FADE IN:

EXT. SAN GREGORIO VALLEY -- AFTERNOON

The valley stretches from the western foot of the Santa Cruz Mountains all the way to the coast. Cows and horses are grazing, but there are also crops planted. Highway 84 slices right through the middle.

Two young farm hands are working in the fields on a warm October day. JEFF JORDON is in the back of an old Ford pickup, unloading the last few bales of alfalfa. His brother JIMMY is stacking them.

A carload of friends speed by, HONKING and YELLING the two boys' names. Jimmy drops a bale and stares longingly down the road after them. Jeff hops down from the back of the pickup, SLAMS the tailgate, and leans back against it. He too stares after the carload of friends.

Jeff removes his straw cowboy hat and wipes the sweat from his brow.

Jimmy turns to face Jeff and stares defiantly at his brother.

Jeff laughs.

Jimmy turns his back on Jeff. He walks toward the road, kicking at the ground in frustration.

Jeff kicks at the ground as well.

As Jeff speaks those words, a strong breeze kicks up and the sky darkens. A high-pitched WHISTLE echoes through the valley. The two boys look up toward a darkening sky.

Above them, a swirling cloud of light and color quickly descends. It looks to be a rainbow gone mad: a red-orange-yellow-blue-green-purple, pulsating tornado whirling to earth.

It reaches Jeff first. It passes right through him but knocks him to the ground. Jeff shakes his head and wipes at his eyes. Then he looks up in horror. The tornado is heading straight for Jimmy.

Jimmy doesn't move or try to get away. His hair stands straight up. His face goes slack, eyes widening with terror. The glowing funnel-shaped cloud surrounds him, lifting him off his feet and high into the air.

Jeff scrambles to his feet. He runs after the pulsating tornado as it carries his brother higher into the air.

Jimmy spins wildly inside the colorful funnel cloud, arms and legs flailing futilely.

Jeff stops directly underneath it and watches as it transforms into a white-hot ball of light. The ball is so bright that he has to look away. When he looks back, it and Jimmy are gone.

Jeff falls to his knees. He covers his face with his hands and rocks back and forth like a lost child, sobbing.

The high-pitched WHISTLE returns.

Jeff is inexplicably surrounded by a transparent red bubble. He can't breathe. Panic-stricken, he struggles to his feet. He rushes forward and tries to break through the wall of the bubble, but an electrical shock jolts through him, throwing him back to the ground.

Dazed, he sits where he lands. The high-pitched WHISTLE is now deafening. He covers his ears with his hands.

With that said, Jeff explodes into a human fireball.

FADE OUT:

FADE IN:

INT. BEDROOM -- NIGHT

The room is dark. PHYLLIS BLESSING is in bed. She thrashes about under the covers, in the throes of a nightmare. She bolts upright.

Phyllis clutches a pillow to her breast. She buries her face in it to muffle her cries. When she is finally able to choke back the tears, she climbs out of bed and stumbles through the gloom to the adjoining bathroom.

IN THE BATHROOM

Phyllis switches on the light. She squints against the glare as she turns on the shower. She is soaked in her own sweat and struggles to get her damp nightgown up and over her head. Afterward, she catches her reflection in the mirror.

She is in her thirties. She is very pretty, with an athletic body. However, emotional strain has left her looking drawn and hard. Her hair hangs sweaty and limp, bangs matted against her forehead. Her eyes look sunken and bloodshot.

She grabs the sink with both hands. Her head hangs toward the sink basin. She sobs uncontrollably. After awhile, she looks back into the mirror.

EXT. SAN FRANCISCO POLICE HEADQUARTERS -- MORNING

Phyllis parks her 1969 Camaro out front. She gets out, wearing a sweatshirt, blue jeans, and running shoes. From the back seat, she retrieves a Mossberg pump shotgun and a 9mm Mauser pistol. She loads them into the trunk, next to two suitcases. Also in the trunk is a water pistol. Phyllis picks it up and handles it. Tears well in her eyes.

Phyllis wipes tears away and tosses the water pistol back inside the trunk. She SLAMS it shut and hurries inside.

INSIDE POLICE HEADQUARTERS

Phyllis marches through the squad room with what seems like renewed vigor. She stops at a door. A name plate on the door reads, CAPTAIN JAMES STOKER. She RAPS on the door but doesn't wait for a reply.

INSIDE THE CAPTAIN'S OFFICE

CAPTAIN STOKER looks up from his desk in surprise. He is a large man, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit.

He eyes Phyllis closer.

He then slumps back in his chair, as if he knows what's coming.

Phyllis takes out her SFPD-issued .45. She drops the clip into her hand and puts it on the desk. She shucks the extra round out of the chamber and places it and the pistol next to the clip. Seconds later, her shield and ID join those items on the desk.

Captain Stoker looks hard at her.

Phyllis squares her shoulders.

Captain Stoker stands. He towers over Phyllis.

Captain Stoker stops, visibly uncomfortable addressing her by first name. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

Phyllis puffs herself up, determined not to let Captain Stoker's size intimidate her.

Captain Stoker shakes his head and SLAMS his fist down hard on the desk-top.

He leans over his desk and looks hard at Phyllis.

Phyllis chokes back the lump in her throat and stifles the need to cry.

Captain Stoker takes a deep breath.

Captain Stoker slumps back into his chair, defeated.

Phyllis shakes her head as if unable to say more. She turns to leave but gets only as far as the door.

Captain Stoker stands, picking up Phyllis' badge and piece.

Phyllis walks out, leaving the door open behind her.

EXT. SANTA CRUZ MOUNTAINS -- AFTERNOON

Phyllis drives along a two-lane road that winds through the mountains. The sun is bright when she starts out. But as she ascends, the large, old oaks lining the road give way to a much thicker forest of redwoods and conifers that darken the road in shadows. Her mood darkens as well. She stares blankly ahead, jaw clenched with determination. Lost in thought.

MONTAGE FLASHBACK - PHYLLIS, JOHN, AND MAX

-- Phyllis and John are standing by their Christmas tree. Three-year-old Max runs into the room and begins ripping into his presents.

-- They walk along a path in a park, eating ice cream cones. Five-year-old Max starts to run. His ice cream flies off the cone and splatters onto the ground. Everyone laughs. John gives his ice cream cone to Max. He and Phyllis share hers.

-- They're outside their house. Seven-year-old Max is chasing Phyllis and John around the yard with his water pistol, squirting them as they run in circles, giggling and laughing.

-- Phyllis stands alongside a double grave site. Alone. One grave is very small, for a child.

BACK TO PRESENT SCENE

Suddenly, something darts from the trees. Phyllis slams on the brakes. The Camaro SKIDS then jolts to a stop.

A small, coyote, looking scraggly and undernourished, stands in the middle of the road, less than a yard away. It surveys the idling Camaro and the surrounding terrain with furtive yellow eyes. Then, with tail drooping, it skulks to the other side of the road and disappears into the forest.

The close call with the coyote suddenly releases pent up emotions. Phyllis gasps, as if she had died and just now came back to life.

She SLAMS her hand against the steering wheel.

She steps on the gas and continues her descent with new abandon, as if trying to outrun the bad memories. Soon she drops down into the San Gregorio Valley and rockets west, past an abandoned Ford pickup and through a tiny, dilapidated town. She SCREECHES to a stop where the road dead-ends into the coast highway.

Sitting at the intersection, she stares at a sign across the road. It reads SERENITY BAY and points north. Behind it are the sun-dappled waves of the Pacific Ocean. Her jaw is clenched. Her grip on the steering wheel is that of a woman panicked by the thought of letting go. Hot tears stream down her cheeks.

She punches the gas and turns sharply onto the coast highway, in the opposite direction of Serenity Bay.

EXT. CORNWELL RANCH STATE BEACH -- MOMENTS LATER

Phyllis turns into a small, unpaved parking area. The wooden sign at the entrance reads CORNWELL RANCH STATE PARK. She parks in the deserted parking lot, gets out, and begins a half-mile walk down a dirt road trail.

The trail slices through a working farm. An old house is on one side, surrounded by coastal scrub. Horses lazily graze. A crop of Brussels sprouts is on the other side. The trail leads to sea cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean.

After only a few steps, she stops abruptly. She shakes with a chill and looks over her shoulder, as if expecting an intruder. No one is there, but she hears RUSTLING in the scrub behind her. Startled, she quickly turns.

Two tiny yet chubby faces peek out at her from within the scrub and pampas grass. They are childlike and rosy, eyes large with innocent wonderment. But within that split second, they are gone.

Phyllis rubs at her eyes with both hands and looks again. Two brush rabbits dart out of the scrub. They scamper across the trail, right in front of her. She slowly lets out her held breath.

She smiles broadly with relief. She's alone but looks embarrassed as she watches the rabbits squeeze under the fence and scurry into the rows of Brussels sprouts.

She hears more STIRRING behind her, but this time she pays it no mind and resumes her walk.

Soon, she approaches a viewpoint overlooking the sea cliffs and descends a long, wooden stairway to the beach.

ON THE BEACH

She strolls lazily across the sand, staring out at the horizon and the plummeting sun. A tranquil look is on her face; she's beginning to relax.

But as the sun touches the horizon, Phyllis shudders with a chill and renewed dread. Her face goes slack and as cold as the Pacific. She looks over her shoulder with anticipated fear.

A man and a woman in their late fifties are slowly descending the stairway, holding hands, heads together as they talk, eyes only for each other.

Phyllis looks over her other shoulder. A dark figure stands on the cliffs high above her, not quite hidden in the darkening shadows. She rubs her eyes with both hands, as she did with the cherubs, but the figure is still there when she looks again.

Phyllis turns back toward the horizon. There is a flash of green from the setting sun. Seconds later she is standing in the gloom of dusk.

Suddenly, there is another green flash. This time it doesn't disappear but remains in the form of a green ball reflecting off the black waters of the Pacific Ocean.

Phyllis turns slowly around.

A green ball, semitransparent, with snakelike shapes inside that wriggle and flicker, floats down from the sea cliffs toward her. Phyllis watches it, frozen with fascination and fear.

The green ball stops right above her, hovering. There is a strange HISSING sound, like bacon frying in a pan. A sudden flash of light and heat causes her hair to stand on end.

Out of the corner of her eye, Phyllis catches a sparkle. It looks like a firefly on her shoulder. But it's not an insect. To her astonishment, it's a tiny male ELF, with paper-thin wings. The elf twinkles like a faraway star.

Phyllis looks confused but immediately obeys the elf. She turns and runs for the wooden stairway. The man and woman are already starting back up the stairs. Their backs are turned, oblivious of any danger.

They turn to look. When they see the green ball of light, their faces become masks of confused terror. They abruptly turn and begin climbing the stairs as quickly as they can.

Phyllis catches up to them and dares to look back as she climbs the stairs.

The green ball of light bounces up the stairs behind them. And it now appears larger. Brighter. More ominous.

ON THE TRAIL

Phyllis manages to get around the older couple, but she is unwilling to leave them behind. She slows her pace and keeps turning to check on them, urging them to go faster.

The woman suddenly trips then falls to her knees.

The man stops in his tracks.

He turns and runs back toward his wife. The green ball flies toward them in a mad rush. Before the man can help his wife to her feet, it surrounds them.

Phyllis stops. She watches in horror as the man joins his wife on the ground within the ball of light. They both are clutching at their throats as if choking, unable to breathe.

Phyllis rushes back toward the ball of light and rams into it, trying to free the captured couple. A bolt of green lightning flashes in front of her. A single, SHARP CRACK of thunder follows. She flies backward and hits the ground hard.

Phyllis lies on her back, unable to move. Her right hand suddenly begins to twitch uncontrollably. The twitching moves up her arm. Soon her whole body is twitching as if in a seizure. Her heart beat THROBS in her ears. As she struggles to breathe, her heartbeat -- although still loud -- slows to a deathly rhythm.