============================================================ WHERE DID MISSY GO? Screenplay by Julio Lonnie Lopez 2026 ============================================================ Content warning — themes of grief and death SCENE 1: MORNING ROUTINE Early light slants through the kitchen window—that particular California gold that happens before the heat sets in. The apartment is modest but lived-in. Two mugs on the counter. A second chair at the table. An open box of cereal and another half-full one on the counter. JESSICA (early 30s, vibrant, moves through the world easily) stands at the stove in a tank top and pajama pants, scrambling eggs. She's humming. Behind her at the small kitchen table, MISSY (visible, present, same age or close) scrolls through her phone, nursing a coffee. MISSY (not looking up) "So he ordered the appetizer sampler and then complained it was too much food." JESSICA (flipping eggs) "No." MISSY "Yes. And then when the check came, he was like, 'This is expensive.'" Jessica turns, laughing. JESSICA "Did he ask you to split it?" MISSY "Worse. He asked if I could cover my half." Jessica shakes her head, slides the eggs onto a plate, brings it to the table. She sits across from Missy—the routine is so easy, so natural. Missy sets her phone down. JESSICA "You know what? You're going to meet someone actually decent someday and you're going to forget all these guys exist." MISSY (dry) "Is that what happened to you?" Jessica shoots her a look. Missy grins—a little mean, a little fond. It's the rhythm of people who live together. JESSICA "I'm waiting for the right person." MISSY "You've been waiting. For a while." JESSICA "I'm selective." MISSY "You're selective about people who actually notice you exist." They eat. No edge to it. Just truth between people who know each other. JESSICA "Did I tell you rent's going up thirty bucks next month?" MISSY (mouth full) "Of course it is." JESSICA "We're still okay though, right?" MISSY "We're always okay." Jessica looks at her—that small reassurance landing. Missy's already back to her phone. Jessica eats, comfortable in the silence. The camera pulls back slightly, seeing them both at the table, the morning light, the casual symmetry of their lives. JESSICA (standing, clearing plates) "Bus at 7:15?" MISSY (already moving) "Always." * * * SCENE 2: FIRST BUS The local route. Morning commuters—not packed, but active. The bus has that particular smell: coffee, fabric, city air. Jessica and Missy board together, Jessica leading. They find seats midway back, sitting next to each other. Jessica by the window, Missy on the aisle. They've done this a hundred times. MISSY (settling in) "Did you see that email from corporate about the new printing software?" JESSICA "No. Why, is it bad?" MISSY "Just looks like a lot of training videos." Jessica pulls out her phone, scrolling. Missy does the same. Comfortable silence. A moment passes. An older woman (the DOCTOR, 60s, observant, kind face) stands at the front of the bus, steadying herself as it turns a corner. She's wearing a light cardigan over work clothes. She glances back toward Jessica and Missy, catches Jessica's eye briefly, gives a small, knowing nod. Jessica nods back—a familiar face, routine recognition. The Doctor looks away. She never quite looks at Missy. MISSY (not looking up from her phone) "You're going to have a good day at work." JESSICA "How do you know?" MISSY "Because you always do. You're like, aggressively competent." JESSICA (smiling) "That's not a compliment." MISSY "It should be." The bus slows. A stop approaching. An older man gets on, sits across from them. He acknowledges Jessica with a slight nod—another regular. He doesn't look at Missy. Just sits, settles into his own commute. The bus pulls to a stop. Jessica stands, grabs her bag. JESSICA (to Missy) "Same time tonight?" MISSY (already standing) "Always." They move toward the door. As they exit, they separate naturally—Jessica turning left toward the office building, Missy turning right toward a different direction. Jessica walks without looking back. Confident. Ready for her day. * * * SCENE 3: WORK - GRAPHICS TEAM A corner of the store dedicated to design work. Three workstations with computers. Supplies, color samples, printing stock. It's functional, slightly cramped, but organized. Jessica's area is the hub—clean, efficient. Jessica sits at her desk, coffee in hand, reviewing a client file on her screen. Around her, two graphic team members (20s, casual, engaged) are working on their own projects. RYAN (earnest, eager) walks over holding a printed mockup. RYAN "Hey Jess, can you check this before I send it to the client?" Jessica takes it, scans it quickly. She's practiced. She knows what works. JESSICA "The color on the logo—it's reading too warm. Pull it down one shade, test it again. And this corner? Tighten the kerning just a bit." RYAN (nodding, already moving) "Got it." MARCUS looks up from his monitor. MARCUS "Jess, real quick—the file the client sent has the fonts embedded wrong. Do you want me to reach out or just rebuild it?" JESSICA (already at his desk, looking) "I'll send them a message. They're usually responsive. Don't waste your time rebuilding if we can get the right file." She's efficient, decisive. Not harsh—just clear. Marcus nods, trusts her call. The store manager (50s, competent, tired) appears in the background, watching for a moment. He sees Jessica running the team. He nods to himself—satisfied. Jessica glances at her phone on her desk. A beat. She smiles slightly at something (or nothing). Goes back to work. The camera stays on the team working—the hum of printers in the distance, focused concentration, Jessica at the center of it all. JESSICA (to the team, casual) "Alright, let's knock these out before lunch. I want everything prepped by noon." RYAN (not looking up) "You say that every day." JESSICA (grinning) "And it works every day." * * * SCENE 4: THE NIGHT MISSY DOESN'T COME HOME Jessica enters, keys on the hook. She's still in work clothes. The apartment is quiet. Evening light is softening into dusk. She sets her bag down, moves to the kitchen. Opens the fridge out of habit, looking for something to eat. Closes it. Not hungry yet. She sits on the couch with her phone. Scrolls. Texts someone (we don't see who). No response. JESSICA (to the empty apartment, casual) "Hey, you're late." She waits. Listens. Nothing. She stands, walks to Missy's bedroom door. Opens it. The room is tidy, lived-in. A bed, a dresser, books on a shelf. She closes the door. Back to the couch. She turns on the TV. Some evening news. She's not really watching. Still on the couch. She texts again. Waits. Her phone doesn't light up. JESSICA (quieter, to herself) "Where are you?" She calls. It goes to voicemail—a generic message. She doesn't leave one. Jessica is at the kitchen table now, laptop open. She's checking Facebook, Instagram. Nothing new from Missy. She scrolls through mutual friends, looking for... something. A clue? A sign? She closes the laptop. The apartment feels bigger now. Quieter. Jessica is back on the couch. The TV is still on but muted. She's just sitting. Phone in her lap. She calls again. Voicemail again. JESSICA (into the phone, trying to keep it light, failing slightly) "Okay, you're freaking me out a little. Call me back?" She hangs up. The camera stays on her—alone on the couch, the empty second chair across from her, Missy's bedroom door closed in the background. The apartment suddenly feels like it was designed for two people, and now there's only one. Jessica pulls her knees up to her chest. Waits. * * * SCENE 5: THE UNRAVELING - MONTAGE Jessica sits on the couch in yesterday's clothes. Her phone is on speaker. A woman's voice (her mother) comes through, concerned but measured. JESSICA'S MOTHER (V.O.) "Have you called the police?" JESSICA "I don't... I don't know if I should yet. It hasn't been that long." JESSICA'S MOTHER (V.O.) "How long?" JESSICA "Since yesterday afternoon." Silence on the line. JESSICA'S MOTHER (V.O.) "Okay. Call the police. That's what they're for." Jessica nods, even though her mother can't see her. She hangs up. The apartment is darker now. Blinds still closed. Jessica stands in Missy's room. She's looking at things—the dresser, the bookshelf, the bed that hasn't been slept in. Her hands hover over objects like she's looking for evidence. She picks up a framed photo from the dresser—the two of them, laughing at the beach. She stares at it. She sets it back down, carefully, as if it might break. She leaves the room. Closes the door. Jessica is at her desk at work, but she's not present. A client file is open on her screen. She's been staring at it for a while. Ryan approaches with a design mockup. RYAN "Hey Jess, got a second?" Jessica startles slightly. Refocuses. JESSICA "Yeah, sorry. What is it?" He shows her the mockup. She looks at it. Her eyes scan, but nothing registers. She's somewhere else. JESSICA (distracted) "It's... it looks good. Send it." RYAN (hesitant) "Are you sure? You usually—" JESSICA (sharper than intended) "I said send it." Ryan nods, quiet, backing away. He exchanges a look with Marcus. Jessica turns back to her screen. Her hands are shaking slightly. She grips the edge of the desk. Jessica sits across from a police officer (40s, competent, not unkind, but matter-of-fact). He has a small notebook open. OFFICER "Do you have a photo of her?" JESSICA (shaking her head) "She... she doesn't really like being photographed." OFFICER "Social media? Facebook, Instagram?" JESSICA "No. She's not on any of that." The Officer writes something down. OFFICER "Phone number?" JESSICA "She doesn't really use her phone much. She doesn't like phones." The Officer looks up from his notebook. A beat. OFFICER "Social security number?" Jessica doesn't answer immediately. The Officer waits. JESSICA (quietly) "I don't... I wouldn't have that memorized." OFFICER "Driver's license? Address?" JESSICA "She lives with me. She doesn't drive." The Officer sets down his pen. He's not hostile, but there's a shift. A problem with the narrative. OFFICER "Ms. Chen, I'm going to be honest with you. There's nothing in any system with this person's name. No driver's license, no social security number, nothing. Before we can file a missing person report, we need some kind of record. A footprint." JESSICA (defensive, desperate) "What if she was using a fake name? What if someone... what if she was catfished or something?" The Officer looks at her carefully. OFFICER "Do you have any contact information for her? A phone number, an email, anything?" Jessica realizes she doesn't. The realization lands hard. The Officer closes his notebook quietly. * * * SCENE 6: THE BUS BREAKDOWN The same route. Different time of day, different passengers, but the same rhythm. Jessica sits near the middle, by the window. Her hands are in her lap, trembling slightly. Her eyes are red. She's been crying. Trying not to be crying. Her phone buzzes. A text from the manager: "Need you back ASAP. Situation's getting critical." She stares at the message. Doesn't respond. JESSICA (quietly, to the empty seat next to her) "Missy?" A passenger or two glance at her. She doesn't notice. JESSICA (CONT'D) (more urgent) "Missy, come on. Where are you?" Her voice is shaking. She's trying to will her back into existence. JESSICA (CONT'D) (almost pleading) "I need... I need you to come back. Please. Just... just come back." She's gripping the edge of the seat. Her breathing is shallow. An older woman (the DOCTOR) boards at the next stop. The bus driver gives her a small nod—familiar, routine. BUS DRIVER "Afternoon, Doctor." The Doctor nods back, steady. Her eyes scan the bus. She sees Jessica immediately—the only person not composed, not present in the normal way. The Doctor walks deliberately down the aisle, directly toward Jessica. She's not rushed. She's sure. She stops in front of Jessica, across the aisle. DOCTOR (direct, not unkind) "Where did Missy go?" Jessica snaps her head up. She looks at the Doctor—this stranger who knows Missy's name. Her face crumples. She's trying not to cry, failing. JESSICA (voice breaking) "I don't know?" It comes out as a question, as if she's asking the Doctor to tell her. The Doctor looks at the empty seat next to Jessica. Really looks at it. Then back at Jessica's face—distraught, desperate, alone. DOCTOR (quietly, with weight) "You know, a lot of times what works yesterday isn't necessarily going to work today." JESSICA (crying now, messy) "But she was my friend. She was my... how does a friend stop working?" The Doctor doesn't answer immediately. The bus continues, steady. The automated voice announces: BUS SYSTEM (V.O.) "Next stop: Medical Center." The Doctor reaches up, pulls the cord. The bus begins to slow. JESSICA (CONT'D) (barely a whisper) "How?" The Doctor looks at her—really sees her. There's recognition in her eyes. The weight of someone who knows. DOCTOR (as the bus slows) "That's what you need to figure out." The bus stops. The doors open. The Doctor steps out smoothly, steadily, and walks off into the afternoon light. Jessica watches her go. Then she's alone again—alone with the question, alone with the empty seat. The bus door closes. The bus continues. Jessica sits very still. * * * SCENE 7: THE APARTMENT - THE MESSAGE Jessica enters. She doesn't turn on the lights. The apartment is in that in-between state—not quite dark, not quite lit. She leaves the door open behind her. She stands in the middle of the room for a moment, looking at the space. The two-person furniture. The second chair at the table. The closed bedroom door. She moves to the kitchen slowly. Opens her laptop on the counter. She sits on the stool. Pulls up Facebook. The feed loads. There are messages—some spam, some notifications. She scrolls down absently, not really looking. She's thinking about what the Doctor said. "How?" Her phone buzzes. Another text from the Manager: "Jessica, we need you. Now." She silences it. She keeps scrolling on Facebook, almost mechanical. Spam. A birthday notification. A friend's photo. More spam. She scrolls down again. And there it is—two messages down, still unread. The message preview is visible: DAVID CHEN "Carol's Wake - Friday at 2 PM. Please join us to—" The rest is cut off. Jessica stops scrolling. She stares at the preview. She doesn't click on it. Not yet. JESSICA (to herself, barely audible) "Oh." She sits with it for a moment. Her hand hovers over the trackpad. Then, slowly, she clicks. The full message opens. It's from Carol's husband, David. Posted five days ago. "Carol's Wake - Friday at 2 PM. Please join us to celebrate the life of Carol Martinez. Visitation at Oakwood Cemetery, 2-5 PM. In lieu of flowers, please make a donation to—" Jessica's eyes blur. She reads it again. And again. The word "Wake" sits there. She closes the laptop gently. She stands. Walks to the window. Looks out at the street below—people moving through their evening, ordinary, unbroken. She turns back to look at her apartment. Really look at it. The space for two people. The empty second chair. The closed bedroom door. The silence. JESSICA (to the apartment, to the absence, to herself) "Okay." She grabs her keys from the hook. She doesn't know exactly where Oakwood Cemetery is, but she pulls out her phone and types the address. Maps loads. It's twenty minutes away. She stands at the door for a moment, hand on the frame. Then she leaves. * * * SCENE 8: THE GRAVESIDE The sun is low, casting long shadows across the grass. The cemetery is quiet, almost empty. A few headstones catch the golden light. Jessica walks slowly through the rows, checking plot numbers against her phone. She's still in her work clothes. Her hair is pulled back. Her face is calm now—beyond exhaustion, into clarity. She finds the grave. The stone is new. Fresh flowers have been laid. CAROL MARTINEZ 1991 - 2026 Beloved Friend, Daughter, Wife Jessica stands in front of it for a long moment. Just looking. She sits down on the grass, cross-legged, in front of the grave. She doesn't speak immediately. The wind moves through the trees. The light is softening, turning amber. JESSICA (quietly, to Carol) "I'm sorry I missed it. The funeral. I know that's... I know you would have understood, but I'm still sorry." She picks at the grass. JESSICA (CONT'D) "I got the message. I just... I couldn't... I wasn't ready to know you were gone." A pause. Real grief, real regret. JESSICA (CONT'D) "But I'm here now. So." She looks at the stone. At Carol's name. JESSICA (CONT'D) "I had this friend. This person who was always with me. Who made things bearable. And I didn't realize until recently how much I needed that. How much I needed her. And then she disappeared, and I thought I was going crazy. I thought something happened to her, or that I was losing it." She wipes her eyes. JESSICA (CONT'D) "But someone told me that having people to talk to—even when they're not there—that's not broken. That's just... human. That's how we survive sometimes." The camera pulls back slightly, showing Jessica alone on the grass, speaking to absence. JESSICA (CONT'D) "I think I was avoiding you because I didn't know how to talk to you when you're gone. But I'm figuring it out. So thank you for that. For showing me." She sits quietly for another moment. The light continues to shift. Then she hears it—footsteps on the path behind her. Slow, familiar. Jessica doesn't turn around immediately. She waits. A hand touches her shoulder gently from behind. Jessica closes her eyes. MISSY (O.S.) (casual, warm, as if no time has passed) "Where do you want to go for lunch?" Jessica turns slowly. Missy stands there—solid, present, visible on camera—smiling that familiar, slightly dry smile. She's exactly as she was. As if she just stepped around a corner. Jessica's face crumples for just a moment, then opens into something like relief, like recognition, like coming home. JESSICA (small smile, wet eyes) "Anywhere." MISSY (sitting down next to her on the grass) "That's very unlike you. You're usually very opinionated about these things." JESSICA (laughing quietly) "Yeah, I know." They sit together on the grass in front of Carol's grave, the two of them, the absent friend they're both visiting now in different ways. The light continues to soften around them. The camera holds on them—grounded, present, together in the way that matters. ============================================================ From False Universe https://afalseuniverse.com ============================================================