LV: Over the weeks while we waited for the boat to arrive, she studied
the myths and legends of the old world, obsessed with the search for what
she called our kind.
(Piano music, birds)
INT. FLAT. NIGHT.
Sturdy mulatto workmen lifting cases and trunks out of the apartment.
All the furniture is covered in white sheets. Claudia dressed in a cap
and hat, is playing the piano by the light of one remaining oil-lamp. Louis
comes from her room with the cage of canaries.
L: Look who we forgot. Let's set them free, yes?
C: Yes.
L: Yes. (Door bell) It's the carriage (Door bell)
He goes downstairs. Claudia plays a moment, then stops. She goes to
the window.
THE STAIRWAY --
Louis walking to the door. He opens the door. But Louis has opened
the door. Nothing there. He looks around, then back at the room, puzzled.
C: (Claudia appears in the hall.) No Louie!
Then at the door again when, swooping into his vision comes the nightmare
image of -- Lestat, In filthy swamp-soaked rags, robust again, but his
flesh shriveled, covered in scars, his eyes riddled, bloodshot. he roars.
Louis throws his body against the door, slamming it on Lestat's reaching
hand. The hand withdraws, as Lestat roars. Louis bolts the door.
.
Louis runs up the stairs, sweeps Claudia in his arms, watching appalled as the door shudders with the force of Lestat's body.
IN THE PARLOUR
Louis runs through with Claudia in his arms. Lestat is sitting at the
Piano playing.
E: Listen Louie, There's life in these old hands still, not quiet fully useful, morerto, catobly perhaps, bless the alligator his blood helped, better dine on the blood of snakes toads, and all the putrid life of the Mississippi, Lestat became like himself again. Claudia you have been a very naught, naughty little girl.
Lestat lunges again at Claudia. Louis hurls the lamp, which explodes
him in flame.
Louis gathers up Claudia, smothering the burning house, carries her
down the back stairs, through the carriage way and through the gathering
crowds of mortals into the street.
EXT. STREET. NIGHT.
Louis running, with Claudia behind him, holding his hand. He looks
back at the flames of the house. Sound of a ship's horn.
C: The ship is sailing without us.
EXT. DECK OF SHIP. NEAR DAWN.
Louis stands at the railings in the morning mist as the ship moves
down the river. He sees...
LV: Thought the fire spread threw the quarter, I stood on that deck,
fearful he would come out again, in the very river like some monster to
destroy us both, and all the while I thought Lestat you deserve you vengeance,
You gave me the dark gift and I delivered you into the hands of death for
the second time.
CITY OF NEW ORLEANS
With flame lighting up the sky.
EXT. SHIP. EVENING.
The ship, shrouded in mist. A body is slipped into the sea. A priest
reads last rites to a mourning family.
L: Though the ship was blessedly free of rats, a strange plague none the less struck it's passengers. Claudia and I seemed immune, we kept to ourselves pondering the mystery of each other.
EXT. SHIP. NIGHT.
Passing through the Straits of Gibraltar.
L: We reached the Mediterranean. I wanted those waters to be blue but they where black. Night time waters. And how I suffered then, straining to recall the color in my youth I had taken for granted
EXT. DECK. NIGHT.
Claudia, sitting with an easel and sketchpad, sketching the bay of
Naples. A beautifully realized drawing, all in shades of grey and black.
Louis observes.
L: We searched village after village,
The sketch changes to a sketch of -
THE ACROPOLIS --
In the moonlight.
L: ruin after ruin,
The sketch changes to a sketch of --
TRANSYLVANIA --
And the traditional shapes of the vampire landscape.
L: country after country,
A montage of sketches now - A TRANSLYVANIAN VILLAGE, A GRAVEYARD. RUINED
CASTLE AFTER CASTLE, LOOKING INTO THE SKIES...
L: and always we found nothing. I began to believe we where the only
ones.
INT. ROOM. SAN FRANCISCO.
Malloy and Louis, sits in the room together.
L: There is a strange comfort in that thought. For what could the damned
really have to say to the damned...
I: You said you found nothing.
L: Peasant rumors, superstions about garlic, crosses, the old stake
in the heart, but one of our kind, not a whisper.
I: So there are no vampires in Transylvania, no, no Count Dracula
L Fictions the vulgar fictions of a demented Irishman.
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