Original subtitles

[bright tone]

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪

- It's called "the butterfly effect."

A butterfly starts flapping its wings in China,

and over the course of time, that little movement of air

becomes a hurricane in Texas.

See, one day you got a butterfly dancing on a flower,

the next, you got pianos stuck in trees.

And the little butterfly, he didn't know any better.

He was just out looking for food, for love,

for some kind of satisfaction.

[buzzer]

- Count!

- [moans] Oh, fuck.

[grunts]

- Let's go, Beecher.

- Um... I'm not feeling well.

- This place smells like a gin mill.

So do you. You been drinking?

- No.

- Yup, you been drinking.

Let's go.

- Where'd you get the moonshine?

- I don't know, man.

- You don't know?

It just magically appeared in your cell?

- Yeah. - Who brought it in, fairies?

Or was it Keller?

Because if it was Keller,

I'll leave him in the hole for a month.

- It wasn't Keller, it was me.

- Then who sold you the moonshine?

- Some guy in unit B.

- What's his name? - I don't know.

- Maybe you need some time in the hole.

- Tim, I'd like to talk to him alone for just a moment.

- Sure, you deal with him.

- [clears throat]

- I know, sister, I know.

I was doing so well.

- You've also been under a lot of pressure recently--

your wife dying, you falling in love.

You told me, remember?

Who is it, Keller?

- He's in the hole and you miss him, right?

I'm going to send you to the hospital ward,

get you some aspirin,

let you sleep it off this one time.

Listen,

you drink again, and I will kick your ass.

- Mail call.

Hey, Beech-ball.

Yeah, I heard you went on a little bender.

You're upset about your wife killing herself, huh?

Would it make you feel any better

if I told you that she didn't commit suicide,

that I had her killed?

- You're lying.

Maybe I am...

maybe I'm not.

- She wrote me a note telling me her reasons.

- She would've written anything.

She would've done anything

with that gun pointed to her head.

- Bullshit.

- I guess you'll never know for sure.

Best part is,

either way, it's your fucking fault.

- Hey!

What's going on over there?!

- Nothing.

[chuckles] Later, fuck-wad.

- Can I get some water?

- Hey, O'Reily. - Yeah.

- I heard your brother came into Oz yesterday.

- Yeah. - You seen him yet?

- No.

- You know what unit he's in?

- No. - Want me to find out?

- Why you suddenly so interested in me and my family, Coushaine?

- I don't know, you're both brothers,

both inmates in the same prison.

It's just kind of-- - What?

You trying to convert us?

Give Cyril and me a family discount, hmm?

Fuck you.

- No, I'm just-- - Move away.

- Hey.

You're Cyril O'Reily, right?

- Can I have my ball back?

- Hey, you look like your brother.

- Can I have my ball back?

- I know Ryan from Emerald City.

- Emerald city? What's that?

- You want to see Em City?

You want to see your brother?

- Mm-hmm.

- Come with me.

[ominous music]

♪ ♪

- Where's Ryan?

- Well, Cyril, the way things work in Oz is this:

before I take you to your brother,

you have to do something for me.

- Okay, what?

- First, take off your clothes.

♪ ♪

Come on, it's all right.

- Supposedly cats can see in the dark,

but how do we know for sure?

And if you could be given cat's eyes,

even for one night,

would you really want to see what's going on?

[overlapping chatter]

Cyril.

Cyril. Hey, hey.

- Hey.

- Hey, knock it off!

- He's my brother.

- Looks more like your sister!

Knock it off!

Hey.

So, uh, where'd they put you, huh?

Which unit are you in?

- I don't know.

With him?

- Don't worry, I gave him the royal welcome.

[laughter]

- You better not fucking touch him!

You got that, motherfucker?

[indistinct murmuring]

- Why, you gonna touch him?

- I want you to stay away from that Nazi fuck,

you understand me, Cyril?

- I think I-- I did a bad thing.

- Oh, fuck.

Listen to me,

I'm gonna get you transferred out of Unit B, okay?

Now, I don't know how long that's gonna take me,

so in the meantime, hit me.

- What? - Hit me.

- Ryan. - Just fucking hit me.

Stop.

- [whispering] Come on, hit me.

[indistinct shouting]

- You just bought a ticket to the hole!

- Ryan!

- Shut up and go with him!

- Ryan! Ryan!

- Ryan! - See you later, brother.

- I want to be you, Ryan!

- You're dead. - Ryan!

- McManus,

I want you to transfer my brother to Em City.

- Your brother,

the one who killed Gloria Nathan's husband?

The one who we just put in the Ad Seg for punching you?

[scoffs] Give me a break.

- You leave Cyril where he is,

and Schillinger will suck his bones dry.

- Well, Schillinger's gonna suck anyway,

so why should your brother be the one that's spared?

- He's slow.

Cyril had an accident last year, and he got slow.

He doesn't understand what's going on here.

He can't protect himself.

- Sad, but too bad.

- I'll do anything you ask me to--anything.

- A deal? - Yes.

- Okay, I want you to rat on somebody.

- Pfff. Who? - Yourself.

- I want you to confess you told Cyril to murder Preston Nathan.

- I didn't.

- Oh, you did.

- If I say yes,

I'm looking at another decade added onto my sentence.

- Probably. - No way.

- Well, then your brother stays

in Vern Schillinger's ever-loving arms.

- McManus, don't you fucking play with me!

- Hey!

You got something to say, say it.

I'm a busy man.

- Fuck you, McManus, you fucking cocksucker.

- A federal court today upheld a new state law

that requires sex offenders released from prison

to register with local police.

Victims' rights groups are calling the decision

"a total victory",

because the law permits neighbors to be notified

if a sex offender moves to their community.

- They can't do that. It's Orwellian.

- Or-who-lian?

- If a man pays his debt to society,

if he redeems himself,

he deserves a chance at a normal life when he gets out.

- Perverts aren't normal.

I mean, if one moved next door to me,

I'd want to know about it.

- You? - Yeah.

- You're a convicted murderer.

- So?

- So, what if it's murderers next?

What if when you get out,

you have to register with your community,

tell everybody you did time for murder?

- Why stop there?

Register bigots, fat ladies,

fuck, people who talk in movie theaters.

I hate those people.

- No, you know what they should tell you?

They should register, like, some sex-crazed nympho

with real big titties

when she moves onto your block.

That's what they should tell you.

- Yeah, they should give you her phone number and her address.

- Word. - Bet you wouldn't mind that.

- Yeah, thanks for the stimulating conversation, guys.

You guys are like goats.

You have to bring everything down the level of a goat:

titties and humping.

[together] Sex offending.

[man muttering]

- Sippel, follow me.

- I am a priest.

I am a pervert.

I knew early on that I had a vocation from God.

I knew early on that I had these other...

These other tremblings.

I acted on the first, but never on the second.

Never.

I've done nothing but good works my whole life...

Yet I never...

[sighs] I never saw God...

Until I saw that boy.

14 years old,

his body so perfect,

so pure, so angelic.

I had to touch it.

- Prisoner #88S510,

Robert Sippel,

convicted March 10,'88,

sexual abuse in the second degree.

Sentence: 15 years.

Up for parole in ten.

- I fondled him for a moment, just a--just a moment.

He didn't yell, he didn't cry.

He didn't tell a soul.

I confessed.

I want to be saved.

I want to do good.

I want Jesus to forgive me.

- He has, Robert,

but you need to forgive yourself.

You've done your time.

Tomorrow you'll be out in the world,

able to start a new life.

- A new life?

What kind of life would that be?

- And Sippel gets out tomorrow morning without a job,

without a place to live, and no support,

so I called a friend at the diocese

to see if a bed was available anywhere, and he laughed.

- Well, can you blame him?

The church paid off a million dollar lawsuit

to Sippel's victim.

- Ray, I want you to call your buddy, the cardinal,

and get him to help Sippel.

- Oh, no.

- Why not?

- Well, it's not a favor that I'll ask.

- Because...

- Look, my relationship with his eminence is stormy at best.

I can't be calling him every ten minutes

asking him for a favor.

- And?

- And Sippel disgusts me.

- Ray, he made a mistake.

He's repentant.

He deserves absolution.

- He robbed a boy of his innocence.

He's a child molester. - He was.

- That child trusted his priest. He's a threat.

- To what? To society?

To the priesthood?

To you?

- Hello, Father Mukada.

- You're still reading The Breviary.

- Oh, yes, every day,

just as I was taught to do in the seminary.

- But you're not a priest anymore.

- When I was ordained,

I became a priest forever--

forever, just like you.

But the church has stripped me of my powers.

I'm a priest forever,

but not allowed to be a priest.

I'm a man forever,

but not allowed to be a man.

I am...

Yet I'm not, you see?

Father, will you pray with me?

- I can't.

I can't pray with you.

But I will pray for you.

- No, sir, all I'm asking

is that you give him a second chance.

He knows that he can't work with kids again,

but the church, it's still a part of his life, and...

But if you abandon him--

I am aware of the victim.

Yes, sir.

No.

Thank you, Cardinal.

- Channel three news has learned that Robert Sippel,

a Catholic priest convicted of sexually abusing

a boy in his care,

will be released today

from Oswald Maximum Security Penitentiary.

Sippel spent ten years in jail

for the molestation of a 14-year-old boy upstate.

As state law requires,

Sippel must register as a sex offender

with police and is expected to reside in the area.

Anxious residents have expressed their concern

over Sippel's plan to live in their neighborhood.

[somber music]

♪ ♪

- This is the cup of My blood,

the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.

It will be shed for you and for all

so that sins may be forgiven.

Do this in memory of Me.

[bell ringing]

- Hey, Schillinger.

- What do you want?

- Yo, how much would it cost to mail me out of here?

- Mail you out? What are you talking about?

- I've been trying to think of ways to get out of here.

- Escape from Oz?

- Yeah.

And I figured, you know,

you could box me up in a crate and mail me to my wife

overnight express, priority mail, whatever.

How much would that cost,

postage, shipping, handling, etc.?

- Are you serious? - Yeah.

- Then you're nuts. - What's that, a no?

- Yeah, no.

- No, yeah, it's a no.

Get the fuck out of here before I tip you over.

- All right, Vern, I ain't mad at ya.

You can't help it if you're ugly and stupid.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Ain't that a--

yo, what's up with him?

- He's in love.

- Adebisi?

Get the fuck out of here! With who?

- Shirley Bellinger.

- Say word.

That bitch over on death row?

- Word.

They been exchanging notes every meal

for about a week.

- How do they know each other?

- That's what's funny about it.

They never even seen each other before.

- Hey.

- Go away. You've got diseases.

- I'm cured, Adebisi. Cancer's not contagious.

- That's what they say.

- Look, I want back in the kitchen.

- No.

- Christ, haven't I always been there for you?

- No. - Come on.

I'm the only friend you got, pal.

- O'Reily, you can read, right?

- Yeah, and so can you.

- Yeah, but not all the words like this one.

What does that say?

- "Brawny."

- What's that mean, "brawny"?

- Lots of muscles.

- I'm brawny. - Yeah, among other things.

Here, let me see.

Let me see, hmm?

Oh.

Bellinger says that tomorrow is her birthday.

And it's her last birthday on Earth,

and the only thing that she really wants to do

is to see your brawny body naked, and...

- And suck your cock.

- Where does it say that?

Where does it say that? - Right there.

"Fellatio,"

"cunnilingus."

Your girlfriend can spell.

- I want to see her.

I want to meet her.

- You want her to suck your cock.

- Yeah.

- If I can arrange it,

will you let me back in the kitchen?

- O'Reily,

if she sucks my cock...

I'll suck yours.

- [laughs] That's an appetizing thought.

Pass.

- Hey, hey, you can do it?

- I can do it.

All right, listen.

Tomorrow Adebisi's doing your mop duty.

- Why? - So he can see Bellinger.

- Fuck that. Every day she shows her pussy.

- Well, you're gonna have to go without it for once.

Here, take that.

- Fuck.

- Here, Shirley.

- Thank you, dumpling.

[gasps]

Well, I'll be.

That Simon thinks of everything.

- [whistling "Happy Birthday"]

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

Shirley...

You like your cake?

- Yes.

♪ ♪

- Happy birthday, baby.

- You're Simon?

- Quick...

before the hacks come.

- But... - What?

- You're a nigger.

♪ ♪

- Suck my dick now.

- Hey, get the fuck away from--

- Suck my dick. - What the fuck you doing?

Tony! Al!

- Adebisi, move!

[indistinct shouting] - Suck my dick!

♪ ♪

- [sniffing]

- Yo, Wangler, check this out, man.

- This sniffer's buggled.

- Yo, man.

What the fuck is up with you, man?

- Go away. - What the fuck?

You losing your mind or something?

- Go away!

[vomits]

Stay down.

- How are you?

- Hey, Chucky,

how's your head?

- That can of peaches knocked your brains loose?

- Hey, hey, hey.

Fuck those guys, man.

Don't even worry about them.

I got good news.

Antonio Nappa's coming to Oz.

- For those of you going to Emerald City, we got rules--

got a lot more rules than anywhere else in Oz.

Your cell is your home. You are to keep it clean.

You are to exercise regularly,

attend classes,

go to drug and alcohol counseling,

follow the rules.

There is no yelling, no fighting,

no fucking.

Okay, those of you going to Em City

will each be given a sponsor.

You can pair up as follows.

Nappa, Pancamo.

Hoyt, Burns.

Vincent, Adebisi.

The rest of you can follow officer Tobin to Gen Pop.

- Goldfish.

They live their whole lives in 30-second intervals.

Every half minute,

their little brain forgets what the last half minute

of their life was like.

In other words,

when this little goldfish is happy,

he thinks he's been happy his whole life,

since his whole life was only 30 seconds ago.

And when this little goldfish is hungry,

he thinks he's been hungry his whole life.

And when he's dying,

this little goldfish thinks he's been dying

his whole life.

Imagine that:

death

being the only life this little goldfish will ever know.

[heavy rock music]

♪ ♪

- Prisoner #98N744,

Antonio Nappa,

convicted June 4, '98,

murder in the second degree.

Sentence: 80 years.

Up for parole in 50.

- Needless to say,

I was saddened by Peter Schibetta's rape.

His father, Nino, and I were paisans.

I'm Peter's godfather.

No, his actual godfather, at baptism.

- We won't tolerate revenge.

- Nor should you.

All I ask is that you punish the man responsible.

- We will when we find him.

- You have no suspects?

- We have suspects.

The problem is, we have no witnesses.

Pancamo was unconscious, and Schibetta--

- Is unwilling to talk.

- That's right. - May I see him?

- No.

- I tell you, Antonio,

I think that Peter's mind has snapped.

He keeps talking to his father,

as if Nino were still alive.

- This Adebisi, who raped Peter--

- Yeah.

- We can't kill him, at least not yet.

But I want him to suffer.

I want to take away whatever's most important to him.

- Well, that, uh-- that would be heroin.

He's a fiend.

- He's a user and a dealer?

- Yeah. - Then his black ass is mine.

I want you to suggest to Glynn

that it's time to do a little random drug testing.

- You got it.

- You,

you,

you...

And you,

come with me.

- Hill...

Rebadow...

Said...

Adebisi.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Hey, hey.

Let's go.

- Simon, after the riot,

you went into severe heroin withdrawal.

I thought you'd kicked the habit.

- I did. - Oh, come on.

These reports say that you're still using.

Now, I want you to come to drug counseling.

- Rehab is bullshit, no offense.

- Fine.

Then I'll have you tested for drug use every week,

and if you keep using, I'll send you to the psych ward.

Have you ever been to the psych ward here, Simon?

Peter Schibetta's there,

along with 20 other guys who've lost all sense of reality.

- Reality.

Oz?

- So tell me, what world are you living in?

Better yet,

which world are you trying to avoid?

Because drugs are all about avoidance, Simon,

about not being able to accept some

secrets in yourself.

- Sister,

don't send me to that looney bin.

I will come to your meetings.

I will stop taking drugs.

[overlapping chatter]

What are you looking at, old man?

- Hey.

Nappa,

he engineered the drug testing to slow you down.

- Yeah? - Yeah.

- Looks like I'm gonna have to kill me some dagos.

- Atta boy.

- Here's the plan: we go out there,

grab that bitch Nappa and his Guinea friends,

cut their throats.

- What, now? - Yeah.

- It's the middle of fucking lunchtime.

What are you, crazy?

- Is there a better time?

- Yes, there's a fucking better time.

Look, there's hacks all over the place.

Everyone's gonna see.

- Let them see us.

- Please, go back!

You disgrace us all when you act like a fool.

- Move out of my way.

- We're African brothers. I know you see that.

- Look at all this black skin around.

- No, you and I are different.

- I'm no different.

- Yoruba...

What have they turned you into?

- Who are you?

- Who are you ?

- There a problem here, Adebisi?

- No problem, officer.

- Then get back to work.

♪ ♪

- Hey, hey.

What happened in the cafeteria with that old man?

- Just some crazy fuck.

- You were gonna take care of Nappa.

- Another day.

- You planning on doing anything soon?

- Yeah, planning on lying down.

Where's the CD player?

- The batteries are low.

Here.

- What's in here?

- Some hard shit my cousin sent me.

Yo, what are we gonna do about Nappa, man?

Adebisi?

Yo!

You know what? Fuck it.

You slipping,

and if your balls end up in a cannoli,

don't say shit.

[hip-hop plays on CD]

♪ ♪

[man chanting]

♪ ♪

[tribal drums]

- [screams]

- What's up, man?

[people muttering indistinctly]

- What the fuck?!

That's my motherfucking CD player!

[chatter and laughter]

- Do you believe in voodoo, Chucky?

The power of magic?

- No. - I do.

There's an old wives' tale in Sicily

that a new bride waits until she menstruates,

then she takes her blood

and puts it into the first tomato sauce

she makes for her husband.

- What for?

- If he eats her blood, she can control him forever.

Somebody's got Adebisi under a spell.

Too bad it's not us.

- Those "National Geographic" specials,

they're popular here at Oz.

All those wild beasts attacking each other--

ferocious lions running down to the watering hole,

brutalizing antelopes and gazelles.

How come there's never a program where the animals get along,

where they help each other?

Is it possible for, say, a flat-billed platypus

to help a green-eyed cockatoo cross the street?

Now what?

- The fun part: we read everybody's mail.

Our nigger warden has a rule:

every piece of mail that comes into Oz

gets opened and thoroughly examined.

- In case somebody's pulling a scam or something.

- Right.

If we find anything suspicious,

we're supposed to pass it on to the supervising hack.

- And do we?

- They spot check us pretty regular,

so you gotta pick your shot, letting something slip through.

- In the meantime,

we know every prisoner's business.

- Right.

And like the great man said, "Knowledge is power."

- Can do some real damage with this bad boy.

- Relax. You're suffering from PBS.

- PBS? - Pre-bunny syndrome.

It happens quite often in my line of work.

You dig and dig and dig,

and just before you have to make like a little bunny

and go through the hole, you panic.

- This is real, pre-bunny syndrome?

- Well, yeah.

I mean, I made the name up, but sure.

- Come on, man, what's the slow-up?

- Keep your fucking shirt on.

- Oh.

- What's the matter?

- It's a letter from my mother.

- You have a mother?

- She's 90.

She says my grandson has leukemia.

- You have a grandson?

- My fiancé was pregnant at the time of my arrest.

- Rebadow, who'd have thought about you doing the nasty?

You got a kid, huh?

Boy or girl?

- Boy... man.

Alex would be 34, and he has a boy.

- Who has leukemia.

- I've never seen either one of them.

- Okay, any other new business?

- Yeah.

This guy Rebadow-- his grandson's got leukemia.

all: Aww. - That's too bad, dude.

- The kid's dying,

and his dying wish is to go to Disney World.

- Mine too. - Mickey Mouse sucks cock.

- How do you know all this?

- I work the mail, right?

I read the letter from his mama.

Rebadow's family doesn't have the $3,000

to send the kid to Disney World,

so I'm thinking maybe we should send him.

- Who, us? - How?

- My bike club.

We raised $10,000 once

doing a run across the state

for the Ronald McDonald house.

You all earn money in here,

working whatever job you got, same as me.

So I'm thinking instead of spending the money on shit,

we can make a donation.

- Look, what the fuck do we care about Rebadow's grandson?

- Hey, Kenny, if you don't care, then you don't care.

But if you do, then help out.

Whatever you guys raise, the CO's will match.

Meeting's adjourned.

- Look, uh, it's not a lot, but take it.

- Thank you, Augustus, Tobias, Busmalis.

- How much do you have?

- With this and the money in my account,

$72.

- 172.

From the brothers.

- I thought I was gonna die.

You know, so, um...

maybe your grandson, he won't die.

- Maybe.

- But just in case...

[percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- I got kids too.

Mostly, they're a pain in the ass, but...

- So how much have you raised?

- Almost $2,000.

- Then this should put you over the top.

- First thing tomorrow,

I'll wire the money to my mother.

I've told her it was coming,

and I told her I want this gift to be anonymous.

I don't want my grandson to know where it came from.

- You're ashamed?

- Yes.

[weeping]

- That's fucking what I heard.

Rebadow collected, like, three G's,

and that money's going tomorrow.

Know what?

I'm thinking we go to Rebadow,

we take the dough,

and then, so these other fucks don't get mad,

we make Rebadow swear that he sent it.

- No.

- What do you mean, no? It's $3,000.

- I said no.

- Why?

- 'Cause sometimes it's good to be human.

- Prisoner #98H432, Jaz Hoyt.

[ominous music]

♪ ♪

Convicted August 12, '98,

aggravated assault in the first degree.

Sentence: eight years.

Up for parole in four.

- Yo, Alvarez. - Man, no, leave me alone.

- Wait a second, man, I got to ask you a question, bro.

- What?

- Yo, you're working bed pans.

You ever see any opportunities of getting out?

- Getting out?

What do you mean, like escape?

- Yeah, man.

- [scoffs] You trying to escape, bro?

- I've been exploring the possibilities.

- Right.

Okay, well,

hospital ward, right, that's a dead end.

'Cause if there was a way out, my ass'd be like a vapor.

But hey, you find that crack,

you let me know, all right?

'Cause I'll be there right behind ya, okay?

- Yeah. - Okay.

- Fuck.

- Welcome to Oswald Maximum Security Penitentiary.

We are, of course, pleased

that the state budget increased its line item

for more correctional officers.

Your presence here will help alleviate stress

between the COs and the inmates

as well as increase safety for all.

I myself stood where you're standing some 30 years ago.

The warden back then gave us a piece of advice

I'd like to pass on to you.

"Be aware and beware."

My own little addendum is, "Be fair."

Again, welcome.

- Man, I know that dude.

- The new hack?

- Yeah, man, he was in Los Diablos.

- Los Diablos? You wiped the motherfuckers out.

- Yeah, Rivera was always a pussy.

- Yeah, speaking of pussies.

- You shut the fuck up.

- What do you want, "Michael"?

- I want to have a sit-down, just him and me.

- Yo, get out, man, you're busted.

- Can I?

[exhales heavily]

You know, my grandfather was in Oz for 40 years--

spent the last half in solitary.

- Yeah, I know.

- My father's an inmate here.

Got his tongue cut out.

- Yeah, I know, man, so what?

- Yo, man, I've seen my share around here.

You know, and I got no problem with you taking over.

I mean, you El Cid.

You have cajones.

But, yo, ever since you came in, man,

I been low man.

I get my face in the dirt every day.

I just want to know what I got to do

to get in your good graces.

- Change your skin, man. You're too white.

- Man, there ain't nothing I can do about that.

- I'm not talking about your outside.

I'm talking about right here, man.

Too white.

- I'm not.

All right, I'll prove it.

You tell me to do something.

- See that guardaespalda over there?

- Uh-huh.

- Tráeme los ojos.

- Are you kidding me?

- Tráeme los ojos.

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Poppa.

Gonglewski's shit in his bed again?

I'll give you a hand.

Poppa, I got a problem,

and I got nobody to talk to but you.

El Cid is in Oz now,

and the only way he's gonna let me stay in the game--

he wants me to pluck out the eyes of--of a CO.

Some new guy, Rivera.

Now the way I see it, if I do it,

I'm dead.

The hacks are gonna tear me apart.

If I don't, El Cid will.

Poppa, I don't know what to do.

I mean, what do I do?

♪ ♪

- Count!

88P217,

86M510,

93K518,

92H24...

- 96J522,

98H498,

92M220,

97A413.

- Hey.

- What?

What, Alvarez?

- They say the eyes are the mirrors of the soul.

- What the fuck you talking about?

- Nice to see you.

- 97P468,

98N744,

91T818,

92L411,

89O792...

[dark music]

♪ ♪

- Did Diane Wittlesey shoot Scott Ross

with the intention of ending his life?

Did Wittlesey murder Ross?

- No.

- Hey, there you are.

Do you have time to go over the statistical reports?

- Uh, not right now.

I promised Coushaine

that I would sit in on his reading and writing class.

- Okay.

- Hey, Leo.

- Hey.

- I've been meaning to ask you,

how's your daughter?

- Well, she's out of the hospital,

on the road to recovery.

- That's great. I'm happy for you.

How about your brother?

- His trial starts in two weeks.

- God gives, God takes, huh?

- Yeah.

- How about it?

Come on, a little one-on-one?

- Nope.

- Hey, Leo...

I know I can't tell the truth about Ross's shooting,

but I can't carry the lie around anymore either.

I try. I can't.

- Then find a way to lose the lie.

- Diane, I--

sorry.

- It's all right, Tim.

It's not like you haven't seen me undressed.

What's up?

- You're always telling me

that I get lost inside my own head,

that I got to be more blunt.

So I'm going to be blunt.

At Schillinger's hearing,

I put my hand on the Bible and I swore to God

that I would tell the truth, and then I lied.

I lied for you, and now every time I see you,

I'm reminded of my lie,

of the vow to God that I broke,

of my sin.

- And?

- I want you to transfer out of Em City to another unit.

- Wittlesey's working in Unit B now.

- Find out why.

- Think she's been selling cigarettes again?

- I heard she had a nervous breakdown.

- It's because of McManus.

- Yo, I miss those tits of hers, man.

- Me, too. - What do you think?

- I never liked the woman.

- I wonder who the new head hack's gonna be.

- As long as it's not him.

- People are always wondering

if their pets are gonna make it to heaven.

If Jojo or Muffy

are gonna pass through those pearly gates.

How much you want to bet the animals are wondering

if their masters are gonna make it?

Cats, dogs, parakeets--

they don't spend their whole lives

drowning in sin, lies and suffering.

They just wallow in the truth.

Imagine that--

if all we humans knew of life on Earth

was the goddamn truth...

[tense percussive tones]

♪ ♪

- Beecher...

Don't do this.

- Do what?

- Drink.

- You love to dabble in people's lives, don't ya?

Because you're so much better than us,

'cause you've seen the light.

You've seen the face of God.

So you wave your dick around

in order to save us lowly mortals.

Hill, Mershah,

Groves,

Jefferson Keane.

Fuck, you helped Jefferson Keane

right into a lethal injection.

But in the end-- - No, no, no, no.

- When all is said and done,

who have you really fucking helped,

other than yourself?

- Poet.

- Poet?

I just saw on the news, he killed a man.

He's coming back to Oz.

Little Miss Tucket sat on a bucket,

eating some peaches and cream.

Then came a grasshopper and tried to stop her,

but she said, "Go away or I'll scream!"

[dark music]

♪ ♪

[gunshot]

- Prisoner #98J448,

Arnold Jackson, AKA Poet.

Convicted July 20, '98,

murder in the second degree.

Sentence: 26 years,

up for parole in 19.

♪ ♪

[applause]

- Can we get by, brother?

Come on, man.

- So what is it that separates you and me from the goldfish,

the butterfly, the flat-billed platypus?

Our minds, huh?

Our souls, huh?

The fact that we can get HBO?

Well, maybe it's that humans are the only species

to put other animals in cages,

put its own kind in cages.

[tense jazzy music]

♪ ♪