01x09 - Trou Normand

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Hannibal...

So is it me or is it becoming easier for you to look?

I can make myself look, but the thinking is shutting down.

The way that I am isn't compatible with the way that...

The way I am.

Do you know where you are, Mr. Graham?

No.

My sister was impaled on a severed stag head, cut down the middle.

I can help you. We can hide the body.

Abigail Hobbs may be the only person who knows the truth.

You can't ask her right now, Jack.

I want to go home.

(camera click)

World's sickest jigsaw puzzle.

Yeah, but where are the corners?

What?

My mom always said, start a jigsaw with the corners.

Uh, the heads are the corners, I guess?

We've got too many corners.

Seven graves. Way too many heads.

The headpiece appears to be the only recent victim.

The others are years, even decades, old.

And we know that seven of the bodies were buried out here.

Whoever dug them up knew exactly where they were buried.

I guess it wasn't enough for him to k*ll them once; he had to come back and defile his victims.

These graves weren't desecrated, Jack; they were exposed.

Ok, everybody, let's go, let's clear the scene!

(soft ambient pulse)

I planned this moment, this monument, with precision.

Collected all my raw materials in advance.

I position the bodies carefully, according each its rightful place.

Peace in the pieces disassembled.

My latest victim I save for last.

I want him to watch me work.

I want him to know my design.

This is my résumé.

This is my body of work.

This is my legacy.

Will. I wasn't expecting you.

I don't know how I got here.

Your car is outside, so we know you drove.

Well, I was on a beach in Grafton, West Virginia.

I blinked, and then I... I was waking up in your waiting room, except I wasn't asleep!

Grafton, West Virginia, is three-and-a-half hours from here. You lost time.

Th... there is something wrong with me.

You're disassociating, Will.

It's a desperate survival mechanism for a psyche that endures repeated abuse.

No, no, I'm not abused!

You have an empathy disorder.

What you feel is overwhelming you.

I know, I know, I know.

Yet you choose to ignore it. That's the abuse I'm referring to.

What, do you want me to quit?

Well, Jack Crawford gave you a chance to quit, and you didn't take it. Why?

Um...

I save lives.

And that feels good.

Generally speaking, yeah.

What about your life?

I'm your friend, Will.

I don't care about the lives you save; I care about your life, and your life is separating from reality.

I've been sleepwalking.

I'm experiencing hallucinations.

Maybe I should get a brain scan.

Will.

Stop looking in the wrong corner for an answer to this.

You were at the crime scene when you disassociated. Tell me about it.

It was a totem pole of bodies.

In some cultures, crimes and guilt are made manifest so that everyone can see them and see their shame.

No, this isn't shame; this is celebration. He's marking his achievements.

And faced with this k*ller's achievements, your mind needed to escape, and you lost time.

Yes.

I'm worried about you, Will.

You empathize so completely with the K*llers Jack Crawford has your mind wrapped around that you lose yourself to them.

What if you lose time and hurt yourself?

Or someone else?

I don't want you to wake up and see a totem of your own making.

Every day, I wake up, and...

I hear my dad's voice.

Like he was kneeling next to my bed.

He whispers what he told me.

He told me he k*lled girls.

Again and again.

So he wouldn't have to k*ll me.

I wish he was still alive so I could ask him... what did I make him feel?

What was so wrong with me that he wanted to k*ll...

He should have.

He should have k*lled you.

So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

(girls): So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

(girls' voices echoing)

So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

So he wouldn't have k*lled me.

(girls' voices echoing)

(Abigail breathing rapidly)

He should have k*lled you.

So that you wouldn't have k*lled me.

(gasping and panting)

Hey.

I'm sorry about yesterday.

Sorry about what?

I... I wasn't feeling like myself.

Well, not feeling like yourself, that's kind of what you do, isn't it?

I suppose so.

(both chuckling)

Yeah. Ok.

So, I seemed fine to you?

Is there something you want to tell me?

Uh, no. No, no.

Well, clearly there's something that you don't want to tell me.

I... I guess I just got a little lost yesterday, is all.

And where are you today?

It got to me. (chuckling)

All those bodies got to me, and, uh, I thought it was a little more obvious than... than it was.

(deep sigh)

If there's a problem, you need to tell me.

Is there a problem, Will?

Everything's fine.

All right.

All right.

They sold my parents' house.

m*rder houses don't fetch big money in today's real estate market.

Not that you'll get any of it.

The families of your father's victims filed wrongful death suits.

Wrongful death?

That means that they get everything, Abigail. Every penny.

What you have here is all you have.

Let them take all his money.

I don't want any of it.

You can make your own money.

How much would I get if you wrote a book about me?

About my dad?

Plenty.

Do you still want to tell my story?

I think you need to tell your own story, but I am the one to help you tell it.

No one knows more about what your father did than I do.

Not even Will Graham?

Will Graham is part of the story you tell, Abigail, not the person to help you tell it.

He avoids me because I make him feel like my father.

Feeling like your father makes him feel like a k*ller.

People think I helped my dad k*ll those girls.

Well, you can change what people think.

We can change that together.

Everyone will know the truth.

Ok.

Let's tell my story.

How many bodies?

(Brian): We got 17 in total.

Meet our freshest one, Joel Summers.

Forty years old, runs a cell phone store in Knoxville, Tennessee.

Or did. Been missing for three days.

Single s*ab wound to the heart.

Other injuries were post mortem... broken bones, dislocated hips, shoulders.

He was special to him somehow.

He held a place of honor.

Seven bodies from unmarked graves found at the crime scene.

Earth from the body parts matches the gravesites.

Blunt force trauma, stabbings, strangulations. Wrongful deaths.

There are at least eight other bodies that are recent grave robbings from all across West Virginia.

No crimes attributed to any of them. Accidental deaths.

They're all murders.

Anthony Lamb, 28, fatal car wreck, 1986.

Francesca Bourdain, 42, su1c1de, pills, 1994.

Adrian Packham, 60, massive coronary, 2001.

Peter McGee, 25, carbon monoxide poisoning in his home, 2006.

And seven as-yet unidentified bodies buried on a beach.

Every death is different, made to look like something else.

No sadism, no t*rture.

The method of these murders was less important to the k*ller than the simple fact...

that these people die.

Joel Summers, k*lled with a single s*ab to the heart.

Presented with great ostentation atop a display of all the previous victims.

This k*ller's design was to remain unnoticed, a ghost.

That is what excited him.

Until now.

Why...

is he coming out into the light?

Will?

I don't want to interrupt if you're rehearsing, or...

Uh... n... no, no, no. It's ok, it's ok.

Very moody in here.

Uh... well, that's me all over.

(He chuckles.) Come on in.

I promise I won't try to kiss you again.

Unless you've stopped taking your own advice.

A doctor who treats herself has a fool for a patient.

I regretted leaving your house the other night.

Regretted?

(slide clicker dropped on table)

Implying that you're no longer regretting, or are you still in a state of regret?

I'm crisscrossing the state line.

What side of the line you on now?

I've got one foot firmly planted on both sides.

Are you telling me that to confuse me?

No, I'm telling you that to be honest about how I feel.

I don't want to mislead you, but I don't want to lie to you either.

I won't lie if you don't.

I have feelings for you, Will.

But I can't just have an affair with you.

It would be...

reckless.

Why?

(chuckling): Why?

And it is not because you have a professional curiosity about me.

No.

It's because I think you're unstable.

And until that changes, I can only be your friend.

Thank you for not lying.

Do you feel unstable?

Mm.

I'm trying to be understated when I say that this is a bad idea.

Freddie Lounds is dangerous.

She said she wanted me to write about you guys in the book.

You would be forfeiting your privacy and ours.

This... this... well, all of this will change.

Whatever you're feeling now, that won't last.

Things change.

Things are changing for me too.

I'm doing some accounting of what's important in my life and what isn't.

You are important, Abigail.

Just because you k*lled my dad doesn't mean you get to be him.

Abigail, we've been through a traumatic event, and no one more traumatized than you, Abigail, but we went through it together.

What you write, you write about all of us.

I don't need your permission.

And you don't need our approval, but I hope it would mean something.

I know what people think I did.

They're wrong.

Why can't I tell everybody that they're wrong?

You have nothing to apologize for.

Yet.

But if you open this door, Abigail, you won't control what comes through.

Are you ready for that?

The display was built in Grafton for a reason.

Totem poles commemorate special events.

They tell the story of a life.

If Joel Summers is his finale, then this lowest body on the pole will be our k*ller's beginning.

His first.

Fletcher Marshall.

m*rder*d in 1973. Beaten to death right in Grafton.

His grave was robbed five days ago.

No one convicted of k*lling him?

Not yet.

So our guy got away with it 40 years ago.

So he kept on going.

There will be a connection between Joel Summers and Fletcher Marshall.

Will.

I need you in my office.

Nicholas Boyle turned up in Minnesota... dead.

His body was found in the woods. He was frozen.

They thawed him out fairly quickly, but they said they can't tell if he d*ed a week ago, six weeks ago, or the night that he disappeared.

(Alana): How did he die?

Kn*fe wound. He was gutted.

I've had the body flown down here.

I want Abigail Hobbs to identify it for us.

You already have a positive ID.

Not from Abigail Hobbs.

You can't put her in a room with Nick Boyle's body. She already has nightmares about him, Jack. I'm curious about why.

You can't think that she has something to do with this?

I think Abigail Hobbs is the common denominator between her father, Marissa Schuur, and Nicholas Boyle. They all go back to Abigail.

My instincts tell me that Abigail has answers that we have not heard. What are the questions, Jack?

Let's start with where she goes when she climbs the walls of the psychiatric facility.

Maybe she's meeting Nicholas Boyle.

None of us know what was really going on between them.

I want to go on record as saying that this is a very bad idea. Hannibal?

Jack has the look of a man with no interest in any opinion but his own.

I want you to observe on this, Alana.

If you're putting Abigail in a room with the body, I want to be there.

I'm sorry, Will. I am not very confident with your ability to be objective about Abigail Hobbs right now.

Alana.

He could do Abigail irreparable damage exposing her to this.

Perhaps she's stronger than we think.

Miss Hobbs, I want you to look at this man.

Is this the same person that att*cked you, Dr. Bloom, and Dr. Lecter at your home?

That's him.

Good.

I just have a few other questions I'd like you to answer.

Have you seen this man since the night he att*cked you?

Could you cover him up?

I just need you to answer the question first.

Please.

No.

I haven't seen him since h... he att*cked me.

This man, Nicholas Boyle, was gutted with a hunting Kn*fe.

You knew how to do that.

Your father taught you.

Jack, I won't be party to this.

Then you can leave.

You're here by invitation, by courtesy, Dr. Bloom.

Please don't interrupt me again.

You think I did this?

Where do you go when you escape from the hospital, Abigail?

Sometimes... into the city, sometimes into the woods, sometimes just out.

I go get away from... this, to be alone where I can...

think... breathe.

Did you ever meet with Nicholas Boyle on one of your little getaways from the hospital?

Did the two of you know each other before the night he att*cked you?

Did he know your father...

No.

And you know nothing about his death?

I know he tried to k*ll me.

And when he was trying to k*ll me, all I could think was that I was gonna die in that house after all.

But I didn't.

I survived.

Dr. Bloom and...

Dr. Lecter saved my life.

They saved me from him.

And you haven't seen him since?

Only in my nightmares.

You believe her?

I think Abigail Hobbs is damaged. There is something she's using every ounce of that strength to keep buried, but it's not the m*rder of Nicholas Boyle, Jack!

What makes you so sure?

Because any reservations I have about Abigail don't extend to Hannibal!

He has no reason to lie about any of this!

It can be a comfort to see the broken, bloated corpse of a monster and know it can never come back.

Nick Boyle wasn't a monster.

Were you?

I sometimes feel like one.

Is that why you uncovered his body?

Would this be a chapter in your book, Abigail?

No. Neither would k*lling Nick or you helping me hide the body.

There's always an addendum.

The FBI already asked their questions. I answered them. I passed.

With Jack Crawford's attention.

You're right. I opened the door.

I can't control what comes through it, but this time I could control when.

I'm not afraid of them finding Nicholas Boyle anymore.

He's been found.

You betrayed my trust.

You jeopardized my life as well as your own.

I deserve more than that.

I need to trust you, Abigail.

What if I can't?

Joel Summers, the headpiece of our totem pole, was adopted after his parents d*ed.

Guess who dad was?

Fletcher Marshall.

Joel Summers is Joel Marshall.

Uh, we did a DNA comparison between Fletcher Marshall and Joel Summers.

No match.

So Marshall's son wasn't his son?

The mom, Eleanor, was k*lled in a car accident four years after Fletcher was k*lled. Genuine car accident?

If she was m*rder*d, she would have been on the totem pole.

Well, unless he loved her too much to disgrace her that way.

Was anyone ever convicted for Marshall's m*rder?

There was a man named Laurence Wells who was questioned twice in 1973. Never charged. Still lives in Grafton.

Fletcher Marshall was a crime of passion.

It had something that none of the other murders had.

Motive.

(man): It's open. Come in.

I'm unarmed.

So you were expecting us.

I had faith you'd find me.

And why is that, Mr. Wells?

Because I let you.

That last one was...

let's just say it's a good thing it was the last one.

I don't have the fight in me anymore.

Are you confessing to the m*rder of Joel Summers?

(He chuckles.)

And Fletcher Marshall.

And 15 others.

I assume you've counted 'em up by now.

So you k*lled Joel Summers just so you'd be caught.

Not just.

I k*lled Joel Summers because he was never meant to be.

What reason did you have to k*ll the others?

I had every reason to k*ll the others.

They just had no reason to die.

They never saw me coming unless I wanted them to see me coming.

I could wave at a lady and smile, chew the fat with her in church, knowing I k*lled her husband.

There is something beautiful about that ball of silence at a funeral, all those people around you, knowing that you made it happen.

Now there's something beautiful about knowing that you'll spend the rest of your life in prison.

Do I look wealthy to you?

Prison is gonna be a luxury next to the kind of retirement home I can afford.

And I certainly won't be forgotten there.

I'm securing my...

I'm securing my legacy.

That's one way to be remembered.

No children to tell your story.

Did Joel Summers remember his father?

Not anymore.

Did you have an affair with Eleanor Marshall before you m*rder*d her?

From your silence, I'm gonna take that as a yes.

He was your son. Joel Summers.

What?

You thought the woman you loved was having Fletcher Marshall's baby when she should've been having yours, but you got it the wrong way around.

Eleanor chose to raise him as Fletcher Marshall's child rather than yours, so maybe...

she saw what's in your heart.

You didn't secure your legacy, Mr. Wells; you m*rder*d it.

In fact, your one act as a father was to destroy your son.

k*lling somebody,

it feels that bad?

I'm worried about nightmares.

(Hannibal) We'll help you with the nightmares.

(soft ambient pulse)

(heartbeat)

(Nick groaning)

(She gasps.)

(Cello Suite No.2:

"Sarabande" by Bach playing)

Abigail Hobbs k*lled Nick Boyle.

Yes, I know.

Tell me why you know.

I helped her dispose of the body.

Evidently...

not well enough.

Have you told Jack Crawford?

No.

Why not?

Because I was hoping it wasn't true.

Well... now you know the truth.

Do I?

Everything you know about that night is true, except the end.

Nicholas Boyle att*cked us.

Abigail's only crime was to defend herself, and I lied about it.

Why?

You know why.

Because Jack Crawford would hang her for what her father's done, and the world would burn Abigail in his place. That would be the story.

That would be what Freddie Lounds writes.

Abigail is no more a k*ller than you are for sh**ting her father, or I am for the death of Tobias Budge.

It isn't our place to decide.

If not ours, then whose?

Who knows Abigail better than you and I?

Or the burden she bears?

We are her fathers now.

We have to serve her better than Garret Jacob Hobbs.

If you go to Jack, then you m*rder Abigail's future.

Do I need to call my lawyer, Will?

We can tell no one.

What we are doing here is the right thing.

In time, this will be the only story any of us cares to tell.

I feel terrible Ms. Lounds.

Never entered my head you might be a vegetarian.

A lapse on my behalf.

Research always delivers benefits.

If it contradicts a good story, hell, publish it anyway.

Are you still angry I called you insane?

The libel laws are clear, Mr. Graham.

(Will): Insinuation is such a grey area.

Insane isn't really black or white, is it?

We're all pathological in our own ways.

You choose the version of the truth that suits you best and pursue it pathologically.

Everybody decides their own versions of the truth.

I'm here because I want to tell Abigail's version of the truth.

See that you do.

I don't have anything to hide.

Everyone has something to hide, but I won't tell anything you don't want me to.

You must understand our concerns.

We care about Abigail.

Our only thought is to protect her.

Hm. She's already exposed.

Her silence until now has been taken as guilt.

This book is about her innocence.

I want Abigail to have a future.

That's what we all want.

Well, we all want what's best for Abigail.

This is possibly the finest salad I've ever eaten in my life.

Shame to ruin it with all that meat.

Will knows, doesn't he?

He knows you k*lled Nicholas Boyle, yes.

(She sniffles.)

What am I gonna do?

He will keep our secret.

You don't know that.

He will keep it because otherwise the one good thing in his life is tainted.

And he will lie to Jack Crawford about you just as he has lied to himself.

You're free, Abigail.

No one will know what you did.

And no one will know the truth you're trying to avoid.

The one you cannot admit even to yourself.

(softly): I helped him.

I can't hear you.

I helped him.

I knew what my father was. I knew what he did. I... I knew.

I was the one who...

met the girls, talked to them.

Laughed and joked.

Found out where they lived, where they were going, when they'd be alone.

Girls that looked just like me.

They could have been my friends.

I couldn't say no to him. I knew...

I knew it was them or me.

(Abigail crying)

I wondered when you would tell me.

I'm a monster.

No.

I know what monsters are.

You're a victim.

And Will and I...

we're going to protect you.

(She sniffles.)

(train horn)

Mind if I sit?

Oh, yeah, sure.

Thanks. (Abigail clears her throat.)

I hate traveling by myself.

I love it.

Where are you going?

Home for the weekend.

How about you?