Final Destination Page #10

Alex eyes her for a long beat. She turns away from him, returning the can of

turpentine to a shelf.

ALEX:

Why were you there last night?

Clear turns to Alex. The two couldn't appear more different. She moves to a

sculpture, an ugly black and green globular sculpture with a white dot in

the center.

CLEAR:

Know what this is?

Alex, c*cks his eyebrow probably thinking, "a mess?" but tactfully shakes

his head "no."

CLEAR:

It's you.

Remaining dry and stoned faced, Alex tenses, uncomfortable.

CLEAR:

Not a likeness. It's how you

make me feel, Alex.

ALEX:

I'm... really sorry.

CLEAR:

Like you, the sculpture doesn't even

know what, or why, it is. Reluctant

to take form. And, yet, creating an

absolute but incomprehansible attraction.

Uncertain, and yet moved, Alex listens.

CLEAR (CONT'D)

Before that day, you were just another

suburban nothing that would never have

anything to do with my life. And I'm sure

you thought I was some Marilyn Manson body

pierced freak, or whatever.

(beat)

But at that moment... on the plane... I

felt what you felt. I didn't know where

all those emotions were coming from until

you started freaking out.

Alex sighs, embarrassed.

CLEAR (CONT'D)

I didn't see what you saw, but I felt it

Okay, I'm not into all that X-Files bullshit...

but it was a psychic connection. Why to me?

Why to you?

Jarred, he eyes her, frightened.

CLEAR:

And you can still feel it, can't you?

Something, from that day is still with you.

I know, because I can still feel you.

Alex is increasingly uncomfortable by the subject, but eased by Clear's

apparent, somewhat, understanding. Lowering his tone...

CLEAR:

That's why I was there last night.

ALEX:

I've never dealt with death before.

I wasn't alive when my grandparents

died. I wish I could know. I mean, all

this... could just be in our heads. Now it

feels like I'ts everywhere.

CLEAR:

"It?"

ALEX:

What if Tod... is just the first...

of us?

The idea sends a shot of apprehension through Clear.

CLEAR:

Is that something you're "feeling?"

ALEX:

I don't know. I wish I could just see

him... one more time, then, maybe... I

would know.

CLEAR:

Then, let's go see him!

Alex reacts, shocked and yet her impulsiveness is exciting...

CUT TO:

INT. FUNERAL HOME - FOYER - NIGHT

CAMERA is LOW, moving across the paisley carpet. Dim light, spilling through

the stained glass windows, falls upon the creepy decor, appearing as if

designed by a morose Laura Ashley, floor model coffins and urns. CAMERA

CONTINUES, TILTING UP to the CEILING, REVEALING a stained glass skylight.

Outside, on the roof, two silhouettes appear...

The skylight hinges CRACK open. Clear leads the way. lifting the frame, then

dropping it throught the skylight window.

Alex is not as smooth as his socius criminus. Using his knee to slow his

descent, he hangs from the sill for a moment before dropping to the carpet.

CAMERA MOVES WITH Alex and Clear through the unsettling reception area;

plastic flowers, gold candelabra, plaster cherubs and angels. A bronze

plaque identifies: "MT. ABRAHAM FUNERAL HOME. THE JOURNEY'S END. WILLIAM

BLUDWORTH - INTERMEDIARY."

CLEAR:

(whispering)

Gives me a rush...

ALEX:

This place?!

CLEAR:

Doin' somethin' I'm not supposed to.

With a hot, mischievous smile, Clear proceeds toward the hallway. Alex

anxiously sighs... then follows.

INT. DOWNSTAIRS HALLWAY - FUNERAL HOME - NIGHT

An elevator with collapsible metal door, lowers INTO FRAME. Pushing the door

aside, Alex and Clear proceed into the hallway, lined with morgue green

tile. Stainless steel gurneys and porcelain equipment holding yellow

surgical tubing and thick foot long needles sit in the corridor.

A faint light spills from beneath a doorway. Clear reaches out to the knob

but Alex quickly grabs her hand. From a cart behind them, he pulls a latex

glove out of a box and snaps it on.

ALEX:

Good call. Very "Quincy"

Alex tries the doorknob. Locked. He looks at her, defeated. Clear quickly

points to some mortician's tools on the cart.

From it, Alex produces a thin six inch needle. He inserted the tool in the

lock and jimmies the doorknob. CLACK!

INT. MORGUE - FUNERAL HOME - NIGHT

A lone desk lamp shines. Across the room, laying on a porcelain table, fluid

draining tubes attached, lies Tod. A sheet is pulled up to his shoulders. He

carries the macabre appearence of corspe having been made up by a mortician.

Hair combed and sprayed, skin tone too orange, blush too rouge and lips too

red.

As Alex and Clear approach...

ALEX:

That... him?

CLEAR:

I think. But why'd they make him

up like... Michael Jackson?

ALEX:

That's him, but... he's not

here. That... whatever... that

whatever made him Tod is gone.

Suddenly, Tod jerks; his hand lifting four inches...

ALEXCLEAR:

Ahhh! f***! You fuckingOhmygod! OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD!

a**hole. You think thisHe's not dead? Tod, if

is funny, you f***ing dick! you're not dead I'm gonna

f***ing kill you!

MR. BLUDWORTH (O.S.)

Please don't yell...

Both are joled again with shock, turning toward the voice...

MR. BLUDWORTH

CAMERA PUSHES, LOW ANGLE, INTO WILLAIM BLUDWORTH, an African-American man,

early 50's, dressed in dark suit and tie.

MR. BLUDWORTH

You'll wake the dead.

He flashes a dry morticians smile, pleased by his won pun. Alex and Clear

haven't recovered from the corspe's actions to calmly address Bludworth..

ALEX:

Why..?

Alex comletes his question by raising his hand, ala Tod's dead body.

Bludworth nods, understanding...

MR. BLUDWORTH

Chemicals in the vascular flush

create cadaveric spasm.

As the startle of the situation settles, it dawns on Alex that they have

been busted. He nervously offers an explanation.

ALEX:

I'm... a friend of his. His best

friend. See, his father...

MR. BLUDWORTH

(ominous)

I know who you are.

The mortician eyes Alex, understanding. Alex senses this and eases. Clear

moves toward Tod's body, examining the neck area.

CLEAR:

They said he hung himself,

but there's no marks.

MR. BLUDWORTH

I crafted a reconstruction of

the Laryngeal prominence region

with Velvetone Surgical Wax and

Permaseal.

Clear moves in for a closer look, then calls Alex over to the body. After a

beat of reluctance, Alex looks at Tod's neck.

ALEX:

What are all those tiny marks?

ALEX'S POV - CLOSE - TOD'S NECK

The wounds have been filled with wax and covered by greasepaint. At this

proximity, however, it is apparent tiny cuts line the area above and below

the large cut made by the wire.

MR. BLUDWORTH (V.O.)

Cuticle lacerations.

WIDER:

ALEX:

Why would he pull at the wire,

if he weren't committing suicide.

CLEAR:

Why would they say it was a

suicide... if it weren't?

Because of the supernatural "message" he recieved, Alex is reluctant to

answer. He eyes Mr. Bludworth, who, with a wry half smile, eyes Alex as if

ware of the reason behind his hesitation.

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