was
a democratic first date. I didn't
know we were starting this off
with an autocratic bang.
Well, that's what you get. This is
how things are going to be from
here on out.
Is that so?
Damon and Abigail look at each other for just a moment
before Abigail holds his hand. Damon tenses up, but the
anxiety passes quickly.
Both sit silently and watch television, flipping through
channels. Abigail is tucked under Damon's arm, falling
asleep. The television casts a blue hazy light against the
dark wall behind them.


They are both asleep in bed together, with Abigail pressed
up against Damon. A small lamp is on, showering the room
with a soft orange hue.
Abigail grabs a few of her bags out of the back of her trunk
as she starts moving in her belongings. Damon comes out,
grabbing more suitcases. As he passes her, he kisses her
cheek softly.
Are you sure this is what you
want? Because, as you already
know, I can be a handful. Are you
sure you can deal with this?
Gee, sweetheart. I don't know. I
guess as long as you keep the
frying pans to the face at a
minimum, this is going to be
adequate. You know, until
something better comes along.
Something better?! Oh, really?
Damon grabs her and tickles her, making her drop her bags as
she laughs uncontrollably.
Damon is mopping the floors, again listening to his Walkman.
As the slow elevator Muzak plays above, Damon breaks out
into a little dance before continuing his mopping. The
security guard enters in from the f.g., giving Damon a
strange look as he walks past.
Abigail is checking on the finances, and notices a few bills
unaccounted for. Damon is in the bedroom reading a novel
while listening to his Walkman.


Damon! I thought you said you paid
She notices Damon isn't listening and walks over to him,
taking his headphones off.
Hey! What?!
I thought you said you paid this.
How am I supposed to depend on you
if you can't pay a simple bill?
It's one bill, Abby. It'll get
paid. So I missed it. So what?
There's no late charges yet.
That's not the point, Damon.
That's not the point.
Abigail walks away angrily. Damon sighs as he watches her
and puts his headphones back on. He begins reading again.
Abigail shuffles through letters as Damon pulls into a
parking spot. He runs up to her and hugs her, kissing her
Hey there, babe. How was your day?
      (tossing letters
       in a trash can)
Eh, it was okay. This new guy we
have working stock is actually
pretty decent. For once, we have
someone who pays attention when
words leave my mouth.


Abigail's attention is squarely on Damon as she notices a
small hint of jealousy. She laughs softly and kisses his
Awww. Sweetheart. You're so cute.
No need to be jealous. I'm going
nowhere. Well, that is unless you
keep making me walk all the way
down here to check the mail.
Abigail climbs into her small red car and pulls out into the
highway. She turns on the radio and begins listening to an
AM talk radio station. The streets are littered with Monday
morning rush hour traffic. She begins to sip the coffee cup
she is nestling while crossing an intersection when a large
truck hits her car from the side, throwing her vehicle into
the oncoming lane. Other cars try to brake, but to no avail.
Her vehicle is hit two more times before resting on its
side. People are stumbling out of their cars as a small
flame grows in the engine of the now totaled truck. A broken
horn screams over all other sound.
Damon is sound asleep in his bed, curled up tightly in his
comforter. The large putty-colored telephone rings loudly on
the nightstand near his head, instantly waking him up. He
grabs the phone, never lifting his head from the pillow.
Yes? Hello?
Damon's face begins to become pale as the receiver slides
from his hand onto the floor. Tears form around the rims of
his eyelids as a muffled voice comes from the dropped phone.
Damon stands at the desk, awaiting a pen so he could sign
the necessary forms before heading to the back to identify
Abigail's body. A sense of anger and sadness is painted upon
his face with the apathetic clerk searches for a pen.


You'd think with all the paperwork
around here I'd have more writing
utensils. But alas...
Just. Just find it. Please.
The clerk senses Damon's emotional reaction, but it never
registers. He continues shuffling papers until he finally
finds a small black pen. Frustrated, Damon signs the dotted
lines and looks at the clerk. The clerk watches him as he
slowly puts the pen into a pencil holder. The clerk smiles
sarcastically and stands up.
She's right back here.
Damon stiffens, taking a deep breath and adjusting his shirt
before slowly taking a step towards the doors.
The sky is overcast as Damon quietly stands to the side of
Abigail's casket. A large amount of people are present. A
rabbi begins to read from the Torah as an elderly gentleman
consoles his wife. As a slow cold rain begins to fall, the
crowd begins to form a line near a pile of dirt and a
shovel. Each person grabs the shovel and places dirt into
the grave. As Damon nears the lowered casket, he bypasses
the shovel and uses his hands, cupping the dirt and placing
it gently into the grave. As the line fades away, families
begin to head back to their respective vehicles. Damon
stands near the grave, looking down solemnly at the casket.
The elderly gentleman walks up to Damon, shaking his hand
and smiling softly.
                       ELDERLY MAN/ABIGAIL'S FATHER
Ha-Makom yenahem etkhem b'tokh sha
ar aveilei Tzion vYerushalayim.
The elderly man shakes Damon's hands with two of his own. He
notices the man has the numbers 613476 tattooed on his
forearm. Damon can see the man is holding back tears, opting
to smile and return the gratitude. The elderly man walks
back to his wife.


Damon stands in the cold rain as two men come up to the
grave site. They acknowledge Damon but continue to shovel
dirt into the grave. Damon lingers for just a moment more
before walking around the cemetery. He studies the
gravestones with a strange intensity for some time before he
realizes he needs to get ready for work.
Damon grabs a few paper towels and begins drying off his
face and neck from all the rain. After rolling up his
sleeves, he begins to wash his hands slowly. He looks at
himself in the mirror as he dries his hands, taking a deep
breath before leaving for work.
Damon and the night manager are sitting silently for a
moment before either begins to speak. There is a heaviness
in the air, and the night manager knows he must tread
lightly for a while.
                       NIGHT MANAGER
Damon. You don't have to work if
you don't want to. I have no
problem calling Adam in. Maybe you
should take a few days off. It
would be paid of course...
I could care less about the money
right now.
                       NIGHT MANAGER
I know. I know. I didn't mean it
that way. I understand what you
are going through and if you need
time, take time. I don't want you
working if you aren't mentally
ready for it yet.
Damon took a moment to give the night manager a somewhat
stern look before speaking.
Well I suppose if you give me a
few days, this will all blow over.
I can be mentally ready for it
then. I just hope I can get over


                       DAMON (cont'd)
it as quickly as everyone else
seems to. As long as it's ideal
for everyone else. Convenient for
everyone else...
                       NIGHT MANAGER
Now, Damon. You know I didn't mean
it like that. I mean come on! What
do you want me to say? You show up
here like this, with all this
going on...what am I supposed to
Damon takes a deep breath and sits back into the chair. He
rubs his head for a moment before standing up. Unnerved, his
voice becomes hushed.
Just. I don't know. Let me do my
fucking job. That's all I want.
Just let me do the fucking job.
                       NIGHT MANAGER
All right, Damon. All right.
Without looking back, Damon exits the room, shuffling out
towards the janitor's closet. The night manager sighs
heavily and rubs his eyes.
Damon apathetically mops the floor, listening to his
Walkman. He seems to go over the same spot over and over.
The same security guard enters from the f.g. and notices
Damon's attitude and walks over to him. He snaps his fingers
in front of Damon's face.
                       SECURITY GUARD
Hey, kid. Come on. Wake up.
Damon, still in his trance, just nods and continues to mop.
Damon stands at his bathroom mirror, straightening his tie.
He is preparing himself to head to Abigail's parents' house.


He has yet to meet them formally, and is nervously fixing
his hair. After spraying some cologne, he grabs his coat and
exits, leaving his keys on the table. Another moment passes
before he busts back through the door, grabs the keys,
checks all his pockets and taking inventory of what he needs
and what he has, locks the door and exits.
The sky is awash with a grey tone as Damon pulls up in his
car. The street is lined with family members. A few are
heading to their respective cars to head back home. Damon
parks the car and looks at the house. It looks old and new
at the same time, leaving Damon feeling uneasy and unsure of
what to expect. He steps out of the car and locks the door.
There is a soft autumn wind blowing through the trees.
Straightening his tie nervously, he checks his hair in his
rear-view mirror. He takes another deep breath and begins
walking up to the house. He is met in the driveway by a
woman looking to be around Abigail's age. Her brown hair
covers up her tear-smudged make-up. She eyes Damon
                       BROWN-HAIRED WOMAN
      (wiping away tears)
So...we finally meet...
Her tone is neither sarcastic nor reassuring. Damon begins
to lose his feelings of anxiety as she shakes his hand
      (clears throat)
I'm sorry. Who are you, exactly?
I'm Dana Sampson. I was Abby's
friend through high school. I
hadn't heard from her much lately,
but the last time I did, she
mentioned you. It must have been
when you two first met.
Yeah...it must have been...


There is an awkward silence between the two; neither know
what kind phrase should be uttered to release them from
it.There is an awkward silence between the two; neither know
what kind phrase should be uttered to release them from
it.Without warning, however, Dana holds Damon, sobbing
softly into his shoulder. Damon is confused and shocked, yet
he just runs his hands through her hair for a moment. He
feels some strange connection to her. After another moment,
Dana lets go and begins to walk to her car. Damon watches
her as she drives away, then turns his attention back to the
house. As menacing and uneasy as it seemed before, it was
now less threatening. Damon slowly walks up the steps.
Before ringing the doorbell, he notices a small wind chime
hanging next to the porch light. The green glass dragonfly
sings as the wind passes through it. Damon watches it for a
minute, then rings the doorbell.
Damon is led in by DONNA, Abigail's mother. Damon notices
where Abigail got her good looks from; Donna is of medium
build and has beautiful blond hair. Her skin is soft and
pale, but looking quite young for a woman 46 years old.
Damon can sense a coldness from her, and it puts him off
Good afternoon, Mrs. Kaminski. I'm
Damon Betan-
I know who you are. Abigail had
mentioned you quite a bit these
past couple of months.
Damon stands for a moment, noticing all the family members
in the house. There are children playing quietly in the
corner while their parents are sitting around a table,
laughing. Pictures of Abigail litter desktops and walls. His
gaze bounces from pictures of her as a young child, playing
in parks. Birthday parties with cake on her face. The New
York City skyline is a common backdrop in most of them.
Damon's attention returns to Donna's face, which appears
cold and distant. She is staring at him for what seems like
forever. HENRY, Abigail's father, interrupts the coldness
with a warm burst of energy as he exits to kitchen. Damon
recognizes him as the elderly man from the cemetery.


You must be Damon. Nice to meet
you finally. Donna and I have
heard so much about you. Please.
Come have a seat.
Henry's inviting presence is a nice relief after such an
awkward introduction to the Kaminski house. Henry is portly
and his arms are thick with muscle. His handshake for Damon
proved that. Henry's hands were a carpenter's hands, still
littered with callouses, even at 65.
Damon noticed a good amount of the furniture had a homemade
feel to it. Damon sank into the comfortable couch as Henry
stood next to him.
You thirsty? I've got plenty to
I don't want to impose...
Now don't start talking like that.
Not a good foot to start on.
Damon saw the smile on Henry's face. Damon looks him in the
eyes for a moment as sees a calmness to him. Donna stands
behind Henry.
It's rude not to answer.
I'll have water, if that's all
right. I'm fine with that.
      (gently slaps
       Damon's back)
One water, coming right up!
Henry leads Donna back into the kitchen. Damon looks over at
the children and family members, who have ceased their
discussions. They are now looking at Damon. Damon waves
sheepishly and continues his glance around the house as he
waits for his water.


Donna gets a glass from the cabinet as Henry hugs her from
behind. He kisses her shoulder gently.
It's okay. I know. But there is no
reason to be upset about him right
now. This isn't about him.
Donna breaks herself from Henry and turns around, slamming
the glass on the counter. Tears begin welling up in her
No, Henry. It's not. It's not
about him. You're right. It's
about Abigail, the daughter we
didn't see for the last twelve
months of her life.
I'm not going to argue with you,
Donna. I'm not. I don't have the
energy or patience right now. This
isn't the time or the place. This
is Abigail's time. Not Donna's
Donna glares at Henry before getting the water. She fills
the glass and hands it to him and exits. Henry shakes his
head and walks back out to Damon.
Henry walks up to Damon and sits down next to him, handing
him the glass of water. Damon takes a few gulps before
looking at Henry, who is staring at the wall in front of
You understand, don't you?
Damon notices that Henry is looking at the baby picture of
Abigail on the wall. Damon looks back at Henry.
Yes, sir. I do.


Henry pats Damon on the knee before standing up and walking
towards the bedroom where Donna retreated. Damon waits for
Henry to exit before standing up. He walks over to the
children and sits on the floor next to them. There are three
little boys playing with cars and laughing. Damon watches
them for a moment while noticing their little black tuxedos.
He smiles at how cute it is. Suddenly, a little girl taps
him on the shoulder.
                       LITTLE GIRL
Hello...can you buckle my shoe?
Damon looks at her for a moment. The girl looks like she
jumped out of one of Abigail's younger pictures, blond hair
and all. Her dress is a soft black, and her shoes are the
cheap plastic dress-up shoes. She puts her foot on Damon's
knee for him to fix it. Damon smiles and buckles her shoe.
Before he could say a word, she is off and running again.
Damon's attention turns back to the boys, who still have not
noticed he is there at all.
It is nearing sunset. Damon yawns as Henry enters.
The family members are leaving, giving their condolences
once again before exiting. Henry scoops the children
together and kisses the them on the cheek while they hug his
legs. Donna is standing in the doorway to the kitchen,
nursing a glass of brandy. Henry shuts the door and turns to
What are you doing? Don't start
that now.
Donna turns and walks back into the kitchen. Henry sighs and
walks over to Damon. Damon stands up, fixing his shirt.
Henry shakes Damon's hand.
You seem like a good kid. I'm
sorry about Donna. It's all
this...everything...you seem like
a good kid.


Damon can feel the air in the room begin to sink. Henry
seems to be trailing off, staring through Damon. His glare
is distant.
Thank you. If there's anything I
can do...
Damon's words seem to snap Henry out of it. Henry's warm
smile again graces his face.
Help me take out the trash.
That'll be nice.
I can do that. How much is there?
A bit. I think I made a bag all by
They both smile and exit towards the kitchen as the polite
small talk continues.
Damon is sitting on the floor of his apartment. The air is
eerily stiff; the television is on, but it is on mute. Damon
is staring blankly at the screen. The sun sets, throwing
shadows through the curtains of the apartment windows.
Everything lingers for a moment, as if in total suspension,
before Damon takes a look at his watch. It's time for him to
work, but he doesn't move. Damon continues to stare into at
the muted television.
Damon awakes to the sound of his answering machine beeping.
He stands up slowly and walks apathetically over to it. He
presses the play button and walks over to the kitchen sink
to get some water.
                       ANSWERING MACHINE
Friday, December 8th. 10:15 p.m.


                       NIGHT MANAGER
Hey Damon. Just wondering where
you were. I'm not pissed. Just
give me a call. I've already
called in someone else tonight.
Just let me know what's going on.
If you need to-
Damon takes a sip of water before hitting the erase button.
The little tape rewinds quickly as the red blinking light
shuts off. He lays back down on the couch and drifts off to
Damon wakes up and wipes the drool off his face. He rubs his
eyes and looks out the window. Stretching his legs, he
checks his watch. The air is still fiercely stiff. Damon
looks around the apartment, across the pictures of him and
Abigail. He gets up and goes to the spare bedroom, grabbing
a few empty boxes from furniture the two had put together.
Damon walks back into the bedroom, yawning, and begins to go
through all the knick-knacks Abigail had brought home over
the last year. He looks at each of them for a moment before
placing them neatly into a box. After he has filled all the
boxes, he goes to the closet and pulls down a suitcase.
Damon begins to fill it with all her clothes and shoes. He
works at a steady, almost machine-like pace, never stopping
a moment for a break. After it is all over, he gathers his
things and begins taking the boxes and suitcases down to his
The sky is still dreary and grey, but the tall oaks
surrounding the Kaminski house seem warm and inviting. Damon
is standing at the end of the driveway with a suitcase in
one hand and a box in the other. He walks towards the front
door, pacing himself. He sets a suitcase down and rings the
doorbell, then quickly picks the suitcase back up. He can
hear muffled calls and heavy footsteps through the door. It
is Henry who greets him, again, with a calm smile.


Damon. Please, come in.
Damon steps inside slowly, accidentally hitting the suitcase
against the screen door. Henry takes the box from him,
allowing Damon to set the suitcase next to the couch he had
been sitting in the day before.
I thought...uh...I thought it
would be best if I brought her
stuff right away. I...I didn't
really know what else to do with
No, son. No it's fine. Have a
seat, if you'd like.
Well, sir, actually there was more
I'm sure. But please, take a
moment. Sit down. Would you like
something to drink?
Donna enters from the hallway as Damon takes a seat.
Instantly, Damon is anxious. Donna shoots him a quick glance
before passing through to the kitchen. Damon attempts a
hello, but it never registers. Henry turns back to him.
      (taken aback)
Uh...no. No sir. I'm fine.
Henry nods, patting him on the back and exits, following
Donna. Damon slides deeper into the couch, rubbing his hands
on his jeans. He looks around the house, which begins to
give him a sense of safety and solace. Damon takes a deep
breath, seemingly calming down. The air seems to be kinetic
and vibrant. Bookshelves, tables, and chairs all seem to be
in their right place, yet nothing is neat. It seems almost
cozy to Damon. His attention soon turns to the noise from
the kitchen.


Henry is leaning against the counter with his arms folded.
Donna is furiously whisking a bowl of egg-whites in
preparation of a cake. A cook book sits open next to Henry.
What's going on, Donna? What's the
What's the problem? What do you
think the problem is, Henry? That
boy has the nerve to come here,
unannounced, with all Abby's stuff
haphazardly crammed into cheap
boxes. And he expects
Henry nods, yet never unfolds his arms. He seems deep in
thought for a moment before speaking.
What, Henry? What philosophical
bullshit are you going to spit up
      (in a harsh
Don't. Do NOT start this.
Oh I'm sorry. Is this inconvenient
for you? Why don't we discuss this
when we're alone? Why must you put
on the face of an old wise man
every time a guest is near? What's
YOUR problem?
I'm not going to listen to this.
I'm not. This isn't the time.
Oh it never is, Henry. It never
is. Go ahead. Go back in there and
smoke a peace pipe with your new
son out there.


Hurt, Henry exits into the living room, where Damon sits
Let's take a walk.
Henry and Damon walk silently for a few moments. They pass
by neighbors' houses, staring at the lawns and the Christmas
decorations. Henry stops near the end of the street near a
stop sign and turns to Damon.
I know you don't know me that
well. We never did have a chance
to properly meet before
everything. That's why Donna is
the way acting the way she is.
It's hard for her to divide things
up in her life so that they make
sense, especially when it's all
jumbled up like it is now. Do you
Yes, sir. I think I do.
I want to - I'm going to invite
you over for dinner. Donna
probably won't be too happy about
it, but I'll take care of that.
Sound good to you?
Damon nods as they both begin to head back to the house. The
sun begins to set behind the trees as they come up on the
Kaminski house. Both are silent as they go back inside.
Damon sits quietly, looking at his plate. It is a beautiful
china with blue oriental patterns around the edges. He looks
across the table at a giant casserole dish, filled with
scalloped potatoes and tuna.


Henry sits next to him while Donna sits across from him. The
only light on is the light above the table, throwing an
orange-red hue across the room. All are silent while they
begin to take turns putting the scalloped potatoes on their
plate. Damon watches as Henry and Donna bow their heads.
Blessed are You, HaShem, our God,
King of the Universe,
who brings forth bread from the
With that, Henry takes a bite of his bread. They all begin
to eat silently, forks making small squeaks against the
dinnerware. Damon then notices the small six-digit number on
Henry's forearm. Henry notices him staring.
Before you ask, yes, it hurt.
613476. That was my number.
I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare.
No, it's okay. It's not something
you can hide easily. Makes for
great conversation.
Seriously, Henry. This isn't
Henry looks over to Donna. She glares at him, then back at
What are you doing, dear? What is
I just don't think it's
appropriate conversation
considering the circumstances.
Damon looks at his plate while Henry takes a sip of his
wine. He looks back at Donna, who is still glaring.
                                         (CONTINUED 2)


                       DONNA (CONT)
You're the one telling me that
this isn't the time. That isn't
the time.
Henry sits in silence for a moment, staring at the wall
across the room. Damon has stopped eating for a moment, his
fork midway to its trip to his mouth. Damon's eyes dart back
and forth between the couple. Donna notices this and faces
Maybe this dinner wasn't the best
No...it's okay. I und-
You understand what? What do you
understand? You're...what...25?
What do you understand?
Do not take that tone with him. He
did nothing to you.
Isn't that the damned point,
Henry? That this boy has managed
to keep our daughter so busy
during the last nine months, we
barely saw her. And now look where
we are.
Donna begins to sob gently. Her eyes never leave Damon's,
whose mouth is wide open. His eyes begin to fill up with
tears. Henry stands up, slamming his fist on the table.
That is enough! Knock it off! Not
at my table! Not in my house!
What is the hell is he supposed to
understand at twenty-five, Donna?
What did YOU know at twenty-five?
Don't you sit there in your ivory
tower either. Where are YOUR
numbers, Donna?
                                         (CONTINUED 3)


I can't help what happened! You
know that! I can't help what
connections my family had! You
don't think I don't feel guilty?
You think it's all your fault?
Damon watches as years of pent-up hostility pour out over
the table. His thoughts turn to Abigail; Damon's facial
expression becomes more detached and distant. Henry sits
back in his chair, but the arguing never slows. Damon is
snapped back into reality when he hears his name.
Damon! Look at me! What right did
you have?
What right? What are you talking
You know what I'm talking about.
What right did you have to keep
her away from us? The people who
raised her. The people who
provided and sacrificed. Made her
dinner. Woke her up every morning
and put on her backpack and shoes.
Brushed her frizzy blonde hair.
Made her laugh until she
cried...she was all I had.
Donna slumps into her chair, crying into her hands. Henry
stares at his wife for a moment as a tear runs down his
I don't know how to say...I never
intended for this to happen..I
wish I could have kept her safe
for you. But I couldn't. Everyday
I come home and there's nothing
where there used to be so much.
                                         (CONTINUED 4)


Henry and Donna are now both watching Damon. As he speaks,
Damon hands begin to shake. Tears begin streaming down his
face as he stares at his food.
                       DAMON (CONT)
I don't know how to get up anymore
without wanting to turn over and
kiss her...we talked about meeting
you, but I was so nervous. I don't
know why. I don't know why I never
came over for dinner before. I
never meant for this...it wasn't
supposed to happen. I know I
fucked up. I know I should have
done a better job. I'm sorry. I'm
so sorry.
Donna sits back in her chair and she stares at Damon. This
time, however, the stare is not a cold one, but one filled
with sorrow. Henry turns his attention to Damon, whose face
is covered by his hands.
It's okay. It's not your fault...
It's not your fault...
Henry becomes choked up as he watches two people who were so
in love with his daughter hurt this much.
Henry is washing the dishes from dinner. Donna has gone
upstairs to rest, her energy expended after the scene at
dinner. Damon enters from the living room, where he had been
sitting and thinking.
Hi...did you want any help?
Henry looks over to Damon and then back at the dishes. He
dips a plate into the sink before answering.


You could dry these for me. I
didn't realize how small our dish
drainer was. I never do these.
Henry smiles as Damon walks over, grabbing a dry dish towel
from the counter top. He begins drying a few forks and
spoons, setting them neatly in piles on the counter. He
looks around for a moment.
You can leave them in piles,
Damon. I'll help you put them up.
There is a long moment of silence before either speak. Damon
finishes a few more dishes and waits.
You're drying them faster than I
can wash them. That's a little
Yeah...look. I'm sorry if me being
here caused a problem between...
No. No. I think...I think things
needed to be said. And let me tell
you something. It really isn't
your fault. It's nobody's fault.
You don't need to be sorry that
you couldn't keep her safe. You do
the best you can. Believe me. I'm
her father. I know. You think
every day that she went off to
school that I didn't worry about
something awful happening to her?
I don't look it, but this hurts so
much. It really does. But you have
to let it go, or you become
consumed with it, like Donna had
for so many years.
Damon leans against the counter as he wipes his eyes with
his hand. Henry continues to put dishes into the water.
                                         (CONTINUED 2)


I just feel...helpless now...
      (washing a dish)
There's nothing to help, Damon.
Things happen.
      (taps the numbers
       on his forearm)
We all have our crosses to bear,
Damon. But don't do that to
yourself. Just know that, for now,
we're all in this together.
Damon gives a slight smile before grabbing a freshly washed
dish to dry. The two become silent, working together on the
large pile of dishes by the sink.
Damon drags the mop bucket down the long corridor of the
mall. He reaches the doors and begins to mop the dirty tile
floors. The Walkman is clipped to his janitor's belt. Damon
seems entranced, almost peaceful, by his current activities.
The night guard walks in from the f.g. Damon looks up and
gives a smile and a nod as the guard walks towards the b.g.
He continues to mop as the guard strolls by.
Damon wakes up and looks at his clock. Rubbing his eyes, he
looks over to the other side of the bed. Damon places his
hand on the sheet. After a moment, he gets dressed. After
washing his face, he looks in the mirror, as if to study
himself. Something is different, but he's not sure what. He
grabs his keys off the dresser. Here he notices a small
ceramic panda on the ground; one of Abigail's knick-knacks
he didn't see before. He studies it for a moment before
placing it in his jacket pocket. He exits, locking the door
behind him.
The sky is littered with small bunches of cumulonimbus
clouds, with the sun peeking from behind them from time to


A soft, cool wind is blowing through the trees, which are
nearly bare. Damon walks across the field of gravestones,
reading them as he passes by. He comes up to Abigail's and
sits down next to the grave. He sits there for a moment, his
eyes following the curves of the gravestone. He reaches into
his pocket and pulls out the ceramic panda.
Hey you. Look what I found...
Damon kisses the ceramic panda and places it in the grass in
front of the gravestone. He then runs his fingertips across
the engraved letters of her name. After another moment, he
stands up, wiping the grass from his legs. Damon places his
hand on the gravestone. He sighs and lets go, making his way
back to his car.
The sky has begun to slowly become shades of red, orange,
and purple as the day comes to an end. Dusk is upon him as
Damon makes his way up the steps of the Kaminski house. He
rings the doorbell. Donna opens the door and looks at Damon.
There is a moment of silence, and Damon begins to tense up
just a little, before Donna gives him a tender smile. She
then opens the screen door and steps to the side, ushering
him in.
Come on in. It's chilly out.
      (nodding politely)
Thank you, Mrs. Kaminski.
Damon. Come in. Sit down. How are
Henry walks up to Damon and shakes his hand, gesturing for
him to sit down. Donna shuts the screen door and looks out
at the trees and sky. She stares for a moment before closing
the front door.


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