Original subtitles

Downloaded from YTS.MX

Official YIFY movies site: YTS.MX

Hi, Grandpa.

FOREST I see you everywhere

This is Szilvi. A 23-year-old programmer.

We've never spoken, yet I feel like something connects us.

Actually, it's like an invisible spiderweb.

Szilvi's life changed drastically on December 24, 2017.

The same night I saw my mother for the last time.

We were preparing for Christmas Eve, my mom cooking fish soup,

my dad setting up the tree.

Later, I decorated it.

The wind picked up and the birds started flying around nervously,

and a blackbird slammed against our kitchen window.

This is sort of what it looked like, but this picture's from the internet.

And since there was a hardcore cold front,

my mom and I both had splitting headaches,

and plus we had our periods, so it really was awful.

So we each took an Algoflex to ease our pain.

Then my dad went to his room and slammed the door.

My mom went after him and asked him nicely to

please change her tires because she has to drive over to Gran's at dawn,

and it's not going to happen with summer tires.

My father answered

that changing tires is not part of his job description,

especially not Christmas Eve.

My mom answered, so what is part of his job description,

besides resting his ass all day in his room watching Netflix.

To which my dad said that their agreement stated

that my mom would have her tires changed by a mechanic.

To which my mom said that they made no such agreement,

and at this point I walked out and took a shower,

thinking it might be over by the time I got out,

but the situation only got worse,

they were standing over the toilet, dumping the half-cooked fish soup,

and when my mom flushed the toilet,

my dad thanked her for the show and went back to his room.

After which my mom drank a vodka, smoked a cigarette on the terrace,

and at exactly 1:50 PM, we went down to the garage to change the tires,

but since neither of us knew how to do this,

I watched a tutorial on my phone

and gave my mom instructions on what to do,

and then at 2 PM my dad joined us,

the fight continued, and I came back to the flat,

downed a vodka or two,

and combined with the Algoflex it was working pretty well.

Then everything simply went silent.

I didn't hear yelling or clattering,

and then 12 minutes later my mom left the garage,

drove out onto the highway, stopped at a gas station,

bought gas, some marzipan, and a mineral water.

Then, at Budatétény, somewhere near the Route 3 exit,

she slammed into the guardrail.

Meanwhile, my dad was sitting in his room watching mass on TV.

According to the police report, it was clear

that the accident happened due to the smooth, summer tires.

My mom's car collided frontally with the car in the oncoming lane.

My mom died instantly upon collision,

the others got off with a few minor injuries,

except for Szilvia.

Szilvia's pelvis shattered.

She had a spiral femoral fracture and a concussion.

The following morning, her right leg was amputated.

Szilvia was a synchronized swimmer, by the way.

She and her team had won some prize the week before in Croatia.

Let's take a look.

We had the weather front, nothing to be done about that.

This is absolutely clear.

There was the menstruation, which is horrible,

but you can take painkillers for it, which happened.

Then there's Christmas.

Christmas is hell, but you gotta do it.

Then what else could we have done?

Perhaps we could have spared each other

despite the aforementioned shit-storm.

But for that, we would've had to stop playing games.

We could've gotten up off the couch,

could've gone down to the garage, taken out the toolbox,

and changed the tires.

Perhaps then, my mom wouldn't have died.

The pelvis and hip of a perfectly healthy,

20-year-old girl wouldn't have shattered,

and I wouldn't be giving a talk about this.

So this is how Szilvia and I are connected.

This pretty programmer girl, whom I've never spoken to,

and yet I feel like I know her very well.

Thank you for your attention, and have a great summer.

I see.

Is that it?

So tomorrow you want to get up in front of the school

and give this talk instead of the one you've been planning.

Maybe, Dad, I'll do whatever I want with my own life?

Sure. I just finance your functioning.

I have no say. It's just an opinion.

You're not going to say this tomorrow.

Why are you so sure?

I doubt you're that stupid.

Does your psychologist know about this?

Yes, he does, and he supports me.

Super.

That dude sits in his office, Romeo...

Romeo, Dad? His name is Roberto.

This also proves how you don't pay attention to me.

You can't even remember my therapist's name.

Well...

for ?50 an hour, he gives you great advice.

?50 is a completely average price.

Timi sees him twice a week, by the way.

Timi's parents are filthy rich celebs.

That's why.

Thanks a lot, Dad.

That's my best friend's parents you're talking about.

Eszter. Don't you ever think about other people?

Do you, or does Roberto?

Haven't you even reached an elementary level of self-reflection,

where you might imagine how your father might feel about all this?

Or to ask, even once, what my version might be?

What's your version?

I'd love to tell you, but it might not be what you want to hear.

Go on, I'm listening.

You're not the only one who loves presentations.

Your mother loved them too.

She loved them, and her presentations came to the same conclusion as yours.

What?

That she is perfect.

She is the infallible queen.

Her world was a crystal-clear pool,

in which her sensitive and refined soul swam and floated.

This was her world.

And then I show up, step up to the pool, and piss into it.

Because in her opinion, I poison everyone and everything I get near.

Whatever I did, I offended her sensitivity.

Except she wasn't sensitive. She was narcissistic.

Outwardly, these things look similar, but are pretty different inside.

So these were her man-hating hysterics,

and this is what your presentation is about.

You learned from her and have mastered the skill.

But one thing I don't understand, Dad,

and I can't get it through my head to this day:

why was it so hard to get up from your armchair,

go down to the fucking garage, and change the damn tires.

What was so incredibly tough?

It was her job to take the car to the mechanic

and get the tires changed.

That's what we decided.

But she didn't remember this.

Do you remember?

Do you remember, Eszter?

We were driving out of the roundabout into the tunnel at the Chain Bridge,

and that's when we decided.

Answer me!

I remember.

Then why didn't you say so during the argument?

You always do this, Dad.

You back people into a corner with your stupid questions.

Eszter. Were you there? You were there.

You're an adult.

Why couldn't you just say:

Mom, you really did promise Dad that you'd get the tires changed.

Why didn't you say something?

I don't remember exactly why I didn't say anything just then.

But you remember the fish soup getting dumped into the toilet.

Yes, that was unforgettable.

You remember the fish soup, but not your cowardice.

But let me suggest something now, Eszter.

- To you and Romeo. - Roberto.

For ?50 an hour, this is what you and Roberto should talk about:

why you didn't speak up.

Why you didn't try to stop your mother.

You knew she was on her period

and that she goes crazy when she's menstruating.

- That's very offensive. - Yes? Why?

Because it's intimate.

But not too intimate to tell the whole school tomorrow.

Your mother didn't understand the concept of an agreement.

And clearly you don't either.

We agreed that you would give a talk on urban traffic.

Then you turn around and arbitrarily change your speech's topic

and want to talk about

how I basically manipulated your mother into death.

This is your presentation.

And hers was that

she got into the car on Christmas Eve with glass-smooth summer tires

in the freezing rain and wrapped herself around the guardrail.

She had to get away.

No!

She knew very well that what she was doing was life-threatening.

That's why she wanted me to change the tires after all.

There's 12 minutes missing from the surveillance camera footage.

There's a time code jump. You deleted it from the file.

What happened during those 12 minutes?

None of your business.

And the police?

Not them, either.

Why not?

Because it's intimate.

And what if I talked about this tomorrow at school?

Those intimate, missing 12 minutes.

Then you'd keep playing games.

You didn't take your morning meds.

You haven't been taking your meds for days.

Where are you going, by the way?

I need a camera for tomorrow.

I might borrow it from your brother.

Could you send over his number, please?

Sure. I already sent it over a few times, but I'll send it again.

Sent.

What's with your own camera anyway?

I lent it to Anna.

Did you fuck her?

Just 'cause whenever you meet, you usually do.

That was 3 years ago, Luca. It happened once.

I apologized many times.

And we agreed you'd never meet again.

Yes, and I made sure we wouldn't meet.

I left the camera at Dirty Beach for her to pick up.

We agreed she'd return it there by Monday at the latest.

But she didn't. And it's Wednesday.

And you're only telling me this now?

It had no relevance till now.

How long has this been going on?

She called me a week ago.

You've been chatting a week?

She called me, I told you.

She dreamt I'd shot myself in the head, so she asked if I'm alive.

Fucking hell, that woman.

She could've asked anyone for a camera.

She works at an agency. Doesn't she have contacts?

Yes. Me, for example.

This whole woman is chaos.

Who the fuck are you, her father?

What does she even need a professional camera for? Hmm?

Her phone's not good enough to take pictures of her ass?

She said she's off on a digital detox.

Some retreat.

You can't take any device with a net connection.

Just a camera and books.

That's why she asked for my camera. I guess for pictures.

Then all is well.

I suppose in a few days she'll flood Insta

with pictures of her purification, her enlightenment, her rebirth,

all the new people and fantastic gurus she met.

You don't get it.

The retreat was over two days ago.

Nobody's heard from Anna.

She's doing it so you'll be worried.

We should ask Helga and her friends, obviously.

Shall I call Nusi?

Nusi doesn't know where she is.

She knows she went to detox, but doesn't know with whom or where.

She might have gone alone.

So you've been checking up on her?

Anna isn't the type who just disappears without a reason.

Especially not if she knows she's fucking someone over.

Listen, I don't know what kind of person Anna is.

But I know she squeezed 8000Ft out of Roland.

Directly after she dumped Roland's brother so hard,

the kid still doesn't know what hit him.

I guess you know the story.

No. What happened?

What happened is she hooked up with Roland's brother.

He's some set designer.

I assume to get to Roland and his fucking money.

And she managed to get the 8000Ft for her handbag project.

Then bam!

A month later, she kicked out the little brother

and of course Roland's never gonna see his money ever again.

Okay, but Roland's not a bank.

Clearly, he gave her the money

knowing she'd pay it back when she could. She couldn't yet.

She just came back from Sri Lanka a month ago, come on.

Roland was lucky, because I heard she owes other people too.

People who told her to pay up, or else...

she can expect to get carted off to Zürich...

Escort work, I assume.

Probably she owes them... a lot more than 8000Ft.

And not since last year, but fuckin' lots of years.

Checking up on her?

You know this city. People talk.

So what?

Don't you get that she's disappeared?

Nobody knows where she is.

Who the fuck cares where she is?

Seriously. Are we related to her?

Shit, try and see it's not just about this camera story.

It's about things always getting mixed up with this woman.

Did you know she lives in the same flat

on Vérhalom Square where I used to live with my ex?

In that tiny attic flat?

Even I'd been there.

That place is just like this one.

This is what I'm talking about.

I've got 4 presentations tomorrow and I start with your father at IKEA.

And now, out of the blue, you slam this shitshow in my face.

Giving your camera to that moron.

Which is symbolic, by the way, I have to tell you.

'Because if you give a camera to a woman,

that's exactly like giving your cock to that woman.

Except you simply don't understand these things for some reason.

Quit it already, for fuck's sake.

Are you done squeezing this shit?

I won't quit it. I won't quit it, fucking hell.

I won't, because I don't get this story.

I don't believe you and never did.

The fact that you go off to surf with your buddies to Portugal,

meet Anna, and nothing happens between you.

That's what you claim.

But 6 months later at Péter Halász's funeral reception,

you suddenly had to fuck that dumb bitch in the toilet.

Just out of the blue. Like two animals.

And I was taking care of your sister like a idiot,

'cause she was so knocked out on sedatives.

And everyone kept asking me where you were.

And together we waited for you

to suddenly emerge from the toilet with fuckin' stained pants.

I've never been so humiliated in my life.

And because of a lie. Because there's no way.

No way something like this just happens.

'Cause that's not how people and hormones work.

How anything works.

You know Dávid Rácz...

The PR dude, who organizes motorcycle tours now.

Yes, I know.

I was with them in Portugal.

When we went surfing.

He was dating Anna then.

We were out on the beach, had a few beers,

and I went in to catch one last wave.

The third wave slammed me down and spun me into the water.

My lip busted, blood gushing,

I came up right when the next wave crashed.

Then another and another.

It was hardcore.

I was near the shore, could see the others, but couldn't do a thing.

And Anna was on the beach then?

She noticed me.

She ran into the water as she was, in jeans and a t-shirt.

Finally, I grabbed her and held her.

She blacked out, and I was barely conscious too.

Then we heard the jet skis roar.

They came for us and had a hard time fishing us out.

I was fine again pretty quickly, but Anna didn't have it so easy.

She needed to be resuscitated, her shoulder got messed up,

and there was something with her eardrum too.

But that's not the point. It's that she basically died.

She didn't have a pulse.

She had a near death experience.

She saw the light and the tunnel and all that.

OK.

You know she made that up.

Well, I don't know. Next day, that's all she could talk about.

And from then on, her voice changed too.

She was a different person.

We rolled her a joint so maybe she'd be ok again, but she wasn't.

What do you mean, her voice changed?

It was really annoying. She just kept whispering and staring.

She decided that all this was no accident,

and now we're bound together for life.

Okay.

It'll be okay.

She'll turn up on her own.

Just borrow my brother's camera.

I can pick it up tomorrow morning if you want.

Would you come here a sec?

Where are you going?

I'm going to her flat.

You know why you gave Anna your camera?!

You want me to tell you why?!

'Cause everything you just told me fits together.

Starting from her saving you, pulling you from the ocean,

then dying, and her resurrection, her whispering,

and getting you to fuck her in the toilet,

and this spiderweb that connects you,

and that she's living in my former flat, and now the camera.

It's all a picture.

One big picture, and it's all about...

this obsessed bitch flapping around,

all over, like a fucking bat.

But you know the one thing I don't understand?

What the fuck does all this have to do with me?

Why do you two need me?

What's my role in this story? Can you tell me?

Why am I here?

What's my task here between you?

Is that all?

Yes, that's all.

I'm coming with you.

Anna!

Anna!

Come on, I'll take you out.

We'll go for a little walk, okay?

That's it.

Beautiful.

So I called Milán today

and he said his mom could help call them.

Which would speed things up.

But honestly,

I wouldn't mind waiting 2 more years.

Two years?

Well, yeah.

'Cause you know what's up with the ceramics.

Things are picking up.

I know.

And...

The webshop and manufacturing are a full-time job,

so I could really use those 2 years.

Actually, it'd be ideal for me.

Everything's going so easy for you.

Really, everything. It's all just nice and smooth.

Kinda scary, actually.

What should I do, Zoli?

Go outside, set up a cross and crucify myself?

No. I didn't say that. But we need to talk this through.

We need to get to the end of it for once.

So... so I know what's at the end for you. I'm curious.

About what?

If these bubbles meet.

If they even meet at all.

Sure, they meet, but you're 53, and I'm 32.

The images came again.

Today too at dawn...

After my run.

I'm out in the playground, stretching,

but with my back to the sandbox.

Too scared to turn around.

'Cause I know what's in it.

What's in the sandbox?

Nothing. Just shit the kids left behind:

a little shovel, a little rake...

a little shovel, a little sieve.

Last time, there was a pacifier hung up on the fence.

You're kinda torturing yourself with that sandbox, no?

Can you just not go there?

Sure, but something draws me there.

We need to find you a new therapist.

- Yes. - I'd gladly help.

This thing is poisoning you. I can tell.

I see you, and so it's poisoning me too.

It's rotting away our relationship...

This thing.

- Great. - We gotta fix this thing somehow.

Just don't call it a "thing", okay? It's not a thing.

It's not a thing,

and not a fucking puzzle we need to solve.

And it's no psychological problem.

And it has a name.

- A name. It's called... - No, please don't.

Okay, listen.

The thing is, you want a baby.

I do too, very much.

Or well, I did.

Yeah.

We did all the tests

and tried IVF six times.

There's no way my body is producing a child...

No matter what we do.

Uh-huh.

So what I think is: I move on.

I accept that we can't have a baby of our own.

We move on.

We adopt, and if we have to wait, we wait.

We wait?

Except you forgot one thing.

That we took a little detour. I can't talk to you about this.

You won't talk about this.

This is no go.

I have to talk about it.

Not a day passes that I don't think about her.

You're not the only one with flashes.

What's up so suddenly?

Suddenly?

Suddenly?

This is over.

This no longer exists.

I see two paths.

She comes back to us.

We can bring her back.

Please.

We loved her.

She loved us.

Let her be here.

We can get the adoption rolling too.

Let's start, but she's gotta come back.

And then I'll let her go. You know I'll let her go.

Forever.

I don't want to bring her back.

What's the other path?

To be apart.

Are you threatening me?

No.

It's not a threat.

She's lying there waiting for her parents.

She's losing strength.

I can hear her even now.

- Can't you? - I don't, Zoli, and you know why?

Can't you hear?

Because she has no voice.

She doesn't have parents.

She isn't. She doesn't exist. That's that.

It was just an unfortunate experiment.

Say her name.

Just say her name out loud, okay?

Rebeka.

Come on, I'll take you out.

We'll go for a little walk, okay?

That's it.

Beautiful.

Come on.

Super that I've got this surgery tomorrow.

But I've started seeing myself in the morgue.

On the slab.

There's about a 20% chance I'll live.

They put me to sleep, I might not wake up.

It's the same for anyone.

That's why they make you sign a risk waiver form.

Yes, but...

I was a heroin addict for 15 years.

That's a long time.

And while you two were feeding me,

changing my sheets, and entertaining me,

I've been watching you. I see you.

What's going on here?

What do you mean?

I see you're all tense, not looking at each other, not touching.

I hope it's only when I'm here.

Even now there's a vibration in the air.

What are you talking about?

I might survive this surgery, but recovery,

giggling, vacationing... that's probably out of the picture.

I have this odd taste in my mouth, and it's not the taste of life.

So let's talk this over.

If you feel such odd things, that's the side effects.

You're taking very strong painkillers, darling.

13 different meds.

OK, at first,

I thought you two knew something about my illness that I didn't.

Then I noticed that

while I was rotting away,

something started to bloom.

I'd like to ask you not to make this into

some 19th century guilt drama.

Never mind about clean house, clean mind.

And definitely skip the part where,

after the old man dies, you two don't meet,

just to honor his memory.

Péter, you won't die, I can feel it.

But if you do, Attila and I will meet, of course.

You're adults. She's a woman.

A fabulously gorgeous woman, and we had a loving relationship for years.

Now it's your turn.

Goodnight.

Open the window, please.

Do you hear it too?

It's coming from the silver garden.

Yes.

Goodnight, Dad.

Well? Is he asleep?

Yeah.

Did he say anything else?

Well...

- About that garden? - Uh-huh.

He keeps babbling.

He's been on about that garden for 3 days.

Attila, put that shit away.

Poor thing has no idea what's going on.

Really?

You heard him, no? What's this nonsense about us?

That we don't dare touch.

Why? Do you dare touch me?

Are you gonna start babbling too now?

Strange how everyone's babbling around you.

Your father's crazy from all the meds.

They're not real thoughts.

He can't find the broadcast on his brain-radio.

It's fucking annoying noise.

Why so uptight then, if it's just noise?

Don't you need to go home?

I'm sleeping here.

I'll go with you to the hospital tomorrow.

If it's not a problem.

It's not. Did I say it was?

Stay, if you want. You can sleep on the couch.

You're acting really strange.

What does your girlfriend think about you sleeping over?

She's a big girl.

And you're a big boy with your cocaine.

Should I get your bedding?

Yeah.

You had that ankle-bracelet on then, too.

When?

When I walked in on you in the bathroom,

and you were holding my grey sweater and boxers.

I always wear it.

- Where's it from? - India.

It's very nice.

Why were you sniffing my shirt?

Why do you think? To see if it needed washing.

It was years ago.

Would you quit it?

Are you crazy?

We're not robots.

No.

Eldron Silvereye, dark elf, age 4171.

Abilities: mind snatching, levitation,

snake magic, trace reading.

Eldron will be a shapeshifter

and must decide if he wishes to turn into a snake, an owl, or a wolf.

Did you make this up or did someone dictate it to you?

We made it up together.

It turned out great, no?

What's the meaning of this?

What do you mean?

We'll be playing that at Bence's this weekend.

Jávor, listen...

When I said you could go play at Bence's this weekend,

I thought you'd be playing a historical game.

But this...

- This is something very different. - Why would it be different?

You're a shapeshifter, for instance.

What does shapeshifter even mean?

I really love shapeshifters. We made it up especially

so I could study animals I could turn into.

So should I be a snake that can slither through a keyhole,

or maybe an owl who can see through everything.

You could change into a goodhearted prince, too.

Whose idea was it to choose these animals in particular?

Mine and the storyteller's.

More the storyteller's or more yours?

I can't believe this. This interrogation again?

No, this is a discussion, Jávor.

So? What about this storyteller?

Well, nothing...

He leads the game, and we made all this up together.

But why do you suddenly care about all this?

I've been going 6 months, and we never talked about it before.

There was a group email, Jávor.

Parents are worried and even the church congregation is upset.

Let them worry.

Watch your tone, OK?

So? Why did you choose the snake?

At least you didn't choose a louse or a maggot.

A snake is a vile beast, Jávor.

Why would a snake be a vile beast?

Snakes are beautiful animals.

I know you are repulsed by them, but...

Watch your tone, OK?

...but don't get that mixed up in this.

There's nothing evil here. This is the animal kingdom.

And you like animals, no?

You know very well what snakes symbolize.

God cursed snakes and transformed them

into vile beasts that must crawl in the dust.

And?

That's why witches turned into snakes and owls.

This is dangerous symbolism, Jávor.

This is what the group email is about.

- Look at me. - I don't want to talk about this.

But you'll have to.

- Let's go. - Witches didn't turn into owls.

That was just an excuse to kill those poor women

who happened to get in their way.

Whose way?

The powers that be.

They pointed at people and randomly accused them of a bunch of nonsense,

then burned them alive or put them in sacks and threw them in the river.

Women just like you.

You're mixing things up completely.

- Yes? - Yes!

I talked to your Bible School teacher,

and he said you're going down a very bad path.

Why do you think he said that?

I have no idea what that man says and why.

Jávor, look at me.

Involve yourself properly in this discussion!

Let's go!

Please stop torturing me with this, Mom.

It's a game, like hide-and-seek, chess, or Activity.

There are cards, characters, dice and such.

I don't understand why you're so scared by this.

It's not like Bence, Áron and I are servants of Satan

and we're sacrificing goats on the playground.

I understand you think this is a game.

But it's not a game. It's fire.

And we don't play with fire.

And you're the one who decides what's fire, right?

Since I'm your mother, yes! Plus it's nonsense!

What's the point of someone wishing to be 4000 years old,

or to see in the dark?!

What's the point? Do you really want to know?

Yes, I'd like to know!

And you're not going anywhere this weekend, son!

What's happening now?

Nothing's happening.

I've had enough. I'm leaving.

Not this weekend, but now.

- Jávor, get a grip on yourself! - I'm not getting a grip.

You're not going anywhere! How dare you?

I'm leaving.

How dare YOU? Did I ever say your things are nonsense?

- As if you should say such things! - I'll say them now.

This is a discussion? This is how you converse?

- How dare you! - You really want my opinion?

Or should I be your puppet as usual?

No, I really want to know. Just calm down a little, OK?

Put that down!

Put it down!

- I'm not calming down. - Well?

It's been going on since I was about 6,

when I had to stare at a bloody human wreck hanging on the cross in church.

That's when I started losing the thread.

I didn't get how a character could be,

to let his son be tortured so horribly.

- God is not a character. - Sure he is.

And the story of Jesus is the loveliest story.

It's about grace.

It seems we have very different ideas about beauty, and about games.

- But this isn't a game. - Yes, Mom, it's a game too.

- It's just a game. - No.

God, the angels, prophets,

and demons are just characters in a story.

What?! Please show more respect!

- Respect to whom? - To believers.

- Why? - What why?!

Why should I show more respect to believers than anyone else?

Enough! You're twisting my words!

Put that book down!

I want to respect everyone the same.

Whether they believe in Zeus, Jesus Christ, or nobody at all.

I'm trying to play fair.

But this is not a game, don't you get it?

It's not a game!

It is. And what's shitty about it, Mom, is that it's forced onto people.

Like me, and everyone at school.

But I'm not playing it anymore, 'cause it's a primitive game.

Sure, it's easy for you. You haven't even read the Bible.

You just get up on Sundays and look at

who has what car and did they comb their hair,

and then you sing your psalms.

Stop it.

Stop it, this is horrible!

You know what's in the Bible?

God slams babies into the ground in front of their mothers' eyes.

- He starves people... - What?

- ...kills his own son. - How dare you!

God is a crazed psychopath.

He's like Mao or Hitler. And the Bible is full of this stuff.

His only excuse is that he doesn't exist.

This is a bad idea, a bad character, a bad story, and an idiotic game.

And if you want, you can play this game, I don't care.

All I ask is that you don't make me play it.

Let me play what I want.

You've become completely brainwashed by those demonic books...

- No, I'm not brainwashed. - ...and these games.

Kata was right. It was a big mistake to allow Harry Potter.

Yeah, poor Áron couldn't even read it.

That's just a gateway into this devil's circle

and now you're completely trapped, a slave to this shit.

- Unpack that bag and go to bed... - I'm not trapped.

- And tomorrow first thing... - I won't unpack my bag.

I'm calling Áron and Bence's parents.

- Don't talk to them about this. - You're not the only one...

...staying home this weekend.

I'm putting an end to this!

- Why?! Who are you, Mom?! - What do you mean?

You heard me! Telling everyone what to do...

I'm your mother, and I'm keeping you from dangerous people.

Dangerous people? You think they're dangerous people?!

They are dangerous people! I tried to raise you religiously.

I wanted you to have some direction in life.

Since it's just the two of us.

So you'd have a close-knit community that...

Don't even understand Bence's family.

I thought Áron's parents were good Christians,

and that you go to Bible School together and pray.

Not this shit!

And you lied to me the whole time! Are you an atheist?!

Yes. But the three of us go to Bible School

because we know how important this is to you guys.

That's why you go to Bible School, Jávor?

Are you crazy? Do you hear what you're saying?

Yes, that's why we go to Bible School,

and because we respect you guys and don't want to hurt you.

But if you decide I can't see the others, then I'm done.

- What? Then what? - I'm done. Done.

I won't go to Bible School anymore.

- Give me that bag now. - No, I won't.

- Give me the bag, you're... - Calm down, please calm down.

...not going off on that weekend. You'll do what I say.

Let that damned bag go! You're not going! Understood?!

You're not going off on that weekend! You do as I say!

- This discussion is over. - Stop it.

Stop yanking me! Are you crazy?

- Calm down already! - What are you doing?

- Stop yanking me! - I won't do this!

So anyway, at first, Nóri worked as a dishwasher here in Budapest,

but this didn't fit her self-image.

But later she was a barista at a café,

and saw the whole meat market for herself.

Saw the stretchy yoga moms who sip lattes all day,

and that's basically their life.

And a yoga mom suggested this esoteric school to her,

so she took correspondence classes and spent all her money on that.

I first met her at a pub.

She was stoned as fuck,

talking about aura, and reincarnation, and levitation.

It was all bullshit, but she believed it,

but she laughed about it too.

So we hooked up and started dating and during a shower,

I found a lump in her breast.

And I said to her, Nóri, you gotta get to a doctor ASAP.

And she didn't want to, but the lump grew pretty fast,

so she got scared too, so they did a biopsy.

And I don't know if the doc had a bad day or bad pay,

but all he told Nóri was

that either they take off her breast in surgery tomorrow, or she'll die.

That's it.

And Nóri got up, slammed the door in his face, and left.

And we went to another doctor who said the same thing:

that she's gotta have surgery immediately.

And then Nóri decided that she's not getting her tit slashed off.

'Cause why would a 23-year-old girl get her breast cut off anyway?

And it was double hardcore, 'cause Nóri wasn't your classic pretty girl,

but her breasts were really exceptional.

Yeah, so she started searching for photos,

showing them to me, what breasts look like after amputation.

And they were really fuckin' awful, but I said to her, okay, Nóri,

sure, it's ugly, but you can get plastic surgery and all.

And she thought about it,

but then she got her mind messed up at that esoteric school,

'cause they asked her if she'd ever thought about

how something spiritual might've caused that lump.

So she got totally obsessed with this idea of what her mom did to her,

and her dad, and her boyfriends and all.

And I told her, Nóri, what the hell, the house is on fire.

First you put that out, and later you deal with the fire starter.

And she accepted that, but refused surgery.

So she fasted and stuck jade crystals up inside her,

and got vitamin C injections, and got aura scrubs.

And this was all fucking expensive, her money was gone,

so she asked for loans, and so we lent her money.

And her breast just got worse, with this constant discharge.

And it fuckin' sucked, because I was really, really in love with her

and wanted to help, but I had to watch her going down this spiral.

And I just couldn't go along with it.

Anyway, by then, she needed her bandage changed 3x a day,

and perfuming herself to hide the smell, and at the café they said

she probably shouldn't come to work anymore.

She was stick-thin from fasting,

so the patrons were literally scared of her.

And I totally got that, 'cause she really looked hardcore,

sometimes she scared me too in the dark.

But the yoga moms were really nice to her at the café,

'cause they pitched in to cover her salary, so she could stay home.

But Nóri wouldn't accept it.

And I said, don't be stupid,

these people drive their kids to preschool in Teslas,

think of it as a tip.

But no.

And then she met this dude, Etienne.

He called himself Etienne,

but he's just a pathetic normie from some fleabag town.

He's a real vulture. When everyone's given up on a patient,

'cause you can tell from miles away

that the cancer's spread and they're doomed,

that's when these scumbags show up.

Etienne's a real cocksucker.

Google him and you'll see he's this clean-shaven motherfucker,

with that Bluetooth shit in his ear and pervy glasses

and spewing wise-ass crap in his baritone.

Fuckin' repulsive.

So anyway, this person for 170Ft an hour, gave Nóri consultations.

And he said stuff like:

Nóri, perhaps this tumor is just a natural reaction to

negative feelings, concrete family traumas.

I said to Nóri, are you out of your mind?

You wanna give him your money?

Is this guy you want?

A dude who says tumors are a natural part of healing?

It's what she wanted.

And this Etienne brainwashed her,

and wouldn't let her take painkillers,

or let her go to another doctor.

Not like she could even go anywhere by then.

She could only lay in bed, like a baby bird in a nest.

She couldn't move from the pain.

Her mom came to nurse her, and we raised money to pay for a flat,

except that poor lady was totally crushed.

'Cause Nóri kept bashing her with awful things she did to her as a kid,

'cause Etienne said that all this was caused by Nóri's mom,

that the cancer is her fault.

And a friend got hold of some morphine,

and we dropped it into her tea, secretly,

'cause she wouldn't take anything that had chemicals.

'Cause Etienne banned all chemicals.

They were off limits.

I said to her, fucking hell, Nóri, everything's chemicals.

The whole goddamned fucking universe is one big chemical.

But no. No.

Anyway, one day Nóri just died.

That's it.

That's all I wanted to say.

OK. And this is why you called me here?

Why tell me this?

'Cause you knew Nóri.

That's an overstatement. I know who she was.

We met at Ozora Festival last year.

Spent 3 days together. But I barely remember her.

I remember she wouldn't take her shirt off.

Even when she didn't have anything else on.

'Cause she had to bandage her breast by then.

May I ask what you do?

I'm a consultant.

Listen, here's Nóri's diary. Her mom gave it to me last week.

And there's a sentence in it.

She quotes you.

"...and then this guy looks at me with his leopard eyes and says

'some people are alive only because it's against the law to kill them."

And he works with these people.

First, I thought he was a bodyguard,

then I understood that it was just the opposite.

Bodyguards exist because of guys like him.

It was thrilling. Then sex again, and cocaine again..." etc.

Anyway, I didn't know about all this, 'cause Nóri didn't tell me,

but I've known since last week.

But my work is nobody's business except mine and my clients'.

Definitely not yours.

But you told Nóri.

We were doing MDMA. People say all sorts of stuff then.

Well, I talk way more honest when I do MDMA.

Super.

Listen, I was there when Nóri died.

And while she was dying, she kept repeating one thing.

Your name. YOUR name.

And I didn't get it then, 'cause I didn't know you, but I do now,

and I think I know why she kept saying your name.

Why?

'Cause Nóri thought you had to fix this.

I see.

Is that it then?

If you think that's it, then that's it, yes.

But sorry, I don't get it.

If a dying person kept repeating my name,

I might react a bit differently.

Why did you call me here? I still don't get it.

Nóri's gone.

We can't change that, okay.

Etienne didn't stop. He uploaded a video to YouTube yesterday,

and one this morning, and he'll keep doing it.

'Cause he's got 40,000 followers.

He's still taking the last few cents from the dying.

That's how he built his house and got his pool,

and what pays his kids' elite school.

I'm not asking any favors.

I just want you to please tell me how to kill someone.

'Cause I'm not the only one who knows

you can solve things like this.

How to deal with people who are alive

only because it's against the law to bash their heads in.

I've drawn a line in my life.

And I do not overstep that line.

Yeah, okay, but can't you even give advice?

You said you're a consultant, no?

Report him.

The police don't give a fuck. They can't do anything.

Despite quackery laws, until you prove that jackass takes money,

that's it.

There's nothing you can do.

And that bastard Etienne - when Nóri was bone-thin already -

he had her tell a camera that she never gave him a fuckin' cent,

and she just got advice from him.

And that's it, 'cause that's what that motherfucker does.

Listen, I'm not asking you to overstep your line,

and I get that you're done with this. I get it all.

I'd just like to ask you for one thing: tell me what to do.

Tell me how to kill a man, a man like this.

I think you simply owe Nóri this much.

Listen, I'm really sorry.

That weekend didn't mean much to me. I barely remember.

And it doesn't mean that I owe Nóri anything at all.

Or you, for instance.

That was Nóri's last weekend.

Her last carefree weekend.

And you were with her.

OK. So?

You can't see yourselves from the outside.

Here's a person who's causing a lot of pain to a bunch of people.

He's on tour now, saying he treats cancer with electric heaters.

He buys 5Ft heaters on eBay, then sells them to families for 130Ft.

Then he blames the families for the illness

and for his inability to heal the patients.

He's controlling 14 families at the moment.

How do you know?

My family is one of the 14.

My brother is very ill. He has bone cancer,

and Etienne is treating him.

And the thing is, my family isn't willing to pay

the Ft130 for Etienne's crappy, Chinese heater,

'cause I showed them you can actually get it on eBay for 5Ft.

So Etienne started telling my brother that

this whole illness is because of a sibling conflict.

And he blames my parents for taking my side

and denying money from a dying man.

And my brother won't speak to me.

Yells at my parents

and sold all his belongings just to pay Etienne.

Listen, I'm really sorry, but I'm not Batman.

Find somebody else.

Things aren't the way you imagine them at all.

Yeah?

This work isn't about feelings. It's not opera.

It's business.

And me giving advice is just plain ridiculous.

Then you do it.

We've collected a lot of money for a worst-case scenario.

Six families pitched in.

If we make a deal, we can have the money for you tomorrow in cash.

Six families?

All six have someone dying?

My brother is the last one left alive.

But not for long.

These families, they're very different.

But there's something they all have in common:

They can't sleep at night,

and walk around their flats like caged tigers,

thinking.

I'm just one of them.

What's the address?

I mean, where does he live?

In Nagykovácsi. Szőllősi Street 27-B.

OK.

We never met, don't know each other.

Delete my number and your call logs too.

We simply don't exist to each other.

We never did.

And the money? How should we settle it?

27-B?

Yes.

Hi, Grandpa.

Grandpa.

You were sleeping very deeply.

Is everything okay?

Yes.

But I would really like to go home now.

But you're already home.

You live here.

C'mon, let's step outside a bit.