Original subtitles

Robert.

Robert.

You can run all you want, Robert.

It's a little late for this, Robert.

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou amongst women.

The fruit of thy womb, Jesus.

May God pray for us.

Now and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

Robert.

It's not time to give up yet.

We can renew our deal

and you'll have all the fame

and fortune you've been enjoying for the last few years.

Just look at me, Robert.

Look at me!

Come on, Robert.

I know you're not weak.

Who are you praying to?

He's not going to take you back.

We've already done one deal.

It's over.

You'll be in hell forever.

You may as well enjoy it.

Just say yes.

Just say yes.

God...

is not listening.

Robert.

Have it your way.

Wake up.

Wake up.

You realize you committed a mortal sin here.

You could have walked away.

But...

now...

your soul...

is ours.

I can give you everything.

Fame.

Fortune.

Just...

say the words...

and it's all yours.

Hey.

- Hi. - Paul?

- Yeah. - I'm Nicole Adams.

- Nice to meet you. - Me too.

So, as you can see, once the police were done

with their investigation I locked it up.

Everything is as it was left.

Minus the deep freezer and the table.

Both had traces of blood on them.

A few other household items were taken for evidence as well.

You understand this place has become a bit of a local legend.

The doors are all double-locked

and many of the windows are now plexi-glassed.

Neighborhood kids have been in here from time to time

doing Lord knows what.

Seances and such nonsense.

Hmm?

Oh. Huh, yeah. Yeah, no, this is...

this is great.

It's, umm...

exactly what I needed.

As per the agreement with your publisher

you're not to sell any item in this house

nor to give tours

no photos released without written permission

and approval beforehand.

No houseguests for more than seven days, no pets.

You're allowed to conduct interviews

with the associates of the deceased Don Bradley

and any of his alleged victims, associates, witnesses

or others pertaining to the case.

You may film or digitally record these

in any manner you see fit.

You don't think he did it.

I don't speculate.

I looked at the evidence.

The police were not convinced of actually

what his role in all this was, but

the disappearance of the young ladies has stopped.

Mr. Bradley was found with a box of human body parts

that were linked to missing persons

one of them being his ex-wife.

You can draw your own conclusions.

That's why you're here, isn't it?

Sleep in his house...

live in his skin...

Yeah. Uhh, you know?

Get a feel for the guy...

talk to as many people as I can...

write a book...

maybe make some money.

Oh, I almost forgot.

Your publisher had my firm renew the license on the truck

and insure it for three months, you now have wheels.

Wow.

The full Don Bradley experience.

Just try not to kill anyone.

Are these his sheets?

And did they clean them?

These are the mysteries

we will explore.

Travel the mind...

of a killer.

A demon.

Some say, a saint...

in a thrilling new tome

brought to you by...

Paul Bryant.

A man died here.

He lived a sad life.

But a life nonetheless.

Don Bradley.

The Fiddler of Fiddles Street.

No more.

Oh my god. I am so sorry.

I didn't think anybody was living here.

Oh, it's...

it's all right.

Did you just buy this place?

Umm, no, I'm just...

staying here while I'm writing a book.

About the murders?

Uhh.

Kind of, more about

Don Bradley than anything else.

Do you need any help with any boxes?

Oh. No, it's all right. I've got it.

- Welcome to the hood. - Thanks.

Who's there?

Who's up there?

Listen, this is my house now.

If you've been squatting here, you have to leave.

Hello?

Who's there?

- Hi. Thomas, right? - Yep.

Uhh, I'm Paul. Thanks for meeting with me.

Umm, so how exactly did you meet Donald Bradley?

How long have you known each other?

Beer?

Uhh, yeah, sure. Yeah.

I just want to say, for the record

he couldn't have done it, any of it.

The press, media...

all those damn people made him out to be a monster.

He wasn't.

So you don't think he was involved.

I think he got in over his head

with those freaky artsy types.

You talked to that art dealer yet?

You don't think he made a fortune off this?

Him and his bunch of panty-waist fags?

Umm...

this art dealer, Mr... Hill, James Hill, his...

whole reputation has...

gone completely downhill from this whole affair

and the police investigation completely cleared him.

How was he involved?

That guy's nothing but a glorified coke-head.

And the people he hung out with were worse.

Don was just a normal guy.

He didn't do any of that stuff.

But the evidence clearly indicates

some kind of involvement. How do you explain that?

I knew him.

As soon as he got involved with that art dealer

everything changed.

Hi. Sorry to crash your party. I'm...

I'm Jim.

Oh. Don, and this is my friend Thomas.

Are any of these for sale?

Yeah, sure.

I'd love to, yeah.

Uhh, is there some place we might

talk more privately?

Umm, sure.

Yeah.

He became all withdrawn and depressed.

Well, his wife had just left him, or...

was the victim of...

something-- we may never really know what happened

to his wife.

Did you know her?

Susan? Yeah, I knew her.

She was from hell.

Couldn't stand to be around her.

Everything was money, money, money.

Nothing was ever good enough for her.

Violin?

Really?

Don, are you just looking for things to fail at?

You know, my dad always said to follow the money.

That art dealer made a mint.

How so?

He had about 30 paintings.

Some rock carvings.

A lot of Don's unpublished writings.

You ever heard that old cliché

there ain't no such thing as bad publicity?

A lot of sick fucks out there want Don's stuff now.

That guy's sitting on a fortune.

Don't touch the art, please.

Oh. Sorry. Hi, uhh, you're James Hill?

Yes, hi.

I'm Paul. I contacted you about the book.

- All right, yes. - About Don Bradley.

Umm, so could you just

give me your impression on Don?

Oh.

He just had this way about him, umm...

People loved him.

Seriously, the dude was charmed. Umm...

What can I say?

Anything he touched, fiddle, guitar, banjo

paintings, poetry, umm...

Just amazing. I never met anybody like him.

And you never noticed him being aggressive towards women?

Oh. No, no, no.

He was very shy, very humble. Umm...

Now usually with talent like that you'll get an ego

but no, not him, no.

And you're his agent.

You represented him in all of his artistic endeavors?

Agent to a serial killer, yep.

You think he did it?

I don't know, uhh...

I don't see how, I mean, how? I...

You should have seen the women lining up to get his autograph.

He never once even asked for a...

for a number.

He could have stacked them up like flapjacks.

No, he wasn't like that at all.

But you were.

There's multiple witnesses that said they saw you

approaching women at his art showings.

I am a healthy male, and if he's not gonna do it, I am.

Like shooting fish in a barrel.

So you don't have

any theory on how he was involved in this

where he fit in some sort of plan?

No, I... I mean...

It appears some of the victims were his fans

but that's just... that's the only connection.

Uhh, his fans, do they still come in here to see his art?

No, no, no.

And this is all for sale, right?

Oh, sure. Yes.

And all the profits go to you.

Yes.

Do you own all of this property?

I'm the executive estate. It's part of the contract, yes.

Oh, OK. Umm...

So about how far into the relationship with Don did

that contract come into play.

Oh, at the very beginning, without...

me he would not have been brought into the public.

I'm the one that...

introduced him.

Hi.

Who is it?

Oh, uhh...

Hi.

I'm Paul. I'm a writer.

I'm writing a book about

Don Bradley. I got...

your name from the police reports. You're Cowboy, right?

Yeah, they call me Cowboy.

Probably because of the hat.

I've got a burger and fries for you.

Do you want to come down and we can talk?

- Thanks. - Yeah, no problem.

Uhh, so tell me, what happened?

Well...

it's like I said. I was...

Woke up hung-over...

cold...

you know, crying.

Just, just miserable.

You know, that voice in your head?

- Yeah. - That one that tells you

- what a shit you are? - Yeah.

It was going on and on and on.

It was telling me, how useless I was.

How the world wouldn't miss a bum.

How the world wouldn't miss me

if I was gone.

So that voice...

that was in my head

telling me to kill myself

all of a sudden it was out of my head.

What do you mean?

I could hear it talking to Don.

Yeah, I know it was Don, because

he came up later, and talked to me, and--

- Hey. - Gave me the boots off his feet.

Hello? Anybody there?

Thank you.

Yeah, there's no way

that he could have known I was inside the building.

The next day a friend showed up with my boots.

I'd left them by the campfire the night before, and...

So what can you tell me about

this voice? How would you describe it?

That voice...

It was...

pure evil.

Hello?

Is Don there?

Who is this?

Don, is he there?

Don's been dead for years. Is this a joke?

I know, but...

is he there?

Listen, whoever this is, this isn't funny.

I'll call the police and have this number traced.

Don't call back.

Hello?

I'm telling you, it's haunted.

Do you have any idea what time it is?

Hey, are you using again?

Seriously, are you using again?

I'm not... using!

OK? I know what I heard.

You heard nothing.

Some kid was screwing with you.

Jesus. Haunted?

You're a grown-ass man now. Start acting like it.

OK, last night

I heard someone walking around upstairs

and then today the creepy-ass phone starts ringing

and someone asks if the damn murderer was still living here.

And then, I heard Don Bradley himself

down in the basement, wrapping up somebody's head.

Well then, write about it.

Look, my firm is footing the bill

to keep your ass in there.

Do you think you were the first choice?

Do you know how many other writers would

kill to have the chance we've given you?

Now, haunted or not...

until somebody has chopped your ass up

and stuck you in a deep-freeze

you don't call back. Do you understand?

Huh. Yeah.

Yeah, you're right. Uhh...

I don't know. Something about this place.

I guess I just let it get to me.

Yeah.

Well, toughen up.

And keep that phone plugged in.

Yeah.

Yeah, right.

Thanks.

I already hate this place.

What did I do?

Why did I take this job?

Because I'm not doing anything else.

I don't have anything better to do. Yeah.

Go to St. Louis. Live in a haunted house.

Write a book about it. It will be great fun.

Fun.

- Hey. - How're you doing?

- Detective - Yes.

Nice to meet you.

Thanks for, uhh...

coming to meet me.

No problem, though.

I don't know why we couldn't have done this in public.

Being seen in public with you?

Are you crazy?

Are you investigating this?

Jesus.

I, uhh...

didn't think of it that way.

This is off the record.

Hand me your cellphone.

Hand me your cellphone, man.

Up against the wall.

You're serious?

All right.

Is this really necessary?

Yes, it is. OK.

OK. Sit down.

So you want to know about the ongoing investigation?

All right. Cool.

The case is still open.

I'm not supposed to talk about it, but

that's why I agreed to talk to you.

You see, we haven't worked on it in a year.

Now don't get me wrong, people go missing all the time.

Some we never find, most turn up, though.

But we no longer think the killer

who did these crimes is active.

Now with you snooping around

maybe you'll scare up something.

There's a rumor that, umm...

you suspected Don weeks before his death.

Anyway...

I just knew.

We were investigating the disappearance of his wife.

And so we decided to stop by and have a little talk with him.

So can you tell us the last time you saw your wife?

Ohh, yeah, it was, what...

like six weeks ago.

It was

She got back from yoga class

and packed a couple of her things and said

she's going to her mom's.

And this didn't surprise you any?

No. No, no.

She'd been talking about it for a while.

She wasn't really happy here.

Hey.

Hey, those are for sale, if you're interested.

No. Not interested at all.

I could just feel it.

I don't know how.

So we put him under surveillance.

Either we screwed up, or he was on to us

because he never did anything.

We never did figure out his connections

to any of the victims.

How he lured them here.

Why weren't there any kind of failed attempts.

It was almost impossible.

Almost impossible...

Are there any leads you can follow up?

You know what?

All of them.

My chief wanted this wrapped up quick, so

we interviewed his friends and associates.

Nothing turned up.

No connections to any of the victims, so...

we went on to other cases.

Believe me when I say this.

There's no shortage of evil in this world.

Evil.

Yeah. Evil.

Evil like the goddamned devil's knocking at your door.

I'm not talking about your petty crimes here.

I'm talking about true wickedness.

Whatever happened to those young women...

Hell...

we'll probably never know.

What church do you go to?

Pardon me?

I said, what church

do you attend

on a regular basis?

Who's your minister?

Huh?

- I don't-- - What denomination?

- I, I don't really attend-- - What...

do you know...

of right...

and wrong?

What does this mean?

It means, Paul, behind the stink of cheap-ass weed

and pills you pop, you have a whiff of evil about you.

You know, maybe it's the house.

Some people like to think houses soak up the emotions in them.

I think this house is haunted.

- Haunted. - Yeah.

- Really? - Yeah.

Man, you really are crazy.

You need to lay off those drugs

and get your soul right with God.

Things will start making more sense then.

Yeah.

Haunted.

Oh, man.

Anyway, I've got to go.

If you need anything, or if you find something

that you probably thought we missed...

don't hesitate to give me a call.

OK, thanks for, talking.

Again, lay off those drugs, buddy.

Haunted.

- Hello. - Boo!

Did I scare you?

I was a little frightened.

Well, it took these three interns all day

to try to find this number.

Yeah, apparently this number has been

in same use for over twenty years.

God knows what it took for them to find it.

Yeah, I guess that explains

why people have been prank calling me.

Someone probably saw me move in.

Right. OK, well, listen.

About this interview tomorrow

it's with that damn psychic Bernadette Sand.

Yeah, you've probably seen her on TV.

Anyway, I had to pay her

and apparently all this bitch cares about is money.

The cops said the same thing about her.

Now apparently she was going around

to all the victims' families, offering her services.

For 500 bucks an hour.

Look, kid, I don't want you to go easy on her.

If she can't give you any more information

than what she's getting out of the papers

I want you to call her out on it, OK?

Yeah.

Great, I'll do my best.

I worked extensively with the police and the FBI

both before and after Mr Bradley's death.

OK. And what was your specific

role in the investigation?

I provided the police with my readings.

Free of charge?

Mmm, yes, I often work with police

on investigations without...

remuneration.

Yeah, and these are often high-profile cases

with a lot of publicity, right?

If you're...

saying that I only do it to increase my fame...

you can count this interview over.

I'm sorry. My editor...

told me to follow that line of questioning. Umm...

So you are clairvoyant, right?

You have a gift to commune with spirits.

Did you

sense anything when you walked into the house?

When I came in...

I sensed three spirits...

in the house.

Three that are active,

three that are departed here.

Did you get any of their names?

Certainly, Susan, Mr Bradley's late wife.

I don't know what I was thinking.

I could have had anybody.

I could have been Mrs. Congressman James Newbury.

Do you know how bad he wanted me?

No.

No. No, instead, I'm married to a retard artist

who can't make a dime

and can't even hold a construction job down.

He killed her in the kitchen.

He hit her over the head with a cutting board.

And then disposed of her body.

She's the strongest presence here.

She does not like the other ones being here.

After all, it's still her house.

The kitchen, huh?

Umm...

- What did he do with the body? - Hmm.

That night

he put her in the trunk of her car

and drove into southern Missouri.

I gave everyone this information.

I was sure somebody would have seen him

late at night, nice car, country road.

Crossed a bridge.

And made a left turn...

up into the wilderness.

And you'll find her body

within a hundred yards of a dirt road

somewhere in the woods.

You know, I was watching

uhh, one of those true detective shows the other day

where they recreate the crime scene.

Uhh, they said...

that you can

almost always find the body

about a hundred yards from a road

usually always downhill.

See.

That confirms my prediction.

Yes, it does.

So is there anything you can do for these spirits?

Umm, help...

guide them to the light?

I can try.

You can try. OK.

- OK, that's great. Thank you... - Oh.

- so much, that was wonderful. - Oh, well, sure. Yeah. I...

you know, there's a lot of evil in this house.

Yeah, I can read it all in the police reports.

Oh, I'm glad that I had a chance to cast that out.

Oh, me too. I'm gonna feel so safe once you're gone.

Right. Well, yeah, oh, sure.

Don Bradley.

I cast you out

in the name of Jesus Christ.

Go on.

Get.

Since the murders happened in this bedroom

let's set up here.

All right, what we're gonna do is

is we're gonna take the lamps and set them up.

I want you to twist the light-bulb just enough

so that the slightest touch is gonna get it to turn it on.

Can they harm anyone?

Well, the most we've ever documented

is a slight touch or a nudge.

What about...

sights and sounds, you know?

Like moanings in the dark or apparitions?

If you don't get it on tape, it doesn't exist.

You ready to begin? Can you get the light?

We come to you in peace. We're only looking to help.

If there is a spirit in this house

could you give us a signal?

Can you turn on the light?

Can we use this light

to mean "Yes"?

Just a flicker so that we know that you understand.

What's your name?

They can only say yes or no.

Oh.

Sorry.

Are you a victim of Don Bradley?

No, no, no, no.

No, instead. Instead, I'm married to a retard artist

who can't make a dime

and can't even hold a construction job down.

Can you use the other light, to signal "no"?

Are there any other spirits in this house?

Are there other victims here?

Are you Susan Bradley?

I didn't marry you to be poor.

My father warned me not to.

Everyone said I was throwing my life away.

And you know what?

They were right.

Did he poison you?

I'm married to this miserable shit!

I could have had anybody.

To the spirit that we're talking to...

did Don Bradley cut off a part of your body?

I'm sure all of my high school friends

are just laughing at me now.

Living in his grandmother's house, of all places.

I just... I don't...

Are there, any evil spirits in the house?

You realize you've committed a mortal sin here.

You could have walked away.

But now...

your soul...

is ours.

Here's my offer.

I will make you...

a reasonably good artist

writer and even a musician.

In return you will provide me

with entertainment from time to time.

Time to get to work, Donald.

Time to drag old Susanna into the tub

for one last bath.

You know...

you have some real talent.

Here's what you're going to do.

You're going to throw a party.

Invite all your friends

the ones you have left that Susan didn't drive away.

And...

show off your artwork.

My dead wife is in the tub!

True.

She's there now, but...

when she has bled out...

you're going to cut her into manageable pieces...

wrap her in newspaper...

and put her in the deep-freeze.

Keep her here?

Just a temporary internment.

In a few weeks you'll take her to her final resting place.

Some place...

suited to one of mine.

I didn't just... I don't know.

I don't think that this is such...

Don.

Listen to me.

You want to get through this, don't you?

I know a thing or two about covering up lies

and disposing of evidence.

So you're going to throw a party.

You're gonna tell all your friends

that Susan has left, and you're making a new start.

Everybody's gonna ask about her.

No.

They're all gonna know.

Don.

You poor fool.

Susan was planning on leaving you.

Had been making plans for some time now, actually.

Her few friends all knew about it.

They won't think it odd that she is gone.

You are going to be the only one surprised.

This was going to be her escape money.

Five thousand

four hundred, and eighty-eight dollars.

Should be enough to throw a nice party. Remember

good spirits, and good food.

What the fuck.

What a fine instrument.

It's owner came over from Dublin

escaping the Potato Famine.

What a wonderful time that was.

When you bury her

I need you to take a few of her personal belongings.

Clothes, toothbrush, purse...

Oh.

And I will be needing her pinky toe.

Pinky toe?

- Why? - Yes.

Her pinky toe.

Keep it in the freezer, hide it.

Don't worry, I'll find it.

And you'll want to take her car

to an unfortunate neighborhood and leave the keys in it.

Understand?

Just me.

Shhh.

Can you hear that?

There's a homeless man crying, just a few yards away.

He has woken to find his boots were stolen.

He's thinking about killing himself.

We sit in the shadows of casinos

full of people who profess to be Christians

yet they walk by these unfortunate souls every day

and do nothing.

The irony...

the hypocrisy...

the lies they tell themselves to justify their gluttony.

So...

So you stole his boots.

Me?

Donald.

You over-estimate me.

I'm just a whisper in the ear...

the voice in the back of your head...

the itch in your palm.

No, I just came to watch.

Is this art?

Well, there's paint.

There is paint.

Dude, great party.

I had no idea your house was this nice.

You did a great job fixing it up.

Yeah, still a lot to do, but, you know...

it keeps me busy and keeps my mind off things.

If you're thinking about Susan, she was from hell.

You're better off without her.

Mmm.

- Oh. - Hmm. Oh.

Sorry.

Is this, your house?

Oh yeah, this is my house.

Hmm, I love it.

I love the paintings.

- Nice. - Hmm.

Gotta go find the bathroom.

Oh. All right, it's just in there, to your left.

Oh.

Look how much better your life is already.

I mean, you've got hot chicks stumbling around.

No more harpy bitching at you.

You can hang out with your friends

without her screaming about it.

Seriously, dude.

You're better off without her.

Hi! How are you?

Sorry to crash your party. I'm

I'm Jim.

Oh. Uhh, I'm Don, this is my friend Thomas.

And, don't worry about crashing, man.

You're welcome here.

This is sort of my freedom from hell--

Thanks.

Great booze, by the way.

I've never heard of some of those whiskeys.

Oh, yeah. Sure, yeah. Myself.

I've heard you were an artist, and I wanted to

come and check out your work.

- Artist. - Yeah.

You know, I'm too proud to beg...

too scared to steal...

but, you know, I'm doing this art thing

at least, until my construction gig

comes off. That's the real reason there.

Funny, yet...

Are any of these for sale?

Yeah, sure.

I'd love to, yeah.

I dabble in art, I'm a bit of an art dealer, umm...

Is there some place we might talk more privately?

Umm, sure. Yeah.

Like I said, I, uhh...

deal in art, umm...

mostly new, up-and-coming umm...

- avant-garde stuff. - Uhuh.

Always looking for the next Great.

Huh. Oh, I...

I really don't think I'm that great. It's...

It doesn't matter.

It's what art critics say, and uhh...

art critics say what art dealers tell them to.

A whisper in the ear of the right person can

build a career.

Now I had my eye on a few of your paintings.

Uhh... Man Eating Chicken

Westward, umm...

Care to name a price for all three?

I don't even... I don't know. Umm...

I wouldn't know. I'm sorry--

Oh. Sorry.

I thought this was the bathroom.

Oh, umm... yeah, you can, you can use mine.

It's just right through the doors there.

Oh.

Hey, you've...

you've got a party to get back to.

What if I offered

ten thousand for all three?

Yeah, all right.

Yeah, they're...

Great.

Umm...

and, uhh...

if I sell these...

I'll be back for more.

- Uhuh. - Unless, of course...

you get too pricey for my blood.

Cheers.

I've been waiting for you.

You're mine for the rest of the night.

Hello, Donald.

No need to whisper. She won't wake up.

- Uhh. - You've had your party, Donald.

Now... it's time for mine.

What did you have in mind?

Strangle her.

Do it slowly, though.

I want her to understand

she is going to die.

- Her... why? - Why not?

What has she done?

It's not...

what she has done.

It's what...

you have done, Donald.

She's innocent.

No.

This one is far from innocent.

She is mine.

And I have come to claim her.

Oh.

I'll need her ear.

Her ear?

Yes. Her ear.

My receipt.

You can put it in the box with your wife's pinky toe.

Hey.

Oh, Paul.

Yeah, you're Murphy, right?

Yeah.

So I'm gonna be in your book?

Umm... yeah, maybe.

I've never been in a book before.

I was in the paper a few times but...

it wasn't good.

Uhh, so you...

had a credible sighting

of Don Bradley.

Yeah, back when all those disappearances were going on

a buddy of mine...

He saw that three-colored step-side of his

coming out of the wilderness

down there at the Devil's Backbone.

Uhh...

Devil's Backbone, is that a bar?

No, it's a swimming hole out on the big piney.

And uhh, did the police ever follow up on this?

No.

Police had so many reports coming in and...

little old ladies claiming

gopher hills were graves and...

all these girls coming out of the woodwork

claiming to be Don's secret lover.

They never followed up on anything.

What exactly do you do?

Me?

Sort of a, finder of things.

Are you a bounty hunter?

Well...

someone goes missing

you don't call the police

you call me. You see...

police, they have rules, regulations, laws.

Me, I work on one thing at a time.

And there's still a 50,000 dollar reward out

for recovery of one of his bodies.

Yeah, I got you a map.

Look at that. What do you see?

- Uhh... - Nothing.

You've got a river...

you've got rocks, trees, and myth.

Now, Don...

he was coming up

right on this little itty-bitty

dirt road down here.

Why do you think he was there?

Well...

southern Missouri

up in the hills

it's all rock. It used to be volcanic down here.

So you can't bury a body up on top of the mountain.

What you've got to do is go down along the river.

You want to get about a hundred

feet away, you don't want a flood coming through

washing it out, you know?

Exposing the body or anything.

How do you think he did it?

Oh, I can't speak to the abduction part, but...

if it was me...

I set out to murder someone...

I'd thump them in the head.

Hard, but not too hard.

You don't want blood going everywhere.

Or you'd strangle them, or...

poison them, you just don't want

blood. Frozen, though...

Yeah.

No blood.

So I'd thump them on the head and

put them in the bathtub

drain them out all night.

Yeah, if you could handle sleeping in a

house with a corpse in the tub...

Well, the next morning I'd just

take them down to the basement

and cut them up into pieces

wrap them into newspaper, freeze them.

Once they're good and frozen...

take them into the woods and...

dig a nice hole.

Have you killed anyone before?

Well, if I did, they sure won't find the body.

You, uhh...

ever been published?

Umm...

I've never, I've never tried...

Some of these are very good.

You know?

Now that your artwork is selling...

you want to think of expanding.

I'm thinking of...

a poetry reading...

with your artwork behind.

Hmm.

Yeah. I'll be playing the fiddle next.

Uhh, are you good with that thing?

See for yourself.

Music touches you that much?

It...

It was, it was my wife's favorite.

I was, I was trying to learn it for her birthday.

I never met her.

I'll work on getting you

a poetry reading with the artwork behind.

In the meantime, just keep on painting and...

petting your rocks, whatever you do, I've...

How do you get any work done

reading the newspapers all the time?

- Look at the art. - It's so good.

- Here you are. - Thank you.

Quite the evening you've had.

These two.

Normally they would drug you...

and steal all the valuables.

But not tonight.

Tonight...

you wooed them.

You are a real lady-killer, aren't you, Donald?

I am not.

But you are, Donald.

You really are.

Slip a pill in each one of their mouths.

Give it a few minutes.

Tie them so they can stare into each other's eyes.

- Hello. - Hi.

Hi. I was at your last poetry reading.

I swear I'm not a stalker.

Your artwork is absolutely amazing.

Do you have any more upstairs?

Oh my god, no!

No! No!

You've done good work here, Donald.

Work that anyone would be proud of.

Eyes.

Ears.

Toes.

Fingers.

Teeth.

Very nice.

So what do you want?

Why are you here?

I'm here...

to warn you...

to prepare you...

to shine some light in your darkness.

Today, you're gonna dispose this body.

Tomorrow, two police officers are going

to come visit you here at the house.

They know nothing, and don't suspect you.

The police have already gone by

and talked to your late wife's friends

hoping to incriminate you in some unsavory act.

But, alas...

her friends all told the truth.

Susan was planning on leaving.

Well...

I won't be seeing you again for a while, Donald.

But our deal still holds.

It's truly...

been a pleasure.

Au revoir.

- Hi. - Hi.

Umm, thank you for...

meeting me. I'm sure this has been

a difficult time for you.

Yeah. My therapist thought

it would be a good idea to meet with you.

She said you were writing a book, and

thought it would be good to have my side told.

It's been three years and...

I need to move on.

Yeah.

Well, I...

I've read everything that you put in the police report.

I guess I'm really just wondering if there's anything

you feel like you need to add now.

Other than that I was sleeping with a mass murderer.

No, I think I'm good.

So you think he did it?

Honestly, I don't know.

I've gone back and forth on it.

What was it that...

initially attracted to you about him?

Look at you, Mr Art Man.

Too good to work construction any more, huh?

Hmm, yeah.

I should be back any day now.

All this painting and

writing poetry, it's...

it's so bohemian

it's killing me.

I would much rather be back with you at the

thankless and dirty job of swinging a hammer

and breathing asbestos.

There's beer in the fridge.

I was at your poetry reading.

The poem you did about 9/11...

it made me cry.

It was so powerful.

I got a copy of it.

I memorized it.

"These poor words can't catch, nor begin to

beauty and arced aircraft.

Banking slightly like turning key knives

in deep cuts to enlarge the wounds.

These brave fanatics fulfilled their duty

plunging themselves and others

into burning, and smashing into towering symbols.

Sounds.

Thunderous explosions.

Later, warring falls.

Cries of thousands.

Of frightened, fleeing victims.

Wailing sirens of would-be saviors.

Somewhere, exultant planners...

loudly call for a feast.

A dance of celebration.

Gleeful to have struck such a mighty blow.

Surely favored by God himself.

But Jesus always said

a battle is not won by the sword

but...

by love."

Congratulations.

I knew you two would hit it off.

Oh, look at you.

I always fall asleep before you.

I don't think I've ever seen you sleep.

Uhh, I'll try to get to sleep before you this time.

Is everything OK?

You always seem really stressed at night.

It's so...

perfect.

- Donny boy, time to go to work! - No.

I love her.

I know you do, Donald.

That's why I want you to kill her.

No. I will never hurt her.

You will.

You just don't know how yet.

No. I'm done.

I've killed enough for you.

Don't you get it? I built you up...

just so I could bring you down.

The deal is over.

I don't care what you do to me.

Take me to hell.

Hell is empty.

All the devils...

are here.

The way his music...

it was just so beautiful.

You had to be there to hear him.

He could have been great.

He was smart, sexy...

Oh, look at me...

gushing on about him.

I could have been the next victim.

But obviously you weren't.

I mean, think about it. The...

night that you guys had that fight, when he

kicked you out of the house

maybe he was trying to protect you.

Or maybe there was...

somebody that he knew was

trying to hurt you, to have leverage over him.

I think you're right.

I mean, I...

I think Don was trying to protect me from something and...

someone, maybe...

but...

who?

That's the question.

Hey, how's it going?

- Hey. - How's the book going?

Uhh, it's...

good.

It's taken some twists, but... it's a book.

He is so famous now

I should have gotten his autograph when I could have.

You knew him?

No, but I just remember seeing him around.

Do you want to come inside, answer a couple questions?

- OK. - Good.

Wow.

This place is amazing.

So it was just like he left it?

Uhh, yeah.

After the investigation was done, they

just sealed it off, pretty much left everything the way it was.

So do you want a drink? They left all that here too.

I would love one.

All right.

So you never actually met Don Bradley?

No.

But I remember hearing him play some nights.

God, it was like a siren call.

A siren call.

Yeah, like in ancient times?

The siren to call the sailors to their death.

You think he killed anybody here?

I'm not even sure if he did it at all.

You can't put this in your book.

But the first time I ever touched myself

I was listening to Don play the fiddle.

Can I see the basement?

Yeah.

Wow.

This place is just how I pictured it.

So creepy.

Do you think he kept them in there and tortured them?

I don't know.

I mean, that's where I would do it.

If I tortured people.

Can I see the bedroom?

Wow.

Oh my god.

The bed is just how I pictured it.

I've thought about this so many times.

What, about being here with Don?

Look at the art.

You ever been tied up?

What?

You know. Tied up, little bit of kink.

No. No, no, I've...

never been, tied...

- up. - That's what I think happened.

I think Don was wild in bed.

Only he took it way too far by accident.

Eighteen times?

Maybe that's what got him off.

Maybe it was their murders.

You know, it makes for much better sex

when you know it could kill you.

What are you doing?

Living out a fantasy.

You want to join me?

Well...

what do I need to do?

Just take your pants off and climb in.

Now what?

You could start by kissing me.

She's just gotta go.

She's gotta go.

No!

No. No. No. No.

Oh, I've dreamed about this forever.

- Just stay away from me! - No, he made me!

Stay away, the police are on their way.

Grab me. Be rough.

Like that.

Choke me.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I can give you everything.

Fame.

Fortune.

For it has been given to me

and I share with whomever I wish.

Just...

say the words...

and it's all yours.

No!

Really poor choice, Donald.

Hey.

Shit. Hey, are you OK?

Wake up. You're OK.

You're OK.

You're OK.

I know.

I know.

Seems like you could use a little help.

Perhaps...

we can make a deal.