INT. THE VIDEO STUDIO - SAME
FLOOR DIRECTOR: What a harrowing ordeal. I admire your chutzpah.
JESSOP: Nobody cares what you admire. We're making a video record of Ms. Slaughter's culpability in the reanimation of her dead father and liability for his crimes.
FLOOR DIRECTOR: Then, for the record, I want to acknowledge she's been pretty darned cooperative under the circumstances.
LANE: Thank you....
FLOOR DIRECTOR: Russel.
LANE: Russel, thank you.
JESSOP: Do not fraternize with the witness!
FLOOR DIRECTOR: The bitch is all yours. (aside to Lane) They make me be mean. Nothing personal.
JESSOP: While you had lost track of your father, Ms. Slaughter, we have records showing his every move.
LANE: Doesn't that make YOU responsible for not stopping him?
JESSOP: The information came to us post facto - through close circuit cameras, security videos and other means. Are you curious?
Lane doesn't reply. Jessop turns Lane's wheelchair towards a viewing screen and the projected images of her father's activities.
JESSOP: Behold the horrors you began when you set your father free from the clutches of rigour mortis.
EXT. A DARK STREET - NIGHT - ESTABLISHING SHOT OF A 24-HOUR PHARMACY.
A WOMAN exits the pharmacy's front door carrying a shopping bag and purse. She wears a jogging suit and runners. A silk scarf is wrapped around her face but she appears to be in her thirties and athletic. She reaches the deserted sidewalk and stops. She looks around uneasily. No pedestrians, no traffic. She hangs a left and proceeds down a dark alley. Midway through the alley, NOISE FROM AN INDUSTRIAL FAN startles her. She composes herself and continues walking.
PHARMACY PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS
There is only one car in the lot, an SUV parked under a lamppost. She heads for it but then slows up. She catches a glimpse of a DARK FIGURE lurking near a dumpster. She starts walking again, quickening her pace. The heavy shopping bag weighs her down but she hurries to the car, fumbling in her purse for her keys. The keys appear in her hand, but she drops them just feet from her car.
On all fours, it's hard for her to see the keys against the black asphalt and the Woman gropes around, feeling for them. Her hand locks around the key fob. Suddenly, a black shoe steps on her hand, pinning it to the ground. She does not wince with pain but freezes.
The Woman looks up. A man hovers over her, a dark silhouette against the light on the lamppost. She stands up. They come face-to-face. His face is wrapped in a scarf too. Unlike her attractive eyes, his eyes are piercing and evil.
She drops her bags. He rips the scarf off of her face. She wears heavy make-up but she's pretty. The Woman gasps as he throws her up against her car.
CLOSE ON HER HAND. Her fingers wrap around a can of Mace. She quickly sprays it directly into his eyes. He doesn't react, doesn't flinch. She can't believe it. The man unwraps the scarf from around his face. She is face-to-face with Rushton.
He pries the can from her fingers. He raises the Mace and aims the nozzle at his open mouth. Rushton takes a razor knife from his coat pocket. He draws it quickly downward, cutting open her blouse. He rips open her top, then immediately steps back - a look of surprise on his waxy face.
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