“Where do you want to start?”

“How about the part where you’re alive.”

Laney reached for a pillow, dumped it in her lap, lay her hands on top of it. Her expression was hard to read, the traces of satiation mingling with something else, fear maybe, or regret. He flipped onto his back, put his arms behind his head, content to wait her out.

Finally, she began to speak.

5

EXT. DANIEL & LANEY’S MALIBU HOUSE—AFTERNOON

LANEY THAYER digs keys from her bag, unlocks a powder blue VOLKSWAGEN BEETLE. She slings the bag into the passenger seat, cranks the engine, and opens the security gate.

Her fingers open and close nervously on the steering wheel.

LANEY

It’s okay. He’s not here. It’s okay. She takes a deep breath and pulls out.

EXT. MALIBU STREETS—CONTINUOUS

Laney drives fast. Her eyes dart from mirror to mirror.

She turns without signaling. Pulls through parking lots, does a loop, comes out going the opposite way. Circles the block several times.

Eventually, she gets on the . . .

PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY—CONTINUOUS

Laney blows past hotels and surf shops, past Pepperdine, past the houses of the uber-rich perched on rocky cliffs.

Traffic is light and she’s making good time. Malibu is well behind, L.A. approaching. A light goes from yellow to red. She reluctantly brakes.

A car noses out of a canyon behind her. Sunlight off the windshield hides the driver’s features.

The car turns in her direction.

Laney bites her lip.

The car draws closer.

LANEY

(to the traffic signal)

Come on.

(glancing in the mirror)

Come on, come on . . .

The car comes closer. Closer still.

Laney is about to gun the Beetle through the light—and a stream of turning cars—when the car behind her rolls under a tree.

The shadow reveals the driver to be a middleaged woman with a bad haircut.

Laney laughs.

LANEY

Twitch much?

A horn sounds a quick beep-beep.

Slowly, she turns her head.

From the driver’s seat of the NISSAN XTERRA next to hers, BENNETT waves.

LANEY

No.

She jams on the gas.

Horns squeal as she tears across the intersection. She dodges between cars.

Laney risks a glance at the rearview. Her sudden acceleration caught Bennett off-guard, but the Xterra is following—and gaining.

LANEY

Shit.

Her fingers dig divots in the steering wheel.

Laney reaches for her bag with one hand, begins to rummage through it.

LANEY

Come on, come on.

She finds her cell phone. Glances in the mirror, pales to see Bennett right behind her. He wags a finger reproachfully.

LANEY

Screw you.

She flips open the phone. Her hands shake as she tries to dial.

Laney glances down at the phone, sees that she has punched in 8-1-1. She grimaces, clears the number, begins to dial again.

The Xterra honks twice.

Laney jerks her head up.

A large DELIVERY TRUCK is right in front of her.

LANEY

Shit!

She drops the phone, grabs the wheel with both hands, yanks to one side.

The front of her car barely clears the bumper of the delivery truck.

But now she is in the wrong lane, facing oncoming traffic.

She gasps, starts to turn back to her lane, realizes she’ll collide, and instead puts the accelerator to the floor. The Volkswagen is moving past the delivery truck, but slowly.

And in front of her, a battered OLD PICKUP is approaching fast. It holds down the horn. LANEY

I see you.

She continues racing forward, playing chicken at reckless speeds.

Bennett has followed her into the wrong lane. She is now hemmed in, death on all sides.

The pickup is incredibly close.

Laney grits her teeth, glances at the delivery truck beside her. Almost there.

The pickup brakes hard, rear tires smoking and slewing sideways.

At the last possible second, Laney throws the wheel to the right, shooting in front of the delivery truck.

Squealing tires and angry horns fill the afternoon air as the pickup loses control. Its rear end slides too far, and suddenly it is sideways in the road.

The delivery truck reacts, jerking aside to try to avoid the collision. Too late. The pickup broadsides the truck, and both spin out of control.

But Laney is past.

And better still, as the two trucks drift to a stop, she sees that they have blocked off the PCH.

Bennett’s Xterra is trapped behind them. Laney yells, laughs, punches the roof of the car.

But she’s going a hundred miles an hour on one of the most dangerous roads in America. And there’s a curve coming up, a ruthless twist with nothing but empty air and a long drop to the ocean below.

She brakes hard. The car jumps and swerves. She wrestles with the wheel to fight the fishtail.

Her car sideswipes the barrier rail. Metal screams and sparks fly.

The world spins as she loses control. Out the windshield: sky, tree, canyon wall, sky.

Laney fights back and manages to stop the spin. But the Beetle is now heading directly into the barrier.

LANEY

No!

She screams as she slams into the metal.

Her body is thrown against the seat belt. The air bag explodes.

The world is chaos and breaking glass and smoke. And then, suddenly, it’s over.

Laney groans. She reaches up with fumbling hands, touches her face. Her lip is split, and there’s a smear of blood on the air bag. But she’s alive.

Out the cracked windshield, she can see only sky and water. The Volkswagen’s engine coughs and shudders.

LANEY

Oh god.

She throws the vehicle into park, struggles with her seat belt, panic setting in. She gets it on her third try.

On the passenger seat, her bag has fallen open. Makeup, wallet, sunglasses, pepper spray spill across the seat.

As do five neat bundles of twenty-dollar bills.

Laney hesitates for a fraction of a second, then stuffs the money back in the bag, retrieves her cell phone and wallet, and leaps out.

Wobbly on her feet, she looks around. The VW has broken through the barrier. The front tires are inches from the cliff’s edge.

But she’s alive.

Laney looks behind her. The accident is out of sight around the curve and has temporarily blocked traffic from that direction. There are cars coming the other way, but they are far off. No one can help her.