Original subtitles

Previously on You:

You are a monster and a killer.

One of you fuckers sent me those texts.

"Hello, Joe."

"You like it. How it feels. To kill."

Somebody's trying to frame me.

You don't want to fuck. You want to make love.

You don't know who I am or what I want.

You're trying to seem noble while you hide your true motives.

"It's time for us to meet."

When and where?

This can't be good.

Here I was, thinking you've ended my second lease on life

before it's even begun, but really,

we were about to be pulled closer than ever.

- But first... - Professor Moore.

If we might have the briefest moment of your time.

I had to jump through yet another insanely polite, British hoop.

Of course. Anything to help.

It's nice to talk to somebody comparatively sober.

They've grilled everyone.

We looked into the tip you gave us, the artist Blue.

Her story matched what you told us.

Glad to hear that. Well, I'm...

Of course I'm not glad.

We're now pursuing Simon's past associates.

Hope he had thousands.

Perhaps you've thought of something else relevant.

So I'm off the hook but not quite off the hook.

- Can I call you if I think of anything? - Any time.

Who knows, Jonathan, you might have helped crack it.

One can only hope.

Well, until we speak again.

Hyenas. Disappointed nothing happened.

Not because they care their friends are dead

but because they feel nothing.

Their lives are so bubble-wrapped.

They're already bored again.

Meanwhile, you are keeping me riveted.

Who are you, asshole?

And how do I stop you?

Jonathan. Come, come.

Hampsie.

Lady Phoebe's country house.

Running away from the masses.

You're coming and cannot say, "No."

All of us under one roof.

It sounds a bit like a friend-group thing.

We simply must have you there.

They don't know they're bringing the killer with them.

One of them is you.

Then I would love to.

♪ I've heard a whisper Saying we're done... ♪

Phoebe insisted "no gifts" in the least convincing delivery

I've ever heard.

My rich neighbors drink the kind of wine I could never afford.

One thing is clear:

If I'm going to seize the opportunity this weekend provides,

I need zero distractions.

Look, do you have the message or not?

Don't leave out the part where I tell him to keep his nose

out of my business.

No, I don't want to tell him.

How many more years

before you people understand I do not want to speak to the man.

Christ.

You bled capital on that tech venture.

There's not a bank in London you don't owe money to.

There's the unpaid mortgages in Shoreditch.

Mortgages that were offered against this club.

Which I know you would hate to lose.

You cannot go another day without paying your lenders.

They will come for more than your assets. Destroy you.

Ruin everything you've worked hard to achieve.

Robert, I get it. I will call my dad if it's that bad.

I recall him saying that last time was...

Well, the last time.

Well, yes, but he didn't actually mean that.

- Oh, shoot. I actually have to jet. Sorry. - No, no.

- Please consider staying. - I'll call my dad from the car.

Everybody is gonna get their money on time.

Enjoy the country.

Thank you.

It's nice to think, when I return,

I'll have put you behind me.

Maybe life can finally return to normal.

So this is what the Blaxworths mean by "little country house."

Hi.

Seems more to me like Downton Abbey vampire castle.

- Welcome to Hampsbridge, sir. - Thank you.

- Thanks. - You.

You rather stick out, don't you?

So is she shagging you? Phoebe? Or are you more decorative?

She is so sweet.

Is it true, though, American men are better in bed?

Or is it only the Jewish ones?

Is it legal to say that?

Joking! We're having a laugh.

Please try and have a sense of humor.

I will, if she starts being funny.

Oh, no. My ex is here.

Awful enough to be you if she had the smarts.

No evidence she does.

The bastard gave me gonor-rona in the Seychelles.

No one had a worse 2020 than me.

- Why can't the killer chop up all my exes? - Huh.

Or Gemma, if you're taking requests.

No. No.

Delightful as that would be, I'm here to stop you, so...

Which one are you?

Well, lovely chat,

but I'm off to hang myself because you're so boring.

I'm joking. But do better.

Look, no one is even noticing them, darling.

I notice them. And I don't want them here.

Sorry. It's not your fault.

Just ignore them. At least we know we're safe.

Yes, I suppose we do.

Like I said, I can't afford distractions.

- Not now. - Jonathan.

You're here!

It'll mostly be hunting.

- Do you hunt? - I have, once or twice.

It's exhilarating, if you're a good shot.

Didn't your own vice president shoot someone in the face?

Yeah, some may have wished it went the other way.

A wit.

I've always admired a man like you who...

doesn't care how he presents.

I'm so pleased you're here.

You really could be any of these monsters.

Come, come.

Let the festivities commence.

Ooh!

Bring on the hunt.

Lord Tennyson found this to be the best view of the grounds.

He spent hours a day taking it in.

You'll have trouble with that. No service or Wi-Fi.

You're kidding me.

I'm sure if Lord Tennyson managed...

Most of our guests come to appreciate it.

Most guests don't have to communicate

with a killer intent on texting.

A picture emerges.

No Internet, no security cams, even the light switches are 50 years old.

This isn't another house. It's another world.

Must feel incredibly safe to them

and remarkably private to you.

- Oh. - Adjoining doors.

Of course.

Someone must have fallen in favor with the lady of the manor.

The Tenny room isn't assigned to just anyone.

Hmm.

A great bed for shagging.

Shame that won't be happening.

- Such a shame. - Mm-hm.

- Glad we have that straight. - So glad.

Nice as that would be, not my mission right now.

"Portrait gallery." Did you send this?

Is this finally it?

Phoebe.

Really?

This is not the setting I expected for murder talk.

What's happening?

Those can't be...

Nobs,

willies,

pork swords.

I've made molds of all my lovers' cocks.

Body-safe wax, of course.

I'm gonna go with she's not you.

How do you like my boudoir?

Oh, no. Is this a seduction?

- It's very... - Sex-robot Marie Antoinette.

...nice.

This is a situation I need to delicately extract myself from.

Ever since the night we met, the way you spoke to me...

If only I can remember what I said.

Oh. Hello there.

I meant what I said.

Yes, yes. I sensed you were the most honest man I've ever met.

Uh...

Can we slow down?

Oh, no.

No, no, no. I don't...

No, no. It's fine if you don't want to.

I don't not want to.

What the hell was I thinking?

Phoebe.

- You're beautiful. - Yes, I know.

I'm a ten.

You're spoken for.

That's all.

Anyone would want you.

Everyone wants me...

until they have me.

This is about Adam.

- Adam loves you. - He just also loves piss play.

Then why does it feel like...? We have our fun, but...

we should be moving on to the next level, and...

I don't feel like his everything.

Listen.

I may not have mentioned this,

but I was married once, a long time ago.

Oh.

- Was she your everything? - Fuck, no.

Yes, she was, but I had other things on my mind.

I think that might have hurt her.

But it had nothing to do with her.

What you're sensing, it could be a million things.

It could have nothing to do with the way he feels about you.

Do you really believe that?

Adam adores you. The word he uses is "worships."

Nope. But here's hoping the lies hold for the weekend.

Oh. Look at me.

Sorry excuse for a hostess. Heaping all my problems on to you.

Ah. Enough of that.

Oh, you kind, sweet man.

Jonathan, do me one favor.

This never happened.

What never happened?

No bars. Anywhere.

No way of knowing if you've reached out to me

in this gilded Stone Age hellscape...

Oh, fuck!

...where the demons play croquet.

Oh, shit! Fucking cunt flap!

No, don't be such a batty twatty loser.

Now we need a new hoop.

And I need a top-up. No, no.

No, he's my top-up.

You're my new hoop.

Oh, God.

Tick-tock!

Just there.

Uh, no, no, no.

On all fours.

Like a little doggie. A good doggie. Woof, woof!

She's completely devoid of empathy.

Oh, come on, be a good sport.

A little bend to it.

Christ. I'll see you inside, Phoebes.

Kate's the only one in the real world,

therefore gets that these are people working for a living,

not human lawn ornaments.

Everything in me says, "Let them die."

It's perverse.

You've made me their protector.

You.

Glad you're here.

What do you say we grab us a real drink?

It's time we got to know each other.

No,

he can't be.

This better not be another boudoir.

There's my boys.

Not calling in a coked-out hit-and-run I'd buy,

but double homicide

- and a sadistic game of cat and mouse? - Cheers.

Mm.

Mother's milk.

You okay?

Yeah.

Yeah.

I'm not sure where to start.

"I killed Malcolm"?

We've become friends.

- Right? - Yeah, of course.

I need some advice and I heard you were married, right?

Did Phoebe tell, or did he read it in an article on my wall?

I might propose to Phoebe.

Wait, that's what this is about?

Wow. That's exciting.

Did getting married change it all?

I mean, it's a piece of paper.

- It's the relationship. - Not when you're with a Blaxworth.

That shit comes with rules.

- Families always do. - You see...

I would have to put down...

certain things.

I'm a free spirit.

I like to feel.

I like a secret.

Secrets make you feel like you're living your life.

Like a fish in a bowl,

we tie the knot,

I get smashed in that box,

and I don't get to slip away.

Ever.

So advice.

Run for your life, bro.

Maybe...

slow your roll.

Counterpoint:

If I marry her, life gets a fuckload easier.

Things have been rough lately.

Deals have not panned out.

How is Ashton Kutcher making a killing investing in random shit,

- and I'm getting my ass tracked? - There's always ups and downs.

There are. But I have been here before.

I had to call my dad, and he was like, "Historically,

you are the family fuck-up.

But look at you, kid, taking swings. Here's some runway."

I am running out of runway.

I think it comes down to...

do you love her

- more than you love your...? - No. No.

I think it comes down to is,

I know myself.

Questionable.

I know that I'm in the bubble,

but I see out.

So know one thing:

I will never, ever be without money. That will never be me.

He's doomed.

So we'll see.

But that is fucking that.

Mm.

Thank you for the therapy, man.

Yeah, it's always nice to get out of the city.

I appreciate Phoebe inviting me.

Oh, it wasn't her idea.

It was Roald's.

Why would Roald want me here?

Smarmy? Yeah.

Capable of murder?

I don't give a toss about orders.

Was it not made clear you are to remain outside?

I don't want to have to make a phone call.

Hi.

I don't like spies.

I'm sorry. Sorry, it's not gonna happen again.

Is there something else?

No.

Actually, there is something.

My necklaces are tangled. Would you...?

I shouldn't. I should not.

They don't look tangled.

Well, look harder.

See?

Don't be a prude. You can touch me.

Damn it, I shouldn't have. No.

They're good now.

- Yeah, thank you. - Anytime.

Never again.

We shouldn't. This is a bad idea.

No, no, no. Terrible. Terrible.

Thank you.

So we're clear?

- Yeah, no, yeah, we're clear. - Mm-hm.

Fuck.

Not again with these twats.

Oh, it's you.

Good evening to you.

Roald.

Yes?

Well, no hurry.

I can stand here all day. Eventually, I will get a smile out of you.

Despite your crippling personality disorder.

I think you mean despite yours, you sick man.

I know, yes, pity me.

A few of us are going for a pre-dinner swim. Care to join?

I'll be down in a minute, sicko.

Good.

Might be my only chance to get any useful intel.

I thought we were on the same page.

We are. We are. I just have a quick question.

Quick, you asserted.

Yeah. Roald?

Uh, you're friends?

He seems to hate me.

I was hoping you might have tips to make him less inclined

to want to smite me with his laser eyes.

Also, is he capable of murder?

Has he really been that awful?

I think when he meets people who aren't like him...

Yeah, aristocrats with 8% body fat.

I think he feels you'll think he's soft, so he acts hard.

But not with you.

You're a huge success, but as far as I know,

not heir to some fortune.

Compared to them, you're poor.

We go so far back.

I suppose he's forgotten to be a little bitch.

Are you very close?

Why? Will there be a duel?

We're old friends.

It might not have always been what Roald wanted, but...

I...

I need to change.

- Oh, right. - You can let yourself out, detective.

Not what Roald wanted.

Interesting. Roald loves Kate, Kate's with Malcolm.

Malcolm ends up dead. Simon's behavior threatens Kate's career.

No more Simon. Roald has got motive and opportunity.

He was around the nights both were killed.

But motive and opportunity aren't enough.

If I'm not getting a confession,

I need proof.

All right, Roald.

Who are you and what are you hiding?

Neat and tidy.

Can't blame him for the weird furniture.

Sell his watches, feed a developing country.

Okay, what are you hiding?

Ironed T-shirts and traveling with his watch collection indicates

some sociopathy, but on their own, they don't make Roald you.

And there were no red flags when I scoured the Internet.

He's every bit of the aristocracy.

Father built on inherited wealth to become a successful land developer.

Mother's an old-money socialite.

For his 6th birthday, Roald's parents donated 2 million

to have a dinosaur named after him.

"Roaldasaurus Burtei."

In addition to making gobs snatching up properties,

Roald, quote, "works as a landscape photographer,"

hence his ever-present $20,000 camera.

Probably all depressing pictures of elm trees, but...

Wait, what have we here?

I know this neck.

These are all Kate.

Long-lens photos of bees are cover for stalking her.

Roald doesn't just love her. He's obsessed.

But then why threaten to kill her?

Unless it was never a real threat, more of a test.

Of how far I'd go to protect her?

We're going upstairs.

Jonathan.

You missed a great swim.

- Got caught up on some research. - Oh, you academics.

Right. See you boys at dinner.

By the way, I heard that this weekend was your idea.

I think it's a great opportunity for us to get to know each other better.

Gave him an opportunity and nothing.

If he is you, you have other ideas on how this is going to go.

It's becoming impossible to do what I came here to do.

Last night became a hostage situation.

Thanks to Connie's investment in Chelsea,

I was trapped watching footy with raging blotto hooligans.

It's so much nicer here, isn't it?

I may just drink Bloody Marys in the sunlight till I die.

Well, Sophie remains a tragic mess.

Have one.

- Ow. - Gemma!

You love when I do that.

Gemma, he doesn't,

and neither do I.

Some people deserve to be spanked.

I thought you two were friends.

I actually think I despise her.

She was fine at uni, but if something doesn't grow, it rots.

Especially when you have means,

you have to decide not to be the absolute worst.

Oh, excuse me, sir.

What...? What is that look?

What look?

I think I know, but...

I want to know if you know what I think I know.

I don't know what you mean.

Mm-hm.

I was thinking about some tennis.

My day's full up. Sorry.

Next time.

He did not want me to see that.

I think you're right.

We ought to get to know each other better.

Shall we hunt?

What could possibly go wrong in this situation?

How's that feel for you?

Given that I believe in gun control, pretty abhorrent.

It has a nice weight to it.

Father used to say you can see the true mettle of a man

out in the woods with a weapon.

Did Father also tell you it's a great time to let a man know

you've been text-torturing him for weeks?

No way I'm killing one of those.

They keep them in a cage and release them to be shot.

It's deranged.

Well, he's capable of murder.

So you came to us through Malcolm, correct?

More Kate, actually.

She was in a bind and I...

helped her out.

Funny...

I've never seen Katie in a bind she's not gotten out of herself.

She must've been formidable back at Oxford?

We've known each other far longer than that.

We were...

God, 15.

Same boarding school in Rhode Island.

Kate lived in the States?

She'd been through a rough time. I'm sure you've heard about Greta.

Yeah, her mom, the model?

Greta'd cracked up, slit her wrists over some man.

Katie was sent off when she was in hospital.

She was always so together.

Always had to be the mother, so never shed a tear.

Always looking for the next little disaster to save.

She still does that. Explains Phoebe, doesn't it?

He's in love with her.

And you, I'd imagine.

And hates me.

But I'm sure you know this history, if you know Kate at all.

At any rate, I've always looked out for her.

Always will.

- Going how far? - It's great that she has you.

Be a shame to return home with a cold barrel.

Fuck.

Fuck you, Roald.

No.

Jesus, Moore.

That's the worst shot I've ever seen.

Not a hunter, I guess.

I make it a point to get to know those Katie becomes close with.

Callous to say, but Malcolm wasn't appropriate for a woman like her.

He was a taker, not to mention a liar and a joke.

This has taken an interesting turn.

And Simon,

she wrongly believed that he was a genius,

and there she goes pouring her energy down a black hole.

Okay, seething ball of rage. Noted.

I just couldn't bear to watch it.

So, you did what?

In all honesty, she really does have the worst taste in companions.

Is this a confession?

Lucky for her, they seem to wind up dead.

Jonathan, you go on ahead.

We'll catch up.

Well, he won't hurt her,

but what am I going to do about him?

Always were a good shot.

Found someone new to bully, have you?

Oh, come on.

If he can't take it, he really is a worthless bag of mush.

You're armed.

So is he. So are you.

So, too, are we all. One to one's not fair?

- Why do you do this to yourself? - Oh, God.

Whatever it is you think you want to say, don't.

Boys.

Lost little boys.

It was fine for a while.

And continues to be none of your business.

I beg to differ, with a murderer on the loose.

Are you telling me I need a man?

A big, strong man to protect me?

No. I'm saying you need an equal.

And that's you.

Well, yes.

It's who we are, but it's also what we are.

- That is rubbish. - No. It's simply how things work.

Roll your eyes, but if you ever want to finally be happy,

you can do it by claiming your place.

I won't let you sneer because it's true.

The stupid world of stupid brutes is burning,

and I can't watch you burn with them based on some stupid principle.

You actually...?

How about stopping it from burning?

Instead of suggesting we watch from our thrones

on your yacht on the moon.

The two aren't mutually exclusive.

Doing any real good is predicated on having real power.

- You have cut yourself off at the knees. - I'll take it under advisement.

I love your stubbornness, luckily for you.

And your good heart.

- I don't have one of those. - You do.

And it tortures you.

But I can wait.

I'm good at that.

I'm not like you,

or your family, or your bloodline.

That is your fantasy

and it always has been.

Hopeless.

Hand them over.

No, no. Definitely not going there.

Hold still. What's wrong with you?

No, really. Stop.

Stop fussing.

- We should stop. - Yeah.

We should.

- Okay. - Yeah.

- Stopping. - Yeah, stopping.

In a second.

Oh, fuck.

"How do we taste?" is the question.

Like expensive booze, naturally,

but with the effect of poison.

I think anything they taste is bitter

because they're consumed with resentment.

It's why they love Rhys so much. He banters.

What a bloody coward, skipping out on us.

Admit that you are better than them and that's why you should run things.

They do it to themselves.

Poverty consciousness makes you poor.

Says the born princess.

I was very positive in a past life.

- Someone drop a bomb on this house. - Excuse me.

Talk about nice things.

I do wonder, though.

Jonathan?

Do you harbor resentment for what we have

that people like yourself do not?

What, pompousness, black hearts?

I'm pretty happy with my life.

- Are you? - What if...

Jonathan were the killer?

Okay, someone needs to cut her off.

People did start dying around the time you showed up

with your whole bargain-bin Colin Firth thing.

Aw. Do you resent us, Jonathan?

Do you wish us all dead?

Give it a rest, Gemma. You...

Here's what I find peculiar.

That the one among us racing to the defense

of the impoverished professor would be the first to the guillotine.

I worry you've had some sort of episode.

Amnesia.

Because you seem to truly believe you're not one of us.

What's happening?

Oh, please.

Tell me he knows.

Why hide it from him?

He's no one.

That's enough.

Oh, it just seems like such work.

God, all those lies.

And to think,

Daddy's not even watching.

Pardon the interruption, sir, but I have some terrible news.

Lady Phoebe...

is dead.

Out of respect, I recommend we retire to the library at once.

The drawing room.

We retire to the drawing room at once to discuss how we might find her killer.

You've got to be kidding me.

Before he kills again.

Before he kills again.

Okay.

So, in the envelopes you were given on the way in,

you have to find out what weapon you've been assigned.

Yeah.

Lazy sods over there, listen up.

All right, cunty two flaps.

We know the rules because we play it every time.

Anyway, if the murderer pokes you...

They're playing a "find the killer" parlor game.

- Unironically. - ...with style, okay?

Ready?

- Ready! - Go!

I need to make the most of the cover provided by their horrifying game,

go back to Roald's room, finish the job, find proof he's you.

I guess it's safe to assume neither one of us is the murderer.

Uh...

I don't know...

what that was down there...

but it didn't seem nice.

Who promised nice?

Getting away from a killer, yes, but being any less awful to one another,

what fun would that be?

You know, Roald, I...

I get.

But Gemma is just...

vile.

No, that's cheating!

I suppose you have questions.

No, I was just hoping I could hide behind you, if that's cool.

Right.

My father is...

Tom Lockwood.

I don't know who that is.

My search yielded a vivid picture of Mom but no firm bead on Dad.

Could've been a champion surfer, or the stone,

or one of several artists and nightclub promoters.

He's what's called an activist investor.

- Activist...? - Corporate raider,

butcher, Attila, Solomon.

There isn't an industry he hasn't had hands in.

He's one of the more powerful men on the planet.

And I thought she was the only one here who needed a job.

That's what Roald was getting at when he said I'm like him.

My family are wealthier than any of them,

and, well, on that side anyway.

You don't go by Lockwood.

Yes. There's something about how he makes money

stripping businesses for parts,

destroying workers' lives for shareholder profit.

- Right. - That's not the worst.

It's the backroom deals to sic police on protesters,

or the cleansing of a CEO's record of sexual assault.

All the time, he...

paid to have well-water toxicity reports falsified.

No one found out,

and several children got cancer,

and the company made 400 million pounds.

My father is the worst man alive,

and I'm his favorite daughter.

Everything about her suddenly makes sense.

We've...

We've been estranged since I was 20.

I wrapped my head around what he is

and what he made me be a part of,

and I cut all ties.

- So these security guys outside your... - Yes, you're very perceptive.

He...

I said no, but he sent them anyway.

A killer is a perfect excuse for him to protect me...

aka, get in my life.

I just want to make my own way, Jonathan.

I just want to be a person and not even a great one, just decent.

Then someone comes along to remind me how foolish I am

to think I could ever be anything other than Tom Lockwood's daughter.

I get that.

Thank you, but that's...

You can't possibly.

Oh, no, I can't possibly know what it's like to feel cursed

by your past and your blood.

And to see every little slip as proof that you can never get away.

What happened to you?

My story isn't as exciting as yours, but...

I know the feeling.

I actually...

I believe you.

Well, I believe

you can be the person you want to be.

In fact, I think you're already her.

No. What is happening?

No. No, this can't be happening.

I can't fall for her.

Fuck a duck! What is all of this?

You two slugs, back in the game.

- We should get back in the game. - Of course.

Bloody tossers killed me!

I'll take that, mate!

There you are. I was wondering when you'd find me.

- We can't. - Since when?

Since now, okay?

- Things are different, I can't... - Can't do what?

I mean it.

Sorry.

I missed something searching Roald's room: proof it's you.

Okay, where is it?

The thing that proves to me you are him.

New mysterious box. Okay, that's something.

What's in here, Roald?

Is your phone in here? The weapon you used to harass me?

Help you with that?

What are you doing in my room?

- Not what it looks like. - It's you, isn't it?

- You kill Malcolm because you love Kate? - No. Did you?

You know, it's funny, this game. Every year, someone gets hurt.

Ah. Ow.

Must have known that wouldn't kill me.

I'd wager the goal was more sadistic.

Pain.

Hmm. And humiliation.

Fucker.

I'm getting too old for this.

Fuck all of them.

I guess somebody won, and they're back to booze and blow.

At least all the screaming is over, so I can think.

Fuck, that sounded real.

Where's Kate?

Kate!

Kate!