02x08 - The Fawn

[bunniefuu]

KIDNAPPER (VOICE DISTORTED):
Were you a good mother?

I... I did the best I could. Please...

How does a good mother let
her boy get taken by a maniac?

Let us see James.

Not until you answer my questions.

The scar on the back of James'
head, how did he get that?

I know this is excruciating,
but the longer we keep

the kidnapper talking,
the better chance we have

to find some kind of leverage.

(BUTTON CLICKS)

Uh, we were playing baseball.

He took a pitch, turned his head.

It was an accident.

KIDNAPPER: Then why were
Child Services called?

He was mad at me, so he called them.

Mad? Anything to do with you
banging the former housekeeper?

You son of a bitch.

That's enough. Give me back my boy.

Hello.

My name's Eric Beaumont.

- I said no police.
- I'm not.

I'm a negotiator.

In exchange for James's life,

I'm willing to get you whatever you want.

First, I need to know
that James is alive.

Alive? Okay.

I'll show you alive.

(SHUDDERING)

MAXINE: They're rich.

Why not just ask for the money
and be done with it?

Well, the guy's an emotional sadist.

Takes pleasure in their suffering.

Seems to be going around.

Everywhere I look these days,
there's another maniac.

Hey. What's going on? Talk to me.

It's my mom's birthday.

Low tolerance for sociopaths

today, I guess.

I should've remembered. I'm sorry.

It's okay.

- You know what I think?
- What?

I think your mom would've liked me.

Me, too. Come here.

ZARA: You were right, Eric.

This behavior is way too
specific to be random.

The kidnapper's M.O.

fits a one Vincent Keough.

Wait. The Blue Blood k*ller?

You know him? I studied him in school.

Matter of fact, he's
from here, Connecticut.

This side, or the other side?

The other. He grew up poor,
then became rich

and began targeting one percenters.

k*lling... abducting...

their firstborn sons.

- Like our James.
- Hey, Zara,

isn't Keough...

Serving five consecutive life sentences

at Osborn Correctional? Yeah.

FATHER: So this is what?

Some kind of copycat?

What, some random person?

Wh-What the hell do they want with us?

Ben, whoever's behind this isn't looking

to just punish you and your wife.

He's hoping to wear you down.

There's a big demand coming,
I can feel it.

You need to be clear-headed, okay?

Let's talk to Keough.

Might give us some kind of insight

into who we're dealing with.

OLIVER: Yeah, we're wasting time.

Keough's a master manipulator.

This guy loves the attention.

Zara, who put Keough in jail?

Mmm...

A Detective Colton Meyers.

Maybe we should talk to him first,

get a better understanding
of who Vincent Keough was

when he was active.

I'll have him meet you
outside the prison.

♪ ♪

(LOCK BUZZES, LATCH CLICKS)

Vincent Keough was a financial advisor.

Made some real money for his clients

before he started k*lling their sons.

How'd you catch him?

Got sloppy, abducted a kid
in broad daylight.

His own girlfriend called it in.

Keough was patient, methodical.

Why'd he suddenly switch up his M.O.?

He thought we were
getting close. Panicked.

Where was James Smith abducted?

Opening of a new wing of a hospital

donated by his parents.

Yeah, your copycat has done his homework.

That's Keough's kind of party.

Any last words?

Keough will see any attempt
to manipulate a mile away,

so try active listening.
Let his ego come to you.

Thank you for your help, Detective.

One last thing...

as I was taking Keough into custody,

he jammed a pen into
that kid's femoral artery.

He was caught, he still did it.

Kid d*ed in my arms. Whatever you need.

(LOCK BUZZES, LATCH CLICKS)

Hmm. Eric,

image and sound are up.

Mr. Keough?

My name's Eric Beaumont.
I'm a negotiator.

You mind if we talk?

A negotiator.

How fun.

Usually, they send psychologists
to pick my brain.

Green thumb?

Mm, more like a penchant
for the misunderstood.

Solanum nigrum.

Black nightshade.

But for the likeness of
its cousin, deadly nightshade,

which in large doses can cause
temporary paralysis

and even death,

it's completely harmless.

I think you may have a copycat as well.

A boy has been taken and the kidnapper

borrowed your M.O. Any thoughts?

Tell him to get his own schtick.

Anyone contact you recently?

- Ask you about your crimes?
- Well, as you can guess,

a man of my notoriety gets a lot of mail.

Oh, I understand that, of course.

How exactly can I help you, Mr. Beaumont?

I want you to help us stop him.

Whoever this copycat is, he's not you.

He doesn't have your education, your, uh,

refinement.

My guess is you'll make
short work of this imposter.

I would love nothing more than
to make amends for my past sins.

Training never leaves you, does it?

- Beg pardon?
- Checking your corners. FBI?

And now he's a negotiator.

But why? Why did he leave?

I'm only here about the copycat.

OLIVER (OVER COMMS): Eric, the kidnapper

called back. He's on the line
with the Smiths.

How would you like
to make amends right now?

Very well. I only have one question.

- Sure, what's that?
- Who'd you lose?

Thank you.

Detective Meyers, this is
Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

- Hi.
- Hi.

- How do you do?
- Hey.

The warden let the call go through?

I think our clients may have
something to do with it.

The governor and I go way back.

Yeah, she spoke to the
warden on our behalf.

I have Vincent Keough on the line.

And a good day to you, my friend.

Are you still there?

KIDNAPPER (DISTORTED VOICE):
How do I know it's really you?

Oh, well, from what I hear,

you're the expert
on all things Vincent Keough.

KIDNAPPER:
Tell me about your first victim.

Ah, yes, the Radcliffe boy.

KIDNAPPER: No, after your father.

The deer, the French River.

There was mention of it
in the court documents,

but you never finished the story.

There's not much to tell, I'm afraid.

Isn't there something else?

OLIVER (OVER COMMS): He's agitated, Eric.

He doesn't want us to hear this.

I thought you wanted to make amends.

When I was ten, I came upon a fawn

and its mother trapped in the ice.

Freezing to death.

Drowning. I saved them.

But while they were
still too cold to run away,

I took out my hunting Kn*fe

and slit the fawn's throat.

Pushed it back in the ice. (CHUCKLES)

Watched it sink,

watched his mother drown
trying to save her child.

Look, whoever you are,

I beg that you stop this madness now.

KIDNAPPER: They're making you say that.

I assure you they're not.

You need to free that boy.

KIDNAPPER: But your great opus...

Opus?

What opus?

Maybe Keough isn't finished k*lling.

Maybe there was a sequence,

could be why he got sloppy
with his last victim.

KEOUGH: I haven't a clue
what you're on about,

but I beg that you listen to reason now.

You must free that boy.

KIDNAPPER: Okay, if that's
what you really want.

It is.

KIDNAPPER: I would do anything for you.

James will call as soon as he's free.

KEOUGH: There.

I guess happy endings do exist.

The deer.

Your first k*ll?

(LAUGHS)

Oh, I did what you asked.

My regrettable encounter
with Mother Nature

has nothing to do with your copycat.

I just have one question.

What's that?

Who'd you lose?

(LOCK BUZZES)

(LATCH CLICKS)

- Well, that was too easy.
- Agreed.

It felt a lot like a performance.

I think Keough knows the copycat.

Serial K*llers need to be in control.

The copycat is likely a subordinate.

If he-he went off script

asking to hear that story about the deer,

it would explain why Keough got so upset.

That event is rooted in some
significant trauma for Keough.

That's why the kidnapper
put James in ice.

It's all connected.

And they mentioned Keough's father.

What do we know?

He was an alcoholic.
Abandoned the family.

- What's this?
- It's a holdback from the press.

It's a letter from Keough.

When he k*lled those boys,

he wrote that he “freed” them
from the cycle of greed.

He told the copycat to “free” James.

Eric, it's James... he's on the phone.

Okay.

- James, just hold on.
- We're gonna find you, sweetie.

- What's going on?
- It's James.

James?

Where are you?

(CRYING): I'm in a coffin. He buried me.

He buried me alive.

- I've got the flashlight app on.
- MOTHER: That's good,

that's good, sweetie.

You keep that on.
We're gonna find you real soon.

I need to speak with your son.

(SNIFFLES) I love you, sweetie.

We're gonna find you, I promise.

(JAMES BREATHING UNSTEADILY)

James...

there is only so much air in there.

What?

(PANTING): Oh, my God.

I want you to close your eyes.
Can you do that for me?

- Yes.
- ERIC: Okay.

Now slow down your breathing.

All right, that's it, James, that's good.

Now, I want you to switch off
the flashlight app,

and when you're ready...

hang up the phone.

(WHIMPERING)

We need to make sure

that the phone still has battery.

Y-You promise you'll find me?

I am gonna do

everything I can to find you.

I love you guys.

MEYERS: Kid get an ID?

No, kidnapper was masked. Gloved, even.

James couldn't give us anything.
What about you?

No. Something's bouncing
the cell signal around.

It's impossible to trace.

The coffin could be anywhere.

Keough knows this kidnapper.

Who's he had contact with?

No one.

Well, there's Lydia March.

- Who's that?
- Local botanist.

Volunteers with the inmates.

A while back, she and Keough
started writing letters.

Any chance there were
secret messages? A code, maybe?

No, they were vetted by the guards.

Mostly talk about flowers, plants.

Keough's, uh, obsession with big banks.

Might be worth sending it back
to Cri/Res for analysis.

- Has he had contact with anyone else?
- I've just checked

the visitor log... there's nothing.

Except several requests

- for a Dale, uh...
- McNamara.

Yes, uh, to visit, but the
warden rejected them all.

Who's Dale McNamara?

The son of Keough's ex-girlfriend.

The woman who turned him in.

Why would he want to see her son?

- Keough's his father.
- Mm-hmm.

ERIC: Does Dale know that his father's

a k*ller?

His mother married a rich dentist.

He raised Dale as his own,

but we live in a small town,
Mr. Beaumont.

What kind of kid is Dale?

Eric, you're not seriously considering...

- You just said yourself he's a kid.
- I know.

But we have nothing to bargain with.

Right now Dale is the only thing
that we know Keough wants.

Putting Dale in a room with Keough

could cause a great deal
of trauma for him.

It may also rattle Keough enough

for us to poke a hole
in that armor of his.

- But shouldn't we...
- Coffins are airtight, Maxine.

James could have less
than six hours left.

Look, I will talk to Dale first.

I won't send him in unprepared, okay?

Would you mind visiting the botanist?

Yeah. I'll join you.

Thank you.

LYDIA: Vincent and I are friendly,

but I would hardly call us associates.

I just... volunteer once a week.

I use plants

to teach them about how fragile life is.

The inmates seem to enjoy it.

But you've only written to Keough.

Vincent really took to the plant program.

- He's a changed man.
- MAXINE: Men like Vincent Keough

don't change. You know this

from personal experience?

Vincent's not like other men.

He's refined.

His words bring a great deal
of happiness to me.

- He's a serial k*ller.
- Having been bankrupted

and hounded by the IRS

while Wall Street runs amok,

I am naturally sympathetic
to his political message.

Men like Keough use those ideas
to prey on the weak.

Because the weak refuse to see the world

as the corrupt swamp that it actually is.

One more thing.

Does he look familiar to you?

Vincent is in prison! How the hell

do you expect him
to do something like that?

I would like you to leave.

Well, thank you for your time.

KEOUGH: Well?

Did he release the boy?

Don't you mean “free”?

Did he “free” the boy?

I have the letter, Vincent.

The one that was
never released to the public

but somehow the copycat
has intimate knowledge on.

“Free” means “k*ll,” doesn't it?

- You're grasping.
- Come on, Keough.

You know the copycat.

He knew about the opus, the deer.

End this now.

Is that all you have?

Am I to falter

under your pathetic plea
to save James Smith?

No. Not mine.

His.

(LATCH CLICKS, DOOR CREAKS OPEN)

Vincent Keough...

this is Dale McNamara.

This son I know who he is.

I wanted to be the one to
tell the truth about me.

Like your heartless
mother build me to it.

My mother didn't tell me anything.

It's a small town...
the other kids couldn't wait

to torment me about my dad

the serial k*ller.

Before we go any further...

- I am not a k*ller.
- Dale,

is there something
you'd like to ask your father?

- I am a prophet.
- Dale...

- A revolutionary.
- ERIC: Dale...

A divining rod pointing
to where the truth

- is buried.
- Dale, please.

- Yes, Dale, please! Please!
- Where is he?!

Where is James Smith?

(SIGHS)

Haven't you ruined enough lives?

Haven't you caused enough pain?

Does your stepdad treat you
differently than your siblings,

his real children?

- Okay, that's enough.
- Oh, they think that

you're going to turn out
to be like me: a monster.

But deep down, your stepdad knows

your mother is trash.

Tell me, Dale,

who has caused you

the most pain? Hmm?

Stop it.

I am nothing like you.

You should be so lucky.

Your mother was a parasite
when I found her.

Barfly.

A mattress back.

Breeding and feeding off
of anybody that would have her.

Hey, you think you're so great, huh?!

Whoa.

You are nothing

- Hey.
- but a fraud...

...a phony.

(GRUNTS)

Pull him off!

Get him off me!

(GRUNTING)

Okay, okay, okay.

Aren't family reunions delightful?

Tell me where James is.

(CLICKING TONGUE)

I am disappointed in you, Mr. Beaumont.

Do most of the people
you usually come up against

- just hand over information?
- The warden refused

every request you made to see your son.

I made that happen.

Mr. Beaumont, please.

I can get you visitations,

make contact with his mother
on your behalf...

Don't lowball me!

You want James Smith.

I can show you where he is,

but I will only do it in person.

I want out of this hellhole.

And there's the big demand.

What?

What are you smiling about?

We're finally negotiating.

ERIC: Think the botanist is the copycat?

I think she's deluded.

I think she traded her identity

for the kind words of a lunatic.

You okay?

Yeah. Sorry.

She hit a nerve, I guess.

Your mother's birthday
is hard for me, too.

Keough isn't Delaine, you know?

We can't lose focus, okay?

Lydia is antisocial, a loner.

She's completely enamored with Keough.

She fits the profile.

You show her the photo of James?

She acted like she was horrified.

- I didn't buy it.
- Well, if it is her,

she had to be conspiring
with Keough somehow.

We've already sent her letters
to Cri/Res for analysis,

so we should have
something soon. Go ahead.

MAXINE: How did it go with Dale?

ERIC: Well, you may have been right

about putting him in a room with Keough.

He's pretty upset.

ERIC: Detective Meyers is
finding him a ride home.

Why don't I do it?

You sure?

Yeah.

We can commiserate about
what a bad person you are.

OLIVER: We can't just
rush to conclusions.

Please, you need to take a deep breath...

No. Look, if Vincent Keough needs

to be let out temporarily
in order to find James, then...

Whoa, whoa, what's going on?

You're not getting anywhere.

Why do you think Keough chose James?

- How should I know?
- He chose James

because he knew, pushed hard enough,

you would use your influence
to get him out of prison.

Everything we've done was to find out

what the big demand would be,
and now we know it.

Don't... don't give away our leverage.

- You don't understand.
- Early this year,

my daughter Evie
was abducted by a madman.

So what would you have us do?

What I did.

Trust my team.

OLIVER (OVER COMMS): Tactic?

Keough can be rattled.

Dale proved that.

And he's completing an opus,

so the location where James is buried

should be significant.

Now, we pick the right scab,

and he may reveal where that is.

Distributive negotiation.

Call it what you want.

I'm just gonna piss him off.

(HUMMING)

(LAUGHING)

(CHUCKLES) Ah.

Good tidings, I hope.

Did you really think
that pathetic routine

was gonna get you out of here, hmm?

You really that stupid?

I strongly advise you to watch your tone,

Mr. Beaumont.

Those things you said
about, um, Dale's mother...

the feeding, the breeding...

you're actually talking about yourself.

You're part of the same hypocrisy.

I'm nothing like her.

Trading in slums
for a Bentley and a house

in the Gold Coast?

Yeah, you're, uh... you're worlds apart.

That was a way in.

Access to the people I needed to punish.

Oh, so you followed rich people around

like a sad little puppy
so you could get your revenge.

KEOUGH: I was building up a tolerance.

Ingesting tiny bits of their lives

until I could stomach to be around them.

Except they wouldn't
have you, would they?

They couldn't have me.

Because you will always be
that poor kid from the slums

with a drunk for a dad.

And what about you, Mr. White Knight?

You trying to save James or yourself?

That's not it, is it?

Who did you lose?
Was it a wife or a mother

or a lover or a combination?

- It's not that they didn'twant you...
- See, the thing you'll learn, Eric,

- is that when you align yourself...
- ...you were just never comfortable.

- With the rich...
- Because deep down

- you knew who you were.
- ...they will always let you down.

- You hate yourself.
- You have no idea what I lost

at the hands of the establishment.

You think you should be immune
to a run of bad luck?

What happened to my father

was much more than a run of bad luck!

Your father was a drunk, a deadbeat.

Shut your mouth!

Whatever happened to him was his fault.

They ruined him!

- Really? Really?
- Yes!

What'd you see that day, huh?
Before the deer.

Before you became a k*ller.

KEOUGH: You think that your privilege

- can handle the truth of my life?
- Hell yeah.

What happened?

- You want to know?
- Oh, yeah.

Do you really want to know?

Oh, sure. Why not?

KEOUGH: Ah.

Right on time.

I don't like this any more than you do,

but Keough's coming with me.

We just want our son back.

James is the final movement
in Keough's opus.

That's why he wants out.

You're not saving your son.

You're serving him up on an altar.

I'm sorry. We'll send you a check.

Stay on Keough.

Eric, they fired us.

I know. I don't care.

We're missing something
and I'm gonna find it.

That, uh, must've been a lot to process.

You know, my mother was involved
with a man like your father.

He got into her head.

Turned her into a w*apon.

Convinced her she was willing to k*ll.

What happened?

Someone... intervened.

It's not easy growing up knowing
that's where you came from.

I've always just felt like an intruder

in my own life, you know?

Yeah. (CHUCKLES)

Thank you.

We checked the perimeter.

So far no signs of ambush
or a fresh grave.

Lydia March?

She packed a bag and the safe is empty.

Think she left town.

So she was the copycat?

All right, people.

I want an APB on Lydia March, aged .

He's running out of air, Colton.

You have less than an hour left.

One false move, you get a b*llet
in the back of the head.

Now where is he?

Let's go.

Eric, they're at the greenhouse.

Stay with them.

Got it.

♪ ♪

(LINE RINGING)

(MUFFLED): Crisis Resolutions.

Zara, you really shouldn't be working.

Eric, I'm five centimeters dilated

and somebody's kid
is trapped in a coffin.

Do you really want to debate me?

Okay. F-Fine.

Listen, I'm gonna send you a picture.

Get the Natural Language Processor

to apply Alberti's disk
to Keough's letters.

Okay. What's Alberti's disk?

It's like a-a purposely
rearranged alphabet in a circle.

You, uh, you put the regular
alphabet over it

and presto, you have a code.

- On it.
- Okay, great.

Aren't they exquisite?

Quit stalling, Keough.

Where the hell is he?

(COUGHING)

(OFFICERS COUGHING)

(CELL PHONE RINGING)

Yeah?

Eric, NLP found the code.
It applied the Alberti's disk

to the letters
between Lydia March and Keough

and found detailed instructions
on how and when

to kidnap James Smith.

It's all here.

So it was Lydia?

Well, NLP found

a discrepancy in the gender category.

How so? In the earlier letters,

the author used the feminine
pronouns “I, she, we,”

but then about three years ago,
it changed.

The pronouns were replaced with
the articles “the, a, mine, it”

and numbers.

So, the author of the most
recent letters was masculine?

Exactly. Not Lydia.

Really? This job was your dream?

Well, the Spice Girls
already had a redhead.

(BOTH CHUCKLE)

No. Uh... after my mom d*ed,
the path led me here,

helping people like her.

DALE: Yeah.

Yeah, that's pretty cool.

I don't feel that strongly about...

anything.

I mean, my stepdad's a dentist.

My mom...

I don't know.

I don't want to be like either of them.

Well, as long as you don't
end up like Vincent Keough,

I think you'll be fine.

(SCOFFS)

Uh, sorry. What do you mean by that?

(CELL PHONE RINGING)

Oh.

Eric, hi.

Is Dale with you?
Yeah, I'm just dropping him off.

Don't react.

Dale is the copycat.

Lydia was writing letters
between father and son.

Just a conduit. Don't provoke him.

Just leave.

Yeah. See you soon.

You're good.

You disarmed me.

You got me talking.

(GASPS, CRIES OUT)

(CHOKING): You son of bitch.

It's a liquid form of deadly nightshade.

Huh? Why am I not affected?

Well, that's a good question, Meyers.

That's because the plant in my cell

is actually deadly nightshade.

And I've been microdosing

for five years.

Building up an immunity.

Thank you for asking.

(GASPS WEAKLY)

(PHONE RINGS)

Eric.

Oliver, it's a trap.

You've got to warn Meyers.

- Inside.
- Oliver, can you hear me?

Oliver?

Guard!

Hello.

So, who are you?

♪ ♪

It's so good to see you on the outside.

It's good to see you, too, son.

Can you put Mr...

Yates in the van with the coffin?

Let's go.

You haven't buried him yet.

It's airtight.

He's dying as we speak.

Let's go.

James.

JAMES: Yeah.

James, my name is Oliver Yates.
Can you hear me?

Yeah, I can hear you.

- Oh, thank God, okay.
- You gotta get me out of here.

Stay with me, man.

All right? Stay with me.

We're really gonna do this.
We're gonna finish your opus.

“We” is right, but it's
just Dale and I now.

What?

Uh... you said that we were
gonna do this together.

Yes. Then you opened up
your stupid little mouth

about my grand opus.

You risked everything.

And, Lydia, what the hell
was that about the French River?

You kept using our letters
to talk to your son,

but you said you loved me. I need you.

I have all these questions,

and you keep ignoring me.

I just want to know everything about you.

Well, you screwed up.

(g*nsh*t)

(CELL PHONE RINGING)

This better be someone
other than Zara Hallam.

ZARA: Eric,

seven centimeters dilated,
so I'll make this quick.

I requested satellite imaging
of all of the burial sites

of Keough's previous victims.

ERIC: Does the shape match
any of the zodiac signs?

Nope. Not even close.

That doesn't make any sense.

Alberti's disk was on the
ceiling, right by the zodiac.

I would've bet a million bucks...

Wait.

Keough hates greed,
people who worship money.

Zara, send me the satellite
image of the burial sites.

Okay. (PANTING SOFTLY)

Sent.

- (CELL PHONE CHIMES)
- Oh, my God, I don't believe it.

ZARA: What is it?

It's EURion.

What's that?

The EURion constellation.

It's-it's not a real constellation,

it's a symbol on all paper currencies.

It's an anti-counterfeiting measure.

A sequence of five rings.

Four of the victims are buried already.

So we can use the fifth ring

to figure out where James is buried.

It's an old sawmill.

Sending you geo coordinates right now.

Ooh!

- Zara, you okay?
- ZARA: Yup, yup!

Just... having a baby. Good luck.

Nurse!

(PHONE CHIMING)

Uh...

Oh, God. Okay.

(GRUNTS)

Fill it in, please.

No.

(GRUNTS, GROANS)

I said no.

Dale, when he has to choose

between your life and his freedom,

which way do you think
he's gonna go, huh?

(CHUCKLES)

(GRUNTS, GROANS)

(COUGHS)

He said fill it in.

(g*nsh*t)

The next one's in his chest!

- Okay, okay.
- Dig! Dig!

(CELL PHONE BUZZING)

KEOUGH: Let me tell you

about my father.

Spent years trying to find work,

but those rich bastards in town,

well, they couldn't look down
their nose far enough at him.

This place... Eric was right.

It all started here.
Your father didn't just

run off, did he?

I saw it in his eyes.

He'd had enough.

They'd finally broken him.

That's why I followed him
up here to this very spot.

His shotgun in his hand,
and I begged him to stop.

But he just looked right through me.

He turned the barrel around...

(IMITATES g*nsh*t)

Blew his brains out.

Then you walked out here,

and you saw the fawn at the French River.

Everything I've done,

my grand opus, it's a love letter

from son to father.
And now, from father to son.

James just ran out of air.

Brain damage in seven minutes.

Dead in ten. No saving him now.

You know what, Keough?

You're full of crap.

What about Lydia?

- I'm sorry, who?
- She worshipped you,

- and you threw her away.
- You can't throw trash away,

Mr. Yates.

It's trash!

Was your father trash?

I wonder, could he not find work

or could he just not hold down a job?

- I beg your pardon?
- There's no message here.

You're not a prophet. Your
son is right. You're a fraud.

Good-bye, Mr. Yates.

(GRUNTING)

- Okay! Okay!
- Put it down!

Put it down!

MAXINE: Dale, you don't have to do this.

Your father's not worth it.

What do you know?!

Huh?! Orphan girl,

- you even know your father?!
- You don't have to be

an intruder in your own life.
There are other ways.

- I promise you.
- I tried and they didn't work!

You move that Kn*fe one more
inch, I swear to God...

- Yeah?
- KEOUGH: You'll what?

Look at your hands.

You won't do anything.

Yes, I will.

- Slit his throat.
- Maxine...

- Oli...
- KEOUGH: Oh, my goodness.

You're sweethearts.

Maxine, I love you.

Dale...

Do it! Now!

(SHOUTS)

(GRUNTING)

(GASPING)

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)

(SHUDDERING)

Not another move, Keough!

Oliver? Are you okay?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine.
- James? James, James.

- James!
- James!

James!

James!

- MAXINE: James! Please wake up!
- Get in here!

Honey.

Oh... oh.

The past has a strong
hold on us, doesn't it?

Informs our future more
than it has any right to.

I can't feel my fingertips.

You're in shock.

I thought if I...

shared your commitment
to preserving life,

if I worked the job just like you did,

- it would bring me peace.
- Maxine...

All it brought me was more death.

He was just a stupid kid.

Look, I'm not gonna tell you

that you did the right thing,
because it didn't help

when everyone said that to me.

Just remember...

you saved a good man's life tonight.

(QUIETLY): You're okay.

(SHUDDERING EXHALE)

♪ ♪

(GASPS)

How is it that I just had a baby
and you look worse than I do?

- Botox.
- Oh, don't make me hurt you, Yates.

Hey, buddy.

So you're the reason I had to
drive myself to work today.

- (CHUCKLES)
- You did some job, Zara. He's perfect.

- Mm.
- You think of a name yet?

Guys, can you give us a second?

- Sure.
- Yeah.

(COOS)

Hey.

Good day?

Yeah. Great day.

Oh.

- Come on. Do you want to hold him?
- Oh, Zara,

- I-I don't know.
- Please.

I would like him to meet his namesake.

- Really?
- Yeah.

Max, meet Max. (CHUCKLES)

(SNIFFLES) Hi, Max.

Hello, Max.

Yes, hello.

Mike is really upset.

He wanted me to name him Wilf.

- Oh.
- Oh. I know.

- Yeah, you wouldn't like that.
- No.

- You wouldn't like that. No.
- Mm.

Yes. All the faces. Yes.

You're good at this.

♪ ♪

(SPEAKING INAUDIBLY)

MAXINE: Dear Eric,

I'm writing a letter because
if I did this in person,

you'd probably cry. (CHUCKLES)

Joking. We probably both would.

I'm not sure what I expected
joining Cri/Res,

but I know it didn't include
taking a life.

When my mother d*ed, I was alone.

And I felt that way

until I learned you two had been in love.

Delaine turned her into an object...

a device.

But knowing she was capable
of love made her human again.

I want to feel that way again, too.

It just seems so far away right now.

You hired me to bug you, Eric,

and I hope I did my job well.

But not too well.

With love, Maxine.