Panic Room: The Novel

Disclaimer: I do not own the script of Panic Room, or the film or anything to do with Panic Room. I do not own micro scooters either. I'm not sure if the American's call them that, but we do, so that's what I'm calling them. Oh, and while I'm at it, I do not own any of the brand names I use, they belong to individual companies.

A/N: Ok, I'm writing this because I want to. Not because I want reviews or anything, although that would be an added bonus. This is basically the story of the film, padded out, with my own adaptations. Please bear with me as I only have the draft script (from the movie) to work from. It also has an alternate ending, which I'm not sure I will use. I apologise for any mistakes I might make, as I am English and the script and film is American, there is bound to be errors. Feel free to point them out.

Chapter One

Three figures hurried down West 83rd street, New York City. Real estate agent broker, Lydia Lynch led the group, practically vaulting down the sidewalk; she sure had one hell of a stride. Meg Altman struggled to keep up; she was a tall, wafer thin woman of about thirty, with a face as pale as the grave. 11 year old Sarah Altman followed them, scooting on a metallic red micro scooter. You could tell she was Meg's daughter, the resemblance was clear even with the age difference.

"…Seventeen feet wide, fifty-five feet deep, forty-two hundred square feet altogether. Four floors, with a rentable basement, so actually that counts as five, courtyard out back…"

"Sorry, could you slow down a little?" Meg interrupted Lydia's mini lecture, and looked over her shoulder. "Or we could wait for the car…"

This latest idea was squashed flat by the estate agent. "No, no cars. We could be stuck in traffic for ages. Feet are faster."

Sarah rolled her eyes "Feet are faster!" she mimicked under her breath "For you maybe!" Meg looked back at her, shooting her a warning look. Sarah pointedly ignored it.

Meg turned back at Lydia, "So, how many do we have left to view after this?"

"None. There's nothing else. You know how tight the market is." Her manner was brisk and abrupt; it obviously made Meg uncomfortable.

"But I told you on the phone. I need to be moved in in two weeks." She looked over her shoulder at her daughter again. "Don't use that here Sarah."

Sarah pulled a face. "Mom, it's the sidewalk." And carried on scooting.

"Oh, that miserable little prick is already leaving." Lydia commented as they neared a row of brownstones. Narrow four storey townhouses, they must be a hundred years old or more.

A sour-looking man has locked the door of number twenty-six and was just starting down the steps. He noticed Lydia hurrying towards him.

The man, whose name was Evan, looked irritated. "Lydia, one day you will learn to respect other people's time. One day you will…"

But Lydia didn't seem too bothered about would happen to her, as she interrupted him before he finished. "Evan, I'm so sorry, you were a saint to wait for us!"

Evan turned, and headed back up the steps, to unlock the door. Muttering all the way. He threw open the door, revealing the airy foyer of the house. The place was completely empty, and Meg and Sarah were overwhelmed by all the space. The group filed in, Evan leaving Lydia to shut the door.

He talked fast, obviously behind schedule. "This is the middle of the house, the entry floor." He gestured with his arms, "the living room's over there, the kitchen's on the floor below, and there are two bedroom floors above."

Lydia slammed the door with a THUD, as if to say no one's ever getting out. Meg tried (and failed) to get Sarah's attention to tell her to stop riding her scooter in the house.

Evan continued his briefing, "It's an enormous amount of space for the money, and, if I'm perfectly honest, the family are in no hurry whatsoever."

Meg whispered Sarah's name, but either she didn't hear, or chose to ignore it, as Meg didn't get a reaction.

But Evan didn't seem bothered by Sarah's antics and kept on going. "I don't have to tell you there is an acute shortage of living space on the market in Manhattan right now, and this is a highly unique property."

Lydia cut across him and shouted over at Sarah, "No scooter, kid."

"Her name's Sarah." Meg corrected her.

Sarah instantly picked up the scooter and swings it across her back, wandering in to the living room and peering through the big French doors, which look out over a courtyard area. There's another row of brownstones on the next block and all the patios back up to each other. It looks peaceful out there, like an oasis in the city.

"It's got a yard. Sort of."

Evan flung open the door of an old fashioned cage style elevator. "Working elevator, Mr. Pearlstine, the previous owner, was disabled in the last ten years of his life. The elevator is highly unusual and one like it will not be found in ninety percent of brownstones."

Meg looked at Evan, "Will they take asking price? I need a two week escrow and I'm already approved for the loan."

Lydia turned and gave Meg, an "are you insane?" look.

"Why don't we see the house before we dicker, hmm? I have to warn you, this is the response we expected to get, after all, it's a very emotional property." He started up the stairs, leaving them in the foyer.

Lydia waited until he was out of hearing range, "Who taught you to negotiate?" she asked rudely.

Sarah looked at her mother, "It's not like Saks' Mom; you don't have to pay the price on the tag." She got in the elevator and rattled the cage shut with a bang. That kid sure had attitude.

Meg brushed a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, her hand was shaking. "I'm sorry, apartments, and…money, and…this is more my husband's area."

She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a prescription pill bottle and some water.

"Was. His area I mean. I'm not very good at…"

Lydia watched as she swallowed a pill, and waited impatiently for her to finish her sentence. Not very good at what?

"…things, and if I can't prove to my soon to-be ex-husband that I can find a suitable place for our daughter to live in the next fourteen days, it's going to get ugly between us. Uglier."

Lydia just looked at her, no idea what to say. The two are as different as chalk and cheese.

Evan called down from upstairs, interrupting the awkward silence. "It would be so lovely if I could show you the property before I leave!"

Evan, Lydia, and Meg poked their heads into a series of different rooms, one after the other, the tour flying by quickly. First, an upstairs bedroom, nice, roomy, looks out on onto the courtyard.

"This is the top floor, two bedrooms, and one bathroom." Evan kept up a running commentary.

Another floor, another empty room. "This is the third floor, spare bedroom, den what have you. Mr. Pearlstine used it as an office."

"He's talking about Bernard Pearlstine." Lydia whispered to Meg.

Meg shrugged, "Who's he?"

Evan moved through to a bathroom, "Master bath."

Lydia stayed back to talk to Meg. "He was the hotel guy. You know? He's been in all the papers lately. His kids are all suing each other over his estate. He was a total recluse, paranoid, rich as hell; he was worth thirty million or something, and now it turns out they can't find half of it!" She paused, and then carried on in a sing song voice, "Well, it looks like somebody took something they shouldn't!"

Evan poked his head around the doorframe, "I can hardly see how family gossip is relevant to showing the property."

Lydia muttered to Meg, "I wish he'd stop calling it the property, it sounds ridiculous." The two obviously didn't get along.

Evan, who had disappeared into a closet, "This is the master closet."

There was a groaning metallic sound from the hallway, the elevator, and Sarah's laughter as she put it through its paces.

Evan winced, "Could the little one please stop that?"

"KID!" Lydia shouted, "NO ELEVATOR!" she glanced at Meg and winks.

"And here we emerge in the Master Bedroom." He checked his watch; he's going to be late home, again.

Meg looked around the room, a puzzled expression displayed across her face. "Isn't this room a little smaller that it should be?" She asked Evan.

Evan smiled, wearily. "I was waiting for you to notice! No one back at the office had the slightest idea until it was pointed out." He walks up to the panelled wall, and chooses one, that at a glance looks identical to the others, except for the fact it had a large mirror fixed to it, but when you look closer you can see a faint vertical hair line crack running along it's length. Evan pushed the panel and it swings back, revealing a small windowless box room.

Meg and Lydia step forward, fascinated. Their eyes squinting; unaccustomed to the dark.

"It's called a panic room." He hit a switch just inside the door and a row of bulbs flickered on, illuminating the room. It made the two women blink in surprise.

"A what room?" Meg asked, for the sake of her own curiosity.

Evan seemed delighted to elaborate, "A safe room. An Inner Sanctum. A castle keep, in medieval times."

Lydia gave a slight nod of recognition. "Oh, I've seen these…"

"It's quite popular in high end construction right now. One can't be too careful about home invasion." Evan continued.

The other two walked inside, but Meg lingered near the door, inspecting the room from a safe distance. Several crates of survival supplies, each labelled with their contents. Water, Food, Battery Packs, Flash Lights, Clothes, Blankets, Rope, Tools and various other items.

Lydia looked at Meg, "Hey, this is perfect for you."

Meg scoffed, "Sure."

"Absolutely. You're a single mom, say your alarm goes off, or you hear breaking glass, or for whatever reason you think someone's broken into your home in the middle of the night. What are you going to do? Call the cops and wait 'till Tuesday? Go downstairs in your sexy little negligee and investigate it yourself? I don't think so!"

Evan took a more business like manner of explaining the use of the room. "Reinforced steel core walls. Buried phone line, completely separate from the house's main line, and never exposed throughout the house's infrastructure, or outside the house. You can call the police and no one can cut you off. There's your own ventilation system, complete with oxygen scrubber, so you have plenty of fresh air for as long as you like. A toilet. And a bank of video monitors…" He flicked a switch next to a dozen tiny monitors and they all buzzed into life, each one showing a different view of the house. "Each monitor shows a different angle of the house, covering almost every corner."

Meg nodded. She felt a little too warm. "Well it sure makes me nervous."

Lydia frowned, "Why?" she asked, bluntly.

Meg smiled coldly at her, "Ever read any Poe?"

Lydia shook her head, "I don't think so, but I love her new album."

It was Meg's turn to shake her head, "No, Edgar Allen." She said in an exasperated tone.

Her words didn't mean much to Lydia. "The furniture guy?"

Meg gave up, and turned her attention to Evan. "So, what's to stop them from prying open the door?"

He reached past Meg, the palm of his hand brushing against a red button, situated directly under a green one, next to the door. With a sudden WHANG of steel, a heavy metal door glided out of a slot in the wall and SLAMMED shut, giving off a slight vibration as it did so. A series of metal latches clicked inside it, from top to bottom, sealing it in place.

"That's steel, about four inches thick. No one is prying that door off."

Meg taook a step back. Now they're enclosed in the room.

Evan continued firing out information, like a machine gun would bullets. "Everything's spring loaded, so even if the power's down it's still fully functional."

Meg had stopped listening. "Open it." Her voice had an unmistakable tremor.

"Old Bernie didn't miss a trick, did he?" Lydia stated.

"Open the door."

Lydia carried on "And with kid's like he's got, no wonder he wanted a place to hide." She seemed to know more about the Pearlstine family than she did the house. Lydia was obviously a gossip queen.

"I said, open the door." Meg was breathing shallowly; she put out a hand to steady herself.

Evan obligingly reached out and pressed the green button this time, and the latches clicked open, the sliding back into its slot, revealing Sarah, standing awed in the doorway.

"Wow. This is my room, definitely my room."

She bolted in, just as her mother bolted out. Meg stood just outside the panic room, rapidly regaining her composure. "I'm not crazy about tight spaces." She stated the obvious.

Lydia was too busy inspecting the door to be concerned with Meg's claustrophobia issues. "This door is a safety hazard."

"Not at all," Evan contradicted. He points, there's a tiny green beam that shines across the doorway, one at shoulder height…

"Infrared. Like the beam in an elevator doorway. It won't let the door close if something's blocking it."

…and one at shin height. Evan bent down, and blocked the one at shin height with his hand. "Watch this." He reached up to press the red button, but he couldn't quite reach. "Lydia, press that red button for me, will you?"

"Don't!" Meg cried out.

But she did, with an unnatural expression of malice on her face. However, nothing happened.

Evan stood up, removing his hand, the beam became complete. "Try again."

Lydia pushed the button again. This time the door rocketed shut, the metallic clang reverberated around the room. Almost immediately the piece of fake wall hummed shut, closing over the door and making the room look complete again. Meg saw her reflection in the mirror; she looked at herself, still rattled, and wiped a trickle of sweat from her face.