Final Destination

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.

ALEX

His father's pretty fucked up

with denial. Maybe he couldn't

deal with the thought of an other

accident... taking another son.

MR. BLUDWORTH

In Death...

CAMERA INCHES TOWARD the mortician. In this environment, lit with Fritz Lang

shadows, Bludworth's tone, appearance... he could easily be mistaken for

personificationof the subject.

MR. BLUDWORTH

... there are no accidents. No

coincidents. No mishaps.

(smiles)

And no... escapes.

ALEX

You saying Tod did kill himself?

Bludworth moves to Tod on the draining table, disconnecting the tubes

connecting the body to hte embalming chemicals.

MR. BLUDWORTH

Suicide. Murder. Plane crash.

What does it matter? He was

going to end someday. From the

minute you're cut loose from the

womb... it's a one way ticket on a

trip to the tomb.

Vile liquid oozes out of the body onto the porcelain table.

MR. BLUDWORTH

You may not realize it, but we're

all just a mouse that a cat has by

it's tail. Every single move we make,

form the mundane to the monumental...

the red light we stop at, or run; the

people we have sex with, or won't with

us; the airplane we ride, or walk out of...

is all a part of Death's sadistic design

leading to the grave.

ALEX

Design?

The mortician considers as he drains some yellowish green fluid from the

table. He shrugs then continues his work...

MR. BLUDWORTH

If Life is like a box of chocolates...

Death... Death is like a big Milton Bradley

game of "Mouse Trap." The day you're born is

just the boot, hanging from the streetlamp,

kicking the marble to get hings rolling. Growing

up is only the marble rolling down the curving

shute. You feel immortal having survived school,

sex, drugs 'n' rock 'n' roll, but you've really

only upset the big hand holding the steel ball

that falls into the bathtub. Marriage and kids

and career seem to make it all worthwhile until the

ball hits the see-saw and flips the diving man

into the big barrel. In the old folks home or the

hospital you just see the big cage rattling down

until it captures... the mouse.

(beat)

Game over.

Alex considers as Clear eyes him, conveying "this guys's whacked!" Alex

moves toward Bludworth...

ALEX

Maybe there's no way to win... but...

if you figured out the game... you knew

were the "steel ball was rolling" couldn't

you avoid the trap and extend the playing time?

Couldn't you... cheat Death at It's own game?

Mr. Bludworth looks directly at Alex. CAMERA MOVES IN ON EACH,

INDIVIDUALLY... this between the two of them.

MR. BLUDWORTH

You already did that by walking off

the plane. Now you gotta out when and

how it'll come back at you.

(beat)

Play your hunch, Alex. If you think

you can get away from it.

(beat)

But beware the risk of cheating the plan,

disrespecting the design... could inicate

a horrifying fury that would terrorize even

the Grim Reaper.

(beat)

And you don't even want to fuck with that

Mack Daddie.

Alex's eyes are locked on Bludworth's chilling, pleasant smile. The

mortician yanks on a tube, REVEALING a foot long needle removed from Tod's

spinal column. The horrific nature of death is vividly demonsrated to Alex.

ALEX

I'm sorry we broke in.

MR. BLUDWORTH

No harm. No foul.

Alex grabs her arm, starting toward the door.

CLEAR

We didn't find what we were looking

for.

Alex looks at Bludworth...

ALEX

Yeah, we did.

MR. BLUDWORTH

CAMERA PUSHES INTO the mortician, pleased the message has been recieved.

MR. BLUDWORTH

I'll see you soon.

CUT TO:

EXT. MAIN STREET - DAY

BREAKING LOUDLY, startling, a public bus PULLS INTO CAMERA and stops. The

doors HISS open.

CLEAR (O.S.)

The mortician was whacked.

CAMERA ADJUSTS as Alex and Clear step off the bus and onto the street.

CLEAR (CONT'D)

He was trippin' on formaldehyde.

Clear starts up the street, but Alex grabs her arm and steps back, assuring

the bus moves off... saftly. He nods, "it's safe to go." Throughout the

fllowing, his eyes are searching for anything potentially deadly.

ALEX

He said Death has a design. Even

before he said that I had been

seeing patterns.

CLEAR

(sarcastic)

As in flannels and plaids?

Up ahead, scaffolds rise before a building being restored. O.S., HAMMERING

and CONSTRUCTION WORK POUND from above. In the f.g., tools and metal spikes.

After a "thumbs up" gesture, the rope is pulled UP AND OUT OF FRAME.

ALEX

How many dies on Flight 180?

From our group?

CLEAR

Thirty-nine.

ALEX

Remember the gate number?

As Clear takes a moment to consider, Alex steers them well around the

scaffolds, etes skyward during the move...

CLEAR

No.

ALEX

Thirty-nine.

This is a creepy fact. Even though past the construction, Alex checks over

his shoulder to assure they are out of harms way.

ALEX

Remember the departure time?

CLEAR

Like... 4:25.

Reaching an intersection, Alex pushes the pedestrian traffic light button,

then steps well away from the curb.

PEDESTRIAN TRAFFIC SIGNAL

the halting red had is lit.

ALEX (V.O.)

Do you know when I was born?

INTERSECTION

Clear sighs, growing impatient with Alex.

CLEAR

4:25

ALEX

Right. April 25th.

CLEAR

Wait. I thought you meant the time

of your birth. Four/Twenty-five, as

in, month and day... that's a reach.

PEDESTRIAN TRAFFIC SIGNAL

the halting red hand turns to the little white walking man.

INTERSECTION

Clear takes a step off the sidewalk and onto the street. Alex tugs her back,

looking both ways while outraged by her challenge.

ALEX

My birthday is the same as of

the time I was meant to die!?

That's a reach!?