Original subtitles

Police department.

Police department, is anybody home?

Police department, is anybody home?

Police department, anybody home?

Hello?

Police department.

Ma'am?

Ma'am, are you okay?

Hello?

Ma'am?

How was everything?

Uh-huh. It was just fine.

-Can I get you anything else? -Oh--

Um, maybe a cookie.

Absolutely. Can I take this from you?

-Yeah, please. -I'll be right back.

Do I know you?

Hello?

You're such a beautiful woman, Alexis.

Such a beauty is rarely seen unaccompanied.

- How do you know my name? - Oh.

I know a lot about you.

Is everything all right?

Yes. Can you bring me something to drink, please?

Absolutely. What would you like?

I suppose a glass of milk

should hit the spot.

Those cookies look delicious.

I'm just a big fan.

I know you're a reporter and I've seen all of your work.

I was really hoping you would write about me someday.

Wow. Do you, now?

You know, I feel like I'm at a bit of a disadvantage

because you know so much about me

and I'm completely in the dark over here about you.

How can I remedy that?

I-- I suppose telling me who you are.

I'm a local artist.

Have I ever seen your work?

I guarantee it.

Just holler if I can get you anything else.

That's disgusting.

So, how long have you been a reporter?

Longer than I'd like to admit.

Do you enjoy it?

- Most of the time. - Why not all the time?

'Cause it's my job...

to see the turmoil that humans create,

no matter how hard it is to watch.

But there are some things that I'd rather not see.

So you consider your obligation to the public

more important than your personal feelings.

- I suppose so. - Hmm.

Reporters are losing faith with the public anyway.

Most of us believe you would lie for a story.

-And what do you think? -What do I think?

Yeah, what do you think?

Do you think reporters would lie for a story?

I know they do.

Do you think I would lie for a story?

Hmm.

I don't think you have it in you.

Interesting.

Are you saying that because I'm right in front of you,

or because that's what you actually believe?

I suppose there's an easier way to go about this.

And what's that?

I'm just asking you if you would lie for a story.

Ask me.

Alexis, would you lie for a story?

Yes.

And I have.

I mean, it's the nature of the beast.

If the headline is jarring just enough...

they might pay attention.

But it's my job to make sure that they pay attention.

I suppose you'd have to from time to time.

That's the way it goes.

Hmm.

That's the way it goes.

But what if the story's juicy all by itself?

I mean, really juicy story.

Those are hard to come by.

I mean,

every story is gonna need a little tweak in here and there--

Wait, wait, wait.

Am I being interviewed?

Is this some-- is this some kinda gag from the office?

- All of this never bores you. - None.

I love my job.

It's gonna have its pros and cons,

but it-- it was Arthur, wasn't it?

Did Arthur put you up to this?

Hmm?

Okay.

All right, Mr. Nice-dressed-artist.

Look, I really appreciate this riveting conversation,

but I need to get back to my work.

-So if you could just-- -Of course.

But before I go I'd like to give you something.

-What's that? -A good story.

One that I doubt you'll have to change for...

public consumption.

Yeah?

Huh. What's the story?

It's not going to be that easy.

You're an investigative journalist, after all.

Tell you what.

I will tell you a story.

And if you can guess who I am,

then I'll give you inside scoop.

Fair enough?

Fair.

I mean, it's not like I have much of a choice now,

- does it? - Alexis,

you always have a choice.

I promise you won't regret it.

It started when I was 14 years old.

Still living at home with my parents.

When I first developed an interest in art.

You see that son?

The bait is just as important as the trap.

Good bait appeals to the needs of your prey.

They'll be so distracted by their own hunger

won't think to look for the hook that's waiting.

Don't feel sorry for 'em.

Life is survival of the fittest.

There are two kinds of people in this world,

those who can kill and those who can't.

Those who can't kill...

starve.

Yeah.

Catching them is easy once you know how.

I never got the chance to tell you how I felt about you.

How I feel about you.

I used to stare at you every day in gym class.

You never really gave me the time of day.

No one really does though.

I always told myself that one day

you'd be mine, one way or another.

You were going to be mine.

We could go to prom together and homecoming,

graduate and make babies.

Now, there's no more time.

I wasted the time I had, and now you're gone.

I won't be making that mistake again.

Following day...

Jessica's family brought her clothes in

for her service.

My father was away attending to another service

and asked me to get her ready.

Standard procedure is to declothe the body,

bathe it, and get it ready.

Her...

body...

was everything that a teenage boy ever dreamed of.

She was at that age when a--

when a young girl was becoming a woman.

And for me,

there's nothing more intoxicating.

I'd often thought about how nice it would be to...

go to a movie with Jessica or perhaps even prom someday.

Knowing that this was my last opportunity, I...

seized it.

When I had finished, I...

got her dressed...

kissed her cheek...

said goodbye.

Do you know who I am?

Say it.

- You're the Mummy Murderer. - Hmm.

Technically, I embalm.

We don't "mummy" anything.

But, uh, very nice to meet you.

They arrested him six months ago.

No, no, I--

I assure you, I'm the one and only Charles Booth.

Poor bastard arrested for my crimes.

Why are you here?

To give you a story. Don't you remember?

And I wouldn't suggest making a scene.

Besides, you're really gonna wanna hear

how this turns out.

Whose finger is that?

Now you're asking the right questions, Alexis.

I would love to continue, if I may.

I've lost my appetite.

I tend to have that effect on people.

It's a shame to let them go to waste.

I continued my embalming for a few more years, but...

seems as if everyone in this small godforsaken town

just stopped dying.

Kind of indicative of a small town back then.

But then Alexis, someone did die.

Someone very important.

Mommy?

I became a bit numb after my mother died.

I tried to lose myself in the work.

I-- I loved the work.

Not necessarily the act of embalming,

but-- but the whole process.

Caring for a body pleased me like nothing ever had.

I started thinking how to get a body.

I dug one up once, but it wasn't the same.

There was no blood to see drain,

to watch the body change colors

and the last of life to leave their body.

The craving to embalm a living person became too much.

You're sick.

I'm just seeking that in which I find beauty.

Isn't everyone guilty of that?

Yeah. It's not the seeing that's the problem.

- No? - No.

- It's exactly-- - It's what you do

when you find what you're looking for.

Darling, that's my favorite part.

Your way of curing your boredom

was to kill a girl that you just met and embalm her?

It was. It is.

It's like losing my virginity each and every time.

Except with so much more fulfillment than sex

alone could ever offer.

What did you do with her? Huh?

Do you even know her name?

Of course, I remember her name.

I'll never forget it.

Tammy was her name.

I didn't really know what to do with Tammy after that.

So I waited for it to get dark.

My parents went to sleep,

and I took Tammy upstairs to my room.

I spent three nights with Tammy.

But eventually, she began to rot and deteriorate as they all do.

There seems no amount of embalming fluid

can stop the inevitable.

Do you--

Do you ever have any guilt?

I can't say that I did.

I suppose it's because I treat them as the best of friends.

They provide me fulfillment.

I respect them for that.

I treat their bodies better than maybe you have ever

been treated in your life, Alexis.

You see, I don't believe in the soul.

I believe we are the flesh

we look at each and every morning in the mirror.

You can't touch the human spirit, but you can touch flesh.

-And flesh is beautiful. -...beautiful.

Is that what you want the headline to read?

It has a nice ring to it, no?

I'd probably...

go in a different direction.

Whatever you think gets the most subscribers.

I don't doubt that I'm not gonna find anything

as provocative as this ever.

Hmm. You just might.

Can I get you guys anything?

We are fine actually.

Thank you so much. You've been so kind today.

Just call me if you need me.

Thank you.

-Where was I? -Um...

- You were saying there's more. - That's right.

Whose finger is this?

Now you're asking the right questions.

Let's see here.

Hmm.

She is a sinner.

She's currently sleeping with her sister's husband.

Well, that's shitty but she doesn't

-deserve to die for that. -Who said she's dead?

-Is she not? -Nope.

Still very much alive.

But she doesn't have much time left.

Fuck you.

And fuck this story. You're sick.

Where is she?

I really think we should get back to the story.

I believe that would be better for everyone involved,

don't you think?

Good. Now...

where was I?

I was in my 20's and I was really growing into an artist.

Not only did I find the most beautiful canvases

the land had to offer...

but I would turn each one of them

into my very own Picasso.

So, what got you into Shakespeare?

I don't see a lot of males in that class.

You noticed that too.

I'm a bit of a romantic, I guess.

What about you?

Well, I was in high school theater

and was asked to play a part in Hamlet.

I liked the story so much that I read more

and more of his stories.

I wanted to understand everything

he wanted us to understand about every character he wrote.

The words became sweeter the more I knew.

Shakespeare was my first love.

Not the last, I'm sure.

This great love you speak of,

is he in your past,

present, or future?

Is that your way of asking if I have a boyfriend?

I suppose it is.

Well, I'm single, so not my past.

Because I'm assuming if he's my great love,

he wouldn't be in my past

and obviously clearing up my present situation.

So I guess I'd have to say he's in my future.

Well, I'm in your future.

So, that could possibly mean I'm your great love.

Any thoughts?

Well, that depends.

S-- Stop, stop, stop.

Come on.

To die. To sleep.

To sleep for chance to dream.

I suppose you feel better because you-- you what?

You appreciated them.

Now don't downplay it so much, Alexis.

I did more than appreciate them.

I became their greatest love

and they became mine for a brief moment anyway.

Only to be forgotten again.

I mean, at least until you find another great love.

And this cycle starts all over again, right?

Becoming the love of one

does not make me forget lovers I had before.

I merely moved on, so to speak.

Everyone does it.

Once a body dies and begins to rot, we bury it.

And that place in our heart in which they live

becomes a great gaping hole.

And that hole must be refilled.

Yeah.

And I'm sure you've refilled that hole many times.

Many times. Suppose it depends on who you ask.

I don't think we'd get two different opinions

on that, regardless of who we asked

or how I ask that question.

Don't speak too soon.

You'd be surprised the answers you get

if you ask the right questions

to the right people.

I would hope not.

Well, let's agree to disagree, shall we?

- I guess we have to. - Hmm.

How you doing? Would you like another?

I-- Top me off. Yes, please.

And, um, a glass of wine for the lady.

- Red, isn't it? - Rosé.

I trust you're okay with another drink.

Yeah.

I could use another one right about now.

So...

-whose finger is that? -Mm.

Still trying to jump to the end, aren't we?

Give me something.

Let's see.

I know.

This girl is currently hooked to my machine.

This girl is a real winner.

She'll be my 25th.

Did you say 25?

The report says there's up to 20.

Nope. Number 25.

That's a big deal.

Chose a special girl for this.

- Uh, a real winner. - Yeah?

What's your idea of a winner?

My idea of a winner is someone that gets

what's coming to them and this one will.

Hmm.

The police believe the bodies were all embalmed alive.

Different color hair, makeup, costumes.

When was it that you decided you wanted

to use embalming as your method of murder?

Hmm. It's a very good question, Alexis.

Occurred to me some time ago that I was losing out

on precious time to be spent with my loves.

They were already dead by the time I started

my process so I decided to try something different.

Embalming them alive.

Yes.

Did they suffer?

Thank you.

It turns out it's incredibly painful, yes.

Um, write this down.

The-- The blood is replaced

with a formaldehyde based solution,

which is pumped directly through

the main arteries.

It would feel as if their skin

were being broiled right off of their bones.

My way of purging their souls, if you will.

What a way to treat your great loves.

Love is pain. Isn't that what they say?

I wouldn't know.

My husband and I don't cause each other pain.

Oh, sure you do. Maybe not directly.

But indirectly, Jeff and you cause

each other just as much pain.

Maybe more in some cases.

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.

I'm also out there purging people's souls.

I can see that in you, Alexis.

I see it within you.

What's that supposed to mean?

It means you and I were not so different.

We're both artists.

I can't think of a single fucking way

that we would be alike.

- Oh, I can think of several. - Name one.

I fear that would take us too far off of topic.

So you do have a fear?

Well, of course, I have fear.

I'd have to be inhuman to not have fear.

Well, that sounds about right to me.

Hmm.

Do you care to hear the rest of the story or not?

You are once quoted as saying,

"It is my job to see everything that man produces."

Yes.

Well, I'm a man and I'm producing.

Victims. You produce victims.

I produce art.

Excuse me, for just one--

The following summer, I decided to enlist in the military.

Air Force to be exact.

It was a good gig.

I didn't have to wear a uniform.

I didn't have to be locked behind some gate in some base.

I was allowed to interact and roam freely

with the local population.

Lucky you, roaming freely.

Well, I was enjoying it, if I must say so myself.

But something was missing.

By this time it'd been a few years since I created anything

and I was really starting to ache.

Then one day, as fate would have it,

I was sent to Mexico for some low-key research.

"Low key research."

Yes. Have you ever been to Mexico?

I mean, we're only a couple hours

from the border, who hasn't?

Well, I was a little bit closer than just a few hours.

I was stationed in a small border town.

I had no oversight.

I did have a translator if I needed it,

but my Spanish was good enough.

I grew a beard, tanned, just blended in.

Just a regular wolf among sheep.

Yeah. Yes, I like that.

That's not a compliment.

Well, one night I saw her.

She was so beautiful she could have been Miss Mexico.

Her hair and her skin.

I found myself wondering, was her skin cold to the touch,

or had the Mexican sun warmed it just enough?

I wanted her right then and there

but I knew that it would take time and...

I decided to retire to my room.

But the more I stayed there, I could hear her...

calling to me as if she desired to be fulfilled.

So what did you do?

My anticipation was so great that I knew I had to find her.

I started my journey by going

from cantina to cantina, until, as if fate

put her right there in front of me there she was.

I found a seat in the back of the bar and sat there

with my ceversa just watching her, observing her.

Tell me, Alexis, how is your Spanish?

It's not.

When they were speaking about...

death and the brethren.

I heard a superstition.

One of the men said something along the lines

of.

Which simply translated, means,

"the dead always come outta the house feet first."

Why?

By positioning their feet facing the door

they are their own symbol of death.

I thought it was clever at the time.

It's something I still do to this day.

My-- hmm.

My first bit of a-- artistic signature, if you will.

I see.

And the girl?

Came out of the house feet first, the next day.

- No embalming. - No embalming.

- How did that feel? - Empty.

Like something was missing.

How many victims in Mexico?

Just her.

I left the following week and never even saw

an article about her.

Like most young women that die in Mexico,

their lives are meaningless.

Throwaway canvases, if you will.

As far as I'm concerned,

the most important part of her legacy,

she will forever be part of my legacy.

That's a real self-serving way to think about it.

Not to mention it makes you an asshole.

- Does it? - Little bit.

So be it.

So then what?

I left the military and it was time to return home.

By this time, both of my parents were gone

and someone had to take over the family homestead.

The funeral home?

Yes. The funeral home.

Although it'd been out of commission for some time

and the sign outside no longer worked.

The one thing it did have

was a treasure chest in the basement.

All the paints, all the brushes,

all the embalming fluid I could ever need.

The one thing it was missing...

canvases.

Canvases.

Is that what you call them? Your canvas?

Magnificent.

Soul consuming canvas.

But I was so busy with my grandmother

for the next few months that I didn't really have time

to create any art.

You see, she had dementia.

She forgot who she was half the time.

She would even forget me from time to time.

I really cherished those final months with her. But...

it was in her last day

that she truly captured my imagination.

How so?

Well, she was from Ireland.

She moved to the States when she was very, very young.

She would tell my mother all the stories of the old land.

What kind of stories?

Uh, fairytales, leprechauns and fairies,

and things of that nature.

The last day I went in to visit her,

she was praying at the end of her bed

and she jumped up, frightened.

She said that a banshee had visited her the night before.

A banshee?

Yes. Banshees are said to be, uh,

moments of death from the old land they--

they call out to those that are just about to die.

I am sorry to hear that.

So, is that why all of your loves

are made to look so unique?

Yes, exactly.

You know, the one thing the police

have never been able to figure out is ever since that day,

whenever I have a project picked out,

I'll paint a portrait of a banshee

the same as my target then sign it in blood.

Then I'll take my painting home with me.

No one ever saw these paintings?

How often do you look at your walls?

I mean, maybe a lot more now.

Then what'd you do?

Her name was Amanda Carpenter.

I remember her.

The police haven't released very much about her,

except that it was you.

Everything with Amanda went perfectly as planned.

I left nothing for the police.

From the time that I saw her in the park

with her friends to the time that I returned home

with my painting, everything went smooth.

I-- I admit, I still get a little bit

of excited when I think about Amanda.

She reminded me a lot of...

Jessica.

This was the first time I executed everything

to perfect precision.

I became a real artist that day.

Is that what was so special about it?

Yes.

This was the first time I was able

to really create without anybody looking over my shoulder.

My parents were gone. I was no longer in the military

and I had no school to report to.

I was my own man coming into my artistry.

The first thing I decided to do

was to come up with a plan, something to set me aside,

to make me different from other serial killers.

So many killers, they're sloppy.

They leave bodies in ditches, evidence everywhere.

Their biographies, if I'm being honest, bore me.

I knew that I was better than that, Alexis.

I know that I'm so much better than that.

It's sad that you think so.

Is it sad to have pride in one's work?

I mean, over a decade

and not even close to being captured.

You don't think that's worthy of pride?

Whatever you say.

When I had my plan figured out and it was perfected,

I knew it was time to hunt.

That's when you found Amanda.

Yes.

I saw her running in the park one day with a group of friends.

She really stood out the way Miss America

stands out amongst other contestants.

The way a dove stands out amongst a group of pigeons.

She was my dove.

You know, doves are said to mate for life?

Yeah. Well, in your case, until death.

I followed her obsessively for weeks.

She had a schedule as most do.

You know when you develop a schedule,

Alexis, you're an easy target.

I see.

What happened next?

It was the last day of the work week, a Friday.

She always had weekends off.

I waited for her to leave

and got all of my equipment ready,

dressed as an exterminator,

and snuck into her house.

Why exterminator?

No one really looks at exterminators, Alexis.

I had everything that I would need in a bag on my back.

Paints, brushes, and embalming fluid.

Even these little mounts that I found online

that I could use to pose the bodies until they hardened.

It was perfect.

By this time, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

So I painted her portrait.

I snuck into her house one night

to hang it on the wall.

I felt like a kid before Christmas.

I couldn't help myself. I--

crept down the hall and looked in on her room while she slept.

I thought about how easy it would be to...

to kill her right then and there.

I could just walk right up, snatch her life.

Why didn't you?

That wasn't part of the plan.

If I killed her right then and there,

people might come looking for her

if she didn't show up for work

and I wanted to make sure that I got everything

executed in time for my plan.

And she didn't see the Banshee painting at all?

They never do.

No!

You'll love this.

I know it's hard for you to see it right now,

But...

you're gonna be amazing.

You see, Amanda...

you're dying right now.

You're rotting from the inside out.

You don't even realize it.

What I'm doing...

it's for you.

I love you just the way you are.

Lips...

your breath.

I wanna save that.

I wanna save you for all eternity.

Give me just a couple of minutes...

and we'll get started.

No matter...

how many times I do this...

it never--

never gets old.

Really don't want you to be frightened.

You are not my first.

I know what I'm doing.

So don't you worry.

These are so cool.

Now this...

a woman of your beauty,

I'm sure you never had any thoughts or ideas

of fixing your imperfections 'cause you don't have any.

But this, this is a very,

very important tool for what I do.

This is as Picasso would say it,

well...

I would rather you just use your imagination for this part.

It's not really good.

Tendon here.

Good.

It's not you, it's me.

The banshee I painted for her was based

on an old photo of Queen Catherine.

The way she was poised always stood out to me,

conveying inner strength and beauty all at the same time.

I find that comical that you would actually

consider strength an admirable quality of a woman.

Inner strength in women is very sexy, very intoxicating.

I posed her there in the chair and waited for

her to regain consciousness.

Why would you wait for her to regain consciousness if you had

intentions on putting her on her in the first place?

When they regain consciousness, Alexis, they can see,

they can hear,

they can feel,

but they can't move.

Quite the visual.

You can tell so much from the eyes, Alexis.

I could tell by every eye movement

what her body would do if--

Of course, it couldn't.

I softly whispered to her what I was going to do next.

And as I did that, a single tear rolled

from her eye down to her lips.

I made my first incision,

inserted the tube, and ran into the bathtub.

Of course, watching it while you're

choking them is satisfying as well.

But something about the embalming process,

it takes much, much longer.

I cherished those moments.

And recording to memory every change in color,

every tear,

no matter how gradual the change might have been.

God, the pain she must have felt.

She went through a great deal of pain.

They all do.

The blood running from her body to the tub

went from red to pink,

indicating her transformation was almost complete.

Almost?

I still had to do her hair and makeup.

Luckily the average mortician is well versed in cosmetology.

I got her dressed, matched her hair and makeup perfect.

You know, to this day, I can't think of a single thing

I could have done to make her more exquisite.

I cleaned up,

grabbed my painting, and took one last look

at her there posed in the chair

like the queen she truly was.

I really doubt you left her feeling

anything like royalty.

Well, she looked the part, if I must say so myself.

I left there a new man.

I left there an artist.

An artist with a signature and all.

Yes.

So what does that mean?

Where does that lead us now?

What does it all amount to?

The same thing it's been every day since then.

A beautifully posed copy of their own personal Banshee

feet facing the door, of course.

Of course.

So that's 24 murders in your life.

You know, it includes your early murders and your numbers?

No, I started to recount once I officially became an artist.

Um, I decided I was going to be a-- a new man made by,

but not dictated by my earlier work.

If I'm being honest, I aspired to be like my idol Dennis Rader.

That's BTK for your paper.

The amount of work that he put in and the amount of

time that it took to do the work that he did was fantastic.

If you really think about it, he could have gone on forever.

It wasn't until he walked into the office

and basically said, "Hey, I'm the BTK killer."

That's art.

To go on as long as he did,

to ascend to a whole new level,

a new art.

Your ego is unreal.

How did-- how did you stay hidden for so long?

What did you do besides kill?

One of the benefits of being in the United States military is

you get the credit for every bit of training that you take.

By the time I was separated, I had a degree.

You are looking at a investigative assistant for

a local law firm.

You're shitting me.

You've just been out here in plain sight the whole time?

That's art.

You have brought this full circle.

Yes, ma'am. Can I get you a check?

Uh, no. Can I have another one of these, please?

-Absolutely. -Thank you.

-You as well, sir? -I'm fine. Thanks.

So what's next?

Who is this "25?"

And then more important,

why is she so special?

When the media and the law enforcement decided

to credit my work to another man, I said,

"Joe, it's time to get back out there and create."

That's when I saw the perfect target.

At work.

That's a little on the nose for any original artist like you.

Well, the classic are classic for a reason, Alexis.

I knew I'd seen her somewhere before,

but I quite couldn't place it.

So I pulled her information and got her address.

-Just like that. -Just like that.

Now once I have the address of the target, this is the hardest

part about being serial killer, if I'm being honest.

The amount of time it takes into getting to

really know your target, their families,

their eating habits, do they work out?

Who are they fucking?

It's quite taxing if I must say so myself.

I feel for you.

I really don't mind the work, if I'm being honest.

So, apparently, she was everything

you've been looking for.

She truly was.

It turns out I had seen her somewhere before.

So I followed her obsessively for weeks after that.

Another lonely woman, easy prey.

You know, I'm sure that being the coward that you are,

you would choose a woman like that.

You know, someone who doesn't have

anyone to care for her if she went missing.

You think so little of me.

I really do.

Well, then it should make you happy to know

that she is married, has a husband and a job.

A real artist prefers to work hard not easy.

It's only when it looks easy that it becomes effortless.

Interesting. So do you feel like you achieve

something by leaving a family behind to grieve?

Irrelevant. Emotion has nothing to do with it.

Although I'm sure there's certain

circumstances where that might be different.

I'm-- I'm not sure yet.

So she's kidnapped or incapacitated

elsewhere, but then if you killed the husband

it would be 26 murders,

not 25.

My little Alexis still trying to jump to the end.

-Kind of a habit. -I bet.

Like I said, this project's different for a lot of reasons.

I see a lot of things when I stalk my canvases.

I get to know who they truly are,

who they interact with, what their work habits are.

The other side of it is you also get to know their families.

You get a pretty good glimpse into their world.

And this one's an adulterer?

Do you come across that a lot in your line of work?

So...

do you feel like you're punishing them for their sins?

Their sins have nothing to do with it,

although it-- it is a bit entertaining from time to time.

I'm sure you get a real kick outta that.

Mm, goosebumps.

Okay, so she's, um, sleeping with her sister's

husband as well as her own?

Actually, she's sleeping with her sister's husband.

Wait, wait, wait. I'm confused.

I thought the woman that you were following

that you have at your house of horrors right now is--

wait, is not her.

-She is not. -It's her sister.

She is.

I guess that's a twist.

Evil sister gets killed.

Loyal wife lives to see another day.

Well, it's looking like that, but it's a little

bit too early to tell.

What about the husband in all this?

You prefer he to die?

But I'm not-- I'm not saying that.

I just...

I find it odd

that you would replace one woman

with another woman because of infidelity.

But it's only the women that pay.

I see. So you think I'm a sexist?

If the shoe fits.

Well, you'll be happy to know that the husband

is not going unpunished.

But not dead.

Some fates are worse than death.

Such as?

I think you should take my word for this one.

For now, I suppose.

But I guess we're towards the end.

So...

where is this all going?

What's next?

Do you consider yourself a sexual being, Alexis?

That's none of your business.

All of this honesty flowing from me.

The story of your career handed to you on a silver platter and

you would deprive me of one simple question.

I would deprive you of anything you wanted from me.

Here I thought we were flirting.

I could blow your whistle right now.

I could scream.

Why don't we do this, huh?

Let's play a game.

It's called "Does the man with the God complex think he can get

away with it if I scream right now?"

-That's a dangerous game. -Don't like the odds?

I'd say they're slightly in my favor.

How do you figure?

I'll tell you under one condition.

That is?

You answer my question.

Are you, Alexis, a sexual being?

I suppose I am.

Aren't we all?

Enough to keep your husband happy at home?

Of course.

I guess your relationship's a special one

beyond the temptations of the flesh.

What the hell is this? Like, what are you talking about?

Emotions.

Yeah. I've got a finger for you too.

I can only continue, Alexis, if you promise to keep it down.

No sense in losing your head.

Besides, it's so unbecoming of you.

-Fine. -Thank you.

What the hell is this?

That is a picture of your husband making love to

your sister at her home, of course.

Where did you get this?

A little something I came across while stalking my victim.

My sister is your victim?

Yes.

So if she's your victim...

Keep going.

...I'm the original.

Yes.

Why me?

I knew I'd seen you somewhere before, Alexis.

And as beautiful as a piece of art as you would've been,

I felt that your baby sister

deserved it just a little bit more.

When was this picture taken?

This morning. The same place he goes every Thursday.

Do you notice anything else?

Painting.

Isn't she exquisite?

I-- I know you can't see it very well,

but she truly is beautiful, Alexis.

-Where is she? -She's a true piece of art.

And your sister will be just as breathtaking very soon.

Where is she?

She's ready to get what she deserves.

I told you what I do for a living, Alexis.

You're not a very good reporter if you can't figure that out.

-She's at home. -Yes.

-Did you give the shot? -Yes.

Where's my husband?

Do you care?

Of course I care!

You'd save them.

Yes.

That's a shame.

Well, I suppose we're at that point where it's

time for you to make a choice.

What choice?

You can choose to rush home and save them or you can

take that recording device you have me and

plaster me all over the news.

Very clever to turn it on when you did Alexis.

Either choice is fine with me,

but ultimately it is your choice.

Even if I do choose to save them,

what makes you think I won't go to the police?

I'm fully prepared to disappear all over again.

New city, new canvases.

Your fingerprints are all over the table.

I rid myself off of fingerprints years ago.

So I either save my family

or turn you in to the police?

Think about it.

Think about what this story could do for your career.

You think I care more about this story than my family?

I think you should.

I don't care what you think.

Think for one moment.

You could leave the story here and try to save them,

would you ever look your sister in the eye again?

Would you ever make love to your husband again?

Or?

Or wait 'til morning.

Let me finish my pièce de résistance.

You would be doing the city

a great favor, Alexis.

Don't you think?

I could just leave right now.

Call the police and scream.

I don't think you thought ahead very well.

Well, I certainly hope that's not the case.

Yeah. What exactly is your backup plan?

This.

This button will start the embalming process.

By clicking this button, Alexis, you will have killed them both.

They will be beyond saving by the time anyone gets there.

How are we doing up here guys?

We are doing swell.

-I'll just take the check. -Okay.

Thank you all for coming in.

-Enjoy your night. -Thank you.

It's the least I can do.

So, decision time.

What's it gonna be, Alexis?

A story or...?

The story.

You know, for such an intelligent woman, Alexis,

I'm surprised that you're so blind

to the world that you live in.

What's that exactly?

Even after all of this, you might be

still asking yourself, "But why, Joe?

Why do what you do?"

Well, Alexis, you should know more than most that we live in

a world, a very cynical world, where we are told on TV

every day what to think, what to believe, who to pray to.

I'm tired of living in that world, Alexis.

Everybody has mommy and daddy issues.

Everybody longs to be something that they are not, Alexis.

But it is the few, the select few like myself

that choose to live outside of the lines

that society has deemed acceptable.

You may be asking yourself,

"But what, Joe? What can we do?

What can I do, Joe, to not be part of your art?"

I leave you with this.

Live your life.

Long to be infamous.

Long to be famous.

Reach for it, see if you can grab it.

Do what it is in your heart that makes you happy.

I know that I am.

Every day people live meaningless, pointless lives.

Most of them will be forgotten before

the dirt even hits the casket, Alexis.

Not me. Do you wanna know why?

Men like you.

Because I choose to live outside the lives

that society has deemed acceptable.

Because I choose to do what's in my heart.

We all have mommy and daddy issues, Alexis.

Do you think that that has stopped

me from being who I truly am?

No.

As far as I'm concerned,

the second that Mommy and Daddy got outta the way,

I truly grew as the artist that I always knew I could be.

I really long to read your book, Alexis.

Oh my God!

No! No!

Oh God, no! No!

Oh ! Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Oh my God!

Oh God!

Hey, I'm home.

Ugh.

All right.

Hey, you want some champagne?

Hey, how was it?

Huh? Nothing different.

Rich men, low brain cells.

Well, I'm gonna do laundry. You need anything?

Mm.

Yeah. Hold on. Let me get my towels real quick.

Okay.

-And guess what? -What?

-Really? -Yeah.

-Wow. -It's so incredible.

What? You're scaring me.

I'm gonna tell you to do something and I want

you to listen to me.

Okay.

Go to your car. Go to your car.

I want you to run to your car.

I want you run to your car!

Run to your car and just drive until I call you.

Fuck!

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Okay. You wanna play a game?

Let's play a game.

God, no!

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

No! Oh my God.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Hello old friend.

I'm sorry I haven't kept in better touch.

Been a bit of a painting frenzy as of late.

Good to see that our book has catapulted us

to the fame that we both deserved.

Did you happen to catch my last piece?

Took me a little bit longer than I expected

but you can't rush art.

Anyway, ought to be letting you go.

I'm sure you have funeral homes to visit.

Books to write.

Until next time, beautiful.