Original subtitles

Jesus, Enzo.

There's a bloodbath here.

Three victims: an entire family.

The killer left a letter filled with nonsense.

He even killed a little girl.

Enzo, where the fuck are you?

7 MONTHS EARLIER

The letter...

We'll find him.

Rest assured.

"I apologize to my co-workers.

I need to point out that the job I've done for 23 years

is not to blame for this..."

I shot them one by one,

as you can see.

A subdued murder.

If they'd only had the chance,

they would've asked: 'Why us?

What's so special about us?'

There's nothing special about you, but I am special.

I cured you of this absurd illness called life.

I cured you of this absurd illness called life.

I cured you of this absurd illness called life.

Tell me more. I'm here to read you.

Nobody would be that stupid.

Where is it?

Where is it?

Where is it?

"In order to talk seriously about anything,

you must start with these two words:

'pain' and 'numbers.'

The average life expectancy for westerners today

is 82 years.

29,930 days of pain,

718,000 hours of suffering,

pretending, acting.

Every smile, a grimace.

Every memory, a regret.

Every hope, a disappointment.

Every night, a false promise.

Torture.

Darkness.

Obscenity.

CLOSED FOR MOURNING REOPENS ON TUESDAY

"I'm here to read you. Go on."

This should be made clear to children as soon as possible:

we were wrong to make you.

To put you on this earth.

In this constant nightmare.

It should be made clear right away:

we all just want someone

who can absorb the horror for us."

"It's me.

Again.

And once you understand the rules of the game,

play,

ruin the game.

"I understand perfectly everything you write.

So write, my friend."

NOW

You two, come.

I heard it didn't go well again.

That's one way of putting it.

How about we summarize the MO

you've established for this investigation...

You go to the city or far-flung place

where Dostoyevsky has struck.

You visit the local precinct to ask for info

but all you get are insults and bloody noses.

So then you question the mayor,

city council, contractors, the parish priest,

all the bigwigs of Bumfuck

and then come back, empty-handed.

Correct me if I'm wrong.

- Fabio... - Yes?

Do you agree with your boss's strategy?

Of course.

You swear?

On the honor of your badge?

I think we're losing face.

Our men are losing hope.

And worst of all, we're losing Dostoyevsky.

What would you do?

The letters will lead us to him.

We have to follow them and see things through his eyes.

I'm trying.

What do you see?

The killer's changed since his first letter, he writes more now.

Not in terms of quantity, but quality.

Emotional temperature, intimacy.

As if he were moving closer and closer to a truth.

- He's exposing himself. - Exposing...

Exposing himself.

If I expose myself, will it turn you on?

- He's not just a killer. - Will it?

He's not just a killer!

He's a person who wants to communicate,

a person who is communicating.

It's as if Dostoyevsky were trying to establish an epistolary relationship.

As if he were writing to someone.

- Someone, who? - His mom.

- Or your mom. - Damn it, Enzo!

Carry on.

It doesn't matter who,

so long as he continues to communicate

and eventually becomes so desperate

that he slips up.

He'll open up too much and let us in.

What do you think will happen?

He'll make a false move.

Will it be enough?

If we're ready.

Okay.

- Where are you going? - Home.

All we can do is wait, right?

Till someone else gets killed.

Holler when it happens.

Honey.

Uh, no...

Yes...

Hello?

Who's calling from my daughter's phone?

Um...

- Yes, no... - Who is this?

- It's her father. - All right...

It's the right person.

Who are you?

Hello, I'm Clara and...

Who the fuck is Clara?

- We are... - We're Ambra's roommates.

Put her on.

No, that's why we called you.

- She's not here. - There's a problem.

- She vanished. - Yeah.

She went to see the gypsies.

Are you fucking with me?

No...

Where is she?

She was supposed to come back after seeing the gypsies,

but she hasn't, okay?

We called you 'cause you're a cop, right?

You could go get her and bring her back.

But I need to know where my daughter lives.

How long has she been gone?

Like...

- 12 hours. - 4 or 5, or something.

- 12. - A while.

Why didn't you call me sooner?

Because we knew where she was,

but then she didn't come back...

I bet they took her.

Where do the gypsies live?

- Not far. - Nearby.

With your fancy car, it'll be quick.

You'll see it, it's huge.

And it's a shithole.

She was supposed to go and come back.

She was supposed to get the stuff and come back, but she didn't.

Over there.

That way.

Gimme the girl!

The girl, my daughter!

Fuck.

You never picked me up from school.

That's how you end up hanging with the wrong kind of people.

And becoming the wrong kind of person.

You're not the wrong kind of person.

I was talking about you.

Nice.

What's there to eat?

I didn't go shopping.

What's there to drink?

When was the last time you ate?

A few days ago.

What are those scribbles in your room?

My work.

Ever hear of a notebook?

Dunk it.

In the cappuccino.

It won't fit.

Sure it will.

Try.

The whole thing.

Wait.

Now take it out.

Dunk it again.

Okay.

Quick...

It's good.

What?

They must be really worried about you.

They've called 20 times.

Who?

Hey.

Yeah, yeah, I'm here.

Go ahead.

No, well... no.

No, I couldn't get it because...

No.

No, I couldn't. What was I supposed to do?

I couldn't, what the fuck can I say?!

Do it yourself.

Okay, yeah, sure.

Sorry.

Okay. Sorry, for fuck's sake.

Okay, yeah. Bye.

Fuck.

Why don't you stay here?

- I can't. - Come on, stay.

No.

I have the day off.

We can do... go wherever you want.

Don't you have to fucking work?

Not until someone dies.

Come on. What would you like to do?

Anything.

Something I've never done.

Dickhead!

Dad!

Look!

Look!

Dad!

Look.

Watch this.

Dad!

You dickhead!

The other night, at that house...

why'd you go there?

For Nembutal, Escitalopram, Xanax,

Zaleplon, sleeping pills, uppers, coke.

Did I say Nembutal?

Next time you need something, ask me.

You'll buy me drugs?

Wow.

A modern dad.

As long as it keeps you out of trouble.

A dealer-dad.

Just a dad.

Or just a dealer.

- What's wrong? - Don't touch me.

Don't touch me!

Don't touch me, don't look at me.

- Ambra? - Don't touch me.

- What's wrong? - Let go.

Ambra...

Let go of me!

What's wrong?

Hey.

Hey!

- What's wrong? - Why can't you shut the fuck up!

- Why? - What's wrong?

- Shut up! - What's wrong?

Don't touch me.

Don't touch me.

What do you want from life?

- What? - Shut up.

This... I remember perfectly.

This...

I remember perfectly.

It was July.

It was July 13th...

My fucking birthday, I was 6.

That poor woman, your ex-wife and my mother,

said...

you'd be there,

that you'd come...

from far away, who knows where,

but you'd come

and we'd spend my birthday together.

I was only 6

but I already knew

you wouldn’t be there, I didn't believe it.

I already didn't believe.

There was no way you'd come.

It was implausible...

even for a 6-year-old kid.

It wasn't true, you know?

There was no way around it...

But my mom...

she told me over and over,

so many times that...

that when the day came, I went to buy a Fanta.

A Fanta for you.

Original Fanta.

The orange soda, you know?

I spent all my money on that bottle.

You think I'm your daughter but I'm not.

You don't have a daughter, okay?

Okay?

Talk now, say "okay."

You don't have a daughter, okay?

Talk! Say "okay."

Say "okay", say "okay"! You don't have a daughter, okay?

Okay? Okay? Say "okay."

Say "okay"...

Say "okay," say it.

Please, say "okay."

- Say "okay." - Okay.

Okay.

Okay.

You don't have a daughter, I don't have a father.

Dad doesn't exist.

Corpse, let's go.

I'll be back soon.

I'll follow you.

Maybe you reach the point of not giving a fuck anymore...

At times, the happiest-seeming person

ends up committing suicide...

- No letter, right? - No letter.

Then let's go.

...MISFIT CHILDREN. THE CONTAINER.

Hey.

So... suicide?

Huh?

Yeah.

Tall building.

Too many balconies.

Too many nights, too long.

Sorry for shooting you down in front of the boss.

But I'm someone who defends his beliefs.

You made me remember.

The chaos in line.

That place I'll never go back to.

The city of misfit children.

The container.

Ambra?