ONCE UPON A TIME IN PARIS

 by

 Jack Bullions

 FADE IN:

 A FULL MOON swimming in the cold winter air.

 CUT TO:

 EXT. CEMETARY - DAY

 Wind whistling.

 CUT TO a stone effigy of the angel of death, wings spread 
 wide, half-smile on her face, with a cloak of snow. 
 
 PULL BACK to reveal a large obelisk grave marker the statue 
 is perched on. 
 
 PAN FURTHER BACK. 
 
 The entire yard is blanketed in white from an earlier storm. 
 Morbid winter wonderland.
 
 Then, the soft SOUNDS of snow being crunched. Someone is 
 approaching. A large shadow falls over the stone with the 
 angel. Whoever it is stares at the statue, then moves away.
 
 WHIP PAN following the man in a low angle view. His legs 
 passing by numerous manicured headstones, markers of all 
 kinds, arriving at the cemetery gates.

 PAN UP AND AROUND past his body, to see the man from behind. 
 He is tall, powerful build under the long coat flowing 
 against the wind. His stature is impeccable, unmoving 
 against the cold breath of nature. He pushes open the outer 
 gates. It CREAKS, disturbing silence.

 EXT. STREETSIDE - DAY

 The man walks out of the gate, to BUFFY waiting. It's 
 freezing out in Paris. Ice puddles along the curb. Ground 
 so cold, smoke rises from the cement and gravel. Buffy 
 exhales a mist, brushes her arm briskly. Her nose giving off 
 a rosy hue.

 THE MAN
 You okay?

 BUFFY
 Superbe. Et vous?

 THE MAN
 Peachy. 

 A church bell rings from a distance, resonating. This draws 
 Buffy's attention to --

 HER POV: A large white cross on the church steeple standing 
 against the rolling gray clouds.

 BACK ON BUFFY, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her 
 body. Both of them wear predominately black.

 BUFFY
 So what are we waiting for?

 THE MAN
 Our contact. He is late.

 Buffy nods, rocks back and forth on the inch-high heels of 
 her boots.

 THE MAN
 You sure you don't want my coat? Seeing 
 how you're practically naked in front of 
 me.

 BUFFY
 I'm good.

 THE MAN
 Sure?

 BUFFY
 (hard)
 Yes, Dad.

 THE MAN
 All right. You sneeze, you suffer.

 A long sleek STRETCH LIMO cruises up near the entrance of the 
 cemetery. It pulls to a stop. The man motions Buffy to 
 climb in.

 INT. LIMOUSINE - DAY

 Inside, a PRIEST, early 40s, is sitting, looking stressed. 
 He's dressed in his "civilian" clothing, wears his hair short 
 and proper. 
 
 The door opens, a shadow comes inside and a sudden gust of 
 cool wind. The Priest visibly shudders, both from man and 
 nature. Buffy drops herself in a seat across from him. The 
 Priest is surprised by her appearance, stares.

 PRIEST
 Oh, I did not expect company.

 THE MAN
 (perfect French, off screen)
 Mon apprenti.

 The Priest looks even more confused.

 PRIEST
 Ah oui, I see. An apprentice...

 THE MAN (O.S.)
 Problem?

 PRIEST
 No. Not at all. This is unexpected.

 BUFFY
 I take it there's history between you.

 THE MAN
 He has connections with the Camarilla, 
 Buffy. It helps to have someone work in 
 the day, especially a person of his 
 position.
 
 PRIEST
 The Church acknowledges grievance from 
 the vampire society, for the events that 
 had transpired during the Inquisition.
 And for better or for worst, this is our 
 first steps towards reconciliation.
 (to the man)
 Again, I would like to express my 
 sincerest gratitude for you coming to us.

 THE MAN (O.S.)
 I'm here, Father. You have nothing to 
 worry about. This place is it.

 The Priest looks out the window. A sullen nod.

 PRIEST
 This was Brother Pierre's church. He had 
 a congregation of his own several years 
 ago. There were some problems. The 
 church has been deserted since.

 THE MAN (O.S.)
 What sort of problems?

 PRIEST
 We aren't sure exactly what happened to 
 him, only theories, or what became of him 
 after. He disappeared.

 The Priest leans forward to pick up a file. The action draws 
 him close to Buffy. He smiles uncomfortably.

 PRIEST
 Excusez-moi.

 Buffy scoots to the side.

 THE MAN (O.S.)
 Brother Pierre?

 PRIEST
 He was an excellent priest, devoted in 
 every way.

 He opens up the file, pulls out 8-inch by 10-inch glossies.

 A HAND appears, accepts each photo one by one.

 The first one is of a YOUNG GIRL, no more than late teens, an 
 angel, smiling as if the sun never sets. Each other one, 
 various blow-ups of other people.

 PRIEST
 Those are the missing victims of the past 
 four months. The first photo is Chloe.

 The photos are rotated between the three.

 PRIEST
 (indicating a mugshot of a man)
 That is Brother Pierre.

 THE MAN
 A Slayer was sent?
 
 PRIEST 
 Oui. Chloe. She was sent last night. 
 She has not returned since.
 (beat)
 With each passing hour, her family grows 
 desperate. It won't be long before
 authorities investigate and most likely 
 find nothing and declare the case closed 
 like the others.
 
 THE MAN
 Perhaps. And her Watcher?

 The Priest hesitates to answer. Buffy looks up from the photo. 

 PRIEST
 He is... useless. Do you believe it is 
 too late?
 
 THE MAN 
 Won't be a problem. Have faith, Father. 
 We'd better get started.
 
 PRIEST
 God go with you.
 
 EXT. LIMOUSINE - DAY
 
 The man climbs out of the limo. He turns around. Meet 
 JEHONAS, looking not a day older or younger. He moves off. 

 AT THE BACK OF THE LIMO

 Jehonas pops open the trunk, brings out A LARGE SUIT CARRIER. 
 He slams down the trunk, puts the luggage over. Jehonas 
 unzips it, revealing an assortment of GUNS, high-tech 
 weapons, stakes of silver, gold and wood, strapped inside. 
 He zips it back up.

 Light snowfall starting to come down. He adjusts the collar 
 of his long coat, starts across the street with Buffy.
 
 EXT. CHURCH - DAY
 
 A once exemplary church, now boarded up, neglected. Gothic 
 in style, it stands with deserted brownstones and empty lots 
 of rubble as neighbors. Ancient, vaguely wolf-like GARGOYLES 
 high up stare down at Jehonas and Buffy moving up the stairs.

 BELOW, they reach the double brazen doors.

 BUFFY
 What's his deal? It's like he hasn't 
 seen a girl in years.

 JEHONAS
 He hasn't.

 The limo starts up and leaves.

 Jehonas pulls open the door, revealing darkness. They both 
 disappear inside.

 INT. CORRIDOR - DIMLY LIT - DAY
 
 Footsteps ECHOING in the b.g. 

 Jehonas appears into frame, stops before another door, pushes 
 it open. He and Buffy enter from the lobby into the front of 
 the church. A huge-ass church. Shafts of colored light 
 needle through the holes in the pieces of wood and cloth that 
 cover the broken stained glass windows.
 
 Jehonas walks down the center aisle between deteriorated 
 pews. Rats run from one side to the other, disturbed by the 
 sudden intrusion.
 
 Buffy clicks on her flashlight, shines the light from one 
 side to the other, taking in the sight.

 JEHONAS
 13th Century Gothic. Many of the gypsies 
 and other deemed heretic religions 
 escaped the Inquisition by fleeing into 
 sympathizing churches like this.
 (beat)
 No doubt, vampires of today still use 
 this church for the same purpose.

 Buffy nods silently.

 JEHONAS
 Underneath the floors of the church are 
 the catacombs of Rochereau. The tunnels 
 connect to the sewer networks of Paris.

 BUFFY
 A good way to run and hide.

 JEHONAS
 Yes.

 Jehonas stops before a rather barren altar. To the right, at 
 the top of the altar stairs, there is a stone statue of a 
 saint with his arms outstretched, welcoming.

 Buffy shines her light at the statue. The life-size saint is 
 covered in spider-webs. Tiny spiders crawl across his eyes, 
 which look down on Jehonas and Buffy.

 JEHONAS
 Saint Aquinas. Philosopher. Theologian. 
 Patron of schools and universities. A 
 man of many skills.

 Buffy shines the flashlight against the back altar wall, 
 revealing a wooden carving of Christ crucified.

 BUFFY
 Is this still his house, even when no one 
 comes anymore?

 JEHONAS
 Of course, Buffy.

 He watches her move the beam of light around.

 JEHONAS
 Do you believe in God?

 BUFFY
 (shrugs)
 I've called out to him once or twice.

 JEHONAS
 Let me ask you something else. Why are 
 you here? With me. You are in the 
 Lord's house remember. Answer honestly.

 Buffy rolls her eyes, going into a routine.

 BUFFY
 It couldn't hurt if you had a little 
 back-up, right?
 
 JEHONAS
 Yes, you told me that in New York, a year 
 ago. This is Paris.

 BUFFY
 Yeah, I know. But you invited me to 
 come, remember that? and this isn't 
 something I get offered a lot.

 JEHONAS
 Slaying?

 BUFFY
 No, going out of the country. I wanted 
 to hang with you, and besides, I'm 
 learning 13th Century Gothic history, 
 right? Learning is a good thing.

 Buffy points to the statue. A wry smile spreads across 
 Jehonas' face, nods.

 He shrugs off his long coat with casual grace. Underneath is 
 his sleeveless 6-Point Kevlar vest.

 BUFFY
 What? You have that expression again.

 Jehonas drops back to his inscrutable face.

 JEHONAS
 What expression?

 BUFFY
 That thing you're doing.

 JEHONAS
 Taking off my coat?

 Jehonas places his longcoat over an upturned bench.

 BUFFY
 No. Yes. I know that face. Whatever 
 you're thinking, that's not it.

 JEHONAS
 That could hurt a man.

 BUFFY
 Stop that. That's not what I meant.
 (defensive)
 Wait a minute, what are you thinking?

 JEHONAS
 I like you a lot, Buffy. You're a good 
 kid. 

 He turns.

 JEHONAS (CONT'D)
 What do you think I'm thinking?

 BUFFY
 Well... I just, you know... oh, 
 nevermind.
 
 Buffy spins away from him, taking off her own coat.

 Something distracts Jehonas. His back to her. His attention 
 focused to the floor. Placing the carrier bag on the altar, 
 he kneels down.

 TIGHT ON JEHONAS, his eyes, careful and feral, are working 
 over the feint DRAG MARKS and FOOTPRINTS from the dust. 
 Except the footprints are odd. Bestial.

 He adjusts his position, following the tracks under Buffy and 
 to the darkness beyond.

 JEHONAS
 Footprints, Buffy, leading deeper into 
 the church.

 BUFFY
 Usual M-O?

 JEHONAS
 No blood. Victim may have been 
 unconscious. Check out the prints.

 Buffy crouches down with Jehonas.

 BUFFY
 Whoa, this looks absolutely funky.

 JEHONAS
 Yes. There's something different.

 Jehonas stands, perplexed, stares at the church. 

 BUFFY
 Werebat? Like the ones from that Mong-
 ee Place?

 JEHONAS
 I can't tell. The edges are too feint.
 (corrects her French) 
 And it's Place Monge.

 He unzips the bag and pulls out a sleek black high-powered 
 HUNTING CROSSBOW. He flips a switch and the bow ARMS swing 
 out with metallic greasy smoothness, locking into place. He 
 tosses it to Buffy. 

 BUFFY
 Uh, no. Shotgun.

 Jehonas goes back to his bag.

 BUFFY
 Shotgun.

 No answer.

 BUFFY
 We've been at this, what, for like a year 
 and you still don't trust me with a gun?

 JEHONAS
 A shotgun, and a gun, are two very 
 different weapons.

 BUFFY
 Whatever. I know about the whole recoil 
 thing. I heard your schpeel. But 
 seriously I think the vampire community 
 is making headways into the 20th century 
 while the Slayers hang back with stakes 
 and crossbows. That is so not cool. So. 
 Shotgun.

 Jehonas rolls it through his mind.

 He pulls out a sawed-off 12-GAUGE BROWNING LEVER-ACTION 
 SHOTGUN. He twirls the shotgun, a la Terminator, chambering 
 a round and hands it to her.

 An expression of sublime delight fills her face as she takes 
 the piece.

 JEHONAS
 Just watch where you point it.

 He goes back to his bag, pulls out DUAL RUGER P85s. He slaps 
 in a fresh clip in each one, chambers a round. Fluids 
 graceful and mechanical. Next. His MAC-10 SMG from Slayers. 
 Next. He straps a bandoleer of STAKES around his left thigh. 
 Next. His SWORD, the blade of Jehonas, sheathed into a back 
 scabbard.

 He turns back to Buffy who is squatting, lacing up her boots. 
 His eyes drop down to her behind, perfectly shaped under 
 tight fitting pants.

 Jehonas shifts his eyes away. Buffy tucks her hair behind a 
 ear, looks up at him. She notices his tongue rolling against 
 the inside of his cheek.

 BUFFY
 Did you eat?

 She does an injection motion with her hand.

 JEHONAS
 Yes. No underwear today?

 BUFFY
 (impish grin)
 What's wrong with that?

 JEHONAS
 Nothing. 

 BUFFY
 It gets in the way when I kick...

 JEHONAS
 (holding up hand)
 All right. You women. We ready? 

 BUFFY
 Let's book.

 He hands her a gold chrome COLT 1911 handgun with holster, 
 which she takes and slings over her shoulder. Buffy notices 
 Jehonas still looking at her, almost a proud look. They 
 share a moment. Two hunters, mutual camaraderie in their 
 work.

 Jehonas nods to the darkness, and they leave.

 INT. STAIRWAY - DAY
 
 Jehonas and Buffy move down the giant stairs without so much 
 of a noise, keeping their backs to the wall. Their eyes 
 alert, scanning the surroundings. Both minds now on the 
 hunt.

 At the bottom of the stairs --

 They both turn to a doorway leading into a corridor of 
 perpetual darkness.

 INT. CORRIDOR - DAY

 Jehonas and Buffy cat-step down the hallway. They stop 
 before another door.

 INT. CELLAR ROOM - DAY
 
 Jehonas peers into the room. Silence. The place was once a 
 study, but now a complete mess. Decaying bookshelves lying 
 on top of each other, wrecked from moisture. Broken 
 furniture, some graffiti on walls, smashed light bulbs.
 
 He moves to one specific bookcase, a giant one set against 
 the wall. He looks down --
 
 ON THE FLOOR 

 Scrape marks on the dusty ground.
 
 Jehonas and Buffy both push the bookcase on one side. It 
 rotates loudly, stone grinding on stone. They look in, more 
 darkness.
 
 INT. CATACOMBS - DAY
 
 Jehonas and Buffy, quite stoic, climb down the ancient 
 stairs, watching left and right. Jehonas reaches over his 
 shoulder and slowly unsheathes his slender sword. The SOUNDS 
 of static drip of water echoing in the b.g. Buffy goes wide 
 eyed as soon as she's at the foot of the stairs.

 BUFFY
 Oh, my God.

 They stare at two large tunnels which lead into a twisting, 
 intestinal maze, lined from floor to ceiling with HUMAN 
 SKULLS and FEMURS. The bones form the building blocks of the 
 tunnel walls and are arranged in various patterns -- from 
 crucifixes to Masonic pyramids and even pentagrams. We see 
 where the drips were coming from. Ground water seeping from 
 the ceilings and walls, dripping over the eroded, crumbling 
 bones.

 JEHONAS
 After the revolution, the Paris 
 cemeteries overflowed. Many dug up the 
 old bodies of their relatives and brought 
 them here. Seven thousand people. 
 Mostly very poor. I helped a thirteen 
 year old girl bury her father here many 
 years ago.

 BUFFY
 Pretty stylish digs for a bunch of 
 paupers.

 JEHONAS
 Of course. They are French.

 He leads her --

 CUT TO:

 DEEPER INSIDE,

 Jehonas moving at the point, Buffy a few paces behind. She's 
 keeping careful watch over her shoulder, gripping the pump of 
 her Browning tighter. They pass an intersection, keeping the 
 straight path.

 Then suddenly --

 SOMETHING BIG, a flash of fur, sprinting across the corridor 
 behind Buffy. Hardly a sound. But Buffy feels that hair 
 tingling behind the back of her neck. She looks back. 
 Nothing.

 TIGHT ON JEHONAS, scanning the floor when --

 HIS HEAD SUDDENLY TURNS. He listens to something we cannot 
 begin to hear. A momentary pause.