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behind this?
What did we ever do to you?
I love this room.
My ancestors strangled, massacred,
and hanged...
several hundred Protestants in here
during the 16th century...
a glorious era
that shall never come again.
Do you have any idea how much it costs
to maintain a place like this?
For a couple of centuries
it was tea and opium.
Nowadays it's cocaine and heroin.
My God. You shot the priest.
I was aiming for Miss Ryan.
Shooting a priest
distressed me enormously.
I don't know how much you know
about my activities, Miss Ryan...
but I intend to find out.
You've got it wrong.
I'm not Rebecca Ryan.
In about 20 minutes,
you'll be begging to tell me everything.
Even as we speak, the blood
is gorging the capillaries of your brains.
Soon, some of them
will begin to explode.
I'd be more than happy to provide
a less painful death...
if you'd just tell me
who it was that betrayed me.
Victor, you don't understand.
We don't know anything.
She suffered a traumatic shock. She
thought she was a character in a book.
Didn't you ever hear of
the Rebecca Ryan novels?
The time for games is over.
You've been remarkably successful
in avoiding your death...
until now.
Wait. Victor, don't go.
What are you doing?
I'm doing what Rebecca Ryan did in
The Missionary Murders.
She swung back and forth
until she caught Dimitri's hands...
and then she untied him.
That wasn't The Missionary Murders,
that was The Stairway to Death.
No, that wasn't The Stairway to Death.
In The Stairway to Death...
she made the bomb out of
the Sheikh's aftershave.
No, that was The Serpent Sings.
You're crazy.
It wasn't The Serpent Sings.
Of course it was.
The stupid serpent bloody sings.
You've got it. It's loose.
Christ, anyway. I ought to know...
as...
I...
wrote...
the bloody...
books.
What?
What do you mean,
you wrote the books?
I'm Margaret McMann.
What?
I mean, she's my mother.
- She's your...
- And I'm her son.
But she didn't write the books, I did.
She's my front.
What do you mean, she's your front?
I didn't want anybody to know...
that I wrote that cheap pulp.
Cheap pulp?
How dare you call that cheap pulp?
Those are wonderful stories,
and you're a terrific writer.
- You really think so?
- I love those books.
That's what got me into all this trouble
in the first place.
Let's get out of here.
God. I hate heights.
Give me your hand.
Wait.
Come on!
Alan, I think we're in trouble.
You two are impossible.
Au revoir.
Look out!
Oh, my God.
What do we do now, Rebecca?
I wish I knew.
I can't hold on much longer.
Neither can I.
I know this isn't
the right time or place, but...
I love you.
I love you, too.
"...narrowly missing them...
"and sending the planks crashing
down onto the jagged rocks below.
"Instinctively,
they leaped for the scaffolding...
"which, to their horror,
swung inexorably out over the water...
"leaving them helplessly suspended
in midair.
"Their eyes met in desperation...
"as their fingers slowly slipped
from the cold steel.
"Down they plunged, 200 feet...
"and disappeared beneath
the dark surface of the icy water."
Time for bed.
You can't stop now.
I can't stand the suspense.
Neither can Margaret.
Come on, chaps.
Just a couple more pages.
Talk to her, Alan.
There are no more pages.
- Hurry up and write some.
- To bed.
- Goodnight, Mum.
- Goodnight, sweetheart.
- Goodnight, Mum.
- Goodnight, Alan.
Sleep tight.
So they disappear beneath the surface
of the icy water.
What happens next?
You know what happened next.
Yes, but we can't tell them that.
Okay, so?
Well, how about...
she gets eaten by a giant...
- She gets eaten by a giant.
- Alan.
All right.
How about...
he doesn't want to work
any more tonight...
so he carries her off...
to a turret high in his castle...
runs his fingers through her silky hair...
and makes mad, passionate...
love to her.
End of chapter.
Американский мечтатель

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