All language subtitles for Hannibal.S01E10.Buffet.Froid.1080p.Web-DL.ReEnc-DeeJayAhmed

Previously, on
Hannibal...

- Abigail Hobbs killed Nick Boyle.
- We can tell no one.

I'm worried about you, Will.

You empathize so completely
with the killers Jack Crawford

has your mind wrapped around
that you lose yourself to them.

Maybe I should
get a brain scan.

Do you feel unstable?

Is there a problem, Will?

- You lost time.
- There's something wrong with me.

I'm your friend, Will. I don't
care about the lives you save;

I care about your life,

and your life is
separating from reality.

I can feel my nerves

clicking like, uh,
roller coaster cogs,

pulling up to the
inevitable long plunge.

Quick sounds, quickly ended.

Abigail Hobbs ended
Nicholas Boyle.

Like a burst balloon.

She took a life.

You've taken a life.

Yeah. Yeah, so have you.

You're grieving, Will.
Not for the life you have taken,

but for the life that was taken
from you.

If Abigail could have
started over, left the horror

of her father behind,
so could have you.

You could untangle yourself
from the madness and the murder.

We lied for her.

We both know the unreality
of taking a life.

The people who die
when we have no other choice,

we know in those moments
they are not flesh,

but light,

and air, and color.

Isn't that what it is
to be alive?

Do you feel alive, Will?

I...

I feel like I'm fading.

Have you experienced
any further loss of time?

Or hallucinations?

I'd like you to draw
a clock face.

Numbered.

Small hand indicating the hour,
large hand the minute.

Why?

An exercise.

I want you to focus on
the present moment.

The now. Often as you can,

think of where you are,
and when.

Think of who you are.

Seven sixteen PM.

I'm in Baltimore, Maryland.

And my name is Will Graham.

A simple reminder.

The handle to reality
for you to hold on to.

And know you're alive.

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What happened in there?

- I got confused.
- I've seen you confused

and I've seen you upset, but I've
never seen you afraid like this.

Well, I'm an old hand at fear.
I can manage this one.

I just got disoriented.
I can go back in.

I saw the look on your face
when you came out of that room.

Now, what did you experience
in there that's got you mute

- all of a sudden?
- I can see

and hear better afraid.
I-I just can't...

- ...speak as concisely.
- Will, you

contaminated the crime scene.
You've never done that before.

I thought I was responsible
for it.

What are you saying? You thought
that you killed that woman in there?

- Sometimes with, uh, what I do...
- What you do

is you take all of the evidence
available at a crime scene.

You extrapolate.
You reconstruct

the thinking of a killer.

You don't think of yourself
as the killer.

I got lost
in the reconstruction.

Just for a second. Just a blink.

I know you don't like to be
the cause for concern, but I am

- officially concerned about you.
- Officially?

- Yes, that's right.
- Hm.

I thought the reason
you had me seeing

Dr. Lecter and not an FBI
psychiatrist is

so my mental well-being stays...

unofficial.

I just want
to be careful with you.

We don't want
to break you here.

Is that what's happening?
Have I broken you?

Do you have anyone

that does this better unbroken
than I do broken?

Fear makes you rude, Will.

She drowned on her own blood.

And what she didn't drown on
is all over the floor

and under the bed.
She was trying to hide from him.

He dragged her there. He was
waiting under the bed for her.

Fought to claw her way out.

He knew her.
Someone who cared about her,

- or thought he did.
- He cared too much.

So, we're looking
for boyfriends, ex-boyfriends,

coworkers,

- the guy who bags her groceries.
- I've got a clean

set of prints on the knife
handle. I assume they're yours.

- Sorry.
- Mm.

There's other dermal tissue,
presumably from the killer's,

but the skin is so diseased
or damaged it didn't leave

any useful prints. The victim scratched
her killer deep enough to pile

tissue under the fingernails,
but never drew blood.

Why didn't he bleed?

After he cut up
the victim's face,

it looks like he was trying
to pull her skin back.

Like he was removing a mask?

I still have the...

coppery smell of blood
on my hands.

I can't remember seeing

the crime scene before I saw
myself killing her.

Those memories sank
out of sight,

yet you're aware
of their absence.

There's a grandiosity
to the violence that I imagined

that feels more real
than what I know is true.

What do you know to be true?

I know I didn't kill her.
I couldn't have.

But I remember cutting into her.
I remember watching her die.

You must overcome these delusions
that are disguising your reality.

What kind of savage delusions
does this killer have?

It wasn't savage.
It was lonely.

It was desperate. Sad.

I caught a glimpse of myself
in the mirror,

and I looked right through me,

past me, as if I was a...
was just a stranger.

You have to honestly confront
your limitations

with what you do.

- And how it affects you.
- If by limitations

you mean the difference between sanity
and insanity, I don't accept that.

- What do you accept?
- I know

what kind of crazy I am, and
this isn't that kind of crazy.

This could be... seizures.

This could be a tumor.

A... a blood clot.

I can recommend a neurologist.

But if it isn't physiological,
then you have to accept

what you're struggling with
is mental illness.

You're in very good hands.

Dr. Lecter here is

- one of the sanest men I know.
- I would agree.

Dr. Sutcliffe and I were
residents together at Hopkins.

Another life ago,

back when you weren't afraid to
get your hands a little dirty.

I was always drawn
to how the mind works.

I found it much more dynamic
than how the brain works.

The projected image is more
interesting than the projector,

until, of course,
the projector breaks down.

So, Will, these headaches.

When did they begin in earnest?

Two to three months ago.

About the time Will went back

into the field,
which is when I met him.

And the hallucinations?

I can't really say
when they started.

Um...

I just slowly became aware
that I might not be dreaming.

It's encephalitis.

- That's your pre-diagnosis?
- Yes.

Based on...?

I could smell it.

So your sense of smell has gone
from calling out a nurse's perfume

to diagnosing
autoimmune disease.

He started sleepwalking and
I noticed a very specific scent.

And what exactly does
encephalitis smell like?

It has heat.

A fevered sweetness.

If you suspected,
why didn't you

say something?
Had to be sure.

Symptoms began slowly

and gradually worsened.
And yesterday,

I asked him to draw a clock.

This is what he drew.

Oh. Spatial neglect.

Headaches, disorientation,

hallucinations,
altered consciousness.

It's all the telltale signs.
Hm.

It is so rare to be able to
study the psychological effect

of this type of malady
on a person's mind.

It's more rare still

to be able to study
the neurological effects.

A doctor has to weigh the ultimate
benefit of scientific study.

Even in these times, we know
so little about the brain.

There are great discoveries
to be made.

The right side of his brain is
completely inflamed.

It's anti-NMDA receptor
encephalitis.

The symptoms are only going
to get worse.

I know.

It's unfortunate for Will.

What do you smell on me?

Opportunity.

We didn't find anything
abnormal.

No vascular malformations,

no tumors,

no swelling or bleeding,
no evidence of stroke.

Nothing.

There's nothing wrong with you
neurologically.

So what I'm experiencing is
psychological.

Well... brain scans can't

diagnose, uh, mental disorders.

They can only rule out
medical illnesses

like a tumor, which can have
similar symptoms.

Look, we'll run

some more tests.

We'll take some more
blood samples, but I imagine

they'll prove to be
just as inconclusive.

You knew from the moment

you walked into his classroom
that you were putting him

in a potentially destructive
environment.

I had eight college girls dead in Minnesota.
Will caught their killer for me.

He also caught
their killer's disease.

He can't stop thinking
about what it is to take a life.

I'd rather he go a little mad
than other innocents lose

their lives, and I think
he would feel the same way.

Will is an innocent.

Yes. He is.

I mean, Will is genuine.

He'll survive anything
I could put him through.

He will always fight his way
back to himself.

Not always. So far.

He saw

a neurologist today. They found
nothing wrong with him.

He was very upset by that.

You're saying he wanted
something to be wrong?

I think he wanted an answer
that wasn't mental illness.

You think he's mentally ill.

The problem Will has is
too many mirror neurons.

Our heads are filled with them
when we are children...

supposed to help us socialize
and then melt away.

But Will held on to his,

which makes knowing who he is
a challenge.

When you take him
to a crime scene, Jack,

the very air has screams
smeared on it.

In those places,
he doesn't just reflect;

He absorbs.

It's 10:36.

I'm in Greenwood, Delaware.

My name is Will Graham.

It's 1:17 AM.

W-We're in Greenwood, Delaware.

And my name is Will Graham.

And you're alive.

If you can hear me,

you're alive!

Why did you call me?

Why not Jack?
Why not the police?

I called you because...

I'm not entirely sure
what I saw was real.

Then let's prove it.

I grabbed her arm...

And an entire layer
of dead skin separated

from the underlying tissue,
like she was wearing a glove.

- That's why she doesn't bleed.
- Right. There's no circulation.

And there's nothing alive in the tissue to bind it.
What did you do with it?

I don't know.

Could be
a staphylococcal infection.

That, or leprosy.
Her eyes were discolored.

She was, uh, malnourished,
jaundiced.

Her liver was shutting down.
She was...

deranged.

So she mutilated a woman's face
because she thought it was a mask.

She can't see faces.

If she did kill

Beth LeBeau, she might
not even know she did it.

Then why did she come back?

- To convince herself she didn't.
- Is that why you came back?

If I wasn't clear
on that issue,

I know I didn't kill
Beth LeBeau.

I just want to know who did.

Me too.

Yeah.

You're the subject of a lot
of speculation at the bureau.

Oh, yeah?
What are they speculating?

That Jack pushed you

right up to the edge, and now
you're pushing yourself over.

This killer...

can't accept her reality.

I can occasionally identify
with that.

That said, I feel...

relatively sane.

It's 7:05 PM.

I'm in Baltimore, Maryland.

My name is Will Graham.

Thank you for humoring me.

I feel like I'm seeing a ghost.

- Regarding this killer, or yourself?
- Both.

Well, she's real. You know
she's real. There's evidence.

When you found her,

your sanity did not leave you.

- Time did.
- You lost time again?

I spoke to Dr. Sutcliffe.

We briefly discussed
the particulars of your visit.

Would you like to discuss them
with me?

There are no particulars.
He didn't find anything wrong.

Then we keep looking
for answers.

Perhaps you would permit me
to run some tests of my own.

You wouldn't publish anything
about me, would you,

Dr. Lecter?

If there were ever anything that might
be of therapeutic value to others,

I'd abstract it in a form that
would be totally unrecognizable.

Just do me a favor
and publish it posthumously.

After your death or mine?

Whichever comes first.

Have you considered
Cotard's Syndrome?

It's a rare delusional disorder

in which a person believes
he or she is dead.

Are you talking
about the killer or me?

- The killer, of course.
- Well, of course. Um,

she couldn't
see the victim's face.

Or she was trying
to uncover it.

The inability to identify others
is associated with Cotard.

It's a misfiring
in the areas of the brain

which recognize faces,
and also in the amygdala,

which adds emotion
to those recognitions.

Even those closest to her would
seem like imposters.

So she... she reached out
to someone she loved,

someone she trusted.

She felt betrayed,
became violent.

She can't trust anything or anyone
she once knew to be trustworthy.

Her mental illness won't
let her.

We matched the tissue samples
from the crime scene

to your daughter's
medical records.

I was almost relieved
when I got that phone call.

I thought that you had found her
and she was, um...

would be at peace.

You thought she might be dead?

Well, that makes me sound
like a horrible mother.

I tried to be a good mom.

I tried to do everything
that I could.

I just don't want her to be in pain.
No one's doubting

your dedication
to your daughter, Mrs. Madchen.

How well did she know
Beth LeBeau?

They were best friends.
They went to school together,

um, until it was unsafe
for Georgia to go to school.

When did you first recognize
that your daughter was

struggling with mental illness?

When she was nine
and she told me that she was

thinking about killing me

and said that she was
already dead.

What sort of symptoms
did she have?

She had seizures,
hallucinations,

psychotic depression.

I was grateful
when she was catatonic.

Was she ever violent?

Sometimes.

What did her doctor say?

Not much.

She spent months at a time
in the hospital.

Blood tests and brain scans,

and all of them inconclusive.
They could

never tell me what was wrong.

And you still don't know?

They would just say
it was this or it was that.

You know, they were just...

...they were just always
guessing.

And I did my own research.

I wrote down every word
that the doctors said,

the different terminology.
Learned a lot.

But mostly what I learned is,

um, how little is actually known
about mental illness.

All they know, it's rarely
about finding solutions.

It's just more
about managing expectations.

Managing your expectations?

Changing my expectations.

You know,
when Miriam Lass died,

I had to come back here
to this office to pack up,

but...

that got to be too overwhelming.
I thought I should just leave,

seeing as how I had gotten
a trainee killed.

That lack of leadership on my
part, that was my responsibility.

You didn't kill Miriam Lass;
The Chesapeake Ripper did.

It didn't feel that way to me.
I pulled her out of a classroom,

like I pulled you
out of a classroom.

She was a student;
I am a teacher.

I'm still just as responsible
for you as I was for her.

- I'll take my own responsibility.
- Well, not from me you won't.

We can do it together.
I broke the rules

with Miriam. I encouraged her
to break the rules.

I am breaking the rules with you now.
By letting

an unstable agent do field work?
Special agent. Oh.

That means you represent
the FBI. You still represent me.

Have I misrepresented you,
Jack?

No, no.
But you have me curious.

Why are you still here
when the both of us know

that this is bad for you?

- Do you want me to quit?
- No.

No, you had an opportunity
to quit.

You didn't take it.
Why not?

Let me tell you what I think.
I think that the work

you do here has created a sense
of stability for you.

Stability is good
for you, Will.

Stability requires
strong foundations, Jack.

My moorings are built on sand.
I'm not sand.

I am bedrock.

When you doubt yourself,

you don't have to doubt me too.

[ Goldberg Variations:
Variation 13, by JS Bach ]

The Jamon Ibérico.

Still love your little rare
treats, don't you, Hannibal?

The more expensive and difficult
they are to obtain, the better.

It's a distinction that adds
an expectation of quality.

- Not always.
- Well, for Ibérico,

only a few thousand are selected
each year.

But is the pig,

once fattened and slaughtered
and air-cured,

really superior
to any other pig?

Or is it simply a matter of

reputation preceding product?

It's irrelevant.

If the meat-eater thinks
it's superior,

then belief determines value.

- A case of psychology overriding neurology.
- So, we know

how Ibérico gets his pigs.

How did you get yours?

Are you referring
to Will Graham?

We know you're fond
of the rarified.

What makes him so rare?

Will has a remarkably vivid
imagination.

Beautiful.

Pure empathy.

Nothing he can't understand,
and that terrifies him.

So you set his mind on fire.

Imagination is an interesting
accelerant for a fever.

So... how far does this go?

Do you put out the fire,

or do you let him burn?

Will is my friend.

We will put out the fire
when it's necessary.

He has asked for more tests.

Now that we have confirmed
what it is,

it'll be easier to hide
from him.

You put these in.

This'll be over
before you know it.

Dr. Sutcliffe?

You're clean.

You couldn't have done this
without getting something

on you, and there's nothing
on you.

I don't feel clean.

The murder weapon has the same sort of
diseased or damaged tissues that we found

at Beth LeBeau's house.
What's this guy got to do

with the other victim?

Just me.

What do you remember?

I remember coming here,

going into the MRI,
getting out,

and, uh, finding
Dr. Sutcliffe's body.

- No confusion?
- Well, not that I'm aware of.

Was your Dr. Sutcliffe
in the habit

of seeing patients after-hours when
he's the only one in the office?

He was very accommodating.

Georgia Madchen
followed you here,

and while you're ticking away
in the MRI,

she does this to your doctor.

Why him?
She can't see faces.

Maybe she thought he was me.

All right, while we're at it,
why you?

I don't know.

I have a habit
of collecting strays.

I-I-I told her, tried
to tell her the night I saw her,

I tried to tell her she was
alive. Maybe she heard me.

Maybe that hadn't occurred
to her in a while.

I see you, Georgia.

Think of who you are.

It's midnight.

You're in Wolf Trap, Virginia.

Your name is Georgia Madchen.

You're not alone.

We are here together.

Am I alive?

She'll recover?

Risk of infection is high.
She's lost most of her vital fluids.

Even some bone mass. She's being

treated like a burn victim.

But she'll recover mentally?

She has Cotard's Syndrome.
Almost all sufferers

of this delusion recover
with treatment...

in extreme cases like this one,
electroconvulsive therapy.

I'm more concerned about Will.

I thought you'd be more concerned
about your colleague, Dr. Sutcliffe.

I am grieving Dr. Sutcliffe,

but Will is very much alive.

He's still desperate for an explanation
that can make everything right again.

I'm, uh, pretty desperate
for some explanations myself.

I really want to talk to this
young woman when she comes to.

How much do you think
she'll remember?

Well, I sincerely hope, for her
sake, she doesn't remember much.

Sync & corrections by wilson0804
Resync for WEB-DL by lost0ne
www.Addic7ed.com