THE KIDNAP, KIND OF PART TWO: THE GHOST PLAN

THE KIDNAP, KIND OF

PART TWO: THE GHOST PLAN

INT. MOTEL ROOM, SZCZECIN - MORNING

Sunlight comes through the thin curtains in stripes, making the orange blankets look like they're on fire. The water stain on the ceiling is dry today, a pale country shaped like regret. The TV is still off. The shower still drips.

Jess is awake, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the van through the window. It's still there. Gray and patient and full of possibilities.

William is at the small desk, laptop open, a map of Szczecin on the screen, red dots scattered like blood spatter.

JESS: "So we buy the van today."

WILLIAM: "No."

JESS: "You said yesterday."

WILLIAM: "I changed my mind."

JESS: "You can't change your mind. We had a deal."

WILLIAM: "We had a conversation. Not a deal."

Jess stands up. Walks to the window. Presses his forehead against the glass. The van sits there, rust spots like acne, crack in the windshield like a lightning bolt.

JESS: "What do you mean no?"

WILLIAM: "I mean kidnapping is stupid. It fails. Always. In movies, in real life, in everything. You grab her, you put her in a van, you drive five minutes, police pull you over, you go to jail, inmates fuck your ass. The end."

JESS: "Not if we're smart."

WILLIAM: "You're not smart. I'm smart. And I'm telling you it's stupid."

JESS: "Then what? We just go home?"

WILLIAM: "No. We do it my way."

Jess turns around. Leans against the windowsill. The sunlight makes his face look younger, like a kid who got caught doing something and is waiting for the punishment.

JESS: "Your way."

WILLIAM: "My way."

JESS: "Which is?"

William turns the laptop around. The map fills the screen. Red dots. A coffee shop. A community center. A park. A school. Lines connecting them, a web, a constellation.

WILLIAM: "We become ghosts. We stalk without stalking. We remember her face. We find events she'll be at. Public events. Concerts. Markets. Whatever teenagers do in Szczecin."

JESS: "And then?"

WILLIAM: "And then we plant seeds. First meeting: you're clumsy. You fall in front of her. Things go everywhere. Papers. A prop. Something embarrassing. You say one sentence. One. 'Oh my god, hayst, it's embarrassing.' That's it. Nothing else. She helps you or she doesn't. You walk away. Seed planted."

JESS: "That's it?"

WILLIAM: "Second meeting: coffee shop. She's there. You're there. You don't talk. You just smile. Nothing else. Just smile. Seed number two."

JESS: "Third meeting?"

WILLIAM: "Third meeting we figure out later. Fourth meeting: park. You're sitting. She walks past. You don't look up. You don't say anything. You just exist. Let her ask your name. Or don't. Let her wonder. Let her come to you."

JESS: "This takes days."

WILLIAM: "This takes weeks. Maybe longer. We track her. We learn her schedule. Not obviously. Not stalking. Just ... being where she is. Casual. Invisible."

JESS: "I don't want to be invisible. I want her to see me."

WILLIAM: "She will see you. But she won't know she's seeing you. That's the point. You don't ask her name. You don't ask her to marry you. You don't say 'let's fuck.' You just exist near her until she notices. Until she wants to know who you are."

JESS: "And if she doesn't notice?"

WILLIAM: "Then we try something else. But we don't kidnap her. We don't grab her. We don't put her in a van."

Jess walks back to his bed. Sits down. The springs creak.

JESS: "I don't know, bro. Sounds boring."

WILLIAM: "It's not boring. It's strategy. It's how you win."

JESS: "You don't care about winning with girls. You said so."

WILLIAM: "I care about winning at everything. This is a game. We're playing it. And we're going to win."

JESS: "What if I mess up the one sentence?"

WILLIAM: "Then we practice?" JESS: "Practice?"

WILLIAM: "Stand up." JESS: "What?"

WILLIAM: "Stand up. Pretend you're walking. Pretend you see her. Trip. Fall. Say the line."

Jess stands up. He looks at William. He looks at the space in front of him, like he's seeing something that's not there. He takes a step. He trips over nothing. He falls on the floor. The motel shakes.

JESS: "Oh my fucking baby help me fuck me."

WILLIAM: "What."

JESS: "Oh my fucking baby help me fuck me."

William picks up a pillow from his bed. Throws it at Jess. Not hard. Just enough to land on his face. WILLIAM: "What the fuck are you saying?"

JESS: "I'm practicing."

WILLIAM: "That's not the line. The line is 'oh my god, hayst, it's embarrassing.' Not 'oh my fucking baby help me fuck me."

JESS: "I got confused."

WILLIAM: "How did you get confused? It's one sentence."

JESS: "My brain went somewhere else."

WILLIAM: "Your brain is a porn site."

Jess throws the pillow back. It hits William in the chest. William doesn't flinch.

JESS: "Okay. Again."

He stands up. Brushes off his cargo shorts. Takes a breath. Walks forward. Trips. Falls. This time he lands on his hands, more controlled.

JESS: "Oh my god, hayst, it's embarrassing."

His face is wrong. Too serious. Too practiced. Like he's reciting lines in a school play he doesn't want to be in.

WILLIAM: "What the fuck. Your expression looks like you've been practicing for days. In a mirror. With a coach."

JESS: "I am practicing."

WILLIAM: "You look like a serial killer rehearsing his confession."

JESS: "How should I look?"

WILLIAM: "Embarrassed. Clumsy. Like you actually fell. Like you didn't plan it."

JESS: "But I am planning it."

WILLIAM: "She can't know that. She has to think it's real."

JESS: "How do I make it real if it's fake?"

WILLIAM: "You have to believe it's real while you're doing it. Method acting. Like De Niro."

JESS: "Who's De Niro?"

WILLIAM: "Oh fucking idiot."

William stands up. Walks to the center of the room. The space between the beds is narrow, two meters maybe. He demonstrates. A walk, natural, casual, then a stumble, a catch, a recovery.

WILLIAM: "You don't fall all the way. You almost fall. You catch yourself. Things drop. You look surprised. Then embarrassed. Then you say it. 'Oh my god, hayst, it's embarrassing.' Like you just remembered she's there. Like the embarrassment is about her seeing you, not about falling."

JESS: "Show me again."

William does it again. Slower. The walk. The stumble. The catch. The look. The line. Perfect. Terrifying in its perfection.

JESS: "You're good at this."

WILLIAM: "I'm good at everything."

JESS: "Have you done this before?"

WILLIAM: "No."

JESS: "Then how are you good at it?"

WILLIAM: "Because I understand people. I watch them. I know how they move. How they think. You're impulsive. I'm deliberate. That's why you need me."

Jess tries again. Walk. Stumble. Catch. He drops an imaginary prop. Looks up at an imaginary Ivanka.

JESS: "Oh my god, hayst, it's embarrassing."

Better. Not good, but better. The embarrassment is almost real. Almost.

WILLIAM: "Again."

Jess does it again. And again. And again. The motel room fills with the sound of his footsteps, his stumbles, his line. Outside, the van waits. The sun moves across the sky. The water stain on the ceiling watches like an eye.

INT. MOTEL ROOM, SZCZECIN - NIGHT

The room is dark except for the laptop screen. William has found something. A post on a local Szczecin forum. A youth music event. Open air. Saturday. In the park near the river. Bands Jess has never heard of. Teenagers drinking cheap beer. Ivanka's friend tagged her in a comment. "See you there?"

WILLIAM: "Saturday. Four days. That's the first meeting."

JESS: "What do I wear?"

WILLIAM: "What you're wearing." JESS: "This has a hole."

WILLIAM: "The hole is good. It makes you look poor. Harmless. Not a threat."

JESS: "I am poor."

WILLIAM: "Then it's authentic." JESS: "What prop do I drop?"

WILLIAM: "A book. Something intellectual but not too intellectual. A novel. In English. She'll see it. She'll think you're smart."

JESS: "I don't read."

WILLIAM: "You don't have to read it. You just have to drop it."

JESS: "What book?"

WILLIAM: "I'll find one. Something with a good cover."

JESS: "What if she doesn't help me pick it up?"

WILLIAM: "Then you pick it up yourself. You don't look at her. You don't talk to her. You just say the line and walk away."

JESS: "What if she talks to me?"

WILLIAM: "She won't."

JESS: "What if she does?"

WILLIAM: "Then you say 'sorry' and walk away. You don't engage. You plant the seed and you leave."

JESS: "This is torture."

WILLIAM: "This is strategy."

Jess lies back on his bed. Stares at the ceiling. The water stain looks like a face tonight. A girl's face. Blonde. Smiling.

JESS: "What about the second meeting? The coffee shop?"

WILLIAM: "We find her coffee shop. The one she goes to. We wait. We watch. We learn her schedule. Then you go there. Same time. Same day. You sit where she can see you. You smile. Nothing else."

JESS: "Just smile."

WILLIAM: "Just smile."

JESS: "What if she thinks I'm creepy?"

WILLIAM: "You are creepy. But if you do it right, she'll think you're mysterious."

JESS: "What's the difference?"

WILLIAM: "Creepy is staring. Mysterious is smiling and looking away. Creepy is following. Mysterious is being there before she arrives. Creepy wants something. Mysterious already has something and she's curious what it is."

JESS: "And I have something?"

WILLIAM: "You have me. That's something."

JESS: "She doesn't know about you."

WILLIAM: "She will. Eventually. When you tell her. When she asks. When she's curious enough to ask."

Jess rolls onto his side. Looks at William. The laptop light makes his glasses flash, hiding his eyes. JESS: "Why are you doing this? Really?" WILLIAM: "I told you. I like winning."

JESS: "There's no winning in this. There's just a girl. A maybe. A probably not."

WILLIAM: "Then I'm winning at probably not. I'm making probably not into maybe. That's winning." JESS: "You're weird, bro."

WILLIAM: "I'm William. Just William."

EXT. PARK NADODRZE, SZCZECIN - DAY

The park is a long strip of green along the Oder River, which is wide here and brown and moves like it's thinking about something. On one side, the water. On the other, apartment blocks in various states of repair, some new glass, some old concrete with graffiti. Between them, grass, paths, benches, trees that have learned to live with the wind from the river.

The open-air stage is at the north end, a concrete platform with a metal roof, speakers stacked on either side like black monoliths. Cables snake across the ground. A sound check happens, a guitar riff, feedback, someone saying "check, check" in Polish.

Teenagers gather in clusters. Some sit on blankets. Some stand near the stage, waiting for the first band. The smell of grass and river water and cheap cigarette smoke. The sky is that particular European summer gray, not sunny, not raining, just existing.

Jess and William are on a bench near the path, not too close to the stage, not too far. Close enough to see. Far enough to not be seen.

Jess wears his black t-shirt with the hole. He's holding a book. "The Great Gatsby." William found it in a secondhand shop. The cover is blue with gold letters. It looks like something someone would read on purpose.

JESS: "I don't know what this book is about."

WILLIAM: "It doesn't matter."

JESS: "What if she asks?"

WILLIAM: "She won't ask. Not this time."

JESS: "What if she does?"

WILLIAM: "Then you say 'it's about wanting something you can't have.' Which is true. And relevant." JESS: "Is it about that?"

WILLIAM: "Everything is about that."

Jess looks at the crowd. Teenagers in clothes that look like they came from the same stores as teenagers everywhere. Jeans. Hoodies. Crop tops. A girl with blue hair. A boy with a septum ring. And then:

Her.

Blonde. Not the bright blonde of Instagram filters, something softer, more real. She's with two other girls, laughing at something, holding a plastic cup of something. She moves like she doesn't know she's being watched, which is the only way anyone ever moves.

JESS: "There."

WILLIAM: "I see her."

JESS: "She's more beautiful in person." WILLIAM: "She's a child."

JESS: "She's perfect."

WILLIAM: "Wait for the right moment. Not when she's with friends. When she's alone. Walking to the bathroom. Getting water. Something."

They wait. The first band starts, some local punk group, Polish lyrics shouted over distorted guitars. The crowd moves, jumps, spills beer. Ivanka stays near the back with her friends, not jumping, just watching, sipping her drink.

Twenty minutes. Thirty. The band finishes. A break. Ivanka says something to her friends. Walks away, toward the portable toilets near the trees.

WILLIAM: "Now."

JESS: "Now?"

WILLIAM: "Now. Walk toward her. Trip. Drop the book. Say the line. Walk away."

Jess stands up. His legs feel wrong. Too long. Too obvious. He starts walking along the path, toward the portable toilets, toward her. The book is heavy in his hand. His palm is sweating.

She's twenty meters away. Fifteen. Ten.

He times it. Or tries to. His foot catches on a tree root he didn't see, a real root, not part of the plan. He stumbles. The book flies. It lands in the grass, pages open, spine cracked. He falls to one knee. His hands hit the dirt.

Ivanka stops. Looks down at him. Her face is surprised, then concerned, then something else. Amusement? Pity?

JESS: "Oh my god, hayst, it's embarrassing."

The words come out wrong. Too fast. Too rehearsed. His accent is thick. The "hayst" sounds like a cough. He looks up at her. She's looking down at him. Their eyes meet for one second. Two.

She doesn't move to help. She just stands there, holding her plastic cup, looking at this strange man on his knees in the dirt with a book about wanting something you can't have.

Jess scrambles up. Grabs the book. Doesn't look at her again. Walks away, fast, toward the river, toward the water, toward anywhere that's not here.

Behind him, he hears her laugh. Not mean. Just surprised. Confused. The laugh of someone who just saw something weird and doesn't know what to do with it.

He reaches the river. Leans against the railing. His heart is hammering. His hands are shaking. The book is bent, pages crumpled.

William appears beside him. Not fast, not slow. Just there, like he was always there.

WILLIAM: "Well?"

JESS: "I fell on a real root." WILLIAM: "I saw." JESS: "She didn't help." WILLIAM: "I saw." JESS: "She laughed." WILLIAM: "I heard." JESS: "It was terrible." WILLIAM: "It was perfect."

JESS: "How was it perfect? She laughed at me."

WILLIAM: "She noticed you. She'll remember you. The guy who fell. The guy with the book. The guy who said something weird and walked away. She'll tell her friends. They'll laugh. But she'll remember."

JESS: "She thinks I'm an idiot."

WILLIAM: "She thinks you're something. That's better than nothing."

They stand by the river. The brown water moves. A barge passes, slow and heavy, carrying something invisible. The music starts again, another band, another shout of Polish lyrics into the gray sky.

JESS: "When's the second meeting?"

WILLIAM: "We find her coffee shop. We watch. We wait."

JESS: "More waiting." WILLIAM: "More strategy."

INT. MOTEL ROOM, SZCZECIN - NIGHT

The laptop screen shows a satellite map of Szczecin. A coffee shop marked with a red dot. "Kawiarnia Miś" near the old town. A photo from Instagram. Ivanka sitting at a table by the window, a latte in front of her, looking at her phone. The caption: "usual spot."

WILLIAM: "Tuesday. Four o'clock. She's there every Tuesday."

JESS: "How do you know?"

WILLIAM: "I looked. Four weeks of photos. Same place. Same time. Same drink." JESS: "You're scary." WILLIAM: "I'm thorough." JESS: "Same thing."