HIGH LINE
"Follow the Water"
(Pilot)
Written by
Dane Hooks [email protected]
FADE IN:
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL - NIGHT
A dirt canal cuts through the land -- not straight, but
curving, patient.
Dry. No water. By design.
We drift slowly along the canal bed.
The soil is cracked and pale, holding the faint impression of
where water once argued its way through.
Towering Cottonwood trees line both sides -- ancient, thick-
trunked, their branches arching overhead like ribs.
Above the canal:
-- Backyards trimmed into obedience
-- Sprinklers clicking on in perfect, mechanical intervals
Water exists.
It just doesn’t come here anymore.
Genres:
["Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
2 -
Night of Terror
EXT. BACKYARD - NIGHT
A vast, manicured backyard stretches into darkness -- too
big, too quiet.
At the back door sits an AGED COCKER SPANIEL, cloudy-eyed,
ribs faintly visible beneath thinning fur.
The dog WHIMPERS -- a small, tired sound -- and scratches
once at the glass.
It settles back onto its haunches, ears twitching at
something it can’t see.
The night presses in.
The dog stiffens. Its tail tucks low. A low, uncertain WHINE
escapes its throat.
Behind the dog, at the far edge of the yard --
A SHADOW slips free from the darkness.
The dog slowly turns -- legs trembling.
The shadow grows taller. Wider.
A faint glint catches the porch light --
TWO RED EYES.
Unblinking. Assessing.
The dog lets out a soft, pleading CRY.
The shadow closes in, swallowing the dog’s small body in
darkness.
A LOW, PRIMAL SNARL ripples through the yard.
The shape lowers.
Muscle rolls beneath fur as the creature steps into the edge
of the light --
A MASSIVE MOUNTAIN LION, scarred and powerful, teeth bared,
breath slow and steady.
A heartbeat of stillness.
Then --
The mountain lion EXPLODES FORWARD, a blur of muscle and
teeth --
SMASH TO BLACK.
A short, wrenching SQUEAL cuts through the night.
Genres:
["Thriller","Horror"]
Ratings
Scene
3 -
Morning Routine
INT. KITCHEN - MORNING
Early light slips through half-open blinds, striping the
kitchen in pale gold.
The house is old. Lived-in.
MATT LOCKWOOD (40s) stands at the stove in a faded T-shirt,
barefoot, sleeves pushed up -- military tattoos worn soft by
time.
He cracks eggs into a pan.
SIZZLE.
Coffee BREWS.
Toast POPS.
This is a man who keeps things moving.
At the table, SEAN LOCKWOOD (13) slouches in a hoodie, hair
wild, eyes half-open.
Scrolling. Pretending not to be awake.
Slow, shuffling footsteps from the hall.
BRUCE LOCKWOOD (70s) appears in the doorway, flannel buttoned
wrong, pajama pants rumpled.
He stops -- unsure where he is.
Matt notices instantly.
MATT
Morning, Dad.
Bruce squints. Takes in the room.
BRUCE
...Morning.
A beat. He scans again.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
You cooking?
Matt smiles. Gentle.
MATT
Yeah.
Bruce nods. That helps.
Sean looks up.
SEAN
Good eggs or burnt ones?
MATT
Burnt builds character.
Sean smirks.
Bruce eases into a chair, hands resting on the table like
anchors.
He watches Matt cook.
BRUCE
Your mother used to make them like
that.
Matt doesn’t look at him.
MATT
I remember.
Silence. Full, not awkward.
Matt plates the eggs. Slides one to Bruce, one to Sean.
They eat.
Sean pokes at his eggs.
SEAN
We’re out of Cholula.
MATT
You’ll survive, Sean.
Bruce looks up suddenly. Studies Sean -- then recognition
flickers.
BRUCE
Right. Sean.
Relief crosses his face too quickly.
Bruce lifts his fork. His hand trembles.
A few quiet bites are taken, maintaining the subtlety of the
moment.
Then Bruce pauses.
Listens.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
You hear that?
Matt stops.
MATT
Hear what?
Bruce tilts his head, his eyes distant but focused.
BRUCE
The canal.
MATT
The canal is bone dry, Dad.
Sean takes another bite.
SEAN
These are actually good.
Matt exhales -- almost a laugh.
MATT
High praise.
Bruce eats. Smiles.
For a moment -- the house holds.
Matt gathers the plates, crosses to the sink.
As he turns on the faucet -- before the water hits the basin
--
A faint, hollow RUSH drifts in through the open window.
Not wind.
Something deeper.
Matt pauses.
Listens.
The sound is already gone.
He turns the faucet off.
Genres:
["Drama","Family"]
Ratings
Scene
4 -
Urgent Call
INT. COLORADO PARKS AND WILDLIFE - SATELLITE OFFICE - DAY
A small, utilitarian office.
Matt sits alone at a metal desk near a window that looks out
on scrubland and distant cottonwoods.
He glances at a corkboard on the wall --
Maps of the canal system. Handwritten notes. Red pushpins
clustered tighter than they should be.
Matt studies it.
The DESK PHONE RINGS.
Sharp. Startling.
Matt picks up.
MATT
Parks and Wildlife. Officer
Lockwood.
A pause. Static crackles softly on the line -- not random,
but patterned, almost rhythmic.
Then --
CAROLINE (V.O.)
Hello? Yes -- hi. I’m not sure
I’ve got the right number. I was
told to call Parks and Wildlife.
Matt straightens slightly.
MATT
You do. What seems to be the
problem, ma’am?
Another beat of silence.
Then -- a faint CLICK on the line.
Not from Caroline.
Not from Matt.
CAROLINE (V.O.)
It’s my dog, Betsy. She’s -- she’s
dead.
Matt closes his eyes.
MATT
Okay. Tell me what happened.
Her voice trembles now.
CAROLINE (V.O.)
This morning I found her in the
backyard. I let her out like I
always do and --
MATT
-- Was the gate open?
Caroline recalibrates.
CAROLINE
No. No, the gate was closed.
Matt is already standing now. Grabbing his jacket.
CAROLINE (CONT’D)
I didn’t hear anything. Must have
been coyotes --
MATT
-- Coyotes don’t leave silence.
Caroline’s breath tightens on the line.
CAROLINE
Officer... is this dangerous?
MATT
Stay inside. Lock your doors. I’ll
be there shortly.
He hangs up before she can thank him.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
5 -
A Disturbing Discovery
EXT. BACKYARD – DAY
A pristine backyard under clear Colorado sunlight.
Wind chimes CLICK softly, cheerful and out of place.
Matt steps through the open side gate and stops.
The grass near the back fence is disturbed -- not torn up.
Pressed flat. As if something heavy waited there.
CAROLINE VOLKER (80s) stands near the patio door, wrapped in
a cardigan despite the warmth.
She clutches a coffee mug with both hands like it might
shatter.
CAROLINE
Thank you for coming so quickly.
Matt nods, eyes never leaving the yard.
MATT
Where did you find her?
Caroline points.
Near the hedgerow -- where manicured lawn gives way to
something less controlled.
Matt approaches slowly. Deliberate. Each step measured.
The smell hits first.
Something coppery. Animal. Feral.
At the edge of the hedges lies what remains of the COCKER
SPANIEL.
Or rather -- parts of it.
Matt crouches.
The body hasn’t been dragged.
It’s been worked.
The ribcage is exposed -- cleanly.
Matt studies the ground around it.
This wasn’t hunger. It was a message.
His eyes move to the grass beyond the body...
TRACKS.
Large. Deliberate. MOUNTAIN LION.
Matt pulls a small ruler from his pocket and measures the
print without ceremony.
He exhales slowly.
He rises and walks the perimeter of the yard.
The canal corridor looms just past the property line -- dry,
overgrown, quiet.
Matt looks back at the yard. At the hedges. At the canal
beyond.
A long silence.
Somewhere far off -- a bird SCREECHES and takes flight.
Matt straightens, resolve settling in.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
6 -
Tracks in the Dust
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL - DAY
The dry canal -- a scar cutting through the landscape.
On either side -- backyards give way to brush, cottonwoods,
and scrub. Civilization thins out by the footstep.
Matt climbs down into the canal bed -- moves forward slowly,
scanning the ground...
Near the base of the canal wall --
TRACKS.
The pads are clearly defined, pressed deep despite the dry
surface.
The animal carried weight. Confidence.
Matt crouches -- studies them, then rubs his shoulder.
Matt follows the tracks.
Ten feet ahead --
Another set of impressions intersects them.
BOOT PRINTS.
Human.
Heavy tread. Work boots. Deep heel marks.
Matt crouches beside a set of deep tracks -- lion and
bootprints, side by side.
He studies them, jaw tight. The silence presses in.
A faint gust stirs the air.
Dust lifts -- briefly swirling across the dry canal bed.
Matt straightens and looks down the canal corridor.
Man and predator moving in the same direction.
Then continues.
He spots something near the canal wall -- a faint glint half-
buried in dust and weeds.
He kneels.
Carefully brushes away grit --
A gold earring, bent, the clasp torn loose.
Matt holds it between his fingers.
Expensive. Tasteful.
He scans the area.
No signs of struggle.
He slips it into his pocket -- looks back down at the ground.
The mountain lion tracks continue.
So do the boot prints.
They disappear together around a bend in the canal where
brush thickens -- shadows deepen.
His gaze drifts --
The world SHIFTS.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
7 -
A Day of Adventure
EXT. MITCHELL HOUSE - DAY (FLASHBACK)
A modest, sun-warmed house.
Rose-yellow brick. Red asphalt shingles.
The canal churns through backyards thick with brush and tall
grass -- nature still winning.
The ROCKY MOUNTAINS loom -- closer. Wilder. Untouched.
YOUNG MATT (13) bursts out the back door, unstoppable energy.
ARTIE, a young German Shepherd, barrels after him.
On the patio:
CLARA MITCHELL (30s), hands deep in dirt, waters lilacs.
BRUCE, younger, solid -- a man who believes the world behaves
if you respect it.
MATT
I’m taking Artie for a run on the
canal.
CLARA
Alright. Just be careful.
Bruce looks up from his book. Hesitates.
Matt is already backing away, grinning.
MATT
I know, I know. I’ll be careful. I
promise.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
8 -
A Fight for Survival
EXT. CANAL TRAIL - DAY
A dirt track hugs the rushing water.
Matt and Artie jog past a red barn.
Past acres of scraped land.
Matt slows, catching his breath.
Artie suddenly pulls hard.
EXT. WILDERNESS - CONTINUOUS
Artie drags Matt off the trail.
MATT
Artie!
Too late.
Artie stops.
Sniffs.
The world goes DEAD QUIET.
Matt feels it before he sees it.
Behind him --
A MASSIVE MOUNTAIN LION steps from the brush.
Ten feet back.
Its body of muscle and tawny fur fills the space like
something summoned.
The animal’s RED EYES lock onto Matt.
Artie trembles, then BARKS.
The lion DROPS LOW.
Muscle coils. Rear legs pumping.
A guttural SNARL tears through the silence.
Then --
The lion HITS.
Matt goes down hard, the air ripped from his lungs.
Claws. Teeth. Weight.
Matt struggles beneath it -- hands shaking, vision blurring.
The lion swipes --
A claw TEARS INTO MATT’S SHOULDER.
Artie lunges, teeth grazing the lion’s haunch.
The lion turns on him.
MATT (CONT’D)
Artie!
Artie circles -- low, desperate --
Then LEAPS, jaws clamping onto the lion’s foot.
The lion ROARS.
Matt scrambles up --
The lion stumbles back.
Matt and Artie RUN.
EXT. CANAL TRAIL – DAY
They burst onto the trail.
Matt stumbles.
Falls.
The world spins.
Blood pools beneath him.
Artie barks -- frantic, protective -- standing over Matt.
END FLASHBACK
EXT. CANAL - DAY (BACK TO PRESENT)
Matt snaps back.
He’s breathing hard.
The canal is dry again.
Silent.
Matt touches the scar on his shoulder.
Stands there for a long moment.
Then turns and heads back the way he came.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
9 -
Urgent Evidence
INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT - BULLPEN - DAY
Glass walls. Framed commendations. A coffee machine hums.
OFFICER KATE LEMON (30s) stands at a whiteboard, mid-
conversation with a UNIFORMED OFFICER, jotting notes with
practiced efficiency.
She’s sharp. Grounded. A cop who believes in order because
chaos takes too much energy.
Matt appears at the edge of the bullpen.
Kate clocks him immediately.
OFFICER LEMON
(to officer)
Hold that thought.
She caps the marker and turns.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
You look like you crawled out of a
ditch.
MATT
Close.
Kate gestures him toward her desk. They sit.
OFFICER LEMON
That dent in your passenger door
still there?
MATT
It’s not a dent. It’s a reminder.
OFFICER LEMON
You’re welcome.
Matt doesn’t waste time.
MATT
I just came from a wildlife call.
Backyard off Devonshire.
Kate leans back, folds her arms.
OFFICER LEMON
Before you say anything -- if this
is about coyotes --
MATT
-- It’s not.
OFFICER LEMON
Okay. Then talk.
Matt reaches into his pocket. Sets down a small, bent gold
earring between them.
Officer Lemon looks at it. Doesn’t touch it yet.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
What am I looking at?
MATT
Found it in the canal corridor next
to mountain lion tracks. Same
stretch of the last two burglaries
reported.
Officer Lemon finally picks it up. Turns it over.
Professional curiosity sharpens.
OFFICER LEMON
You’re saying a mountain lion is
robbing houses?
Matt doesn’t smile.
MATT
I’m saying it wasn’t alone. Lion
prints. Human boot prints. Same
direction.
Officer Lemon studies him now.
OFFICER LEMON
Boot prints?
MATT
Fresh. When was the last robbery?
Officer Lemon sets the earring down slowly.
OFFICER LEMON
Two days ago.
Matt presses.
MATT
We need to shut down the canal
trail.
Kate exhales -- not annoyed, but weary.
OFFICER LEMON
Matt, that trail is used by half
the town. Runners. Kids. Commuters.
You can’t shut it down on a hunch.
MATT
This isn’t a hunch. Someone’s going
to get hurt.
Kate nods once.
OFFICER LEMON
That may already be true. But right
now, I don’t have a crime scene I
can sell upstairs.
Matt leans forward.
MATT
You will.
Officer Lemon holds his gaze.
OFFICER LEMON
Even if I agreed with you -- which
I don’t -- that call isn’t mine.
(beat)
If you want that trail closed,
you’ll need sign-off from the
Mayor.
Matt nods once. Expected.
MATT
Where can I find him?
Officer Lemon stands, already grabbing her jacket.
OFFICER LEMON
Smiling for cameras.
She heads toward the exit. Matt follows.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Ribbon-cutting ceremony. New
library on Maple.
They stop at the door.
Officer Lemon turns back to Matt.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Just so we’re clear -- if you walk
into that event talking about
predators and shut-downs, he’s
going to hear panic, not
prevention.
Matt nods.
MATT
I’m used to that.
Officer Lemon studies him a moment longer.
OFFICER LEMON
I’ll run that earring through our
stolen property database -- see
what comes back.
MATT
That’s a long road.
OFFICER LEMON
So is being wrong.
(beat)
I’ve stood on the wrong side of
“wait and see.” I don’t plan on
doing it again.
Matt nods once. Not gratitude -- respect.
He turns and exits.
Officer Lemon watches him go -- jaw tight.
Genres:
["Crime","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
10 -
Ribbon-Cutting Tensions
EXT. LIBRARY - DAY
Blue sky. Clean air. A brand-new brick-and-glass library
gleams in the sun like a monument to good intentions.
A yellow ribbon stretches across the front steps.
A small CROWD gathers -- donors, city council members,
developers, local press. Smiling faces. Polite applause.
At the center of it all:
MAYOR REYNOLDS (50s) -- silver-haired, immaculately dressed,
every inch a man who believes progress is fragile and must be
protected.
A PODIUM. MICROPHONES.
Matt stands at the edge of the crowd, eyes scanning.
He spots the mayor immediately.
And the mayor spots him.
A flicker of recognition. A pause. Then the mayor smiles --
the kind that doesn’t invite conversation, only postpones it.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
(over mic)
-- another proud moment for Cherry
Hills. A place where our children
can learn, grow, and feel safe.
Polite applause.
Matt steps forward as the mayor finishes.
The mayor steps away from the podium, scissors in hand,
photographers closing in.
Matt intercepts him seconds before the ribbon is cut.
MATT
Mayor Reynolds.
The mayor turns -- already annoyed, already calculating.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Officer Mitchell. This isn’t
exactly the setting for --
MATT
We need to close the High Line
Canal.
The words land wrong. Too blunt. Too soon.
The mayor’s smile freezes -- then resets.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Today is about celebration.
He gestures toward the ribbon, the cameras.
MAYOR REYNOLDS (CONT’D)
Not fear.
Matt lowers his voice.
MATT
I’ve got confirmed mountain lion
activity inside residential yards.
Not sightings. Kills.
The mayor’s eyes flick -- not to Matt, but to the nearby
REPORTERS.
Then --
The Mayor’s gaze shifts.
Past Matt, near the steps, stands GLOVER THOMPSON (50s).
Immaculate. Relaxed.
He watches the Mayor. His eyes don’t flicker. Don’t blink.
Not curious -- evaluative.
The Mayor clocks it. His shoulders stiffen. His smile
tightens by a fraction.
He steps closer. Lowers his voice.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
We manage these things.
MATT
Manage how?
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Cherry Hills backs up to open land.
That’s part of the appeal.
(beat)
Encounters happen. We don’t amplify
them.
MATT
People could get hurt.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Tell me, Matt -- how many mountain
lion fatalities has this county had
over the last twenty years?
MATT
None.
The mayor holds Matt’s gaze -- pleasant, immovable.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
And yet people keep moving here.
The MAYOR’S AIDE clears his throat nearby.
MAYOR’S AIDE
Sir, we’re ready.
The mayor nods -- then looks back at Matt.
MAYOR REYNOLDS
Route it through animal control.
(beat)
And keep it off the incident log
until there’s a body.
A flicker -- the smile tightens -- enough to show it’s
chosen.
CAMERAS CLICK.
The mayor turns, all charm again.
MAYOR REYNOLDS (CONT’D)
Let’s give the people what they
came for.
He raises the scissors.
Matt steps back as the ribbon is CUT.
Applause ERUPTS.
Flashbulbs POP.
The ribbon falls to the ground -- bright, severed.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
11 -
Tensions in the Kitchen
INT. MITCHELL HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT
Matt enters with a pizza box, cardboard bowed from heat.
He sets it on the old kitchen table.
Sean is already there, hoodie cinched tight, restless.
Bruce lowers himself into a chair opposite Sean -- careful,
deliberate, like gravity can’t be trusted.
Matt opens the box.
Pepperoni. Steam rises.
He hands Bruce a slice.
Bruce takes it with both hands.
BRUCE
Smells right.
Matt sits.
MATT
Simple felt safer.
Bruce nods.
Sean grabs two slices.
SEAN
You’re late.
MATT
Traffic.
They eat.
Bruce chews slowly, eyes drifting to the dark kitchen window -
- the backyard swallowed in shadow.
SEAN
So what’d the mayor say?
Matt takes a bite. Thinks.
MATT
He said no.
SEAN
Figures.
MATT
Doesn’t want to panic people.
Bruce frowns, still watching the yard.
BRUCE
People should panic sometimes.
Matt looks at him.
MATT
Yeah?
BRUCE
Keeps you from pretending you’re
safe.
A beat.
SEAN
So can I ride the canal tomorrow or
not?
Matt sets his slice down.
MATT
No.
Immediate.
SEAN
Dad --
MATT
No.
SEAN
Everyone rides it. It’s the fastest
way to Kevin’s.
MATT
Everyone isn’t you.
Sean pushes back, chair scraping.
SEAN
You don’t get to just --
MATT
-- Keep you alive. That part’s
mine.
Sean falters.
SEAN
You don’t trust me.
Matt exhales.
MATT
I don’t trust what’s moving through
there.
Bruce sets his pizza down.
He looks at Matt -- clear, intent.
BRUCE
Something learned the water.
Silence.
SEAN
What does that mean?
Bruce blinks. The certainty slips.
BRUCE
I... I don’t know.
He rubs his temples.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
I keep losing pieces.
Matt reaches across, steadies his hand.
MATT
Breathe.
Bruce does -- but his eyes stay sharp.
Matt closes the pizza box.
MATT (CONT’D)
Sean. Homework.
Sean hesitates, then heads down the hall.
Matt and Bruce remain.
Genres:
["Drama","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
12 -
Morning Reflections
INT. KITCHEN - MORNING
Early light filters through the blinds, pale and brittle.
Matt stands at the sink, half-awake.
He turns the faucet.
Water pours into a glass.
He stops it halfway.
Watches the water settle. Still. Clear.
He looks out the window.
The backyard lies quiet.
Beyond it -- the canal.
Matt turns back to the sink.
Opens the faucet again.
The water climbs -- higher, higher -- until the glass is
full, trembling at the edge of overflow.
He shuts it off.
Matt sets the glass down carefully.
A beat.
He picks up the newspaper from the counter and carries it to
the table.
As he sits, Sean shuffles in, hair a mess, still wearing
yesterday’s hoodie.
Sean grabs a bowl, pours cereal. Too much.
Milk follows -- flooding the bowl until it laps over the rim
and spills onto the counter.
Sean barely notices.
MATT
Morning.
SEAN
Hey.
Sean wipes the milk with his sleeve, brings the bowl to the
table, and starts eating.
Crunch. Slurp.
Matt’s eyes drift back to the window.
To the canal.
Then looks down at his full glass of water.
At the untouched cereal milk spreading across the table.
Then -- realization clicks.
Not sudden.
Not loud.
Cold.
MATT
(low, to himself)
They go where the water doesn’t.
Sean looks up now.
SEAN
What?
Matt doesn’t answer.
His gaze locks onto the dry canal outside.
A place where nothing flows.
Matt stands.
The chair legs scrape sharply against the floor.
SEAN (CONT’D)
Dad?
Matt grabs his jacket from the back of the chair.
The glass of water trembles -- then finally spills, a thin
stream sliding across the table and dripping onto the floor.
Matt doesn’t notice.
He’s already moving.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Family"]
Ratings
Scene
13 -
Silent Terror on the Trail
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL TRAIL - DAY
The ROCKY MOUNTAIN RANGE looms in the distance -- jagged,
indifferent.
Closer in --
The High Line Canal runs parallel to the trail.
It cuts through the land -- not straight, but curving,
patient.
Towering Cottonwood trees line both sides -- ancient, thick-
trunked, their branches arching overhead like ribs.
CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.
FOOTSTEPS -- steady, rhythmic.
A YOUNG WOMAN (20s), athletic, jogs alone along the
recreation trail.
Earbuds in. Hood up. Focused.
She runs deeper.
The cottonwoods lean in tighter.
THROUGH THE TREES
A faint RUSTLE.
Behind a veil of mist and shadow --
Something large shifts position.
Purposeful.
BACK TO JOGGER
She slows slightly. Shoulders tense.
The trees around her exhale -- a soft, collective rustle,
like lungs filling.
She quickens her pace.
THROUGH THE TREES
Her movement fractures through the trunks -- flashes of
color, motion, breath.
The canal below mirrors her path perfectly.
A parallel line.
Unseen.
A LOW GROWL vibrates the air.
Deep. Resonant. Felt more than heard.
BACK TO JOGGER
She stops.
Pulls out one earbud.
Silence.
Her jaw tightens. Eyes scan.
Pulls out the second earbud --
The world rushes back in.
Wind in leaves.
A distant birdcall.
Her breathing.
Then --
Nothing.
She exhales. Laughs softly. Shaky.
Turns to go --
SNAP.
A branch behind her jerks violently, recoiling from pressure.
She spins.
Sound DROPS AWAY.
The canal, the trees, the trail -- all holding their breath.
She takes a step back.
WHAM!
A MASSIVE SHAPE erupts from the cottonwoods in a blur of
CLAWS AND FANGS.
The impact is violent, surgical -- like a wave hitting the
shore.
She slams to the ground.
A scream rips out of her -- cut short as she’s dragged
sideways, down, off the trail.
Into shadow.
Into the canal corridor.
Then --
Silence.
Stillness.
The trail lies empty.
A single RUNNING SHOE, blood-slick and twisted, rests at the
edge of the path.
Laces still tied.
Genres:
["Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
14 -
Reflections on Water
INT. DENVER WATER COMPANY - DAY
A Romanesque rotunda, all pale stone and civic pride.
At its center: a fountain -- water spilling endlessly,
indifferent to scarcity.
Matt stands beside it, still, watching the water cycle back
into itself.
Above him, carved into the ceiling:
“AND MEN SHALL FASHION GLACIERS INTO GREENNESS AND HARVEST
APRIL RIVERS IN THE AUTUMN.”
Matt squints at the words.
A YOUNG ASSISTANT (20s), polished and pleasant, approaches.
ASSISTANT
Good morning, Officer Lockwood. Mr.
Dent can see you now.
Matt gives the fountain one last look -- the excess -- then
follows.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
15 -
Tension in the Office
INT. OFFICE - DAY
The Rocky Mountains sit perfectly framed in the windows --
Less like nature, more like branding.
WALTER DENT (50s) -- silver-haired, composed, expensive in a
way that never announces itself -- sits behind an immaculate
desk.
Nothing personal.
Nothing unnecessary.
Across from him, Matt sits rigid. Still. Like a man holding
pressure in his chest.
Walter smiles -- not warm, not cold.
Professional.
WALTER
How can I help you, Officer?
Matt doesn’t smile back.
MATT
I’m looking into animal activity
along the High Line Canal. I’m
trying to understand why it’s dry.
Walter studies him -- already measuring how much truth is
worth spending.
WALTER
Of course.
He stands. Moves to a sleek water dispenser.
The sound of water filling a glass is loud in the quiet
office.
He fills it all the way to the rim.
Doesn’t spill a drop.
WALTER (CONT’D)
Empty is cheaper.
He takes a long, deliberate drink.
Matt watches the water go down.
Walter sets the glass down.
Matt leans forward.
Not aggressive.
Intent.
MATT
No water. No witnesses.
Walter listens. Gives nothing.
Walter folds his hands.
The smile thins -- barely.
Then --
BUZZ.
His phone vibrates on the desk.
Matt checks it.
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.)
Matt... we’ve got a situation.
Matt straightens.
MATT
Where?
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.)
Jogger went missing off the canal
trail near Dayton. Looks like a
mountain lion attack.
(MORE)
OFFICER LEMON (V.O.) (CONT'D)
(beat)
But we haven’t found the body.
Matt stands.
MATT
I’m on my way.
He ends the call.
Walter watches him now -- interested.
WALTER
Everything alright?
Matt heads for the door.
MATT
Someone just vanished on the High
Line rec trail.
Walter doesn’t stand.
WALTER
I’m sorry to hear that.
Matt stops.
Turns back.
MATT
Water doesn’t just fill space.
(beat)
It changes behavior.
Walter says nothing.
Matt exits.
Walter remains alone in the glass office.
The mountains loom beyond the windows -- silent, patient.
On the desk --
The untouched glass of water sweats, spilling slowly across
the immaculate surface.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
16 -
Tension in the Parking Lot
EXT. DENVER WATER - PARKING LOT - DAY
The Denver Water Building rises in glass and steel -- clean,
reflective, impenetrable.
Matt exits through the front doors, phone clenched in his
hand. Jaw set.
He crosses the lot toward his CPW truck -- out of place among
the luxury sedans.
As Matt walks --
ACROSS THE PARKING LOT
To the far edge, where a BLACK MERCEDES idles in the shade of
the building.
Engine off.
Window down.
Unmoving.
Inside -- Glover Thompson.
Still. Composed. Waiting.
This isn’t surveillance.
This is ownership.
Matt reaches his truck. Unlocks it. Pauses.
He glances back at the building -- a flicker of unease.
Glover’s eyes lift.
Not startled.
Not reactive.
As if he already knew Matt would look back.
Matt climbs into his truck. Door shuts. Engine turns over.
The CPW truck pulls out of the lot and onto the road.
Glover watches it go -- then casually drapes an arm over the
Mercedes door.
His eyes stay on the road long after Matt disappears --
Like a man watching a current carry something exactly where
he wants it to go.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
17 -
Tracks of Suspicion
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL TRAIL - DAY
Blue sky. Clean light.
A day meant for joggers.
There are none.
Police tape flutters between cottonwoods -- obscene against
the calm.
A few squad cars sit off the trail. Engines cold. Lights
dark.
Matt’s truck rolls up.
He steps out.
Doesn’t rush.
He ducks under the tape.
Ahead, Officer Lemon stands with two UNIFORMS.
No one speaks.
Matt follows their gaze.
The trail bends -- where the canal slips into brush and
shadow.
Matt walks.
Stops.
At the trail’s edge --
A RUNNING SHOE.
Blood-darkened. Twisted wrong.
Matt crouches.
No drag marks.
Looks down into the canal.
Dry. Cracked.
TRACKS at the base --
Mountain lion.
Large. Clean.
They parallel the trail... then angle inward.
Halfway down the canal --
BOOT PRINTS intersect with the TRACKS -- perfectly parallel.
Officer Lemon approaches with two UNIFORMS.
A UNIFORMED OFFICER raises a hand.
UNIFORM
We’ve got forensics on the way. No
photos yet.
Matt nods. Straightens.
The uniforms move off, conferring quietly.
Matt waits.
Just long enough.
He crouches again.
Pulls his phone.
Frames the shot -- the lion tracks, the boot prints --
Click.
One photo.
Matt slips the phone back into his pocket as Officer Lemon
returns.
OFFICER LEMON
See anything?
Matt holds her gaze.
A beat.
MATT
Not yet.
They stand there.
The canal silent beneath them.
Matt climbs down.
The canal curves ahead -- blind.
Perfect cover.
Matt stands alone in the trench.
He looks back.
Officer Lemon watches -- pale, waiting.
Matt climbs out.
Meets her eyes.
He moves past her, farther down the trail.
The uniforms exchange looks.
Matt stops again.
There -- where canal meets neighborhood --
A SMEAR OF BLOOD.
Pressed into dirt.
Placed.
Matt studies the ground. Then looks up -- unsettled.
He turns back to Lemon.
Their eyes lock.
OFFICER LEMON
No body. And they’re already asking
who leaked it.
Matt looks down the canal -- then moves on.
Genres:
["Mystery","Crime","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
18 -
The Discovery
EXT. CANAL CORRIDOR - BRUSH LINE - CONTINUOUS
The canal tightens.
Matt moves along the edge.
Lemon follows a few steps back.
The air feels heavier.
Matt stops. Kneels.
Flattened grass.
Pressed, not torn.
A scrape in the dirt.
Dragged.
Matt follows it.
Ten feet ahead -- half-hidden --
A HUMAN HAND.
Palm-up. Still.
Officer Lemon freezes.
The uniforms stop.
Matt approaches.
The JOGGER lies tucked into the brush.
Intact.
Chest collapsed inward.
Neck broken clean.
Efficient.
Matt crouches.
Studies.
Lemon steps closer -- stops.
OFFICER LEMON
Oh my God...
Matt’s eyes drop to the ground.
Tracks again.
They point one way.
Matt stands.
Follows them with his eyes.
Away from houses.
Toward open land.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Where are they coming from?
Matt studies the horizon -- scrubland thinning into something
older.
She waits.
OFFICER LEMON (CONT’D)
Matt.
He lowers his hand.
MATT
Best guess, the Rocky Mountain
Arsenal Wildlife Refuge.
He looks back at the tracks.
A beat.
OFFICER LEMON
Why now?
Matt looks at the dry canal.
MATT
Water teaches movement. So does its
absence.
He looks back at the jogger.
Wind moves through tall grass.
The tracks continue onward.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Crime"]
Ratings
Scene
19 -
Common Ground
INT. ROCKY MOUNTAIN ARSENAL - FIELD OFFICE - DAY
A modest office dressed up to feel official.
Government-issue furniture. Fluorescent hum. No windows.
RUSS MCCARTHY (50s) sits behind his desk -- thick neck, heavy
hands, posture of someone who’s been told when to use force
and when to wait.
Matt stands across from him. Doesn’t sit yet.
MATT
Appreciate you making the time,
Russ.
Russ studies him. Doesn’t invite him to sit.
RUSS
I heard about the jogger.
A beat.
RUSS (CONT’D)
Cherry Hills isn’t my jurisdiction.
Matt glances past Russ -- to the wall.
Navy commendations. Bronze stars. A folded flag.
Matt nods once.
MATT
Navy man.
Russ clocks the look.
Matt finally sits.
MATT (CONT’D)
Same.
Russ leans back now. Recalculating.
RUSS
Where’d they break you?
MATT
They didn’t.
Russ almost smiles.
Genres:
["Crime","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
20 -
Checkpoint Crossing
INT. RUSS’S TRUCK - DAY
A government pickup cuts through open prairie -- wind
rippling the grass in long, anxious waves.
Russ drives with steady hands.
Matt watches the land slide past.
They pass a rusted structure half-swallowed by weeds.
Matt clocks it.
The truck bumps over rough ground.
Russ keeps his eyes on the road.
Ahead -- a military checkpoint.
Russ slows, rolls down the window.
A SOLDIER steps up.
RUSS
McCarthy. Game Warden.
Matt flashes his badge.
The soldier studies them, then waves them through.
As they pass, Matt notices the fencing beyond --
Old. New. Then old again.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery"]
Ratings
Scene
21 -
Echoes of Abandonment
EXT. WILDLIFE REFUGE - DAY
Matt and Russ stand beside the truck.
The quiet presses in.
No birds.
No insects.
The land feels abandoned -- emptied.
Matt closes his eyes.
Listens.
Nothing.
MATT
I don’t hear anything. And I don’t
see anything... alive.
Russ nods, unsurprised.
RUSS
That’s the part that should bother
you.
Matt scans the tree line. The tall grass. The distant hills.
MATT
Where’d it all go?
Russ crouches. Scoops a handful of dirt.
Lets it sift slowly through his fingers.
When he stands --
RUSS
Where it’s told.
Matt watches the dirt disappear.
MATT
So why shut off the water?
Russ doesn’t answer right away.
He studies the land like a chessboard -- measuring moves that
haven’t happened yet.
RUSS
Nobody fights over what looks
abandoned.
Russ turns back toward the truck.
Behind them, the refuge rolls on.
Empty.
Watchful.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
22 -
The Ominous Pursuit
EXT. HIGH LINE CANAL TRAIL – DAY
The High Line Canal stretches ahead -- dry, cracked earth
below the trail, cottonwoods leaning inward like they’re
listening.
Sean pedals his bike along the path, hoodie flapping lightly
in the breeze. Earbuds in. Music low.
His tires HUM against packed dirt.
Sean rides one-handed, scrolling his phone with the other. A
text from KEVIN flashes:
KEVIN: u almost here?
Sean types back:
SEAN: 5 min
He pockets the phone. Puts both hands back on the bars.
The canal below him is empty.
Bone-dry.
Silent.
Sean pedals faster -- coasting downhill.
The cottonwoods thicken.
The light dims.
A SHADOW moves across the trail.
Sean glances up -- just branches shifting.
He keeps riding.
Behind him --
A faint disturbance in the brush.
Not sound.
Pressure.
Sean doesn’t notice.
He rounds a bend where the canal narrows, walls steeper here.
The trail and canal run perfectly parallel -- like rails.
Sean slows.
Something feels off.
The MUSIC in his earbuds warbles -- a brief distortion --
then steadies.
Sean reaches up, taps one earbud out.
The world rushes back in:
Wind.
Leaves.
His own breathing.
And underneath it --
A LOW, SUBTLE RHYTHM.
Not footsteps.
Breathing.
Sean frowns. Looks around.
Nothing.
He chuckles under his breath.
SEAN
(to himself)
Get it together.
He pedals again.
Behind him --
The brush PARTS slightly.
Something large shifts its weight.
Sean’s bike chain SKIPS -- a sharp metallic SNAP.
The bike JERKS.
Sean yelps, skids to a stop, hops off.
SEAN (CONT’D)
Shit.
He flips the bike, crouches, fiddling with the chain.
The canal below him is close now.
Sean glances down into it.
The cracked earth is pressed flat in one place.
As if something waited there.
Sean stands, brushing dirt from his hands.
He mounts the bike quickly.
Starts pedaling.
Sean glances over his shoulder once.
Nothing there.
He pedals faster.
Ahead -- sunlight breaks through the trees.
Open space.
Safety.
Sean pushes.
Behind him --
A SHADOW crosses the trail again.
Closer this time.
Sean bursts into full light, skids to a stop at the edge of a
neighborhood access point.
Kids’ voices in the distance.
A barking dog.
Normal life.
He exhales hard.
Laughs, shaky.
SEAN (CONT’D)
Jesus.
He rides on.
The trail is empty again.
Then --
At the spot where Sean stopped to fix his chain --
The brush MOVES.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A massive shape passes through shadow.
Genres:
["Thriller","Mystery","Suspense"]
Ratings
Scene
23 -
Unspoken Gaps
EXT. MITCHELL HOUSE - BACK PORCH - NIGHT
Bruce sits alone on the back porch, wrapped in a light jacket
despite the mild air.
A rocking chair. Slow. Rhythmic.
Beyond him, the High Line Canal cuts through the landscape --
dry, cracked, unmoving.
Bruce watches it with focus that feels almost intentional.
The screen door CREAKS.
Matt steps out, pauses when he sees his father already there.
Matt steps closer, leans against the porch railing.
MATT
Where’s Sean?
Bruce thinks. Too long.
BRUCE
I don’t know. He didn’t say.
MATT
He didn’t say anything before he
left?
BRUCE
He’s thirteen. That’s the job.
A beat. The chair rocks.
Matt watches the canal.
MATT
I worry about him.
Bruce nods, eyes still forward.
BRUCE
You should.
That lands heavier than Matt expects.
MATT
I do enough of that already.
Bruce turns now -- studies Matt, searching his face like a
file he’s misplaced.
BRUCE
He needs a mother.
Matt stiffens.
MATT
Dad --
BRUCE
I don’t mean that the way you’re
hearing it.
But Matt already is.
MATT
You don’t have to --
BRUCE
I know you’re doing everything you
can.
Bruce gestures vaguely toward the house. The yard. The canal.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
But boys notice when there’s a
space nobody fills.
Matt looks away. Jaw tight.
MATT
He’s got me.
BRUCE
He’s got you tired.
Silence stretches.
The canal sits there -- empty, listening.
Bruce leans forward slightly now, elbows on his knees.
BRUCE (CONT’D)
You shut it at the top --
everything else dries out.
Matt frowns.
MATT
What do you mean?
Bruce points -- not down the canal, but away from it. Toward
something unseen.
Matt watches him carefully.
BRUCE
It didn’t dry up on its own. Things
that important never do.
Matt absorbs that.
Matt looks back at the canal -- re-seeing it.
The wind picks up slightly. Leaves rustle. Dry.
MATT
Mountain lions are using the canal
as a corridor to hunt. And they’re
not done.
Bruce nods. Settles.
BRUCE
You still think about it?
MATT
About what?
BRUCE
Your attack.
Matt pats his scarred shoulder
MATT
Every day.
The rocking chair resumes its slow rhythm.
MATT (CONT’D)
I gotta get back to the office. Be
back in a few.
Matt stays a moment longer -- listening to nothing.
Then he turns back toward the house, carrying something new
with him.
Bruce remains on the porch.
Watching the canal.
Genres:
["Drama","Family"]
Ratings
Scene
24 -
Tension in the Living Room
INT. GLOVER'S MANSION - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
A vast, immaculate living room.
Stone. Glass. Clean lines softened by massive framed Western
landscapes -- sweeping plains, river valleys, untouched
mountains. America before fences.
Glover stands barefoot on polished concrete, his jacket
discarded on a leather chair.
Phone pressed to his ear.
He stares at a painting of a river cutting through red rock --
wide and confident.
GLOVER
No. I don’t want another opinion. I
want certainty.
He paces once. Stops.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
Once that ink’s dry, the rest
becomes ceremonial.
A beat. Listening.
He crosses to the windows. Outside: darkness, manicured
grounds, nothing wild.
He exhales slowly, measured.
GLOVER (CONT’D)
Review the presentation again.
The land use maps. The safety
language.
He listens -- unimpressed.
A faint smile creeps in -- practiced, confident.
He ends the call.
Silence returns -- thick and curated.
Glover crosses to the bar. Pours himself a drink. Doesn’t sip
it yet.
He picks up the remote.
CLICKS ON THE TV.
LOCAL NEWS fills the screen.
ANCHOR (V.O.)
-- Parks and Wildlife confirmed a
deadly mountain lion attack took
place today near the High Line
Canal, amplifying fear in the
community. Officials urge residents
to remain vigilant, though they
stress this appears to be an
isolated incident --
Footage rolls: police tape, cottonwoods, the dry canal
corridor.
Glover’s grip tightens on the glass.
CLICK.
The TV goes dark.
Glover stands there a moment longer, jaw set.
Then turns back to the wall of landscapes -- the rivers, the
valleys, the untouched promise.
For a moment, his reflection overlaps with the painted land.
Genres:
["Drama","Mystery","Thriller"]
Ratings
Scene
25 -
Revelation in the Dark
INT. CPW OFFICE - NIGHT
Matt sits alone at his desk, lit by the glow of a computer
monitor.
Around him -- maps everywhere.
Topographicals taped to walls.
Matt stands, exhausted, staring at the chaos.
Nothing fits.
He rubs his face.
Sits.
Opens another file.
A PROPERTY ACQUISITION MAP fills the screen -- red outlines,
dates, LLCs.
Matt stands again.
Steps closer.
Begins pinning...
At first -- random.
Then he steps back.
A shape emerges.
A cluster.
Matt’s breath catches.
He pulls another map --
THE HIGH LINE CANAL.
Overlays it.
The pins line up perfectly.
Guided.
Matt grabs a marker.
Draws a line.
It bends. Narrows. Toward one place.
He zooms digitally.
Labels fade in:
ARSENAL LAND HOLDINGS — PENDING REZONING
He scrolls.
The owner name appears.
Again.
And again.
Same shell company.
Same signature.
GLOVER THOMPSON
Matt drops into his chair.
Zooms tighter.
Future parcels.
Proposed developments.
At the center --
A massive empty stretch of land.
Intentional.
The realization lands --
Clearing land without ever touching it.
Matt exhales --
Shaken. Furious.
Matt looks back to the center of the cluster --
The canal’s spine.
Genres:
["Mystery","Thriller","Drama"]
Ratings
Scene
26 -
Night of the Predator
EXT. BACKYARD – NIGHT
A wealthy, tastefully restrained backyard.
Stone. Wood. Soft lighting designed to suggest nature without
ever allowing it in.
At the far end -- A HOT TUB steams gently beneath the open
sky.
A MAN (50s) steps barefoot onto the patio. Fit. Confident.
The kind of man who believes he’s earned quiet.
He wears swim trunks. A glass of whiskey in one hand.
He checks his phone. No signal.
Annoyed, but not concerned.
He sets the phone aside and lowers himself into the hot tub.
The water rises. Covers his chest. His shoulders.
He exhales -- tension draining.
Steam curls around him, softening the edges of the world.
Above the yard -- COTTONWOOD BRANCHES stretch over the fence
line. Old. Massive.
Dark.
The man leans back. Closes his eyes.
The jets kick up slightly -- a low, steady ROAR beneath the
water.
Something MOVES above him.
A subtle shift of weight along the branch.
The man opens his eyes.
Listens.
The jets mask everything.
He takes a sip of whiskey. Sets the glass on the tub’s edge.
The steam thickens.
Above --
A SHADOW adjusts its position.
Muscle sliding against bark. Silent. Deliberate.
The branch CREAKS.
The man stiffens.
He looks toward the tree line.
Nothing obvious.
He relaxes again. Shakes it off.
Murmurs to himself.
MAN
Jesus.
He sinks lower in the water.
The surface laps at his chin.
Above him -- A MASSIVE SHAPE crouches on the branch.
Perfectly balanced. Eyes locked downward.
Waiting.
The man reaches for his glass.
His fingers brush it -- and STOP.
A faint DROP hits the water.
Plink.
He frowns. Looks up.
Steam parts.
For half a second --
HE SEES IT.
RED EYES.
Unblinking. Directly overhead.
Time stretches.
The MOUNTAIN LION DROPS -- hitting him from above -- a blur
of muscle and weight --
The impact drives him backward into the tub.
Water ERUPTS.
The lion’s jaws clamp down -- CRUSHING his neck in a single,
efficient motion.
A sharp, wet SNAP.
The man doesn’t scream.
His body jerks once -- then goes slack.
The water sloshes violently, spilling over the edge.
The lion releases him immediately.
No feeding. No hesitation.
It launches back up -- paws hitting stone, then fence, then --
VANISHES into the trees.
The backyard falls silent again.
The hot tub continues to HUM.
Steam rises.
The man’s body floats -- eyes open. Unseeing.
The whiskey glass tips. Falls. SHATTERS on the stone.
Amber liquid seeps toward the grass.
Toward the fence.
Toward the canal beyond.