Original subtitles

Previously on Hannibal...

Layers and layers of lies

betrayed by a sad glint in a childs eyes.

How did you feel seeing Marissa shore,

- impaled in his antler room? - Guilty.

Because you couldn't save her?

Because I felt like I killed her.

Our friend Will

seems haunted today.

We don't know what nightmares lie coiled

- beneath Will's pillow. - At night I leave the lights on

in my little house.

And walk across the flat fields. When I look back from a distance,

the house is like a boat on the sea.

It's really the only time I feel safe.

- Children transport us to our childhoods. - What do you see will?

Will may feel the tug of life, before the FBI, before you.

He needs an anchor, Jack.

Where you going?

I wanna go home.

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You lost?

Uh, what?

What's your name?

Will Graham.

Do you know where you are, Mr. Graham?

No.

Where do you live?

Wolf Trap, Virginia.

We're in Wolf Trap, so that's good. You're close to home.

Is that yours?

Aw, hi, Winston.

Hey...

uh, can I sit down? My feet are sore.

Why don't we take you home?

Are you on any drugs? Medication?

Prescription or otherwise? No.

You been drinkin'?

No. Uh, yes. Not excessively.

I had two fingers of whiskey before I went to bed.

You have a history of sleepwalking, Mr. Graham?

I'm not even sure if I'm awake now.

Although I may be, is it safe

to assume you're not sleepwalking now? I'm sorry it's so early.

Never apologize for coming to me.

Office hours are for patients. My kitchen is always open to friends.

Onset of sleepwalking in adulthood

is less common than in children. Could it be a seizure?

I'd argue good old-fashioned post-traumatic stress.

Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty.

- I wasn't forced back into the field. - I wouldn't say "forced".

"Manipulated" would be the word I'd choose.

I can handle it.

Somewhere between denying horrible events

and calling them out lies the truth of psychological trauma.

So I can't handle it.

Your experience may have overwhelmed ordinary functions

that give you a sense of control.

If my body is walking around without my permission,

you'd say that's a loss of control?

Wouldn't you?

Sleepwalkers demonstrate a difficulty

handling aggression. Are you experiencing

difficulty with aggressive feelings?

You said Jack sees me as fine china

used for special guests.

I'm beginning to feel more like an old mug.

You entered into a devil's bargain

with Jack Crawford. It takes a toll.

Jack isn't the devil.

When it comes to how far he's willing

to push you to get what he wants,

he's certainly no Saint.

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1x05 Coquilles

Room was registered to a John Smith. Heh, big surprise there.

An appalling failure of imagination.

They paid cash. There are no security cameras

on the premises... another big surprise.

- John Smith one of the victims? - Mr. and Mrs. Anderson,

according to the register. They were mutilated and displayed.

I thought it might be The Chesapeake Ripper,

but there were no surgical trophies taken.

I'm gonna need you to prepare yourself on this one. I'm prepared.

Prepare yourself some more. It's soup in there.

- Soup isn't good for the soul. - Not this kind.

Alright, look, there are no jurisdictional rivalries here.

The local police begged us to take this. Where's your head?

It's on my pillow. I didn't sleep.

Got just the thing to wake you up.

Ok, I'm awake.

Hooks were bored into the ceiling.

Fishing line was used

to hold up the bodies and... the wings.

- At least we know he's a fisherman. - And/or a viking.

Vikings do this?

Vikings used to execute christians by breaking their ribs,

bending them back, and draping the lungs over them

to resemble wings. They used to call it

a "blood eagle." Pagans mocking the Godfearing.

- Then who's mocking who? - No, he isn't mocking them.

He's transforming them. I don't know if it was

a good night's sleep, but he slept here.

Hair on the pillow and the sheets are still damp.

He's a sweater.

Madness slept here last night.

He threw up on the nightstand.

Couldn't stomach what he did.

Flop sweat and nervous indigestion.

Not nervous.

Righteous.

Thinks he's... Elevating them somehow.

I need a plastic sheet for the bed.

This is not who you are.

This is my gift to you.

I allow you to become angels.

And now,

I lay me down to sleep.

A masterpiece foie gras au torchon

with a late harvest

of vidal sauce...

With dried and fresh figs.

Wonderful.

Mrs. Crawford, your husband

introduced you as Bella. Are you an Isabelle or an Annabelle?

I'm a Phyllis.

Jack only calls me Phyllis when we disagree.

So, named Bella for your beauty.

We were both stationed in Italy. I was army, she was NATO staff.

All of the Italian men kept calling her

"Bella, Bella, Bella."

Well, I wanted her to be my Bella.

Mm. Cold foie gras

- with warm figs. - Yes.

Very nice.

Would I be a horrible guest if I skipped this course?

- Too rich? - Too cruel.

Phyllis.

- Jack. - First and worst sign

of sociopathic behavior: Cruelty to animals.

That doesn't apply in the kitchen.

I have no taste for animal cruelty,

which is why I employ an ethical butcher.

An ethical butcher? Be kind to animals and then eat them?

I'm afraid I insist on it.

No need for unnecessary suffering.

Human emotions are a gift from our animal ancestors.

Cruelty is a gift

humanity has given itself.

The gift that keeps on giving.

Your perfume is exquisite.

Similar to the aroma on the earth just after lightning strikes.

Is it jar?

That is some nose you have there, doctor.

He really is quite charming, isn't he?

I first noticed my keen sense of smell

when I was a young man.

I was aware one of my teachers had stomach cancer

- even before he was. - Hm.

Wow, that must have been some parlor trick.

For our next course,

roasted pork shank. And I assure you, Bella,

it was an especially supercilious pig.

"Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings

where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws."

- Robert Frost. - Jim Morrison.

Even a drunk with a flair for the dramatic

can convince himself he's God. Or the lizard king.

God makes angels. Jesus was fond of fishermen.

Are we talking hardcore Judeo-Christian

upsetting, or just upsetting in general?

This is a very specific upsetting.

Increased serotonin in the wounds

is much higher than the free histamines, so, uh,

she lived for about 15 minutes after she was skinned.

Powder residue on the neck of the soda bottle

shows Vecuronium...

scotch and soda and a paralytic agent.

Kneeling in supplication at the feet of g-dash-d.

Supplication is the most common form of prayer.

Gimme, gimme, gimme.

They weren't praying to him.

They were praying for him.

He's afraid.

What is somebody who could do something like this

afraid of?

- What's in his vomit? - Uh, Dexamethasone...

That's used for patients with tumors.

Kepra... He's epileptic. Radiation?

- Gamma four. - Steroids for the inflammation,

anticonvulsants for the seizures, radiation for the chemotherapy.

Our guy has a brain tumor.

He's afraid of dying in his sleep.

He's making angels to watch over him.

Mrs. Crawford.

Please come in.

How often do you see him?

Twice a week at first.

Now usually just once.

You're satisfied, then?

Enough to keep seeing him.

Your intention is not to tell Jack.

I don't see what good it would do.

Jack sees the world at its worst.

Don't need him seeing me at mine.

He already has too much to worry about.

He has room for one more worry.

I feel like you're protecting him.

I am. I've had dinner

at your home.

You have a professional relationship with my husband.

There's no conflict of interest, me being here?

It's unorthodox,

but not unheard of.

Given the nature of your problem, seeing someone who knows Jack

removes some of the guesswork.

This all started as some misguided stab

at maintaining my dignity.

Nothing undignified about this.

Not yet.

But I have indignity

to look forward to, don't I?

The only indignity I see is resentment.

Why do you resent your husband?

I resent that Jack...

Has too much to worry about

to worry about me.

But that's your choice.

Not his.

Then maybe you should see us both for couples counseling.

I would recommend another psychiatrist for couples.

I wouldn't want you to have the home-couch advantage.

It's hard enough

dealing with how I feel about all of this.

Don't need to deal with how Jack feels about it.

There is no one and only spiritual center of the brain.

Any idea of God comes from many different areas of the mind

working together in unison.

Maybe I was wrong.

How do you profile someone who has

an anomaly in their head changing the way they think?

A tumor can definitely affect brain function,

even cause vivid hallucinations. However, what appears

to be driving your angel maker to create heaven on earth

is a simple issue of mortality. Can't beat God, become him?

You said he was afraid.

He feels abandoned.

Ever feel abandoned, Will?

Abandonment requires expectation.

What were your expectations

of Jack Crawford and the FBI?

Jack hasn't abandoned me.

Not in any discernible way.

Perhaps in the way gods abandon their creations.

You say he hasn't abandoned you, but at the same time you

find yourself wandering around Wolf Trap in the middle of the night.

Well... This should be interesting.

Please, doctor, proceed.

Jack gave you his word he would protect your headspace,

yet he leaves you to your mental devices.

Are you trying to alienate me from Jack Crawford?

I'm trying to help you understand this angel maker

you seek. Well, help me understand

how to catch him. If he were a classic paranoid

schizophrenic, you might be able to influence him

to become visible. What, scare him out into the daylight?

Might even get him to hurt himself,

if he hasn't already. If he were selfdestructive,

he-he-he wouldn't be so careful.

Unless he's careful about being self-destructive,

making angels to pray over him when he sleeps.

Who prays over us when we sleep?

So, do you wait until you think I'm asleep before you come to bed?

It's not intentional.

I'm working late.

Nothing personal.

So can we have a conversation, or do you

want to pretend that everything's alright?

Everything is alright.

So no conversation.

I'm a bit overwhelmed at the moment.

- With? - With things at work...

Etcetera.

I've got some things I have to sort through.

It's, uh, outside your jurisdiction, Jack.

You know something...

I'm very good at sorting things out,

and at the very least I can underwhelm you

while you're being overwhelmed. You've

never been able to underwhelm me.

Is there anything I can offer you romantically

or physically or spiritually that'll help?

Nope.

So as your husband, what I can do for you is, um,

leave you alone and not ask you any questions.

You can ask me anything you want to.

I won't insult you by asking if there's someone else.

Thank you.

You'll sort out whatever it is you have

to sort out, we'll get back to being us.

I love you, Bella.

I love you too.

Why angels?

Well, it isn't biblical. His angels have wings.

Um, angels in sculptures and paintings can fly, but not in scripture.

He's drawing from secular sources?

His mind has turned against him and there's no one there to help.

Uh, Jack... look at this.

Are those... What are those?

Somebody got an orchiectomy real cheap.

- Doesn't look like the victim. - So they're the angel maker's?

- He castrated himself? - So he isn't just

making angels; He's getting ready to become one.

Angels don't have genitalia.

So he was afraid of dying. Now he's, what, getting used to the idea?

He's accepting it or he's bargaining.

- Heh, bargaining chips! - So, does this mean that

he's done making angels, or is he just getting started?

- I don't know. - Well, he's not just

killing them when he's sleepy. I mean, how is he choosing them?

- I don't know. Ask him. - I'm asking you.

You're the head of the behavioral science unit, Jack.

Why don't you come up with your own answers if you don't like mine?

I did not hear that!

Did I?

Um...

No, you didn't.

I'm sorry.

I've never heard anybody talk to Jack the way you talked to Jack.

- I was out of line. - You were out of your mind.

My ears rang like the first time I heard my mom use the f-word.

You ok?

I know it's a stupid question considering that none of us

could possibly be ok doing what we do, but... are you ok?

Do I seem different?

You're a little different,

but you've always been a little different.

Brilliant strategy...

that way no one ever knows if something's up with you.

How would I know if something was up with you?

You wouldn't.

But I would tell you if you asked me. Return the favor?

Meet Roger and Marilyn Brunner.

You might recognize them from such lists as most wanted.

He likes to rape and murder, she likes to watch.

We got a DNA match. They falsified

the motel registry and were driving a stolen car,

so it took a second to identify them.

I wonder how long it took Angel Maker to identify them.

He didn't choose them randomly. He knows something about them.

The murdered security guard wasn't actually a security guard.

He was a convicted felon.

Could Angel Maker be a vigilante?

Well, vigilantes are pragmatic, they're purposeful;

They don't lay down and sleep under their crimes.

In his mind, he was doing God's work. That spells vigilante.

Well, playing at God has other advantages. One of them...

Is always being alone. So he makes angels out of demons.

How does he know they're demons?

He doesn't have to know.

All he has to do is believe.

Has Jack begun to suspect?

He's a behavioral specialist. He must know

you are keeping something from him.

Oh, he knows. He asked me if I was having an affair...

by reassuring me that he didn't have to ask.

I doubt he believes you're unfaithful.

And why do you doubt that?

It's clear you love your husband.

Women who love their husbands still find reasons to cheat on them.

Not you.

Still, you seem more betrayed by Jack than by your own body.

I don't feel betrayed by Jack.

And there's no point in being mad at cancer for being cancer.

Sure there is.

Cancer isn't cruel.

Tiny cell wanders off from my liver, gets lost,

finds its way into my lung,

where it's just trying to do its job and...

Grow a liver.

What it grows and where it's growing it will likely kill you.

Not likely.

It will kill me,

and no amount of blueberries or antioxidants can change that now.

But you hold Jack accountable for his inability to cure cancer.

Should I have said his inability to save you?

Would that be more accurate? I am slowly shrinking,

while this tiny thing grows larger every day.

And yet I feel fine.

You will feel fine...

up until the precise moment you don't.

It's a... really very dull story, though, isn't it?

The ending is always the same, and that same is that it ends.

So, you withdraw

from your relationship with your husband,

the man who strolled along the quays of Livorno, Italy,

and called you Bella.

It's difficult to lie still and fear going to sleep.

What is there to think about?

You listen to your breathing in the dark

and the tiny clicks of your blinking eyes.

I dream more now than I used to.

Well, your dreams were the one place you could be

physically safe, relinquishing control. Not anymore.

Yeah, I thought about zipping myself up into a sleeping bag

before I go to sleep, but it, heh,

sounds like a poor man's straightjacket.

Have you determined how this angel maker is choosing his victims?

Well, he doesn't see people how everyone else sees them.

He can tell if you're naughty or nice,

or he thinks he can.

So God has given this person insight into the souls of men.

God didn't give him insight; God gave him a tumor.

He's just a man whose brain is playing tricks on him.

You are not unlike this killer.

My brain is playing tricks on me?

You want to feel such sweet and easy peace.

The angel maker wants that same peace.

He hopes to feel his way cautiously inside and then find

it's endless, all around him.

He's gonna be disappointed.

You accept the impossibility of such a feeling,

whereas the angel maker is still chasing it.

If he got close to it, that's why he will

look for it again. I've tried to reconstruct

his thinking, find his patterns.

Instead you find yourself in a behavior pattern you can't break.

You realize you have a choice.

What is it?

Angel Maker will be destroyed by what's happening inside his head;

You don't have to be.

Did you just smell me?

Difficult to avoid.

I really must introduce you to a finer aftershave.

That smells like something with a ship on the bottle.

Well, I keep getting it for Christmas.

Have your headaches been any worse lately? More frequent?

Yes, actually.

I'd change the aftershave.

Elliot Budish: 35-year-old truck driver.

He's got a fishing license too. Uh, match

came from the national cancer database.

Married, two kids... they haven't seen him in four months.

He was diagnosed five months ago.

Meet the angel maker.

Have you heard from him since he left?

I left him.

And, uh, no, no,

I haven't.

Why did you leave?

Because of his cancer.

It makes me sound like a horrible wife.

I'm sure you had your reasons.

I took a leave from work to, uh, to be with him.

I wanted to be there for him.

But what he wanted was to be alone.

He just kept pulling away

and pulling away.

He made it clear he didn't want me there.

And then it wasn't clear.

And then it didn't matter why he was acting the way he was.

It was weird

for the kids. I mean,

what kind of mother exposes her children to someone

who is losing their mind?

Was he ever violent, Mrs. Budish?

He was angry.

But he never

hit me or the boys. It was hardest on them.

To see him slip away. He lost himself.

And they lost a father.

I thought that as he got weaker,

as the cancer got worse, that it would be less confusing

for them. They could just see him

as a sick man

instead of someone who was so terrified.

And, uh, did your husband's faith falter

after he was told about the cancer?

Elliot wasn't ever religious.

Is he doing something religious? He may believe he is.

Your husband is dying,

Mrs. Budish, and soon.

We'd just like

to... we'd like to find him before he hurts himself or anyone else.

He... had a near-death experience

he suffocated in a fire when he was a little boy.

Fireman said he must've had a guardian angel.

Where did this happen?

Um... a farm...

Where he grew up.

- This'll be the last one. - It's Budish?

He made himself into an angel.

It wasn't God, it wasn't man. It was his choice to die.

- His choice? - As much as he can make it.

I don't know how much longer I can be all that useful to you, Jack.

Really? You caught three. The last three we had,

you caught. You caught three of them.

No, I didn't catch this one. Elliot Budish... surrendered.

You know, I'm used to my wife not talking to me.

I don't have to get used to you not talking to me too.

It's getting harder and harder to make myself look.

Well, nobody's asking you to look alone.

But I am looking alone.

And you know what looking at this does.

I know what happens if you don't look,

and so do you. I can make myself look,

but the thinking is shutting down.

- What is it about this one? - It isn't this one.

It's all of them. It's the next one, it's

the one that I know is coming after that.

You wanna go back to your lecture hall?

- Read about this stuff on tattlecrime.com? - No, I don't.

But that may be what I have to do. This is bad for me.

I'm not your father, Will.

I'm not gonna tell you what you ought to do.

Seems like that's exactly what you're gonna do.

You go back to your classroom.

When there's killing going on that you could've prevented,

it will sour your classroom forever.

Maybe. And then maybe I'll find a job

as a diesel mechanic in a boatyard.

You wanna quit?

Quit.

I see what you are.

What do you see?

Inside.

I can bring it out of you.

Not all the way out.

I can give you... The majesty

of true becoming.

Hello, doctor.

My wife and I need to talk.

May we use your waiting room? You can have the office. Please.

Thank you.

Just popping in

on official business, or did you follow me?

I called your office. They said you were

at an appointment. I figured you'd be here.

You know.

I knew you'd find out.

When did you find out?

Twelve weeks ago.

Twelve weeks ago?

Lung cancer.

You don't smoke.

The irony.

Is it treatable?

It's stage four.

And we know there's no stage five, don't we?

When were you gonna tell me?

Far enough into the future that I'm really

not prepared to have this conversation

- right now. - Neither am I,

but we're having it. We're having it right now.

Were you just going to wait

until you were in the middle of chemotherapy?

When you couldn't hide it anymore?

I don't think I want to do chemotherapy.

Well, do I have any say

- in this? - No.

No, you don't.

Do you want to be alone?

I don't want you to answer that.

Just think about your answer.

I want you to know that I don't want

you to be alone, not now and not ever.

We'll beat this together?

No, it's your fight, baby, but I'm in your corner.

I'm not going anywhere.

I appreciate that, Jack.

I do.

But I'm not comforted by it.

I know that's what you need and, and...

you need to comfort me.

But I can't give you what you need.

Don't worry about what I need.

Why wouldn't you tell me?

I thought if I kept it to myself, our lives wouldn't change.

I didn't count on changing as much as I did.

What do you want, Will?

I'm gonna sit here until you're ready to talk.

You don't have to say a word until you're ready, but...

I'm not going anywhere until you do.

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