Original subtitles

Previously on Hannibal...

Garrett Jacob Hobbs didn't kill Cassie Boyle.

I know.

Dad? It's for you.

I believe the as-yet unidentified caller

was our copycat killer.

I wanna go home.

You do this a lot?

Go places and think about killing?

Too often.

Abigail...

I didn't kill that girl...

This isn't self-defense, Abigail. You butchered him.

You're the one who called the house.

I'll keep your secret.

And I'll keep yours.

Sometimes, at night, I leave the lights on in my little house

and walk across the flat fields...

And when I look back from a distance,

the house is like a boat on the sea.

It's really the only time I feel safe.

You stood in the breathing silence of Garrett Jacob Hobbs' home.

The very spaces he moved through.

Tell me, Will... Did they speak to you?

With noise and clarity.

You could sense his madness, like a bloodhound...

I tried so hard to know Garrett Jacob Hobbs.

No, no, no!

To see him.

Garrett Jacob Hobbs, FBI!

Past the slides and vials,

beyond the lines of the police reports,

between the pixels of all those...

...printed faces of sad, dead girls.

See...

How did you feel seeing Marissa Schurr impaled in his antler room?

Guilty.

Because you couldn't save her?

Because I felt like I killed her.

I got so close to him...

Sometimes, I felt like

we were doing the same things at different times of day.

Like I was eating

or showering or sleeping at the same time he was.

Even after he was dead?

Yeah, even after he was dead.

Like... You were becoming him.

I know who I am.

I'm not Garrett Jacob Hobbs, Dr. Lecter.

Table has been set.

Family dinner.

I wasn't invited.

I take my seat at the head of the table.

My seat...

My place setting next to Mrs. Turner.

I am the guest of honor.

Nobody's taken a bite of their dinner.

If you don't eat your growing foods, you won't get any dessert.

No one leaves the table!

All afraid to move.

Even the little ones behave themselves.

I brought my own family to this home invasion,

controlling the Turners with threats of violence.

Threats that turn to action.

The Turner family is executed simultaneously,

with the exception of Mrs. Turner,

who dies last.

This is my design.

I shoot Mrs. Turner.

What do you see, Will?

Family values.

Whose family values?

All right, Karen and Roger Turner,

childhood sweethearts.

Owned a successful real estate business.

Pillars of the community. Three children.

Minus one.

A son.

Jesse.

Disappeared last year. Last confirmed sighting had him boarding an RV

at a rest stop on Route 47.

Possible runaway, probable abduction.

Or both.

When misery rains, it pours.

False faces in family portraits.

Layers and layers of lies betrayed by...

A sad glint in a child's eyes.

Norman Rockwell with a bullet.

All right, any signs of forced entry?

No broken windows or torn screens.

It's all sealed up tight.

Yeah, they probably rang the front door.

I got bullet holes on the upper sections of the wall,

-and again over here. - Okay.

Pull the slugs for ballistics.

If they aren't frangible, it shouldn't be a problem.

Those elevated termination points

match what I'm seeing with these bodies.

Angular cranial impact coupled with

acute exit wounds, conical spray.

Shooter went low to high. Probably crouching.

When was Jesse abducted?

A little over a year ago.

I can hide what happened to me.

All I need is a scarf to pass.

Hiding what happened to you defeats the purpose of being here.

Sharing will help normalize.

I'm not normal. Not anymore.

What happened to you isn't normal.

Some of these women aren't even sharing.

They speak in little girl voices, telling everyone what was done to them

without saying a word about it.

Certain traumas can arrest vocal development.

And victims can sometimes broadcast victimhood involuntarily.

Not me.

Well, that's not necessarily true.

Your victimhood has a high profile.

I'm a celebrity victim.

Someone here asked me if I kept my stained clothes.

How did that make you feel?

Like I wanted to go home...

But I don't have a home anymore, do I?

You will. You will. I'll help you find it.

Abigail, I'd like you to give the support group another chance.

Support groups are sucking the life out of me.

Well, isolation can suck just as much.

You have to find someone to relate to in this experience.

Hi.

Do you have an appointment?

Do you have a beer?

Interesting day with Abigail?

Yeah, the grief work,

trauma intervention,

it's all on course.

I think she might be wrestling with a low-grade depression.

She?

Nothing wrong with a little self-medication, right, doctor?

Professional neutrality be damned.

It's so hard to watch a bright young girl go so adrift.

Perhaps it's time Abigail's released from clinical treatment.

Released where?

Back into the wild?

Spending each day immersed in tragedy may be doing more harm than good.

She should be out in the world

finding her footing, giving her the confidence to move forward.

Abigail's in no condition to tackle real world issues, like where's she gonna live?

I'm not suggesting abandonment.

Hannibal, this is a girl who was very attached to her parents.

You stepping in as a surrogate would only be a crutch.

I think Abigail needs to figure things out for herself

in a safe, clinical environment

and that will give her the confidence to move forward.

I defer to the passion of my esteemed colleague.

Passion's good.

Gets blood pumping.

I'm glad we didn't have guns in my house.

Would've shot my sisters just to get them out of the bathroom.

I liked having a big family.

My parents gave me a gift, a twin. Who wouldn't want two of me?

Let me guess only child.

Why do you say that?

'Cause family friction is usually a catalyst for personality development.

I was the oldest, so all the friction rolled downhill.

Yes, all the attention and responsibilities

heaped on firstborn children

prepares them for success in the future.

My baby sister got away with murder.

She had them all fooled.

I thought middles were the problem.

Middle's the sweet spot.

Always trying to figure out where they fit in.

They can be great politicians.

Or lousy ones.

All the victims have defensive wounds except for Mrs. Turner.

There's forgiveness.

What kind of victim forgives the killer at the moment of death?

A mother.

Tell me about your mother.

Some lazy psychiatry, Dr. Lecter.

Low-hanging fruit.

I suspect that fruit is on a high branch.

Very difficult to reach.

So is my mother.

Never knew her.

An interesting place to start.

Tell me about your mother. Let's start there.

Both my parents died when I was very young.

The proverbial orphan

until I was adopted by my Uncle Robertas when I was 16.

You have orphan in common with Abigail Hobbs.

I think we'll discover you and I have a great deal in common with Abigail.

She's already demonstrated an aptitude for the psychological.

Something so foreign about family...

Like an ill-fitting suit.

I never connected to the concept.

You created a family for yourself.

Well, I connected a family of strays.

And thank you for feeding them while I was away.

I was referring to Abigail.

Tell me about the Turner family.

Were they affluent? Well-to-do?

They lived like they had money.

- Did your family have money, Will? - We were poor.

I followed my father from the boatyards

of Biloxi and Greenville

to lake boats on Erie.

Always the new boy at school. Always the stranger.

Always.

What grudge was Mrs. Turner's killer harboring against her?

Motherhood.

Not motherhood.

A perversion of it.

A modified boudin noir

from Ali-Bab's Gastronomie pratique.

You promised to deliver your wife to my dinner table.

Well, we're gonna have to polish up our act.

We can't have you diagnosing our marital problems

all in one fell swoop.

- What am I about to put in my mouth? - Rabbit.

He should've hopped faster.

Yes, he should have.

But fortunately for us, he did not.

Our friend Will seems haunted today.

We don't know what nightmares lie coiled beneath Will's pillow.

Children killing other children

is not that unfamiliar a notion to Will.

You still suspect Abigail Hobbs in her father's crimes.

Perhaps the nightmare under Will's pillow

is that he was wrong about her.

Children transport us to our childhoods.

Will may feel the tug of life before the FBI. Before you.

Simpler times in boatyards with Dad.

That life is an anchor stringed behind him in heavy weather.

He needs an anchor, Jack.

One pair of size six sneakers from the Turner house.

Tread on left indicates uneven leg length.

Is that unusual?

Not in a 12-year-old. Growth plates are all out of whack.

You've got one foot that's bigger,

one leg that's longer.

Puberty in full effect.

How did Jesse Turner turn out?

No one's seen him in over a year.

I extrapolated the present height and weight from abduction stats.

Even with the usual growth spurt between 11 and 12,

he'd be four and a half feet, 80 pounds tops.

God's gift to trace analysts.

Greasy fingerprints all over these things!

No matches, but they're gorgeous.

Isolated seven pairs of shoe prints,

filtered out the Turners, including Jesse's,

so we're down to three unsubs,

sneakers are size seven, three and a half, and a boys' 11.

The Lost Boys.

I think I found one of them.

Most of the time in sexual assaults,

the bite mark has a livid spot

at the center a suck bruise.

In some cases, it does not.

For some killers, biting may be a fighting pattern

as much as a sexual behavior.

Okay, class dismissed. Everyone out.

What did I just say? Let's go!

You're making it difficult to provide an education, Jack.

We found a match to a set of prints we pulled from the Turner home

and they belong to a 13-year-old boy from Reston, Virginia.

His name is Conner Frist.

- Another kid? - Another missing kid.

He vanished 10 months ago. The case was never solved.

How many kids in the Frist family?

Three, just like the Turner family.

We're ready to go when you are,

and you're ready to go now, so let's go.

You're expecting a crime scene.

Mr. Frist and the children killed first,

saving Mrs. Frist for last.

Same as the Turners.

Well, not exactly the same.

Something went wrong.

Not a single present under the tree for Mrs. Frist.

He took her presents. He took her motherhood.

Shooting her once wasn't enough.

First bullet travels beneath her scalp

to its final resting place base of her neck.

And it still didn't kill her.

Hydrostatic shock of shell hitting skull would've caused brain damage.

Her body went into convulsions.

Shot her again.

Put her out of her misery. Different gun.

So, someone else shot Conner's morn.

So who is our additional corpse in the fireplace?

I'd say Conner Frist.

He had been prepped to shoot his mother, not watch her suffer.

Conner couldn't put his panic back in a bottle,

so he got shot, too.

Whoever shot him,

disowned him.

Don't be sad about Conner.

I guess I couldn't make him understand.

The family you're born into isn't really family.

Those are just people you didn't choose.

You have to make family. That's what we're doing.

We're making our family.

What happened to your family?

We're her family.

I meant, your other family.

The family you think is family,

is just a stepping stone to real family.

Are you feeling okay, sweetie pie?

He's fine.

C.J.

You should be excited to go home.

Even if it is to say goodbye.

'Cause we're your family now, Christopher.

You can only have one family.

Ever heard of Willard Wigan?

He's this artist that does micro sculptures,

like putting the Obamas in the eye of a needle.

He's so focused

that he can work between beats of his heart.

I guess archers do the same thing, right?

What are you looking at?

Both these kids are small.

Underweight for their age.

You think there's a connection?

I'm thinking possible ADHD diagnoses for both boys,

Ritalin, Focalin, any medication

containing methylphenidate can affect appetite

and slow long-term growth in kids.

Another thing about Willard Wigan,

he had a lonely childhood.

He used his tiny sculptures as an escape.

Who's Willard Wigan?

Price got a hit on the ballistics matching program

he's been running on the two family murders.

The bullet that put Mrs. Frist out of her misery

matches three used in a murder in Bangor, Maine, a year ago.

Mother of a 13-year-old boy

shot to death with her own gun.

13-year-old milk carton material?

C.J. Lincoln disappeared

six months before his mother's murder,

hasn't been seen since.

He has none of the characteristics of a sadist or sociopath.

Right. No shoplifting,

no malicious destruction of property, no assault, no battery.

He was kind to animals, for God's sakes.

The firearm says we're looking at Peter Pan to our lost boys.

But it takes a sophisticated level of manipulation

to convince young boys to kill their families in cold blood.

Kindness to animals doesn't suggest that particular kind of sophistication.

Well, he's older. He's been out in the world.

Maybe he picked up a few things.

There you go.

Thank you so much.

Honey!

Jeez... Are you feeling okay, honey?

You have a fever?

- You don't feel warm... - Here you go, ma'am.

Oh, thank you. He's never done this before.

- I'll pay for the napkins. - Don't worry about it.

Honey... Gee whiz.

I'm so embarrassed.

But you shouldn't feel embarrassed.

This happens with little bladders, right?

Right?

Good evening, Will. Please come in.

Has Christmas come early?

Or late?

It was for Abigail.

Was?

I thought better of it. I wasn't thinking straight.

I was... I was upset when I bought it.

Maybe still am.

- What is it? Magnifying glass.

Fly-tying gear.

Teaching her how to fish.

Her father taught her how to hunt.

That's why I thought better of it.

Feeling paternal, Will?

Aren't you?

Yes.

Our good friend, Dr. Bloom has advised

against taking too personal an interest

in Abigail's welfare.

Tell me, why are you so angry?

I'm angry about those boys.

I'm angry because I know when I find them I can't help them.

I can't... I can't give them back what they just gave away.

Family.

Yeah.

We call them "the lost boys."

Abigail's lost, too.

And perhaps it's our responsibility,

yours and mine, to help her find her way.

I don't think I'm allowed to leave

after I climbed the fence.

I've made arrangements.

You could say I'm... One of your guardians.

- Where are we going? - Home.

My home.

I thought you might enjoy if I cooked for you.

I'll have you back before bedtime.

Can I spend the night?

I don't like sleeping here.

I have bad dreams.

You have to sleep in your own bed.

This isn't my bed.

Tell me about your bad dreams.

I had one where...

Marissa was sending me picture texts,

like, crime scene photos

of Nicholas Boyle... Gutted.

How you left him.

Even though she's dead, I'm afraid that Marissa's gonna tell everyone

I killed him and they'll think I'm just like my dad.

Sorry.

I can't really talk about this in group.

You don't have that luxury, Abigail.

I just have to get used to lying.

Only have to lie about one thing.

And when you're with me, you don't have to lie about anything.

In the dream, I wonder

how I could live with myself

knowing what I did.

And when you're awake?

When I'm awake, I know I can live with myself.

And I know I'll just get used to what I did.

- Does that make me a sociopath? - No.

It makes you a survivor.

It's important to know when it's time to turn the page.

Have you thought about applying for schools?

My dad killed girls at all the schools I applied to.

Perhaps that can wait then.

I wanna work for the FBI.

I would certainly feel safer if you were in the FBI,

protecting my interests.

They wouldn't let me, though, would they?

'Cause of what my dad did.

Only if they believe that's in your nature too.

Nature versus nurture.

You're not your father's daughter. Not anymore.

What if it weren't so painful anymore?

To think of him.

My dad?

Yes.

Have you ever tried psilocybin?

Mushrooms?

That's what's in the tea?

Yes.

There are those psychiatrists who believe

that altered states could be used to access traumatic memories.

I have all the access to traumatic memories I need.

Unlimited access.

Which is why we need to supplement them

with positive associations.

No more bad dreams, Abigail.

You want me to do drugs.

I want you to do this drug. With my supervision.

Where it's safe.

Do you trust me?

Bangor, Maine.

Stamford, Connecticut.

And recently, Reston, Virginia.

This places each of the murders approximately 500 miles

-from the one before it. - Right.

You're trying to establish a geographical pattern

when the murders were weeks apart.

Other patterns, too.

Our shooters are minors, middle children

from traditional, affluent families.

We know they're moving south, so that means we wanna cover

the border of North Carolina and Georgia.

We need to get files on every missing boy

within 200 miles of North Carolina.

There's a pattern...

Less to do with geography than psychology.

What kind of kid does this?

And what kind of kid follows a kid who does this?

There's no indication that these kids came from abusive families.

No,no,no.

Capture bonding.

It's a passive psychological response to a new master.

It's been an essential survival tool for a million years.

You bond with your captor, you survive.

You don't...

You're breakfast.

Just like we talked about.

Dr. Bloom said this was okay?

Not at all.

We often have a difference of opinion.

More secrets for us.

You and I will have many secrets.

Infusing psilocybin into the bloodstream

before psychotherapy can elicit a positive,

even spiritual experience for patients.

Psychological trauma is an affliction of the powerless.

I want to give you your power back.

I don't feel so good.

That feeling will pass.

Allow it to wash over you.

Through you.

Let me be your guide.

You're making breakfast for dinner?

High Life Eggs.

A chef in Spain called Muro

claimed he invented it in the 19th century.

Taste is not only biochemical.

It's also psychological.

Sausage and eggs was the last meal I was having with my parents.

I know.

It's also the first meal you're having with me.

Without the interference of a leader,

these kids would never consider violent action.

Our missing kid's a boy.

A paradox in the midst of a normal family.

He's an outsider who doesn't look like one.

He'd have a vocation,

something inventive or mechanical.

Here's one.

Family moved from Biloxi to Charleston

to Fayetteville in the last three years.

He won a junior high award for his work

on pretty sophisticated computer circuitry.

Why do you think these kids are susceptible to C.J. Lincoln?

Because our boy may have a brother but

their ages or their interests keep them apart.

So, he's a brother without a brother.

Brothers looking for a mother.

They're killing the mothers last.

Yeah?

It's not just C.J. Lincoln.

There's an adult with some formative sway.

It's a woman, a mother figure, I think.

She's looking to form a family.

Family can have a contagion effect on some people

that influences them to adopt similar behaviors

and attitudes.

Whoever this woman is, she wants these children

to burst with love for her.

But she has to erase their family to do that.

So, she abducts them,

convinces them no one can love them as much as she does,

and then makes damn sure of it.

A security camera in

a convenience store in Alexandria, Virginia

caught footage of one Chris O'Halloran this morning.

He was with an unidentified woman.

Where's this kid's parents?

Fayetteville, North Carolina.

- Christopher? - Hi, Mom.

Oh, my God! Chris...

No!No!No!No!

Down! Down!

Down on the ground right now!

Chris, wait!

Don't shoot.

It's okay.

You're home now. Put the gun down, Christopher.

Shoot him, Christopher.

Christopher...

Please.

Can I go home now?

I don't think you're gonna go home for a long time.

You came here to kill your family.

That's all anybody knows.

It may be all that anyone ever believes.

I wasn't gonna do it.

Well, you're gonna have to talk to a lot of people about it.

And those people are gonna try and help you understand

what you were really trying to do.

She told me

that they weren't my family.

That we had to make our own family.

Do you have a family?

I don't have any children. No.

Then you don't know what it's like.

Can I talk to my mom?

My real mom.

In a little while.

But first, I need you to talk to me.

As someone who makes such a big deal about common courtesy,

I'm a little taken aback,

slash, a lot taken aback,

that you would take my patient,

my patient, out of the hospital

without my permission.

And I'm not a professional scold,

but don't put me in this position ever again.

I'm sorry.

Rude.

Hannibal, shockingly rude.

You have every right to be upset with me.

I overstepped my bounds.

- Where is she? - She's in the dining room.

And Alana...

You were right.

Often am. Have to be more specific.

She wasn't ready to leave the hospital. She...

Experienced a bit of anxiety, so I gave her a sedative.

A sedative? What did you give her?

I only gave her half a Valium, but she may be a little hazy.

Hi, Dr. Bloom.

Hello, Abigail.

You were expecting me?

Please.

Are you hungry?

Hannibal made breakfast for dinner.

I could eat.

What is it?

Abigail.

What do you see?

I see family.

Hello.

You think it's too late for us to have kids?

It is for me.