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/RED ROOM, NEVERLAND, INTERIOR, NIGHT./

/ROMIE and PATRICK are tangled in BEDSHEETS, her head on his shoulder, bathed in BLUE LIGHT. They look content; sated. The scarlet walls which surround them are covered in HATS of all shapes and sizes. A GAS HEATER clicks on and off, throwing auroras against the ceiling. The faint outlines of COLORED GLASS can be discerned through sheer white CURTAINS. From time to time, a HAUNTING VOICE can be heard, circling the house as it calls "Seven."/

PATRICK: You know, I thought this semester would be relatively free of drama.

ROMIE: (with incredulity) How do you figure?

PATRICK: (embarrassed) Well, I mean . . . I'm married.

ROMIE: To me.

PATRICK: (flustered) Well, yes, but I mean . . . I didn't expect to be stalked by a psychopath who thinks we have her missing dog tied up in the cellar we don't have.

ROMIE: Mmmmmm.

PATRICK: And when I saw Krista's roommate the other day, my left hand flew behind my back to hide the ring.

ROMIE: Mmmmm.

PATRICK: It was like I couldn't even control it!

/ROMIE clumsily pats PATRICK's head/

PATRICK: And have you noticed that an odd number of things break in the general vicinity of our closet even though nobody's anywhere near them at the time?

ROMIE: (yawning) Don't worry. You'll get used to it.

PATRICK: (considering) Yes. Yes; I suppose I will.

VOICE: (from off) Seven . . . . Seven . . . .

ROMIE: (kissing PATRICK's jawbone) Good night, honey.

PATRICK: (kissing ROMIE's forehead) Good night, darling.

/The LIGHT switches OFF./