Original subtitles

I'm cutting across the park, just below the reservoir.

It was a nice night. I felt like walking.

I met a girl on the path I knew.

This way.

We had a brief conversation, then I continued on.

I never saw her again.

Take a seat.

This is a polygraph test for murder, Mr. Wayland.

Nerves are expected.

Do we have an understanding?

There's nothing, nothing at all...

that should make you uncomfortable.

What's he doing here?

He's my colleague. Is he bothering you?

You didn't mention anyone else.

Do you want him to leave?

No. I'm fine.

If at anytime you feel like--

No, I--I'm fine.

Very well.

Take a second. Clear your thoughts.

We'll start when your readings normalize.

Are you known to your friends...

as James Walter Wayland?

Most of them just call me Wayland.

Yes or no to the questions, please.

Are you known to your friends as James Walter Wayland?

Yes.

Between the ages of fourteen and nineteen...

did you ever tell a lie?

I'm not talking about the kind of lie like when you...

tell your wife she's a good cook.

I'm talking about malicious lies, devious lies...

lies that deliberately conceal the truth.

Do you understand the difference?

Yes.

Between the ages of fourteen and nineteen...

did you ever tell a lie?

No.

On a written statement...

concerning the events in question on March 18...

did you tell the truth?

Yes, I did.

A simple yes or no.

Yes.

Did you lie on any part of your written statement...

concerning the events of March 18?

No, I did not.

You got a Princeton education, right?

Pretty smart guy?

That's what they tell me.

Well, then how come Braxton here's...

got to tell you three times, you only answer yes or no?

Sorry.

Got it.

Here we go again.

Did you lie on any part of your written statement...

concerning the events of March 18?

No.

-Is today Wednesday? -What?

I said is today Wednesday?

Yes.

Did you kill Elizabeth Loftus?

No.

OK, take a breather. I got to grade this thing.

I'll be back in five minutes, and we'll do it again.

Again?

You don't want to get convicted...

on one test, do you?

I guess not.

Mind if I smoke?

I don't care what you do.

What do you think?

I don't know. Long shot.

I believe in me.

Hey, things happen. Don't worry about it.

I just want you to know...

I've been thinking about what you did.

Let's not mention it.

You know, it's true what they say about you.

-What's that? -You're a saint.

You're a fucking saint.

Well, I'm glad you're finally starting to realize that.

I appreciate it, though.

You saved my ass.

Well, I was down, right...

so I bet a long shot, a forty-to-one to show.

Goddamn horse pulled out of the gates...

like a fucking hurricane.

So I'm a winner, right? Well, I call my guy.

Son of a bitch has the gall to tell me...

that's not the horse I bet on.

Don't pay him.

It's not that simple.

Can you believe that shit?

The bookie's saying it's me owing them.

I argue, but the bitch wouldn't budge.

So I went over.

We ain't even.

You want to know why?

Because I don't pay out rats, and you're a rat, Brax.

You don't pay out to winners, you're done.

Is that a fact? Hold on a second.

Bring him in.

How are those girls of yours doing?

Fine.

You recognize this guy?

Jesus, Jebby.

I'm sorry, Brax.

Boogie.

You were going to fuck me, Brax.

You know how I know?

Because you bet on a fifty-to-one horse and won.

Guys like you don't bet on long shots and win, Brax.

So I made a few calls.

Sure enough, Jebby tipped you.

Now, you either pay me 20,000 by Monday...

or Auntie Mook is going to take...

your little girls out for some ice cream.

So Mook stiffed you, right?

I mean stiffed.

What then?

I told her we'd been looking the other way...

for a long time.

You did?

Real smart.

Jesus, Ken, you help me out here...

and I swear to God, I'll never ask you...

for anything as long as I live.

How much?

Ten.

Ten now, ten later. Twenty total.

But I'm only asking you for ten.

Thanks.

Collect yourself, Wayland. We're going to try it again.

You think I'm lying.

We've only done one test. It's too early to tell.

But you think something's wrong, don't you?

I can see it in your face. Something's bothering you.

You're a little jumpy, aren't you?

Look, there were some inconsistencies in your test.

That's not uncommon on the first run.

Just relax.

It's a lie detector test, Wayland.

Everybody gets a little nervous on these things.

My partner and I have administered...

enough of these tests to know the difference...

between a guy who's got short nerves and a liar.

Do you consider yourself intelligent?

What?

Are you smart?

Do you think of yourself as a smart man?

Well, as smart as the next guy, I guess.

Why?

What makes you think this?

I mean, what gives you the right...

to decide whether or not I'm a truthful person?

You don't seem particularly insightful to me.

Bet you didn't even make it out...

of community college.

Look at it this way, Wayland-- you ain't got a choice.

Trust me, son, I'm qualified.

Qualified. Well, that's comforting.

Hey, hon, listen, I'm going to be late tonight.

Braxton's a little new at this stuff.

Come on, you don't have to bring that up.

He'll pay us back.

Look, the guy got himself in a little jam...

and I helped him out, that's all.

What do you mean how do I know?

It's called trust, remember that?

Now, like I mentioned before...

I got some strange readings on the character questions...

but those questions were asked at evenly spaced intervals...

so the disturbances could have been caused...

by some rhythmic function of the body...

such as blinking or swallowing...

so this time, try not to blink or swallow.

Got it?

No blinking, no swallowing.

Got it.

OK, James.

Are you known to your friends...

as James Walter Wayland?

Yes.

Between the ages of twenty and your present age...

did you ever tell a lie?

-Yes. -Excuse me?

Yes. I said yes. I told lies at that age.

Between the ages of fourteen and nineteen...

did you ever tell a lie?

So I was down at the bank today...

and guess who I bumped into.

Your coach--Colston, right?

So I asked him, I said, "How is my son's game coming?

"Is he hustling?"

He looked at me with a blank stare.

So I asked him again. "What I mean is...

"is he kind of fitting in with his teammates?"

What do you think he told me?

I've never been so goddamned embarrassed...

in my entire life.

Oh, you're something.

"Hey, how is practice going, James?"

"Oh, great, Dad." "Scoring a lot of points?"

"Oh, yeah, Dad, lots of points."

You get up when I'm talking to you!

Don't you have any self-respect?

What are you crying for? You're the one who lied.

He knows what he did, James.

Liar.

Wake up, Wayland.

Between the ages of fourteen and nineteen...

did you ever tell a lie?

Yes.

Did you lie on any part of your written statement...

concerning the events of March 18?

Yes. A small part, I guess.

-Yes or no? -Yes.

Is today Wednesday?

Is today Wednesday?

You all right?

All right, if you need a break...

take a minute, go to the john.

Phil, go with him.

Hey, Brax, need some help?

Shut up.

What are you going to do, wipe my ass?

No, I'll let you do that on your own.

Faggot.

What did you say?

Not a thing.

Make it quick.

Sorry.

Forgot.

Tip.

I don't like this guy.

All right.

Let me take it for a minute.

Feeling better?

A little.

Good. Shake it off. It happens sometimes.

You've done this a lot, haven't you?

Yeah, I have.

See, everybody gets nervous on these things.

It's just the nature of the beast.

You're gonna get the shakes whether you're a necrophiliac...

or a crossing guard. I mean, who wouldn't?

Hell, I had a guy once who was so jittery...

tests looked like a damn Rorschach.

And his crime wasn't even that serious.

Larceny. Maybe 1,000 cash. But he failed every test.

Did he do it?

No. He was just nervous as hell, that's all.

Turns out he had been set up by his own cousin.

He went to prison anyway, right?

Briefly. No, wait.

Yeah, he did go.

Every time he came up for parole...

they'd give him a new polygraph.

Poor bastard would fail it every time.

Problem was, he didn't have anything to do...

but sit in his cell thinking about the next time...

they were going to slap the wires on him.

No wonder he couldn't pass the damn thing.

I guess he just...

outthought himself.

Why would you tell me a story like that?

Like what?

That story's supposed to make me feel nervous, right?

Nervous? Why would I want to make you feel nervous?

Looks like you're doing fine all by yourself.

So that's how you want to play it.

Look, you're an innocent man, right?

So what's there to be nervous about?

Look, it'll be a few minutes before you settle down.

We'd like to ask you a few questions in the interim.

About what?

What you lied about on your statement.

Would you like me to get it?

Well, what I told those other guys...

was the truth, basically.

Met this girl in the park. We knew some of the same people.

We had a brief conversation. That was it.

What did you talk about?

Small talk, totally benign.

We exchanged numbers. Haven't seen her since.

So what did you lie about?

Well, for one thing, I was drunk.

-Drunk? -Yeah, drunk.

-How drunk? -Loaded.

And you still remember what you did?

It's just that I thought...

if I admitted that I was drunk...

you'd think I was more of a liar.

It was stupid, I guess.

Why did you come clean?

Well, when you asked me that question--

did I lie on any part of my statement--

I got nervous. It won't happen again.

You know what she did for a living?

-Never came up. -What if you had to guess?

No idea.

-What were you drunk on? -Liquor.

-What kind of liquor? -Hard liquor. Absinthe.

Where did you get it?

How do you get anything like that? You just do.

You sure that's what it was?

Of course I am.

I've only seen one man...

on an absinthe binge in my whole career.

one in 20, 21 years.

And I'll tell you what, it ain't pretty.

-That a fact? -It is.

A few years back, we get this call around 4 A.M.

Some artist downtown...

screaming bloody murder in his apartment...

keeping the rest of the tenants awake.

So we go there, we knock. Nothing.

But we know he's in because we can hear him--

this little whimpering noise.

Ends up we have to kick in the door...

and there's this guy sitting in the middle of his floor...

naked, surrounded by a bunch of lousy paintings...

with no skin on his legs.

Zero. Totally flayed.

In fact, if you breathed funny, the guy would start yelping.

And he had this little paring knife in his hand.

And somehow this wacko...

got it in his head that he was a big, fat Granny Smith apple.

That's right. Sounds funny, I know...

but it's the God's truth.

Can you imagine, thinking you're a six-foot apple?

Well, that's what this moron thought...

and he had pared off his own skin...

about an inch at a time...

but you know what the fucked up thing was?

He only had about a half a bottle...

so I'm not saying here that you don't think you drank absinthe.

I'm just saying that if you did...

you wouldn't be able to finish the alphabet...

let alone sit here and tell me what you did that night.

What can I say? The guy can't hold his liquor.

Regular ironclad constitution, huh, Wayland?

We'll see.

What are these?

Photos of the body.

Why would I want to see those?

It may jog your memory.

I don't need my memory jogged. I know what I did.

Look, I know what you're trying to do.

You're trying to rattle me...

I already told you everything I know.

No, you didn't.

You say you were cutting across the park...

just below the reservoir.

It was a nice night, you felt like walking.

You met a girl on the path you knew.

You had a brief conversation. you continued on.

You never saw her again.

That's all that happened.

Just because I got rattled doesn't mean I--

Nobody's accusing you of anything.

But you should know, you're our only lead.

Now, you know your rights.

You got the right to remain silent and all that.

But your Mirandas--

now, they ain't all they're cracked up to be.

Talk now, we can help you. Dick with us, who knows?

You know, this state's got a gas chamber.

Big, ugly thing, not twelve city blocks from here.

You lied about being drunk. Anything else?

No. That's it.

But you also admitted to telling lies in the past.

Malicious lies.

Well, I have.

But not about this.

About what?

Oh, a lot of stuff.

You know, for example...

I dated this girl in junior high...

for a couple of years.

I could never get past the kissing stage.

Used to drive me nuts.

One night, we get wasted. She passes out on the bed.

I was drunk, I guess, so I felt her up a little.

She never said anything, so I just kept going.

Ended up fucking her. She never remembered a thing.

She started having these nightmares.

Terrible things. Of course I knew why...

and I started feeling really lousy about it...

so I decided to confess.

Only I really couldn't bring myself to face the girl...

so I thought I'd just tell her dad.

An incredibly stupid idea in retrospect.

So I get right to the moment where I was going to admit it...

and I blame it on Eddie Givens...

this kid who'd been killed in a car wreck earlier in the year.

Blamed the whole thing on the dead guy.

So you're admitting you're a habitual liar.

No, I'm admitting I've lied in the past...

on numerous occasions.

What's the difference?

I've lied about a lot of things. Who hasn't?

I haven't.

Cut the crap.

I'll bet you a million bucks you have...

and I'm good for it, trust me.

I'll bet you both have. Why don't we hook...

one of you two up to this machine here...

and ask a few character questions?

Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, Mr. Princeton?

Matter of fact, I would. You married, Kennesaw?

What did you say?

I said are you married?

Yeah. Seventeen years.

But you've cheated on her, haven't you?

More than once.

In fact, you've done it since the very beginning...

even when you were still in love with her.

I got a million bucks...

says you have sex with women other than your wife.

What are you doing up so late?

How was Kyra's?

Good.

Y'all go out for supper?

Shrimp and grits.

We missed you.

What did you do then?

We just...

went over to her house.

She's thinking about going back to school.

I called Kyra.

She told me you left two hours ago.

I am not one of your little polygraph tests.

I just went for a drive.

Took the top down, on Bohicket.

Would you get me something to drink, please?

Sure.

Juice?

Here you go.

What are you doing?

Clean that up.

What?

Clean it up!

Right now!

Clean it up.

What are you doing?

Stop!

Look at me.

What are you doing?

I don't need to listen to this.

You got some nerve.

Put your fucking wallet up, kid.

What a joke.

You better pray you're innocent, Wayland.

Yeah, whatever.

Here you go. Let me get that for you.

Phil, let me see you outside a minute.

What now?

He's on something.

How do you know?

His pupils aren't contracting.

No shit, because his readings are flatter than Kansas.

Even when we started to argue?

Especially when he started to argue.

The guy knows what he's doing.

I'm gonna be nice, give him an out.

Only a moron wouldn't take it.

Well, Mr. Wayland, looks like...

we've gotten ourselves off to a pretty rocky start.

So how about we just clear the slate, OK?

You want to start over? Christ, what time is it?

No. I'm going to be honest with you.

We don't have any real reason to suspect you here.

This is just a routine interrogation brought on...

by an extremely mundane piece of evidence.

But you're giving off all the wrong signals.

You're making us think you got something to hide.

How so?

Well, look at your body language.

You're balled up there like you got a grenade in your crotch.

So?

Well, so, it means you're defensive...

you're threatened. It's an instinctual reaction.

I got a cramp.

I just want you to think about this...

from our point of view for a minute.

We got a young woman--dead...

murdered in a rather grisly fashion.

Now, this isn't so uncommon till you come to consider...

that half of her body was stuffed in a carry-on bag...

at the train station...

and the other half was in a trunk at the Harbor Authority.

Fairly uncommon, don't you think?

Yes. Fairly.

You can imagine the pressure...

this sort of thing brings about, can't you?

Boss is on my ass, foaming at the mouth...

for me to slap a felony murder warrant...

on somebody, anybody.

Yet, despite our high-tech equipment...

and qualified personnel...

we have relatively few leads at the moment...

except for a phone number found in the dead girl's pocket.

Your phone number, Mr. Wayland.

So...

we do a background check.

It turns out that you have a spotlessly clean record...

that you come from a good family...

that you graduated from an Ivy League school.

Unemployed at the moment...

but hey, it happens to the best of us.

Well, you can imagine our surprise when it turns out...

that your readings are a little funky.

Could be nerves, we think--probably are--

but then you admit that you're a liar...

almost proud of it.

Then my partner here notices a funny thing.

Your eyes don't contract...

which can only mean one thing, Mr. Wayland--

you're on drugs.

And the only time someone takes drugs...

during a polygraph is so that Mr. Braxton here...

can't get an accurate reading.

And the only reason someone would do that...

Wayland, my friend...

is if they have something to hide.

So help us out. Help yourself out.

What are you not telling us?

Well...

there's a lot of things I'm not telling you.

I'll tell you what--

you can plead the fifth if you want to...

but once I walk out of this room...

I'm going to write up this interrogation...

the way it looks...

and it is starting to stink just a little bit.

Now, you sure you want that?

Carbamazepine.

That's what I took in the bathroom.

That's why my pupils don't react.

-What's it for? -Epilepsy.

I suffer from temporal lobe epilepsy.

-I'm not a well man. -No shit.

Either of you ever seen an epileptic attack?

That's what I thought.

Even know what causes one?

It's OK.

I want you to.

You do want to, right?

Give me your hand.

What's wrong?

I mean, you're not even... I'm sick of this.

You can't even fuck, can you?

Stop it.

You're scaring me! Stop it!

Stress, Mr. Kennesaw and Mr. Braxton.

Stress causes one, and I'd say...

polygraph test for murder...

is a pretty goddamn stressful situation...

especially with Mr. Creepy over here.

So if I seem a little off-kilter to you two...

it's par for the course.

Rather than have a seizure right here...

in your interrogation room...

and soil myself and vomit all over your machine here...

I decided to go to the bathroom, take a few of these.

Carbamazepine. Prevents seizures.

Go look it up in your Funk & Wagnalls.

-I'm leaving. -Not finished.

You know, it's ironic, isn't it...

that someone who tells the truth about lying...

is more suspect than someone who actually lies about it?

Sorry. But the machine's foolproof.

I can guarantee you ain't gonna fail it...

for being honest.

The machine only measures how fast I breathe...

how much I sweat, what my heart rate is.

What's that got to do with the truth?

The real lie detectors, that's you two...

which I find pretty damn hypocritical.

This man's given thousands of polygraphs, Wayland.

Thousands.

How many have you given, Braxton? Ten?

Five?

Oh, Jesus Christ.

That's what I thought. Hypocrite.

This thing, it ain't some deus ex machina.

It can't give you the truth wrapped up with a bow.

Truth, that's in here.

And it's going to take more than a couple beat cops...

with a souped-up blood pressure machine...

to crack that.

You know, if you're telling the truth...

you want this machine to work.

You want to be declared innocent.

But you're holding out on us, Wayland, for now.

Have a nice day.

I'd be careful if I were you.

You come looking, you might not like what you find.

Well, what do you think now?

I think maybe not such a long shot.

Shitty physical evidence.

No witnesses. Just a rich, weird spastic.

Still.

Still.

Have you had a long day, honey?

Well, you seem awfully distracted.

We'll have fun outside.

You know, we have...

the Triberian Society function tonight...

and I know you think it's silly, but...

it's a tradition, and I...

I know it would mean a lot to Memaw.

You have to get presentable.

I'll wear the black jacket.

-I think the blue. -The black.

I'm not allowed to have an opinion anymore.

No.

Can I get some more tea, please?

Yes, you may.

Well, Daddy?

Well, what, baby?

Do I get riding lessons or not?

I don't know.

I don't see why she should get riding lessons...

when I don't even get football.

Hush up, all of you.

Sit at the table, please.

Your father's had a long day.

Probably busy catching that man...

who cut that poor woman in half.

Just let it ring so maybe we can get...

some peace and quiet in here for once.

Fine. Yeah. I'll be there.

Got to go.

Where are you going?

To Kyra's. Want to come?

Ever been to a shrink before, Brax?

Shut up.

Maybe I should tell you a little story...

so you have a better understanding...

of what you're dealing with.

Now, you do know who Vincent van Gogh was?

Painter.

Yes. Painter.

So you know the story about his ear.

No.

Van Gogh got snubbed by a hooker...

so he whacks off his ear...

and gives it to her as a valentine.

Well...

that's the usual story they tell...

but that's not exactly what happened.

You see, van Gogh was an epileptic.

Like our friend Wayland, he had a fondness for absinthe.

Not such a good combination because, you see...

absinthe is an epileptogenic.

Just a few sips of that, and a guy seizes in seconds.

Well, with temporal lobe epilepsy...

which is what van Gogh had--

which is what our friend Wayland has--

a seizure can be very subtle.

It's like a--just a simple change in personality.

So in this state, you could pass a polygraph...

black out what you know?

Yeah. Quite possibly, yeah.

How do you know what's going to trigger an attack?

He might have a tic, maybe a nervous twitch...

or blinking of the eyes. But you never know.

-Finish the story. -Yes.

Well, one bright early morning, we find van Gogh...

standing in front of his mirror, shaving.

Now, he's got an early start...

because it's after his second toddy.

And his supposed lover, fella by the name of Gauguin...

another painter...

informs Vincent that he's leaving him.

Well, this so enrages Vincent...

that he stumbles down the stairs in a trance...

twirling his straight razor...

and he screams at the top of his lungs...

"I'm going to kill you!"

Well, Gauguin just looks at him and says...

"Why don't you kill yourself instead?"

Whereupon Vincent gives Gauguin...

a quizzical look and slices his own ear off.

Now, Vincent's still in a daze, picks the ear up...

and he gives it to a prostitute.

He doesn't know her, no explanation.

Just gives her an ear.

Now, that's the kind of behavior...

a fellow with T.L.E. jacked up on absinthe...

can distribute.

Weirdness.

Just don't forget the feeling this guy gives you.

People with temporal lobe epilepsy...

make your skin crawl for a reason.

If you think he's being seized...

even if you suspect it...

you treat him like you would a...

strange dog in an alley.

Don't initiate any casual conversation...

and don't stare him in the eye.

Don't touch him.

Whatever you do, don't turn your back on him.

So...

have you come to a conclusion?

I'm not going to take the position.

Not just yet.

I see.

James, what is it you want to do with your life?

Well, I want to do good.

What kind of good?

For my fellow man.

I want to do good for my fellow man...

leave this world a better place than I found it.

Goddamn it, you pompous ass!

You've had every advantage in life...

and all you've done is take advantage.

I'll tell you what you can do-- you can get the hell...

out of my house, and I mean that.

Look, you stop eating my food.

Get out of my house.

Martha, take his plate.

I said take his plate!

Hi, Mom.

What's the matter with you?

"When seizing, temporal lobe epileptics...

"often carry out some fairly complicated behavior...

"while unconscious or in a trancelike state."

"They may stand on furniture or try to undress...

"or seem frightened."

"Some become uncharacteristically aggressive.

"Such actions are rarely, if ever, recalled."

Come on, Will.

Come on.

Kids are asleep.

There's no one here to bother us.

So?

So...

it's been weeks.

It's not my fault.

Stop.

I want you to be rough.

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about trying things.

Come on, Will.

I thought you were the one from the wrong side of the tracks.

Who are you?

I want to feel alive. I want to be fucked.

Anything. I want to wake up.

Ain't you woken up enough already?

You in there?

Of course I am. Good to see you, Phil.

Well, here it is, anyway.

There's only ten here, Phil.

That's half, goddamn it, Frank.

Who do you think I am-- Donald fuckin' Trump?

Jesus.

Look, ten grand ain't exactly chicken feed.

I know. I know.

It's a bad situation. Look, I'll talk to Mook...

but I'm not making any promises.

-She wants twenty. -She knows I ain't got it.

Don't shoot the goddamn messenger, for Christ's sakes.

These guys been around this town a long time.

They're ingrown. They sure as shit...

ain't gonna let some penny-ante flatfoot...

deal them a card from the bottom of the deck.

Mook wants her money. You just got to get it to her.

There's no getting around it.

Who the hell does that rich cunt think she is?

Easy! It's nothing to get upset about.

Nothing to get upset about, Frank?

I'm broke.

I don't know how I got myself into this.

Will you pray for me?

What?

You're still a priest, ain't you?

Oh, yeah, right.

Anything. A Hail Mary or--

Whatever you want, Phil. May God be with you.

You see this?

They broke it.

I'm surprised it took them this long.

Did you talk to anybody?

Forensics. Still nothing hard.

What did the chief say?

What do you think he's saying?

I'm in deep, Will.

Didn't you make the payment?

I did. They want the full thing.

Smashed my fucking window last night.

Thank God my little girls weren't home.

I'm not a rich man, Phil.

Oh, Jesus, Will, I know. I'm not asking you.

You already done enough, man.

You really did. And I appreciate it.

Maybe he can help you out.

He's our boy.

Now, here's what I want you to do today.

If he looks like he needs a friend...

you be his friend.

Crack a joke, give him a cigarette.

If he starts talking about his family...

I want you to put your arm around him...

tell him the same shit...

went down on you, you understand me?

You hear me?

Because he ain't gonna roll on himself...

not without a little help.

Come on. Let's go.

Play cards, Wayland?

No.

You want to?

Yeah. Let's.

I got a good game. You pick a card.

Don't tell me what it is. Remember it.

When I ask you which one's your card...

I want you to say no every time.

Why are we doing this?

See what kind of liar you are.

-Ready? -Got one.

Is this your card?

Nope.

Is this your card?

Nope.

Is this your card?

Nope.

Is this your card?

No.

Too obvious?

Yeah.

How about that one?

Nope.

Sure, it is.

No, I'm serious. That's not my card.

Mine was the ace of spades.

You picked the ace?

It was so crazy, I thought it just might work.

Trying to put one over on us, Wayland?

That's the point of the game, isn't it?

Let's see if you know this one, Wayland.

Cutting across the park just below the reservoir.

It was a nice night, and I felt like walking.

I met a girl on the path I knew.

"I met a girl on the path I knew."

Seams are starting to show, Wayland.

The only thing showing...

is your desperation for a suspect.

I didn't know her.

It says here that you did.

-Am I under arrest? -Do you want to be?

No.

But you said you knew her.

Slip of the tongue. Fact is, I didn't.

I thought everyone read them.

Why? Don't you think it's a little morbid?

Wilton Smith, father of four, worked for 27 years...

cleaning lint from various garments.

Loved by all.

The obituaries. Are you kidding?

My favorite part of the paper.

You're kind of weird, James, you know that?

I have been briefed, yes.

Reading the obituaries. It's kind of weird.

Being a stripper is kind of weird.

What choice did I ever have?

I've been trying to figure that one out for years.

Are you the way you are because you choose to be?

Can you choose? Is there a providence...

in the fall of a sparrow?

Or does the nature of consciousness...

trick you into believing that there is free will...

when there is really not?

Buddhists don't even believe in a soul.

No I, comma, Wayland.

No thinker behind the thought.

You always talk like this, don't you?

No. I sometimes imitate people.

Really? Like who?

Like myself.

Watch. This is my best Wayland.

Like myself.

When you were little...

did you ever wish you were invisible?

So I could look up little girls'...

dresses and stuff if I wanted to.

And so that I could steal stuff if I wanted to.

You know, when you said that just now...

when you admitted to having those thoughts...

I looked in, and you looked in...

and we could see each other.

We saw each other.

And you're good.

Hooker with a heart of gold.

You're weird, James.

Weird but not good.

No, you're good. Yeah, you're good.

-I am? -I think.

You're sure?

'Cause I don't know...

whether I'm good or bad.

How about that?

You're lying...

so there ain't but one thing left to do--

go through the story again, bit by bit.

I already told you the story.

Well, I want to hear it again.

Then I need to see my statement.

Why?

What, I can't see my statement?

No, you can't.

Then you can't hold me to the thing...

if the stories don't match.

Why not?

Because I was drunk when I gave it.

-You were drunk? -I'm an alcoholic, Braxton.

Hadn't you figured that out from your psych profile?

I'm an epileptic alcoholic, but I'm not a liar.

I think you are. I think you knew her, too.

Haven't seen you since the Yale game, buddy.

Haven't seen you at all.

Who's your friend?

I know none of these people.

None of these people.

Out of my way.

Mom...

This is Mrs. Elizabeth Loftus.

It's so nice of you to come.

I told you I didn't know her.

From the beginning, Wayland.

Never make a fool of me again!

I was in my father's office.

We'd been in a heated argument. I was pissed.

What kind of argument?

You are not my son!

The argument with my father is not relevant.

Don't be stubborn. I know what it's like.

Same shit went down on me.

You don't have the slightest notion...

what I've been through, Braxton.

You've been fighting for table scraps your whole life.

How do you know? You there?

I know he was a goddamn security guard...

for Christ's sakes.

What?

And I know that you're a slob but that you mean well...

but you'll never quite make the grade...

because you're too stupid.

And I know you got a gambling problem.

Now, just who do you think you're dealing with here?

You think I don't know about both of you?

I am rich, loaded, filthy with it.

What's the matter, Braxton?

10,000 bucks--I can blow that on an afternoon...

but to you, it's your whole career.

I mean, Jesus, what would you have done...

if Kennesaw hadn't bailed you out?

How the--how'd you know about that?

You want to make a deal, Braxton?

I'll give you some cash, you get me off the hook.

Time to deal with the devil.

What a prick.

Shut up, Kennesaw.

You'll never get your money back.

You really think that I would need to bribe you?

I have nothing to hide. I am innocent.

So, let's just keep going, shall we?

How the fuck did you know that?!

Don't be paranoid, Braxton. Just do your fucking job!

I entered the park.

But you met her near the reservoir.

I walked a long way. That a crime?

As I got nearer the reservoir...

I saw this girl beneath the street lamp.

She was well-dressed.

We spoke. She said she was waiting for someone...

but that she thought she'd been stood up.

She was a working girl.

Oh, really? I didn't know.

She seemed more like a debutante to me.

I want you to back up, tell me the exact conversation.

I approached the girl. She said...

Do you have the time?

"Yeah," I say. "It's 10:50."

Goddamn it.

...she says. "What's wrong?" I ask.

Son of a bitch stood me up.

"You want me to rough him up?" I say.

I'm a joker sometimes.

You don't know him.

...she says. I laugh a little.

"I know a lot of people," I tell her.

Charles Warrington.

...she says.

Told you you didn't know him.

"But I do know him, see.

"He's a C.E.O. of a selective investment firm...

"a firm that only handles the accounts...

"of extremely wealthy families, like mine.

Charles Warrington III," I say. "I know his father, too."

So your wallet's fat. So what?

...she says. I shrug, playing it off.

Do you have a cigarette?

"You want to go get a drink?" she says.

"I'll have to rain-check," I tell her.

"I'm not in the mood."

God, I'm dying for a cigarette.

"How can I reach you to cash it?" she asks.

I pull out a piece of paper and write down my number...

and then I hear footsteps on the path.

Who was it?

I said I heard footsteps and music coming from somewhere.

It was a song...

by that band. What was their name?

What was their name?

Mr. Wayland.

Mr. Wayland, we're not done yet.

Mr. Wayland.

Don't talk to him.

Don't touch him.

Don't touch him, Will.

All right, OK, now, come on. Let's go.

We need some guys in here!

I've got him !

Get the cuffs on him !

Hold him !

Get his arm back!

Whoa. This is classic stuff, Phil.

Now, you see that, when he starts to seize?

You see that? Look.

The guy might as well be on Mars.

Whoops. Shouldn't have touched him.

Definitely not.

I warned you about that.

He bruised a rib, cracked his cheekbone.

That "history of violence" slant just won't fly, Phil.

I mean, when Wayland starts to seize...

he might as well be Joe Christmas.

Neurons are going berserk.

He'll imagine things that he's never done...

fantasize that he's the Queen of England...

and he hears voices.

It's all chemical, Phil.

Now, if you want to lock him up...

you better find proof he's done something wrong...

because right now, all you have is...

a telephone number and this...

and this doesn't prove a thing, except that...

he is what he told you he was.

It was spectacular, a singular achievement.

I mean, the faces.

I thought the Tribernians would go into labor.

Where'd you find that girl with that stunning gown?

I mean, you weren't actually with her, were you?

No, no. Of course not.

The ball scene is just so disgusting.

They should be exterminated, killed...

castrated, quartered, hung up on meat hooks.

My God, I'm sick to death of this place.

Why don't you just kill yourself?

That would get me out of it, but I would only do it...

if I could stick around long enough...

to see their faces. Can you imagine?

My mother reviling herself for all the years of abuse.

My father throwing himself prostrate on my grave.

I hate hymns, though, organ music.

No, mi vita, we are trapped. There is no exit...

Where'd you find that girl in that stunning gown?

Hey, Boogie.

Well, if it isn't God's lonely man.

A real high roller, ladies and gentlemen.

Don't get me wrong.

I love a guy who's willing to take a chance.

How are they treating you?

Braxton's the genius.

He bought the setup all the way?

Sucker born every minute.

Can I ask you a question if it ain't too personal?

Well, if it is, I won't answer it.

Why are you doing this?

You know the story...

about the Greek river of death, the Lethe?

The story goes that if you drank from this river...

your memory would be completely annihilated...

absolutely no recollection at all...

and I like to forget.

Hey, you do what you got to.

You pop a couple of these in your mouth...

you ain't gonna remember dick.

You be careful, though.

That shit will put you into a coma.

Well, that's the idea.

We got a young woman...

murdered in a rather grisly fashion.

Now, this isn't so uncommon until you come to consider...

that half of her body was stuffed in a carry-on bag

at the train station...

and the other half was in a trunk...

at the Harbor Authority.

Fairly uncommon, don't you think?

This is Mrs. Elizabeth Loftus.

Hey, you remember when we were...

in the bathroom at your folks'?

And then you introduced me to your parents.

And then you started laughing.

I've never seen you laugh like that.

But it wasn't real laughing, huh?

It wasn't real, huh?

And you kind of surprised me...

because I'd never seen you be cruel.

Do you know what the worst thing is?

Hope.

You hope that the person you're with...

will make things better...

because you're with them, and that's what love is.

But people are alone...like me. When I go to bed at night...

I close my eyes and go to sleep. I'm alone.

And when I die, it'll be the same thing.

Just me.

See? It's hope that makes you sad, Wayland.

It's hope that makes you sad.

You know, that's the difference...

between you and me.

Because I don't hope.

Phil Braxton, it's James Walter Wayland.

I think it's time for a confession.

Monday at 6:00, the usual place.

Good evening, gentlemen.

James.

I trust you're both well.

Sorry about what happened, Ken.

To tell you the truth...

I don't remember a hell of a lot of it.

Today's the day, huh, Wayland?

Come again?

That we get the truth.

I agree.

I've been doing a lot of thinking, gentlemen--

about myself, about who I am, about what I am--

and I have a confession to make.

Do you mind?

Not in the slightest.

Are you both comfortable?

Very well. I'll begin.

Not long ago, a 44-year-old successful professional...

consulted a psychiatrist, complaining of sleeplessness...

tension, headaches, loss of appetite.

Why? Because this man--Ken.

Let's call him Ken-- was tormented day and night...

by the conviction that his wife...

was having an affair with her physician.

I don't follow.

What does this have to do with anything?

Patience, Braxton.

Ken was soon convinced of her infidelity...

and rightfully so.

The usual lies became apparent.

Her eyes grew shifty, her touch less sincere.

Am I beginning to paint...

a recognizable picture, Mr. Kennesaw?

You fuckin' bastard.

What's going on here?

Hang on, Braxton. This gets better.

As you may know, Ken married an extremely beautiful woman.

I mean, you have to hand it to him...

he really traded up, married way out of his league.

Poor son of an electrician--

it was an electrician, wasn't it, Ken?--

bucks the odds and brings home the beauty queen...

but deep down, I think Ken must have been a little worried...

being outclassed and all.

Then the day Ken dreaded finally came.

She had an affair with one of her own...

an obstetrician, no less, upper-class--

Ken's worst nightmare come true...

but instead of throwing the whore out onto the street...

Ken turned the other cheek and forgave her.

That's very noble, I suppose.

Only it wasn't because Ken was such a saint...

it was because he knew...

he would never get someone like her again.

I mean, shit, what's he gonna do?

So old Ken stews, all full of hate--

at himself for being weak, at her for being easy.

All that anger with nowhere to go.

Sooner or later, it had to pop...

and in Ken's case, it manifested itself...

in his sexual conduct...

with prostitutes, no less.

A tape of such conduct I have here.

What did you say?

I said, "A tape of such conduct I have here."

Hey, baby, you ready to start?

-No. -No?

Just stand up there a minute.

All right. Hey, baby...

why am I wearing this dress again, sweetie?

Never mind. It's your money.

Now welcome me home.

Welcome home, darling.

Don't kid. Do it.

Welcome home.

Do it right! Please.

I'm trying.

Welcome home.

Did you hear me?! I said do it right!

What do you want me to do?

Darling, you'll have to get off me.

You're hurting me.

I'll do it right.

I ain't gonna tell you again.

I'll just be a second.

Jesus.

You know what?

I think our little game is over.

No! You've got to do it!

No, you got to get out.

No!

Please.

Get...out.

No!

Get out!

You did it to him, didn't you?

Didn't you?!

Those mind games never quite live up...

to one's expectations, do they, Kennesaw?

Yeah, I did.

I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry.

Stop the goddamn tape.

I ought to rip your heart out!

You want it?

Stop the tape.

I'd say the pathology involved is self-explanatory.

Did you recognize the woman?

Let me see that again.

No.

I said, did you recognize the woman, Kennesaw?

No.

It was Elizabeth Loftus, the girl from the park...

or don't you know your hookers by name?

Jesus, Ken...you knew her...

and you didn't say a fucking thing.

I thought this was a confession.

Well, it is.

I just didn't say for whom.

No, no.

You had your partner here pretty duped, Ken.

But then...he's so stupid...

I'd imagine it really wasn't that difficult.

Child's play for a guy like you.

Your wife, though...

that's a whole new ball of wax.

She seems pretty intuitive.

I bet she suspects you, doesn't she, Ken?

That you lead a double life, that you fuck whores.

I bet at home she goes out of her way...

to be sweet to you...

because deep down, she's afraid to confront...

the growing horror that's inside her...

that she may have married a monster...

and you hate her for it.

Sometimes I bet you even want to kill her just to end it.

This is fucking absurd.

Luckily, there's an easy way to find out the truth.

I'm not the one under suspicion here.

I'd say you are, Ken.

Got some hard evidence, as the saying goes.

What's on that tape isn't a felony.

No, but I'd say it establishes a certain state of mind.

Besides, like you told me, you're an innocent guy.

So what do you have to lose?

The machine's foolproof, remember?

I don't have anything to prove to you.

Not to me you don't, no, but maybe to Braxton.

Phil, you don't think that...

can't you see what he's trying to do?

Clearly you're a man who knows how to lie.

You fooled your wife.

Braxton here actually admired you.

But you can't lie to me, Kennesaw.

Not to me or to it.

You're not holding out, are you?

Of course I'm not.

Then what have you got to lose?

Nothing.

Hook me up.

Whenever you're ready.

Ready.

Are you known to your friends as Edward William Kennesaw?

Yes.

Did you know Elizabeth Loftus?

Yes.

Did you kill Elizabeth Loftus?

Come on, Ken. Help us out.

Help yourself out.

Did you kill Elizabeth Loftus?

Get out!

No! Get away from me!

I'll repeat the question.

Did you kill Elizabeth Loftus?

No, I did not.

Just answer yes or no to the questions, please.

Did you kill Elizabeth Loftus?

No.

I'll rephrase the question.

Did you kill your wife?

Your wife's not dead, Will.

Yes. Well, Ken's a little confused...

about who his wife actually is.

Jesus Christ, Will.

It won't get up. Enough already!

What did you do then?

We just went over to her house.

I'm not one of your little polygraph tests.

Sometimes I bet you even want to kill her.

I think you've got your boy, Braxton.

Me, I'm out of it, permanently.

Am I being understood?

Mr. Kennesaw, I think your motivation is fairly obvious.

And Mr. Braxton, you needn't worry...

about your gambling debts, which I believe were due today.

Sucker born every minute, huh, Phil?

You got to be kidding me.

So there it is, gentlemen.

I'll take what I know to the grave.

Things change. Find a new suspect.

We have a deal?

Very well, then.

Good day, gentlemen.

You're not going anywhere.

Sit down.

I spent three days in here with you...

and I ain't got a straight answer yet.

That time is over now.

99% of this world...

isn't comfortable with a lie, Mr. Wayland...

but you and me...

well, we fall into that tiny fraction...

who can see beyond all that.

We're at home with deceit, deception.

There aren't many of us.

I know you have a secret, Wayland.

I want it.

I'm going to count to three.

One...

two...

three.

Will, listen to me.

If you want to take him in the alley...

and beat the shit out of him, I'll look the other way.

Two down.

One, two, three!

Do it.

You're going to have to.

One...

two...

three.

Stay there.

Feel one coming on, do you, Wayland?

Let me go.

I guess now it's going to look like self-defense.

Two left. That's 50/50.

It's either true, or it's false, hmm?

Think about what you're doing, Will.

One...

two...

-three. -I'll talk.

If you're lying...

I'll kill you.

I will kill you.

Will you give me a minute?

Tell me this, Ken...

do you think it's better to admit...

that you've done a little wrong...

and face up to the punishment...

or to hold a breath...

in hopes of not being punished at all?

Get to it.

Or do you believe...

there are some people who just got so fucked...

in the lottery of living...

who feel so offended by their situation...

that anything they do after that...

is justified...as payback?

You understand that a little, don't you, Ken?

I knew the girl.

The escort service that Elizabeth worked for...

was relatively well-to-do.

They weren't cheap girls, so I'd seen her around.

In fact, I was surprised Ken here could afford them...

but then, cops can use their position...

for a lot of things, I suppose, like gambling.

So I had met her.

I liked her...

liked to hear her talk...

tell stories...

like the one she told me about Ken here.

She was a hell of a storyteller, Ken.

But then, you probably didn't talk to her much.

You see, I never fucked her.

So that's all we did, was talk.

I was with her the night she was killed.

I'd just fought with my father...

and I needed someone to listen...

to feel sorry for me, and she was good at that.

I went to her apartment, and we drank the house dry.

I went out for more beer.

I heard a commotion inside...

like someone going out the back way.

And I entered and...

there was Elizabeth.

There was no sign of a struggle, so...

whoever it was, she knew him.

And I panicked.

My fingerprints were everywhere.

I would have been implicated, or so I thought.

At the very least, my family humiliated...

the Wayland name ridiculed.

So I made a mistake.

You see, once you've lied consistently...

you become immune to it.

It becomes second nature, instinctual.

And being a veteran, I knew there were...

a lot of ways to pull off a lie...

and one of them is to exaggerate a situation...

to such an extent that no one in their right mind...

could possibly suspect you.

It would just seem out of character.

You cut her in half.

Yes, I did.

I knew I'd be a suspect.

Forensics would have placed me there sooner or later...

and it was believable that a frustrated rich kid...

could strangle a hooker. God knows, it's happened before.

But it wasn't so believable that I would cut her in half...

and place the pieces miles apart.

It would just seem out of character.

You understand the logic.

So I picked her up, and I laid her in the tub.

I went into the kitchen.

I got the biggest knife I could find...

walked back into the bathroom.

I cut her in two.

After that, I don't remember a hell of a lot.

I started drinking.

Before she was found, I went back to her place...

and wiped it down.

I really thought I'd pulled it off...

but I overlooked my phone number...

which leads us to our present situation.

Now, you wanted the truth, and there it is.

I've got something on you...

and you've got something on me.

The only difference is...

I didn't kill anyone.

-I'm an honest man. -Honest?

As in you cheating on your wife?

As in you trying to frame me?

Your whole life is a lie from beginning to end!

Get a paramedic.

No.

You son of a bitch.

What's the approximate time of death?

6:45.

OK, let's get him out of here.

Coming through.

Son of a bitch was about to get a goddamn promotion.

I mean, why up and ask for a transfer now?

Couldn't get along with Kennesaw, man.

That's what I heard.

Some people can't get along with anybody.

Now, it is my understanding...

that the deceased is to be cremated.

Whatever he wanted.

Of course.

We'll handle all the arrangements.

I love you.

Come on, Ken. Help us out.

Help yourself out.

Did you kill Elizabeth Loftus?

You lost?

Do I look lost?

Isn't it past your bedtime?

You can get into a lot of trouble...

being out this late.

That's the idea.

sync by flensost