Original subtitles

January 1853.

From the journal of Johann August Miertsching,

interpreter, missionary aboard HMS Investigator

under Captain Robert McClure.

We've been trapped in a glassy hell

for three long winters.

Starved and frozen and near death.

Heaven is still here, but it cannot breathe.

We are beset in a region known only

to heretics and ancient necromancers.

I fear we have punched a hole in this world clear through

to Hyperborea, that land beyond the god of the north winds.

Boatswain John Boyle and the gunner's mate John Kerr

were dispatched to investigate a strange anomaly

detected in the aurora.

A vortex emerged and was pulling the sky inward.

Sensing that the threat was unearthly,

Kerr kept his head low,

but his companion Boyle looked back

and threw his eyes at the abyss.

His soul was now rendered the spoil

of some eternal cosmic war.

Dr. Armstrong examined the body of Kerr

and concluded that a fiery bolt has blistered the man

to his very marrow.

As for the grievous corpse of Boyle,

the surgeon made a miraculous discovery.

The man was yet alive, though but faintly.

He whispered to me his diagnosis of an undeath

and that Boyle's condition be kept secret

lest it cause a madness amongst the crew.

The men have since been buried in a secretive ceremony

on the Bay of Gods Mercies

and we have all finally fled the doomed ship.

Good morning, Ms. Cameron.

My name is Mr. Da Silva.

This is my colleague Ms. Ladouceur.

We are with the firm representing Hollis Cameron's,

your father's, corporate interests.

I'm sorry for your loss.

How did your father die, Ms. Cameron?

At some point, a detective is going to be asking you

these same questions.

He was sucked up into the sky and he popped.

- Popped? - Yes, sir.

He popped. Like a firecracker.

Did your father seem in any way different

or peculiar leading up to this moment?

Before he popped.

I guess so.

I mean, we just thought he was going through

a midlife identity crisis type of thing.

Ms. Cameron, your father would hold shareholder meetings

in nothing more than a bathrobe and slippers.

He would stand in that podium

and not give a shit about what anyone else thought.

So Hollis Cameron was not the midlife crisis type.

How did you see this change manifest itself, Ms. Cameron?

I don't know.

He got into some alternative therapies

like cupping.

Cupping?

Cupping.

Fontano, I had the most dreadful dream last night.

Oh?

Yeah, I dreamt my family was en route

and they'd find me like this.

No way around that, sir.

And the nightmares are true.

It would seem so.

I think about you sometimes, Fontano.

Oh?

Well, I think about you, and your... your healing cups,

and all you do.

You got faith in that kind of thing, don't you, Fontano?

Faith helps, sir.

Faith helps. But yet it only helps.

I find that kind of underwhelming.

Hmm.

Fontano, I've been feeling low lately.

The feeling is that mud is seeping into me,

but not into my body, it's in my mind.

As the years go by, the mud piles up in my mind,

my character.

Do you think the healing cups would pull that mud out,

Fontano, if I had a little faith?

Some believe they can.

Oh.

What do you think of the world, Fontano?

What does the world think of you?

Do I wanna know?

There have been some developments.

Oh, all right. Summary, please.

Yes, sir.

Here we are. Polaris Magazine.

Exclusive. Next issue. Cover.

Hollis Cameron. Colonizer or pirate?

Can I be both? More?

Keep going.

"Whiskey magnate Hollis Cameron has fled the public eye

in preparation for the backlash

from his next business venture."

I never hide, Fontano.

Someone's leaking shit from our operation.

My rivals, they play hardball.

And they got to one of our researchers.

Possible.

Do I sue, Fontano? Is that my move?

That's probably what they want, though.

Okay.

I want you to take out a full-page ad in Polaris,

and we'll just choke it at the source.

Who the hell is that? Fontana, get the door!

- Yes, sir. - Thank you.

Oh, fuck.

Okay, Ian is first to arrive.

Yeah, Ian went in to talk with my dad.

I went down to the shore while I still had some light

to work on my sketches.

I could tell something was going on with Ian and my dad.

Something like what?

Our job, Ms. Cameron, is to figure out

what decisions your father was making leading up to this.

He wrote nothing down.

What Mr. Da Silva is saying is that we, his lawyers,

are tasked with protecting the family's business.

You understand? You are going to need insulation.

We are that insulation.

- Hi, Ian. - Hey.

You know Fontano, my cup man.

I cup. I only cup.

- I bet. - How's Diana?

Do you want the long version or the short version?

Ugh.

My daughter has a spinal fluid deficiency.

Have I ever told you that, Fontano?

Yes, sir. Episodic PRAN disorder.

Right, exactly right.

Exactly that. Where is Diana?

Oh, she uh, she just wandered down the hill to see the water.

She's working on a new nature doodle.

Nature doodle?

Speaking of which, here is her latest NFT

that you have purchased.

I bought this?

- Yep. - Yeah?

- I bought this? - Yes.

So this little nature doodle racket,

it's really taken off for her, right?

She's becoming quite the artiste.

Oh gosh. She must be so encouraging.

Ow! Fontano!

I think you sucked out my life force.

When did you first suspect that Ian and your dad were in cahoots?

When we first got there.

He was in a huge hurry to meet with my dad,

which was weird because no one is ever in a big hurry

to meet with my dad.

After you, please.

Hollis, this is really cool.

I'm glad you like it.

So, what is this? Your uh, secret stash?

Have a seat.

Please.

You much of a history buff, Ian?

Uh... I like history.

I'm glad to hear that.

'Cause where you're sitting right now,

what you're surrounded by...

is something truly monumental.

Whiskey's about age.

Twelve years, 18 years.

How old do you think this whiskey is?

I mean, I'm sure it's at least 20...

Don't guess. Just ask me.

- How old? - 170 years!

This whiskey has resided in these very barrels...

for 170 years.

Really?

- Wow. - Pick up that box, please.

Now open it up.

Pick it up. What do you think of that?

Is this for real? How do you...

Where do you find 170-year old whiskey?

I've made a big decision about the holdings of Cameron Whiskey.

I've decided that I'm going to put everything,

everything, into this... this final project.

Everything?

Yeah, I want to go out with a bang.

Are... are you sick? Is everything okay?

No, I'm... I'm... I'm fine.

This is why I brought the family home,

to launch this special final reserve.

Investigator Classic.

Tonight I'm gonna present the astonishing story

of this whiskey.

It's a real honor that you chose to tell me first. Thanks.

Well, my sons, I don't trust them.

In fact, they just... they keep comin' up to me

with these stupid, fuckin', shitty little plans.

- Okay. - So what I wanna do...

is I wanna make you...

the head of this particular venture.

I want you, Ian, in charge of this final project.

- Really? - There's gonna be some shock

among the siblings around the table

when I tell them that I've selected you,

- uh, to head this up. - A shock?

What I want you to do, Ian, is appear unfazed

at the dinner table, okay?

I want your leadership to be a fait accompli.

And do not tell anyone about this.

Not a word before dinner.

- What about Diana? - Oh, least of all her.

So why don't you fill up that bottle?

Tonight, we toast you.

Let's pivot to the guest list.

So the family is summoned to dinner to be pitched

this new venture your father

and your husband have secretly worked out.

But everybody else shows up armed

with their own pitch, right?

Your father must have known that.

He'd already baited them with this new product.

Not me. No.

I just wanted to focus on my art and clear my head.

So here's Ian, pretty unremarkable man

on paper, let's be honest.

But on this day, he got a little secret that'll

change all of that.

'Cause he's thinking that this might be the most important day

of his whole mediocre life.

Aldous, his upstart whiskey bar Craft House, was failing.

He's just a dilettante nepo baby,

a trust fund brat who shoplifts at thrift stores.

That's a bit harsh.

I think the next one's my personal favorite. Rex the cowboy.

He thinks he can lasso a win for his failing restaurant chain.

They both have a fondness for dead ends.

That's cute. And he's brought Lovie.

She's an influencer. I've never met an influencer.

Anybody we're forgetting?

Well, Fontano was already there.

But he wasn't on anyone's team.

He was just Fontano.

Just Fontano? Like he was "just" Fontano?

That's not what I meant.

Sounds like everybody arrived pretty excited.

Lots of anticipation.

If by anticipation you mean agony, then yeah, sure.

Is your family triggering you, Rexy? Yeah.

Why are we even here?

Oh.

Do not answer that.

Oh. Mm.

Yeah, it's me. Talk.

Yeah, I still owe one more post on that energy drink, okay?

No, I do not have that kinda time.

What I fail to understand, Jimbo...

No, I told them I was gonna bank a series for them when I got back.

Can you riddle me that?

Find me my fuckin' hot sauce...

I literally can't even handle this energy right now.

...washing goddamn dishes...

- I love you. Bye-bye. - You son-of-a-bitch meat sack!

This is fucking useless.

Well, I guess we should go do this.

Yeah. Yeah.

Don't tag me in that.

I'm just not in a selfie mood.

It's not for a post. It's for me.

So this is your father's secret hideaway.

- Here we go. - This is not a hideaway.

This is a long weekend retreat.

I'm sorry. Oh!

Fuck off, Aldous. Okay.

What's up, cowboy? How's the ranch?

You must be Lovie. Oh, God!

Don't talk to her.

I can talk to her. I know her.

- Oh, you do? - Yeah, I follow you.

Oh, my God, that's so cute.

Yeah, I'm crafthouse69. You didn't follow me back.

Yeah, no, I don't... I don't actually follow,

so it's not really a two-way sort of...

Oh, is it? No, I'm joking. I don't do social media.

That's weird. That's also really rude.

- Lovie, this here's my asshole brother. - Yeah, I gathered that.

He thinks he runs a whiskey hipster bar for Dad.

What's the name of that place again there?

Craft House.

Perhaps workshop that.

It's a whiskey library for sophisticates.

It's not in a strip mall next to a fucking Blockbuster.

Blockbuster closed.

Like a really long time ago.

I got something for you.

- You smell bullshit? - Bullshit here.

- Oh, violence! Violence! - Jesus Christ!

- You fucking asshole. - Why? Stop!

Jesus Christ, Aldous. I will fuck you up.

I'm not fucking scared of you anymore.

You can't b... I'm all grown up now.

Hey, stop! This is ridiculous.

- Please, don't do this. - What are you gonna do, huh?

Rip off your cornea

in one foul snap!

You're not gonna do that.

You guys go help your sister down that hill.

Or one of you clowns loses an eye.

Hey, Dad.

So let's look at the disappearance of your father.

Murder. It was murder.

You're a bit of a drama queen, aren't you, Mr. Da Silva?

Are you mocking me? 'Cause I heard a tone.

Point is, something catastrophic happened to your father.

Somebody at this little fam jam soiree

murdered the host.

Your father.

My father.

So who has a motive?

- I do. - You do?

He took my controlling interest in the company

and handed it right to my husband without telling me.

Ian.

No. No, no. Ian didn't have a motive.

Ian was motivated to kiss my dad's ass.

Mm-hmm.

So, Rex, maybe you had a motive to kill your father.

Yeah, big time. Rex's favorite phrase to say was,

"I'm gonna kill that bastard!"

Yeah, but this is Rex, not Oedipus Rex.

Oh, yeah? I got your motive.

He didn't do it.

How the hell do you know that?

Sorry.

Why is it never me?

What about the butler?

No, Fontana did not kill my dad.

Somebody killed Hollis Cameron,

somebody who was there that night.

No one killed my dad.

Oh, that's right.

He got sucked up into the sky.

Sucked straight up.

Where he died in a poof.

A pop.

Well, howdy.

What, the sun gonna turn you to dust or somethin'?

When did you go all in with this cowpoke routine?

Rex is exploring his vast, gross, uncharted masculinity.

Would you zip it, all right?

We do not need to encourage her.

Convey me to the house, please.

Come on, giddy up. You're all right, let's go.

I'm having a spell!

She has an illness.

We are gonna help her up. She's tired.

Yeah, that sickness she's always talking about.

Oh, just come out and say it.

Look, all I'm saying is where goes the mind,

so goes the body.

Just look at this asshole over here with his asthma.

I assure you, my asthma is 100% real.

Come on, lonesome dove.

Do y'all know what secondary gain is?

It's when one benefits from their condition,

which is exactly what she's doing right now.

So I cannot, in good conscience, assist my sister.

Not everyone is accustomed to the pull of Earth's gravity.

Well then, maybe you should cut them strings.

What the fuck does that even mean, you dick?

Fuck you, Aldous!

Is he being clever?

He's never clever. Come on, let's go.

How we feeling?

Spiritless.

Did you take your pills?

Jesus, Ian, I said I can't take those right now.

What?

Um, just been some developments.

With what?

You'll find out. But I think you'll be proud of me.

- Is that so? - Mm-hmm, kind of a big deal.

For us?

Big step up for me. For us.

- Oh. - Hello, Lovie.

Hi.

I've never met a real-life influencer before.

Oh, well, get that all the time, but we're just like you.

Therefore, the title, The Displaced Wife,

refers to the unexpressed desire within the subject.

Desire for what?

Desire as a chronic condition, Rex.

But it's Diana.

Yes.

Behold.

My committee has crafted a plan to take Craft House...

global.

Currently losing followers,

but I think it's just 'cause the Wi-Fi is really bad

and, um, I wasn't able to post a bunch today.

But mostly it's great. Super fun lately.

Who's it all for, honey?

Oh, it... well, it's for me.

Take Craft House...

Take Craft House...

global.

So she wants a divorce.

No! It is a concept, Rex. A concept in art.

I don't get it.

Behold.

Okay, I'd like to make this seem more normal if we could.

We can't.

If we're gonna stick with the story we need something.

He died in the sky. How did he get there?

Was it by a slingshot? A jet pack? What?

"Police know that two murders occurred during that fateful

Cameron family retreat.

But no one seems to know what happened to CEO

and patriarch Hollis Cameron.

"Not precisely, anyway."

Exactly. No one knows.

He's dead.

What the hell is this?

Behold. When you sever a leg from a torso,

several things happen.

It's a big limb. This one's 19 pounds.

19 pounds of arteries and veins, muscle mass, cartilage,

dozens of interesting bones.

Immediately, the person goes into shock.

I mean, blood is gushing out.

The heart cannot sustain any kind of pressure.

And unless a tourniquet was applied like immediately

to the owner of this leg,

well, he simply bled out.

Certainly, if he received no medical attention.

This is the leg of Hollis Cameron.

Hollis Cameron is dead.

It's obvious.

I'm Mr. Denbok, by the way.

Who are you? I've never even heard of you.

I'm your late father's crisis manager.

You didn't know that he had one.

You may not even know what a crisis manager is.

A crisis manager is a tourniquet.

You look confused.

I'll give you an example.

In 2016, I represented a certain mayor

from a large Canadian city who had been found

in a hotel room wearing nothing but a full oversized diaper.

And I mean, it was full.

And I kid you not, there was a blind nun

in the room who had been made to believe that she was

administering last rites.

Now, I don't know what any of this means, right?

So I pressure the guy and eventually he cracks.

And big surprise, diapers and nuns really turn his crank.

Facts.

You see, I needed those facts.

Armed with the truth, I was able to repurpose those facts using

simple internet searches.

Diapering, I learned, is the obscure practice

of refeeding the body nutrients through what's called

"back voiding."

And so I basically dared the public

to shame a good man for using alternative medicine.

And everyone shuts up.

Also, back voiding was the thing for about a minute.

The point is that on Sunday he was covered in doo-doo,

and on Tuesday, he was squeaky clean.

So that's what I'm gonna need.

In order to do my job, Ms. Cameron,

I'm goin' to need that from you and your siblings.

The unvarnished truth.

Despite what you might be thinking right now,

I had great respect for the man who owned this limb.

Many people did.

He was an admired man.

Do you know who's not admired?

You. No one respects you or your siblings.

You're a whole category. That, for me, is fact one.

That's the raw material for my back void.

All right, guys.

What do you say we rip off this Band-Aid real quick? Hmm?

I have hired two of my very finest lawyers

to clear a legal path for me to make a major unilateral move

with the entirety of the family trust.

- You did what? - Oh, Dad.

Are you kidding me? Is this why you brought us here?

Did you know about this?

What about my Craft House proposal?

Aldous, take that fucking hat off.

- What the fuck is this? - I emailed you the offering memorandum.

- New York, Paris, Sydney. Dad! - What did you do with it? What?

- Please, please, stop. - Diana, did you know about this?

- Don't look at me. - I even have a job for the webcam girl.

- Influencer. - Webcam girl's fine.

But I mean, I do, off the top of my head,

have like a couple ideas of direct...

Ian, could you take over, please?

- Ian? - For what?

Oh, so you did know about this?

Fucking Ian?

Oh, oh, didn't I tell you guys?

Ian here has been appointed to be my proxy

on the entire endeavor. Thank you, Ian.

Let's give Ian a hand, everyone.

I didn't know about this.

Eyes front. Aldous.

You made the... Aldous, eyes front.

Are you fucking wearing eyeliner?

No, I'm not wearing fucking eyeliner. Listen.

Five years ago, researchers from New Zealand

discovered the lost whiskey stash

of fabled explorer Ernest Shackleton

left behind in his base camp in Antarctica

in 1912.

The Northwest Group, our direct rivals, bought it up

and released a blend aged over 100 years

to great popular acclaim.

- Who the fuck is playing footsies with me? - I crave human contact.

Well, I crave adults, but we can't have everything.

Do you mind... my love?

In 2011, Parks Canada discovered the location

of the HMS Investigator,

Captain Robert McClure's lost Arctic ghost ship that was

beset in ice and abandoned in 1853.

That's the one where they ate everybody.

Wrong. You're thinking of the Franklin Expedition.

Oh, well, look who knows shit now.

- She knows things. - I know stuff, Rex.

No, Diana's right.

In fact, Captain Robert McClure was being sent to search

for Franklin's lost ships when he lost the HMS Instigator.

That's HMS Investigator.

The Investigator was found preserved in pristine condition

under only four meters of water in Mercy Bay, Banks Island...

Hold up. I thought that we were in the Antarctic.

Two months ago, we invested in a team of marine scientists

to search for 30 lost barrels of premium whiskey

said to be stashed in the vessel's sunken hold.

I'd make a good pirate.

The barrels were found and are now sitting underneath

this very family complex.

And that's why we're all here!

This will be my final whiskey release.

It's the end of a very long career.

Good for you, sir.

Lookit, y'all standing to make a goddamn fortune,

so that's what you really want, isn't it?

Right?

Any questions?

Yeah, but aren't we just stealing these barrels

in the first place?

Like they're not ours.

Who's to say? Hmm? Whose are they?

It's finders fucking keepers.

Now, Aldous is right.

He is? No, he's not.

We have made a sizable donation to the Inuit community

of Sachs Harbor.

So you bought off the locals?

We paid for discovery rights.

Note the difference, right? Big difference.

That's right, actually. Colonialism is super in right now.

And in addition, we have also invested

in a research expedition to discover and recover

any lost relics and the bodies of three dead sailors buried

at Mercy Bay 170 years ago.

And a documentary that we will be co-producing in tandem,

which I will be narrating.

Fuck that. Rex should narrate.

- Yeah. - I should.

- Quiet. Quiet! - Can I shoot camera?

- Ssh. - Dad?

Be fuckin' quiet!

Thank you, Ian.

Fontano.

The team is headed up by renowned

forensic historian Doc Martin.

And why? Why am I going to all this trouble?

Because I want you guys to start thinking

of this as a legitimate business enterprise.

You know why?

'Cause it fucking is!

Well, hell. Sign me up for a sample.

Atta boy.

- Anyone else? - I'm in.

Excellent! Now we drink.

I actually can't drink alcohol right now,

which brings me to a kind of announcement.

Oh, shit! I almost forgot.

Now I've got something that we can really toast to.

- Lovie. - Mm-hmm.

Would you make me the proudest man alive

and take my hand in matrimonial bliss?

Would you marry me?

Oh. Um.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

She said yes! You heard it. You heard it.

You heard it, she said yes.

No, she didn't. She didn't say yes.

Can we just please talk about this later?

- Can we just put a pin in it? - I'm pregnant!

Oh, good!

I knew the whole time!

- She told me first. - Pretty sure I was actually first.

She's the first person to know,

and then she told me, so I'm first.

- Is it yours? - Shut up, Rexley.

This is fantastic news!

Wow! Guys, this is a great sign!

I told you things were gonna work out.

And that's a sign. Family toast.

Family toast, Fontano, please.

Mm. Thank you.

Down. Down. Yep.

Pour it out.

Yep. Thank you.

To us?

Today there is only us.

Down the hatch!

Mmm.

I'm getting wood.

I'm getting a soft, woody, uh, hit

in the back of my throat, which is very nice.

Mm.

It could be off-gassing.

That's great. You guys liked it!

That's a thrill, right there.

The world was upside down.

Everything I loved was sinking to the bottom,

and everything I despised was rising to the top.

Yeah, but that's just normal life. You adapt.

Drink a little whiskey, laugh at yourselves.

I love them. All of them.

And yet three of them are gonna be dead within hours.

Yup.

So what happened?

I have no intention of telling you, Mr. Denbok.

Why's that?

You don't think I'll believe you?

It would be better for you if you didn't.

- Do I look stupid? - You don't look stupid.

I don't wanna look stupid, Ian.

Everybody on the Internet looks like a fucking moron.

Why don't you check for yourself?

Oh, I don't wanna see this.

- It's fine, just have a look. - Ugh.

The marketing team worked very hard.

Ugh.

With over 475 flavor notes to experience,

every drop of Cameron Reserve whiskey

is a kaleidoscope of delights.

Keep your bottom up! Lift your spirits.

I mean, I think it's great.

Yeah, it's super. It's real good.

- Do you wanna watch it again? - No!

Okay.

Well, uh, we got something new from the research team up north.

Oh, Doc Martin, what's he say?

Yeah, it's marked urgent.

Good, what's he say?

Doc Martin says he's made an unexpected discovery.

So your dad pulled me aside and asked me

to influence the brand.

Oh, well, you had better get a shit ton of cash for that.

Yeah.

Can you land somewhere, please?

Your energy, it's like ping, ping, ping, ping, ping.

Pick a spot.

I am thinking, if you don't mind.

Okay, well, that's rude.

That old fucking man is gonna cut me out.

What a fucking asshole. He hates my guts!

Fuck, I hate him! God!

Okay, Rexy, just breathe. He's gonna need me, so...

Oh, you think so?

Yeah.

What I need is that whiskey.

You know, Uranus is actually in retrograde right now.

That's probably why I'm feeling so weird.

And you're a Gemini, so you'll be feeling that.

Yeah, I guess that could be it.

I am so excited about being an uncle.

Mm-hmm.

What? Did I say something wrong?

No, you didn't say anything wrong.

Is there something wrong with the pregnancy?

No, it's not the pregnancy.

It's just me. I'm getting weaker.

Is it the illness?

Yeah.

Aldous, they've given me two to three years.

And that's if everything with the birth goes okay.

I love you.

And remember, you are the light.

So I'm gonna ask you some questions now

and you're going to answer true or false.

They're not essay questions, just true or false.

Sound good? Sounds easy, right?

Oh, I'm going to need you to answer me.

I need you to say, "Yes, that sounds good, Mr. Denbok."

Okay. Jeez, good.

Terrific.

Episodic PRAN disorder is a real illness.

- True. - Huh? Oh.

I honestly didn't think that was a real thing.

- It's not a question. - You're absolutely right.

- Uh, and this is an illness that you suffer from? - False.

But I thought you were given a prognosis of two years left to live.

- True. - True?

- And you're pregnant? - False.

But you announced at this dinner that you were.

True.

So the pregnancy was terminated.

Do we need to ask these types of questions?

Maybe that was an essay question.

- We'll get back to that one. - Thank you.

Now, if it helps you focus, Ms. Cameron,

charges are coming in this case.

And they're coming soon. They've already charged Doc Martin.

- Who? - That's a person?

No one knows who Doc Martin is?

Well, he's up on some serious charges.

Illegal excavation on treaty lands,

disturbing remains, grave robbery, also littering.

- Littering? - Littering is no joke.

So the way I see it, this business venture

is being helmed by Ian, the least competent

family member, and that's saying something.

And it's all based on an illegal Arctic pillage

to sell a whiskey that everyone believes is crap.

Yes. True.

So it's true that Hollis Cameron,

a great business mind,

is making a massively stupid decision?

One that will bankrupt him, ruin his quasi-pregnant

daughter's marriage and alienate him from his children?

True.

So was this suicide?

Scorched earth, razed it all to the ground?

Did Hollis Cameron in fact kill himself?

- False. - No, no, no, we like that.

Yes, yes, we do.

Uh, can we stop there and do lunch?

Go ahead, Doc Martin.

What's the news from the Hyperborean sea, sir?

We're on the shore of Mercy Bay, just north of the 68th latitude.

And just about half a mile out there is the sunken wreck

of the HMS Investigator.

Yeah, just, uh, cut to the chase.

Yes, we've completed our exam of the three graves here

of John Kerr and John Boyle and also a third,

a straightforward case of scurvy.

We've managed to conduct an autopsy on Kerr

and we've made an extraordinary find.

Oh, yeah? What was that?

John Kerr's body suffered

a kind of immolation.

Like from a fire?

Not exactly, no.

You've got to see this.

It would appear on evidence that Kerr was

exposed to something like radioactivity,

or possibly microwaves.

But what if it's like freezer burn?

Kerr was cooked alive by

a technology unknown in his time,

and quite possibly our time as well.

We won't know until we get the body to the lab,

but we suspect scorching at the atomic,

even subatomic level.

Jesus!

More intriguing perhaps than what we have found,

is what we have not found.

The last book from the mad Moravian monk's journal

is not here.

Oh, Johann August Miertsching.

Don't try to be smart, Ian.

Miertsching survived and upon returning,

his journals were entered into the historical record.

That is all but one, the final volume,

which we believe would shed some insight as to the fate of Kerr.

This missing journal, in Miertsching's own words,

"was buried with our three lost souls"

in the Bay of Gods Mercies

"so the dead may read what the living must not know."

That guy was fucking batty, huh?

- He was a deeply religious man. - We need that journal.

The journal wasn't the only thing that was missing.

The remains of the boatswain John Boyle

were removed from his grave.

- Huh. - That's odd.

I would like to underscore the fact that I am

standing in the most desolate corner of the globe.

There are no grave robbers here.

Well... let's make a note of that, but honestly, up there,

there's Arctic fucking coyotes and bears and shit, right?

So anyways, really, more mystery, please.

Right? Whiskey loves infamy.

Rexy, this is what you do, okay? The whiskey is shit.

Hollis knows that and he's just... he's in denial, okay?

As soon as that booze gets out, its value will just sink like stone.

It's classic. I've seen it before.

You... are right.

Yeah. I know.

So what do we do?

Simple. Get it through his thick skull

that it's just the brand that matters, okay?

Drain the barrels, fill it with some no-name hooch,

and shove it in your restaurants.

Sell it by the shot. That's the golden goose.

Oh, my God.

Oh, my God.

I fucking love you.

Yeah.

God.

Shit.

It's not coming out. Oh, shit!

Stop.

No!

No!

Jesus! Fuck!

Oh, Jesus. Fuck.

True. That fucking happened.

- Pretty much true. Yeah. - Okay, good.

'Cause I wanna make sure that I'm right in the facts here.

And you're saying that the fact is this,

Fontano didn't kill your father?

- True. - Dad loved that little guy.

Yeah. Yeah, he was his cup per.

You have to trust your cup per. Cupping is very intimate.

Well, you know, like intimate intimate.

Yes, Rex, I know.

Okay, so maybe Hollis loves his cup per,

but did his cup per love him?

That I do not know. So, true and false?

Okay. Fontano slipped and fell.

He wanted a sip of that whiskey.

Something your father forbade. That's true.

And while he's in the cellar getting a sip out of the barrel, he slips.

Bingo.

Okay. You heard that, right?

I didn't hear a fucking nothing, but I did have a very important

- dream about that whiskey. - Okay, Rex...

I hope Dad understands, but he cannot sell that shit.

What is this, a family meeting?

Are you guys talking about me?

Why does everybody around here think

they're so important?

I definitely heard someone screaming.

Okay, yes, right?

Like a full-on frickin' scream is what I heard.

Dad, we need to talk about that whiskey.

That sounded like Fontano.

You cannot sell that fucking poison.

It will ruin the Cameron brand for good.

Look, the way I see it is we have one way out of this thing.

What are you banging on about, you goddamn distracting fucking chicken?

Okay, Rex wants to refill the barrels with cheap whiskey and sell it in the restaurants.

- Lovie, what are you doing? - It's fine. Look, we like keep all the folklore,

but just not the whiskey, 'cause apparently it's shit.

- It's crap, she's right. - Yeah, yeah.

So it's an acquired taste. Goddamn it!

Where is Fontano? I heard him!

The sound came from downstairs, so...

We should probably check the cellar.

Oh, wow!

Okay, that's Fontano.

And what the fuck is that?

That's gotta be the missing corpse.

What? We have a missing corpse?

Yeah, he's a... he's a seaman.

A what now? A seaman.

We were drinking real seaman?

Well, more of a sample of the seaman, but yeah, I suppose.

Jesus, it looks like a fucking murder scene down here.

- Yeah, well, it's not. - Oh, it's not? It's not?

I'm pretty sure this is a crime scene.

It's not a fucking crime scene!

- It's not a crime scene. - Well, who is it?

This would be the body of Sailor John Boyle,

preserved for 170 years.

- Jesus Christ. - It's a pickle.

I'm calling the fucking cops.

- No, no, no. - On who?

- On this. - This is not a crime scene!

Did anyone check if he's napping.

- It's a crime scene. - This is so fucked up!

Everything is under cont...

I am not losing my fucking

El Paso wristwatch over this shit.

Diana, what are you doing?

She's fine. She's fine. Just... just call the cops.

What are you doing? Upstairs!

Please.

I'll take her.

Jesus.

Fontano? You dead?

Jeez.

- Oh, God. - His knife.

God damn, this John Boyle guy stinks to high hell.

You're never gonna get the smell out of this house.

Get it the fuck outside.

What about Fontano?

Huh, he smells fine.

Shit.

We should be wearing gloves.

Fuck off, Aldous. All right, on three.

Lovie, you okay?

What is that?

It's the journal of Johann Miertsching.

What?

I'm not a detective.

I mean, I guess I have some sort of obligation to report say

a murder or a threat, you know, that kind of thing.

And there's no attorney-client privilege here.

That's what I got the beagles for. They cover us for that.

What I'm trying to say is, you have zero to fear from me.

I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Denbok.

Good. Good.

Then I'm gonna be completely honest with you, Ms. Cameron.

Objection. I have to advise against that.

So I thought I had this kind of serviceable idea of events

in my head.

Kinda figured it out on my own.

I still need your truth, of course, whatever that is.

But I want this to work for both of us, okay?

So pay attention. Now's good, Patty.

So the family insults Fontano up on the roof.

Your father won't let him toast with the rest of you

and no one sees this as demeaning.

It's just the Cameron way, right?

Agree? Disagree?

So I think Fontano killed your father.

And I think Ian, who had a pretty good motive

for defending the big man, he interferes.

And Fontano, who's avenging the servant class

or whatever, he's very passionate about this,

Fontano winds up killing Ian. That's what happened.

- So who killed Fontano? - Well, we know that.

He slipped in the cellar. Isn't that right, Diana?

Diana?

Did you wanna tell me about that?

I'm gonna need a little bit more than what I'm getting.

Fontano slipped.

Okay, good. I mean, it's kinda weird, though.

This guy, pretty healthy, pretty fit guy,

he's just walking along a smooth concrete floor

and whoops, down he goes.

Actually, that's exactly what happened.

Okay. Maybe.

- No one's down there with him, right? He's alone? - He was alone.

But the barrel's broken, right? Barrel's all busted up.

Yeah. He was angry. The whiskey was a part of that.

That's good. That... that fits with my whole

servant's revenge angle.

But see, now I got this problem.

You're lying to me.

I make up shit for a living. That's my job.

You don't!

See, I watched this recorded video call

between your husband and your father and Doc Martin.

And on this call, Doc Martin

reveals a big mystery they've uncovered at the dig.

All I know is there was whiskey in the basement

and Ian was gonna make an infomercial.

Doc Martin reveals on this call that there are

certain items that should be at the grave site

that are missing.

And the doc seemed very freaked out about this.

A missing journal, for one.

That journal, I assume you found in one of the barrels?

It's a bizarre read, full of all kinds of crazy shit, let me tell you.

Or maybe you can tell me.

See, I'm getting frustrated, Diana,

because I think that you've read this.

All about some lights in the sky shooting down,

frying people alive.

It's some crazy War of the Worlds type shit.

And to be honest, I don't know what to make of it.

Do you?

Johann August Miertsching.

That's him.

Johann August M...

- How do you pronounce that? - Miertsching.

Miertsching. See? You do know.

So you find his missing journal. That's great.

Did you know a sailor's body was missing?

The body of boatswain John Boyle is missing from its grave.

Missing. Like that journal.

So...

No, we just found the journal.

For fuck's sake, you're lying to me again!

Don't lie to me, Diana!

I have got so many bodies that I need to account for,

so if you could just help me account for this one!

Did you find the body of John Boyle?

We took it outside.

Let's go.

I got it. Go!

Oh, my God.

Rex, why don't you take the bandages off

that thing's face and let's get a look at it.

Ugh.

Good God.

- Fuck! - Oh, my God.

Two bodies in the cellar and you decide to remove only one.

The one that's been dead for 170 years.

Were you even sure Fontano was dead?

Nobody called an ambulance? Just, "Hurry up, let's save the fossil guy!"

It reeked and my dad just wanted it out of the house.

- So what'd you do with it? - It moved.

- You can't say that. - She can't say that.

[Ms. Ladouceur] It makes you sound crazy.

What do you mean it moved?

It came to life right in front of us.

After it moved, it lit up the yard electrically.

Its essence... Its essence?

Something shot out of it into the sky.

- The dead guy's essence shot out into the sky? - Beyond the sky.

Look, I know you're trying to make me sound ridiculous.

Am I doing that? Am I making her sound ridiculous?

I don't wanna talk about this anymore.

- I don't blame you. - Can we try work shopping a believable story?

Let's just go with his idea. A servant kills master plus one,

slips on spilled whiskey, sounds good.

Great. Can I go now?

So we have some problems.

We have a living corpse in the yard, a dead corpse below us,

and your sister, your daughter, is unconscious and pregnant!

We need to call an ambulance.

- Yes. - No. Okay, she's fine.

She does this literally all the time.

Did you really just fucking say that?

You do not fucking know what this is!

I'm gonna kick your fucking ass!

Stop, stop! Stop!

Just tell me why I shouldn't call the police right now, Hollis.

I'll tell you why you shouldn't call the police.

And you should listen to me because I am the CEO

of this company.

I'm the patriarch of this family.

I have a unique perspective on all this.

And I got the most to lose.

In the basement what we have is criminal exposure.

Criminal exposure.

And for that, we're gonna need a story.

- What's the fucking story? - What's the fucking story?

The story is... the stor...

the story is, uh, Fontano.

I don't even think Fontano was here.

Right? I never... I didn't see him.

I don't think we even saw Fontano tonight.

There you go. That's the story.

- Oh, my God! - Wow!

That's... that's so fucked up.

Guys, we still have most of the whiskey, okay?

- We can still... - Shut up, Ian!

The whiskey's over, man.

Over.

- Over? - Yeah, it's over.

I got insurance. It'll take care of all that shit.

All right. Let's move on to the next story.

The shit show in the backyard. Let's go.

I think we got off on the wrong foot.

I apologize for being flippant.

It's sort of my style.

I'm sorry.

Crisis manager is like one rung below skip tracer

in Dante's Inferno.

Still a bit higher than cryptocurrency CEO,

so that's a point of pride. I'm not gonna lie.

Pride's a sin, Mr. Denbok.

See? I'm going to hell either way.

Guys, it... it can see us. We're behind glass.

Quiet. You don't know that.

So John Boyle's standing in the yard?

Not John Boyle. I wouldn't call it that.

Okay, what would you call it?

What am I looking at here, Ian?

- It's a mummy. - A mummy.

No, it's an ice mummy.

More like an ice mummy.

- A laser-blasting ice mummy. - Fuck's sakes.

It's a laser-blasting ice mummy, for fuck's sake!

What's it doing?

Guys, it's looking at me.

Jesus Christ!

Let's get him inside, Rex.

Dad, is Aldous dead?

Guys, he's gone.

So it goes pew, pew, pew like it's firing what,

photons out of its face?

Its mouth, actually.

Like a laser beam? Describe this for me.

- Are you making fun of me? - I wouldn't know where to start.

I'm sure this is all very fucking amusing to you guys.

No, it's okay. Let's keep going.

Okay. Okay, sure.

Can we at least have a lawyer present?

Oh. Oh, no, no. Yeah, no, that's good.

Okay, cool. So we're all fucked!

So this part of the night, it upset Rex.

He was upset.

How about you?

Look, Diana, if this is the story that I'm getting,

then let's get it right.

How did you feel?

I thought that I had lost him.

I thought that Aldous was gone.

But he wasn't, was he?

That's a very complicated question, Mr. Denbok.

Come on, Aldi. Still breathing. Come on!

Come on, bud. Please. Hey. Please, God.

Hey, Aldous!

Aldous? What's happening?

Come on, buddy. Aldi.

Oh, Lord. It fried his brains.

Okay, we need to get to my car and leave now.

Dad, where's the gun?

Uh, the gun's in the study.

On it.

You're okay, Diana?

You're [gibberish].

Come on, Aldous.

Move. For God's sake.

Guys!

Guys, it's here. Get in the car.

Get in the car! Get in the car!

So what's our story now, Dad?

Fuck the story. Go. Move. Move.

- Go, go, Rex. Go, Rex. - Jesus Christ, it's coming!

I got it.

The gun's not working, guys. Get in the car.

- The gun's not working! - Get in!

No, Dad! It's okay, sweetheart.

He made his choice. Drive!

- Fuck! - Turn on the car!

Fuck. Go. Start the goddamn car.

What the fuck is that?

Did you take the safety off, you fucking...

Dad! Oh, shit!

- Come on. Turn it on! - I can't!

Yes! Yes! Yes! Drive!

Oh, shit.

It's dead.

Wait, where'd it go? Where'd it go?

Jesus!

Jesus, what... oh fuck!

What the fuck?

Oh, my God!

What is it doing?

Oh, my God. It's hideous.

That ice mummy is bat shit crazy.

Yeah.

That thing was in a barrel, right?

Yeah. For 170 fucking years.

A barrel of whiskey.

- It's drunk! - It's drunk!

Drunk it's.

Fuck this shit.

Safety is off this time, bucko.

Dammit!

We're gonna need a smaller gun.

Hey, barrel bitch!

What's Dad doing?

Come on! Yeah, I'm right here!

Come on! Come get me, you mummy fucker!

- Come on! - He's luring it away.

Come here. Let's do this, buddy. Come get me.

Hey, guys, this thing's so fucking slow!

Jesus Christ, come on! You can do better than that.

Come get me, man!

I got a shot. I got a shot on him.

- Don't shoot him, Ian! - No, you're gonna hit fucking Dad!

Jesus Christ, you're ugly.

Holy fuck, man.

I'm listening, Ms. Cameron. I'm trying.

Surely you understand how all this sounds.

Believe me, this is not the story I wanna tell.

But you are.

If I tell this story to a detective

or to the press or it gets out somehow,

then not only am I gonna be called crazy,

it's going to be super tempting to think that Rex, Aldous and I...

- That you killed your father. - That we killed everybody, yeah.

But you didn't, did you?

All right, hold up. Time out, guys.

I think that it's, uh, big picture time.

It's getting up soon, okay? That's your big picture.

I'm for serious, all right?

Maybe this thing is exactly what we need.

Okay, yeah, this should be great.

Tell us more.

- What's so funny? - Rex called an emergency family meeting.

He had a theory?

Rex doesn't have theories.

He figured since this thing was drunk,

I mean, it was stumbling all over the place,

throwing up light pulses all over the yard,

this thing was hammered. He thought

that it would be easy to capture it.

Capture it? How? Why?

Like with ropes and a bucket, like Elmer Fudd.

Got it.

He wanted to take this poor, intoxicated creature

- and like tour the country with it. - Sell tickets.

The whiskey was crap, we weren't gonna sell that.

Dead or alive, we get this thing

and people will come from all over

and pay big bucks to see this freak.

It's not a freak, it's a living creature.

No, no, keep going, keep going.

And where's your husband at this point?

What's he think about all this?

Ian was starting to get desperate.

Desperate?

More desperate.

There he is.

What's he doing?

I don't know.

You really think this is gonna be enough?

Metal stops laser beams, Ian.

I'm just gonna wing it.

Yeah.

That poor drunken bastard won't remember a thing.

Now.

Oh, shit!

Rex!

"9 January, 1853."

Doctor Armstrong has noted a cosmic event,

"and the aurora has filled the northern sky."

Let's go to the forest and touch the caterpillars.

Do not touch them, they are pickled with poison.

"12 January,

boatswain John Boyle has fallen ill.

The doctor has recommended amputating parts of his feet."

I think us entering this statement as factual evidence

as opposed to diminished capacity motion is a big mistake.

Oh, shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Oh, shit. Oh, shit.

"13 January, 1853."

The ancient peoples looked through our eyes.

"A devil of discord seems to have fixed

his abode among us."

We know this version. It's not credible.

We need to manage the client and we need our own protection.

Fine, that's what I've been telling you.

Let's just go with the cup per did it in the pantry

with the letter opener, like Mr. Denbok said.

What are they doing?

Great, perfect. Let's just proceed from there.

Enough of the drunk ice mummies in the high Arctic.

Hollis Cameron was not of sound mind.

It's not that simple.

Don't do it, Rex.

Huh?

"14 January. 15 January.

My lot has been cast among half a hundred devils.

The fury of the captain was terrible.

16 January. Positively inhuman."

Is Diana here of sound mind?

Diana is not gonna tell that story.

"17 January.

A white pulse that us men of God

recognize as His holy fire."

No.

Fucking shoot it!

The madness consumed Hollis Cameron

and ended in the death of three people.

That's where we start.

And that's where we end.

Jesus Christ, Rex!

No!

Okay, but just humor me for a sec,

'cause I'd like to start here.

"9 January, 1853,

Dr. Armstrong has noted a cosmic event in the aurora

has filled the northern sky."

What's Miertsching describing here, Diana? Any ideas?

"I myself witnessed the thing come."

An unholy electric gargoyle fell through a column of light

that bound heaven unto hell to take up occupancy

"in the innocent vessel it found in John Boyle."

What did you do?

"A fiery bolt from the firmament came

to reside in John Boyle."

It is a mystery indeed, and the key to it, I fear,

lies within Miertsching's missing journal.

Missing, we know, because its mad author believed

it contained a revelation so searing, so hellish,

that the very words imperiled the soul of the reader.

Something strange happened at Mercy Bay.

Something burnt John Kerr alive,

and something took the body of John Boyle long before you three stooges did.

And I think that same something tore your father's leg off.

The same thing Ian shot at. Now, why did he shoot at it?

That wasn't part of the plan.

It got scary.

But no one was shot except for the...

I'm warning you, don't say ice mummy.

No, it wasn't an ice mummy. Good.

Because it has a name, doesn't it, Diana?

Ever heard of a Hyperborean?

You're on shaky ground here, Denbok.

Wikipedia's heard of a Hyperborean.

Despite of what you may think,

we hold controlling interest.

An unholy electric gargoyle.

That's what Miertsching called it.

This was no ice mummy.

"A race of superhumans living in the high Arctic,"

they appear over and over again through centuries, millennia.

The ancient Greeks described them.

Northern peoples encountered them.

They walked among the Gauls and the Thule Society believed

ice moons with frozen Aryan sperm

crashed into Atlantis in the North Sea,

which the Nazis decided was established scientific fact.

So what are all these people describing here?

Cosmic healers? Devils? Aliens?

Electric gargoyles?

No, no, do not shoot it. No.

Ladies and gentlemen...

I give you the Hyperborean.

Okay. We have to do something.

We have to whatever it takes.

We tried with you, Mr. Denbok, but fact is

you don't have the same protections you had under

Hollis Cameron, 'cause he died.

You've left us no choice.

As trustees of Cameron Holdings,

we are releasing you as an employee.

- Releasing? - You're fired!

You may leave.

Okay, fine, we'll leave. Patty, let's go.

You'll regret this. Your ties to the company are now cut!

Ms. Cameron, we'll be in touch.

You know you're not the first people to abandon the investigator.

Get it? That's what McClure and his crew did.

They abandoned the HMS Investigator.

Well, you're not an investigator anymore!

So don't add fraud to your growing list of problems,

Denbok!

Can they do that?

Sorry.

Do you want a job? I'm serious.

Did you meet a Hyperborean?

You met a Hyperborean.

We met a laser-blasting ice mummy from outer space.

For fuck's sake.

Did you see that?

We watched it leave.

It went up, straight up like a bolt of lightning

and then it came straight back down.

Ahh!

What was that?

It was an alien.

We could see that it had left our atmosphere.

There was this other light up there waiting for it.

And when the two lights met, the creature was knocked

back down to Earth.

Why would the light do that?

Because the Hyperborean was too drunk.

Wait, what are you saying?

The drunk driver got pulled over.

Dad? What happened?

It tried to leave. Couldn't get off the planet.

HMS fucking Investigator.

Huh!

Oh!

Well, well, well.

I wonder which government is gonna pay the most

to cut you up.

All right. Say goodbye, kid.

Ian... is dead.

Might as well make that 911 call now, Lovie.

Nope, everything's dead.

It wants to go home.

It wants to go home.

Hold up a second, guys.

I feel like I need to say a couple of words

to mark this occasion.

This night, we vanquished a creature from outer space.

It's a pretty big deal.

More importantly, the family is intact.

Y'all made it through. That means the world to me.

But, yes, we lost a couple of good men.

So I would like to take a moment now, please,

for my butter cup per... my butler cup per, Fontano.

Guys, we don't have a story to cover all this.

I'm not terribly worried about that.

'Cause any bullshit we come up with is gonna be

more believable than the fucking crap

that happened this night.

So we've got criminal exposure.

But I'm gonna get a couple of my very best criminal lawyers on this case.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Okay.

Your dad was a bit of an iceberg, wasn't he?

It just seems like whatever he had going on,

he always kept it just below the surface.

Hollis Cameron was a ruthless man.

He was cruel. He was a thief.

He came from a world that was cold and capitalistic.

He wasn't a saint.

No.

But he was kind of my dad.

Yeah. Kind of.

And I loved him.

Of course you did.

Can you take me to the water?

Your sister's illness...

What of it?

Makes you defensive to talk about.

My sister was fragile.

But I would never say she was weak.

And what did your father think?

I happen to know it consumed him.

There's one thing I still don't get.

And what's that?

Well, even if I buy all this stuff...

I still don't see what Hollis's endgame was.

He wanted to go out with a bang.

My father was a high roller with a huge pair of dice.

He didn't do endgames.

Mm, I don't know about that.

I don't really know how to preserve my father.

I don't know how to remember him.

Isn't there some way to save a small part of him?

You know, like the part that I can still remember?

The part that's just for me? I want that part.

I think we do that with everyone.

I just wish my family wasn't so ugly.

And whatever version gets out there

will probably just make us uglier.

And we'll deserve it.

That's maybe why you should work with the lawyers.

Aldous would know what to say.

It would be obnoxious and narcissistic,

and I know it wouldn't be the truth,

but he would have some spin.

No one would believe it, but at least he would move on.

I've been thinking all day about your...

your fourth birthday.

How excited we were, me and your mom,

that... that we had that... that year with you

we didn't expect to have.

In the morning she got up and ran to your room...

and you were gone.

We went downstairs and you were nowhere.

We looked out the kitchen window...

and we saw your shirt sitting beside the pool.

We were scared.

And then we went outside and we froze

because we didn't wanna see what was in the pool.

And then we heard the most amazing thing

I have ever heard in my life.

We heard you laugh.

And you were swimming!

But you didn't know how to swim.

There you were. It was like a...

it was like a miracle.

And we knew right there that you were gonna grow up.

You're gonna be a great mom.

I finished up with your siblings, by the way.

Yeah. Think they'll go to the lawyers?

Actually, I got the feeling that they'll listen to you.

Whatever it is you decide.

Were you serious?

About what?

Hiring me.

Sure, why not?

True or false. Ready?

Did you suffer from the chronic life-threatening illness

episodic PRAN disorder?

PRAN, EPD for short, but yes, true.

And do you currently suffer from EPD?

I do not. False.

And were you pregnant on the night of the murders?

Please, Diana, true or false?

True. What does this have to do with anything?

And are you pregnant now?

False. I'm not.

Okay, what if your dad really is the hero?

What if he planned this whole thing, and I mean everything?

I don't understand.

What's the news on the Hyperborean sea, sir?

I've made a big decision about

the holdings of Cameron Whiskey.

I've decided that

I'm gonna put everything, everything,

into this... this final project.

[Mr. Denbok] What if he knew that John Boyle's body

was in that barrel?

That it lay dormant, undead?

[Hollis] My daughter has a spinal fluid deficiency.

Have I ever told you that, Fontano?

Episodic PRAN disorder.

Right, exactly right. Exactly that.

And what if he knew it was actually a Hyperborean?

A creature from another realm with

extraordinary healing powers.

And he knew you, his daughter, the type of person that she was...

that this lost creature would reach out to you.

You, Diana. Not your brothers.

You.

Because you're kind and intelligent.

Pregnant and sick?

Exactly. That you would reach back.

What if Hollis Cameron put everything on the line

to find this being?

His company, his reputation.

I mean, he paid for it with his soul.

It was a long shot, a Hail Mary, but he risked everything

to save you, his daughter.

I really like that story.

How long do you have left to live?

A long time.

What's up?

Oh, God, guys! I'm really hungover.

Like bad. Oh.

That whiskey's fucking rank.

Where the hell's Fontano? I need a bath drawn.

Make me a tea.

Why is there a kid there?

Rex? Why is he looking at me?

I can't believe Dad's gone.

That means you're next in line for the family business, Rex.

Honestly, I don't want it anymore.

Do you?

But I know somebody who'd be great at it.

Either of you have any effects, you know,

from the mummy alien ass water?

A bit of a headache, but...

Actually, I... I feel great.

Like I feel the best I've ever felt in my entire life.

Hmm.