All language subtitles for Pennyworth.S02E02.720p.BluRay.x264-BORDURE

The Raven Union's gonna attack London
before the year's out.

There'll be a proper argy-bargy.

Oh!

Fuck off, mate.

The Union have the regular army
on their side.

They have tanks, artillery and manpower,

and they're up against poorly armed,
poorly led civilians.

We're charging you with...

subversion and conspiring
to commit violent acts.

Take your clothes off.

Tell you what, sir.

This is the chap.
Colonel John Salt of the Union militia.

Before the war,

I worked at a place we called Room 101.

A torture chamber, really.

When you're ready, mate.
We're in a bit of a hurry.

Best find a bus stop, then, eh?

It's good to see you, Thomas.

The... the big news is...

I'm engaged.

No kidding.

Goodbye, young man.
Perhaps we'll meet again.

You know me. I love a crisis.

London, rejoice.

Final victory of the Raven Union...

...is here. With the lives
of the armed forces on our side,

we will triumph over the English League

and their young queen...

Hello, Martha.

Glad to see you amusing yourself.

We have time on our hands.

The Union just lobs
the occasional mortar.

Waiting for us to surrender I guess.

How I wish we could do that. Surrender.

The very word sounds delicious.

News of Salt's escape
reached you I expect.

It did.

I'm sorry to waste all your good work.

Entirely my fault.

What went wrong?

Sad to say, I'm about 87% sure
we were set up by Alfred Pennyworth.

Wow.

The lousy son of a bitch.

A useful man
you know to be untrustworthy

is better than no man at all.

I don't know about that.

Talking of useful men,

I hear you ran into
an old friend of ours.

Oh. Oh, yes. Thomas Wayne came by.

How is the rascal?

That's why you came
all the way out here to see me?

I do try to avoid front lines if I can.

Since when are you spying on me, Victor?

- Please.
- Seriously.

Seriously, Martha, get a grip.

We were following Thomas Wayne.

Right. Sorry.

- Paranoia.
- I know the feeling.

Thomas Wayne was fine and dandy.

Blooming. What do you wanna know?

Uh...

- Still with the same company, is he?
- Yup.

The company says
fuck liberty and democracy,

- they're staying neutral.
- Of course they are.

That doesn't mean
we shouldn't cultivate their friendship.

I hope you were friendly.

Friendly? Nope.

No?

I told him to take a hike.

Why on Earth did you do that?

He only came by to snoop around.

Fuck him and fuck the CIA.

My dear Martha, you must tell him

he need not hike anywhere
on your account.

The hell I will.

I gather he's engaged to be married.

What of it?

Perhaps, and I tread lightly here,

perhaps his engagement
has peeved you, somehow?

I'm not the slightest bit peeved.

Okay. Yeah, I'm peeved.

I'm peeved because he and his paymasters

are standing by and letting fascists
take over this country.

And we, Martha, must do our best
to encourage them not to do that.

For liberty and democracy and all that.

It's your duty.

What are you looking at?

Where are you taking me?

Wherever this bus goes.
If it ever comes.

Then we'll see.

Just so long as we're out
of the immediate vicinity.

I want to go home.

You can't.

Why not?

First place they'll be looking for you.

Looking for me?

Slow as paint.

You're lucky you've got me
watching out for you.

If I let you go off on your own,
you'll be caught,

and they'll blame you for killing
Major Sutcliffe and they'll hang you.

Now...

You're with me until I get this sorted.

Sorted? How?

Lord Harwood
is a close personal friend of mine.

Soon as I tell him what's occurred,
he'll have it all expunged.

That's the technical word for it.

"Expunged."

Lord Harwood...

a friend of yours?

You're looking at me like I'm a liar.

No.

If you say it's so.

He made me captain, got me this job.

If there's owt he can do for me,
his Lordship will do it.

Fuck's sake, gloomy guts.

Time was you were banged up naked
with a cock in your face.

Look at you now.

I'm cold.

Why didn't you say something?

Hey, you.

Hello?

You all right?

Give us your coat.

Pardon?

Your coat, man.

My coat?

I don't... What?

Give us your coat.

Thank you.

Now...

where's this fucking bus, eh?

- Oi.
- Get another one.

America.

- America.
- America.

When?

Lot of pay-offs to make,
but we should be away end of next week.

When do we tell Chadley and the staff?

We don't.

We'll leave them a note and some cash.

Walk away without saying goodbye.
That's cold.

It's just good sense.

If we tell the staff, it's as good
as telling the whole city we're leaving.

We are leaving.

People will say we're running away.

We are running away.

We're not running away. We're moving on.

Since when do you care
what other people say?

I don't.

Just don't want any aggravation,
that's all.

Surprise is always the best strategy.

True. Especially when
you're running away.

But you'll tell Sandra
that you're leaving, eh?

When the time's right.

I feel bad for her. Poor wee thing.

Fuck's sake, Daveboy.

He feels bad, too.

I feel great, thank you very much.

We're making a fresh start.
New horizons.

Stands to reason
there'll be hard choices along the way.

Here's to hard choices, then, eh?

- Hard choices.
- Hard choices.

Sod it. Lines are down.

- What'll we do?
- I'm thinking.

I'm tired. I can't walk anymore.

We'll have to hide somewhere
until I can talk to his Lordship.

Word of what we've done
will be all over by now.

I haven't done anything.

Stop moaning.

Come on.

There we are, then.

- Nice and cozy, eh?
- No.

It'll do.

I'll try his Lordship again later.

And the phones will work.

And we'll be right as rain.

Have you ever
been to Liverpool, Jimmy?

Can't say that I have.

Ghastly place.

I like the people, though. Amusing.

Stubborn.

I wish to God they'd surrender.

All of them. Manchester. London.

The horrors they would save us from.

You know they won't, old girl. Not yet.

One last fierce assault
should break them.

They leave us no choice.

No, there are always choices.

Ah, Salt. It's good to have you
back on the job.

What would we do without you?
What have you got for us today.

Good morning, your Lordship. Mrs. Gaunt.

I have the results
of the latest Stormcloud tests.

Well, I'll... I'll look at those later.

Stormcloud tests?
That sounds intriguing.

Well, it's all very speculative,
you know these boffins.

On what are they speculating?

I'm sorry, sir.
I assumed Mrs. Gaunt knew.

Never mind, Salt.

Some top secret stuff.

Top secret? From me?

These things have to be kept close.

- Strictly need-to-know basis.
- I need to know.

Chemicals.

- Chemicals?
- Yes.

Gases and so forth.

Salt will fill you in
on all the details.

What did I say?
It's all very speculative.

- You... you mean poisonous gases?
- For God's sake, woman,

we're at war! You want choices?
Well, here's a damn choice.

Well, Colonel Salt.

Tell me about these
"speculative" gases of yours.

Yes, ma'am.

The science department reports

the latest tests of the prototype
are promising,

as regards reaction time
and post-mortem presentation.

I have the numbers here
if you'd like to look at them.

And what in God's name
is post-mortem presentation?

How the victims look after death.

An important metric.

You can go now.

I know.

I know. You needn't give me a lecture.
You're right.

This won't do.

Promise me to put an end
to this monstrosity.

The boffins come up
with all this clever stuff,

it's hard not to get drawn in.

Promise me.

There is a moral argument to be made.

Oh, really?

In cold numbers of human death
and injury caused,

gas is no worse
than aerial bombing or artillery.

Except there's no structural damage.
You see, that's the thing.

No, Jimmy. That is not the thing.

You're right.
It won't do. I'll put a stop to it.

I... I will.

No, it is not famine or disease

that will bring humanity low.

It is not Lord Harwood
and his fascist cronies.

We'll see them off.

What are you watching?

The nuclear bomb...

It was cowboys.

...my friends. That's the enemy.

They say the bomb brings peace.

Those are the dread...

- Cup of tea?
- I'm having a sherry.

I'll put the kettle on.
I've got good news.

What's that, then?

We've got the money.

What money?

We've got enough money now
for the bribes,

and the transit papers, and the visas.

We're going to America, Mom.

A new life.

Just now on the telly,

a man in America died
from a bear having a go at him.

They get up to all sorts,
the animals over there.

Not everywhere.
Not in the cities.

I keep telling you I'm not going

and you keep acting
as though you can't hear me.

"A new life," he says.

What am I going to do with a new life?

Well, I'm not going to
leave you here, am I?

What if the neighbors came around
and saw you like this?

Like what?

There's cobwebs on the mantel

and you're on the sherry and chips
watching Bonanza.

If Dad was here, he'd say,
where's your gumption, Mother?

He'd say, "Pull your socks up."

And I'd tell him where
to shove his bloody socks.

And bugger the neighbors.

They point at me and whisper.

"There's her whose son killed
his father. Stay away from her."

I can't even look at you
without thinking about what happened.

That's all in the past, Mom.

We have to try to move forward.

I'm sorry.

I shouldn't have said that.

- Sorry.
- That's all right, Mom.

I don't want to move forward, Alfie.

I just want to end my life here...

and sooner rather than later.

In a place I'm used to.

"Least said, soonest mended," right?

I'll put the kettle on.

Pleasure to see you, ma'am.

- What brings you to London?
- The food.

Mmm. Don't get me started.

I'm en route to Moscow.
Figured I'd stop by.

There's a project underway
that's best discussed face to face.

Yes, ma'am.

We have a problem
with the hydrogen bomb.

It's a great product,
but the public don't like it.

Image-wise,
the nuclear disarmament folks

have done a darn good job of painting us
as greedy warmongers.

We're over it.

We're going to start kicking
some public relations butt.

Sounds like an idea.

The top anti-nuclear campaigner
in England is Archbishop Potter,

Prime minister of the English League.

He's got a beaucoup moral authority,
and he is highly problematic to kill.

So, what do we do?

Take away his moral authority,
I suppose.

Can you say that with a smile?

Do I have to?

Politics is dirty, Thomas.

You got to enjoy playing in the dirt.

I follow policy directives.

Whether or not I enjoy the task.

I'm glad to hear you say so.

I haven't got to the part
you really won't enjoy.

- Hello, Alfie.
- Evening.

Come join us.

I wanted a word with your girl here, but
I can come back later if you're busy.

No, we're just
talking a bit of business.

Oh. I was saying to Sand here,

I've been in discussions
with the manager of the Hippodrome.

He's thinking of offering her a shot,
you know, as an opening act.

Nice.

Yeah, we've got to make sure we choose
the right repertoire, you know,

work on her stagecraft as we call it,
but things are looking really good.

Dad says we have to strike
while the iron's hot and all that.

I don't think I'm ready.

Oh, give over. Look at you.

You're beautiful,
you sing like a fucking bird,

what more could you want, am I right?

He's right.

Sky's the limit, Sand.

Right. I'll leave you lovebirds to it.
Got to piss.

Me bladder's like a prune these days.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Dad!

- Go on, then.
- What?

You wanted a word?

Right. Uh, yeah, I do.

Don't worry, I won't give you the elbow
when I'm rich and famous,

if that's what you're worried about.

That's... that's good. Yeah. No...

You can be my bodyguard.

We'll be flying around
in airplanes and that.

It'll be ever so glamorous.

Sounds nice.

You know me. I'm loyal.

Yeah. You are.

Why you looking sad?

No, I'm not. I'm just thinking...

Fuck's he doing here?

Who?

Thomas Wayne.

I, um, better go and say hello.
We'll talk later, yeah?

Mr. Wayne.

Alfred.

Uh...

What a pleasant surprise.

- You work here?
- It's my club.

Wow.

Uh...

That is... That's... excellent.

You're doing pretty well then. Bravo.

I thought you were home in the States.

I was.

Well, I'm back.

Welcome back, then. I suppose.

Thomas, my dear, how are you?

Hello.

- Aleister Crowley.
- Alfred Pennyworth.

Ah, the notorious Alfred Pennyworth.

I've heard so much about you.
What a lovely place you have.

I thought you'd look more butch.

You're so young...

and pretty.

All right.

Nice to meet you, Mr. Crowley.

- Sheri.
- Yes, sir.

Take good care of these gentlemen
for me. Mr. Wayne's an old friend.

Will do, Alfie.

Gentlemen.

Come with me.

Here we are.

What can I get you?

Gin and tonic, please, my dear.

A glass of milk.

Sure.

You might have chosen
a more discreet place to meet.

Oh, don't worry.

Tout le monde gathers here.

One might bump into anyone
without arousing suspicion.

What can I do for you, Thomas?
I was surprised to hear from you.

We parted in such acrimony.

Yeah, I was surprised myself.

My superiors... have a proposal for you.

You have superiors?
You astonish me. Tell all.

We gather you're very well connected
inside the Raven Union.

You gather correctly.

But... you're held at arm's length...

in the shadows.

Because you do the squalid things
that others find repugnant.

A sort of carrion bird.

Precisely.

I'm loving the proposal so far.

A close friendship with a US agency

would elevate your status
inside the Union, would it not?

You intrigue me. Go on.

If a particular individual

identified as harmful
to Anglo-American relations,

if that person were
to suffer some sort of...

scandal...

driving them from public life...

Langley would find a way
of showing gratitude.

I accept your proposal.

Who's my pigeon?

Archbishop Potter.

Archbishop Potter.

Prime Minister of the English League.

Pillar of morality.

Difficult...

but not impossible.

Consider it done.

I'm sorry that you're
so personally conflicted.

My personal feelings
are neither here nor there.

I have only one condition.

Don't give me any
of your soul-selling drivel.

No, no. You've already sold your soul.

All I want...

is a kiss.

God loves you, Thomas, but he's...
he's very judgmental, isn't he?

Satan doesn't judge.

He adores every part of you.

Even the squalid lust for advancement
that led you here.

All he wants in return
is a little respect.

A gesture of friendship.

You're serious?

Always.

God damn it...

Thank you.

Manchester and Liverpool
can hold out for now, at least.

If we send them more men and supplies,
they may last a couple of months more.

But they will still be defeated
in the end.

I won't hear such talk.

We must think positively.

- There is always hope.
- Hear, hear.

With all due respect, Prime Minister,
I am thinking positively.

We must use the time
and resources we still have

to build better defenses for London.

I disagree.

We cannot afford
to lose any more territory.

We must resolve to hold Manchester
and Liverpool at all costs.

Resolution is all very well, Mr. Ripper,
but it is no impedance to tanks.

Are they really truly doomed?

They've done jolly well so far.

Doomed, ma'am, and draining
vital resources from London.

For a policeman, you're very sure
of your military expertise.

Are gravediggers any more qualified?

Chair recognizes the Woodcraft Folk.

Speaking as a person of proud
Cornish descent, I'd like to point out,

the all too typical London-centric focus
of this debate.

Oh, my God.

Your point is well taken, young man.

Let us take a brief moment

to send our prayers and thoughts
to the people of Cornwall

and the Channel Islands,

fighting the good fight alongside us.

- Operator.
- Hello, Operator.

Put us through to Raven Union HQ
switchboard in Watford, please.

- Right away.
- Raven Union Headquarters.

Hello. Lord Harwood's office, please.

May I ask what this call is regarding?

That's my business, pet.

You can say
it's a friend of his Lordship.

One moment.

Leader's office.

Good morning. May I speak
to his Lordship if you'd be so kind.

Name and purpose of call?

It's a personal matter.
We're old friends.

Name?

Tell him it's Bet.

I'm in a spot off bother
and I need his help.

Thank you, Madam.
Your call has been logged

and will receive
the appropriate attention.

No, pet. You don't understand.

I need to speak to him.

That's not how it works.
Good day to you.

Hel... hello?

Hello?

- Operator.
- Hello, Operator.

Primrose 2154, please.

North London is under siege, madam.

Yes, I know they're under siege.

But they've still got phones,
haven't they?

I need to speak to my sister.

All lines in North London
have been disconnected.

When are you gonna switch them back on?

Our teams are currently
working hard to restore...

That's no bloody good, is it?
Could take months.

- You could try in the evening, madam.
- Thanks for nothing.

Help!

Help! Help! I'm in here!

Hellfire.

Why are you yelling?
I told you I'd come back, didn't I?

You've been gone for hours.

Well, I'm back now.

I've got bread,

ham and cheese, margarine,

and a bottle of Tizer.

I'll make the sandwiches.
You can help if you like.

We'll have a picnic.

I thought I was going to die.

Death by being on your own for a bit?

Terrible way to go.

I was scared you wouldn't come back.

Don't be silly.

Now, then.

I'll uncuff you,

but you have to promise
not to play silly buggers.

- All right?
- I promise.

Honestly, how a nervous Nellie like you

could go around doing terrorism?

You must have been shitting yourself.

I'm not a terrorist.

- So you keep saying.
- I'm not.

I'd love to believe you, duck. I would.

But they do it by science now,

identifying subversives.

They've got machines.

American machines.

The Yanks aren't
going to get it wrong, are they?

They're sending a bastard to the Moon.

I told you, I'm an art student.

I go to the local Poly.

That reminds me.

You could do us a drawing, eh?

Take your mind off things.

I don't feel like drawing.

Go on, you could draw me.

I don't want to.

Doesn't have to be me.

Use your imagination.

I don't want to draw.

Oh, I see.

You're not an artist, are you?

That were lies.

You don't want to draw

because you'll show yourself up
to be a bloody terrorist.

That is not... You...

Okay. I'll draw something.

Good lass.

I'll know if you're any good, mind.

My little sister were mad for drawing.

Years after she'd gone, we'd find
her pencils down the settee.

Why'd you do that?

Please let me go. Please!

I've told you more than once
why that's not on.

Why can't you see sense?

Because you're crazy.

I'm... I'm trying to help you.

I am.

Oi!

This area is closed
by order of county marshals.

Sorry, duck.

Didn't see the signs. We'll be off.

What were you doing?

Having a snog.

Not illegal, is it?

Let's see your ID cards.

Left 'em at home.

You're coming with us, then.

Thank you.

You took long enough.

Are they...

- Are they all right?
- Yeah.

Not to worry.

No.

What?

Why did you do that?

Can't have 'em telling where we are.

We'll have hundreds
of the buggers after us.

You're a bit soft for a terrorist,
aren't you?

I'm not a terrorist.

Oh. Keep your knickers on.
I'm just teasing you.

Best be off, eh?

Hello?

Hello, is, uh, Alfie there, please?

I'm afraid he's at work.

Uh, you sure he's not there?

I just said that, didn't I?

Just want to be on the safe side.

Get your hands off me!
Get your filthy hands off me!

Who the fuck are you?

Get off! Get off!

Get off!

Damn it! Let go! You fucking bastards!

- Thank you.
- Alfie!

Guess what?

What?

I'm on at the Hippodrome.

- They said yes.
- Hey!

That's brilliant. Well done, girl.

I'm bottom of the bill
and I only sing one song,

but still, the Hippodrome.

Hey, I'm really, really proud of you.

It's three weeks from Saturday.

You'll come, won't you?
Make sure you haven't got a job on.

Um, yeah, of course. I'll try.

- You'll try?
- Yeah.

No. No. I'll be there.

But you never know, do you?

There's a war on.

- Don't say that.
- What song you going to sing?

Well, Dad wants me
to sing a ballad.

I'll be ever so nervous and my ballads
are wobbly when I'm nervous.

I think I'd rather do
more of a sing along sort of number.

What do you reckon?

Um, I'll have a think.

Be nice if I sing a song you chose.

It was you that gave me
the courage to do this.

No. No, it's you that's done this.

You, your talent and...

goodness.

Nothing to do with me,
you remember that.

Sandra?

Yeah.

You have something
you wanted to tell me?

From earlier?

No.

No, never mind. Not important.

Okay.

Coming!

Texas holdem
is all they play in Las Vegas.

I'll get the hang of it, but...

it's a strange game.

It's more of a knife fight
than a chess match.

Problem?

Nah. Cushty.

You don't have to go.

Do what?

I'm going. But you don't have to.

What are you on about?

You're mad. I'm going.

How old is that sandwich?

Old.

If it's the Queen, I'm not here.

Hello?

Bazza,

is Alfie there?

He's right here.

Alfie, it's your mother.

Mom?

Alfie.

I've been kidnapped.

Are you all right? Have they hurt you?

I'm all right.

They want me to read this letter to you.

It's going to be all right, Mom.

"If you want to see me alive again,

come alone with $20,000

to the corner of Battlesbridge Road
and York Way.

They know you've got the money,
so, don't try to bargain.

You've got one hour. Alone.

Or I'm dead."

It's going to be all right, Mom.

Don't do it, Alfie!

Mom's been taken.

They want the money in King's Cross.

- One hour.
- I'll get the car.

Silly cow!

What'd you do that for?

Daveboy! Boots on!

It costs nothing to be polite.

Do you want to fucking die?

I'm not bothered.

Couldn't care less.

You'd offer me a glass of water
if you was a gentleman.

Very kind.

Who are you people?

That's why we have masks.

So you don't know who we are.

Must be very hot.

Give me the bag.

Where's me mum?

Give me the bag and we'll let her go.

Fuck off. No Mum, no bag.

That ain't the plan.

It's all here. No trouble.

But you got to show me my mom first.
That's only reasonable.

Give me the fucking bag, mate,
or we'll kill her!

Not your shout, is it?
You're an oily rag.

Go and tell your guv'nor that
I won't cough up until I see my mum.

Wait here.

I'm losing my touch.

I told you two to stay away.
Get the fuck out of here.

It's only me.

Bazza!

- Sorry.
- Fucking leg it, before he comes back.

- Are you sure?
- Yes. Get in the car!

Take out your gun and drop it.

Get in.

Only two of you?

I know judo and all that, you know.

From the army.

Try something.

What's that? A flare gun?
I'm not a ship at sea.

It's a.44 magnum

and it'll take your head off
like a walnut whip.

Nah. That's a flare gun, mate.

Are you sailors?

I know you're fucking amateurs.
You're sailors, aren't you?

Jolly Jack tars.

Is that a flare gun, is it?

Oh, no, I stand corrected.
It's not a flare gun.

You, keep driving.

If you've hurt my mum...

I don't even know what I'll do.

Steady on, mate. She's all right.

Look, it's only business.
We're all businessmen.

Businessmen? Take off your mask.

I don't know you. Who the fuck are you?

We're just hired hands, mate.

- Who's your guv'nor?
- I don't know.

Give over.

I swear!

He only hired us last week.

We met him twice,
and he wears a mask all the time.

Like some secret mastermind
sort of thing.

Calls himself Mr. X.

Where were you taking me?

Caravan on Clerkenwell Fields.

- Who's there?
- Your mum.

A nice old lady.
I assume that's your mum,

and a guv'nor and three other blokes.

Muscle. I don't know who they are.

What? They wear masks too, do they?

Please don't hit me again.

Take the second left.

Amateurs.

The money's all here.

Where's me mum?

Where's me mum?

Bring her out here.

Your money's all here, mate.

Hand her over.
I'll give this to you, I walk away.

But Mum comes first.

Alfie?

- Mum?
- Is that you?

You all right?

I'm all right, son.
Don't give the bastards a penny!

Shut it!

Or else, what?

You leave this to me.

You worked hard for that money.

Mum! Be quiet and let me handle this.

Don't you tell me to be quiet!

You go away!

That money's for my grandchildren.

If you ever settle down,
which you should.

Not now, Mum.

Promise me this,
and I'll die happy.

Fuck's sake.

Freeze.

Toss your guns away.

Now get on your knees.
Hands on your head.

Now.

- It's okay, I've got you.
- Yeah.

Hold your fire, boys!

- You all right?
- I'm all right.

- You all right?
- Yeah, I'm all right.

Alfie!

Get the fuck off me.

Be a good chap and come quietly,
would you?

You all right, Daveboy?

Aye. Smashing.

Fuck. They've got my money.
You let them get away.

What money is that?

Ransom money. The abducted my mum.

What the fuck are you doing here?

Perhaps we got
the wrong end of the stick.

We were watching you
and we rather suspected

you were meeting with the men
who took Colonel Salt.

- A division of spoils.
- Oh...

This was not them?

Why would you suspect that?

Why do you suppose I would suspect that?

You're wrong.

And that's besides the point.

You've buggered me good and proper now.

Mr. Aziz.

I might have known.

You bastard.

I was off to fuck Doris Day.

You're an albatross, you are.

Hmm.

Oh, God.

Forgive me.

Sir. Don't do that.

Oh.

Oh, God...

I beg you. Forgive me.

Forgive me.

My child...

please, stop.

Tell me what's wrong.

Only God can help me.

I talk with God all the time.

Perhaps I can help you
get in touch with him.

Let's have a cup of tea, shall we?

Would you like some liniment
for your head?

You'll have a nasty bruise.

A sign of piety among the Saracen.

Will you tell me your troubles,
young man?

You don't have to tell me
anything, of course.

You don't have to speak at all
if you don't want to.

Tea and biscuits is often enough,
don't you find?

You know my troubles.

How can I know your troubles?

Don't you know who I am?

- I know who you are.
- What do you know?

You believe
you're a servant of the Devil.

I've never suffered
such a delusion myself.

So I can't truly know your troubles.

I can guess,
but I don't want to do that.

I want to escape from him.

I don't know if I have the strength.

You have the strength.

The Devil has no servants.

He's a ghost

we conjure up to explain away our sins.

He's the dog that ate your homework.

Let your mind dwell in the light of God

and he will disappear like a shadow.

I've seen him. I've touched him.

He did evil things to me.
I know he's real.

More real than you or I.

What did he do to you?

It's not that I don't want to tell you,

but you wouldn't believe
or understand me.

You can let me try.

I'm not sure
you want to go where I'll take you.

Don't you worry about me.

Close your eyes.

Leave this world.

Go down to the darkest depths
of your imagination.

Then descend further.

And further.

Imagine feeling, in that moment,

of vile unspeakable degradation,

the most intense bliss.

As if the universe
trembled at your touch and opened up...

like a flower.

I'm afraid my imagination
has no such depths.

I could show you.

But I wouldn't want to do that.

You seem like a good, kind man.

I'm sorry to burden you with my torment.

Oh, heavens, don't apologize.

I'm here to help.

What do you mean...

exactly?

You could show me...

those depths?