All language subtitles for Bones S04E21 - Mayhem on a Cross [YIFY]

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BRENNAN:
Norway?

SAROYAN: We don't have enough
crucified corpses of our own?

Now the Vikings
are sending them?

EDISON: The annual murder
rate in Norway is 0.7.

Less than one
murder a year?

In that case, they should solve
the ones they have

or they'll never get any
practice. The victim is American.

Still, if a Norwegian was murdered
here, we'd conduct the investigation.

But the Norwegians say the victim died
here and then got shipped to Norway.

What's their evidence? Nothing
forensic. It's just police work.

The remains were found in the possession
of a Norwegian black metal band.

What's black metal?
I don't know; it's Norwegian.

Whole different kind of black.

Apparently it's a
genre of heavy metal

featuring macabre imagery
of death and horrific violence.

Skalle.

That's the name of the band
-- Skalle. Oh, it means "skull."

You speak Norwegian? No, I'm
a forensic anthropologist.

I know how to say "skull"
in just about every language.

Well, Skalle...
"Skall-eh."

"Skall-ay"...
"Skall-eh."

They stole the body
from an American metal band

while on tour in DC
six months ago.

BRENNAN: The remains are male, late
teens. Significant staining on the...

"skall-EH."
"SKALL-eh."

It leached into the bone.

SAROYAN: Desiccated flesh on the face and
scalp. Mm-hmm. Perhaps enough for DNA.

If the scraps of clothing
and the boots

were actually on the victim
when he died, then...

maybe Hodgins
can give us something.

What's, what's the story
on this?

The posterior ribs were
either broken or severed.

Detached at the spine
and then fanned out.

It's the Blood Eagle.

Beg pardon? It was an ancient torture
in which the victim was held face down

while his back was sliced open. The
ribs were then broken at the spine

and then spread to look
like an eagle, thus the name.

Absence of blood
on the periosteal surface

of the fractures suggests the
ribs were broken postmortem.

I'll remove the bones from the cross
and clean them, see if we can find

the cause of death. This
is definitely murder.

There are other possibilities.

I have to admit
none spring to mind.

One possibility: drunken, death-
obsessed, Satan-worshipping,

drug-abusing teens rob
a grave and reenact

Ah, just another Saturday night.

Right, okay, so for the
Norwegian crucifixion case,

I'm gonna need to know all there is
about the heavy metal music scene in DC.

Okay, and tell me what, get me
all the recordings that you can.

I think you're going to have
to be more specific than that,

Agent Booth.
Ha, Gordon-Gordon!

There's black metal, speed
metal, grindcore, thrash,

doom, drone, glam,
sludge, metalcore,

stoner metal, death metal,
and deathcore.

Must you shake my hand with
quite such a vise-like grip?

Right, yeah, okay, did you
get all that? Go, go, go.

Thought you were a psychiatrist. How'd
you become such a musical expert?

Oh, I've got quite a, quite a
musical background, you know.

Oh, yeah, right, Saint, um, Weatherby's
Glee Club in Doo-Daw-on-Henley?

So... I thought we loaned
you out to Interpol?

Yes, part of the serial
killer task force,

traveling the globe
bathed in perversion and gore.

Have a seat.

And on a happier note, I'm to meet
your bright young thing. Dr. Sweets?

Sweets, why Sweets?

Well, he wants to interview me
for the book he's writing

on you
and the lovely Dr. Brennan.

Anyway,
I can see

you're busy.

Listen, uh, perhaps while I'm here
I can barbecue for you one evening.

Oh, no, no, I am
the barbecue master, remember?

You can do the boiling. Ah,
I have it on good authority

that my culinary skills have
advanced somewhat since last we ate.

Anyway, it's good to
see you. Yeah, you, too.

Hey.

I have a computer rendering of what
our victim might have looked like.

Look at him.

He's a puppy.
278-pound puppy.

Sometimes puppies are big.

Prelim tox results came back
negative for embalming fluid.

So he was never buried
in a sanctioned grave?

So probably
murdered.

Murdered
and his remains crucified

for the entertainment
of people who hate life.

Gordon, Gordon Wyatt.

It's a pleasure to
meet you, Dr. Sweets.

Dr. Wyatt, I am
a huge admirer of your book

on the role of sexual sadism
in female serial killers.

Do I detect a certain
caveat in your tone?

Uh... well,
the sample is small.

Comparatively speaking, there
are few female serial killers.

I was wondering if you had
a chance to take a look at...

Your manuscript? Yes, indeed,
and may I say, Dr. Sweets,

that I think this is probably
the best work I have ever read

on the dynamics of opposite personality
types working towards a common... cause.

Okay, now I'm hearing a
caveat. I-It's a small one.

It's just that Brennan and Booth
aren't in any way opposites.

Wow, small?

What is that--
British understatement?

Well, yes, he's a man; she's a woman.
He's instinctual; she's empirical.

Opposites.

Superficial ephemera,
Dr. Sweets. Wow.

Okay, what about the sexual component
in their relationship? Ah...

Would you agree
that they have both sublimated

their attraction to each other

out of fear of endangering
their working relationship

because their working relationship
is paramount to both of them?

Alas, I'm afraid I wouldn't
agree with that, no.

Wow.

Which part? With
everything you just said.

Yes, one of them is acutely
aware of that attraction.

Struggles with it daily,
as a matter of fact.

(whispering):
Wow.

I'm sorry I keep saying that...

but which one?

It's your book, Dr. Sweets.

I would never tell
you what to write.

I was actually going to ask you
to write the introduction.

That's very flattering,
but I'm retiring.

I am relinquishing the field
to young Turks like you.

Do you think
she actually enjoys this?

This whole
sexual abstinence thing--

totally twisting her
out of shape.

Oh, here, the, uh... staining on the
skull was propylene glycol dicocoate,

alkyl benzoate, and
sorbitan sesquioleate.

What is that,
some kind of systemic poison?

That's common theatrical makeup. It
leached into the skull during decomp.

Oh,
sorry, sorry.

I put the music on
to get me in the right space.

Well, extrapolating from
the stains on the skull,

it turns out that at
the time of his death,

our victim looked
like this.

Looks like your puppy
moonlighted as a zombie werewolf.

Yeah, I ran this through my
facial recognition program

with an image search
of metal Web pages.

Check this out.

There's our boy.

Spew.
It's very evocative.

So our victim-- Mayhem--
was the bassist.

The drummer is Wrath
and the guitarist Pinworm,

but they do have
a new bassist now.

His name is
Grinder.

What about real names?

I imagine they play that
pretty close to the vest.

Yeah, kind of ruins the
magic when you find out

that Satan's name
is Todd or Larry.

Okay.

I'll tell Booth to search for
a death metal band named Spew.

BOOTH:
Wait a second.

What do you mean Gordon-Gordon
is going to quit psychiatry?

Well, I asked him to write the
intro to my book about you two.

He told me he couldn't
because he was retiring.

Is it possible he just hated
your book? Thank you. (chuckles)

Perhaps now he'll find a pursuit
worthy of his intellect--

neurochemistry, for
example. Yeah. Booth.

Hold on, slow down.
Okay,

why would a man with Wyatt's
insights into the human psyche

want to be a mere
scientist? No offense.

Perhaps because psychology
is a field

which is ill-defined in conception
and ineffective in execution.

Thank you. Okay,
sounds great.

So Cam says we got to track down
a death metal band named Spew.

They're totally underground
-- no concerts listed, no contact information.

A death metal band? Yeah.
But our victim's skeleton

was found in the possession
of a Norwegian black metal band.

Death metal, black metal,
what's the difference?

In essence, death metal is about
brutal technical proficiency

while black metal
is about emotion.

Now, both of 'em exploit adolescent
feelings of alienation, depression...

Right, 'cause it all just sounds
like a truck full of cymbals

crashing into a saw factory
for me.

Well... Historically, picayune
internecine squabbles account

for a huge number of deaths. Bones,
just figure out cause of death for me,

all right, "interoserine" or whatever.
How do you know so much about this?

I was really into death metal...

as a teenager, not anymore.

Obviously.
Really?

Oh, come on. BOOTH:
Come on, what?

I don't like that anymore.

According to Booth, there's no
way to track down this band Spew.

No bars, clubs,
or high schools.

The cross is carved of 120-year-old
black oak and was stolen

from St. Benedict
Episcopal Church six months ago.

That is some determined
desecration going on.

Yeah, well, the bones themselves were
covered in a patina of smoke, tobacco,

marijuana, meth, animal
blood, semen, and saliva.

Who are these people?
Sweets sent over a briefing.

Concerts are set up at secret locations,
and then only insiders are invited.

Then, how do we find
them? Aha... well,

the dried mud from the treads of the
boots that were duct-taped to the victim

contained bovine fragments
and infectious prion proteins.

A slaughterhouse?

A slaughterhouse closed down
due to mad cow disease.

SAROYAN: Death metal
enthusiasts prefer morbid,

horror-centric venues
for performance.

In addition, they tend
to perform for their fans

in the same place they practice
and sometimes squat.

Like maybe this horror-centric,
condemned slaughterhouse.

Wait. How do we know
that those are his boots?

He was in Norway for months.
You are going to be so proud.

EDISON: The victim's foot
size is 11, same as his boots.

We need something more
than a matching shoe size.

He's not finished.

Wear on his calcaneus
and cuboid suggest

our victim walked mostly
on the outside of his feet.

Supinator.

One percent of the population
are supinators. That's a lot.

One percent of size 11 teenagers
isn't good enough?

BRENNAN: This missing toe... did
it fall off after decomposition,

or was it
a preexisting condition?

That's exactly
what I was thinking.

You see here?

His toes left an impression
inside the boot,

but there is no impression
corresponding with the big toe.

SAROYAN: Are you satisfied that
this was the boot worn by the victim

while he was still alive?

It's a reasonable conclusion.

You want to say,
"King of the Lab"?

No.

WYATT: So, why do I have the feeling that
I'm being taken somewhere terrible for a...

a gangland whacking? We are
going somewhere terrible.

We are. Look, we...
we need your expertise.

Well, I'm sure the estimable Dr.
Sweets is more than qualified.

Booth is lying about
needing you. What?

He wants to talk you out
of quitting psychiatry.

Bones, I was easing
into that, okay?

WYATT: As a matter of fact,
I might be able to help.

You know, as a young man, I dabbled quite
extensively in the rock music scene.

(chuckling): Oh, wait a second. What
were you, lead dulcimer in a flute band?

As a matter of fact, I was the founding
member of a proto-glam rock outfit.

BRENNAN: I don't
know what that means.

It means that for three glorious
years, I wore spandex, silver lam�,

pancake makeup, and played a
guitar shaped like a spaceship.

I was quite pretty in my way.
Wait.

You... you were Noddy Comet.
What's that?

Noddy Comet! I always wondered what
happened to you. You were Noddy.

I changed jobs. That's
all. Noddy Comet!

I got to get some
of those original tapes.

WYATT: Actually, you know,
that fellow playing the bass

is really rather
good. What?

BOOTH: Okay, let's shut
it down, guys. Come on.

FBI. Let's go!

Hey, I said...

FBI. Shut it down.

Oh.

WYATT:
Yes.

Now, if you recall that it
was shooting inanimate objects

that had you brought to me for
therapy in the first place.

I thought it was
a justifiable shooting.

I agree. BOOTH:
She agrees, see?

You going to put your gun
down? Don't rush me, okay?

BRENNAN:
Well, are you coming?

BOOTH:
Nope, I discharged my weapon.

I pulled desk duty
until the paperwork clears.

You're 50 feet away.
At my desk, okay, so just put in

the earplug and let's do this.
Don't tell Sweets about the ear bud.

Booth wants us
to interrogate them.

Yeah, he's not really supposed
to be watching

on his laptop
and talking in your ear.

So, just tell him
that's not happening.

These are their real names: Monty
Bigelow, Matt Stickney, and Darrel Moss.

All right, Bones,
so just ease into this.

What was Mayhem's
real name?

Or you can just go at them
like a freight train.

Dabbler.

His stage name was Mayhem,
not Dabbler.

Mayhem's a dabbler.

A poseur.

A douche.

Do you want to spend
time in jail, Pinhead?

You can't actually
arrest people, Bones.

We live in a slaughterhouse.

You got something
worse than that?

All right, let's start over.

Tell us the name that Mayhem's
mother and father gave him,

and we'll charge you
with assaulting a federal agent.

Oh, no, you have that backwards.

No, Bones, he's right, okay?
They want to be arrested.

BRENNAN:
Oh.

Reverse psychology.

That term is almost
always misused.

BOOTH: Look, just tell Tapeworm that
felony assault is the best you can do.

Felony assault is the best
we can do... Tapeworm.

Take it or leave it.

Justin.
Justin Dancy.

When did you last see Justin?

When I killed him,
ate his heart, and took his job.

I killed him, too. I never
even noticed he was gone.

I ate his face off
before I killed him.

I am so much better at
interrogation than I thought.

Those aren't legitimate
confessions. All right, guys.

Come on, give us
a real answer.

About a year ago,
when he quit the band.

PINWORM: How about
those charges?

BOOTH:
Oh, where's he going?

Booth.
Yeah?

The one called Grinder
is different from the others.

His body language displays an emotional
connection to the murder victim.

Okay, so, uh, what do you think
we should do?

We should arrange to have him cleaned up
-- revealed, so to speak--

so that Dr. Wyatt and I can talk
to him and exploit that connection.

Okay... all right, then.

You do that.
I'll stay here on desk duty.

Okay.

EDISON: Posterior ilium, right side,
damage to the cortical bone layer,

extending into the trabecular.

This skeleton was carted
from DC to Norway,

then used as a prop at ultraviolent
concerts. There's bound to be damage.

I enlarged the X-ray.

See the multiple clefts
and wastage?

Suggesting the damage done to the
pelvic bone happened very near

time of death? Now, because
Dr. Brennan isn't here,

I'll guess that these
gouge marks came from a knife.

Someone went digging into
the victim's gluteus? Yes.

Bone damage consistent
with a bullet wound.

So... the victim was shot
in the ass,

then killed in some way
yet to be determined,

then the killer dug the
bullet out of the... Gluteus.

Yes.
Okay.

Let's have Hodgins swab
for trace evidence.

God knows
what he'll find.

Maybe a little piece
of Norway.

Ah, Darrel Moss.
Come in. Sit down.

Do, please.

My name's Grinder.

Grinder, have you looked
in the mirror?

Where are the other guys?

Did you delouse them, too? No,
nobody else. Just you, Darrel.

You're the new guy
in the band, right?

You replaced Mayhem on bass?

I told you.
I killed him for the job.

Dr. Wyatt tells me that you are a
skilled, classically trained bassist

influenced by... who is
it? WYATT: Jaco Pastorius.

But you do everything you can
to hide that, don't you?

I never heard of him.
No, no, 'cause that would...

that would ruin
your street cred.

SWEETS: Justin Dancy's remains show
evidence of being used as a stage prop

for approximately the last six
months, four of those in Norway.

His name was Mayhem.
He wasn't always Mayhem.

Just as you weren't
always Grinder.

Look, there he is.

There's Justin.

And that's
you, Darrel.

Justin and Darrel.

You see, what
we want to do

is find whoever it was
that killed your boyhood friend.

What makes you think
I even know?

Everyone knows everything
in the metal world.

It's a small world breeding
whispers, conjecture... secrets.

SWEETS: You may have even heard
rumors of who murdered him.

But you're not going to tell us,
are you? 'Cause we're outsiders.

That would be breaking the code.

So, we're just going to ask:

who had him
before the Norwegians?

WYATT: Who crucified
your boyhood friend?

We would have got him back,
you know.

Got him back from who?

Zorch.

Excuse me?

That lame deathcore outfit?

They consider themselves
deathcore.

I consider them crapcore.

What they did to Justin,
though, was totally awesome.

It was brilliant.

And what would you have done with
Justin if you had stolen him back?

We would have hung him up
behind us, man.

It would have been epic.

Legendary.

I'm disturbed that despite
my extensive training

as an anthropologist,
all of these bands sound alike

and appear to share identical
belief systems and mores.

Yeah, right, except for
the trained anthropologist part,

that's how my dad felt about
Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys.

I have no idea
what you're saying.

Listen, Bones, I don't want you
there alone, okay?

Just get a good look at this guy,
and you get out; do you understand?

You ready?

BOOTH: Sweets
is there? Sweets?

Well, I think it's him.

Yeah, I had to meld
to get information.

Zorch's lead singer
is Murderbreath.

Look at that. Who does he think he
is? The guy with the tongue from Kiss?

Do you know what? Just tell
Sweets to leave Gene alone.

Just get a photo,
and get out of there.

Zorch and Spew
are sworn enemies.

It started out with the fans throwing
feces at each other, then some attacks.

Culminating
in medieval torture?

CROWD (chanting):
Do it! Do it!

Do it! Do it!

Wait. He's got a knife.
Who's got a knife?

Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!

SWEETS: Nah, don't
worry. It's totally fake.

That's...
not fake.

BOOTH: Whoa, whoa, what's happening?
Murderbreath slit his own throat.

Excuse me.

We need a compress.

(screams)
You could've asked.

Hold this
against the wound.

Booth, can you call it in?

Listen, I'm not
hanging up, Bones...

Help is coming.
Bones?

Bones?

BRENNAN: Stand back,
please. FBI. Stand back!

Why'd you arrest me?
I'm the one with the cut throat.

Ooh. Maybe you shouldn't
talk too much.

Uh, no, his larynx wasn't affected.
(hoarse): This is my actual voice.

Sounds exactly like
when you sing.

Like gravel in a hubcap.

SWEETS: So, that was a
very good night for you.

Word gets around that you slit your
own throat for real... You got it.

Tonight, I'm a legend.

Do you have any idea
who switched your prop knife?

One of the guys in the band,
a fan,

someone from another band, maybe
I did it myself. Who cares?

I bet it was Spew.
How about Spew?

Evidence indicates that you
killed and crucified their bassist.

This just gets better and better.
I'm getting credit for that?

Hmm-mm. No. See, the thing is, that
same credit could send you to prison.

BOOTH: Okay, listen, Bones, just tell
him you don't care if he did it or not,

you'll just throw his ass
in jail.

Look, it's all right to lie during an
interrogation, Bones. It's a technique.

The evidence is inconclusive
regarding your guilt,

but I'll damn well make
sure it's conclusive!

Whoa, what?
Attagirl. Give it to him.

I will perjure myself if I have to,
because you... make... me... sick, punk.

Dr. Brennan...
I'll put your ass on death row

and laugh at your execution. I will
testify that your knife was used

to make these gouges.
I will also

prove that whatever
implements we find--

any props, knives, cleavers,
all of your stage ware--

I will show that it was
used to mutilate his remains.

Which they probably
were.

Good to know. There's no
rock concerts in prison.

(singsongy): There are no rock
concerts in prison. Rock concerts?

I want immunity from desecration
of human remains.

No promises, dirtbag!

Just tell him that we will talk
to the prosecutor on your behalf.

But we'll see what we can do.

Maybe
six months ago, there's a rumor,

Mayhem's dead and buried
under Bridge 6,

westbound lane State Road 66.

6-6-6--
the sign of the devil.

Who told you?
I dunno. Nobody.

Everybody.
It was in the air, man.

Dug up the bones.

Somebody heard about this
old Viking torture thing.

Sounded like a great gag, and
it was, until Skall stole it.

(correcting):
Skall-eh.

Doesn't matter.

Just trying to help. I dug him up, stole
the cross, fastened the bones to it.

But you didn't kill him.

I believe him.

Now, my last official
task as an FBI shrink is

to declare you fit for duty.
Gordon, Gordon, gun under the table.

I'm sorry. Sorry.
Jeez. Yes. Fine.

So, Booth is back?
He's back. Hey, so,

what's next for you, Doc? I mean,
when you stop shrinking heads?

I've been accepted by the
Institute of Culinary Arts.

You're going to be a chef?
That's correct. Yes. Mmm.

I'm going to put good things
into people instead of

taking out things that are bad. Which
I know sounds rather Freudian, but...

Sigmund's been largely
discredited so to hell with him.

BOOTH: I don't see
why you can't do both.

Well, we still don't know
who murdered Justin Dancy.

Baby steps.
You will prevail.

This subculture takes every notion
of community and turns it upside down.

Well, no matter what they say, the
fact remains that they are artists.

They create.
No true nihilists ever creates.

These dark tortured people
may rail against the night,

but they make music.

On an oscilloscope, what we call
"music" is demonstrably distinct

from we call "noise."

Your Dr. Sweets liked it as an
adolescent. He's turned out rather well...

for the most part.

"For the most part"?

Well, I read his book.

And, as is the case
with most writing,

it reveals more
about the writer than about

the subject matter,
which, in this case, is you.

Can you provide an
example? For one thing,

t extremely frustrating
-- your lack of willingness

to discuss your childhood
experiences with him.

What does that tell you?
No, do not ask him that.

He's going to think we both
had traumatic childhoods.

We did. Your father was (groans) a
violent drunk and mine abandoned me.

Great, thank you. Just tell everybody
here at the diner, won't you, Bones?

Go ahead. Sweets...
has scars on his back.

Old ones.
Really?

What kind of scars?
Well, like he'd been whipped.

Whipped?
I saw them.

That explains his near-obsession with
your childhood trauma, doesn't it?

Okay, I did an Internet search
of Spew's concerts.

Now, this stuff is all uploaded from
cell phones, so the quality is crap.

All right,
check this out.

This girl runs up.
Here's the gun.

She fires, then Mayhem literally
spews the blood all over the crowd.

And there's the blood.

SAROYAN: Okay, obviously
fake. Yeah, it's a set piece.

I've seen this same setup
maybe 60 times in two years.

Is it the same girl
every time?

I'm pretty sure it is.

HODGINS:
The image quality stinks.

Except I combined all the
different cell phone versions...

Nice!

We can get an ID from that.

Can you arrange these shows
in chronological order?

Well, they all contain embedded
cell phone codes so, yeah.

Did he ever bleed from his ass?

Because that's where we found
the bullet fragments.

Clark determined that the gunshot
wound to the victim's ilium

occurred ten months
prior to his death.

There.

He fell down that time
behind the audience.

Have you got
another angle on this?

Oh, there. The bullet
splinters his instrument.

HODGINS: Right into his ass.
That's our money shot right there.

Not so tough when the blood
is real, are you, metal boy?

BOOTH:
So, this is you, isn't it?

My manager said not to talk
to you until he gets here.

Death metal chicks
have managers?

Hmm...

Ah, look at that.

Metal to what?
Power punk?

It's a much larger market, but I
still retain my artistic integrity.

Right. Do you still shoot
bass players in your new gig?

Is that was this is about?

Not my fault someone replaced
the blank with a real bullet.

No, I think you knew
that the bullet was there.

Otherwise, you would've shot the guy
in the neck like every other time.

I'm waiting until my
manager gets here. Okay.

We can do that. In the meantime, I'm
going to show you this picture here.

You see...

Your boyfriend is flinching
before you even pulled the trigger.

I say the two of you were
working on this together.

It was Justin's idea, okay?

He was always trying
to prove to the other guys

he was more hardcore than
them. Was he? Well, uh...

he wanted me to shoot him, so,
yeah, I gave him his props.

Hmm...

So, what? Now that
I'm making some money,

he's coming after me for shooting
him in the ass two years ago?

Justin's dead.
He was murdered.

What?

Oh, God,
those stupid bastards.

Those stupid...

You have to get them.
Get who?

You know,
probably a fan found out.

You know, maybe someone in
Spew. This is totally my fault.

Okay, found out what?
Why is it your fault?

Maybe a year ago,
he gave me a call saying that,

you know, he wanted to get
back together, join my band.

Some hardcore metal fanatic
found out and killed him.

EDISON: The striae and kerf width
on each side of the bisected ribs

match the saw that the FBI found
at the Zorch concert.

Fingerprints are
all Murderbreath's.

He already confessed to digging
up the corpse and mutilating it.

So you're looking
at the greenstick fractures?

Yes.
Hmm.

Would you mind
getting on all fours?

Uh, is that strictly necessary?
Yes, please.

So the fractures are adjacent to
the articulation with the spine.

Now, with evidence
of inward bowing (gasping)...

Incomplete fractures,
evidence of inward bowing--

if I place my knee
in your back...

(gasps): Hello! Tunnel vision,
Dr. Brennan. Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry.

That scenario explains all
the bone damage and fractures.

So stabbed and then garroted?

What if the wounds to the C5
aren't from a stab, but instead

the result of the victim
being garroted?

The puncture occurred
on the back of his neck.

But what would do that?

Barbed wire.

Yeah.

Yes, his ex-girlfriend is right.

Following her into the mainstream
would be seen as the ultimate betrayal.

Mmm, like leaving a cult?

We think that the victim was garroted,
most likely with barbed wire.

The murderer will lay claim.
He'll keep a souvenir.

Yes, in the same way
that a serial killer will.

Right, but it isn't
for his own satisfaction.

It's a way of boasting of what
he's done to the community.

Yeah, it's a totem,
a signifier of some kind

that can only be discerned
by the cognoscenti.

Okay, now how are we going to figure
this out? None of us speak Italian.

He does that, doesn't he?

He wants to be
underestimated.

You, you're one of the
cognoscenti, Dr. Sweets. Oh, no.

I've outgrown that.

Mostly. Okay, maybe
sometimes I'll

listen to a few bootleg tapes
when I've had a bad day...

But that's good because this music
sucks, and the people who listen to it

are defective. Thank you so much.
I have no doubt that your parents

said the same thing to you
when you were listening

to my music, Agent
Booth. Mm-hmm.

Now, according to one
of your squint reports

a bullet was gouged
out of the victim's ass?

You read Clark's report? Well,
only because I was on desk duty.

(clears throat): Now, that
bullet could be a good totem pole.

A totem, Booth.

A totem pole is much larger.
Yes, but nonetheless,

it would be a good
totem pole otherwise.

So someone murdered the kid
for leaving the fold...

Then uses a knife
to gouge out the bullet.

Buries the body
under the bridge.

Knowing that the cognoscenti
will see the bullet

and assume
he is the murderer.

But Murderbreath finds the body,
puts it on display.

Mm-hmm, stealing credit.

So, we're looking for a
bullet then? Mm-hmm. Look here.

Our good, happy friend Pinworm
wears a smashed bullet

around his neck
inside of a cross.

Is it too much to hope that
the fellow's scratching out

his confession
in block letters?

BOOTH: Right here, right
inside the cross: .22 caliber.

Completely consistent
with the mark it left

in the victim's ilium. Okay, Bones
and I are going to go in there.

What we do not need to hear

is a lot of psychological
mumbo jumbo stuff in our ears.

Okay, so are you bored
with psychiatry?

Is that it, people don't have the
capacity to surprise you anymore?

Oh, people surprise me.
You surprise me. Me?

Few people looking at you would
know what you'd been through.

I beg your pardon?
Well, you were adopted.

And the people who adopted you
were an older couple.

Probably too old for standard
adoption of an infant,

meaning you weren't
an infant.

You were, what... four?

Six.
Six, yeah. Special needs.

A child who'd been through some
sort of hell, a damaged child.

But these were loving,
wonderful people.

Yes.

They saved you...

but now, they're gone.
You're an orphan?

My parents died
within weeks of each other.

Recently, I'd say.
The wound is still fresh.

Just before I came to work here.

So now, you're mostly alone
in the world.

But they had time to save you.

They gave you a good life, and
that's why you believe that people

can be saved by other
people with good hearts.

That's the gift
your parents left you.

That, and the gift
of a truly good heart.

That gives you a deeper
calling I do not share.

PINWORM: I don't remember
where I got this bullet.

Well, you dug it out of Justin
Dancy's pelvic bone with a knife.

Hardcore, man.
I-I dug it out of his ass,

and then hung it around my neck.
Legendary.

If people think that means I killed
him, there's nothing I can do about it.

You know...

you're one of us.

Up to your elbows
in corpses and murder.

It's hot.

Thank you.

BOOTH: So what, was, uh,
Lexie like your Yoko Ono?

What is that?
A Bible reference?

So let's just say Justin
decided to go with Lexie.

What would that do to your band?

No way any member of Spew
does that. Never happen.

Why not?

Well, because we are the
real thing, the genuine item.

Our music isn't made to be
enjoyed. It's made to be feared.

It comes straight from hell.

Right. You don't know anything
about hell. And you do?

Well, see, I was
a soldier and a cop.

BRENNAN: I've identified
hundreds of victims of genocide.

I accept hell as a metaphor
for what I've seen.

You haven't seen hell until you've been
inside my head, dreamed my nightmares.

Your delusional, cozy reality
doesn't even come close.

He's, uh, he's enjoying
this attention.

It's what he feels on stage,
isn't it? The... the power.

But his sense of power is
totally dependent on an audience.

Um, ruminate on Milton, Agent
Booth. Think Paradise Lost.

What does that mean?

(whispers): Oh, uh, Satan's
greatest sin was pride, vanity.

Right, okay
-- well, you know what? You're free to go.

Uh, what?

Well, my associate here tells me
that Murderbreath

confessed to the murder and crucifixion
of Justin Dancy, so you're free to go.

Whoa, what? Murderbreath?

Yeah. You're free to go.
Come on.

No, Murderbreath did not kill
anybody. He weighs, what, 40 pounds?

Have you not seen Mayhem?

Murderbreath didn't strangle
somebody with barbed wire.

It takes heft to choke
a big guy to death.

"Barbed wire"?

Wow, well, you know, nobody
said anything about barbed wire.

I think the correct
term is "gotcha."

Ah! Noddy Comet.

Huh? Look at that,
unbelievable.

This is you singing?

Well, yeah, my alter ego,
I supposed you might say.

A bisexual spaceman with a taste for
six-inch platform shoes, spandex, glitter

and an exhibitionist's
disdain for underclothing.

Well, here's to Gordon-Gordon.

evah ton dluow ew ,mih tuohtiW evlos ot elba
neeb :NANNERB .redrum eht ,ti timda ot etah I

but it's true.
To Gordon-Gordon.

To Gordon-Gordon. (music
stops) Stop, please.

Look, thised.

I'm too good a psychiatrist ever
to leave, et cetera. Well, no...

Just put your glasses
down, would you? Please.

Might I offer you a word of
advice regarding young Dr. Sweets?

Might we try to stop you?

Why do we need advice about Sweets?
We don't. Sweets is just fine.

He most definitely is not fine.
I've read his book.

What, does he say something
mean about us?

On the contrary. You might as
well know that he lost both his

adoptive parents
just before he came to work

for your de facto
crime-fighting unit.

Jeez, what are we,
The Land of Misfit Toys?

Well, he's a good lad, Sweets, but
this book he's writing, he's using it

as the vehicle to get what
he actually wants, which is...

A family.

So he imprinted on us?
Like a baby duck?

So what do we do?

Nothing. Okay, Sweets is
not a baby duck.

He wants what we all want.

He wants to find out his place
in the world.

We can find a permanent place
for him. Right?

Gordon-Gordon is going
to want us to divulge

or share or bond or something awful.
Look, perhaps you might just show the lad

that he's not the only one
with scars on his back.

But he is.

Too literal?

By the way, what I'm making
here, this is the masterpiece

that got me accepted into the Culinary
Institute. All right, but it doesn't keep.

So, uh, be back in an
hour, yeah? Let's go.

But where are we going?
Duck hunting. Come on.

Not literally. (Booth clucks)
Right? Come on. (clucks)

Oh! I miss you, rock and roll.

I really do.

BRENNAN:
Sweets?

Hi.
What are you doing here?

Well, uh, Gordon-Gordon is, uh, making
dinner for us at my place, family-style.

And, um, you're invited.

Thank you, but I've actually
got a lot of work here...

My foster parents locked me
in the trunk of a car

for two days when I broke a
dish. I was a very clumsy child.

They warned me
it would happen,

but the water was so hot
and the... soap was so slippery.

I still don't think it was fair,
even though they gave me fair warning.

(voice breaking):
The water was so hot...

No, it wasn't fair at all.
It wasn't your fault.

You said that "scars on the
Bones, whaback" was a metaphor.

Isn't that why we're here, to
metaphorically compare scars?

I came to bring Sweets back to
my place for dinner, that's all.

"Scars on the back"?

I saw them, Sweets.

So...

(sighs): what? You decided to just
share something from your past?

That is so unlike you.

I still hate psychology.

Okay. Your
turn. Go.

I came here to bring Sweets back
to my place for dinner, that's all.

Okay, if it wasn't
for my grandfather,

I probably would've killed
myself when I was a kid.

That's all I'm going to say on
the subject matter. Understand?

Are you okay, Bones?
Yeah, I'm fine.

Here.

Why are you nodding?

Nothing. Just...

Wyatt made an observation
about you two,

and I think I just saw
what he saw. You coming?

Booth means that we'd
like it if you joined us.

Thank you. Great!
Here we go. Let's go.

Gordon-Gordon is making cassoulet.
It's stew. It's bean stew.

Cassoulet is better
than regular stew, Booth.

Just because it's French
doesn't mean it's better.

SWEETS: It sounds
better than stew. See?

It's stew. Sounds
better. It's stew.

Synch: Supermauri