All language subtitles for 9A1915BBEA85E8B148D693AB1D90E9F7_eng

"When the gods wish to punish
us, they answer our prayers."

Oscar Wilde wrote that.

We didn't read that book.

Maybe we should have.

Harlow, Maine, is really not a
town but a village and still is,

although I've moved away.

There's a six-room elementary
and middle school house.

There's Howie's Market,

where they sell groceries
and Red Devil lotto tickets.

Gates Falls is the next
town over and bigger.

It has my dad's favorite
restaurant, Mondello's.

And we'd go there whenever
he won salesman of the month,

which used to be often
but now, not so much

since Mom died.

Harlow also has Castle
Lake and the Ledges,

where the pine needles
give way to bare rock,

which is New
England's ultimate truth.

But before I talk about
the big-money lottery ticket,

the shit show with Kenny
Yankovich, and everyone dying,

I should tell you about how I
happened to go to work for Mr. Harrigan.

It was because of church.

Second Samuel chapter
1, verses 19 and 20.

"The beauty of Israel is
slain upon the high places."

"How are the mighty fallen!"

"Tell it not in Gath,

publish it not in the
streets of Askelon."

"Lest the daughters of
the Philistines rejoice."

"Lest the daughters of
the uncircumcised triumph."

Thank you, Craig.

Pretty nice, huh?

I'm so glad you're
here this morning...

Since that day, I've wondered

what if...

and why me.

Why did he choose me?

John Harrigan was the richest
guy in Maine. A billionaire.

I wonder if I can have
a word with your son.

His eyes were failing,

and he wanted to hire
someone to read books to him.

There were other kids,
older kids, better readers.

Was it because he knew five
dollars an hour would be attractive

to a boy looking for any chance
to get out of a lonely house?

Or something else,

something I'd have to discover?

Hi, my name is...

I know who you are.

All the way back
and to the right.

"...for passion
alone is awake to it."

"And when passion
is dead or absent,

then the magnificent throb
of beauty is incomprehensible

and even a little despicable."

"Warm, live beauty of contact, so
much deeper than the beauty of wisdom."

"'What is money, after all?'"

"'I mean, Papa,
what can it do?'"

"Mr. Dombey drew his
chair back to its former place

and patted him on the head."

"'You'll know better by
and by, my man, ' he said."

"'Money, Paul,
can do anything.'"

As much as I missed her,

my father missed her even more.

Without her around, he
seemed sad and hollow.

I had this weird kid thing.

Like, somehow, my
mom's death was my fault.

That I was responsible for it.

That I controlled it.

And if I controlled it...

I could have stopped it.

- What are you doing?
- Um, it's nothing, sorry.

It doesn't concern you.

Do you have a question?

If you do, I will answer it.

What's in the closet?

Secrets.

Terrible secrets.

"Did he live his life again in
every detail of desire, temptation,

and surrender during that supreme
moment of complete knowledge?"

"He cried in a whisper at
some image, at some vision."

"He cried out twice."

"A cry that was no
more than a breath."

"'The horror. The horror.'"

"'The horror.'"

"'The horror.'"

Do you understand
what you just read?

Do you understand
what Conrad is saying?

I think I do.

Mm.

It is payday, Craig.

Thank you.

Do you ever read
when I'm not here?

Yes, I read this.

Aren't they kinda boring?

"Boring"?

I find finance exhilarating.

Do you remember Dombey and Son?

Second book we read. I read.

Dombey was trying to help his son
understand that the true value of money

is not measured in worth.

The true value of money

is measured in power.

But the boy, Paul, he asked,

"Why didn't money save
my mama?" or something.

And he asked his
father if money was cruel.

It can be cruel
if used properly.

John Harrigan wasn't well-liked.

He'd never been married,
never had children,

and had no connection to
whatever family he had left.

Maybe that's why
he seemed so lonely.

Maybe he took that
loneliness out on others.

It was a feeling I understood.

You know, your mom thought
that playing the lotto was gambling.

If she knew I was letting you work
with Harrigan and scratching Red Devils,

she'd roll over in her grave.

All right. Go ahead.

- Where you going?
- Gonna use my lucky dime.

That was the first.

But from that day on,

I could count on four envelopes
hand-addressed to me each year.

Valentine's Day, my
birthday in September,

Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

Zilch.

He's a cheapster. Pays you cheap
wages. Gives you a cheap bonus.

A one-dollar Red Devil
ticket from Howie's?

So, what you said earlier about
Mom, what does that really mean?

What?

Roll over in your grave.

Oh, um...

It's just an old saying. Um...

I guess it just means once a
person has been laid to rest,

they shouldn't worry
about things above ground

in the living world.

Okay.

"'All right, kids, ' Rocky
said into the microphone."

"'A little sprint before
the rest of the period.'"

"'Give, '" he said
to the orchestra,

clapping his hands together
and stamping on the platform,

keeping time to the music."

"In a moment, the customers
were clapping their hands together

and stamping too."

"We were all milling around
in the middle of the floor,

all of us watching the
minute hand of the clock,

when suddenly, Kid
Kamm, of couple number 18,

began slapping his
partner on the cheek."

"He was holding her
up with his left hand,

slapping her backwards and
forwards with his right hand."

"But she did not respond.
She was dead to the world."

"She gurgled a
couple of times..."

"...and then slid to the floor."

"The floor judge
blew his whistle,

and all the customers
jumped to their feet, excited."

"Customers at a marathon dance
do not have to be prepared..."

That's enough.

The first time we read this, I
didn't quite understand the title.

And what does it
mean to you now?

Um, that if horses in pain
can be put out of their misery,

why can't humans be
afforded the same gift?

The gift of death.

To nevermore feel pain

or fret

or worry.

I'd been reading to him three
times a week for five years

and only missed once

when I had an achy spring flu.

I felt bad about missing
because I'd begun to wonder

if our time together was
the high point of his week,

giving him something to look
forward to, something to live for.

As a rite of passage,
all Harlow kids

go to Gates Falls for high school
since Harlow doesn't have one.

Billy Ueberroth's older brother, Mike,
or U-Boat, as everybody called him...

...had already been in the
deep end, came out unscathed,

and had agreed to show
us the ropes if we paid him.

Sweet.

Boys and girls, time to show
you where the bodies are buried.

And stop.

Give me your eyes and ears.

Dangers lie ahead.

Now on your left...

Don't stare. Don't
venture over there

unless you're looking for a
black eye, lung cancer, or a tattoo.

You see, hazing is
forbidden at Gates Falls High,

but that doesn't
mean it don't happen.

You're gonna have to steel yourself.
Acquire a cold eye and a mean look.

Don't take any shit

or your years here will
be hell. It's just like prison.

Do your time under the radar.

Thanks, U-Boat!

And don't think all this
doesn't apply to you, Margie.

Those senior girls
are mean as pythons.

They don't strike at once

but enjoy squeezing the life out
of you over the course of the year.

Don't ever go in there.

Last stop on the tour.

The cafeteria. This is where
the popular kids hang out.

They all have smartphones.

Motorola Razer. Samsung
table over there in the corner.

And that is the Apple table.

What...

iPhones just came out.
How did they get them?

Because they're
the popular kids.

We gotta get phones.

When you grow up in a small town

and are suddenly
exposed to an alien world,

your universe expands.

You see strange
and different faces.

Some of them are friendly,

but others, sometimes others
seem drawn to you in a dark way,

to not like you
and for no reason.

Hey! How you doing? I
saw you earlier, Short Bus.

Take it.

Look inside.

Shoe polish?

Every freshman shines. You're
gonna shine mine on the shitter.

- I have to get to class.
- No, not until you shine my boots.

- No.
- No is a mistake you don't wanna make.

Shine my boots, or I feed
this can of polish to you.

Boys.

Is there a problem here?

No. All good.

What's in the bag? It wouldn't
happen to be a hazing kit, would it?

No.

- I gotta get to class.
- Wait.

- What's your name?
- Um, Craig.

What's in the bag, Craig?

Um...

It's...

half a sandwich.

He was asking me if I wanted it.

Hmm.

Okay.

You're gonna regret this.

I just saved your ass. You
should be saying thank you.

Fuck your thanks, new boy.

- You don't know me. What did I do to you?
- You tried to show me up.

You just should've
shined, Short Bus.

You should've shined.

Hey, there he is.

First day of high
school. How was it?

Good.

That's it? Just good?

Okay, it was great.

You have, uh, all
the right supplies?

Yeah.

- What about your teachers? You like 'em?
- Good, Dad. It's all good. Okay?

Yeah, okay.

Well, if you... you
need anything, just, uh...

All right.

Dad.

Yeah.

Can I get a cell phone?

What do you need
a cell phone for?

For instance, I needed
help or I needed to call 911.

We live in a town so small, you
can shout, and they'll show up.

Okay.

"Jurgis would find out these things
for himself if he stayed long enough."

"It was the men who
had to do all the dirty jobs,

and so there was
no deceiving them."

"And they caught the spirit of
the place and did like all the rest."

"Jurgis had come there

and thought he was going
to make himself useful, rise,

and become a skilled man,

but he would soon
find out his error,

for nobody rose in Packingtown
by doing good work."

Enough! E...

I had forgotten how much I
despised that socialist claptrap.

So, you think that Sinclair was
wrong and that you can get ahead

by doing good work
and following the rules?

Craig, Craig, Craig.

Don't misunderstand.

I admire hard work.

I love smart work.

You have to be fiercely
competitive to survive.

To be first, you
have to be bold.

You have to be ruthless.

Don't ask for what you need.

Ask for... No, no! Don't ask.

Demand what you want.

- Mr. Harrigan.
- Yes?

In your life, has anyone
ever tried to bully you

or take advantage of you?

At work, I mean.

Every single day.

And how'd you deal with that?

Harshly.

Look at that.

Wow!

That is...

Huh? I'll... I'll wear it next
time we go to Mondello's.

Hey, uh, you got a couple too.

Open the small one
first. Save mine for last.

Mr. Harrigan.

Gosh, I wonder what it could be.

Surprise.

- Be right back.
- Yeah.

I won!

- Oh, really? How much?
- You're not gonna believe it.

A million.

$3,000!

That's... that...
that's a winner.

That... that's gonna
be a tough gift to beat.

Um, maybe you
should've opened mine first.

Um...

- Yeah.
- Dad.

Hey.

You're welcome, son.

The girl at the store helped me out.
It's all set up, charged, ready to go.

Who you gonna call first?

Mm-mmm.

Hello?

Merry Christmas, Mr. Harrigan.

- Craig? - It's Craig, yeah.

Where are you? It sounds like
you're on the other side of the moon.

I'm actually on my cell phone.

Oh no. They're
filled with radiation.

How may I help?

I was just calling to tell you that
your gift, the scratch-off, I won.

I won $3,000.

Oh, good.

Well, one of those
things finally paid off.

Thank you.

Um, it was nice of
you to give it to me.

It was nothing, you know? Um...

I... I hand them out to friends.

Is that all, Craig?

Yeah, I suppose so.

Merry Christmas.

All right. Merry...

Man, being back
after a holiday sucks.

- What's your hurry, Craig?
- Yeah, where are you going?

What?

- You're shitting me!
- No.

No.

Margie, Billy, and U-Boat all
got phones shortly thereafter,

though I had the only iPhone, and
Billy and U-Boat had to share a Razer.

Thanks.

Craig, there's something I've been
meaning to speak with you about.

We've had this arrangement
for a long, long time.

And it strikes me that you
are a far different person now

from who you were
when we started.

My question is,

why do you continue
to come here?

Do you want me to stop?

No, no, no.

Then, what?

Surely there are
sports clubs and girls

who could better
occupy your time.

And yet, here you
are three days a week.

Why?

Is it out of some
sense of obligation?

Not at all. No.

Well, then, why?

Because I enjoy
our time together.

Why?

I come here because I...

I like the smell of your books.

I come here because I love our talks. I
come here because, when I read out loud,

it gives me a sense of power that
I don't have outside of this room.

I come here because I want to.

I'll see you Thursday.

I know what I wanna
do with the lotto money.

That money is going into the
college fund like we agreed.

Well, you said most of it was
going into the college fund.

How often do I buy things?

Almost never.

Well, I know what I
wanna do with the rest of it.

- Afternoon, Pete.
- Afternoon.

- Hi, Edna.
- Hello, boy.

Thank you.

There you are.

- Mr. Harrigan, I brought you something.
- I don't need anything.

Thank you.

I appreciate the sentiment.

But, no.

- I suggest you give this to your father.
- He told me you'd say that.

A wise man, he.

Henry David Thoreau said,

"We don't own
things. Things own us."

I don't have a television

because if I did, I would
spend my time watching it.

I have a radio in the car, but I
don't have a radio in the house,

even though I like a bit of country
and western from time to time.

And if I had that, I
would waste more time.

- Okay, let me just...
- No, no, no.

I'm beginning to wish that that
scratch ticket had not been a winner.

- You see these?
- Mm-hmm.

These are called icons.

This one is for
the stock market.

I have a subscription to
the Wall Street Journal.

Right, but the Wall
Street Journal can't do this.

- Are those numbers in real time?
- Yup.

Well, they might be a
minute or two behind, I guess.

I'll be darned.

I mean, it's like having
your own stock ticker,

like the magnates used
to have in their mansions.

Yeah. And if you wanna
read the Journal or Forbes

or... or anything
like that, you can.

"Barton Instruments
announces closings."

It's not in here.

'Cause that's yesterday's.

You get it a day late. Everyone
does. But this, this is today's.

I've been arrogant, Craig.

I am going to
keep this, after all.

For a while anyway.

I'm glad.

Could you bring me
the phone from the desk?

Well, you can use this to call.

- Yes?
- Yeah.

It's what it's mostly for.

You just dial the number that
you want. Touch it with your fingers.

- And you have four bars.
- "Bars"?

'Cause of the new
cell tower. Never mind.

- Is that better?
- Yeah, that's good.

Chick.

It's John Harrigan.

I have a cell phone now.

I want to make an
adjustment to my portfolio.

Yes.

Well? Did he like it?

No.

I warned you.

He loved it.

And I can set an alarm...

Each visit, before I read, I'd teach
him new ways to use his phone.

I introduced him
to the Internet,

to Yahoo!, and Google.

Taught him how to text,
how to create a voice mail...

I'm not answering my phone now.

I will call you back if
it seems appropriate.

All right?

I'm not answering my phone now.

I will call you back if
it seems appropriate.

- I'm not sure I'd want you to call back.
- Perfect.

...and even how to
personalize his phone.

- Let's give you a handle.
- Handle?

No. A handle's like a nickname.

So when you call me or text me, that's
the name that pops up on my phone.

You want me to
give me a nickname?

Maybe it could be something
that other people call you. Here.

Newspapers used to call me this.

It was not meant
as a compliment.

Pirate King. Wicked. Has
anyone called you yet?

No. Sales pitches
and wrong numbers.

I could not abide the
sound of that xylophone.

Let's give you another ringtone.

Uh...

- Better?
- Yeah, better.

- I still won't answer it.
- Even if it's me?

How would I know?

- You like country and western, right?
- I do.

- What's your favorite song?
- There are so many.

Tammy Wynette.
"Stand By Your Man."

Ringtones.

Yeah. That's lovely.

Listen to it.

I can do this.

There. "Stand By Your
Man." Okay. Here you go.

Okay. Now call me. I'm
in your favorites there.

Yeah. Now we know
when the other is calling.

Yes. Good.

All right. What
should we read today?

You all right?

No.

No. There's
something troubling me.

Maybe you can explain it.

I've been reading articles on
this phone for a month now.

And they've all been free.

- Yeah?
- No.

I'm reading something for free
that people pay good money for.

It's great, right?

No, it's not!

Giving information away

runs counter to everything I understand
about successful business practices.

The World Wide Web is
like a broken water main,

but instead of water, it's spewing
information every which way.

I don't understand. Is
it a come-on or what?

I'm asking, Craig.

Kind of like the Fryeburg Fair,

where the first
game is usually free.

And we're still
on the first game.

Fryeburg Fair.

And there are no
advertisements on these sites.

Ads are the lifeblood
of newspapers.

How will they survive?

I don't think this is a come-on.

I think it's a gateway drug.

I've already noticed

that my Google search responses
are on the side of financial information.

It knows what I want.

What's gonna happen when
they close the water main?

No more freebies.

Oh, and false information becomes
common and accepted as true.

And what happens
when they start using this

to spread more nonsense
than is already out there?

Newspapers,
journalists, politicians...

All of us need to be very
frightened by this gizmo.

Hmm.

I'll go help Pete.

He stared at his phone
like it was a Magic 8 Ball.

And on that day, in
a matter of seconds,

Mr. Harrigan
predicted the future.

The future of the Internet, the
future of news, of fake news,

social media, of
paywalls and spam,

of Julian Assange and
Edward Snowden, and the world.

Good morning, Craig.

Oh, good morning, Ms. Hart.

Is that a smartphone?

Yes, it's an iPhone.

Okay, I see you, rich kid.

- Do you wanna see mine?
- Sure.

It's really cool.
It's got this huge...

Oh...

Oh, that's right.
I don't have one.

Um...

Can I see yours?

Um, okay.

Thank you.

Whoa.

Neat.

Heads up.

"But that is the
beginning of a new story."

"The story of the gradual
renewal of a man."

"The story of his
gradual regeneration,

of his passing from
one world into another,

of his initiation into
a new unknown life."

"That might be the subject of a new
story, but our present story is ended."

Apologies.

Get thee behind me, Satan.

Well done.

I do enjoy the occasional
bleak Russian novel.

Would you go in the center drawer of
my desk and retrieve my checkbook?

Thank you.

Find it?

Thank you.

That's new. The tank.
Is everything okay?

So I use it at night mostly.

There's something I
always wanted to ask you.

Mm.

Why did you move here?

To Harlow?

You could live anywhere.

As someone who's lived
in the city his entire life,

I wanted to live in the country.

I looked at many places,
and finally, I settled here.

There are views,

but none of them
are spectacular.

Spectacular views
attract people.

And I do not much like people.

No one asks things of me.

I wanted a place...

where no one asked things of me.

Because when they do,

I almost invariably answer.

And you, is there a place other
than here where you would like to live?

Um, maybe Los Angeles.

Maybe I could
write for the movies.

Well, I suppose
someone has to do it.

And would you long for home,

to see your father's face or put
flowers on your mother's grave?

Yeah. I... I would come
back every once in a while.

Well, if you do go to
that godforsaken place

and enter that enterprise,

know that it is
difficult and unfair,

and you will make enemies.

Lord knows I did.

Yeah, I know.

Craig, I need you to
promise me something.

Okay.

When you cross their path,

you will dispatch
them with haste.

These enemies.

Dispatch.

With haste.

And feel not one iota of
guilt for having done so.

Promise me.

Promise me!

Okay.

I promise you.

All right.

Thank you, Mr. Harrigan.

My pleasure, Craig.

All of it.

I found him both
terrifying and exciting.

Even in his weakened
state, he had power.

He may have even been dangerous.

But I was his friend.

He said it.

And judging from the untouched
scratch-offs in his drawer,

I don't think he had too many.

Mr. Harrigan?

Mr. Harrigan?

Mr. Harrigan?

Sir?

Will you excuse
me? This is my son.

Craig?

It's Mr. Harrigan. I think...

I think he's dead.

- He's not breathing. I think he's...
- Where are the housekeepers?

It's Tuesday.

They're... they're not here.

Okay, listen to me.

Uh, you just wait there.

Go ahead and wait outside,
and I'll call an ambulance, okay?

"It was the best of times."

"It was the worst of times."

"It was the age of wisdom, and
it was the age of foolishness."

"It was the epoch of belief."

"It was the epoch
of incredulity."

"It was the season of Light. It
was the season of Darkness."

"It was the spring of hope,
and it was the winter of despair."

"We had everything before us,
and we had nothing before us."

"We were all going
direct to heaven."

"We were all going
direct the other way."

I'm gonna go to bed.

Shit.

"Let all bitterness, and wrath, and
anger, and clamor, and evil speaking

be put away from
you with all malice."

"And be ye kind one to another,

tenderhearted,
forgiving one another,

even as God, for Christ's
sake, hath forgiven you."

Wanna take a last look?

I wanna wait. I wanna be last.

Take your time. I'll
meet you outside.

He was wearing a suit
I'd never seen before,

and the funeral guy had rouged
him up a bit so he'd look healthy,

except healthy people don't
lie in coffins with their eyes shut.

Many, who've come
from far and wide,

respected John's...

Mr. Harrigan was buried
very near my mother.

I'd only been to her grave once.

Dad visited her weekly,
but I stayed away.

I guess because
if I did visit...

I'd know she was gone forever.

John Harrigan was
a tough shell to crack,

but I knew he was a fair man.

I wonder if he'd be surprised
that people showed up today.

Excuse me. You're Craig, right?

Yes, sir.

I'm Chick Rafferty. I handle...
handled John Harrigan's finances.

I was hoping to
have a quick chat.

It concerns you having
something of Mr. Harrigan's.

Uh, I...

You should hear from
his lawyers in a week or so.

- Am I in trouble?
- Yeah. What is this about?

Don't worry. It's a good thing.

Well, this should
explain it all.

I received it two months ago

and was instructed to hold it
until such an occasion as this.

Well, have a good day.

What?

I think you might
be in the will.

Should I open it now?

"Craig, if you're
reading this, I've died."

"I have left you
$800,000 in trust."

"The trustees are your
father and Charles Rafferty."

"My business manager will
now serve as my executor."

"I calculate the sum
should be sufficient

to see you through
four years of college..."

...and any postgraduate
work you may choose.

Enough should remain to give
you a start in your chosen career.

You spoke of screenwriting,
and if it's what you want,

then, of course, you must pursue
it but know that I do not approve.

There is a vulgar joke
about screenwriters.

I will not repeat it here,

but by all means,
find it on your phone.

Keywords "screenwriter"
and "starlet."

Films are ephemeral, while books,
good ones, are eternal or close to it.

"You have read me many good ones,
but others are waiting to be written."

"This is all I will say."

"Even with school expenses, your
800,000 may grow to a million or more

by the time you reach the age
of 26, when the trust will expire,

and you can spend or
invest the rest as you choose."

"PS. I will miss our
afternoons together too."

What is it?

You look like
you've seen a ghost.

I'm not answering my phone now.

I will call you back if
it seems appropriate.

I miss you, Mr. Harrigan.

I appreciate all the
money that you gave me,

but I'd give it back to
have you still around.

I know that probably
sounds like a lie, but it's not.

It really isn't.

You up?

- Yeah.
- Making breakfast.

Dad!

He's not dead. Mr. Harrigan,
not at 2:30 this morning.

- "C-C-C."
- We gotta dig him up.

- We buried him alive.
- What are you talking about?

We have to get somebody out
there. We have to get bulldozers and...

Craig, stop. Stop.
What... what is going on?

- I put his phone in his casket.
- Why did you put his phone in the casket?

I know I shouldn't have done it. I
know it's creepy, but I did. Now this.

Yeah, well, gotta be
an explanation for this.

Somebody hacked his
phone. They... they cloned it.

They're just playing a
practical joke on you.

If it's a practical joke, why
isn't it something funny like,

Uh, "Help, I'm
trapped in a box"?

That actually is funny.

Why is it two A's and my initial
three times? Doesn't make any sense.

We have to go. We
have to check on him.

No, we don't, and
I'm gonna tell you why.

- Sit down.
- No.

Craig, sit down.

John Harrigan died unattended.

And because of this,
there was an autopsy,

which is how they found
out he died of heart disease.

They cut him open?

Yeah.

I don't like telling you that. I don't
want that preying on your mind.

But it's better than having you
think that he was buried alive?

He wasn't. He
couldn't have been.

He's dead.

You understand?

Yes.

What are you doing here, boy?

Thank you.

Are you all right, Craig?

Yes.

He said he was gonna
leave you something.

- Did he?
- He did.

He was very generous.

Took care of me and Pete too.

Yeah. He was a...

he was a good man, wasn't he?

He was square-dealing, but you
didn't wanna be on his bad side.

What do you mean?

You remember Dusty Bilodeau?

Bilodeaus that lived over
at Black Bear Trailer Park.

Oh, I've seen it.
What about him?

He was the gardener afore Pete
but wasn't eight months on the job

when Mr. Harrigan caught
him stealing and fired his butt.

Dusty didn't apologize. Just
left. Thought that was the end of it.

It wasn't.

What happened to him?
What happened to Dusty?

I've said enough.

Is there anything you want from the
house? Something to remember him by?

Um...

I don't know. An orchid, maybe?

Yes, dear.

Take an orchid.

Chick Rafferty kept Edna and
Pete on to keep up the place.

A "for sale" sign from a
Portland realty company went up,

and a few people came to look.

After all the turmoil
with the hacked phone,

the world slowed
down a bit for me.

School was fine, and I
even enjoyed my classes.

Ms. Hart taught the sciences,

and she was the best
teacher at the school.

Can anyone tell me
where the majority of our...

Craig.

Marine life contributes
70% of our oxygen.

That's right.

You're 100% right.

Kenny Yankovich got expelled the
final time for selling pot on campus.

He thought I ratted
on him, but I didn't.

Though I can't say I wasn't
happy not to see him every day.

Like most places, Gates
Falls High had school functions.

And the one at the end of the
first semester was the winter dance.

One of those Sadie Hawkins kind
of deals where the girls ask the boys.

I had a gut feeling
Margie was gonna ask me,

but I didn't like her,
you know, like that.

So I was hoping to
get another invite.

- I have to use the ladies' room.
- I'll walk with you.

We have two more
songs for you tonight.

I'll wait for you.

You're a dead man.

What are you doing?

- Get off of me.
- I'm gonna kill you.

- I know it was you who narced on me!
- Wasn't me...

Why? Why? Why did you
have to do that, man? Why?

Now I have to kick your ass.

I didn't wanna hurt you.

But...

If you tell anyone
about this, you're dead.

Craig!

Okay, there we go.

Regina, go to the gym and tell
Mr. Taylor I'll be back in ten minutes.

Have him call Craig's father.

You know I gotta report
this, right? Was it Yankovich?

It wasn't Kenny,

which is good.

See, if it was him, I
bet he'd get arrested

'cause he's already expelled.

Then there'd be a trial, and
then I'd have to go into court,

and everyone would know.

And what happens when
he beats the next person up?

Hold it.

I just wanna get by.

You know what,
Craig? I think you will.

Okay. Let me get this lip.

Come here.

You're not... Ouch.

Sorry.

You're not from here, are you?

I'm from Boston.

Well, Lowell, but I went
to college in Boston.

Where?

Emerson.

What's up?

No, nothing. Just...
you smell good.

- It's just soap.
- Okay.

Yeah, it's Booth Bay soap.
You can find it in Gates Falls.

It's really nice. You
should grab some for your...

I mean, you can
get it for anyone, so...

Thank you.

For cleaning me up
and talking to me and...

...making high school
almost tolerable.

I owe you.

No, you don't owe me anything.

I do.

I really do.

Who did it, Craig?

Can we not do this, Dad?

I'm fine.

Yeah, well...

You gotta talk to
someone about this, Craig.

Mr. Harrigan, it's me, Craig.

And I know you won't hear this,
but something happened tonight,

and I just wanted to...

I just needed to
talk to somebody.

I got beat up pretty bad

by this big, stupid, dumb
idiot named Kenny Yankovich.

But I did what I promised you.

I...

I dispatched him.

You know? I tried to, at least.

Um...

But it was a good punch.

Good enough that I'm
afraid he'll come at me again.

I'm honestly pretty
afraid that this won't end,

and I wish that you were here
to just give me some advice.

I know it seems pretty obvious,

but that was the first time
it struck me that everybody,

even assholes, have parents,
families who miss them,

cry for them.

I stupidly thought that grief
was somehow special to me.

The obituary for
Kenneth James Yankovich

wasn't in the Gates Falls
Tribune until Tuesday.

And all it said was,

"Passed away suddenly as
a result of a tragic accident."

Bye, Ms. Hart.

- Craig.
- Hmm?

- Oh.
- No, wait a minute.

No, I got class.

I'll write you a note.

Where are you today?

Here.

Not really.

Is this about Kenny?

Craig,

if you're thinking you had
something to do with his death,

I've seen his records.

Kenny was sadly a kid
with serious problems.

Home problems, school problems.

He had psychological problems.

I don't know what happened,

but it had nothing
to do with you.

Okay, go ahead.
You'll make your class.

Craig.

I can never be glad
when a child dies.

But I can be glad it wasn't you.

Ms. Hart, do you... do
you believe in ghosts?

Um...

Well, I suppose you
wouldn't, being a scientist.

I'm a teacher, not a scientist.

I know, but you
know what I mean.

I don't like to think
about that kind of stuff.

You know, I would never attend a
séance or mess around with a Ouija board,

trying to summon the dead.

How come?

My grandma always used to say,

"A person shouldn't call out
unless they want an answer...

because not all
ghosts are holy."

Craig, you gotta
go. You got a class.

They ain't home.

Is this the Bilodeaus'?

I suppose it is.

Um, well, do you know
when they'll be back?

Not likely soon.

I was looking for
Dusty Bilodeau.

Here were where they found him.

"Where they found him"?

Lost his job working
for some rich asshole.

Fired. Had to go on the dole.

Spent a year looking for work,

then drove his truck
into that thresher garage,

lowered the door,
and cranked her up.

He painted that
before he went inside.

Nobody could
figure what it meant.

Phones that haven't been charged
can't ring, and they can't play messages.

And they can't text back.

But it did.

You did.

I need to know
something, Mr. Harrigan.

I need to know if you had anything
to do with Kenny Yankovich dying.

I know I told you that I was
afraid, but I didn't want him to die.

This is crazy.

If you did have anything
to do with him dying, then...

knock on my wall.

Knock on my wall three times.

Craig.

If I tell you something,
can you keep it between us?

I mean, you have to, right?
It's, like, a rule of some kind.

Your father's right, of course.

Your phone was hacked.
Somebody's messing with you.

Your teacher is right too.

I'm good friends
with Father Ingersoll.

St. Anne's over in Gates Falls.

That's the church where
Kenny was baptized.

He told me about the accident.
The details of the accident.

Kenny tried to sneak out late at
night from his second-story bedroom.

He'd been drinking heavily.

They think he slipped
on the roof and fell.

It was a tragic
accident. That's all.

Snapped his neck on impact.

You know, I think it's time

that you examine your
relationship to your phone.

You remember
reading Matthew 5:30?

"And if thy right hand offend
thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee

for it is profitable for thee that
one of thy members should perish...

and not that thy whole
body should be cast into hell."

- Hi, how can I help you?
- I need to get rid of my phone.

Okay.

You're gonna love this baby.

I'm actually only upgrading
'cause I got some strange texts.

Did you know the sender?

Yeah, I did, but,
um, he's not around.

The first iPhones had some
weird glitches. Rushed production.

My guess is that the messages
somehow got stuck in the software

and would occasionally pop up.

Call it a ghost in the machine.

But not a holy one.

Huh?

Nothing.

All right. Your
number's the same.

I've transferred your contacts and info
from your old phone to your new one.

- All of them?
- Yeah.

- You can delete the ones you don't need.
- Okay.

As for your old phone, we do
have a charitable program here.

We completely erase
it, scrub it, and donate it

to people who need new cell
phones but can't afford them.

Okay. Um...

No, actually, um,

I'll... I'll donate it myself.

- My little sister needs one.
- Okay.

Thank you, God.

You can hide things, but

they're not gone, not really.

They follow you, whisper in your
ear, making sure that you don't forget,

that you continue to question.

I wondered where the
Yankovich family moved to

and if they still grieved.

I wondered if the old house made
noises with no one there to hear.

Calling out, echoes.

I wondered if
Mr. Harrigan missed me.

I wondered who I would become

and whether what I'd done would
leave a mark on me, defining me.

I got in.

I wondered if anyone
would ever know.

I hope not.

- Got your AAA card?
- Yup.

And, uh, new mailing
address is on the kitchen table?

Yeah.

Make sure you set up an
account at the bookstore.

And do it soon in case
they run low on supplies.

Okay, I will.

Winter coats.

No, I'll be back,
Dad, before winter.

Gonna be okay?

Yeah.

I'm just so happy
for you, buddy.

Thanks, Dad.

I love you.

I love you too, buddy.

Okay.

- Call me if you need anything.
- I will. I will.

Someone once said that
you never really leave home

but that you take it with
you wherever you go.

Personally, I hope that
wasn't completely true

as there were some things I
really wish would stay at home

and not follow me to Boston,

which was two hours and
a million miles from Harlow.

I got a writing
scholarship to Emerson,

which had a great
journalism program.

- Yeah.
- Hey.

Are you Craig?

My freshman roommate
was Julian Summers, from LA.

Studying drama.
Wanted to be a movie star.

...is the most important
thing that you can do.

I dug right in and studied hard.

I felt like I owed
that to my dad.

And, of course, to Mr. Harrigan.

Hey, Craig, take a
quick look at this for me.

Should the photo
be below the byline?

Near the top is more
journalistic, don't you think?

- Yeah, probably. Thank you.
- Yeah.

- How do you listen to this shit?
- A friend turned me on to it.

Some friend. Spin the
dial, dude. Seriously.

- Hey, Dad. - Hey, buddy.

- What's going on?
- I've got some really bad news.

The headline read, "Beloved
teacher killed in Vermont."

And the opening line
said, "Victoria Corrales Hart,

a biology teacher at
Gates Falls High School,

was killed Sunday in
a head-on collision."

Since I left, Ms. Hart
had gotten engaged.

And that's who was with
her that day, her fiancé.

They had taken a long weekend
to visit the town of Chester,

stay in a cabin retreat,
and soak up some autumn.

They were on their way back and
almost to the New Hampshire border

when they approached Deane
Whitmore of Waltham, Massachusetts.

Oh!

Where's her fiancé?

He's still in the hospital.
Gonna be there a while.

I heard the asshole
that did this was so drunk

that he walked away
without a scrape.

Guy had four drunk driving
arrests and no current license.

He better not get
away with this.

He won't.

The four-year prison
sentence will be suspended

if the defendant agrees
to rehab for six months.

But he did.

He did get away with it.

Deane Whitmore was
sent to a rehab center

that was more like a
country club than a prison.

Mr. Harrigan.

There's a man named
Deane Whitmore

who killed a teacher of
mine from high school.

He was drunk

and crashed into Ms.
Hart and her fiancé.

She was a good person.

She helped me
when I needed help,

and he didn't get
what he deserved.

I want him dead.

As soon as I hung up the
phone, I regretted making the call.

I felt guilty.

I was guilty.

I told myself it was
crazy to even think about.

That it was impossible.

That nothing would
happen to Deane Whitmore.

That I should let it go.

Hi.

What do you want?

I work for a
newspaper in Boston.

I was hoping to get some information
on someone who's being treated here.

Go to the front. Ask in there.

Deane Whitmore.

Yeah.

I wanna know how he died.

I'd be willing to pay
$100 for some information.

200.

He killed himself.

- How?
- In the shower.

How?

You sure you wanna hear this?

Yes.

Each guest has their own
room, their own shower.

It's nice. Real lux.

- Way better than where I live, for sure.
- How?

Choked himself to death.

Before breakfast,

he chugged down some
shampoo to grease the runway.

Then he took a fancy bar
of soap and broke it in two.

Dropped half on the floor

and crammed the other
half down his throat.

You said fancy soap.

Starts with a B.

Booth Bay?

Yeah, that's it. That's
it. How'd you know?

Did he write a suicide note?

Sort of. Piece of
paper. One line.

What'd it say?

It was kind of sweet,
actually. A bit of a prayer.

It was, um, "keep
giving all the love..."

"...love you can."
It's not a prayer.

It's not?

It's lyrics to a song.

When you fall, even
if you see it coming,

even if you willed it to happen,

it still shocks you.

There's no bottom.

No end.

You just fall.

"The horror."

"The horror."

After you died, I
went into your closet.

The secret closet.

It's not terrible at
all. Just memories.

Your secrets are my secrets.

That's why you chose me to read.

Your mother died
when you were a boy.

Just like me.

You knew what
loneliness felt like.

What it feels like.

Just like me.

I think that's why you
tried to stay in touch.

It took a while, but I
figured it out, Mr. Harrigan,

what you were trying
to tell me in your texts.

Um...

C-C-C

S-T...

means, "Craig, stop,"

doesn't it?

Are you telling me to stop

because I'm hurting you?

If that is the case, that it's
hurting you, then I'm sorry.

I'm really sorry.

Or are you saying stop
because I'm hurting myself?

Is it just you looking
out because you care?

If that's it, then...

thank you.

Thank you.

You can rest now, Mr. Harrigan.

I'm sorry, Mom.

I'm so sorry.

In the 21st century,

I think our phones are how
we are wedded to the world.

If so, it's probably
a bad marriage.

There are a great many
things I'm not sure of anymore.

Reality itself, for a start.

I do know one thing, however, and
it's as solid as New England rock.

When I die,

when it's my time to go...

I wanna be buried
with empty pockets.