Ice creed

By Ayeyi Emmanuel Adedoyin

Aspiring to become an actor one day and an hollywood film producer

CHAPTER ONE: THE COLD WAKES

FADE IN:

INT. DANIEL'S WORKSHOP, DAY (FLASHBACK)

A bright, cluttered workshop behind a family home. Shelves of glass bottles glow soft blue in the afternoon light. Frost creeps across one window in delicate, perfect patterns.

WILLIAM, age six, stands on a wooden stool beside his father, DANIEL, forties, warm eyes, ink on his fingers. Daniel sets a small glass dish on the bench. Inside it, a single flower made of ice slowly blooms.

WILLIAM

Did you make that?

DANIEL

The cold made it. I only asked politely.

William reaches out. Daniel gently catches his small hand.

DANIEL

Not yet. First, the Creed. Say it with me.

DANIEL AND WILLIAM

Cold keeps what warmth would lose.

REBECCA, thirties, enters with a tray of tea and a sandwich cut into triangles.

REBECCA

Are you teaching him your riddles again?

DANIEL

It is not a riddle. It is a promise.

REBECCA

Then promise him lunch.

William laughs. On the bench, the ice flower begins to melt, one petal at a time.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MILITARY LABORATORY, DAY (FLASHBACK, THE SAME YEAR)

A cold white facility under humming fluorescent light. Daniel, younger, in a lab coat with a security badge, stands before a glass test chamber. Inside, a slab of ice thick as a wall absorbs a controlled blast without a crack.

COLONEL MARCUS HALE, early forties, grips the rail, hungry. Beside Daniel, a young assistant, IRIS VANCE, twenties, watches with wide, admiring eyes.

COLONEL HALE

Again. Ten times the scale.

DANIEL

It will not scale. The chemistry destabilizes. I told you that last month.

COLONEL HALE

Then make it stable.

DANIEL

Marcus, I built this to keep things whole. To preserve crops, organs, hearts that stop too soon. To hold the world still for people who need more time. You want to point it at a country.

COLONEL HALE

I buried forty soldiers in a valley because we arrived one day too late with one weapon too few. I will never bury forty again. If I have to freeze a nation to stop a war, I will.

An alarm blares. A hairline crack runs across the glass. A technician rushes in and presses his palm against it. Frost races over his hand and up his arm. He screams. Vance runs to him, and Daniel pulls her back before she can touch him. Medics carry the man out, alive but ruined.

DANIEL

(shaking)

That is what it does to a person. That is what you want to give a country.

COLONEL HALE

That is a price.

DANIEL

It is not mine to pay.

CUT TO:

INT. MILITARY LABORATORY, NIGHT (THE SAME DAY)

Daniel feeds stacks of notes into an incinerator. Vance helps, trembling. He hands her a ledger.

DANIEL

Write that the final batch was destroyed.

IRIS VANCE

Was it?

DANIEL

It will be.

She hesitates, then nods and writes. Daniel slides a bottle labelled BATCH NINE into his coat, and a small steel case beneath it. He squeezes her shoulder.

DANIEL

You are better than this place, Iris. Do not let it teach you otherwise.

He walks out into the rain and does not look back.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FAMILY KITCHEN, NIGHT (PRESENT DAY)

Twelve years later. WILLIAM, now eighteen, tall and easy to smile, helps Rebecca set the table. Daniel sits at the head of it, reading a newspaper he is not really reading. Through the window, the workshop sits dark at the end of the garden, its door chained.

WILLIAM

Dad, when are you opening the workshop again? You used to let me hold the pipette.

Daniel folds the newspaper. A long pause.

DANIEL

That was another life.

WILLIAM

It was twelve years ago. What happened to it?

Rebecca and Daniel exchange a quiet look that William catches and does not understand.

REBECCA

Some doors are closed for good reasons, my love. Eat.

William's phone buzzes. The screen reads FELICIA. Rebecca smiles.

REBECCA

Answer it, before she thinks you have forgotten her.

William grins and steps outside. Daniel watches the dark workshop through the glass, his face tight with something old.

CUT TO:

EXT. GARDEN, DUSK

William and Daniel repair a fence in the golden light. Daniel's old wristwatch glints each time he swings the hammer.

WILLIAM

That watch is older than me.

DANIEL

It is older than your grandfather's grave. It keeps time for people who forget it.

WILLIAM

Is that a joke?

DANIEL

Half.

William drives a nail, then sets down the hammer.

WILLIAM

I got the letter. The engineering programme. They said yes.

Daniel freezes, then pulls his son into a rough, proud hug.

DANIEL

Build things that hold people up, William. Not things that hold them down.

WILLIAM

Is that the Creed?

DANIEL

No. That one is just free advice.

CUT TO:

EXT. SCHOOL COURTYARD, DAY

FELICIA, eighteen, quick, bright, fierce, sits on a low wall with a steaming flask. Students stream past. William drops beside her.

FELICIA

You are late. I had to defend your seat from three freshmen.

WILLIAM

Sorry. My dad was being mysterious again.

She takes his hand to warm her own and sighs.

FELICIA

Your hands are always warm. It is so unfair. Mine are blocks of ice.

Her smile fades a little as she looks at the flask.

WILLIAM

How is your mother?

FELICIA

Tired. The doctors keep saying wait and see. I hate wait and see.

WILLIAM

I will come with you to the clinic on Saturday.

FELICIA

You are the one good thing I have this week, you know that?

A moment holds between them. The school bell rings. Neither moves. Then they laugh and run.

CUT TO:

EXT. SCHOOL ROOFTOP, NIGHT

The city glitters below. William and Felicia sit on the roof of the gym under a blanket, sharing the flask. She leans against him, quiet for once.

FELICIA

Promise me something.

WILLIAM

Anything.

FELICIA

Wherever you go, you come back to me.

WILLIAM

Wherever.

She holds out her little finger. He hooks it with his own. She laughs softly and rests her head on his chest, and neither notices the first thin line of frost on the roof rail beside them. It is gone in a moment.

CUT TO:

INT. COMMUNITY CLINIC, DAY

Rebecca, in a nurse's uniform, adjusts a drip beside MARGARET, who lies propped on pillows with a book open on her lap. Rebecca hums a soft, wandering lullaby as she works.

MARGARET

You hum when you worry.

REBECCA

I hum when I breathe.

MARGARET

Is Daniel still carrying his storm?

REBECCA

He says it is nothing.

MARGARET

Husbands are terrible liars. Mine was the worst.

Rebecca laughs. Margaret's smile fades.

MARGARET

Felicia says William is the first boy who truly listens to her. If I am not here to see what comes of it, will you keep an eye on my girl?

REBECCA

You will keep an eye on her yourself.

MARGARET

Rebecca.

REBECCA

(softly)

Yes. I will.

CUT TO:

INT. DANIEL'S WORKSHOP, NIGHT

Dust sheets. A single flashlight beam. Daniel enters alone and unchains the door. He kneels, lifts a loose floorboard, and opens a hidden steel case. Inside, resting in foam, is one small glass vial glowing a faint, cold blue.

DANIEL

(whispering to himself)

The last one. They will never have it.

Rebecca appears in the doorway with a shawl around her shoulders.

REBECCA

Daniel. You promised me you were finished.

DANIEL

I am only making sure it stays buried.

He closes the case, locks it, and hangs the key on a chain around his neck. On a nearby shelf sits a half empty bottle labelled BATCH NINE, a forgotten leftover Daniel believes is harmless. The camera lingers on it as he turns off the light.

CUT TO:

INT. DANIEL'S WORKSHOP, DAY (ONE WEEK LATER)

A spare key slides from beneath a flowerpot. The door creaks open. William steps inside alone. Sunlight shows him the room of his childhood. His smile is soft, almost sad.

He touches the bench, the stool, the dusty glass dish. On a shelf he finds a small tape recorder. Taped to it is a note in his father's handwriting: FOR WILLIAM. ONLY IF THE COLD WAKES.

He frowns, turns it over, and slides it into his jacket pocket. Then he spots BATCH NINE. He lifts it to read the label. His fingers slip.

The bottle tips. Liquid splashes across his forearm, neck, and jaw. He gasps, grabs a rag, and wipes it away. A thin curl of frost lifts from his skin and vanishes.

WILLIAM

(laughing at himself)

Gross.

Rebecca calls from the garden. He chains the door, shrugs it off, and runs toward lunch. Behind him, a single ice flower blooms on the workshop window.

SMASH CUT TO:

MONTAGE: THE SILENT WEEKS

Day three. William brushes his teeth in a perfectly normal bathroom. Nothing happens.

Week one. In class, William rubs his temples. Felicia passes him a note: You look pale.

Week two. In the cafeteria, William lifts a glass of water. A thin skin of ice crawls across it. He sets it down fast and hides it under a napkin.

Week three. William clutches his stomach and shivers in the sun. Felicia reaches for his hand and flinches.

FELICIA

(half joking, half worried)

Now you are the cold one.

She wraps her scarf around his neck. He tries to smile. He fails.

CUT TO:

INT. WILLIAM'S BEDROOM, NIGHT

Deep night. The house is silent. William sits bolt upright, gasping, as if pulled from underwater. He crashes onto the floor, shaking, screaming. Frost explodes across the walls. The bedside lamp bursts. The window cracks.

Daniel and Rebecca burst through the door and stop dead. Everything William touches is turning to ice. His skin is pale and rimed with frost, and his eyes are wide with terror.

REBECCA

William! Daniel, what is happening to him?

Daniel stares at his son, and then, in a flash, understands.

DANIEL

(barely audible)

The workshop. Batch Nine.

He sprints out. Rebecca kneels at a safe distance, tears running. Moments later Daniel returns with a syringe of pale blue liquid, its label reading STABILIZER, W.

REBECCA

You made this for him. You knew.

DANIEL

I hoped I would never need it.

He plunges it into William's arm. William gasps. The frost retreats from the walls like a tide going out. William slumps, breathing hard, but his hands still smoke with cold.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. FAMILY KITCHEN, DAWN

Pale light through a frosted window. William sits at the table with towels wrapped around his hands. Daniel stands by the counter, exhausted. Rebecca sets down a plate of bread, a small, hopeful gesture.

DANIEL

The stabilizer holds the cold down for three hours. Then it wakes again. Every three hours, William. Every single time.

William lays one bare palm on the wooden table. A handprint of frost spreads across the grain and does not melt. Nobody speaks.

WILLIAM

Dad, is this my fault?

DANIEL

No. This is mine.

Daniel unclasps his old wristwatch, straps it onto William's wrist, and sets its alarm.

DANIEL

Three hours. When it rings, you come to me. And when the cold gets loud, you say the Creed.

WILLIAM

(quietly)

Cold keeps what warmth would lose.

Rebecca turns away to hide her tears. William's jacket hangs on the chair behind him. The corner of the tape recorder shows in the pocket, forgotten. On the frosted window, a single perfect ice flower slowly blooms.

FADE OUT.