Original subtitles

Who are you? Come here!

- Dean! - Stop!

Wait! He may have a gun!

Who are you?

- Dean, wait! - Come here!

- Oh, my God! - Hey!

Hey!

Hey!

Holy shit!

What the fuck is this?

Hey! Hey!

Come back! Stop!

Where is he?

I can't see him.

Where the fuck is he?

No!

Hey!

They're on to us.

What brings you here today?

- There is a hidden door in our basement. - It leads to these tunnels.

And we found this guy down there.

And so we chased after him, and he just disappeared.

So, based on your recent blowup at the country club,

that means you think it was me in this tunnel, right?

Because you said I was behind all of this, along with Karen.

And you think that we were trying to scare you into selling your house?

What happened to your John Graff theory, Dean?

Oh, I remember!

You said I am covering up the John Graff murders.

You said it in front of everybody.

Maybe John Graff and I are in it together.

All we're saying is,

there's been a way into our house this whole time and we looked online.

Bootleggers used to use those tunnels during prohibition, right?

There's a cot down there. There's even food.

Whoever this is, clearly they've been sleeping down there.

Or multiple people. Me and John Graff.

It could be any number of people and that's why we're here.

To ask for help from someone you still suspect could be behind all of it.

You know what?

It's still entirely plausible that you and Karen are involved in this.

And you can really step it up by getting a search warrant.

And help yourself a little, at least in our eyes,

so we could take you off our list of prime suspects.

Okay, so to prove my innocence, what exactly would you like me to do?

Okay.

Uh... Okay, well, I've already boarded up the entrance, right?

I still think you should get in there,

into those tunnels, because...

Maybe even a team of guys, see where the tunnels lead?

- 'Cause this place is like a maze. - They're everywhere.

So, I'm talking Mitch and Mo's house,

- definitely the Winslow house... - The Winslows.

I get it. I get what you're saying.

Yeah, so here's what I'm going to do...

Absolutely fucking nothing.

- What? - Excuse me?

You heard me. You think I'll lift a finger for you?

After what you did?

Accosting me and my lady in public...

Accusing me!

The arrogance of you two!

It's unbelievable.

- You have a duty here. - You can't turn a blind eye.

Well, watch me.

I'm gonna fucking ignore the shit out of you two.

- You're on your own. I'm done. - I'll go to the FBI.

What office? Newark?

I'll call ahead. Tell 'em you're coming.

Those guys are my buddies.

I'm going deer hunting with two of them this weekend.

And then I'm coming after you, you piece of shit.

I have a reliable source saying that you wrote at least one of those letters.

No, I didn't!

- That's not true. - What?

- Why would I do that? - It's a lot of house, isn't it?

You're in over your head. You needed out.

You know that filing false police reports is a felony?

A year and a half in prison.

And how many of those have you filed with us?

Half a dozen? You're looking at ten years in prison.

- Hold on. - You know what it's called

when you threaten someone and it causes that person to evacuate a building,

in this case, your family?

It's called a terroristic threat.

This is bullshit.

Finally, we agree on something.

Ever since you dragged your uptight ass in here,

we've been drowning in bullshit, because it's the only thing

that makes its way out of your mouth, Mr. Brannock.

So why don't you and your lovely wife kindly get the fuck out of my office?

I don't know how he found out, but it wasn't me who told him.

I didn't tell Chamberland about Dean writing one of the letters.

That's the God's honest truth.

Maybe it was the handwriting expert who told him.

I told him to keep it to himself, but I didn't know the guy all that well.

But it wasn't me. I don't know how else to say it,

but you're gonna have to trust me on that.

Look, I know you've had your suspicions about me.

You met me through Chamberland,

who is now someone you no longer trust,

but I have no motive to harm you.

And I don't have long left, do you understand?

This case keeps me up at night and I will not rest until it is solved.

I should be spending time with my daughter and my granddaughter,

but I am sitting right here, with you, trying to solve this case.

And I'll tell you right now,

I will solve this case with or without you.

So, Dean, please sit down...

...so I can tell you both what I have found.

Fine. Okay, go ahead.

Look, I get it. You are both under a lot of pressure.

We've got to solve this

before the Westfield Police Department pins it all on you.

I feel like I'm losing it here.

Every time I go over it in my head, I land on somebody else!

You know, like... like now, I'm pretty positive that it's Karen, right?

Except the police department, they have to be in on it too, right?

Or is it Mitch and Mo with this cult thing?

Maybe Andrew Pierce isn't crazy.

Or is it someone else entirely?

What?

Because I followed your daughter's lead on that Roger Kaplan fellow.

And I like him for this.

- I like him a lot. - Why?

The ex-wife.

In a case like this, if the divorce was messy, then brilliant.

That means she'll sing.

And, oh, has Roger Kaplan's ex-wife got a set of pipes.

- Yes? - Are you Trish Kaplan?

No. I used to be.

She and Roger divorced 25 years ago.

He left her for a former student of his.

Roger and I, you know, were divorced for...

We weren't talking ten minutes before she dropped this.

If someone's writing strange letters about a house

and calling themselves The Watcher...

...it's definitely Roger.

- Holy shit. - That's exactly what I said.

Holy shit!

She then told me his whole life story.

Roger grew up on the other side of the tracks.

He lived in a tiny apartment with his mother, who was divorced.

Now, back then, in the 1950s, this was a big deal.

It was shameful,

but Roger had friends from the rich side of town.

Wow. Look at those Cedar shakes!

Is that a Widow's walk?

I can't believe you actually live here.

This is unbelievable!

Yours wasn't the only house he was obsessed with.

There was another one, 55 Oak Terrace, where another boy he knew lived.

- Why do you look at our house? - I just like it, that's all.

So are you coming in to play or what?

Yeah!

This is really bizarre.

Is it though?

He was a poor kid from a broken family.

And here he sees his friends, no different from him,

living in these mansions,

that would have seemed like Shangri-la to him.

So he grew up wanting to be an architect,

go to architecture school... But he couldn't afford it.

He was poor. So, instead, he goes to community college.

Does night classes at Rutgers,

and then gets a job teaching English at Westfield High.

Ellie's school.

That same year, he marries Trish.

She said they were very happy.

She couldn't have children, but he didn't seem to mind.

It gave them time to go on these driving tours,

up and down the East Coast, looking at houses he loved.

There it is.

Look at that! It's even more beautiful in person.

You think we could live in a house like this someday?

You never know.

But I won't be buying just any old house.

It'd have to be a house I really love.

One for my collection.

But then one day, 89 Maple Grove Lane came on the market.

- It's beautiful. - Truly exquisite.

- These archways... - It's great.

See, this is what you don't understand. I have to have this house.

Honey...

Well, Roger, there are three offers already,

and all I can say is that yours is not the highest.

But you know what? There is something you could do.

The agent told him to write a letter to the sellers,

tell them how much he loved the house,

how much it meant to him ever since he was a child,

that he would take better care of it than the other buyers,

even though our offer wasn't as high.

Yeah, a lot of people do that nowadays.

Well, they didn't back then.

So, Roger sat down at the typewriter...

Dear owners of 89 Maple Grove Lane.

I have loved your house for over 35 years now.

Ever since I was a little boy,

your home gave me comfort from afar, something I could dream about.

And now it seems that little boy's dream might actually come true.

And guess what happened.

- They went with a higher offer. - Because that's what always happens.

Roger was... devastated.

I'd never seen him cry like that.

Roger wasn't that upset when his mother died.

That's when he got the idea for the lesson.

Started small, just a few kids in a creative writing club.

But then after ten years, it became a sensation.

Ode to a House.

Your next assignment

is to find a house that you love

and to write a love letter to it.

Be descriptive. Be imaginative.

What is it that you admire about this house?

What would it feel like to live in this house?

Now it can be as long or as short as you like.

You'll be graded on sincerity.

One copy comes to me

and the other copy is sent to the house.

And don't sign your name.

You'll write much more freely knowing that it's anonymous.

No one will read these except for the homeowners and me.

Any questions?

Yes, Miko.

Can it be to your own house?

Absolutely not. It has to be someone else's house.

Good question.

All right, have fun.

Dear 901 Folsom Bridge Drive.

I think your house is rad.

I love the way the windows look like the house's eyes,

and the front door like the house's mouth.

I wonder when the house was built. Probably 100 years ago...

If a home is one's castle, then you, 452 Bolingbroke,

are the most dazzling manor in which any king or queen could ever reside,

you are truly a magical abode.

What a joy you must be to your owners.

If I were to move,

it would definitely be you, 84 Oriole Road.

The ivy up your front looks cool, almost like a sweater.

This lesson was, like, a smash hit,

and he did it every year until he retired.

- Thirty years. - Wow.

And this lesson became bigger than him, really.

That's why they had that Facebook group about it.

And his kids just loved it.

And that included Miko,

the one he ended up marrying.

Total bitch, by the way.

But remember the other house Roger loved as a little boy?

55 Oak Terrace.

That house started getting letters.

Roger's friend, the boy who used to live there, had grown and moved away.

His sister now lived there, Carol Flanagan,

and her son had taken Roger's English class.

So when a letter showed up in the mailbox,

she knew what an Ode to a House was.

Dear 55 Oak Terrace.

Hello, old friend.

It's been way too long

and I thought I ought to write. How I admire you, old house.

Your delicious wainscoting.

Those resplendent stained glass panels at the second floor landing.

What a glorious treasure you are, a magnificent jewel box.

Hi, Mom.

Danny!

When you had Mr. Kaplan, did he ever talk about our house?

I don't think so.

Huh.

They got a letter once a year for the next ten years.

Dear 55 Oak Terrace.

I see that old oak out back had to be trimmed...

Why on Earth would someone reshingle that magnificent roof of yours?

You wouldn't dare replace that old furnace in the basement, would you?

One year, they get a letter and it's different.

It was dark.

Dear 55 Oak Terrace. Why don't you ever write me back?

I've spent so much of my life loving you, admiring you,

and what do I get in return? Nothing.

I've given you my love, my longing.

What is it that you want then? My anger?

I promise, you don't want that.

You'd be very sorry to know what that looks like.

And then a week later,

she gets another letter from someone calling themselves The Watcher.

Dear Mrs. Flanagan, I've devoted so much time to you.

I watch your house and keep you safe.

I've admired your family

and have only ever wanted what's best for it.

I sat and watched you pridefully parade around your good fortune.

You have turned the house against you.

55 Oak Terrace has already rejected you and your insolent preening.

Is your greed the real reason you couldn't keep your family together?

Trish, how do you know all this about Carol Flanagan?

Because she showed up right on my doorstep the next day.

Hello?

She handed me those last two letters, the ones that came a week apart.

Can you please just verify if that's your ex-husband?

Carol, these are definitely from Roger.

What did she do? Why didn't she go to the police?

Oh, she did. Said they were of no help.

- Just weren't that interested. - Hmm.

Sounds familiar.

I say the three of us walk over to 55 Oak Terrace

and talk to Carol Flanagan ourselves.

It's a nice old house.

I'm surprised it didn't get more letters over the years.

- Come on in! - Wow!

- My God, this is stunning! - Thank you.

Have a look around.

I inherited it from my parents when they died.

My brother, Dave, who was Roger's childhood friend,

he didn't want it.

Thought it was too much house for one person.

I'm divorced.

My son is in Nashville. My daughter's in grad school.

Rutgers, though, so she's close by.

Come in, please. Sit down.

- Make yourselves comfortable. - Thank you!

Gorgeous!

Just beautiful.

So how did you track me down?

Facebook page?

I posted a few things there over the years.

Those people freaking hate me.

We heard your story from Roger Kaplan's ex-wife, Trish.

Look at the ornamental work on the plaster.

- Amazing. - Gorgeous.

- That's funny. - What?

You sound just like Roger Kaplan.

I mean, he referenced things like that in the letters, details,

things I only would have heard him mention.

Look at these newel posts! They're beautiful!

Do you know the name of the woodworker?

These coffered walls are just delicious!

He was such an odd little kid.

But my children took his class and they just loved him.

The last letter you got, the one from The Watcher...

Did you have that handy? Can we have a look at it?

Yeah.

Here you go.

Just like the letters we've been getting.

I mean, it's the same writing style, same typeface,

even the same paper stock.

Yeah, but are we sure this is Roger Kaplan?

These Ode to a House letters... They definitely sound like him,

but, then, when The Watcher writes, it's different. Don't you think?

Nora's right. Roger writes to the house.

The Watcher... He, she, they, write to the homeowner.

Good point.

That's what the police said.

Said there was no way of knowing if they were the same person.

And you're certain it was?

The letter from The Watcher arrived when it became public knowledge

that my husband had moved out and we were getting a divorce.

Roger wanted to scare me out of this house so he could buy it.

It's as clear as day.

But you were never scared.

What? Of Roger?

The guy who was petrified of the coal furnace downstairs

when he was ten?

No.

There was one time...

after that Watcher letter came and I went to the cops,

and it was clear they were not going to help me.

Well, one night I... I was headed to bed...

Someone was watching me.

Roger Kaplan!

You wimpy motherfucker!

I keep my kitchen knives nice and sharp!

If you ever so much as set foot on this property again,

I will slice your tiny balls!

You get it?

You hear me?

But after that, nothing.

It was 12, 13 years ago.

For whatever reason, Roger Kaplan,

or The Watcher, decided to leave me alone.

- Can I see the letter you got? - Yeah, of course, yeah.

Yeah, this is him.

"Have you found what's in the walls?" Fucking Roger.

Miserable little pussy.

We should go there now. We know where he lives.

- Let's just hold a beat. - What're we waiting for?

- You have to think this through. - Hon!

You can't just go to his house and accuse him.

- He'll slam the door in your face. - Exactly.

And we haven't got the support of the police, if you recall.

Then how the hell do we catch him?

I don't know.

But we'll figure it out. Come on.

Hey, I just had a thought.

We know where he lives, right?

But if we scare him,

he can run back inside and never come back out again.

But if we wait for him...

We can catch him in a public place. That's exactly what I was thinking.

Really? Ah, you're so fuckin' hot.

Okay, just...

Whoo!

This one here?

Yeah.

That's a nice house.

My God, what's he so pissed off about?

This place is fine.

Wait, look!

Is that them?

I think so.

Oh, shit.

They're getting in their car. Hide.

Okay.

Psst.

Aisle three.

Who's Alison Roman?

YouTuber. She's brilliant.

Amazing cook. I wanna be her.

Harissa paste...

- We need that for the bean stew. - Okay.

Um... What else do we need? We need...

- Bagels. - Bagel and should we get some bread?

Yes!

Yes! Butter?

Go! Follow!

We could get some...

- Maybe we could get toasted... - Oh!

Hi. Are you Roger Kaplan?

Yeah. You are?

I'm Dean Brannock. You probably know that.

Hello, I'm Nora... Brannock.

I'm sorry. Do... Do we know you?

We live at 657 Boulevard. Do you know that house?

Well, as a matter of fact, we do, yes.

We've been getting some strange letters at the house.

Know anything about that? I know you like writing letters.

"Ode to a House" and all that.

Yeah, that's one of my lessons.

Leave us alone.

We'll leave you alone.

As soon as you leave us the fuck alone. How about that?

Um...

All I've ever wanted to do is inspire my students about architecture.

Now, if you got a letter and you didn't like it,

that's really not my fault.

Do you know your husband calls himself The Watcher?

He knows how to get in our house, as he used to play there as a kid.

I have no idea what you're talking about,

and I've never seen either one of you in my life.

You see, now that's bullshit!

Because I saw you in the tunnels under our house two nights ago!

You were at the open house, Mr. Kaplan. I saw you there.

Yes. That's what people do.

They go to an open house.

What about sending threatening letters?

Do people do that too?

Get the new owners to sell at a loss, so you can buy the house?

You think I can afford to buy your house?

I'm a retired public school teacher.

I went to that open house

because it used to belong to my childhood friend.

He died recently and that's why I wanted to see the house.

Now, if you've got a problem with that, why don't you call the fucking cops?

What was that?

No idea. Never seen them in my life.

They're crazy!

Hey, buddy.

No fucking way.

Nora!

Are you fucking kidding?

Oh, God. Stay there!

What the hell are you doing?

You accused me of watching you.

So I'm making sure that your dream comes true.

- Jesus! - Get the fuck outta here.

You have made yourself a very powerful enemy, you know that?

Both of you.

Cornering me like that in public, in front of my wife?

She couldn't even enjoy her glass of wine last night.

Please, Mr. Kaplan, calm down.

Don't tell me to calm down!

I am your worst nightmare come true.

You'll never belong in this town and I'm going to make sure of it,

you rich sacks of shit.

You think living in a house like this means that you can do anything,

say anything that you want?

No, you can't.

Not as long as I'm around

because I'm going to be standing right here all day every day.

And there's nothing you can do about it

because this is public property and it's a free goddamn country!

- Let's go. - I won't let him fuck with us.

Yeah, go ahead. I'll keep your house company.

Go ahead!

- What the fuck. - Let's go.

I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here. That's right.

Your house knows me, your house likes me,

your house wishes that I was living in it instead of you.

That's right.

And I probably will before you know it.

- Go on! - Kids!

Come on! You'll be late for school!

I'm The Watcher.

Mr. Secretary, would you begin by reading aloud

the minutes of the last meeting of the Westfield Preservation Society?

Our efforts to block removal of the Summit Avenue chinquapin limb,

falsely accused of encroaching within four feet of a telephone wire,

have not been in vain.

The city has agreed that the chinquapin won't be touched

for at least 15 years.

Truly a stunning success.

And now our vice president has an update

on the tragedy unfolding at Spruce and Windsor.

By virtue of my discreet methods of movement,

I can confirm, to this body, its worst suspicions

about the renovation at the northwest corner

of Spruce and Windsor.

An out-of-town designer purchased and was preparing to install brand-new,

six-by-six windows, replacing the original double-hung,

and architecturally proper, four-over-fours.

I went over there with a hammer and I smashed them.

I smashed every pane in every window.

Six-by-six windows on a Queen Anne is a travesty!

Windows are the eyes of a home.

How long have I been a member of this group?

Five, six years?

Decade?

Lost count.

When did it start happening?

All the change?

This compulsion to pervert the very things that surround us,

that do not need changing.

Was it the computer?

Was it when we removed the human soul and put a machine in its place?

I don't know. I don't know, but it is maddening.

The banality of it.

To stand there, while 3,000 years of culture

are just flushed down the toilet as if there's nothing to be done about it.

I say there is something to be done.

We must muster up the courage to say,

"No, I do not consent to this."

That's the voice that will echo the loudest. That is the cry...

that will reverberate through generations.

Hide.

- Mr. Brannock! - Hi!

Can I help you?

Yes, actually, you can.

Turns out the police are no longer cooperating with us.

Long story.

But the fact of the matter is that someone's been getting into our house

through these tunnels,

and it's my belief that

the tunnels lead directly to one of these neighboring houses.

I need to get into your house to make sure the tunnel doesn't lead here.

Look in the closets, the basement... Well, the whole house.

Do you have a search warrant?

No, I just said the police aren't helping us.

Then I don't see how I can help you either.

You know, just, legally, my hands are tied.

Oh, come on!

Mr. Brannock, has anyone told you you're not looking well?

Those dark circles under your eyes, that's adrenal stress.

I would offer you some freshly pressed cod liver oil,

but at this point I don't see what good it would do.

Hi, Jasper! Hey, buddy!

Hey, is there tunnel under your house?

Maybe you use it to sneak into our house, play with that dumbwaiter you love?

That horrible renovation must have pushed you right over the edge.

- Butcher block countertops? - Yeah.

Are you turning your house into a delicatessen?

I've never seen anyone spend so much money

to make a house look so awful.

You must lie awake at night

regretting the horrors you have visited upon that poor, beautiful home.

Who just sneezed?

Jasper?

I can see Jasper from here, you lying...

Hey! Hey!

Hey!

Fuck.

How dare you!

You're terrible neighbors!

Dean!

Nora?

Nora! Where are you?

Nora!

Mr. Brannock.

Daddy, he has a gun.

Do I? Or is it just a finger in my pocket?

- Let him go. - Dean!

- Do what he says! - What?

Your wife and daughter are in the basement.

I'll show them something later.

- What do you want? - What do I want?

You know. I want your house.

Okay, fine, you can have it.

- Am I losing your attention there? - No.

You thinking about a knife? This is not gonna end well.

- Dad. - No.

Do what he says!

I am! I will!

Okay, okay, okay.

You don't have to do this. You're in control here.

I'll give you whatever you want.

What if I want more than your house?

What are you doing?

- Dad. - Okay, no!

No!

- Dean, what's happening? - No!

- Dean, it's okay. You're okay. - No!

You're okay, honey.

How are you feeling?

Feeling better. This helps.

How was drop-off?

It was fine.

Hon...

You need to see someone about this.

Oh, I know. I know.

- You know it was just a bad dream. - Babe...

It's 9:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning and you're drinking scotch.

We need to get out of here permanently,

for the sake of the kids, the sake of our family.

Okay? We need to sell this house.

I agree.

I agree.

Oh, honey.

That's it. That's how you did it.

You're getting in from her house!

I knew it! It makes perfect sense.

And you... I'll find out where that little door is, or whatever,

and you'll know when I do because I'll start showing up in your living room.

What are you talking about?

Don't act like I'm the crazy one here, okay?

I thought Andrew Pierce sounded crazy,

but I think Andrew Pierce might be

the sanest fucking person that's lived in this town.

I was talking to Mr. Kaplan about my son.

He is his favorite teacher.

I'm sure that's what you were talking about.

And you, sir, I got to say,

I wouldn't have put you for a blood cult, kind of guy.

Okay, here we go with the blood cult again.

Kinky town, Westfield. Who knew?

That's what we were discussing. Ways to what?

- Kidnap children and drink their blood. - What?

Because we're lizard people.

We love blood orgies. That makes a lot of fucking sense.

Know what your problem is with your paranoid suspicions?

The danger to it?

My wife is now talking to me about separation because of you.

Sounds like a smart woman.

No, because of all of this bullshit you've come up with,

she thinks I've got other secrets from her.

So congratulations on ruining my fucking marriage!

You know what, pal?

Congratulations to you, because you win!

We're listing the house.

So either one of you now can buy it

and turn it into a fucking

cult meeting house, or whatever.

Well, hallelujah! You hear that, Roger?

For our blood cult meetings! For our blood cult...

I can't wait to tell the other cult members

and then we'll spread the word on QAnon!

That makes a lot of sense.

You are fucking crazy!

Your wife too! Good riddance!

Don't let the door hit you on the way out, motherfucker!

Little help here! Okay.

Sorry, we kind of overordered. Got a bunch of stuff.

Yeah, right. All right. Thank you.

- Let me get that for you. - Ah...

Thanks. Hey, hey, hey.

- Uh... - Yeah?

Thanks for coming for dinner.

- Thanks for having me. - Okay.

Look, you and I, we got off on the wrong foot, didn't we?

That's my fault.

So, sorry about that.

It's just...

You know, having a daughter, it's...

it's hard, you know?

I'm sorry.

Okay. Let's go have some wine.

Dean, easy!

What do you mean? He's 19 years old. Haven't you been to France?

People start drinking when they're, like, children.

Yeah.

You're good. Make sure you smell it.

- Smell it? - Mm-hmm. That's the bouquet.

Yeah, good, now drink it!

Huh?

- It's very good. - Good stuff, isn't it?

- Wow. - What's wrong with you?

Me? What do you mean?

You're, like, acting nice again.

Oh, come on. I've always been nice.

No, you haven't always been nice. This is...

I'm not stupid. I know something's going on.

You wanna tell them?

Tell us what?

We are going to officially sell the house.

- What? - Wait, really?

- Yeah. - Why didn't you ask us first?

But I like it here!

- You don't! - I do!

- You didn't at first! - What?

3.5 million in cash?

- Ten-day escrow. - Wow!

We got the call yesterday from our new real estate agent, Bruce.

And yeah, we accepted the offer last night.

Yeah. That's 300 over asking, which is more than we even hoped.

Plus that covers the renovations and even the tiniest bit of profit!

So this story has a happy ending after all.

Oh, God, I'm sorry.

That just sounded so vulgar,

talking about what we made on a house versus what's going on in real life.

Actual important things.

Like cancer?

Yes.

You just look so healthy and I sometimes forget.

How are you?

I have been accepted into a trial

for an experimental cancer treatment up at Lenox Hill.

That's wonderful!

Hey, Theodora, that's... Wow, that's great.

That's great.

I'm sorry. Can we just look at the suspect board? Just one last time?

- Dean! - No, please.

One more time, then I'll put the board away.

Once again, here are the prime suspects.

Yes.

Now, there's the weirdo, Roger Kaplan.

I still like good old Roger for this.

But then, there are the Winslows.

And what about these batshit lunatics?

All right, Andrew Pierce said that

they were some kind of satanic vampires or something, right?

I just don't see what their motivation is to terrorize you like that.

Well, that leaves...

our good friend John Graff.

Which neither one of you have ever been serious

about entertaining him as a suspect.

Because, Dean, why would you commit the perfect crime,

disappear for two decades,

then come back into town just to torment you?

But that's what he did, right?

I go downstairs, there he is in the kitchen

and, next thing, I'm in a conversation with the guy

in which he practically admits to murdering his daughter here!

No, you had a conversation with someone

who probably wanted you to think he was John Graff. And it worked.

See, for us, John Graff is just a name.

You have a face in your head and you're obsessing on it, day after day.

Maybe it was motive for somebody else.

I can't! Please, God, please, make it stop!

I mean, come on, we sold the house!

You're absolutely right.

I'm not looking at that board again.

It's Bruce.

Hey, Bruce. Yeah.

What?

- What? - They can't do that!

Okay.

What is it? What happened?

They pulled the offer.

What? Why?

"House from Hell." That's fantastic.

"A New Jersey family is desperate to flee

what they thought was their dream home,

in upscale Westfield, after receiving anonymous letters,

that hint at satanic rituals and mass murders,

as part of the home's secret past."

"The owners maintain that a satanic cabal

uses the 100-year-old home as a meeting place

and can enter the home at will via a series of secret passageways."

Fuck!

You did this. This is you, right?

Oh, wow, what an astonishing feat of deduction,

seeing as how I told you I was gonna do it!

Why? I thought we were friends.

I thought we were friends too, cunt!

Until you made all those accusations,

storming into the country club, in front of everybody,

and saying that I broke into your house and that I killed your son's muskrat.

The club has now suspended my membership, pending review.

We are selling this house, okay?

So why do you have to screw it up

when we're actually trying to leave?

Because you don't deserve to make a profit.

You don't deserve it!

You deserve to lose your shirts!

Fuck you, Karen.

No, fuck you.

Fuck you! Because guess what?

Payback's a bitch!