Original subtitles

There was a young street urchin killed up on the bridge.

Does this have something to do with Willem?

Why would he willingly go to his death?

Because he went with someone he trusted.

What was his name, the one with the silver smile?

Heights, he's attracted to heights.

Ask yourself why you seek the companionship

of strangers.

Ms. Howard, how did you cope with your father's suicide?

Kreizler, that's quite enough!

Are you not satisfied with my progress, doctor,

that you had to check up on me?

I'm here today as your pupil, madam.

I didn't know you had the imagination.

Please.

He's a foreman at the brewery.

Quite used to giving orders.

In here, he prefers taking them.

I've moved on from torturing helpless creatures.

I need your insight into someone.

Someone whose behavior you may be more familiar with than I.

And what is his or her particular predilection?

Inflicting pain.

You see these butterflies?

Beneath their beautiful wings is a whole array

of instruments used to inflict agony during coitus.

The connection between pain and pleasure

is far more common than you think.

The person I'm speaking of is certainly not common.

For one thing, I suspect he's aroused by the sight of blood.

If I counted the number of times I've brought

a prick to attention by drawing a drop of blood...

I'm not talking about a drop of blood,

rather the act of mutilation and stabbing.

The mind is the most erotic organ of the body, doctor.

Isn't that your domain?

In my experience, the man who enjoys

defiling women is usually dominated in his daily life,

while the man who is being beaten is probably a bully.

Take yourself.

With all your intelligence, you're most likely aroused

by someone for whom that intelligence means nothing.

Is that what he's looking for in his victims?

The opposite?

Of all the stories I told you when I was your patient,

which ones wormed their way into your mind,

kept you up at night?

Oh, come, doctor.

I don't believe you were completely unmoved.

I found your accounts of men's vulnerabilities

in particular interesting.

My "accounts of men's vulnerabilities"?

I recognized my own weakness, and it gave me pleasure.

Then there's your answer.

If your friend enjoys inflicting wounds,

there's a good chance he has wounds of his own.

The cripple in him is looking for the cripple in another.

Forgive me, madam.

Thank you for your help.

Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com

Commissioner Roosevelt!

He's here.

- Hyah! - Commissioner Roosevelt!

- Sir, sir! - Commissioner Roosevelt.

Mr. Roosevelt!

Have you anything to say about the fact

the dead boys were all immigrants?

There's rumors that you interfered

with the investigation by your own police department?

Commissioner, can you be trusted to protect the poor,

or just the elite?

Is it true the dead boy was dressed as a girl?

This is the second one, isn't it, sir?

- Stay back! - Get back!

The people deserve to know!

Just a moment. I'll connect you.

Might I have a word with the Commissioner, Miss Howard?

Commissioner.

Captain Connor would like a word.

You might want to stay for this, Miss Howard.

Sir, I just wanted to share a new piece

of evidence that's come to light.

It concerns these terrible boy-whore...

excuse me... child murders.

Took me a moment to know what I was looking at.

Thought maybe it was a lady's pocketbook or something.

But, uh, then I opened it up, and I seen these pictures.

Little dead boys.

It was then that I noticed these here initials.

J.S.M.

Can't figure it out for the life of me.

I thought maybe you'd get a team of your best detectives

to work on it straight away.

Maybe them smart Jewish boys could have a go.

Morning, Commissioner. Miss Howard.

Here, I found another one.

How far down do they go?

Um...

It appears they go all the way to the ground.

What do you think made these?

Lucius.

It's a piton.

It fits.

It would appear our killer is a climber.

Miss Howard?

Hello.

I'm looking for the Doctor.

He's not at the institute.

Uh, no, ma'am.

He's off in once his, uh...

trances.

Dr. Kreizler.

Dr. Kreizler.

Miss Howard?

The commissioner wanted me to give you this.

It's John's drawing kit.

- Where did he... - Captain Connor.

Moore said nothing about this.

He must have lost it at Castle Garden that night.

Won't you sit down?

I was sent on an errand, no more.

Miss Howard?

I wonder if you've given any more thought

to our last conversation?

I don't believe I have it in me to kill a child.

You might surprise yourself.

Please, sit down.

Do you see that woman there?

- Yes. - She's from a good family.

She was soon married and quickly gave birth to a boy,

and a year later, a girl.

If the purpose of this story is to annoy me,

then you've succeeded.

The purpose is to make the point

she's quite similar to you.

With the not-so-subtle distinction being

that she's married and has children.

She had children.

It was six months after the birth of her daughter,

in a seemingly inexplicable act,

that the young woman saw fit to submerge

both her children in a bathtub until they were drowned.

Owing to the wealth and influence of her family,

she was spared from being sent to prison or an institution.

However, instead of proper treatment,

she now walks the park daily, pushing an empty perambulator.

I can find no empathy for a mother who would take

the life of her own children.

But you understand the expectations

that our society bestows on women...

to marry, to have children,

to smile when you feel incapable of smiling.

If you can empathize with that, you know better

than most that that poor young woman

with an empty baby carriage did not form herself.

Rather, society formed her.

You say you cannot see the world

from the perspective of a child killer

because you could never kill a child.

I believe we all possess the raw material required

to commit horrible acts.

We just need the right or wrong combination of events

to make the raw material combustible.

I'm afraid I must be on my way.

Good day.

? He tried to eat the bathtub

Hey, kid!

- Hey, it's my turn. - No, it's my turn!

Let's not fight.

What?

Welcome to The Golden Rule.

The Commissioner shut it down

as soon as we found the boy's identity.

It's disheartening to think they'd live

in squalor like this.

Oy, can't you read?

We're closed.

- We're here on police business. - Let me see your badges.

Perhaps you'd like to see the inside of 300 Mulberry?

You know, I've told you people all I know.

The dead kid was sold to me by his father

to pay off a gambling debt.

He's just another kid off the boat.

From where, I don't know.

He was from Syria.

His name was Ali ibn-Ghazi.

Is there a room with outside access?

One with windows?

This is a basement.

You do know what a basement is, don't you?

Detective Sergeant?

Did the boy use this room?

They all use it.

Mr. Moore! Our man was here, all right.

We found similar evidence at Castle Gardens.

Hemp strands. From a rope, I'd surmise.

I don't see any piton holes, but...

looks like he tied to this base and went down the shaft.

Up high, he can act with the confidence of the devil himself.

Not the devil.

God.

He's a saint.

Who are you?

They call me Bernadette.

What's your real name?

Joseph.

Joseph. What are you doing here?

Well, I used to work downstairs.

You ever see anybody on that roof over there?

Just the pigeon man.

I'm gonna go downstairs and see what else I can find out.

You said somebody's a saint.

Who?

A customer.

Fatima called him that.

Who's Fatima?

Ali.

Ali ibn-Ghazi.

We were friends.

That is, until she...

Did you ever see this saint?

See his teeth?

Were they silver?

I never seen any of him, but...

I know he's real. Fatima said so.

Why did you call him a saint?

'Cause he said he was gonna take her away

to live up in a castle.

A castle in the sky, she said.

Hold still.

If you ever see this man,

or someone with a silver smile,

don't go with him.

Trust me, Joseph. Come see me.

I don't know where this saint is, but he sure as hell

doesn't use wings to get up and down these buildings.

On the house.

You best not let Roosevelt catch you

drinking your lunch, Captain.

He'll have you badge for it.

Pious prick.

So, tell me, what do you want to done

about this society pervert?

Nothing.

Yet.

Just keep an eye on him.

Easy enough.

It's that mother I don't trust.

If she can't find a place to stash him

where he can't cut up kids,

someone's gonna have to do it for her.

There's only one thing I hate more than a sodomite.

It's a rich sodomite.

Good afternoon, Mrs. Van Bergen.

Yes, Mr. Byrnes?

There's been another incident.

I wouldn't know.

Another boy's been murdered.

There's concern among certain circles.

I think it necessary that arrangements be made.

In the best interest of your son, of course.

I'm not certain what you mean.

Given his history and his inclinations,

it would be wise if the police were unable

to question him thoroughly in this matter.

Mrs. Van Bergen?

I'm not asking.

You're such a brute! Stop it!

You asked for me again?

What's wrong with your hands?

Would you like to go somewhere else tonight?

I think I should like to spoil you.

We're not supposed to leave.

We do a lot we're not supposed to do.

I've read of your case, and I asked my colleagues

at Bellevue if I might conduct an interview.

I'd like to better understand what motivates you.

Who are you anyway?

I'm an alienist.

How does it feel when you're engaged in the act itself?

Have you tried to stop yourself?

I thought I could.

I even promised my parents, but the feeling

always comes back, and I have to do it again.

I'm curious,

the one you left on your neighbor's porch,

the one you cut up,

what made you decide to do that?

Mr. Hoobler is a liar.

He said it was a Chinaman snatching up

the dogs in the neighborhood 'cause Chinamen eat dogs.

He said he'd been there and saw it with his own eyes.

But you were the one killing them.

I said I was sorry!

I even wrote letters to their owners

and asked them to forgive me.

Your mother wrote those letters.

Do you not understand why some of them want you punished?

Charles?

Charles!

I asked you a question.

They can go out and get a new one.

They're just stupid dogs... stupid, stupid dogs.

Boys, will you stop that now?

I said stop.

Ezra, stop that.

They're all restless today.

It must be the full moon.

Certainly it has nothing to do with the moon, Helen.

I'm sorry your parents didn't come this week, Ezra.

Shall we write them a letter?

Or we can kick the ball together.

Let's pretend it's someone special.

Who would you choose it to be?

Mother.

I'm sorry, Ezra, I didn't hear you.

- My mother. - Are you sure?

- My mother. - Shout it.

- My mother! - Very well.

Let's kick the stuffing out of her.

- My mother! - That's good, Ezra.

Once again.

My mother!

Very good, Ezra.

Whoa. Whoa.

Mary?

Cyrus?

Mary. Mary.

Look, it's under the table.

Oh!

Grab it!

That's why you can't leave the back door open.

Okay.

Ah, Mr. Moore, how are you, sir?

- Is the doctor home? - Last I saw, he was off

to the park with Miss Howard.

I can see you're upset by something more meaningful

than a runaway chicken.

I'm afraid the good doctor's callous nature can sometimes

upset the ones who care about him the most.

I have an idea, Mary.

If Kreizler and Sara can enjoy some respite together,

so can we.

Put on your best dress. I'm taking you out.

? Forward, sister women

? Onward ever more

? Bondage is behind you

Apparently, it's the latest rage.

Everyone's talking about it.

I'm not quite sure what Mr. Edison has come up with now.

Maybe we should take a look.

Watch out! You're all going to get wet!

Colt double-action of .32 caliber,

six shots, and 4-inch barrel.

Commissioner, I wanted to let you know I've done

what you asked and delivered the drawing kit to Dr. Kreizler.

Good. Although I feel pity for poor John.

- Thank you, sir. - Kreizler can be merciless

when things don't go his way.

I'm well aware he is most determined

to prove his point even if it's at the expense of others.

Excuse me, sir, but may I ask what happened between you?

I'm under the impression you've an unsettled past.

One time I ever managed to throw that man on his heels,

it was in college.

He was so angry, he challenged me to a duel.

I chose fists.

In the gymnasium, before all our classmates,

we stripped to our waists.

The whole room fell silent when they saw his arm.

Looks like a broken wing held tight to his body.

I couldn't do it.

You wouldn't fight him?

Everyone in that room was bothered by his disadvantage.

Everyone but him.

Mary?

Mary!

Mary!

Hm.

Hello, Laszlo.

Mary, you must tell me when you're going out.

Where have you been?

To see Edison's Vitascope.

You took Mary?

Actually, I came here looking for you,

but you were with Sara.

I have something for you.

Why didn't you tell me you'd lost it?

I wasn't entirely aware it had been lost.

Either you knew it or you didn't.

I believe you're jealous.

Can I ask you to button my boots?

I have news on the boy killed at Castle Garden.

I met a friend of his, a young lad named Joseph,

who told me the victim met a "saint" who promised

to take him to a castle in the sky.

You were asking me if I was jealous just now.

Tell me, were you jealous

when Julia left you for another man?

Would you care to rub any more salt in that wound?

I'm not asking you for sport, John.

Of course I was jealous.

And has that jealousy become part of your

sexual ritual when you sleep with prostitutes?

I don't understand.

Yes, you do.

The other boot.

The moment you met her, or when she abandoned you?

When she betrayed me.

A sense of shame affects me somehow.

Brings you pleasure and pain?

What does this have to do with our killer, Laszlo?

He's eroticizing a past trauma.

The act of murder mirrors something that was done to him.

But this is clever talk.

We won't find him by dissecting our own minds.

Nor shall we find him by looking for men with silver smiles.

Chasing clues will mean he's always a step ahead of us.

We must see what's behind the clues.

If you're so convinced of your theories,

go and speak to a dentist.

Why must you push away those who care for you?

To bring you pleasure or pain?

The question you should be asking is not why

I push you away but why you stay.

Button your own boots.

Okay, spit.

Spit.

Ulysses, stop that a moment.

Mr. Moore?

I didn't see your name in the appointment book. Do you...

My teeth are quite fine, thank you,

but I do have a question.

Have you ever encountered a silver smile?

A what?

I'm looking for what might cause someone

to have a silver smile?

What did he say?

He said mercury salts.

For what purpose?

He said, "One night with Venus, a lifetime of Mercury."

Thank you.

You know there's people gossiping, you with that girl.

Just because she didn't grow up in a shtetl

doesn't make her any less of a Jew.

Besides, doesn't the Torah say desire

is no more a sin than hunger or thirst?

If you'd ever bothered to read the Torah,

you'd know it says no such thing.

It says there are impulses we have to control.

That's what makes men different than beasts.

Well, I suppose I fall somewhere between the two.

Syphilis!

I beg your pardon?

He was treated for syphilis.

It's what gave his teeth the silver color.

Cases of congenital syphilis can disfigure teeth.

I've never heard of it discoloring them.

I spoke to a dentist, Laszlo.

Facts, figures, along with numerous suppositions.

Pieces of a puzzle that right now lack form

match no psychological outline.

What we are missing, John, is not how he kills, but why.

Most importantly, when will he kill again?

Mama.

Mama!

_

_

_

Mama!

Wait. Wait!

- Hello, John. - Laszlo.

I haven't been here in years. I see it's not changed.

The same as yesterday, today, and forever.

So, tell me your purpose in meeting?

I've not asked you here. You asked me.

John, I received the message at the institute

that you wished to see me.

I was directed to come here.

But you called my grandmother's house?

You spoke to her yourself.

Good evening, gentlemen.

How you've come to be here, Detective Sergeants?

We took a trolly.

I mean, who has asked you to present yourselves?

You did.

And how did I do that?

You sent us a telegram.

Did you not send it?

You are here.

It's remarkable, isn't it?

- This is taken. - What is remarkable,

Miss Howard? That you're here, all of you.

It's as if you've anticipated the moment.

Mrs. Santorelli and her son

brought this to me at police headquarters.

I'd only just read it when I got your message, Doctor.

My message was to meet here?

Yes.

I'm sorry. I should have been more careful about handling it.

I have to admit, holding it in my hand

gave me a certain exhilaration that I wasn't expecting.

I felt I could almost hear his voice in my head

while reading the words.

Did you come directly from police headquarters?

I got your message and took a hansom straight away.

Why?

Yes, why?

Why wasn't killing the boy enough?

Why must you send a letter, as well?

I want to inflict pain, and I won't be satisfied

unless I can see the suffering that I'm causing.

He was watching the Santorellis.

Yes. I can see her agony.

I can hear her cries.

I watch her, and it leads me to...

...you.

Easy, Laszlo.

I follow you, with the letter in your hand

from Mulberry Street to Brubacher's,

where you sit down to share this horrid property

with your colleagues who've already been assembled

at my direction.

You mean, he asked me to come?

He asked all of us.

He's watching us.

"My dear Mrs. Santorelli...

I don't know as it is you what is the source

of the vile LIES I read in the newspapers

or if the police are behind it

and the reporters are part of their scheme.

But I figger it might be you, and I take this occashun

to straten you out.

In some parts of this world, such as where dirty immigrants

like yourself come from, it is often that human flesh

is eaten regular as other food is so scarce

and people would starve without it.

Of course it is usuly children what is eaten

as they are tenderest and best tasting,

especially the ass of a small child.

And then these people that eat it come here to America,

dirtier than a Red Injun.

On February 19th, I seen your boy

parading himself outside the church

with dirt and paint on his face.

I decided to wait and saw him several times

before one night I took him away from THAT PLACE.

Saucy boy, I already knew I must eat him.

So we went straight to the bridge,

and I trussed him and did him quick.

I collected his eyes and took his ass,

and it fed me for a week, roasted with onions and carrots.

But I never had him, though I could have.

And he would have liked me to.

He died unspoiled by me, and the papers ought to say so."

Evening, girls.

Which one of you is up for a little fun?