In Too Deep
INT. LOCKER ROOM — NIGHT
We open on a mostly empty locker room. There are puddles and wet footprints covering most of the floor, and a half burnt-out LED ceiling light buzzes faintly. The only soul left in the room is SELMA, 29, with short wet hair and downturned lips. She sits on a bench in a quiet corner of the room and absentmindedly rings out a swimsuit onto the already soaked floor. As she does this, her face grows more pale and anxious.
[BEGIN FLASHBACK]
INT. POOL — NIGHT
Hands viciously hold someone’s head under water. We cannot see either of their faces. The sound of the muffled scream indicates that the victim is a woman, but the perpetuator remains mysterious. The victim’s hands frantically reach up from the water to blindly scratch at their attacker.
[END FLASHBACK]
INT. LOCKER ROOM — NIGHT
The sound of the locker room door slamming open jars Selma out of the memory. She halts, momentarily, waiting for the intruder to leave. Around the corner, FRANKIE, 18 and a bit petite for a swimmer, comes into view. She smiles sweetly at Selma, clearly naive to the fact that the other woman would rather be left alone.
FRANKIE
Hey!
Selma simply nods in reply, forcing her lips into a tight half-smile. Frankie haphazardly pats her wet hair with a towel and undresses, seemingly completely un- self conscious of Selma’s presence. Selma has now started packing up her belongings, suddenly very intent to leave. Frankie shortly follows suit. She sits on the other end of the bench, facing away from Selma.
FRANKIE
(a bit bashfully)
You know, I actually watched you compete a few times. Well, before I got onto the team, of course.
SELMA
Yeah?
FRANKIE
Yeah. You had one of the best backstrokes I’d ever seen! I think that’s what got me serious about swimming. And I never thought we’d be on the same team just a few years later.
Selma raises her head at this, quietly thinking for a moment.
SELMA
Yeah, well. Times change. You’re
not bad yourself.
Frankie beams, not being able to put the thanks for this little acknowledgement into words. She smiles in reply instead.
SELMA (cont’d)
What’s your time?
FRANKIE
(caught a bit off guard)
What?
SELMA
Your backstroke time. 100 meter.
FRANKIE
Oh! 1:18, just beat my record today.
SELMA
No kidding, mine’s 1:18.
FRANKIE
Yeah, I know. Coach told me. I never thought I’d get anywhere even close to yours, isn’t that crazy?
Selma doesn’t reply. They sit in an awkward silence for a moment as Frankie continues packing up her things. Eventually, Selma stands to leave. As she lifts her backpack over her shoulder, she winces in pain. She rubs at her shoulder blade and rolls the shoulder, while Frankie watches her with a mild concern. Selma notices her staring and rushes out of the locker room.
INT. HALLWAY — NIGHT
Selma slams the locker room door, turning the corner of the dark hallway of the rec. center before slowing to a halt. She stands in the middle of the hallway for a moment, breathless and deep in rapid thought.
[BEGIN FLASHBACK]
SERIES OF SHOTS
-
In a much larger pool, Selma backstrokes to thunderous applause and cheering.
-
Selma, dripping wet and still breathless, is awarded a gold medal.
-
At yet another pool, Selma is barely beaten to the finish line by another, much younger swimmer.
-
Selma, fully dry now, watches from the sidelines as the same swimmer comes out of the water.
-
The same flashback from earlier of hands shoving a head under water.
[END FLASHBACK]
INT. HALLWAY — NIGHT
Selma doubles over onto the floor, vomiting. She stays there for a moment, gasping for breath and sobbing. As she begins to regain composure, her labored breathing remains, and her initial anxious expression contorts into spiteful and malicious contempt.
INT. LOCKER ROOM — NIGHT
Frankie shuts her locker door with a slam. She packs her remaining items— a water bottle and pill bottle— into a green backpack and zips it shut. She pulls on a light jacket.
INT. POOL — NIGHT
Selma walks calmly over to the side of the pool, distressingly unemotive. She is carrying something, though it is obscured by shadow.
INTERCUT FRANKIE/SELMA
Frankie puts on a pair of earbuds, then checks her phone and turns on an upbeat pop song. She lifts her backpack onto one shoulder and starts to make her way out of the room.
Selma drops the mystery item, the sound of the fall and the following sound of a zipper opening confirming it is some sort of bag. She begins to dig through it, while we only see her expressionless face. The same pop song plays throughout.
Frankie continues walking through the maze of the locker room. She walks past a mirror, making her stop in her tracks.
Selma continues rummaging through the backpack, pulling out a protein bar, a t-shirt, and a pill bottle, discarding them on the floor. Finally, she pulls out a small, floral pattern wallet, examining it closely. We switch to Selma’s POV, seeing Frankie’s driver’s license on the front of the wallet, as well as her green backpack in the background. Selma’s hands are dripping wet.
Frankie walks out of the locker room and into the same dark hallway from before. She looks down at her phone, unaware of the sudden sound of sprinting feet, and Selma rushing at her with a medicine ball, lifting to strike. The upbeat music cuts off as we cut to black.
Selma takes Frankie’s ID from her wallet, examining it for a moment. She fingers loosely through the wallet’s cash, glazing over several wads of 20 dollar bills. She stuffs the ID in her jacket pocket and throws the wallet back into the backpack, leaving the money with it. As she throws it into the bag, she notices the edge of a colorful fabric. She pulls the object out, revealing a glistening gold medal— brand new. Selma stares at it for a moment, less in admiration and more in spite. She shoves the medal into her pocket as well. She stands, leaving the backpack behind, and casually walks out the back door of the pool. We linger in the room for a moment, as Frankie’s dead body, lingering in the water, floats into view. Her eyes and mouth are still open.
EXT. REC CENTER YARD — NIGHT
Selma walks out of the building into the open air. It is an unusually clear and calm night, with cicadas quietly chirping in the distance. She leans against the concrete wall of the building. She breathes in the air for a moment, as if slowly coming back down to earth, as if to forget the events of the past. After a moment of calm, she opens her eyes, pulling the stolen medal from her pocket. She gazes at it once more, contemplatively, before lifting her arm to throw the award into the forest. Instead, she pauses, uncertain. She lowers it to stare at it again, as though the medal will guide her, and defeatedly shoves it back into the pocket. She lingers for a moment, before walking to the front parking lot. As if it were a completely normal night, she climbs into a car and drives away.