sib1x01
Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
[
bottom
]
TEASER
FADE IN:
1 EXT. CITY STREET. NIGHT. 1
TITLE OVER – Atlanta, August 2004.
A quiet city street. Cars and taxis scurry like ants. The
streetlamps flicker and illuminate the pedestrians ambling
beneath them. They are far removed from the dark alley across
the road nestled between two tall buildings.
2 EXT. CITY STREET – ALLEYWAY. NIGHT. 2
DECKARD, forties, scruffy, bald and reeking of thrift stores,
hurries along the alley. He has a large, wrapped package
tucked beneath his arm. He looks around the alley, peeks at
his watch, huffs impatiently, then peers back around,
squinting at all the crates.
TWIST (V.O.)
So start talking! That is why we're
having this conversation, right?
You fill me in on the background so
I know what I'm letting myself in
for?
A shadow falls across Deckard. He freezes.
Wrapped in darkness and a black coat, CHRIS cuts a tall, lean
figure. A wide-brimmed fedora hides his face throughout the
exchange.
CHRIS
Good evening, Deckard.
Deckard breathes a sigh of relief and roots inside his coat
pocket for a handkerchief, mopping his sweaty brow.
DECKARD
Jeez, Chris, you need to stop doing
that lurking thing, ya know? Give
an honest guy like me a heart
attack!
CHRIS
(chuckles)
Deckard, you're about as honest as
I am Jamaican.
DECKARD
Hey, that's slander!
CHRIS
Not if it's true, it isn't. Now
then, I believe you have something
for me?
DECKARD
Yeah, yeah, here you go.
Deckard hands the package to Chris. He takes it and weighs it
with his hand. Deckard shifts nervously from foot to foot as
Chris cocks his head to one side.
CHRIS
You're not trying to rip me off,
are you, Deckard?
DECKARD
No way, it's all there, as always!
Would I do a thing like that?
Chris holds the package for a beat before tucking it under
his arm and reaching into his jacket.
CHRIS
Never hurts to check. I like to
think it keeps you on your toes.
Chris tosses a small envelope to Deckard, who tears it open
and greedily eyes up the money inside.
CHRIS (cont'd)
It's all there. Unlike you, I am a
man of my word every time.
DECKARD
Jeez, Chris, you gonna bring that
up every time I see ya?
Chris chuckles. Deckard flaps his arms at him before he turns
and walks away. He mutters as he leaves Chris alone. Chris
tears open the paper. He opens the brown box revealed and
removes its contents.
He holds up a small, glass bottle to the light and examines
the red liquid within. He uses his thumb to pop the stopper,
it swings off a thread, and raises the bottle to his lips-
A woman SCREAMS.
Chris's head whips round. He fingers the bottle, considering,
then places the stopper back on. He gently places the bottle
back in its case, then carefully hides it among the crates.
3 EXT. CITY – ALLEYWAY. NIGHT. 3
A GIRL, late teens, is towered over by HOOD #1 while HOOD #2
circles them. The girl sobs. Blood runs from a small wound in
her neck. The hoods hiss louder as her cries become more
desperate.
Chris crouches on the fire escape above. Face still obscured,
he watches.
The terrified girl desperately tries to push past them. They
push back and laugh even louder.
GIRL
Please… please! Let me go!
HOOD #1
Aw, what's the matter, honey, you
don't want to play anymore?
The first man playfully shoves the girl back and forth.
HOOD #2
Come on, Bruno, let's just bleed
this little screamer and then
scoot!
His face pressed close to her neck, the first man sneers and
draws back her hair to expose her jugular.
HOOD #1
Sorry it had to end like this,
sweetheart, but a man's gotta eat…
The man's face TRANSFORMS. With a HISS, his teeth lengthen
and sharpen into points. He blinks once. His eyes turn a
baleful red. The girl shrinks from him, but
his grip is firm. He leans in close, tongue snaking out to
lick his lips.
Hood #2 giggles as he watches his comrade. He doesn't see or
hear the dark shadow drop to the ground behind him.
Chris rises up. There is a faint SNICK. Metal FLASHES in the
lamplight.
The man turns. Eyes widen.
SWOOSH.
The metal slices down.
The body collapses. The head rolls down the alley.
The girl whimpers. The hood's eyes widen in terror and
confusion.
HOOD #1 (cont'd)
Hey… hey! What the hell!?!
Chris, the man, is finally revealed. Chiselled features and
long dark hair grace a youthful face that is belied by a
mature strength.
CHRIS
Let her go.
Chris points towards the man with his sword, a long and
master crafted Japanese katana sword.
HOOD #1
No way, she's mine! I saw her
first!
CHRIS
That's not what I mean, you low
life idiot. Let her go.
HOOD #1
But… ain't you one of…
Chris SNARLS – and as he does, his features change just like
the man's did. Red eyes, pointed teeth.
CHRIS
I'm nothing like you, vampire.
The first man panics and shoves the girl towards Chris,
sprinting down the alley as Chris helps the girl to a sitting
position. She's still shaking with terror.
CHRIS (cont'd)
Stay there.
Looking back up and after the fleeing man, Chris reaches into
his jacket and draws a thin wooden stake, and after a
moment's aim THROWS it down the alley.
The stake bullets through the man's back and through his
chest. Direct hit to the heart. The man HOWLS and drops to
his knees, and then collapses face down to the ground.
Satisfied, Chris nods once and then turns and reaches a hand
out to the girl. She whimpers and shuffles away from him,
until with a shake of his head Chris' features return to
normal, and he offers his hand again.
GIRL
Wh-what… what are you?
CHRIS
Name's Chris. I'm sort of a
vampire.
(beat)
It's a long story. Come on.
Chris pulls the girl to her feet, sheathes his sword and
starts to walk away. The girl stumbles after him, throwing a
look down at the headless vampire body.
CHRIS (cont'd)
There are people who clean that up
for us, it's not our problem right
now.
TWIST (V.O.)
Nice. Totally getting that whole
'anti hero' vibe already.
CHRIS (V.O.)
As I said before, there are worse
alternatives. But that doesn't mean
I have to like my choices.
BLACK OUT:
END OF TEASER
ACT ONE
FADE IN:
4 INT. BAR. NIGHT. 4
A variety of shady clientele line the chairs, booth and bar
stools of the low-class bar. At the end of the bar, Chris
sinks a shot, winces and slams the empty glass down. Several
other empty shooter glasses are laid before him. He signals
the bartender to bring another.
On the stage, to the music of 'Skeleton Song' by Johnny
Hollow, a pretty female singer is struggling against the
indifference of the patrons. Chris cranes around to check her
out. When he turns back to his glasses a world-weary
brunette, CAROL, sits next to him, looking him over.
CAROL
Trying to forget?
CHRIS
Something like that.
CAROL
Must have a lot of things you don't
want to remember, if that
impressive little pile of cheap
glassware in front of you is
anything to go by.
Silence for a beat. Carol grins – she likes a challenge.
CAROL (cont'd)
My name's Carol, thanks for asking.
She waits for Chris to answer, but he's still quiet.
CAROL (cont'd)
Y'all don't say much, do you?
CHRIS
I'm afraid I don't have much to
say.
CAROL
See, I would have thought a guy
drinking in here, alone, on a
weeknight, must have some kind of a
story to tell. Why don't you start
with me? You never know, talking
may be a new and scary prospect at
first, but you might like it…
Chris looks across at last. Carol grins cheekily at him, and
Chris can't resist a smile back.
CHRIS
I'm sorry. Don't take it
personally…
CAROL
Carol. It's Carol.
CHRIS
Right. Don't take it personally,
Carol, but I'm really not the sort
of person you want to get involved
with.
CAROL
Mystery man, huh? And you say
you're trying not to attract any
attention?
CHRIS
Trouble tends to follow me around.
I wouldn't want you to get hurt.
CAROL
Oh yeah? And what makes you think I
can't handle myself?
As if on cue, two pairs of hands slap down onto Chris'
shoulders, accompanied by two thick-set men who are now
standing behind Chris. He smiles at the irony and places his
glass back down.
CHRIS
Excuse me. Looks like some of that
'trouble' I mentioned earlier wants
to see me.
Chris stands and heads to the exit without looking at or
arguing with the men sticking close behind him. Carol watches
him go, not sure whether to be concerned.
5 EXT. BAR – NIGHT 5
Chris steps into the dingy alley out back. The music from
within filters out. Chris pulls his collar up and looks
around. The only light comes from the security lamp over the
door.
The two heavies step outside and flank Chris as they lead him
further into the alley. The orange glow of a cigarette
directs him to his target.
CHRIS
Renfro. A little late in the day
for you to be making business
calls, isn't it?
RENFRO steps into the light – old in the face but well-built
in the body, he is dressed smartly and knows how to carry it
– and towards Chris.
RENFRO
We had an agreement, Christopher.
CHRIS
Oh, not this again… look, tell your
boss what I've told you. I don't
kill humans unless I have a damn
good reason. And a suitcase full of
money does not qualify as a 'damn
good reason.' If your ever
reclusive master wants this
reporter dead, he's going to have
to kill her himself. I'm nobody's
whipping boy.
RENFRO
Really? That's not what I heard.
(beat)
Have you heard from Malkuth lately?
Chris stiffens. Renfro gives a toothy grin. His teeth
sickeningly yellow.
CHRIS
He has nothing to do with this.
RENFRO
Hey, I'm just saying what I heard.
Word on the street is, he's got
more than just a persuasive hold
over you. I hear he owns a piece of
your soul.
Renfro steps right up to Chris' face, blowing smoke across
it. The two heavies watch on, ready to jump Chris if he so
much as breathes the wrong way. Chris squeezes his fist until
his knuckles turn white.
CHRIS
So what if he does?
RENFRO
Makes you something of a liability,
doesn't it? And if you're a
liability, Mr. Ghost can't trust
you, and if he doesn't trust you,
you'll get no more work, and that
means…
Renfro lets that hang. Chris knows exactly what he means.
CHRIS
That means no more blood. And let
me guess, if I take up this
reporter job, I'll get all the
fresh blood I ever need, right?
RENFRO
(smiles)
You know me, Chris. Man of my word.
CHRIS
Yes, that you certainly are.
There is a faint SNIKT sound, and Renfro's eyes suddenly
bulge. Chris leans in close to him.
CHRIS (cont'd)
So it's a crying shame I don't
trust that word, isn't it?
We pull back – Chris has drawn his katana and sunk it into
Renfro's chest. The elderly man gurgles once and then starts
to slide slowly backwards. The two heavies react too late.
They rush toward Chris, but he is already off. They scan both
sides of the street, but Chris has become one with the
shadows.
CHRIS (V.O.) (cont'd)
In my defence, Renfro was hardly a
model citizen. He had a hand in
everything from black market organ
trading to assassination and
kidnapping. I'd done the world a
favour by taking him out that
night.
6 EXT. ROOFTOP. NIGHT. 6
Chris strides into frame, the moon high in the sky overhead.
He's on the top of a large apartment building, and he heads
for the fire escape.
CHRIS (V.O.)
That wasn't the main thing that
happened on that night, however, as
you know by now. And before I get
to that, let's head back a few
years.
Chris travels down two floors and slides up an apartment
window, slipping inside.
7 INT. CHRIS' APARTMENT. NIGHT. 7
Modestly furnished, the room is mainly full of books of all
shapes and sizes, stacked precariously all round.
The main focus is the large pentagram marked out on the
floorboards, with a ring of unlit candles stationed round it.
Chris throws off his coat and places his sword carefully on
two mounts on the wall, before grabbing two books from the
piles and opening them out on the floor.
CHRIS (V.O.)
Almost sixty, in fact, and change
the location to my homeland,
England. It was the day I was born…
8 EXT. BERKELEY MANOR. AFTERNOON. 8
TITLE OVER – Edgbaston, England. 1944.
We're looking at a well-built manor house, surrounded by
fields and trees as a small old-fashioned car pulls up
outside the front door. A rushed-looking man in a clean cut
suit jumps out and runs inside.
9 INT. BERKELEY MANOR – MASTER BEDROOM. AFTERNOON. 9
A woman MOANS as the man steps inside the luxurious master
bedroom. EDWARD BERKELY, mid thirties and well groomed,
shakes the man's hand. THERESA BERKELEY, heavily pregnant,
writhes on the bed in pain. The man lifts a doctor's satchel
as he sits down beside her. He takes her pulse and lays a
hand on her head.
10 INT. MASTER BEDROOM – LATER 10
Theresa is asleep, pale and covered in sweat. Edward paces
with the baby, smiling proudly. The doctor packs his tools of
trade away.
CHRIS (V.O.)
I wasn't a particularly easy birth,
but this was the Forties, rolling
my mother into the E.R. wasn't
really an option. I was born
Christopher Edward Berkeley in May
1944, to rich parents in a world
that was waiting for the Second
World War to finally wind to a
halt. We can gloss over my early
years, as the first major thing to
happen in my life was at age ten,
one summer's afternoon…
11 EXT. BERKELEY MANOR – GARDENS. DAY. 11
TITLE OVER – Summer 1952
Young Chris sits at the rear of the manor under the shade of
poplar trees. He sobs. A dead bird lies on the ground in
front of him. Chris reaches out to cradle the bird. He leans
his head upon it.
CHRIS (V.O.)
I'd found a nearly dead bird in our
garden, and something about it made
me want to try and help. I was just
trying to see if I could somehow
wish it back to life, when…
Chris snaps his head back at the sound of a low HUM. He looks
from side to side, sees nothing, returns his wide eyes to the
bird. He has a thought and places his palm flat on the bird.
He closes his eyes. Concentrate. The tip of the bird's wing
flickers. Concentrate. The wing slowly flaps. Chris opens his
eyes.
CHRIS (V.O.) (cont'd)
I didn't know how I'd done it, but
I knew in my heart that it was
because of me that the bird was
alive again.
Chris smiles. He removes his hand. The bird hops to his feet
and flutters away. Chris runs after it, waving joyously. His
mother watches from the house.
Wearing a white summer dress and with her long auburn hair
blowing in the wind, Theresa looks angelic as she beams down
at Chris, having watched the whole thing.
What she doesn't see as we pan a little to the left is
Edward, watching from inside the house and not looking
pleased. He turns and walks away from the window.
CHRIS (V.O.) (cont'd)
There were a few things my parents
had kept secret from me, and one
was about to come out into the
open…
12 INT. BERKELEY MANOR – CORRIDOR. DAY. 12
Chris creeps along inside the house, as we hear raised voices
arguing up ahead.
Chris peeks through the open door of the bedroom. Edward and
Theresa stand at the other end of the room, away from the
door. They are yelling.
Sophia raises a hand, and the door SLAMS shut.
13 INT. BERKELEY MANOR – MASTER BEDROOM. DAY. 13
We're in with the argument as Edward continues to shout at
Theresa, who is sitting on the bed and sobbing.
CHRIS (V.O.)
In simple terms, my mother was a
white witch. She'd been born with
the power to heal, like her mother
and her mother before her. My
father knew about this but had made
her promise not to use her powers
when they were married, and out of
her love for him she agreed. Then I
came along, and that little episode
confirmed what my father had feared
– I'd inherited some of her powers.
14 INT. BERKELEY MANOR – CHRIS' BEDROOM. NIGHT. 14
A storm rages outside. Chris huddles on the edge of his bed.
The curtains open. Rain lashes at the windowpane. Flashes of
lightning illuminate the scene. The door opens. Chris's
father is a silhouette in the doorway.
CHRIS (V.O.)
One night, the one thing I feared
most in the world came true.
Chris' father walks into the room and sits down on the bed
next to him. Without a word being spoken, Chris' lip starts
to tremble, and before he can start to cry his father draws
him close, hugging him tightly.
CHRIS (V.O.) (cont'd)
Apparently, a tractor taking a
shortcut down a pedestrian path
hadn't been looking where it was
going, and my mother had been in
its way. She died instantly. I
never even had the chance to say
goodbye.
15 INT. UNIVERSITY LIBRARY. DAY. 15
TITLE OVER – Birmingham University, 1962
Chris is in his late teens. He sits at a desk in a large
university library as the sunlight streams in from outside.
Noticeably, Chris is sitting away from where any of the light
can reach him, his glasses on as he leafs through a stack of
impenetrable-looking books across the table in front of him.
Through the windows we can see sports teams playing out on
the fields, but it's a world away from Chris and his books.
CHRIS (V.O.)
Years passed, and I took up
medicine.
I still used my gift as often as I
could, but I kept it a closely
guarded secret throughout my time
at university, and then medical
school.
16 INT. GOOD HOPE GENERAL HOSPITAL. DAY. 16
CAPTION - Good Hope Hospital, 1973
We're looking at the main reception doors from inside the
hospital as the now twenty-nine year old Chris pushes them
aside, cutting a smart figure in his white doctor's coat. He
nods to other doctors and nurses as he walks past, scoops up
some charts and starts to read them.
CHRIS (V.O.)
Becoming a doctor was a logical
step. I could combine my interest
in medicine with the gift my mother
had given me, and in my spare
hours…
17 INT. CHRIS' DIGS. NIGHT. 17
In a small room in his rented accommodation, Chris is poring
over more thick and dusty books, which we can now see the
pages of – they are covered with arcane symbols, diagrams of
outlandish looking creatures and lines of indecipherable
script. He reads by lamplight, making copious amounts of
notes.
CHRIS (V.O.)
… I could continue my studies of
the occult. My library access got
my hands on some surprising reads,
and it wasn't hard for me to chase
up some of the more stubborn texts
with a little know how and the
right contacts. Things were going
along just fine, until one night in
1974…
18 EXT. CITY STREET. NIGHT. 18
Chris walks down a street lined by angular houses, his coat
wrapped round him and his breath misting in the air.
Alongside him walks STEPHANIE, a pretty red-haired nurse, the
two chatting as they head towards us. They stop outside one
house as we draw close enough to listen in.
STEPHANIE
Well, this is chez moi, so I guess
this is it for tonight.
CHRIS
It's been a pleasure to freeze my
outer extremities for you tonight,
Stephanie, I hope we can do it
again.
STEPHANIE
Tomorrow night after shift works
for me. See you later, Doctor
Berkeley.
CHRIS
Goodnight, Nurse Jones.
The two share a smile – there's an obvious chemical
attraction here as Chris nods and makes his exit, walking
down the street towards us again as Stephanie watches.
19 EXT. PARK. NIGHT. 19
Chris takes a shortcut through a darkened park, following the
path by the moonlight. A dog barks somewhere off in the
distance, but it's a sudden rustle of leaves nearby that
makes Chris stop and turn round.
From inside the cover of bushes just off the path, something
is watching Chris. We hear heavy, almost animal like
breathing as Chris scans round. He frowns as he tries to
locate the source of the noise.
CHRIS
Who's there? Is somebody out there?
He waits for a beat, then with a shrug starts to walk on.
He's made about four steps when the leaves rustle again, but
this time someone BARGES into Chris and knocks him off his
feet before he has chance to react.
Chris tries to get up but his assailant is too fast, grabbing
him and dragging him to his feet. We finally get our first
look at the attacker.
A human face, but with blood-red eyes and long, wickedly
sharp incisors, distorted into a hissing snarl.
Chris' eyes widen and he tries to shove the man away, but
it's far too strong and LUNGES forward, sinking its teeth
into Chris' neck. Chris yells in pain as the vampire hungrily
gulps blood from Chris' neck.
Chris' beating arms start to grow weak and his legs sag, when
the vampire suddenly breaks from its meal, blood glistening
down its chin, and snaps its head round. Hearing someone
approaching, the creature throws Chris to the ground and
darts away, disappearing into the shadows.
Chris writhes on the ground, pressing a hand to his wounded
neck and trying to sit up.
Looking up at the moonlight as our vision blurs, we see
someone lean into frame – a MAN, looking down on Chris.
MAN
Ach! I'm sorry I didn't get here
sooner, Christopher…
CHRIS
What… what did…
MAN
Don't try to speak. You've just had
a generous helping of your blood
drained out of you, I'm surprised
you're not a ghoul by now… Listen
to me very carefully, Christopher.
CHRIS
How… do you… know my…
MAN
That's not important. You've had an
infection passed over to you,
Chris, and it'll turn you into
something awful unless we act
quickly. Drink.
The man holds something up close to frame.
Chris reaches up for whatever's being held out to him,
and draws it close to his mouth. His eyes close as he drinks
for a beat, then suddenly widen – we pull back and see that
Chris is drinking from the man's forearm!
Chris grunts and shoves the man backwards, struggling to his
feet and stumbling off, back towards the entrance. The man
watches him go, rolling his sleeve back up.
MAN (cont'd)
Chris, come back! You don't
understand! That wasn't enough!
We hear another HISS from off screen, and with a wary look to
his side, the man dashes off screen, leaving Chris to his
fate.
Chris totters along for a few more steps before stumbling to
the floor, landing in a heap with a groan.
CHRIS (V.O.)
And that's how it all started…
BLACK OUT:
END OF ACT ONE
[
top
| next
]
Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.