All language subtitles for Body.Parts.1991.UHD.BluRay.2160p.DTS-HD.MA.5.1.DV.HEVC.HYBRID.REMUX-FraMeSToR_track5_[eng].chi-tw

- So, what happened this morning, Ray?

- I don't fucking know, man.

It just come over me,

like something unstoppable, you know?

Next thing,

I'm on top of him with a fucking shiv,

and there's blood all over the place.

All over the place, fucking, you know

pumping up six feet in the air

from his throat, right?

- So how does this make you feel, Ray?

Taking someone else's life.

How does this make you
feel about yourself?

How do you feel?

- How do you, how?

What do you mean?

I feel, I feel, I feel great.

I fucking feel fantastic.

How should I feel, man?

I'm the one's gonna be alive

come morning, not that son of a bitch.

Hey, yeah.

How you feel?

How do you feel, doc?

You feel okay?

Hmm?

You're sitting there looking at me

like I'm some kind of fucking head case.

You think I like that?

Hey!

I don't like it.

You think I like that I'm gonna spend

the rest of my life in
this fucking shithole?

If I'm lucky enough not to fry first?

The truth is, doc, I am massively fucked.

Okay?

And you sitting there with your,

your little fucking prissy tape recorder

and your questions.

No way, you do me not one ounce

of fucking good, man.

Am I wrong?

Can you help me?

Can you, you know,

can you help me?

Can you fucking do something?

Like rewire me so I start doing

the right fucking thing?

No!

I don't think so!

You're worthless, man.

You got no moves.

What are you gonna do?

Do it.

Go ahead, fix me.

I'm here, I'm here.

Fix me, goddamn it!

- Read the last part again, honey.

- Okay.

How and in what way the
child's sense of his body

is converted by acts of parental

and other external violence

into a kind of theater
of fantastic horror.

How, in a sense, demons are introduced

into the self still remains to be seen.

- It sounds good, honey.

What'd you do that for?

- I don't know, sometimes I just,

I just hate what I'm doing.

- What do you mean?
- Well, sometimes

it just doesn't seem to make any sense.

- Hmm, you're upset about the
new case at the prison, right?

- Yeah, I am.

I am, this Kolberg, right?

He's in for 20 years for cutting up

his high school sweetheart.

Then last week he kills his cellmate.

Now, if I can prove
that he can be redeemed,

that there's some vestige
of conscience, of sanity,

well, that makes this guy eligible to fry.

Huh, come on.

- You don't pass sentence.

That's for the judges, juries and lawyers.

You have to fight to get this guy back

to his soul before anybody worries

about what happens to him in court.

You know what
I'd really like to do?

- Hmm?

- I'd just like to cure one human being.

That's all, just one.

I'd like to prove once and for all

that you can shake a shattered mind

and put it all back together again.

That's what I'd really like to do.

The truth of the matter is,
in all my clinical experience,

I've never really seen it happen.

Yeah, maybe it's all bullshit.

Maybe I'm just a fraud.

- Oh, honey, come on.

You're not a fraud.

You're the best man I know.

- Is that right?

- Yeah.

The best?

- The best.

- Even though I'm not
interested in football?

- Mm.

Even though you're not
interested in football.

Okay, ready for breakfast?

Stop it, stop it.

Samantha, knock it off.

Come on.

- Ouch.
- Samantha!

Stop it.

Now eat the cereal.

Here, Billy, here's your stuff.

- Stop it.
- Ready for your coffee,

honey?
- I'll take it with me.

- I'm gonna knock you out right now.

- Hey, hey, hey, hey.

- God.
- Hey.

- Eat the cereal, come on.

Let's go say goodbye to your father.

Come here.

What time are you gonna be home, honey?

- About six o'clock.
- Okay.

Here.

Come on.

Hurry up, here, honey.

Here.

- Yeah, okay.

- Get this.

Say goodbye to your father.
- Hey.

- Bye, we love you.
- Bye.

Love you.

Stop at the grocery, okay?

- The grocery?

- Yeah, for garbage bags.
- Garbage bags?

- Please?
- Okay.

Come on, let's go.

Bye.

- Mary, I'm headed down to the prison

for my fourth session with Kolberg.

Oh, please remind Professor Collins

that he'll be seeing all my fourth-year

thesis advisees this afternoon.

Um, put a note on my
desk, will you please,

in big letters: "Garbage bags."

And, oh, you'll be receiving a copy

on criminal psychology this afternoon

for the Psych Quarterly Review.

I'd appreciate it if you'd,

I'd appreciate it if you'd,

if you'd send a copy to all the members

of my postgraduate seminar.

And indicate that this will be groundwork

for the next few months of classes.

Mrs. Chrushank?

- Yes?

- I'm Dr. Webb.

Your husband's condition has stabilized.

- Oh, thank God.

- It's a miracle he
survived that accident.

- Mm.

- He'll live.

But, Mrs. Chrushank,

I'm sorry, we can't save his arm.

- Oh, God.

No.

- Now, I want you to listen
to me very carefully.

- Oh.

- I can give him a new arm.

- What do you,

what do you mean you, what?

- Okay, why don't you sit down.

Mr. Dean Kates,

To Main Reception.

Mr. Dean Kates to Main Reception.

- Um, you mean, like,

like a plastic or

prosthetic or something?

- We have a donor who suits your husband,

who can give him a normal human arm

as fully functional as the one he's lost.

Now, unfortunately,

I need to perform the
operation immediately.

To maximize the chance of success,

I need your signature right away.

- Oh, God, I don't know, um.

Couldn't we,

Couldn't we wait and ask him?

- There's no time, I'm afraid.

Every second counts.

Police officers

and life support techs report to O.R. 5.

Bill.

Bill.

There's nothing to worry about.

Everything's gonna be just fine.

- Hi, honey.

Hi.

- Bill, I'm Dr. Webb.

You lost your arm in a
car accident yesterday.

We've transplanted another arm for you.

- I'm sorry.

Could we be alone for
a few minutes, please?

- Of course.

- It's gonna be all right, honey.

We'll get through this, okay?

I swear.

- Can you move it?

It's a process.

We take it one step at a time,

one day at a time.

Try again.

Shit.

- Good.

Very good.

Lab
313 to the emergency room.

Lab 313 to the emergency room.

- You can do it.

- Did you see that?
- I did.

You're not supposed to that,

you dumbbell.

Hey, hey, hey.

Come on guys.
- Stop it.

It's yours too.
- Hey, you two.

Remember me?

You glad Daddy's coming home?

Yeah.

- Hello, Karen.

- Hi, doctor.

Billy.

- Dr. Webb, I,

I can't find the words to thank you.

Let's get in closer.

- Mr. Chrushank, how does it feel

to have someone else's arm?

Come on.

- How does your family
feel about the operation?

- Mr. Chrushank, do
you think the operation

will affect your sex life?

- Mr. Chrushank, could you show us

your arm so we could get a shot?

- Hold it up for the cameras, please.

Let's have a look at it.

- Uh, I really don't think you people

should be talking to me.

You should be pointing
the cameras at Dr. Webb.

She's going to be a Nobel Prize winner.

- Could we have a comment, please?

- Dr. Webb.
- One question, please.

- We hope that in a few years time

the procedure which Bill Chrushank

underwent will become commonplace.

Other than to pay tribute

to the courage of Bill Chrushank,

there's nothing more to say.

Thank you .

- Thank you, Dr. Webb.
- Move in, move in.

- You know, guys, uh,

Mommy explained why I was away

in the hospital, right?

And she told you I got hurt and,

well, they took care
of me in the hospital,

and I'm all better now.

And I just wanna know if
you have any questions.

- No, Dad, no questions.

- No questions.

- No questions?

I love you guys very much.

And, well,

I don't want you to worry about anything.

I'm here now and, uh,

I'm the same old daddy I was before.

Okay, and if you did worry

about anything, you'd tell me, right?

Hmm?

- Can we see the arm, Daddy?

- Oh, honey.

Daddy just got home.

Maybe later, okay?

- Please?

- Dope head.
- It's all right.

Yeah.
- You sure?

- Sure.

They gotta see it sooner or later,

no time like the present.

There it is, guys.

- Mommy.
- Oh, honey, it's Okay.

It's all right, come on.

- Dad, it's sort of gross.

- Come on, guys,

I know it looks a little funny, but,

well, it's not how it looks,

it's how it works, right?

And it does work as good as the old arm.

Matter of fact, it works
even better in some ways.

- Even better, Pop?

- Even better, Billy.

- I still love you, Daddy.

- I love you, baby.

Hey, Billy, I tell you what, why don't we

go out and throw the football around.

- You mean it, Pop?
- Yeah, come on.

Oh, yeah.

- Throw it to me, Daddy.
- Throw it to you?

How about if I throw you?

Come on, Billy.

- I missed you so much.

- It doesn't bother
you to touch the scars?

- I thought it would, but.

Keep doing that.

Bye.

What?

What are you guys laughing at, huh?

Get in there.

- Now, four months ago, we were discussing

the psychological roots

and wellsprings of human violence.

To continue on that, what we

have before us, a paradox, you see.

Because violence, when it's

sanctioned by the state,

is acceptable to us.

For example, policemen
defending our families

and soldiers defending our country.

We celebrate them as heroes.

But this is not, not the case

with the so-called freelance individual.

Because we regard
individual acts of violence

with repugnance and revulsion.

What is it that makes a man,

or a woman for that matter,

who is normal in most respects,

lose control

of the restraints that make him

a civilized being

and do severe harm to others?

Well, that's a mystery.

And a mystery that you and I must explore

to its very depths.

Yeah.

Oh, uh, shit!

Son of a bitch!

- Daddy, Daddy, what happened?
- Shit!

What are you looking at?
- Come here.

Bill, what's the matter?
- Shit.

Oh, man.
- Jesus.

Here.

- How's it going, doc?

All right.

- Heard you've been on the TV.

Heard you were a regular freak of science.

- I've been pretty lucky.

Is that right?

You don't look real good.

- What do you mean?

- What do you mean, what do I mean?

You look

like about how I usually feel.

- Be more specific.

What do you mean?

- You look like shit, man.

Do you speak English?

Maybe you got some kind

of little demon inside of you these days.

How about that, doc?

You been losing sleep lately, hmm?

- Let me ask you this,
Ray, does it make it easier

for you to talk to me,
seeing me like this?

Do you trust me?

Yeah.

- Yeah?
- I don't know.

- I want you to trust me.

- They only give those
out on death row, pal.

You gotta be a stone
killer to wear that shit.

What kind of shrink are you, man?

You get away from me!

Get away from me!

Get away, I'm not talking to you, man.

You got that fucking thing on your arm.

Get away!

Get away from me!

Two weeks and
they haven't found the guy?

- I told the cops, back off.
- Excuse me.

- Come on!
- You're hurting my arm.

- Don't give me any grief.
- Was there a warrant?

- Judge signed it.
No, get down to Forensics

and check it out, will ya?

- Hey, Bill.

What can I do you for?

- I want you to run my prints.

- You want me to run your prints?

- Yeah.

Any past record I had would show up

on the printout, right?

- Sure, why, you got some
blackouts you're worried about?

- No, just indulge me, will you?

- Give me your thumb.

- Jesus Christ.

- Honey.

What's the matter?

How long you been sitting

here like this, hon?

- I don't know.

- Why can't you sleep, honey?

- Don't know.

- Bill, come on, talk to me.

- I think there's something
the matter with me.

- What?

- It's the arm.

The arm's okay.

No, I think there's
something wrong with it.

- What are you talking about?

- I found out who it belonged to.

- You did, who?

- A vicious killer.

Somebody who makes Kolberg look like a,

like an altar boy.

- Honey, you have this guy's arm.

You don't have his personality.

- I don't know.

- You know nothing about this guy, right?

Except his rap sheet?

And you always say when you're confused,

get more information.

Find out who the guy really was.

The differences between you

and this creep will emerge.

- I chose not to tell you about Fletcher

because I thought it would
impede your recovery.

In the long run, scientifically speaking,

the psychological makeup

of the donor is irrelevant.

It's your arm now, not Charley Fletcher's.

- Dr.
- Brown, proceed with code red.

Dr. Brown, proceed with code red.

Yeah, well,

that's what my wife says.

- You should make a practice

of listening to her more closely.

- Dr. Webb,

you put a killer's arm onto my body,

and you didn't tell me.

I now have a murderer's blood in my blood.

- I can't believe a man with
your psychiatric background

can be saying what you're saying.

That arm can't do anything
you don't want it to.

- How do you know that?

- Listen, Bill.

Any physical problems
you have with the arm,

I and my staff will be
thrilled to help you with.

But as to these other
matters you're bringing up,

well, I suggest you talk
to a good psychiatrist.

- Thanks for your time, doctor.

- Well right here,

do you see the icterus index?
- Yes.

- Dr. Webb.

Mr. Draper is having some problems.

- I'll take a look at him right away.

- Line four, there.

Yes.

Good enough, thank you.

- Goddammit, who is that?

What do you want?

- I need to talk to you.

- You need to talk to me?

What about?

- About your arm.

- My arm?

- Yeah, I got the other one.

- Yeah, so like, uh,

you wanna arm wrestle, or what?

- That arm used to belong to a killer.

- Okay.

You got my attention.

This is it, old man.

Magic digit saved my life.

Death, transfiguration.

Complete rebirth.

Best work I have ever done.

Best work anyone's ever done.

In this century anyhow.

- You're a true believer in Dr. Webb, huh?

- Agatha Webb is the most
brilliant woman I have ever met.

Probably on a genius level.

Darwin,

Edward Hopper,

Wilhelm Reich, Elvis Presley

and Agatha Webb.

I put her right up there.

This is Charley Fletcher.

- Charley who?

- Charley Fletcher, the killer.

Killed 20 people.

With his bare hands.

With that hand that you paint with.

With the arm that Webb sewed

onto your shoulder, that,

that killed people.

- Yeah?

Well, what did he do with your arm?

- Don't you wonder where
these images come from?

If maybe they come from him?

- Oh, look, pal,

I don't know what you do,

but you sure the hell ain't no art critic.

Where do my images come from?

If you or anybody have

a sound theory on that one,

I recommend you bottle it
and sell it at auction.

They just come to me, man.

I snatch 'em out of the air.

Thank God.

I wanna show you something.

You see this?

For the last 25 years,

I was a hack, I can say that now.

Dumb,

Cape Cod landscapes.

Wall fillers for banks, hotel rooms,

that was the best I could do.

Nobody had two seconds

of their precious fucking
time for my serious work.

I get this arm, and, hey,

I make $250,000.00 in
the first three weeks.

My dealer's phone never stops ringing.

The New York-fucking-Times is talking

about my searing, original talent.

I got no complaints.

The world is my fucking oyster.

I'm a 10-year-old kid on the street corner

flying a red, white and blue kite.

You hear what I'm saying?

- This, this isn't art.

This, these, these,

these aren't your pictures.

This is,

these are Charley Fletcher's pictures.

Don't you see, that's what he saw.

This, this right here?

This is what he saw

when he was breaking a girl's neck.

That over there, that's what he saw

when he killed five police officers.

And this one, this one right here?

This is what he saw when he was laying

on the table, on the operating table

and they were cutting him to pieces!

That's what he saw,
these are his pictures!

I know what I'm talking about

'cause I see these pictures in my mind!

- You see those pictures in your mind?

Yeah?

You see this?

It's a paintbrush.

You see this?

This is paint.

Go ahead, have at it!

Everybody's a fucking painter.

I'm sorry that you got a problem

with all this, but, hey.

I'm busy.

The inspiration is on the flow.

The bluebird is on the wing,

and I gotta catch it.

I gotta, see, I'm working
on my first million here.

Nice talking to you.

It's
childish of me, I know.

But I'm somewhat disturbed to learn

that I'm not the only beneficiary

of Dr. Webb's experiments.

I must find out if other
experimental subjects

are having the same turbulent
shifts in mood and activity

that I've been experiencing.

Does the arm really
have a soul of its own?

These questions are,

I know, monstrous and fantastic.

But what has happened since the accident?

Is it not fantastic?

- Honey, we're late.
- Jesus Christ, what?

You scared the shit out of me.

What?

- Well, piss off.

I'm not the one who said we had to go

to this faculty dinner party

for the new German guy in your department.

- Oh, shit, I forgot all about it.

- You know, if you think
going and listening to a bunch

of faculty clowns gossip
is my idea of a good time,

you've got another thing coming.

If you don't wanna leave your
blessed study, let's not go.

Hey, hey, hold on a second!

What are you so angry about?

- What am I so angry about?

I don't know, what have I got

to be so angry about?

Last night you scare the shit

out of me about the guy who had your arm.

Today you bury yourself
in here with your books.

What have I got to be angry about, huh?

- Okay, I'm sorry, all right?

I'm sorry, there's nothing wrong.

I'm sorry, everything's fine.

I talked to Dr. Webb,
everything is perfect.

- You saw Dr. Webb and you didn't tell me?

- Why should I tell ya?

There's nothing wrong, everything's fine.

She says, I got this guy Fletcher's arm.

It's no big deal, who cares?

Everything's perfect.

- So it's okay?

- Yeah, it's okay, it's great!

- He took five of my men.

Good ones.

I took him in.

The judge gave him the chair.

Then it kinda gets hazy.

There's this lady doctor
who wants to experiment

grafting techniques on convicts.

She's up to her neck in politics.

Charley's got no family.

No lawyer.

No money, he's nobody.

She pulls the right strings

and cha-cha-cha,

you've got his arm.

I was in the operation room

with eight armed officers

when they sawed his head off.

End of story.

- I'm home.

Hey, where is everybody?

Hey!

- Dad !
- Hey!

Come here, you.

Dammit!

Billy!
- Mom!

- What's going on?

Billy, what is it?

What is wrong with you?

Are you crazy?

Huh?

- Billy, I'm sorry.
- He's a child.

You don't, you don't hit a child!

Don't you ever put your hands on him!

Come here.

Mommy,
what's wrong with Daddy?

That
arm can't do anything

you don't want it to.

- Go, go, go.
- Look at that.

Go for a shot, put it up.

Oh, nice shot.
- Come on.

Oh, nice shot.

- Hey, Mark!
- Put that up, man.

- Keep it going.
- I'll tell you what.

- Pump it up, Mark.
- Yo, Mark, what's up?

- Foul shot.
- Hey, guys.

- Hey, Mark, how you doing?
- Good.

- You positive you're up for this?

- I'm positive, come on, let's do it.

- Okay, you're on my side.
- Come on, roll it here.

All right, let's go.

Play it tight, now, play it tight.

Shot clock, let's go.

- Bring it down, man-to-man.

Watch that hole.

Watch the zone, watch the pick there!

- Get on him.

- Go from the side, go for it.

- Let me have it.

- Okay, move around.

Harris, go for the boards now.

- Oh.
- Hey, over here.

- Come on, Casey, come on, now.

Get at him, all right, go for it, Mark.

Holy shit!

Yeah!

- Jesus Christ!

What the?

What the fuck?

- You all right?

Huh, yeah?
- Yeah, I, I think so.

- What happened?

- I, uh, I don't know what happened.

Just, my leg, uh.

Fuck.
- Your leg?

What, what's the matter with your leg?

- I don't know, it just kind of, uh,

just kind of stomped on the gas there.

And I couldn't, I couldn't get it

to hit the fucking brake.

I don't, it probably
sounds pretty nuts, huh?

- No, it doesn't, doesn't
sound nuts at all.

My name's Bill Chrushank.

- Hi.

- I know this sounds
weird but I got my arm

from the same place you got your legs.

- I'm Mark, Mark Draper.

- Hi, Mark.
- Hi.

- Mark, uh, you all right?

Okay.

Can I talk to you a little bit?

- Yeah, sure.

- Listen, I, I,

see, I've been having
some side effects from,

from this operation and I just,

I need to talk to somebody

who's been through the same procedure,

you know what I mean?

And, well, my arm, it's kind of like,

it's been doing things on its own.

And, and something's wrong.

See, something's wrong
with this operation.

I don't know what it is.

- No, it's, probably just
rehabilitation, you know?

I mean, it takes a while
for it to come back.

I think that's what happened here.

I just, you know, having some
trouble with my coordination.

- Coordination, Mark,

- Yeah.
- Mark, I followed you.

I, I saw you play basketball.

You looked pretty coordinated
on the court there.

What's the matter with the car here,

that's not coordination.

- Hey, it was an accident, you know.

I mean, accidents happen.

Hey, look, I can walk.

I had an accident three years ago at work.

It crushed both my legs, put
me in a fucking wheelchair.

Lose your legs sometime,

I'm telling you, all your other problems

shrink to nothing in comparison.

- Jesus Christ, why,

why doesn't anybody wanna ask

any questions about these operations?

- What are you talking
about, ask questions?

I mean, look, all I want to do is get good

with these babies and get on with my life.

I suggest you do the same.

- Yeah, all right, all right, Mark.

Yeah, okay.

Listen, I'll tell you what.

Here's my card, all right?

Here, I'm sorry I bothered you.

If you, just talk sometime.
- No bother, I'm just,

you know, I gotta get on with it.

- Yeah.
- All right.

Thanks for, thanks for stopping.

- Bill.

Bill.

Bill.

Stop it, no, no!

Let go!

- Karen.

- Get away from me!

Just stay away from me!

Stay away from me.

Wake up, honey.

Daddy, I'm asleep.

- Sit down here, honey.

Billy.

- Dad.

I was asleep.

- What's the matter?

Where's Mommy?

- Daddy has to go away

for a little while, guys, okay?

- How long?

- I don't know, Billy.

Daddy loves you guys

very, very much.

- Why?

Are you upset with Mommy?

- No, honey.

Can I come?

- No, Billy, you can't.

I want it off.

- Are you insane?

- I got serious problems, doctor.

I hit my kid.

I tried to strangle my wife.

I have nightmares every night!

Look, it's, it's okay, all right?

The arm's fine, I don't want it.

Just give it to somebody else.

Just give me a hook or something.

- Do you realize what I and my team

have accomplished with that arm of yours?

Don't you realize that if a gun

were put to my head, I wouldn't jeopardize

the accomplishment that
your surgery represents?

- Can't you see this arm is killing me?

- I'm sorry to put this so bluntly, Bill.

But the pain you're in just isn't

that important when I balance it against

the significance of the experiment.

- You won't perform the
operation to remove the arm?

- No.

And I'll see you put
in a mental institution

before I let you undo what I've done.

- Let me be blunt, doctor.

Why don't you go fuck yourself.

- Get the hell out of this office.

- Fuck you and all your bullshit!

I want this fucking arm off!

I don't
know how we got to be like this.

It all seemed to go so
well at first and now,

now we can't seem to have a normal moment

with you around here.

Jesus, if only I hadn't signed

that damn piece of paper,

none of this would be happening.

The corollary
of violence is loneliness.

Humanity shrinks from the violent man

as if he were a carrier of disease.

Cut off from my family,

I'm terrified of what I am becoming.

I need someone to share my
sense of isolation with.

And yes, a growing sense of horror.

I'm alone

and afraid.

I really appreciate you guys showing up.

Every time I look at my hand,

I keep thinking

about how many people it's killed.

How can one man kill so many people?

I'm having terrible nightmares, you guys.

- Look, I've had some problems

with the legs too, but I mean,

just as soon keep 'em, right?

It's just pieces of this guy we got.

Not his, uh,

not him, you know.

- That's what I'm wondering, see?

I mean, where is evil?

Where does it live?

Does it live in the soul?

In the mind?

Maybe it lives in the heart.

Maybe it lives in the flesh.

How can one man kill so many people?

- Look, Bill.

You gotta stop torturing yourself.

Lay off the metaphysical speculation.

It's a waste of fucking time,

you know what I'm saying?

- Maybe evil lives in the skin.

I don't know.

- Look, why don't you talk
to Agatha Webb about this.

She knows what she's talking about.

I mean, she's looked into these things.

She's spent her whole life on it.

She's gone to the mountain, man.

- How come you guys don't have
the same symptoms I do, huh?

I mean, why wasn't my
transplant a success like yours?

Yeah, I mean, she might be brilliant.

You might be right.

Maybe,

maybe it is me.

- You, you gotta stop fighting it.

Go with the flow.

Don't be so stiff.

Listen to what your arm's saying to you.

- What's my arm saying?

- Right now it's saying,

" Have another drink, old buddy."

- Now, that's funny.

Because that's just what
my legs are saying too.

- Gentlemen.

I'd like to propose a toast.

To our benefactor, Charley.

- To Charley.
- To Charley.

- Thanks, Chuck.

- Hey.

Hey, asshole.

I know you.

I've seen you on the TV news.

- Oh, yeah?
- Yeah.

Come on, let's see the hand.

- It's just a hand,

just like any other hand.

- You wanna see mine too?

It's a matched pair.

- I wanna see the one from the TV.

- Hey, come on, I ain't
no circus attraction.

- Yeah?

You're some kind of fucking freak.

- Oh, I wish he hadn't said that.

- Come on.

Let me see your hand.
- Back off, man.

- Come on, let me see

that hand.
- Hey!

- Hey, take it outside, come on!

Hello, police.

This is L.B.'s Bar.

Get over here right away.

There's a fight going on.

Move it, move it!

Somebody get these people out of here.

Come on, Bill!

- What are you looking at?

Everybody get back.
- All right, that's enough.

- What the hell is going on?

Get an ambulance!

- Ah!

Ow.

What is up here?

Come on, legs.

Whoa.

This is Bill Chrushank

in exile.

Current location, the Hillcrest Hotel.

Well, enough about me.

How are you doing?

Leave a message at the beep,

and tell me all about it.

Hey, Bill.

Hey, Bill, it's Mark Draper calling.

Just calling to, just, you know,

to see what's going on with you.

To see what's up.

I'm, I'm at home.

Just--

- Mark?

No.

No!

- Hello.
- Karen.

Take the kids and go to your mother's.

- What?

- Mark Draper's been murdered.

Now, just go.

Just don't pack.

Just go now!

- Samantha?

Billy?

Samantha.

Okay, lift.

- Tell me again.
- All right, we're loaded

up here.

- You were home when you got his call.

And you hadn't seen Draper since the bar.

What was your fight about at the bar?

- We weren't fighting.

- It sounded like a fight to me.

- He was just trying to stop me.

- Stop what?

- Listen, I'm tired.

You got any more questions?

- Yes, I do.

Bill.

I'm sorry.

I'll have to start asking them downtown.

- You better check with Remo Lacey.

What for?

- Because I think his life is in danger.

Give it back.

- You'll be safe.

From now on, you'll be with me.

- I'm not safe.

I'm next.

It's Charley!

What the hell's going on?

- You son of a bitch!

- Hang on!
- Look out!

Oh, shit!

Turn right, right, right!

Stay on him!

Stay with him!

Shoot him, where's your gun?

Goddamn!

Shoot him!

No, no, don't shoot him!

Don't shoot him, stop!

You son of a bitch!

Son of a bitch!

- Get out of the fucking way!

Oh, shit!

Go left, go left!

Shit!

Give me the gun, I'll shoot him!

Damn, shit.

- Oh, Charley!

Dearest Karen,

This may be my final journal entry.

Having read this, you know the truth.

I hope you understand why

I have to do I what I'm about to do.

I love you, Karen.

You and the kids are the
best thing I've known.

Bill.

- Welcome, Bill.

You wanted to give back Charley's arm?

We're ready to take it.

- You're completely out
of your fucking mind.

And you're a threat to every
living thing you touch.

- The grafting on of limbs
was only the beginning.

- The beginning?

Saving Charley Fletcher's head

so he could run around and kill people?

That's quite an achievement, doctor.

- Science, like nature, destroys to build.

I'm part of a process that's
bigger than all of us.

Now we transplant heads

with full brain chemistry
and functions intact.

Don't you see where this can lead?

- God.

Yeah.

Straight to hell!

Fuck you.

No!

No!

No!

Get me Detective Sawchuck.

Homicide.

Homicide.

- This is Chrushank.

I'm over at the clinic.

Charley Fletcher's dead.

I've got Dr. Webb here.

You better get over here.

As I sit here today, the only survivor

of Dr. Webb's experiments,

I feel somewhat resigned.

The questions I've been asking

are quite simply beyond my reach.

Where does evil live?

Is evil in the flesh?

If a tree falls in the forest,

and nobody is there to hear it,

does it make a sound?

Inquiring minds want to know.

And life goes on.

I do know that evil
does not live in my arm,

because since Charley has died,

I've experienced none of
the violent tendencies

the arm initially manifested.

I've adjusted and accepted

the fact that I am the recipient

of a miraculous new surgical technique.

And to that end,

I owe Dr. Webb and Charley.

The arm's mine now, Chuck.

I won it, fair and square.

- You're not leaving those
last lines in, are you?

- Sure.

- Well, I thought you
said that this was gonna

be published in the Journal of Medicine?

- It is, I just thought
I'd inject a little humor.

- Oh, well, then it's brilliant.

- You think so?
- Mm-hmm.

The rest of it ain't so bad either.

I love you.