All language subtitles for Pushing.Daisies.S01E09.576p.BluRay.DD5.1.x264-HiSD

Previously on Pushing Daisies:

Young Ned had a special gift.

He could touch dead things
and bring them back to life.

But he could only bring the dead
back to life for one minute.

Any longer
and someone else had to die.

- And there was one more thing-

First touch, life.
Second touch, dead again forever.

But as Ned grew into the Pie-Maker,
this gift proved to be most useful...

in the untimely death of his
childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Charles.

Are you in love with her?

- You only got a minute. Sixty seconds.
- I know.

What if you didn't have to be dead?

- Can't touch me.
- Kiss is out of the question?

You touch murder victims,
ask who killed them...

you touch them again, they go dead,
and then you collect the reward?

That's it in a nutshell.

Today is my daddy's birthday.

He would've been 60
if he were still alive.

It's my fault Chuck's father's dead.
I should just tell her.

- Don't tell her.
- I can't keep lying to her.

- Chuck.
- Mm-hm.

I killed your dad.

It was like any day in Play-Doh Village...

except today, death came.

Young Ned enjoyed bringing
Play-Doh death to Play-Doh people.

He did not yet realize
he could bring real death to real people.

Young Chuck was 8 years, 42 weeks,
3 hours and 2 minutes old...

and about to become an orphan.

Her father washed off the grit
from a hard day conquering villages.

He wasn't just a star in her life.

He was a pocket universe full of stars.

Ned and his mother waited
with Chuck...

for her aunts,
Lily and Vivian, to arrive.

Chuck would later remember Ned
being very quiet...

staring at his mother
as if staring at a ghost.

Only Ned knew his mother
had already been dead once that day.

There but for the grace of God.

Only Ned knew
that he had touched her back to life...

and one minute later,
Chuck's father died.

It had seemed to Ned
a strange coincidence...

a strange, troubling coincidence.

Chuck would remember
Ned didn't look at her.

She would remember Vivian,
who didn't like to touch anyone...

was the first to embrace her.

And she would remember Lily,
who had no problem with touch at all...

couldn't bring herself within reach,
not right away.

Later that night...

Chuck would remember Ned
ringing the doorbell just after bedtime...

Something happened.

- Another something happened?
His mother died.

It wasn't until Lily hugged young Ned
after learning of his mother's passing...

that she took Chuck in her arms.

It was no less difficult
for Chuck to let go of Ned...

when his father whisked him away
to be abandoned...

at the Longborough School for Boys.

Ned! Ned!

Chuck would never see him again...

not for as long as she lived.

Ned.

Chuck!

It's 20 years,
two months, three weeks, two days...

five hours and 54 minutes later.

- But this winter...
Chuck!

There's an unpleasant chill
in the air.

After learning her father died...

because the Pie-Maker
brought his mother back to life...

Chuck disappeared into the night.

Chuck!

Chuck!

Chuck!

Chuck?

Chuck!

Chuck!

Stop squawking, you twit. Aah!

The Pie-Maker
considered the places to find Chuck.

- Chuck.
- The places she'd roam.

The places she called home.

Who is it?
- It's, uh, Ned, the, uh, Pie-Maker.

- All this fuss about global warming.
- Can't happen soon enough.

- Why is it so cold here?
- Charlotte used to light the furnace.

The thought of outliving her seemed
so unlikely, we never bothered to learn.

So it hasn't lit itself?

- Because clearly, it's very cold.
- Clearly.

Wouldn't it be lovely if Charlotte
returned to light the furnace?

Would you like me
to light the furnace?

On the subject of Charlotte's ghost,
if you sense her presence in any way...

When you say "presence"...

If you think you see her...

or hear strange noises
or find footprints in the snow...

Should we be expecting this presence?

Because you're being
kind of urgent over there.

God, no. I'm just, uh, thawing.

But if you were to see her
or think you see her...

I saw Charlotte once after she died.

Then I blinked and she was gone.

It was unpleasant,
a trick my mind played on me.

It's unpleasant of you to come here
picking scabs in the middle of the night.

I didn't mean to pick.

Thank you for lighting our furnace
so Charlotte's ghost wouldn't have to.

- Am I leaving?
- Yes.

Hi there.

- Did you come by to get Digby?
- No. Have you seen Chuck?

Not since the chorus of slamming doors
that woke me from a dead sleep.

- Did we get loud?
- You were very loud.

After the commotion,
I peeped my peeper out the peephole.

Saw her get the elevator
and you take the stairs.

You didn't catch her?

The elevator's fast
and those stairs were slippery.

I also heard you moaning her name like
something out of a Tennessee Williams.

It may be romantic,
but it's not dignified.

- I don't know where she is, Olive.
- Maybe she doesn't want you to know.

Now go clean yourself up.
You look like crap.

It was hard
for Olive Snook to close the door...

on the Pie-Maker's breaking heart.

Are you gonna tell me what he did?
Did he beat you?

- No.
- Did he look like he wanted to?

- Is it over, you and him?
- No, I don't know. I'm just digesting.

You can stay till you've passed
whatever you're digesting.

Thank you.
And please don't tell him where I am.

Hey, Digby. Did you shave his bum?

No, he must have got it caught
in the vacuum.

Did the vacuum take a bite out of you?

I know this is none of my business,
but I have so many questions...

tugging at my tongue
as to why you faked your death.

- I felt I needed to respect your privacy.
- I appreciate that.

But I am not gonna respect
your privacy right now.

Why'd you fake your death?
Is this an insurance scam?

Are you and the Pie-Maker
in cahoots together?

I died.

And he brought me back to life.

- Cahoots enough for you?
- Lf you don't wanna tell me, just say so.

I was just curious if you were fighting
over the cahoots or something more...

personal.

More personal than cahoots.

Can we go back
to respecting my privacy?

Yeah, sure.
I'm going to your aunts' later.

I guess you won't be making them a pie.
Want me to grab one?

Would you mind making it?
They like it a certain way.

Whatever way you make them
is doing the trick.

- The Mermaids are swimming.
- They're back in the water?

Lily doesn't want me to know, thinks
I'll gloat, so I'm pretending not to.

I'm pretending not to know a lot
these days.

- Pear with gruyere baked into the crust?
- Mm-hm.

And I add extra vanilla.
It's my secret ingredient.

- Mm.
- Lily loves vanilla.

You got it.

But Chuck's
secret ingredient wasn't vanilla.

It was an herbal mood enhancer.

Olive Snook had been
delivering enhanced pies for weeks...

not realizing
she was a homeopathic drug mule.

Not very strong vanilla.

I told her I killed her father.

She asked you if you killed her dad?
Did she ask you that?

- Did them words come out of her mouth?
- No.

We were talking about phantom limbs.
I blurted it out like word vomit.

You slipped in that word vomit and fell.
You're covered in word vomit.

Dead girl could be out there
all grudgy-grudge with a beef to pick.

"Hello, evening news.
I'm 'Lonely Tourist' Charlotte Charles.

I just crawled out of my grave,
and here's how. " -hmm.

Stop it. I'm having difficulty breathing.

- What kind of state is she in?
- A bad state. She just up and left.

Now she's all alone
in the cold, cold world...

It sound like she wanna be alone
in the cold, cold world...

so don't go tracking her,
reminding her why she's mad.

- Then she will go to the evening news.
- That's what I said.

Except for the "evening news" part,
which I don't understand.

We're talking about Chuck, aren't we?

We're talking about Chuck,
me and him.

I don't know what you talking about,
because this don't concern you.

Shoo.

"Shoo. "

Dead girl's gotta work out
whatever she needs to work out.

You can't drop the "I killed your dad"
bomb and expect happy-go-lightly.

I've got a "here's what you should do."
Leave her be.

While you leaving her be,
there's somebody I need you to talk to.

An adjuster for �ber-Life Life Insurance,
one Victor Narramore...

was 46 years, 11 weeks, 5 days,
17 hours and 3 minutes old...

when his body was scooped up
by a snowplow...

on the 200 block of Oak Street.

Unsettled by this particular
New Year's tiding...

Oak Street Homeowners ' Association
offered a reward...

to find Victor Narramore's killer.

Anybody ask you
why you wear that sweater?

My niece gave me this last Christmas.

That thing's uglier
than a chipmunk's ass.

He means the sweater, not your niece.

Why give somebody
a Christmas sweater for Christmas?

You can only wear it that day.

He means
"should only wear it that day."

Yeah, either you gotta take off
what you got on to put it on...

or wait another year
for the next holiday season.

Why are you going toe-to-toe
with me on fashion?

Only thing I wanna hear
from you people is:

"Happy holidays,
and here's your rent."

- Happy holidays.
- Here's your rent.

Feels light.

You're just stronger than you think.

Mm-hm.

- I can't move.
You're frozen solid.

So there is such
a thing as a snowball's chance in hell.

You're not in hell. Should you be?

No, no, no. Of course not.

Well, it really depends
on who you're talking to.

- Who am I talking to?
- Angels of justice.

- Then I am in hell, aren't I?
- Who killed you, Mr. Narramore?

I don't know who killed me,
but I do know how they killed me.

After a long day at the office...

Victor Narramore
was walking to his car...

when he heard someone
approaching rapidly from behind.

Victor Narramore
didn't see who killed him...

but he did see how he was killed.

- And he was, in fact...
- Aah!

Killed with kindness.

Killed with kindness?

Not the sentiment,
which would have been lovely...

but the word, scratched into
the business end of a baseball bat.

Between kindness and the morgue,
somebody turned you into a corpsicle.

You got scooped up by a snowplow.

No idea why somebody
would wanna kill you?

Well, I am an insurance adjuster.

We're more hated
than parking enforcement.

- How come?
- It's my job to quantify people's lives...

and decide
if they deserve a new organ.

No one wants to be told
if they should live or die.

- Hey, do I get to live now?
- No.

I gotta make a list of people
who wanted an organ...

but were turned down
by Victor Narramore.

But the Pie-Maker
didn't care about Victor Narramore...

and his unattainable organs.

He only cared about Chuck...

out there alone
in the cold, cold world.

But what he didn't know
was that she wasn't alone at all.

Ned?

Not Ned.

In winter everything's dampened
and hushed.

Sounds and smells, but not you,
girl who smells like honey and death.

- Hello, Oscar.
- I hope your bees are surviving the chill.

- Seem to be.
- That explains the honey.

But not the death.

I'm cold. I'm going in.

Thank you.

- This will keep you warm.
- My sweater.

It's clean, if you're worried.
In fact, it's very clean.

I collected every last bit
of anything that wasn't cashmere.

Even a little sample of your hair.

All right,
this is making me very uncomfortable.

Up on a rooftop with a near stranger
waxing on about collecting your hair?

Yes.

Wait, did you shave Digby's bum?

What is with you and that dog?
You both have the same scent.

- You did shave Digby's bum.
- Which reminds me.

Could I please have a larger sample
of your hair?

- Why? What are you gonna do with it?
- Stuff it in my pillow.

Human hair is much softer than down.

I'm teasing you.

I'm just curious, hmm...

why you and that dog
aren't like anyone else.

Hair can be so telling
about so many things.

Unless you know what the hair knows
and wanna tell me.

My hair doesn't know anything.
Maybe it's you.

People smell strange smells
that don't even exist.

Are you suggesting
I have a neurological disorder...

affecting my olfactory glands?

You do spend a lot of time
in the sewer.

I suppose.
Some of us belong underground.

You can't have any of my hair.

Then I guess the dog's ass shavings
will have to do.

Bees.

The ancient Egyptians believed they were
inexorably entwined with death.

They used honey
to mummify their dead...

and left jars of it in the tombs
for food in the afterlife.

You know a lot about bees.

And I suspect you know a lot
about death.

Boy, it's cold.

You know...

you could use a witch's bosom
as a hot-water bottle...

on a day like today.

Any sign of Chuck?

"And how are you today, Olive?"

I'm fine. Thanks for asking, Ned.

"That was a funny joke
about the witch's bosom."

Well, thanks, Ned.

"And I appreciate you
using the word 'bosom. '"

Why, Ned? Because it's less offensive
than other words?

"No, I just simply like the word 'bosom. '
I say it to myself all the time.

Bosom, bosom, bosom.

I just can't help myself.
I'm a bosomoholic."

- Are you done?
- Think so.

- Promise you don't know where she is?
- Why would I know?

Because Chuck doesn't know
many people.

You're not one of the people
Chuck doesn't know.

- Have you slept?
- You have a tell when you lie.

- Do I?
- You answer questions with questions.

Maybe I know I have a tell,
I know you know...

and I'm doing it to confuse you.

You don't know what tell I'm telling.

But why would you answer questions
with questions...

and pretend to lie
if you really don't know where she is?

Can you tell me?

Victor Narramore turned down
15 people for organ transplants.

Of those 15 people,
three are viable persons of interest.

- Why only three viable?
- Because 12 are not viable.

One of those viable persons
lives in the 200 block on Oak Street.

Named Abner Newsome.

Got turned down for a new heart
a year ago by Victor Narramore.

- Is Abner Newsome still alive?
- Hence "viable."

I should stay and wait for Chuck
just in case.

You don't wanna talk to a sick kid.
No, I understand. Hard, sad life.

Are you really trying to make me
feel guilty when I'm depressed?

- I'm trying to get you out of depression.
- You don't need me to talk to the living.

Suit yourself.
But dead girl don't need you either.

You're the last person
she wants to talk to...

which is why she ain't here.

Before I head out, I want you
to take a mental picture of me...

your friend Olive,
who's here with Digby.

- A snapshot of loyal friends.
- Thank you.

- Did you take your picture?
- Yes.

- Look, it's Ned.
Did you shave Digby's...?

We don't know how that happened.
Okay, see you.

- Been looking.
- Been hiding.

How much does Olive know?

Don't worry,
even if I told her the truth...

that I died and you brought me back,
she wouldn't believe me.

- You don't know that.
- Yes, I do.

- I told her and she wouldn't believe me.
- Why do that?

I needed to tell somebody the truth.

I wanted to tell someone the truth
about who I am and what had happened.

- And what you did to my dad.
- Keep the truth between you and me.

It's hard to keep the truth between
you and me when I can't look at you.

I remember that night when
you came over after Dad had died.

- And you wouldn't look at me.
- Chuck, please.

You know that no one could tell me
how he died?

I thought it was
the fickle finger of fate...

but it wasn't the fickle finger of fate,
it was your fickle finger.

- That one there.
- I didn't mean my finger to be fickle.

- I didn't know.
- I've rationalized the whole thing.

It was like you were playing with a gun,
it went off and killed my dad.

Like that, except there's no gun,
and I wasn't playing.

My mom died.

And, yeah,
I'm the kid who killed your dad.

And I hate that.

- I hate that too.
- But do you hate me?

I have to hate you a little,
just for a little while.

- But I can't do that if you're still here.
- I don't want you to hate me.

If you stay,
I'll just end up hating you more.

Just go.

Chuck considered how
much easier circumstances would be...

if she had someone to talk to
who wasn't the Pie-Maker.

Someone who might believe her secrets
if she told them.

Someone else
who belonged underground.

Hot on the trail of an ice-cold killer...

Mr. Cod paid a visit to the third
of his three persons of interest...

in the murder of �ber-Life
Life Insurance adjuster Victor Narramore.

Abner Newsome was a happy child
for the first 34 seconds of his life...

whereupon it was discovered...

that he suffered
from a debilitating heart condition.

As the single mother of a sickly,
surly child...

Emma Newsome was a raw nerve.

Her son would often peel like a potato.

When I saw you coming, I thought
you might be from Wish-A-Wish.

Or some other charity. Or a celebrity.

- Or a celebrity representing a charity.
- That's nice.

It's nice for your son to know
there are people that care.

Caring's great. Love the caring.
Know what'd be even better?

- Not dying.
- Abner, this is Emerson Cox.

- He's investigating a crime.
- It's Cod.

Heard on the news that
that Narramore guy got whacked.

He turned me down for a good heart,
so he can pretty much suck it, I think.

You don't seem too bereft
at his passing.

- I'm not, not at all.
- Abner.

Please, tell me I'm a suspect.
Awesome.

Because you know what I did first?

Took a magic potion that made
the paper sack I call my heart work.

Then I stepped on his neck with
the breadsticks that used to be my legs.

My son is very sick, Mr. Cox.

It's Cod. And, uh, I can see that.

If you're not here to grant us a wish
or give us free merchandise...

then I think you should leave.

Don't let the door hit you on your big,
blood-filled ass on the way out.

- You're pushing it.
- Are you gonna sneeze and kill me?

Have a nice day.

If you have more questions,
I'll be right here.

Or slumped in a pile on the floor.

Good boy, good boy.

Hey, why don't you leave a present
up there on the porch for them too?

Everybody around here
got an attitude.

Having followed the frozen stiff...

from Abner Newsome's house
to the morgue...

Emerson Cod grew concerned.

- I'm concerned.
- About Chuck?

About you and your mooning
over dead girl.

You better pull yourself together.
We got a corpsicle to question.

Yeah.

Freezer burn. Go ahead.

Bill Richter, �ber-Life Life Insurance.

If you've got big problems,
we've got bigger solutions.

- That's life. �ber-Life.
- Another �ber-Life insurance agent.

I prefer insurance adjuster.
It's my job to assess damage.

- Maybe it's time for a self-assessment.
- This.

That's what happens
when you're smacked with a bat.

Any idea who smacked you?

- No. You might wanna ask Kevin.
- Kevin?

Kevin Vanden Eykel. We car-pool.

We'd left the others
and headed for my car.

I was fumbling for my keys.
All of a sudden, I hear him scream:

"Watch out!"
Next thing you know, here I am.

- Where am I?
- You're, um, in the morgue.

If I'm dead, why are you the one
with the long face?

Let me guess, girl problems?

- Hell, no.
- Hell, yes. I can see it in his eyes.

- What's her name?
- I call her Chuck.

But that's not her real name.
It's kind of a funny story.

Would you ask this fool
how he ended up in a snowman?

- Sorry, I can't talk about this right now.
- That's okay.

It'll come when you're ready.
Till then, chin up, big guy.

I'm sorry, I thought I'd pulled it together
and then I came apart.

Well, your coming apart
pulled apart this case.

We still don't know a damn thing
about this killer.

We don't,
but Kevin Vanden Eykel might.

You Kevin Vanden Eykel?
- No.

Steve Kaiser. I've been covering
Kevin's cases since he went missing.

- When did he go missing?
- Same night as Bill and Victor.

In all probability, he's dead like them.

The company's not gonna pay his policy
until police find a body.

His wife's been struggling
to keep her head above water.

I'm surprised they didn't cancel
her insurance, put the nail in her coffin.

- You don't approve of things here.
- Who'd you say you work for?

Didn't. I'm a private investigator.
This is my associate.

Then I've said enough.
If you gentlemen will excuse me.

Bill Richter's body was found
in the yard of Abner Newsome.

All we're trying to do is find out why.

Abner applied to �ber-Life several times.
Was Bill working on Abner's case?

Bill, Victor and Kevin all rejected Abner
for a heart transplant.

That's something we in the
private-eye business call a pattern.

Let's go.

- Asses.
- Excuse me?

I'm talking about the suits
who run this business. Good God.

How many people have to pay
before that boy gets a heart?

- Why don't you approve his application?
- Because I'll lose my job.

It's not up to me,
it's up to the numbers.

And his number's almost up.

Low survival odds
plus exorbitant transplant costs...

equals bad business,
and that's the bottom line.

Hell, if this place
has taught me anything...

it's people are expendable.

- I got your invitation.
- I'm glad you came.

I was scared a little bit.

Chuck felt alive
holding the dark secret of her death...

so close to the light of day.

- I have a hypothesis.
- Hypothesize.

A cell starved for oxygen,
as in death, is marked.

Even after the life returns...

the signature of the shock
to the system remains.

How?

There's always the slightest whiff
of ozone...

like the fading memory of a dream.

- Do I smell of ozone?
- Your dog does.

Did he die and come back?

- That would be impossible.
- People come back every day.

They fall into frozen lakes,
have heart attacks...

their lungs collapse.

Then someone pulls them back
from the edge.

I think I'd know if Digby died.

Maybe you didn't notice
because you were dying too.

That's pure conjecture based solely
on the hair of a dog's behind.

Chuck could feel her truth
stepping out of the shadows...

warming its toes in the sunshine.

And the man from the sewer
could sense it.

It can be so exhausting
carrying a secret.

I need a pair of scissors.

Tell me my secret.

Anticipating the arrival of a third body...

Emerson Cod
and the Pie-Maker...

returned to the house
of the heartless boy.

Ma'am, the insurance adjusters
that died were linked to your boy.

We believe a third body's
gonna show up on your lawn soon.

- That's not good.
- That's real good.

This time, we're gonna wait outside
to catch the iceman when he cometh.

Thank goodness.

A boy with a heart like Abner's
doesn't need any more stress.

Mr. Cod, this is Madeline McLean.

She's a Wish-A-Wisher
from Wish-A-Wish Foundation.

- And this is Bobo.
- A bonobo.

I love a man who knows his monkeys.

The bonobo is the gentlest of primates.
They're great with sick children.

That's why I'm giving him to Abner.
Were you wishing for a cuddle?

I was wishing for a knife so I could
pop out its heart and use it as my own.

Okay. No monkey. Bobo.

How about tickets to Medieval Times?

On the list of things I'd like,
cuddling a monkey and Medieval Times...

are next to constipation
and diphtheria.

There must be some Wish-A-Wish wish
you wish for.

- Yeah, I wish you'd all just go away.
- Alrighty, then.

I apologize for Abner.
He's feeling very sick lately.

I think he just wants to be alone.

Yeah, we'll be outside,
watching over you both tonight.

Only person with any real motive
is Abner's mom, and that's just stupid.

Right. What kind of killer leaves
her victims in her own lawn?

We sit here long enough,
we'll find out.

Would you quit wiggle-worming?

You're steaming up the windows
and giving neighbors the wrong idea.

I can't. My body's staked out here,
my mind's staked out where she is.

I know you ain't gonna talk
about dead girl on our stakeout.

What do you think my chances are
of getting her back?

Do I look like a damn Ouija board
to you?

What if Steve Kaiser was right...

and life just adds up
to one big calculation...

where you take all the good
you've done and subtract all the bad?

After what I've done...

what if Chuck and I don't add up?

You add up, to zero.

- Zero?
- As in zero interest in discussing it.

You don't understand.

I understand better than you think.

You feel like you...
Like you messed up.

Like you just lost the only person
that ever meant anything to you.

Part of you feels like
it's for the best...

and like maybe you never
even deserved it in the first place.

Okay, maybe you understand.

But there's something I can do
to get Chuck back:

Give her back her father,
if only to say goodbye.

The relationship between a father
and his daughter is tenuous.

It's very fragile.

It could take a lifetime
to sort out all the issues there.

What do you think, you can just
happily-ever-after it after one minute?

Man, you a dreamer.

- And you're a cynic.
- I'm a father.

As in a priest?

As in a man with a daughter.

You have a daughter?
Where is she?

- Why don't you ever...?
- -uh. -uh.

Scratching an itch makes it itchier.
This is my itch.

I sure as hell
don't want you scratching it.

- Understood?
- Understood.

No more scratching,
my itches or yours.

- Good.
Emerson Cod...

focused on the case, little knowing
someone else was focused on Emerson...

and the Pie-Maker.

Emerson, wake up.

Emerson. Come on, come on.

It feels like my head
is gonna split in two.

It's carbon-monoxide poisoning.
Someone put a potato in our tailpipe.

Lord, please tell me I ain't dead.

- You're not.
- Not dead for longer than a minute?

No minutes involved.
You'll be not dead until you're dead.

- I never undeaded you at any point.
- Good.

You may be dying from breathing
a poisonous gas, but dead, no.

No. Hell.

Realizing their lives were still lives...

the Pie-Maker
and the private investigator...

could not say the same...

for the body surely frozen
in the freshly made snowman.

See, I used to love snowmen.

The Darling Mermaid Darlings...

overcame their incapacitating
social phobias...

with the help
of Chuck's mood-enhancing pies.

But unbeknownst to all,
this latest pie wasn't just dosed...

it was overdosed.

I have been craving this pie all day.

That's not what I've been doing all day.

We're making costumes
for our next tour.

If we have a next tour.

Mm.

Mm. Mm.

None for me, thanks.
I don't like vanilla.

- I didn't ask you if you wanted pie.
- I'm in training.

The aunts had begun to hope again...

which left Olive
with one simple wish.

I sure wish Charlotte
could see you like this.

Maybe Charlotte can see us like this.

- Evidently her ghost is about.
- Really?

Someone's seen her ghost?

Meanwhile,
Chuck considered the risk she'd taken...

by sharing her secret
with the man from below the ground.

She wondered
what he would discover...

in the swath of brunette truth
she had given up.

And then...

- Hello, Chuck.
You sneak up on people.

That could get you inadvertently
bludgeoned with a rolling pin.

I find a bludgeoning
to be a unique sensory experience.

I taste pennies and smell burnt toast.

I came to return the hair.

- My hair?
- It's a gesture of trust.

You know everything there is to tell
about the hair.

I'd rather hear about it from you.
I think you wanna tell me.

In that moment...

Chuck realized her hate
and sadness had begun to thaw.

There was only one person with whom
she wished to share the burden...

of an impossible secret.

Should've asked the hair.

The Pie-Maker.

In Bulgaria, we were
en route to a competition...

when a band of Gypsies
stopped the train.

They came through the cabin
and stole one woman's watch.

- And her soul.
- They didn't take her soul.

Well, she was ornery and vacant
after they left.

Because they took her watch.

I can't imagine the adventures
you've been on.

My, Lily.
Did you eat the whole pie?

Mm-hm.

Are you feeling all right?

- What did you put in that pie?
- Just vanilla.

There's no vanilla in that pie.

As Olive wondered what exactly...

she did put
in Lily and Vivian's pie...

Emerson Cod, private investigator,
drew an intriguing conclusion.

We are giant, enormous idiots.
And don't you say ginormous.

- That ain't a word.
- Whoever plugged our tailpipe...

waited for us to pass out
and then put the body in the lawn.

- Mrs. Newsome was peeling potatoes.
- Maybe we were wrong about her.

Yeah, maybe she has
gone all blood simple...

hiding her victims
all up in snowmen.

- Kevin would know.
- Yeah, well, let's ask him.

Whoa!

Or not. I'm not touching that.

Fine with me.
Let's talk to Mrs. Newsome.

What happened?
They rejected Abner again.

Nice meeting everyone.

Pardon me, I'll be sucking
turkey through a straw...

while my organs putrefy.

But, hey, you enjoy yourselves.

Who called
from the insurance company?

- Why? Wanna send him a card?
- Send who a card?

Mr. Kaiser. The Wish-A-Wish lady called.
After I told her about Abner...

she wanted to let Mr. Kaiser know
about her foundation.

- The Wish-A-Wish lady.
- She's a kill-a-killer.

Emerson Cod and the Pie-Maker...

arrived at �ber-Life Life Insurance...

in an attempt to find Steve Kaiser...

What are the chances of that?

Before an act of kindness found him.

What are the odds of you having
a daughter? You never mentioned her.

First, you like my grandfather.

You slow down when you talk,
so stop talking.

Second, when I said what I said...

it wasn't said in the
"we need to talk more about this" way.

It was the "I regret what I'm saying.

Must be a potato in the tailpipe" way,
so stop talking.

As Emerson and the Pie-Maker...

closed in on the killer wish maker...

the wish maker
had already found her next snowman.

Stupid door.

Shoot. Got a ding.

I just didn't want you to think
I've been so focused on myself...

- Stop the car!
- Aah!

I'm gonna need you to stop wiling
on the insurance adjuster, ma'am.

- What if I have a gun too?
- You don't have to do this, Madeline.

Please put the gun and the bat down.

- Or definitely the gun.
- Is that your wish?

- I'm sorry?
- Because granting wishes is my job.

Madeline McLean was a dream come
true at the Wish-A-Wish Foundation...

where she provided succor
with suckers...

coaxed chuckles from colics.

But she met her match
in Abner Newsome...

the little boy who lacked a heart.

I'm Maddy.

Why don't you tell me about
your super-special self, sweetheart?

That basket smells like old pus.

And though she tried and tried...

I said lap dance, not tap dance.

There must be something
you wish for.

I wish those insurance jerks who
keep rejecting me would drop dead.

Until she realized the boy
without a heart wanted revenge.

As Madeline McLean prepared
to grant one last deadly desire...

- Bobo, the bonobo monkey,-

To play with the ball on a stick
called the shifter.

And so its wish was granted.

As was the wish
of Madeline McLean...

for though her sanity was torn asunder
by a boy named Abner Newsome...

and her body was torn apart
by a bonobo named Bobo...

her heart was still intact...

which allowed her
to grant one final wish.

And that was for Abner Newsome
to have a change of heart.

Madeline McLean's heart.

The Pie-Maker came upon
another heart in need of repair.

Chuck?

There's no headstone for me yet.
We wait a year.

- How'd you know I was here?
- Because I've been everywhere else first.

Is a little while over yet?

Because I can't bear the thought
of you hating me still.

I feel better.

I have an idea.

- No.
- I thought for one minute...

I'm not gonna bring him back
just so you can watch me kill him again.

I can't do that to you. I won't.

Chuck wished things were different.

She wished she knew her father.
She wished she knew her mother.

She wished the Pie-Maker
could comfort her by holding her close.

Not all those wishes were meant to be.
But one of them was.

I love the quiet on a snowy night.

No, I feel fine. Much better now.

Stop it.
You're the one who should be cold.

Mm. Mm. That was good pie.

When Charlotte was young...

after we moved in,
she used to stand right...

Right there where you're floating
and watch the snow with me.

At night, while she slept...

I'd sneak into the backyard
and make two snow angels.

She never said anything,
and I'd always play dumb.

She thought they were her parents.

One was her father.

The other one was me.

You?

I'm Charlotte's mother.

Subtitles by SDI Media Group
Fixed and synced by Dj Nobeat