Final Destination

Mr. Waggner turns toward the paramedics van, as if "there's the proof."

ALEX

He... he told me we would be friends

agian after you got better. After you

got over George. Why would he make plans

for the future if he were planning on

killing himself?

MR. WAGGNER

All my wife and I will ever know is we

wouldn't have lost our youngest son... if

you told our oldest to get off the plane.

Alex is rocked as if having taken a punch to the face. Mr. Waggner begins to

walk toward the peramedics vehicle. Alex eyes the F.B.I. agents, who, after

studying beat, turn and move toward their vehicle.

The gathered spectators begin whispering to one another, clearly about Alex,

causing him to search for, what appears to be, his only ally, Clear Rivers.

ALEX'S POV - ADJACENT YARD

Clear is gone.

FRONT YARD

everyone has moved away from Alex, leaving him very alone. Alex's eyes

remained locked on the peramedics' vehicle. As the ambulance doors CLOSE on

the body of his best friend...

CUT TO:

EXT. NEIGHBORHOOD - DAY - CLOSE - LEAVES ON TREES

A soft summer breeze passes through the leaves on a tree. A yellow leaf

drops from the branch and flutters to the ground. CAMERA FOLLOWS until it

falls upon an old cracked sidewalk.

A pair of worn Nikes ENTER FRAME just as the leaf drops before them. The

feet and CAMERA HOLD until CRANING UP to REVEAL Alex, staring at the leaf

with an expression reminiscent of the torn paper's message about "...Tod."

CLEAR (O.S.)

Almost Autumn.

Alex looks off toward a small unkept house, nestled at the edge of the

woods. In the open garage stands Clear Rivers amonst cluttered artwork,

supplies and tools. Her t-shirt's sleeves have been cut off and neck-line

cut low. Her jeans have a revealing hole at the spot which once was a back

pocket. She wears heav black work shoes. A dog rests nearby on the floor.

ALEX

It's only the end of June.

CLEAR

(shrugs)

Yeah, but everthing's always in

transition. If you focus, even

now, one week into summer... you

can feel Autumn coming.

(beat)

Almost like bein' able... to see

the future.

Alex reads her intention loud and clear. She returns to her artwork. The dog

GROWLS softly as Alex appraches the garage.

INT/EXT. GARAGE - CLEAR RIVERS' HOUSE - DAY

Entering the garage, Alex gets a closer look at her artwork. It's abstract

sculpture and canvas work and pretty bad, at that.

CLEAR

Know what this is?

She gestures to him to approach her. He tenses awkward, but moves closer.

Clear lifts a plastic cover off a canvas. Beneath is a mess of green and

brown and orange; teen angst poorly communicated. Glued to the center is a

twisted piece of metal.

ALEX

Like, um... you're mad about

something?

She sighs, "thanks a lot," then proud, but not enough to make her appear

foolish over her bad artwork, indicates the metal.

CLEAR

A piece of debris... from the

plane. I went to the shore off

the crash site and it washed up

the beach.

ALEX

You went there? I've wanted to

go there, but I thought It was

off limits.

CLEAR

It is. But that didn't stop me.

Shouldn't stop you.

Alex gently touches the piece of the plane, almost expecting to feel

something more than cold metal. He looks to Clear...

ALEX

Why were you there last night?

While she cleans brushes with a can of turpentine...

CLEAR

Look, I've seen enough T.V. to know,

the F.B.I. doesn't investigate teen

suicides. But they were there last night,

that means; one, they still don't have a

clue what caused the crash. Two, they haven't

ruled out anything. And the fact that seven

people got off the plane is probably weird

enough, not to mention, that one of those

people had a vision, or whatever, of it exploding

minutes before it did explode, is highly

suspicious. And it doesn't help that the

visionaries' friend just committed suicide.

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, cocks 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...

ALEX CLEAR

Ahhh! fuck! You fucking Ohmygod! OHMYGOD! OHMYGOD!

asshole. You think this He's not dead? Tod, if

is funny, you fucking dick! you're not dead I'm gonna

fucking 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.