Run: 2026-09-02-01M1GT7TZQ7B5XGXHRDABYEVK9

*The Morning Press Café, Main Street, Alborn. Late morning. MARIE sits alone by the window, her camera in her lap, thumb hovering over the same photograph. DETECTIVE HUNTER crosses to her table, badge already out, notepad in hand.* **Hunter:** "Ma'am. Detective Hunter, Alborn PD." *(flips badge open)* "Got a minute? I'm asking everyone who was out past the creek road Saturday evening." **Marie:** "Pardon ? Je... je ne comprends pas. Vous parlez trop vite." *(Sorry? I... I don't understand. You're speaking too fast.)* **Hunter:** *(pauses, then slower)* "Sat-ur-day. Evening. Creek road." *(mimes driving, then points out the window toward the treeline)* "You. Out there. Anyone else?" **Marie:** "L'anglais... non. Je suis désolée, je ne parle pas anglais. Je suis française — de Lyon. Je suis ici pour mes études, à Duluth, et je..." *(English? No. I'm sorry, I don't speak English. I'm French — from Lyon. I'm here for my studies, in Duluth, and I...)* *(her voice frays; she presses a hand to her mouth)* "Oh, mon Dieu. Vous venez pour l'homme, n'est-ce pas ? L'homme qui a disparu." *(Oh, my God. You've come about the man, haven't you? The man who disappeared.)* **Hunter:** *(blinks)* "...Come again?" **Marie:** *(rapid, trembling)* "Samedi soir, j'étais près du ruisseau. La lumière était parfaite pour les photos — l'or, sur l'eau — et j'ai vu un homme au vieux pressoir à pommes. Puis j'ai changé d'objectif, deux minutes, peut-être, et quand j'ai levé les yeux, il n'était plus là." *(Saturday evening, I was by the creek. The light was perfect for photos — gold, on the water — and I saw a man at the old apple press. Then I changed lenses, two minutes maybe, and when I looked up, he was gone.)* **Hunter:** *(rubs his jaw, glances around the café — nobody volunteers to translate)* "Okay. French. Fantastic." *(back to her, flat and patient)* "Ma'am, I'm going to try something." *(He pulls a creased photo from his jacket and lays it on the table: a stocky older man in a plaid jacket, squinting in festival lighting.)* **Hunter:** "Walt Hegg. Runs the cider press at the festival. That him? You seen him?" **Marie:** *(goes pale, whispers)* "C'est lui... C'est lui. Mon Dieu, c'est l'homme du pressoir." *(That's him... That's him. My God, that's the man from the press.)* **Hunter:** "That's a yes. Good. Keep going." **Marie:** *(words tumbling out)* "Un autre homme est sorti des arbres. Grand. Tout de noir vêtu. Il portait quelque chose sur l'épaule — un sac, je crois... un long sac. Il marchait très vite, vers la camionnette grise sur le chemin forestier." *(Another man came out of the trees. Tall. Dressed all in black. He was carrying something on his shoulder — a bag, I think... a long bag. He was walking very fast, toward the gray pickup on the forest road.)* **Hunter:** *(watching her hands shake, catching only fragments)* "Slow down. Slow — down. Okay, I've got 'man,' I've got 'black,' I've got... something about a bag? A bag?" **Marie:** *(sees he doesn't understand; frustrated, near tears, then stops — stares at her camera — and thrusts it toward him)* "Regardez. L'écran. Là — vous voyez ? Le pressoir. Les arbres. Et l'homme." *(Look. The screen. There — do you see? The press. The trees. And the man.)* **Hunter:** *(hesitates, then takes it, scrolling)* "Huh. That's Walt, by the old press." *(scrolls)* "Stop. Go back one." *(scrolls back)* "There. Zoom in on that." **Marie:** "Zoomer ? Comment dit-on... agrandir ? Ça, là." *(Zoom? How do you say... enlarge? That, there.)* *(She enlarges the frame: the tree line, the gray pickup, and a dark figure mid-stride, a long shape over one shoulder.)* **Hunter:** *(quiet)* "Well, I'll be damned. Gray pickup. No plates. And that's one hell of a duffel." *(flips open his notepad, scribbles)* "Okay, ma'am. You did good — I caught maybe a tenth of what you said, but it's the right tenth." **Marie:** "Je voulais appeler la police tout de suite, mais ma batterie était morte, et je ne savais pas quoi dire, à qui parler... Je suis désolée. Je suis vraiment désolée." *(I wanted to call the police right away, but my battery was dead, and I didn't know what to say, who to talk to... I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry.)* *(she takes the camera back, cradling it)* "Ces photos — il faut les garder. Il faut..." *(These photos — they must be kept. They must...)* **Hunter:** *(phone buzzing; he answers)* "Hunter." *(listens, eyes narrowing)* "Where?" *(listens)* "Don't touch anything. Nobody goes near the water. I'm five minutes out." *(pockets the phone, drains half his coffee standing up)* "Ma'am, I gotta roll. Stay right here. Don't delete a single frame. There'll be somebody sitting at this table who speaks your language inside a half hour — I'll drag 'em here myself." **Marie:** "Non — attendez ! Monsieur ! Vous ne comprenez pas — le sac, l'homme, il faut que je vous..." *(No — wait! Sir! You don't understand — the bag, the man, I have to...)* **Hunter:** *(already at the door; he stops, turns, points at her)* "And ma'am? Lock your door tonight." *(He's gone. Marie sinks back into her chair, the camera tight against her chest, and stares at the empty doorway.)* **Marie:** *(a whisper, to no one)* "Il m'a vue. Je le sens... Il m'a vue." *(He saw me. I can feel it... He saw me.)*