Byzantium Page #3

she doesn't join in.

You leave her be,

do you understand?

Now, your gentlemen

are waiting for you.

Now, you be professional, O.K.,

otherwise you're back sucking

c*cks on the street... out!

I'll try and keep you

out of this, O.K.?

- In case you shock me?

- Look, we need the money.

- I'm not complaining. - Well, then

wipe that prissy look off your face.

How can I be prissy when I've seen

it all a thousand times before?

Well, what else are

we supposed to do?

I know I won't get your thanks

or your gratitude or your respect.

- You could do so much better.

- I put money on the table.

That's what mothers do!

Mothers care about the

lives their children live.

What kind of life is this?

Care for ya

just remember,

I... lo... lov... love...

love ya.

Humans need to

tell stories.

It's a fundamental

and uniting thing.

It's through stories that we come

to understand ourselves and

we come to understand the world.

So, close your eyes.

It's our own experience

that is the starting point for all

our creativity.

Think about your

early childhood.

And when I say your name,

give me a memory,

a, a detail,

a sensation, a feeling...

The first thing that comes

into your mind, O.K.?

Eleanor.

Mother.

What about her?

She would come to

the skylight at night.

I was afraid.

Why?

They told me since infancy

that she was dead.

And then?

The face at the window had

more substance than a ghost.

O.K., thanks.

- And yet...

- Frank.

I knew it could not live.

Yeah, um, my friend,

David Atkinson.

I'm the only person

who can see him.

Um... I was probably too

much alone, whatever,

and David Atkinson

used to appear...

in my room.

And we'd play.

And I guess

I grew out of him.

He came till I was about

seven or eight.

Yeah.

Thank you. O.K.

The really funny thing is that...

Years later, I found out

that the family before us in the

house were called Atkinson.

They lost a baby,

like a cot death.

And the baby's name...

was David.

Uh-huh.

Good story.

So, everyone up.

Now, I want you to think about

who you are,

and next time,

I would like an essay

entitled...

"I am."

And there's only one rule.

It has to be true.

You don't belong here.

This is my mom's hometown.

We came when I got ill.

The healthcare over

here is free

and I was...

something of a, um,

drain on our limited resources.

My dad commutes.

I don't think he likes it much,

but... what are you gonna do?

My mom said you came to see me

when I was in hospital.

She, um, she thinks...

That you're my girl.

Would that be so bad? Because I...

It would be fatal.

Look...

I know I'm, I'm ill and all, but...

No...

For me.

If you lived with a secret

and the secret meant

that you must

always lie and be alone

and you'd always

lived that way

and yet you longed for change,

what would you do?

I'd tell the secret.

Tell me.

My mother did three

things for me.

One, she spared my life the

day that I was born.

Two, she paid for my upkeep

on her knees and on her back.

And three, she gave me

the story I can never tell.

By the time I was six,

she was dying.

Girls like Clara didn't last.

Her lungs were rotting,

but she clung steadfastly

to her brutal life.

Where have you been?

The captain's been waiting.

Captain Ruthven had

returned from the wars.

Make sure you punish her, sir.

Of all the harlots he had ever made,

Clara was his favorite.

You'll like this one.

She fights.

Then, one winter dawn,

a stranger came.

- Are you unwell?

- No, sir.

- I remember you.

- I'm much changed, sir.

And what of me?

Have I changed?

I have.

More than you could imagine.

Open the curtains.

Curse you, whore!

- Give me the dark!

- Does the light offend you?

Darvell...

My friend.

But I was with you.

I saw you dead.

And I thank you for your service.

What do you want?

I have not come to take from you.

I come to give.

I will return at nightfall.

Like you, I prefer the dark.

- No!

- B*tch!

He answered her

questions with blows.

As usual, she endured them.

And she waited for

the storm to pass.

What kind of time

do you call this?

Linear time.

...as the relentless day crept on,

the captain told his tale

of events beyond

his understanding.

There was a

rebellion in Ireland.

We were sent to crush it.

Both of us were wounded

by the beggarly horde.

My wounds were superficial,

but Darvell developed fever.

It decimated him.

I tried to persuade him

to come home.

That was good of you.

I knew the journey would

quicken his decline.

Darvell was rich and naive.

He had no heir.

I had begun to

wish him dead...

...But before the grave took him,

two men entered his life.

Scholars, I presumed,

of dead

languages and

aged manuscripts.

As if ancient knowledge might

keep his death at bay.

You have been looking

in the wrong place, my son.

Here it is.

Thank you.

He told me we must find

a shrine, an ancient myth

said it had healing powers.

It was on an empty island

off a barren coast.

I thought it the desperate

quest of a dying man.

It was a sinister black thumbnail

sticking out of the ocean,

more rock than island.

The oarsmen wouldn't

set foot on the place.

Said it was cursed.

The way was steep, but Darvell

kept on climbing regardless.

I thought... well, maybe I hoped...

his heart would give way.

Is this what you've

dragged us here to find?

A hermit's hut?

I hated that place.

So many birds in the sky.

Almost darkened the sun.

They seemed to know

something we didn't.

He sent me to fetch water,

but that was just a ruse.

I found the corpse.

His breath had gone.

His soul had fled.

And I ran.

I've never spoken of it since.

I took his rings...

- Hey!

- And when I returned,

I took his property.

Everything I own is his.

What will he do?

Bear in mind, Mr. Kent, this woman is

not your sister-in-law... she's dead.

This is a shell and what it

contains is pure evil.

Oi! Shh!

You destroy only the evil.

- I'll get it.

- No, no, no, no. I'll get it.

Aren't you a little young?

Eleanor, is she in?

Why, what's it to you?

I read her story.

Can you tell her please?

Well, she's not in.

Go on.

Off you go.

Ella.

Look, I understand what

Claire's had to do, right,

'cause there's money

to be made, but...

If you don't like what

Clara's doing, tell her.

You don't like it either, do you, eh?

Why she's like that?

Why's she so...

What happened to her, Ella?

She got bitten by a vampire.

Did I?

There was a boy for

you at the door.

I sent him on his way.

He says he's read your story.

- What story, Ella?

- The one we always tell.

About the care home and

how my sister rescued me.

It's homework.

You frighten me sometimes.

Don't.

I won't.

- F***ing brilliant story.

- Thank you.

But the assignment

asked for truth.

I didn't write it as

an assignment.

I wrote it for you.

I don't want to lie anymore.

Something has to change.

But this?

It's crazy.

I thought...

If I told, all the walls would

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