02x02 - Sakizuki

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Hannibal...

The light from friendship won't reach us for a million years. That's how far away from friendship we are.

It would seem Jack Crawford is less suspicious of me than you are.

Jack Crawford doesn't know what you're capable of. - Neither do you.

You maintain an air of transparency,

while putting me in the position to lie for you.

Someone went through a lot of trouble to make sure they were well preserved. They've been

coated in some kind of resin.

There are a lot of people missing.

You want to know how he's choosing them, don't you?

Tell me what you see.

(man screaming)

Ugh...

Ah...

(yelling in pain)

(yelling in pain)

(yelling in pain)

(yelling in pain)

Ah!

Ah!

(truck door opened)

(groaning in pain)

Ah!

(g*nsh*t)

I've lost the plot.

I am the unreliable narrator of my own story.

You have an incomplete self.

There are pieces of you... you can't see.

I'm afraid to see.

I don't know who I am anymore.

And I'm afraid.

Without remembering, you're seized by something imagined.

I don't know which is worse.

Believing I did it... or, um, believing that you did it and... did this to me.

Hannibal isn't responsible, Will.

And neither are you. We have to get to the truth of what happened. It's the only way you can move forward.

I felt so betrayed by you.

Betrayal was the only thing that felt real to me.

I...

I trusted you.

And I needed to trust you.

And you can trust me.

I am very... I'm v--

(He takes a breath.)

I'm very confused.

Of course you are.

Will, let us help you.

Let me help you.

I... I... I need your help.

(Will crying)

(door buzzer)

(door buzzer)

Please. Sit down.

I won't be staying long.

I'm curious - what couldn't wait until our next session?

We don't have a next session.

I am no longer your therapist.

May I ask why?

I have reached the limit of my efficacy.

I don't believe I can help you.

Are you giving me a referral?

No. I am simply ending our patient-psychiatrist relationship.

You tried to end it before.

I... am grateful for your persistence in engaging me after my att*ck.

However, in light of everything that has happened with Will Graham, I have begun to question your actions -

particularly, your past actions with regards to me and my att*ck.

Did you share these questions with Jack Crawford?

No.

And nor will I.

I would look just as guilty as you.

But perhaps that is what you intended.

What exactly am I guilty of?

Exactly, I cannot say.

I've had to draw a conclusion based on what I glimpsed through the stitching of the person suit that you wear.

And the conclusion that I've drawn... is that you are... dangerous.

I'm sorry you feel that way.

Please don't come to my home again.

I will see myself out.

I'm resuming Will Graham's therapy.

To what end?

Besides your own.

He asked for my help.

Then maybe you deserve each other.

His name is Roland Umber; same profile as the other victims -

lived alone, disappeared from home, and a large dose of heroin in his system.

This victim wasn't unstrung; he was ripped from his moorings.

Whatever his imperfection, it was enough to aggravate the k*ller into tearing him down.

He was discarded in a tributary over

400 miles away from anything that feeds into the dam where the first victims were found.

Like dandelion seeds, casting bodies in every direction but his own.

Very poetic.

The buffeting in the current causes so many post-mortem injuries, it's impossible to tell them from the ones they got, uh, when they were alive.

Excuse me.

Doctor, join me over here.

There may be trace evidence preserved in the craquelure.

What?

Craquelure. It's French

for the cracks that appear on an oil painting as it dries and it becomes rigid with age.

Cracks are not always weaknesses.

A life lived accrues in the cracks.

Could be something in there -

fiber, debris. Might help track where the bodies were before they got dumped.

What do the victims have in common?

What if it isn't what they have in common?

What if it's what makes them different?

Each of these people has a slightly different flesh tone.

It could be like a color palette.

The color of our skin is so often politicized.

It would almost be refreshing to see someone revel in the aesthetic for aesthetics' sake -

if it weren't so horrific.

We're supposed to see color, Jack.

That may be all this k*ller has ever seen in his fellow man, which is why it is so easy for him to do what he does to his victims.

Which is why there'll be a lot more bodies on his color palette.

A fascinating insight, Ms. Katz -

as if Will Graham himself were here in the room.

Yes, it is.

How's Will Graham?

Shut your mouth.

Is there a reason you didn't come to me before you decided to go talk to him?

I figured you'd say no.

You figured correctly.

But I knew you'd want to say yes.

You knew that?

You put me in an awkward position, Jack.

I had to go because I knew you wouldn't.

If you had gone like you wanted, I wouldn't have had to.

Why didn't you?

Because Will Graham is either delusional or a psychopath, neither of which I can trust.

Fine, so don't trust him; just listen to him.

I'm listening. This is what I'm hearing:

if he's delusional, it's because I made him that way; if he's a psychopath, it's because everything in my gut is wrong.

You think he's innocent.

I don't know what I think.

I think he still wants to save lives. That's what I think.

I have bent the rules here in the name of saving lives.

Now there is an internal investigation.

I'm under the microscope.

The Office of the Inspector General has ordered a psych eval to determine my competency to sit in this chair.

Well, what do you want me to do?

If you don't want me to go back, I won't.

We didn't have this conversation.

And... since we didn't have this conversation, I want you to go and do whatever it is you believe it is your job to do. Do you know what your job is?

Yes, I do.

Then do it.

(smelling)

I've been obliged to stay on this side of the light.

Select patients have taken to urinating on the therapists.

I would argue drawing a line might encourage a pissing contest.

I'm not interested in a pissing contest with you, Dr. Lecter.

Please, pull up your chair.

You said the light from friendship won't reach us for a million years -

that's how far away we are.

I hope our friendship feels closer today.

Friends have a symmetrical relationship.

Psychiatrist and patient, that's unbalanced.

There is a power differential between psychiatrist and patient... one that I'm well aware of, particularly with my own therapist.

But we're just having conversations.

You threatened me with a reckoning.

I did.

I can't claim unconsciousness on that one.

You were searching for something in your head to incriminate me.

I can only assume you didn't find it.

There's not much in there I recognize.

Whatever you remember, if you do remember, will be a distortion of reality, not the truth of events.

I'm realizing that.

Beverly Katz has come to see you.

Yes.

Wouldn't want Alana Bloom to worry about you dwelling on anything morbid in what's to be a time of recovery.

It's the only thing that feels normal.

The v*olence?

The structure of understanding the v*olence.

You're missing pieces of yourself. Careful what you replace them with.

What did you see in the pictures?

This k*ller... he's not stringing his victims up; he's stitching them together.

Each body is a brushstroke.

He's making a human mural.

Why does he do it?

He's missing pieces too.

Dr. Lecter has advised me against dwelling on anything morbid.

I know you want to stop these m*rder as much as I do.

Reasons for stopping multiple murders do readily occur to me, but, um... I'm going to need something in return.

There are things you don't have? I can talk to the chief of staff.

Chilton?

He's being very cooperative.

Of course he is. He loves when I have visitors.

He's recording every word.

He's, uh, gossipy that way.

What do you want, Will?

I'm wondering if you can get me the thing I really want.

Try me.

I want you to ignore all the evidence against me.

You're right.

I can't get that.

How many colors will this k*ller add to his box of crayons?

Say I ignore the evidence against you. What then?

Strike it from your mental record.

Start over.

If I'm guilty, you'll find more evidence; if I'm not guilty, you'll maybe find that too.

All right.

I'll keep looking.

Good.

Give me the file. I'll tell you what I think.

Do you mind if I do this privately?

Yes.

The skin isn't as discolored as the other victims'.

Looks fairly well preserved, all things considered.

Why would I throw you away?

Did Roland Umber have priors with substance abuse?

He was in an outpatient treatment program for drug addiction.

Heroin?

Among others.

He had a high tolerance for opiates.

The overdose didn't k*ll him.

He survived what was done to him.

He tore himself free.

He ran.

How did he end up in the water?

k*ller didn't put him there.

He'd have put him back in the mural if he caught him.

Other bodies were dumped; Roland Umber got away.

Got away from where?

This k*ller, he, um, he needs someplace private to do what he does - a warehouse, a farm, someplace abandoned, upstream from where the body was found. It'll be close to the water.

Thank you.

I'm curious. What'd Hannibal Lecter have to say about Mr. Umber?

He thinks the k*ller tore him down, dumped his body like the others.

That may be what he said; it's not necessarily what he thinks.

Hello. I love your work.

How ever did you find this place?

You and Will Graham are a good team.

You gave us the "what" we were looking for; he gave us the "where."

Corn dust on the craquelure.

Yes, Will and I do make a good team.

Will didn't think Roland Umber was discarded; he escaped. We just went upstream from where the body was found until we hit corn.

Hey, Beverly.

Dr. Lecter.

Follow me, please. You might want to prepare yourself. You've never seen anything like this.

I'm sure I haven't.

How could a human being go so bad?

When it comes to nature versus nurture, I choose neither.

We are built from a DNA blueprint and born into a world of scenario and circumstance we don't control.

Praise the mutilated world, huh?

What did it look like from above?

Fascinating.

Ritual human sacrifice.

I'm not sure if it's an offering, but it's certainly a gesture.

To whom?

The eye looks beyond this world into the next and sees the reflection of man himself.

Is the k*ller looking at God?

Maybe it's some sick existential crisis.

If it were an existential crisis, I would argue there wouldn't be any reflection in the eye at all.

A person who could do this kind of thing, would they be likely to continue doing it?

This could be his beginning.

And/or his end.

He may never k*ll again.

You said he doesn't see people, that he sees material.

Those in the world around him are a means to an end.

He uses them to do what he's driven to do.

Will Graham was a means to an end.

I used him

to do what I was driven to do, to save lives at the expense of his.

I thought whatever I could put him through, he would be strong enough to fight his way back to himself, and I was wrong.

Maybe he's still fighting.

Maybe he's not.

Point is, you don't know.

It's OK not to know.

You can't know everything. You can't be certain of it all.

Knowing that Will descended into such savage behavior has changed the way that I see him, the way that I see other people.

The world feels much darker.

It's not just the guilt of what I did to Will Graham; it's the guilt of watching all these other lives fall apart based on what I did.

What did you do?

I pushed him.

When I was warned to back off, I kept pushing him.

You miscalculated.

I failed.

I failed.

We all fail, Jack.

I look at my friend and I see a k*ller.

I'm failing to reconcile those two things.

(Beverly): Forty-seven bodies. We've identified

19 of them, but not this one.

No record of fingerprints.

He was never arrested or in any kind of a job that required any type of security clearance or background check.

Hopefully he's been to a dentist.

Why am I looking at this man?

Stitch patterns on John Doe 21

match Roland Umber.

John Doe 21 is Roland Umber's replacement in the mural.

What happened to his leg?

Maybe the k*ller had to cut off his leg just so he'd fit.

♪

(classical music)

He changed colors mid-brushstroke.

♪

(classical music)

What did Dr. Lecter say?

"The eye looks beyond this world, into the next, and sees a reflection of man himself."

There was never supposed to be a reflection.

The k*ller's having an existential crisis after all. The question is... how did he find his faith?

Hello, Doctor.

What can I help you with?

Closure.

I think perhaps this should, or may have to be, our last conversation -

at least on the subject of Hannibal Lecter.

Are you pleading the Fifth?

No.

I simply can't offer you any more insight than I already have.

Not accounting for future insight?

I feel it would be irresponsible if I continue to see Dr. Lecter.

Irresponsible?

For who?

For me.

I can only help Hannibal if I'm feeling secure emotionally.

I'm not feeling secure right now, so I am recusing myself from the situation.

I hope you understand.

I'm not sure I do.

Hannibal and I were both traumatized by dangerous patients.

Hannibal had his Will Graham, and I had mine.

It has been a necessary albeit unpleasant reminder that I have unresolved issues.

Maybe Hannibal can help you resolve these issues.

He is very good.

I am doing my best to avoid working through my issues with Hannibal Lecter.

Goodbye, Agent Crawford.

Goodbye, Doctor.

Obviously, I cannot control whether or not the FBI contacts me. I can only tell you what I told Hannibal:

I prefer that you don't.

Oh, now you're just taking advantage.

You're going to burn me out before my trial, and then where will I be?

What would Jack say?

Jack's excellent administrative instincts are not often tempered by mercy.

Clearly.

I'm devoting a lot of time to this mural, Will. It's hard for me to focus on anything else I've been tasked to do. Could use your help.

In the 19th century, it was wrongly believed that the last image seen by the eyes of a dying person would be fixed on the retina.

What would be the last image fixed on this dying eye?

I made you pliable.

Molded you.

Set and sealed you where you lay.

This is my design.

A dead eye of... vision... and consciousness. I am fixed and unseeing.

Unless someone else sees me.

One of these things is not like the others.

One of these things just doesn't belong.

Who are you?

Why are you so different from everyone else?

I didn't put you here.

You... are not my design.

(hooves clopping)

k*lling must feel good to God too.

He does it all the time, and are we not created in His image?

The k*ller is in the mural.

What do you mean? Literally?

I mean, the man you're looking for is sewn into his own mural - this man.

What happened to his leg?

Whoever sewed him in took a piece of him.

As a trophy.

He must have had a friend.

You're not alone, you know? In The Resurrection, Piero della Francesca placed himself in the fresco.

Nothing flattering - he depicted himself as a simple guard asleep at his post.

Your placement should be much more meaningful.

It's not finished.

I'm finishing it for you.

We'll finish it together. When your great eye looked to the heavens, what did it see?

Nothing.

Not anymore.

There is no God.

Certainly not with that attitude.

God gave you purpose -

Not only to create art, but to become it.

Why are you helping me?

Your eye will now see God reflected back.

It will see you.

If God is looking down at you, don't you want to be looking back at Him?

Will Graham.

Kade Purnell, Office of the Inspector General, FBI Oversight.

Am I still an FBI employee?

Or is that pending the outcome of my trial?

The point of the trial isn't so much whether or not you did it; it's whether or not you knew what you were doing when you did it.

Sounds like I'm unemployed.

Dr. Bloom is hard at work on your unconsciousness defense.

Ah, yes, yes, the FBI made me do it.

The FBI made you a m*rder*r. Yes, that is Dr. Bloom's position.

As you can imagine, she's not popular.

What's your position?

Our point of view is that you were already a m*rder*r.

The prosecution will paint a picture of you as an intelligent psychopath.

You conspired with your neurologist to cultivate an illness that would ultimately be your alibi.

And then I k*lled my neurologist to broom the footprints behind me?

That's what everyone in the courtroom will hear when you take the stand, regardless of what you say.

Well, what's to be done about that?

Let's discuss it.

If you plead guilty, you'll spare us all a trial.

And I personally will see to it that you're comfortable here.

I'm pleading innocent.

You very publicly lost your mind -

some would argue theatrically.

The prosecution certainly will.

All part of the performance; it's just not my performance you're watching.

You'll be found guilty and given the federal death penalty.

I'm trying to save your life.

I guess I'll have to save my own life.

(door buzzer)

(door opening)

I don't know you.

My name... is Bedelia Du Maurier.

You're Hannibal Lecter's therapist.

What's that like?

I've heard so much about you, I feel I almost know you.

You don't.

No, I don't.

But I understand you better than I thought. I... wanted to meet you before I withdraw.

What are you withdrawing from?

Social ties.

Well, you're a psychiatrist. Isn't our sense of self a consequence of social ties?

They certainly are in your case.

It may be small comfort, but I am convinced Hannibal has done what he honestly believes is best for you.

No, that isn't small comfort; that would be no comfort.

The traumatized are unpredictable because we know we can survive.

You can survive this happening to you.

Happening to me.

(guard): Stay behind the white line, ma'am!

(door buzzer)

Ma'am!

Step away from the bars. Ma'am!

(whispering): I believe you.

(guard): Come on, ma'am, let's go.

Step away.

And the conclusion that I've drawn... is that you are dangerous.