The Crow Page #4

ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC AND WOMAN

She fades. He

lets her drop away, horrified. And staggers back

into the cover of the

alley. Her blood is on his hands.

ANGLE - ALBRECHT RUNNING

Skidding

in, spotting the woman. Kneeling to her.

ALBRECHT:

Here now! You're

gonna be okay!

Can you understand me? I'm a

police officer...

The

woman is no longer in pain. Deathly calm now.

WOMAN:

He touched me

and it stopped. The

pain.

ALBRECHT:

What did you say?

WOMAN:

I:

saw a ghost...

Her eyes roll back and she dies in Albrecht's arms.

ALBRECHT:

Oh no... don't go, darlin', you

stay with me, now... sh*t!

HIGH ANGLE CROW POV - THE ALLEY

BOOMING BACK from Albrecht, the woman,

onlookers, as police

units screech up to assist.

EXT. ALLEY BEHIND

ARCADES GAMES SUPPLY HOUSE - ON ERIC - NIGHT

Eric in lurching flight,

panting. Stops and steadies against

the wall across from the backside of

Arcade Games.

ANGLE - THE CROW (FLYING)

Circling, then lighting on the

fire escape above Eric.

BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES - ("CROWVISION")

"CROWVISION" is what the crow "gives" Eric to see. Visually

distinct

and immediately identifiable.

ERIC'S POV - BACK WINDOWS OF ARCADE GAMES

Which he's already seen through the crow's eyes.

ANGLE - ERIC

looking

up at the crow. Disoriented. Doesn't understand.

Suddenly he cottons,

and covers his eyes just in time to shield

from:

ANGLE - BACK OF ARCADE

GAMES:

The rear windows EXPLODING outward in a spray of fire and

debris.

ANGLE - WITH ERIC

he reels back, crashes into a dumpster. Falls.

ANGLE:

- THE CROW

landing on the dumpsters edge near a pair of discarded combat

boots in the trash. Flames.

LOW ANGLE - ERIC

The blood from his hands

mars his burial shirt. He tears the

shirt away, leaving his tie absurdly

intact. Wipes his face

with his shirt. Discards it. Stops, held by his

discovery --

PUSH IN ON ERIC:

as his fingers explore the five puckered

bullet punctures in his

chest. Almost a circle. Comically, he feels his

back foe exit

wounds. Then hauls himself upright, coming level with the

crow.

His glance at the bird is almost accusatory.

ANGLE - THe CROW

Inscrutable. We should get the idea that some silent

communication is

taking place.

ANGLE - ERIC'S FEET

bare, muddied, frozen. TILT to

Eric. His gaze moves from the

crow to the boots in the trash. He grabs

them, pushes them onto

his bare feet. His eyes catch the firelight.

Distant o.s.

SIRENS:

ERIC:

Fire. In the rain.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT.

CLUB TRASH - NIGHT

We are now within the neon techno-depths of Club

Trash. The BG

music is hard, savage, primal: a doom-laden Radio

Werewolf band

rules. Cabaret Blitzkrieg, packed with Death-to-Yup

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