A Third Ending
So... because I can't sleep, and also because it's been niggling at the back for my brain for a long while, I wrote a third ending for Amber's film, Cruelest Fate. If you've watched it, you'll note there are only two original endings and (spoilers) neither end well for the bad guys, (myself and Adam.)
Blame Adam for this. He encouraged me to write a third ending.
Note: though it's never said in the film, we came up with names for our characters. The Femme Fatale is Stella Foxx and the villain is Drake Fury.
For a second or two, the room seemed to hold its breath. A perfect stand-off, four guns poised and ready to fire. Drake Fury slid another glance at his female companion. She chanced to look at him too for a second, not wanting to take her eyes off the detective for long.
Ah, Stella Foxx - his little ace in the hole. She was just as blood thirsty as he was. A lucky find. He should’ve hooked up with her ages ago. He’d probably be rid of this damn detective by now if he had. Then again, the long chase had been rather… exciting. However, this was their final confrontation. The injured cop was likely to simply arrest them, but his partner was hell-bent on shooting him.
Drake had no plans on dying today.
He and Stella fired almost at the same time, catching both the cops by surprise. Drake shot one in the chest, downing him for good this time. Stella got the other across the pool table from her in the throat. He fell, blood pooling around him and onto the expensive wood floor.
Stella took a breath. The room was suddenly quiet again after the loud gunfire. Drake looked down at the body of his fallen rival, making sure he was dead. He chuckled at the blood. “I told you I’d won again.”
The quiet was broken by a small noise, maybe a whimper, and the sound of knees and elbows on hard wood. Drake looked at Stella, who frowned. It wasn’t her. Then he remembered that annoying reporter. She’d been in the room too, and was hiding under the pool table. Drake was about to peek under when Peggy Topstory popped up next to Stella, grabbing at her gun. Stella kept her grip and the two women wrestled for the weapon.
For a moment, Peggy seemed to be gaining the upper hand, but then she felt two hands close around her throat from behind. The cold metal from Drake’s rings pressed fatally against her windpipe. She choked, letting go of Stella’s gun and trying to pry his hands loose, but the villain’s grip was too strong. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp.
Drake dropped the reporter’s corpse to the floor. He swept his top hat off his head dramatically and blew a mock kiss down to her. Stella smirked her deep red lips and crushed Peggy’s camera under the heel of her boot, pleased at the satisfying crunch. Drake put his arm around the femme fatale’s waist, pulling her in close. The chains on his right hand clinked softly as he swept a stray ginger hair off her face. She put a hand on his chest and looked into his dark eyes.
Drake moved in for a kiss, but Stella held back. “Not now,” she purred. “Not yet. Let’s get out of here before more cops show up. Then we’ll celebrate.”
Part of Drake just wanted to push her onto the pool table, hike that purple dress up and have his way with her, but he knew she was right. Her hand in his, they ran past the dead cop, out of the pool room, down the stairs and out the back. A shiny black Bentley was waiting them. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the first few drops of rain began to fall. They hopped into the car and, with the powerful roar of the engine, raced off down the driveway.
Blame Adam for this. He encouraged me to write a third ending.
Note: though it's never said in the film, we came up with names for our characters. The Femme Fatale is Stella Foxx and the villain is Drake Fury.
For a second or two, the room seemed to hold its breath. A perfect stand-off, four guns poised and ready to fire. Drake Fury slid another glance at his female companion. She chanced to look at him too for a second, not wanting to take her eyes off the detective for long.
Ah, Stella Foxx - his little ace in the hole. She was just as blood thirsty as he was. A lucky find. He should’ve hooked up with her ages ago. He’d probably be rid of this damn detective by now if he had. Then again, the long chase had been rather… exciting. However, this was their final confrontation. The injured cop was likely to simply arrest them, but his partner was hell-bent on shooting him.
Drake had no plans on dying today.
He and Stella fired almost at the same time, catching both the cops by surprise. Drake shot one in the chest, downing him for good this time. Stella got the other across the pool table from her in the throat. He fell, blood pooling around him and onto the expensive wood floor.
Stella took a breath. The room was suddenly quiet again after the loud gunfire. Drake looked down at the body of his fallen rival, making sure he was dead. He chuckled at the blood. “I told you I’d won again.”
The quiet was broken by a small noise, maybe a whimper, and the sound of knees and elbows on hard wood. Drake looked at Stella, who frowned. It wasn’t her. Then he remembered that annoying reporter. She’d been in the room too, and was hiding under the pool table. Drake was about to peek under when Peggy Topstory popped up next to Stella, grabbing at her gun. Stella kept her grip and the two women wrestled for the weapon.
For a moment, Peggy seemed to be gaining the upper hand, but then she felt two hands close around her throat from behind. The cold metal from Drake’s rings pressed fatally against her windpipe. She choked, letting go of Stella’s gun and trying to pry his hands loose, but the villain’s grip was too strong. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she went limp.
Drake dropped the reporter’s corpse to the floor. He swept his top hat off his head dramatically and blew a mock kiss down to her. Stella smirked her deep red lips and crushed Peggy’s camera under the heel of her boot, pleased at the satisfying crunch. Drake put his arm around the femme fatale’s waist, pulling her in close. The chains on his right hand clinked softly as he swept a stray ginger hair off her face. She put a hand on his chest and looked into his dark eyes.
Drake moved in for a kiss, but Stella held back. “Not now,” she purred. “Not yet. Let’s get out of here before more cops show up. Then we’ll celebrate.”
Part of Drake just wanted to push her onto the pool table, hike that purple dress up and have his way with her, but he knew she was right. Her hand in his, they ran past the dead cop, out of the pool room, down the stairs and out the back. A shiny black Bentley was waiting them. Thunder rumbled in the distance as the first few drops of rain began to fall. They hopped into the car and, with the powerful roar of the engine, raced off down the driveway.