For your reading pleasure, my work in progress… Love and Death.
FADE IN:
EXT. ROAD TO NOWHERE - DAY
A heavy mist hides most of a lonely stretch of road somewhere
in the mountains. The silence is broken by the faraway sound
of an engine rising and fading as it shifts from gear to
gear. The sound grows louder, more urgent until finally...
A high performance sports car erupts sideways through the
mist, pulling plumes of it in its back draft. The car seems
to drift too far left and goes into a sidelong skid.
It slides left, then right and just when we think the driver
is regaining control of the powerful sports car, it tips,
catching its meaty tires in the macadam and rolls over...
side over side, bits and pieces flying from the wreckage;
glass, metal and rubber scattering in all directions.
After a countless number of flips, the car comes to rest
upside down, next to a signpost that warns drivers of the
dangerous curves next 15 miles.
EXT. CAR WRECKAGE - SAME
Smoke rises from the wreckage, the quiet that filled the
scene prior to the car's disastrous entrance returns,
swallowing up the thunderous crash as if it never happened.
From the wreckage a moan. The sounds of glass falling, then
another moan. Amazingly, KIP CARLYSLE, 30s, crawls out from
the wreckage, slowly and with care.
OC VOICE
I know what you're thinking... but
don't do it. Panic I mean. Don't do
it. It won't help, plus it's really
annoying.
Carlysle, blood streaming from a glass encrusted cut above
his left eye, looks around for the source of the voice.
OC VOICE (cont'd)
Over here. Woohoo, this way Mario!
Sitting on the guardrail across from the wreck is MORT
GRAVES, 30s, pale skinned, a black coat over a white button
up shirt tucked neatly into a pair of ill-fitting black
slacks, white athletic socks and thick soled black shoes. On
Mort's face are thick, black rimmed glasses hiding pale blue
eyes that are watching Carlysle passively.
CARLYSLE
Who... who...
Carlysle pauses, licking his lips and tries again.
CARLYSLE (cont'd)
Who...
MORT
What say we tackle that question
when you're more composed?
Mort stands and brushes broken glass from his pants, then
strides purposefully up to the twisted piece of metal that
was once Carlysle's car. He stands above Carlysle who is
struggling to raise himself up onto his knees.
MORT (cont'd)
That was a spectacular crash.
Personally, I'm of the mind-set
that if you're going to do
something, you should do it right.
That my friend was done right!
Mort reaches into the wreckage and pulls a loose control arm
out. He inspects it for a moment then tosses it
unceremoniously aside.
Mort claps his hands together to get the dust, dirt and grime
off before offering his hand to Carlysle.
At first Carlysle looks at the hand unsure of what to do with
it. Tentatively, he reaches up and grasps Mort's hand,
letting himself be lifted from the ground.
CARLYSLE
Is that what happened?
MORT
Huh? Oh, yeah. Crash. Bad one.
Carlysle stares at the remains of his car, then at the trail
of wreckage, and finally at the skid marks that lead into the
thick, swirling mists some 150 feet away.
CARLYSLE
Do you have a phone? We should call
someone. I think I need a doctor.
Carlysle touches his head wound carefully, pulling his hand
back to look at the blood.
MORT
Oh, I don't think anyone can help
you at this point. There weren't
any survivors.
Mort takes out a PDA from his coat and begins tapping at the
screen with his index finger.
CARLYSLE
That fog just came up out of
nowhere. Like it was waiting for
someone to pop over that rise and
into the turn before...
Carlysle stops abruptly.
CARLYSLE (cont'd)
Did you say "no survivors?"
MORT
You're Kip Carlysle? Of 27 Frontage
Place?
Mort switches fingers a few times looking for a finger more
conducive to writing. The skin, then muscles, tendons, veins
and blood vessels disappear revealing a skeletal hand.
Carlysle doesn't notice.
MORT (cont'd)
These gizmos are great but I keep
losing the little damned pencil
thingy you're supposed to use.
CARLYSLE
What did you say your name was
again?
Mort makes a few more marks on the PDA screen with his
skeletal pinky finger and slips the PDA back into his coat as
the flesh begins growing back on his hand in the reverse
order in which it disappeared.
MORT
I didn't. But with the
preliminaries out of the way...
Mort extends his fully fleshed out hand again, this time in
greeting.
MORT (cont'd)
I am the Angel of the Lord, the
Destroyer, Mal'ak ha-mashhit to the
Jews, Izanami to the Japanese, Enma
Daiou to some further East. In
Mexico, I am known as La Calaca for
some reason even I can't remember.
I am the Grim Reaper or the Pale
Rider if you believe any of that
horseshit in Revelations. Most of
my friends just call me Mort.
Pleased to meet you.
EXT. ROAD TO NOWHERE - MOMENTS LATER
Mort and Carlysle walk into the mist and all features of the
landscape disappear. Mort looks at his watch and hurries his
pace.
CARLYSLE
So you've coming to take me to the
hereafter?
MORT
Not exactly no. I'm like a civil
servant. I only do one small part
in the whole process of death. I
let you know you're dead, take you
to limbo where...
CARLYSLE
Limbo is a real place?
MORT
Well, of course its real. We can't
just have the dead shambling about
here and there can we?
CARLYSLE
No, I guess not, but I thought
Limbo was just a mythical place...
a metaphor.
MORT
Limbo is where you'll find out
where you're going for the balance
of eternity. It is as real as
anything you'll experience from
here on out.
Carlysle stops. Mort continues on for a few paces before he
realizes Carlysle is no longer following. Mort stops and
faces Carlysle.
CARLYSLE
You don't look anything like how I
imagined.
MORT
Oh, yeah...right. You mean with the
hooded robe, the sickle and the
whole...
Mort gestures with his hands and the same morphing trick from
earlier transforms his whole body into something even more
repulsively skeletal, bigger, blacker and much more in line
with the typical representation of Death. Huge gray wings
unfurl from his back completing the image.
Carlysle is horrified and cringes in fear. Mort morphs back
into his previous form.
MORT (cont'd)
Yeah, that's the usual reaction.
Makes getting people to follow you
really tough, though.
CARLYSLE
I can imagine.
MORT
Well honestly I didn't peg you for
a traditionalist. Would you prefer
that I...
Mort begins to morph back.
CARLYSLE
No. No this is fine. Really.
MORT
Yeah, I think so too. Hard to get
people to pay much attention when
they're pissing themselves with
fright. Took me a long time to
convince them upstairs that we
should ease up on the special
effects and concentrate on
communication of basic ideas. Well,
we're here.
In the distance a light begins to grow until it cuts through
the swirling mists surrounding Carlysle and Mort.
MORT (cont'd)
Just head in that general direction
and you'll be fine.
Mort points toward the bright white light and begins walking
in the opposite direction.
CARLYSLE
Wait. You're leaving? I have so
many questions.
MORT
Sorry kid. Ask anyone in white with
bushy facial for answers. Good
luck.
He starts away and suddenly turns back as if remembering
something. He looks at Carlysle's frightened look and thinks
better about whatever he was going to say.
Mort shakes his head and disappears into the mist.
EXT. SWIRLING MIST OF ETERNITY
Mort walks in the nothingness, hands in pockets, thinking.
OC VOICE
Just now, there with the dead guy,
what were you going to ask him?
MORT
Nothing. Well, nothing you'd be
interested in.
OC VOICE
Having a bad day, huh? Me? I'm
pretty excited about my schedule
today.
From out of swirling mists of eternity ALBRECHT, a 30
something man, wearing a green hooded sweatshirt, Doc Martens
and long dark hair, begins walking alongside Mort.
ALBRECHT
I have three people on my list for
today... the first one is a plague
that will be transferred by a rabid
monkey to a German tourist on his
first African safari. Really
nothing much to it, just a standard
bleeding out of every orifice
virus.
Later I'll unleash the latest
influenza strain. It's not
particularly complex either, but
after a few thousand versions I'm
running out of ideas on that one as
you can imagine. But the third? The
third one I'm really proud of...
He pulls out an old fashioned perfume spray bottle filled
with black goo and waves it under Mort's nose.
ALBRECHT (cont'd)
It starts off as an average looking
but persistent rash, then jumps to
festering sores and finally
excruciatingly painful lesions! The
best part? It's transmitted through
sex! The fuckers won't know what
hit 'em! I just need to find the
right carrier and this one could
really be the start of something
big.
Mort waves away the new virus and continues through the mist
until they appear
EXT. BUSY STREET - DAY
The teeming masses of the city scamper to and fro, none of
them paying much attention to the two people who just
materialize out of nowhere.
ALBRECHT
Where are you going now?
MORT
You know, you're really a pest when
you get all worked up.
ALBRECHT
I can't help it. I'm living
embodiment of Pestilence. It's in
my job description.
MORT
I'm pretty sure annoying me isn't
in your job description.
Just then a beautiful blonde woman in a sun dress passes by
catching Albrecht's attention. He pokes her purse out and as
she bends over to pick it up, Albrecht lifts her dress up
revealing a sexy black thong. He smiles and sprays her bottom
with the perfume spray bottle we saw earlier.
She reacts as if stung, rising up and pulling her dress down
in the same movement. She looks around staring right through
Albrecht. She continues on her way throwing accusing glances
all around. Albrecht and Mort are obviously invisible to the
humans.
ALBRECHT
Go forth and multiply!
Albrecht hurries to catch up with Mort who has kept walking.
A ballet of sorts is taking place in front of Albrecht and
Mort as people and objects somehow cause people to deviate
from their path to avoid collisions with the invisible
Albrecht and Mort.
ALBRECHT (cont'd)
You didn't answer my question.
MORT
I'm doing my job, which is what you
should be doing.
ALBRECHT
Hey, I'm a multi-tasker. One down
three to go. Man is her boyfriend
gonna be pissed! Of course, she has
no idea he's been cheating on her
with a few different women. I guess
this will even up the score.
Mort stops outside a brownstone apartment building and pulls
out his PDA and taps the screen a few times.
MORT
Do me a favor, go away.
ALBRECHT
Please, please, please let me
watch! C'mon, c'mon,
c'monnnnnnnnnnnn?
MORT
No. I've got a few million of these
things to do today and you're not
helping.
ALBRECHT
I promise I'll just watch, won't
touch a thing, please, please,
pretty please?
Mort looks at Albrecht and seeing his excitement, caves to
his request.
MORT
Okay. Just this one and then you're
gone. No talking, no questions, no
spreading botulism, dusting the air
with ricin or infecting anyone with
STDs while we're up there. Deal?
Albrecht puts his left hand on his heart, his right hand in
the air, fingers in a boy scout oath and
ALBRECHT
I promise on my mother's grave.
A third arm, hiding behind Albrecht's back, has
the fingers on its taloned hand crossed.
Satisfied Mort disappears into the apartment building.
INT. BROWNSTONE STAIRWELL - DAY
Mort jogs up the stairs, effortlessly slipping around two
burly delivery men carrying a new refrigerator up the steps.
Albrecht is having a difficult time, breathing hard, sweating
and clearly out of shape. He passes the two delivery men who
seem to be having an easier time despite their load.
ALBRECHT
We're granted powers of
invisibility, omnipotence and
teleportation. Hell, we have wings,
we could fly for Christsakes. Why
are we taking the stairs?
MORT
I like the illusion of humanity
more than the conveniences of our
powers. Besides its healthier.
ALBRECHT
You're the embodiment of death! We
can't die no matter what we do!
MORT
If that's true, a few flights of
stairs won't kill you.
Albrecht leans against the railing, head down on his arm,
panting like a dog.
INT. CLASSIC AMERICAN KITCHEN - LATER
KATHLEEN KENNY, late 30s, brunette, a few years past perky,
but still spry, hustles to and fro preparing to cook. She
flies to the stove where she turns the knob on the burner
which fails to light and she fails to notice.
She goes to the sink where she is peeling a potato, sending
the peels into the sink. She turns on the faucet and flips
the switch for the disposal which fails to turn on. She
frowns and flips it off and on a few times with no response
from the appliance.
She frowns and leans over the sink trying to get a look
inside the drain. As she does so she knocks over a bottle of
dish soap which starts spilling out onto the floor.
She reaches into the drain unaware that she has left the
disposal switch in the on position. She wiggles her hand
around in an effort to free the blockage that is preventing
the disposal from functioning.
She pulls her hand out and leans back over the sink trying to
get a look inside her drain. It is too dark to see inside.
Kathleen leaves the room, barely missing a puddle of dish
soap building on the linoleum floor.
Mort and Albrecht watch her leave from their perch on top of
the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. Pots
hang from a rack on the ceiling above them.
ALBRECHT
I thought for sure the disposal was
going to be it. Start up while her
hand was inside, chew up her
fingers and spit her ring out at a
gazillion miles an hour and into
her head. How's it going happen?
The gas? She going pass out from
the fumes?
Mort puts a finger to his lips, shushing Albrecht as Kathleen
returns holding a lighter.
ALBRECHT (cont'd)
Oh man... she going blow up? Burn
to death?
MORT
Sssshhhhh!
Kathleen flicks the lighter a few times with no result.
Nothing seems to be going right for the woman.
She steps back to assess the situation. The ceiling above her
explodes as something big pushes through spraying plaster in
all directions. Whatever was above her just moments ago comes
crashing down with a heavy thud.
It is the fridge we saw earlier.
Panicked shouts from above hide the sounds of falling
plaster.
ALBRECHT
Didn't see that coming.
MORT
No one ever does. That's kinda the
point.
ALBRECHT
Right.
Mort hops off the counter and extends a hand down out of
frame into the hole in the floor.
MORT
I know what you're thinking... but
don't do it. Panic I mean. It won't
help, plus it's really annoying.
A bloodied hand rises up from somewhere under the fridge and
grasps Mort's hand.
EXT. SWIRLING MIST OF ETERNITY - MOMENTS LATER
Mort is once again scribbling notes in his PDA standing in
the swirling mists of eternity. Off to the side, lies down,
everything but his knees hidden under a layer of mist,
Albrecht contemplates what he's just seen.
ALBRECHT
It's all just so unpredictable.
MORT
You get used to it.
ALBRECHT
How many do you do every day?
MORT
Too many to count. That's why I use
the gizmo.
ALBRECHT
So, each death, every death?
MORT
C'mon, we've been over this before.
Albrecht pops up out of the mist to stand next to Mort who
turns to face him.
ALBRECHT
Humor me.
MORT
No, not each death, every death.
Just the ones that need me to lead
them from there to here. Sometimes
there's a lot, sometimes there's
not.
Mort barely pays attention, whatever it is he's doing on his
PDA is taking most of his attention.
ALBRECHT
How many is that? I mean, time
waits for no man.
MORT
Time is a suggestion. I can be in
every yesterday and every tomorrow
at the same time if I needed to.
Luckily that doesn't happen too
often.
Albrecht nods, understanding everything and nothing at once.
ALBRECHT
So like you're not on a... a...
The words fail him.
MORT
Deadline? No. Why are you so
interested in this stuff all of a
sudden, anyway.
ALBRECHT
Just something Bosch said.
Mort looks up for the first time.
MORT
Bosch? He talked to you?
Albrecht freezes up, clearly saying more than he should have.
ALBRECHT
Hey, look at the time! Got to run.
With a puff of greenish smoke Albrecht is gone.
Mort taps a few more times on the PDA screen and slips it
back inside his coat pocket.
Behind him a door rises from the mists of eternity.
Mort straightens his cuffs, opens the door and enters...
INT. ABANDONED WAREHOUSE - DAY
DESTINY, 20s, blonde, and currently tied to the chair with a
hood over her head, sits in a patch of ground illuminated by
the light from the skylight above.
She struggles against her bonds, but it's no use. She's the
knots are too tight. Sweat is beading on her forehead above
the blindfold.
All around her are large shipping containers stacked nearly
to the ceiling. From one of these many containers with open
doors, high above her...
Mort watches patiently, but after a few moments, he loses
interest. He wanders deeper into the container and begins
looking around at the random items.
He spins the blades of a fan...shakes the dust off a lamp,
lifts a dusty book from a pile and leafs through it as if
visiting a garage sale. He opens a cabinet door and a bowling
ball rolls out, falls soundlessly onto a large cushion, and
rolls off toward the edge. Mort dives for the ball catching
it just as it plummets off the edge.
ON DESTINY
Above her, half in and half out of the container, Mort hangs
onto the bowling ball.
Somewhere a door opens and footsteps echo. The footsteps get
louder until JIMMY MONK steps into the pool of light.
An elegant suit, an expensive haircut and boyish face can't
seem to hide Jimmy's cold eyes any more than the tailored
suit jacket can hide the gun he carries in a shoulder
holster.
Jimmy rips the hood roughly from Destiny's head and we see
that she is stunning. Grace Kelly come back to life.
ON MORT
Beads of sweat roll down his hand and the ball slips slightly
in his grip. Mort looks at Destiny and his eyes go wide with
wonder.
ON DESTINY
Nothing but contempt for Jimmy shows in her eyes, but even
this look can't do much to dampen her beauty.
JIMMY
Sorry to keep you waiting
sweetheart. You miss me?
Jimmy walks into the shadows of an open container and comes
back with a chair, and sets it down in front of Destiny. He
makes a great show of pulling out his handkerchief to dust
off the chair so he won't soil his expensive suit. He
unbuttons his coat and pulls out a mean looking .45 caliber.
JIMMY (cont'd)
We didn't get too much time to talk
you and I. I bet you feel
neglected.
Jimmy reaches out and caresses her cheek. For her part,
Destiny reacts with suitable revulsion.
JIMMY (cont'd)
Look, no big speeches, okay. You
messed with the wrong fella okay?
Mister B says no hard feelings.
Jimmy levels the gun at Destiny's face.
Above them, Mort struggles with the bowling ball until...
He lets go. On purpose or by accident isn't immediately
apparent, but the ball does drop with sickening speed.
With a loud crash it hits the edge of another container some
twenty feet below and takes a lucky bounce.
ON JIMMY
Surprised he turns toward the sound.
The bowling ball connects Jimmy's head.
Like a movie in my head! 😀
Great stuff, Ed. My internal read-o-meter goes in two directions – “How much more of this do I have to read?” or “Hey, what gives, I need to see the rest!” This definitely falls into the latter category. Speaking of my read-o-meter, you never posted the rest of your screenplay that you gave us a sample of 4 or 5 months ago. What gives?
well done, well done!
hey e! post something!