Run: 2026-05-27-01KSMEEFTDG1NCSR7SS0WE9G84

**VOICE SHEET: DIALOGUE BETWEEN MARIE AND HUNTER** --- **SCENE** [Marie sits at a small corner table in a cozy café in Alborn, MN. She's gently scrolling through the images on her digital camera's preview screen, her face a mix of artistic fascination and melancholy. Her dark hair is pulled back in a loose bun, and she wears simple, practical clothing suitable for a day of exploring. Hunter, dressed in a casual but professional jacket and dark jeans, enters the café. He's scanning the room methodically, his eyes stopping when they land on Marie. He approaches her table, his motions brisk and purposeful.] **Hunter**: (Flattens his hands on the table for a moment, leaning in slightly. His voice is firm but not unkind.) Excuse me. I'm Detective Hunter. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the town? [He stands back, waiting. Marie looks up from her camera, startled. She registers his uniform-like appearance and his serious demeanor. Her eyes widen slightly, and she shakes her head as a distressed expression forms on her face.] **Marie**: (In rapid, troubled French.) Pardon? Je ne comprends pas. Je ne parle pas anglais. Qu'est-ce que vous voulez? Pourquoi vous me regardez comme ça? [Hunter's brow furrows almost imperceptibly. He tilts his head, listening to the unfamiliar cadence of her words. His confusion is evident in the slight shake of his head.] **Hunter**: (Tries again, slightly slower and louder, as if speaking to someone hard of hearing.) Your name... do you speak English? [Marie's expression becomes more strained. She wipes her hands on her jeans nervously, her grip tightening on the camera in her lap.] **Marie**: (Defensive, shaking her head.) Non, non, je ne parle pas anglais. J'étudie ici, mais je ne comprends rien. Je suis désolée. **Hunter**: (Frustrated, but still attempting.) French... right? I'm looking for information about the... events... happening around here. People have been missing. Disappearing. [Marie's eyes snap up to his. The word "disparu" makes her immediately sit upright. She's seen it in the local newspaper, even though she couldn't understand the words. She has a growing, inexplicable sense of dread, though she can't explain why.] **Marie**: (Hushed, rapid French, placing a hand over her heart.) Des gens... ont disparu? Ici? À Alborn? **Hunter**: (Nods, watching her reaction closely.) Three. In the last month. All women. Similar build to you. [Marie inhales sharply. The conversation is not going as he intended, and he can tell the French woman is both frightened and confused. He sighs and pulls out a chair, sitting down across from her. He fishes a notepad from his pocket and a small translation book he carries for just such occasions.] **Hunter**: (Flips through the book.) Listen... je... I have questions. You... me... help? I no speak French. But we try. [Marie hesitates, looking around the café. She's alone with this imposing man who is trying to communicate in broken fragments. She notices the translation book and relaxes slightly, feeling a glimmer of hope for understanding. She nods slowly.] **Marie**: (Takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm.) D'accord. Je vais essayer. Vous... vous voulez... informations? À propos de... disparition? **Hunter**: (Slowly and deliberately, enunciating each word.) Yes. People. Gone. Gone from towns. Near here. Your picture... you see things. You see lady last Tuesday? With the red scarf? [Marie's eyes drift back to the camera in her hands. She starts to scroll through the photos again, more rapidly this time, her face growing pale. The camera is her tool, her purpose. The thought that she might have captured something... important... is overwhelming.] **Marie**: (Her voice trembles.) Mon appareil photo... j'ai pris beaucoup de photos. Partout. Au festival... le parc... mercredi dernier... une femme avec un... un châle rouge? [Hunter's eyes light up. He leans forward, his expression one of heightened interest.] **Hunter**: (Points to her camera.) Yes! Red scarf. Tuesday... last week. Answer this: What park? Where? Street? [Marie points towards the south of town. She Struggles to find the English words she's learned in class but hasn't had a chance to practice. She pushes her camera towards him, showing him the images she's been reviewing. One photo shows a blurred figure in a red scarf at the edge of Oakhaven Park.] **Marie**: (Fingers shaking, she points on the screen.) Regardez. Là. À... Oakhaven? Park. Mardi... mercredi passé? [Hunter peers closely at the small screen, seeing the woman in question as Marie points to her. A woman is in the frame, but her face is turned away, and her figure is hazy in the partially blown-out light. It’s not clear if she’s the person he’s looking for, but it’s something. This is a potential lead, despite the communication barrier.] **Hunter**: (Takes out his phone.) We keep... we need copy. Your... picture... this important. [Marie slides the camera closer to him, her eyes large with trust and fear. His phone vibrates in his hand, and he looks down. His expression shifts from focused to urgent.] **Hunter**: (Phoishes the translation book away and stands abruptly.) Hold... stay here. Police. I be back. Sylvie... Mtlor..? (reference to the park and a name that comes up in the books) [He gestures towards her and then the camera, in an effort to convey a request for her to stay put. Marie nods, looking bewildered and afraid. Hunter picks up her phone, writes his number on a napkin, showing her the gesture, and presses the remember buttom on her phone. He points to it, then at himself, and finally walks briskly out of the café, already talking into his phone.] [Marie sits alone at the table, looking from the napkin with a hasty phone number to her camera. She is troubled, shaken, and now involved in something she doesn't understand, the lingering shades of fear and curiosity on her face.]