All language subtitles for You.S04E03.1080p.NF_.WEB-DL.DDP5_.1.H.264-SMURF

Previously on You:

"Hello, you."
Of course you're using Evanesce.

No reverse lookup, messages disappear
after they've been read.

A favorite of the elite and the paranoid.

I suppose I'll see you
at that stupid art show, professor.

Kate Galvin.

- Go away.
- Kate gives little.

That jacket makes you look like a waiter.

You are a hollow nobody
with no life of his own.

- Malcolm. He made us call him that.
- Was she just a student?

- What do you want?
- Nadia was right.

The first suspect is usually
the second victim.

"I'll figure you out soon enough."

"Hello, Joe."

It's times like these I can't help
but wonder, where did I go wrong?

All I wanted was a holiday

to start my new life, good,

honest, peaceful,
but you've destroyed that.

You violated my safe haven,

dredging up the me
I've been trying hard to leave behind.

"Am I right?
Are all those articles about you?"

Obviously, I can't say yes. Come on.

My name is Jonathan Moore.

"Come on, Joe. Tell me the truth."

I refuse to fuel
your sick and misguided fixation.

I'm supposed to be finding you,
not changing my locks.

But I have to keep you out
of my flat, of my mind.

"Are you ignoring me?

You're hurting my feelings, Joe.

Are you there?"

Are you there?

You've left me no choice.

I gotta ghost you, stalker.

In Poe's "Man of the Crowd,"

the narrator sees a random stranger
in a café

and becomes obsessed with him.

So he follows the stranger
through the streets of London.

He's making deductions.

But why he's interested remains,
oh, ambiguous.

So thoughts on what this story
is saying about obsession?

That it goes hand in hand
with the urge to protect.

The narrator follows the stranger
because he sees him

- hiding a dagger under his clothes.
- Correct. But obvious.

- Interesting. What else?
- It's about love.

- Sure you read the right story?
- It's about the kind of love

that you have for something
you'll never fully understand.

- This is about fixation.
- Who says they're mutually exclusive?

The narrator wants to connect
and to know and to be known, right?

- That's why he stalks a stranger.
- Sorry, but it's about Professor Harding.

Fuck me. He's been murdered.

They think it's connected
to the Simon Soo art-gallery murder.

Oh, no.

They're calling him
the "eat-the-rich killer." Catchy.

Malcolm Harding's finger was sent
to The London Dispatch

with a note discerning, "This is not
a kidnapping. This is a murder."

Well, fuck.

You didn't keep Malcolm's pinkie
as a trophy,

you're using it to force me
to play your game.

This is very, very bad.

"Now do I have your attention?"

Okay, asshole, you've made your point.

I've canceled the rest of my class,
so my students can process their shock,

aka gossip about the eat-the-rich killer
targeting these well-to-dos.

So, yes, you have my attention.

The question is, "What do you want?"

"Admit you're Joe Goldberg."

Ah, well, that's not happening,
but I also can't refuse to engage.

So: "I'm not.

But if I was,
what would you want from me?"

"For starters,
why'd you kill all those people?

Should mention, still have Simon's ear.

Shall I send
with a note signed 'Jonathan Moore'?"

And there it is, blackmail.

Okay. Okay, say as little as possible.

"If I had done these things,

it could only have been
because I had no other options."

"Ah. It was life or death."

Imagine opening that box.

Apparently, the finger reeked so badly,
a copywriter passed out.

This is what happens
when the owner of the newspaper

has a blabbermouth brat for a son.

What else did your dad tell you?

Everyone's worried
what else they'll find in their mail.

The killer took Simon Soo's earring
and God knows what else.

Next, they'll open a box with his cock
and the alleged Prince Albert.

What is wrong with you?
He was murdered. That was our professor.

Who I suspect she was sleeping with.

Whoa. Relax. I was just...

Just being crass about another human being
getting chopped to bits.

No, it's pointless. You are disgusting.

She needs to talk to someone,
but I've got my hands full with you.

Three hours since your last text.
Are you tired of playing with me already?

Meanwhile,
I'm looking for clues wherever I can.

It's the same news on a loop,
and until I've found you,

I'm reminded
I'm not the only one looking for you.

...which he frequented
along with many of his close friends.

I assume the police are asking Kate
if Malcolm had enemies. Simon as well.

And come to think of it,

from the way she's acting, she'll be lucky
if they don't start suspecting her.

Not a tear.
And she didn't even offer them tea.

Ooh. Shit.

What is that American expression?
Mind your own fucking business.

I'm sorry, the news about Malcolm...

Must be a terrible shock.

I wanted to offer condolences.

Save your breath. You'll need it
for when the police arrive.

She didn't.

Oh, she did.

When was the last time
you saw Malcolm Harding?

Ah, about a week ago.

I think...

He brought me home from a club.
His girlfriend might have mentioned that.

Also at that club was Simon Soo.
Is that right?

And you were at his show opening
the night he was killed.

What else did Kate tell them,
my favorite cereal?

That's right.

You've become a fast fixture
in this social circle.

Miss Galvin mentioned
you've been avoiding the police.

Of course she did.

That's... Well, I thought
there might be a slight work-visa issue,

- but the papers are in order now.
- It's not really our department.

So when Professor Harding took you home,

if I'm not mistaken, that makes you
the last person to see him alive.

Shit. Time to start dancing
as fast as I can.

Not sure that's true, actually.

This is embarrassing.

We both had too much to drink,
and Malcolm was telling me things

that maybe he didn't mean to,

like he found out Simon

had been coercing artists
into making his paintings.

I guess Malcolm gambled and was strapped,
so he was going to make Simon fix it.

I took that to mean "blackmail."

It feels wrong
to be speaking ill of the dead,

but the news has been saying
this could be a serial killer, so...

Maybe the real story is closer to home.

- Anyone who can corroborate this?
- Blue Cahill, yeah.

She's one of the artists
who Simon was taking advantage of.

I heard she might be in rehab.

Well, thanks again for the tea.

If you think of anything else,
you'll let us know.

Yeah, of course. Of course, yeah.
I'll show you out.

"That bitch sent the police
straight to you."

What the fuck? Where the fuck are you?

Show yourself, you coward.

"Kate's a threat.

Life or death, one might say.

You should take care of her."

And here it is, your real game.

You want me to kill Kate.

No sign, no surveillance equipment.

How many times am I gonna tear
my place apart for you?

Obviously, I'm not going to kill Kate.

But is she your next target?

Last thing I need is playing bodyguard
to the ice witch who hates me.

Keep it generic, noncommittal.

"Kate won't be a problem."

But if your eyes are on her,

mine have to be too.

I go where she goes. And I find you.

Nadia.

Oh. Uh...

Hi.

- What are you doing here?
- I live around the corner.

What are you doing sneaking around
the building of a murder victim?

I'm looking for Malcolm's hide-a-key.

- She needs someone she can trust.
- You left something in there?

Fuck. Fuck.

- Did he tell you?
- I guessed.

I don't think it's common knowledge.

I've written him something. Um...

I've written him a letter
that I shouldn't have and it's in there.

It's amongst all his things,
it's gonna be found and end up a headline.

And then where does it leave me?
I'm completely publicly destroyed.

- Smash my way in it is...
- No, don't. Don't do that.

Um...

- I'm friends with Kate.
- Hardly, but I'll figure it out.

I'll get the letter for you.

I won't break in.

I won't break in yet.

Been there.

Congratulations, the eat-the-rich killer
has managed to go viral.

Unintended consequence
or did you mean to start a movement?

More importantly,
how do I find you at Simon's funeral

in a crowd adept at acting one way
when the cameras are on

and another when they're in private?

So the question becomes, "Whose grief
doesn't feel entirely genuine?"

- Take Sophie Soo, for example...
- Please, in lieu of flowers,

donate to hashtag "smiles for Simon Soo."

...blatantly using grief
to gain followers and donations

for an underprivileged
children's dental charity

that doesn't seem to exist outside
of a hastily put-together website.

Doesn't make her a killer,
but it does make me wonder.

Of course, there's Kate. Must keep her
out of your crosshairs. From a distance.

Then there's Phoebe whose years
of media experience have done little

- to help her publicly process her grief.
- If you're watching this,

help me find the remains
of my friend Malcolm.

He liked corgis and soup.

If you find any bits that belong to him,

please call 999,

and I promise you
you'll be heavily rewarded.

She's a medicated mess
but not a murderer.

What about Adam?

Hard to get a read on him
and I know he's one to keep a secret.

So which is he,
typical stunted American male

or secret serial killer?

Oh, and then there's Rhys Montrose.

Allegedly days away
from declaring his candidacy for mayor.

Savvy political move.

Manipulating the public
by crying over a friend.

Or is he here to manipulate me?

I missed my funeral in Madre Linda,
but from what I read,

it was a low-key affair,
so the exact opposite of this.

- You're here.
- Now's my chance for a truce.

I have no desire
to hear what you have to say,

and I don't know why you've come.

Phoebe invited me.

So much for a ceasefire.

Away from the paparazzi,
they seem more terror-stricken than sad.

If this is a murder-the-rich-
to-get-back-at-the-poor thing,

I hope you know
I inherited nothing but the castle.

Gemma, never not horrible,

but hard to imagine her rousing
the ambition to murder.

Then again, if she's you,
it's all an award-winning act.

Start wearing bulletproof vests.

And destroy this silhouette?
I'd rather be dead.

This is nonsense.
No one's trying to kill us.

Roald, he's not afraid
because he's you

or just too arrogant
to see himself as mortal.

- How are you faring?
- Fine.

You get Malcolm squared away?

We managed to find a spot
near his grandmother

where we can inter the finger.

- I'm so very sorry...
- No, Roald, can we not? Showtime.

Protective or is it you taunting me?

How could I be friends with Simon Soo?

Sure, you may have seen an interview
where he said something wildly off-color.

Doubtless while naked.

But we all wear different masks,
depending.

And of course, parts of us
we can't bear to show to anyone.

What's behind Rhys's mask?

He told me it doesn't take long
to get here from Berlin

- so I can't rule him out.
- What would it have done

to the reputation of an edgy,
purportedly egomaniacal genius

if you also knew he gave a third
of his earnings to charity?

Or do anything for his sister?

- Joan Didion wrote of mourning...
- And he's about to run for mayor.

Call me crazy.

Feels like that will complicate lurking
anonymously to kill people.

"When we mourn our losses,

we also mourn for better or for worse...

- ourselves."
- Fuck.

You have me thinking in circles.

Rhys could be you.
You could be any of them.

Is this how they mourn? How can
I tell what any of them are feeling

when they're high on a cocktail
of grief, fear and designer speed?

Smashing service, eh?

Gathering material for your book?

- Here comes another shakedown.
- It won't be like this for us.

What do you mean?

You know, all this...
I don't know, flashy bollocks.

He thinks we're alike, outsiders.
Is it you?

Fucks with your head, right?

Being so close to it
and watching how they piss it all away,

knowing no matter how hard you work,
this is never gonna be yours.

- Is that how you feel?
- What? No.

- No, I mean you working for...
- No, you see, I love my job.

Lady Phoebe, she treats me like my family,

but being the kindhearted soul
that she is,

she has a tendency
to take in waifs and strays.

So you being here...

isn't a surprise at all, really.

What I find dodgy about you, mate,
is absolutely fucking everything.

Or we have another detective
and it's time to shut this chat down.

Take these concerns up with Lady Phoebe.

I might well do that.

Have a lovely wake.

"Why haven't you killed Kate yet?"

Fuck. Where did she go?

Be nice so I can keep her close.

I think we've somehow gotten off
on the wrong foot. Sorry.

For spying? Or for being put out
when I sent the police to your door?

- It wasn't the most neighborly move.
- Might be important for them

to speak to one of the last people
who saw Malcolm alive.

- Or do you have something to hide?
- No, of course not.

Then all I did was expedite
the clearing of your name.

What I meant was thank you.
You keep helping me.

De-escalate.

God.

As much as I love sarcastic banter
with faux-polite American egotists...

- Egotist?
- ...today is not convenient.

You know...

all the death.

So, cooperate with the police,
don't look in my window.

And where is this bloody car?

Enough of this.

Have a lovely afternoon. Or don't.

Damn it. I have to follow her.
She's gonna love this.

Investigation continues
into the suspected murder

of Malcolm Harding,
literature professor at Darcy College.

In a statement, Professor Harding's family

expressed devastation
at the loss of their beloved son...

How do boxers do this
round after round?

- The fuck are you doing?
- Saving her life

- so she can keep being rude to me.
- Sorry I was a dick before.

You want the police to just do their job.

- For you?
- No, he's not staying.

Everything aside, there's an actual killer
on the loose targeting people near you,

- and I don't think it's good to be alone.
- Why? Because I'm a fragile damsel?

Oh, God. It's Captain America here,
if you would like an autograph.

Fuck.

This must be surreal for you.

- You following me like a puppy?
- That's not what I'm talking about.

Your friends pretending nothing's wrong
when any one of them might've...

Might...?

One of them.

Are you serious?

You think one of my friends is the killer,

not the thousands
who would like nothing more

than to eat them alive.

- Still playing shitty Sherlock.
- She's not gonna help figure out

- who you are, that's clear.
- Let's bottom-line this.

Why are you following me?
Is it to fuck me?

No.

To kill me, then?
Is that why you're stalking me?

Don't bite. Don't bite.

You've got it. I've got a thing
for stalking and murder.

This has nothing to do
with wanting to help you.

Why? Why would you even care?

What if I just do?

Whether you like it or not.

Were you an emotional child?

At times, I guess.

When I was young,

my mother forbade me from crying.

If I skinned my knee...

Fuck, when my grandparents died,

she wouldn't look at me

unless I was perfectly stoic.

Hide all feeling...

and it just...

Just became default.

And I'm supposed to be
the grieving girlfriend.

I get it. I really do.

I can say from experience,
it gets messier the more you push it away.

So, what do you do?

Me, personally, if it gets really bad,

I have a cathartic ritual.

I burn something.

It helps.

What if it doesn't work?

What if I just...

can't get it up for Malcolm?

Then grieve for yourself.

You make it sound
like investing was a mistake.

Do you think I didn't know
he was fucking around behind my back?

- I didn't say that.
- Think that's the relationship we had?

Let me show you our favorite spot.

Okay, now she's inviting me
to follow her.

She's not making that easy.

Oh, this is fun.

Kate!

Kate!

Kate, will you please just wait?

- This is not a time for you to run around.
- No one is paying you to do this.

If you're not enjoying yourself,
you are free to go.

It's not safe.

Oh, God.

Quite sweet, you galloping around after me
like some sort of white knight.

You're going to be so disappointed
when you realize

that women in the 21st century
can take care of themselves.

Fuck my life.

Perfect. A secret garden.

So many places for a killer to hide.

Kate really likes to tempt fate.

Still here.

Okay, so what,
you and Malcolm used to get wasted?

- Can we please get the fuck...?
- Shush! Shush.

The neighbors, they'll call the police.
Malcolm and I didn't just drink.

- Is she coming on to me?
- Come on.

There is something to the idea
that you might be watched.

- Ever felt like that?
- Can't say that I have.

If you want to be useful,

I have had a truly awful day.

Distract me, won't you?

I'm pretty sure bodyguards are not
supposed to sleep with clients.

God, you like to think.

You know, I think I...
I think I understand you.

You're a romantic.

I'm too up-front. You don't want to fuck,
you want to make sweet love.

She says that like it's a bad thing.

You don't know who I am or what I want...

I can see you're trying to seem noble
while you hide your true motives.

Come on, Jonathan. You really haven't been
following me because, deep down, you do...

- No. Nope.
- ...want...

- No, I don't.
- ...to fuck me.

It's a bad idea. No.

So much for my fox-like seduction.

Well, as far as women falling on me goes,
it was pretty gentle, to be honest.

Shit.

No, we're not doing this.

Things are complicated enough.

I can say something...

romantic if you like.

On the other hand,
this keeps her in my sight, right?

What am I thinking?

No. Fuck.

Don't kiss me, we might fall in love.

This is staying close.

A little distraction for her.

No harm in it.

Oops.

Of all the things I thought might happen
trying to protect Kate,

none of this was on the list.

Shit, where is she?

Still breathing.

I have a small window to help
Nadia solve her love-letter problem.

No letters.

And no pictures of Kate or anyone.

That big, glaring exception.

Surprised it's not a nude.

Leave it to someone as basic as Malcolm
to hide something behind his own portrait.

What are you doing?

One of my students asked me
to find something she wrote.

Is that why you came home with me?

To find a letter from one
of Malcolm's many mindless side-fucks?

No, that would be insane.

- I woke...
- Is this why you think I'm in danger?

Because of some deranged schoolgirl?

- What's her name?
- Fuck.

- No, that's not why.
- I want you to leave. Now.

I can't leave her because of you.

Kate, I know I keep saying it,
but it happens to be true.

It's not safe.

I would rather be cut up
into a thousand tiny pieces

than spend another second alone with you.

Get out.

Kate's driver has been
parked out here all day.

She's closed her blinds
as I stand here slowly starving to death.

"Been watching you 'protect' her."

Fuck you.

"I've figured you out. I think you kill
to protect the things you love.

Kate's not love. Yet." Ever.

"But she did help me see your pattern."

Is this the big insight? What decent man
wouldn't help protect people?

"You like it. How it feels. To kill."

That's insane.

"The life going out of their eyes.
The power.

Bet it makes your dick hard.

Bet it's hard right now
just thinking of it."

"You're insane."

"I'll show you."

Show me how?

No.

Hey, hey, hey! You!

Next on Kate's tour of the best places
to get murdered in London,

a 700-year-old crypt.

Only one way in or out. You'll have
to go through me to get to her.

Oh, Malcolm.

You'd find this absurd,
me speaking to a box

where your little finger were buried.

Jesus. You'd make some wicked joke
about necrophilia.

Try making me feel guilty
for not giving you more blowjobs.

You were a pompous,

lazy slut.

But you made me forget my family.

You made me laugh.

You cared about me.

Surely that's worth a tear or two.

Goddamn it.

Hiya.

Do yourself a favor
and don't make me pull the trigger.

- Okay.
- So, what are you up to?

Sneaky, little fucker. Ay?

Is she your next victim?

No. She's in danger.

Hello.

That's Malcolm's ring.

How?

Somebody's trying to frame me.

I'm sure the old Bill is gonna love
hearing all about it.

And Lady Phoebe.

That would have hurt
if I still had toes there.

You're wrong.

You are wrong.
My dick's never been softer.

I hated that. I am nothing like you.

You don't know me as well as you think.

I've gotten too good at this.

Vic was wrong. He thought
he'd never get pomp and circumstance,

but he's being buried
with Simon's gold-plated coffin.

Not too shabby.

I'd say a few words,
but I doubt Vic was a Didion fan.

At least I knew him well enough

to write an effusively grateful letter
of resignation to Lady Phoebe.

They were like family, after all.

I vowed, never again.

I was on a new path.

Until you.

You set me up.

You planted that ring,
so Vic would find it.

"I was right, wasn't I? You liked it."

No! You sick fuck!

"The only thing you've accomplished
is making me determined to end you.

I may not enjoy it,
but the world will be better,

and no one will mourn you..."

Wait. Is that why you're fixated on me?

Are you lonely?

Poe's narrator searching
for connection in the crowd.

You want a friend.

You want us to be the same.

Kindred spirits.

And if you think we are,

maybe you'll wanna take this IRL.

"You were right. That was exhilarating."

After I laid Vic to rest,
I tracked Kate home.

She hasn't left since.

Probably exhausted, considering how many
people in her life you've murdered lately.

Anyway, she's in there.

Meanwhile, you're ghosting me.

Many have begun to suspect
that Professor Harding's murder

was related to another high-profile death,

that of artist Simon Soo,
who was a friend of Professor Harding

and whose body was allegedly...

Was I wrong?
Did I come on too strong?

Or will you take the bait
and suggest we meet?

Great. I'm in purgatory. You won't talk
to me, Kate won't talk to me.

So I'm still watching her window.
This is perfect. Thank you.

I guess I'm not the only one in purgatory.

If she can't shed a tear, at least
she can destroy that heinous portrait.

I hope it helps.

Shit.

There you are... Shit, it's just Phoebe.

Oh. Come on in. Just give me a second.

With all this mystery
and ambiguity you stuck me in,

I can at least do one simple good thing
for a good person.

- My God, thank you.
- Don't worry. I didn't read it.

Well, I wouldn't care if you had.
It's very well-written.

I was reminded of this recently.
I think it might help you.

Joan Didion.

I can't believe he's dead.

I've never known anyone
that's died before.

- It feels awful.
- Yeah, it does.

Until it doesn't.

When will that be?

I think that looks different on everybody.

The guilt only makes it worse.

I don't think you should feel guilty
for loving anybody.

I didn't love him.

Okay, caring, then.

Sometimes we care for the wrong people
and it doesn't make us bad, only human.

Thank you.

I'll see you in class.

Okay.

I need to follow my own advice.
Stop feeling so guilty.

I've made mistakes, but I can do better.

"I think it's time for us to meet."
It worked.

And now I understand how to talk to you.

"One condition.

Leave Kate alone. She's mine."

"There's the Joe I've been looking for."

Now that Kate's off-limits and I don't
need to run around bodyguarding her...

"When and where?"

"Details soon."

How soon?

No more texting, no more games.

This can't be good.

Professor Moore. If we might have
the briefest moment of your time?

Or course. Anything to help.