Logline: A man wakes up in a stranger's house, no clothes, no cell phone, no recollection of how he got there; all he wants is to get home, but he has to solve this puzzle first.
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Norman Mallard slowly opened his eyes, woke up, caught a glimpse of a painting on the wall; he did not recognize it.
"What's that?" Norman is now fully alert. Eyes wide open, he looks around and doesn't recognize the room he's in, at all. Norman leaps to his feet, wearing t-shirts and boxers, "Where am I? Where are my clothes?"
Norman leaves the bedroom to find himself in a stranger's home. He quickly makes his way to the front of the house to the front door; he doesn't know the neighborhood either. A woman across the street is watering her lawn, seeing Norman in his boxers; she gives him a slight eyebrow raise. Norman begins to back-up and back in the house. He's looking around for a phone, "No landline, welcome to modern times."
There's a wedding picture on the wall, the couple looks familiar, but he doesn't know where from. Norman stares at the image for a minute or so, trying to get his recollection,
"I've seen them before." Curious, Norman starts to dig through drawers and cabinets, listening attentively for people coming home.
"Nothing with a name, a bill, junk mail, parking ticket?"
Norman finally finds a math assignment done by a child, on top of the paper is the name Liam Ventura.
"Ventura, where have I heard that name before, Ventura?"
Norman had worked on the police squad for 30 years; he was to retire next fall. Maybe it was a criminal that he busted, looking to get back at him, was he drugged, kidnapped,
"Was I drunk last night." If he was three sheets to the wind somewhere, and someone took him in, afraid he was going to drink and drive, that'd be ok. Norman can't remember anything that he did yesterday, it's like someone erased his brain. He thought to himself, though, it wasn't like anyone was holding him here, he was free to go. After searching most of the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen area, he couldn't find any evidence as to what happened last night.
Norman decided that he would borrow a pair of pants, head home, and look into it another time. He entered the main bedroom, where there was men's clothing in a closet, the shirts embroidered with the letters V and V, that stood for Vic Ventura,
"What a schmuck." Norman knew that name from somewhere; he didn't know where, though.
As it would turn out, the pants were a little too tight; he didn't care, he put on the pants, a snug fit, borrowed a pair of sneakers, and left the house. The neighborhood was familiar yet strange to Norman, it was like he had been here before, but he couldn't recollect where or when. He walked about 10 feet from the house and saw a guy sitting in his car down the road, looking at him.
"What is this guy looking at? Are you looking at me? I'm being watched." Norman decided to call a taxi. He would have called his wife or daughter, but, of course, all of the numbers were saved in his cell phone, which he didn't have. He was probably better off, Norma, his wife, is going to chew him out for not coming home last night.
"She's probably worried sick."
Norman quickly walked across the street and knocked on the neighbor's door.
"Hi, I'm sorry to bother you, could I borrow your phone, I need to call myself a taxi," Norman said as the lady pulled out her cell phone and let him dial.
"Do you mind, could you look up the number for me, I don't know how these dam smart devices work," Norman said. The lady, probably in her early fifties, used the search engine device to look up a number of a taxi company. Norman placed the call.
"Hi, I need a taxi," Norman said into the phone as he looks at the lady for an address.
"265 Mapleton Road," the woman said as Norman repeated the address into the phone.
"I'm sorry I don't have any money on me, but I have some money at the destination, I'll gladly pay you with a large tip when we get there, Ok, thanks," Norman said as he handed back the phone,
"It's been a tough day, thanks for the help," Norman said.
By the time Norman finished the call, the guy who was watching him had driven away or had changed locations. Norman didn't give it much thought and patiently waited for his taxi curbside.
Norman looked at the mailbox, inside there was a bill addressed to Natalie Ventura. The only thing he knew at this point, was this house was owned by a couple named Vic and Natalie Ventura, and they had a son named Liam. Norman figures he may never solve this puzzle, and it'd be best if he just goes home. He pauses for a minute on the name Natalie; it makes him think of his daughter because his daughter is named Natalie, she's off at college now.
The taxi finally comes, Norman gets in and gives his address,
"35 Dexter Street," he says.
"Dexter Street? I don't know that one, what town?" The driver asks.
"Toledo, why, what town is this?" Norman asked.
"You're in Kalamazoo, sir," the driver said.
With that, Norman got out of the taxi; he wasn't about to pay $200 for a cab ride home. He went back into the house; he was determined to wait it out, wait for someone to get there, finally have someone tell him what the hell happened last night.
An hour went by, and Norman's mind started to race, how did he end up in Kalamazoo? He decided to look deeper into the house; there has to be something that connected him with the Ventura's. As Norman was digging through some old boxes in the basement, he stumbled upon photos of his family, his daughter, his wife when they were younger. He starts to think; these people have been stalking me. They had his daughter's high-school diploma, her Honor Society letter, photos of her and her friends, all buried in a box in the basement.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Norman was sure that this couple had kidnapped his daughter, locked her up somewhere, or God forbid, she's already dead. Norman becomes paranoid, he wants answers to questions, and he wants them now. He starts digging around the house for a weapon, so when they come back, he's ready.
Armed with a little league baseball bat from Liam's bedroom, he waits, minutes turn into hours, Norman's about to doze off, when all of a sudden a car pulls into the driveway. Norman's wide awake now, a woman gets out of a Jeep, and enters the back door, Norman is waiting for her.
As the woman enters the house, Norman jumps out, scaring her half to death.
"I want answers right now, where is my daughter?" Norman screams.
"Oh my god, dad, you scared me half to death," the woman says.
"Dad?" Norman says. This woman has to be at least in her late forties, "my daughter's at college, who are you?" Norman asks.
"Oh no, not another spell, Dad, it's me, Natalie, your daughter," Natalie says as she begins to cry.
"I don't believe you; you have her locked up somewhere, it's all connected to this Ventura thing," Norman says.
"Dad, Ventura is my married name, I've been married to Vic Ventura for ten years, don't you remember you were at the wedding," Natalie says.
Norman is trying to recall, but he can't, the last thing he remembers is his daughter going to college. Norman drops the bat and has a seat in the kitchen. The previous 25 years of his life, gone without a trace from his memory. He wants to speak to his wife, Norma, but she died a month ago.
Norman was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's last week when he was arrested in Toledo, trying to enter a house he did not live in. 35 Dexter Street, his residence when he was in the police force. After he was released from the hospital, Natalie and Vic took him in. She spent the afternoon traveling to Toledo to retrieve personal items, clothing, toothbrush, and other amenities for him. She didn't realize it had gotten this bad; she would never have left him alone if she knew he couldn't remember where he was.
Norman did not accept that Natalie was his daughter, so he convinced himself that a plot was going on. Norman was troublesome the rest of the night, and when Vic and Liam came home from a baseball game, he was determined to discover the truth and even threatened Vic with a baseball bat.
Norman was admitted to a 24-hour nursing facility; the Alzheimer's had advanced too rapidly for Vic and Natalie to take care of them on their own. Memory is our reality; it is the foundation on which we understand our position in the world. It's a reference point to people, locations, and moments in life. Without recollection, every day is like waking up in a strange place, trying to find out where you are today. The worst part of it is that your loved ones are affected the most because they watch slowly as you forget who they are.
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