All language subtitles for Riverdale.US.S05E14.WEBRip.x264-ION10

Min-Min, you made it.

I've alerted
the auction house
of my whereabouts.

So if you're thinking
of sacrificing me to
your crimson gods, don't.

First of all,
they're goddesses.

And I would never
dream of doing such
a thing to you, Pet.

I hope you'll consider
this evening an apology.

You said over the phone
you finished a new series
of paintings.

That's the only
reason I'm here.

Let's get to it, then.

Welcome to my little
night gallery,

I like to call it,

where the depths
of the human psyche
are plumbed,

and all manner of nightmares
are summoned up and
bound to canvas.

I'm sensing,
Goya... Dali... Bacon?

My heroes.

Tell me about this one.

Ah, yes.

It's about a hero haunted
by his past and plagued
by the trauma of his present.

Uh, my nightmares have
been so vivid, Dr. Winters,

but confusing too. I mean,
everything's jumbled up.

That's your subconscious,

trying to make sense
of the senseless.

Your anxiety is normal,

given the trauma you went
through. We can easily get
it under control

with some,
anti-anxiety medication.

No, no, no pills.

Okay, no pills.

You know, there are other ways
of dealing with anxiety,
like EMDR.

Eye movement, desensitization
and reprogramming.

You tell the story
of what happened to you,

while I move my hand
back and forth like this.

You follow my fingers
with your eyes,

so that, as you remember,
your body stays in the present.

Should we try it?

Private Butler.
We called him Bingo.

I...

I let him die.

He was caught in No Man's Land.

I was in a foxhole with
Jackson, who was bleeding out.

Repetition takes power
away from the memory.

Tell me the story again.

I got to admit.

You were right
about Dr Winters, Eric.

Yeah, she's a friggin'
miracle worker.

You doing
EMDR with her as well?

Nah, the doc's got me
on this drug regimen.

The meds will help
with the nerve pain.

- What about side effects?
- Nothing too serious.

No.

Gentlemen, I've only recently
learned what everyone else
in town seems

to have known for weeks,
if not months.

That allegedly,
the largest deposit

of palladium on this continent
sits beneath my maple groves.

Which is why I need
a team of brawny strongmen
to reopen my mines,

and harvest the precious metal
before Hiram Lodge steals it.

So naturally, I thought of you
and Andrews Construction.

Cheryl, I don't have
any experience mining.

Archie, you've been a soldier.

a fireman, a football coach,
a teacher and a bounty hunter.

Is a miner so far
outside your purview?

If it's opening up
existing mines,
that's doable.

Hmm.

I ran a crew in Alaska
for a spell.

Okay. Count us in.

We'll set up one of my dad's
old construction trailers

and run the whole operation
from there.

Perfection. And can you start,
oh, immediately?

Ready to do this, boys?

Hell yeah,
I can smell the palladium
from here.

Halt! Before you
go forth, I would like to offer
my blessing as ministress.

Please gather around
and join hands.

You know, uh,
I'm not really religious.

Keep an open mind, Fangs.

To our brother Divine,
in entering this dark cavity,

help keep our strapping
muckmen safe from
harm and danger.

And let their great labors
lead to even greater riches.

-

Amen.

All right, in we go.

You okay, Andrews?
Yeah.

Let's do this.

Hey, where's Kev?

He said he wasn't hungry,
so he just kept on digging.

What?

No.

No one works
in the mines alone.

Kevin!

Kev, you in here?

Kev?

Kev!

Archie!
- Kevin, you can't
stay back alone.

Look what I found.

It's a maple miracle.

Well done, Archie.

I'd suggest a celebratory
toast, but I know you have
to get right back to it.

Another good
session, Archie.

Dr. Winters.

If I agreed to take
some drugs for my PTSD,

What would you
prescribe me, exactly?

A low dose of anti-anxiety
medication, as we discussed.

Why, did something happen?

A crazy flashback.

I have a crew depending
on me now,

so I can't get
squirrely on them.

These will help.

Have you guys
ever heard of "The Mothmen"?

Yeah.
Jug was investigating them.

I saw some
of his sketches,

but they're just a hoax, right?

Maybe. There were some
stories from the truck drivers

who worked in the mines
when they were open.

And every so often,
they'd talk about these
humanoid creatures

that lived underground
with big red eyes to absorb
as much light as possible.

Not to mention,
they were cannibalistic.

Okay,
that's enough storytelling.

Let's get back to work.

Archie.

Help me, Sarge.

Eric?

Eric, are you okay, buddy?

Eric?

Hey!

Are you okay?

Archie? You okay?

You ran out of the mines
like a bat out of hell.
what's going on?

Yeah, I'm fine. I just had to
get out of there for a second.

- What happened?
- I'm fine, Uncle Frank.

Someone's messing with me.
Someone's messing with my head.

What were those pills
you gave me?

Sergeant Andrews,
You can't burst in here
when I'm...

What were those pills
you gave me, huh?

Psychotics?
hallucinogenics? LSD?

Whatever drugs she wants you
to take don't take them.

She's experimenting on us.

Who do you even work for?

Who do you work for?

Some government corporation?

Well, let me guess...

- It's Hiram Lodge.
- The rum-maker?

Archie, I don't even
know that man.

- You need to leave now.
- No, no no.

I'm gonna
call security.

What were those pills?

You heard the doc.
- Fine.

I'm gone.

Jackson!
- Yo!

Jackson.

You've got to stop seeing
Dr. Winters, okay?

She's dangerous.

What are you talking about?

Eric, listen to me.
She's using us as guinea pigs.

With all due respect,
I'm not going to
stop seeing Dr. Winters.

And I don't think
you should either.

You got a lot
of baggage to deal with, Sarge,

more than you let on.
Losing that many men,

that's not easy.

I'm surprised
it didn't break you

Hey, there he is.

Hey, Uncle Frank.

Uh, hey listen, Archie.
Me and the guys
were talking and uh,

we think maybe you should
take the day off. Rest up,
just take your mind off things.

Uncle Frank, I'm not
taking Dr. Winters'
meds anymore.

They should be completely
flushed out of my system.

Yeah, all the same.
I don't think you
should go underground.

Look, if you want to do
something, maybe you could
get caught up

on the payroll,
so we don't fall behind.

We'll come back,
and have lunch together.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Cool. Sounds good.

Great. Okay.

Uncle Frank!

Kevin?

Uncle Frank?

He loves me.
He loves me not...

Kevin?
Archie,
can you hear them?

He loves me.
He loves me not...

Archie!

He loves me. He loves me not...

- Can you hear them?
- Hear what?

♪ Tommy Knockers
singing in my head ♪

Listen to me...

Monsters! Monsters!
There's monsters down here.

Reggie! Reggie!

Look at me, take
Kevin and Fangs and get
them out of here, okay?

Take Kevin and Fangs and
get them out of here.

Oh, my God.

Go! Go!

Uncle Frank!

You're a devil.
All devils go to hell!

Stop! Eric!

Stop it!

Eric.
I'm not your enemy here.

You are. You're the devil

No. I'm not.

- Uncle Frank. You okay?
Yeah.

What hell is going
on down here?

Gas. It's gas.

We gotta get everyone
topside ASAP.

Okay.
I want to hear straight from
the horse's mouths.

What happened to your crew?

Whyfor has the digging stopped?

Cheryl, it's not safe
to work in your mines.

Given the state
of delirium most of the men
were in,

I'm guessing those tunnels
are full of carbon monoxide.

It's an odorless gas.

If you breathe enough of it,
it causes hallucinations,
violent outbursts.

Yeah which all of us have been
experiencing to greater
or less degrees.

That's annoying.

How do we fix it?

We can hook up
a pump to make sure
there's fresh air...

Yes, do that.

And in the meantime, I'll order
of flock of canaries,

but I want you back
in there digging, ASAP.

What are you
doing here, Archie?

Dr. Winters, please.

It turns out
I was suffering the effects

of carbon monoxide poisoning,

but I took my aggression
out on you,

and for that, I'm sorry,

But don't cut me loose, Doc.
I need help.

I haven't told you this,
but a lot of men...

a lot of men
died under my command,

and at first I started seeing
one of them, Private Bingo.

But now...

Now I'm seeing all of them.

I don't know what you
want me to say, Archie.

I'm genuinely scared
to be alone with you

after how you came in here
last time.

And if you're
truly experiencing

such an extreme level
of hallucination,

then I don't think
it's safe for you

to be around anyone right now.

These paintings,
Cheryl.

Your subject matter's somehow

even more haunted than before.

Thank you, Minerva.

My God.

Inspired by my poor dear cousin
wrestling with the question.

"Who is the true monster?"

The ghoul our girl is hunting,
or the girl herself?

Look, I'm not as used
to this kind of thing
as you are,

but we just caught a man
who might be
the Highway Killer.

Are you sure
we shouldn't hand him
over to proper authorities?

If we do that, I could get
cut out of the investigation.

This guy might have
killed Polly.

I know I could get that
information out of him.

It is what I do,

but I think it's time
you bow out, Tabitha.

Just let me handle this,
all right?

- Wait, are you serious?
- Deadly.

Please trust me.

Okay.

But if at any point
you need backup, I'm here.

I don't want
any other girls dying.

And that includes you.

Yeah.

Hi, I'm Betty.

What's your name?

Martin.

No, it's not.
That's not your name.

That's the name
on the driver's license
you've been carrying around.

But the real Martin Tucker
died almost 50 years ago.
I'm with the FBI.

So you should
really start telling me

about the women you've killed
along the Lonely Highway.

All of them.

If you're with the FBI,

then why am I in some
shop class instead of in jail
right now?

I want a phone call.

I am a citizen
of the United States.

- I have rights.
- Mm-hmm. Yeah.

Well, actually, you're not

in the United States anymore.

You're in Riverdale.

Welcome.

And killers of women
do not have rights.

And if you're thinking of
yelling for help,

it's a long weekend.

Let me guess.

You're one of those women
who runs around

entrapping men,
and gets off on it.

Who hurt you?

A bitter boyfriend?

Okay, well, I'll be back.

Maybe next time
we can have a more
fruitful conversation.

If not, I guess I'll just
have to get creative.

Mary Catherine Avery,
last seen two years ago

waiting tables at a diner
in Seaside.

Nicole Houston
went missing a year ago
while hitchhiking to Canada.

Polly Cooper
last seen this past summer.

Mmm. I thought I recognized her
for a second,

but no, I was mistaken.

Allison McCall.

It's been a minute,
but I never forget
a face that pretty.

- Where is she?

There's an old hikers' trail
in the northeast corner
of Soweto Swamp.

She's underneath
the gorgeous
sycamore tree.

You just gotta dig.

So did you find her?

She's a real bitch, isn't she?

They're dog bones,
you psychopath.

Oh, right.

That's where
I buried my old dog
after she passed away.

Poor little thing.

Sorry about the confusion,
Agent Cooper.

How do you know my name?

There's been stories
up and down the highway

about some crazy
rogue FBI agent
out looking for her sister.

- Polly.

Where is she?

If I knew and if I told you,

you'd be like
every other woman

casting me aside
after getting what you want.

Fine.

Let's talk about
something else.

Why did you start doing this?

- I wanted to see
how it would feel.
- And?

How does it feel?

No different from
hunting with my family.

These, uh...

These people
that you're hunting
aren't animals.

They're human beings
with families.

No, they're just prey.

That's how I see it.

Mom.

I have to tell you something.

What is it, honey?

I captured a trucker.

I think he's the man
who may have killed Polly,

the man who's been killing
all the young women
on the highway.

Oh, my God.

One thing serial killers do

is dehumanize their victims
before killing them.

It's risky, Mom, but I believe
that if he saw you,

really saw you
as a grieving mother

and Polly as a human being...

he might confess.

There's no guarantees,
but maybe.

I'll do it.

Okay, good.

Okay.

I want to tell you
about my daughter Polly.

This was her at ten years old,
my little golden girl.

She loved to dance and swim.

She was a baton twirler.

You can't imagine

what it's like to be a mother

that has no idea
where her child is.

Your...

Your daughter?

Yeah?

Your daughter
squealed like a pig
when I slit her throat.

You monster!

Hey, hey!

Please.

- Mom, stop.

We're not
getting through to him.

Have to push harder.

Okay. Appealing to his
humanity didn't work.

But maybe if he believed
that he was actually
going to die,

maybe then he would talk.

Why don't you
just kill him, Betty?

Mom, come on.

That scumbag
killed my daughter.

That's not going
to make you feel any better.

I'll feel better knowing that
my daughter's killer's dead.

So do it, Betty.

As your mother,
I give you permission.

Kill that monster.

I want to try
one more thing first.

I know my sister's dead.

I've accepted that.

So I'm asking you one more time

to tell me where Polly is.

Please.

There's no earthly reason
for me to do that.

Okay, then.

Here's what's
going to happen next.

I'm not going to kill you
because I want you to suffer,

so I'm going to start
carving pieces off of you.

First, I'll use a chainsaw
on your feet.

I'll cut them off at the ankles
and then cauterize the wounds.

Uh-huh.

And then I'll cut off your legs
at the knees,

cauterize those wounds,

and then your upper legs
at the groin.

Then we'll move on
to your hands,
sever them at the wrists,

and by that point,
you might die of
a heart attack.

But I don't know,

you seem pretty strong,

and I have a couple tricks
up my sleeve.

Wait. Okay, wait.

Did your sister have blue eyes

and a tattoo
of the infinity symbol?

And did she ever go
by the name Patty
instead of Polly?

Yeah.

Do you remember her?

Not in the least.

Please.

Just kill me.

Just kill me. Please.

You're a tiny, pretty thing.

I'm not going to kill you.

I'm gonna carve pieces
off of you.

First, I'll use the chainsaw
on your feet.

And I'll cauterize the wounds.

So, Betty, did you do it?

Nope.

But he did it himself.

Bit off his own tongue,

swallowed it,

and choked to death on it.

Maybe he was afraid of
what I was going to do to him.

Or maybe he finally felt guilty
about what he'd done.

So he takes his secrets
to the grave,

and we're no closer to
finding Polly.

We'll have to wait and see
what Dr. Curdle's
autopsy report says.

Do you feel better
now that he's dead?

I do.

I think some lives
were saved tonight.

Do you feel better?

Yeah.

But based on a few things
he said,

my gut's telling me
that he's not the only killer.

I think maybe there's a family
of them hunting together.

My God.

it's remarkable, isn't it?

Portrait of a young writer,
caught betwixt
fact and fiction,

memory and madness,

truth and trauma.

Interpret it for me.

Let's just say
it's about the stories

we tell ourselves to survive
and about addiction.

Would anyone new
like to start us off?

Uh, yeah, sure.

Uh, my name is
Forsythe Pendleton Jones III.

Welcome, Forsythe.

It's just kind of weird being
in here at night.

Not-- Not as a teacher,
but as a...

an alcoholic.

We're happy to listen
to whatever you want to say.

I guess I'll start.

When I left Riverdale
after high school,

I joined
the Iowa Writer's Workshop.

Now I thought Iowa was
going to be an escape.

But in reality,
my freshman year

was actually kind of boring.

So I focused on my craft,

the origins of
storytelling stuff

like Greek myths, Dostoyevsky,
The Sopranos.

And every afternoon
at dusk, I'd segue

from coffee to whiskey
and I'd start writing.

And from those late nights
came the first few chapters

of a novel, and I hoped
my ticket out of Iowa.

So I polished the pages
and I sent them off to like

a hundred literary agents
in New York.

And one got back to me,

a guy named Samm Pansky.

He was an old school legend
and he wrote,

"Hey, kid,
drop me a line next time
you're in New York."

So I took Samm up on his offer.

Based on what I've read,

you got a lot of talent, kid.

I got you something.

- What's this for?
- What?

An agent can't
get his client a gift?

Wait...

I have an agent?

Are you my agent?

Welcome to the
Samm Pansky family.

Hey, Betty.

Oh, uh, I'm surprised
you picked up.

My roommate
has some company over,
so I'm just killing time.

Yeah, that's-- That's rough.

Um, I got an agent.

Yeah. He signed me
after reading,

like, two chapters
of my new novel.

Jug, that's huge.

Congratulations.

Please tell me you're Iowa
friends are taking you out

for a celebratory drink.

Yeah, uh, they are. But later.

And that night,
I decided

that I was gonna
move to New York City

and become a proper writer.

In my new apartment
in the East Village

I was hit with a lethal case
of writer's block.

Luckily, my girlfriend Jessica

knew where to score
some maple mushrooms.

- Do you have it?
Yeah.

Perfect timing.

I was tripping on shrooms...

It just...

It felt like, doors to my mind
swung right open.

I wrote 200
pages that night.

From that crazy
raw first draft

came the"The Outcasts."

Well...

I think the "The Outcasts"

is going to be
a monster YA hit.

And let me tell you, YA is hot,
which means moolah.

Lots of moolah.

YA it is.

The year leading up
to the publication of the book

was just a whirlwind.

I was drinking pretty steadily.
And though Jess had moved in,

I was still holding on
to the past.

Or more specifically, my ex.

Spoiler alert.

It was not a great night. No.

It quickly began to derail
after I got a call from Betty

saying she wasn't going to be
able to make the book release
after all.

Stumbling in the general
direction of my party,

I called Betty and I left her
just this crazy,
super toxic voicemail.

leave a message

Betty, of course you bailed.

You've been blowing me off
for years.

Why should I have even expected
anything different?

I see you, Betty. I see now,

what I should have seen
seven years ago.

So you pretend to be nice,

but really, you're just looking
for weak spots.

And when you find them,

you just press on them
like a bruise.

Like when you hooked up
with Archie.

You really found the one person

that would hurt Veronica
and I the most.

And you just went there.

You're a cold, fake,
duplicitous bitch.

And when people read my book,
everyone is gonna see that.

And then

I vanished.

I was swallowed up by the dark.

So, "swallowed up
by the dark,"

was that a metaphor?

No, I wish.

One moment I was stumbling
in a back alley,

in the next moment I was
waking up in a hospital room.

Where am I?

Hey, hey, you're okay.

You're at St. Vincent's.

You went on a bender, Jones.

An epic one.

Hell happened?

Actually, I don't wanna know.

How long was I out?

A few days.

Oh, my God...

I wish I could say
that that signaled
a fresh start

for Jess and I,

but no, no.

We kept on drinking
and fighting

and certainly not writing.

So when my old pal
Archie Andrews
called out of the blue,

l came home,
here, to Riverdale.

But something was
still gnawing at me,

at my mind, at my sanity.

And I was still drinking,
heavily, heavily.

And shortly after that,
I hit rock bottom,

on skid row, no less.

Then I figured I needed
to go back to New York City.

Try and find out
what happened to me

the night of my book release,

when I lost
those days of my life.

So I went back
to St Vincent's Hospital,

requested a copy
of my discharge record,

which said I had been treated
for a rabies infection,

so I went to see Jess.

Rabies?

What the hell happened? Jess?

Just tell me.

You disappeared the night
of your book release party.

And three days later,
you ended up at St Vincent's.

The doctor said
that when you came in,
you were out of your mind

raving and ranting.

About what?

And she told me
that I had been yelling

about a Rat King.

A man...

that lived underneath
the streets of New York City.

Wait. I'm sorry.

Uh, a what?

Yeah, no, let me explain.

Um...

the night of my book release,

I never even made it
to the party.

I mean, moments after I left
that voicemail for Betty,

I fell down a sinkhole
that had opened up
in the pavement.

Yeah, it's rare,
but I guess it happens.

There must've been
some impulse
in me to just vanish,

walk away
from the shambles of my life,

because I thought to myself
"I could stay here."

So I pushed together
a couple of crates,

and formed this kind of cot
and I tried to sleep.

But that is when he showed up.

Who are you?

- Samm?
- I'm the king
of the underworld.

And you are a trespasser here.

No! No!

What good are you?

What do you even do?

I'm a writer, I tell stories.

I can tell you a story.
Let me tell you a story.

All right. Go ahead.

Tell me a story.

Now luckily I had a copy
of my book
"The Outcasts" on me.

So I read it aloud.

And the Rat King ate it up.

Wow! That's what
I'm talking about.

You're a born storyteller.

Because of that, I want you
to stay down here with me.

Where you'll regale me
with your tales.

That sounds great.

I'll come back
for you tomorrow.

When everything will be
prepared for your arrival.

There,

away from the responsibilities
and expectations,

deadlines and dead-end
relationships

I was very eager to join
the Rat King's domain.

But that night
she came to visit me.

Jughead. Jughead, wake up.

Betty, what the hell?
What are you doing here?

I'm saving you.
You're in danger.

You need to get out of here
right now.

"Danger." What you mean?

Jughead, listen to me.
The city floods the sewer
once every two weeks.

That's happening
any minute, okay?

If you stay down here,
you will drown.

Come with me.

Betty walked behind me,

urging me through
those dark tunnels.

It was a lot
like that Greek myth
of Orpheus and Euridice.

The two young lovers
try to escape
the underworld together.

Well, somehow, I made it
to the light,

and to civilization,

some back alley
in East Village.

I was dirty.

I was just out of my mind.

I was also infected,
which I didn't know
at the time.

So the cops found me.

They picked me up
and they took me
to St Vincent's Hospital.

Betty saved me in the darkness.

Like she had
so many times before.

So how much
of what you told us was true?

That's a good question.

Well, when Jess told me what
I told her at the hospital,

I felt that I needed to return

to the physical site
of that core trauma,

the darkness.

It took me two days,
but I found the alley,

a sinkhole
that was now paved over.

Next to it, there was a sewer
grate which I pried open.

And I entered the abyss.

It was definitely familiar.

I'd absolutely been there.

Confirmed when
I found a copy of my book.

Scribbled in the margins

was the story of the Rat King
and his captive

that I completely made up.

Going to the source
of my trauma

made me understand
that the Rat King
was just a fiction

I had conjured
to distract myself

from what really happened
down there.

The night of my book launch,
I was angry,

drunk.

And I fell into a sinkhole
and I lost consciousness.

And when I came to,
I couldn't scream for help

because I was covered in rats.

I was afraid that if I opened
my mouth they would
crawl into it.

That's so... It's horrible.

The worst part was that,

the whole event
just made me realize
how alone I was.

You know?

Like, that night
was supposed to be

one of my greatest triumphs,

and I was in a dark hole,

literally and existentially.

And no one...

Like, no one missed me,

at all.

And that's what
I'm dealing with now.

Just the wreckage of my life.

Step one is I need to get
my drinking under control.

That's why I'm here.

And we're glad you are.

Thank you for your share.

All right, so who's next?

Well. A truly masterful
showing, Cheryl.

I hope you know,
I didn't just bring you here

for the paintings, Minerva.

Although, there
is one more piece

I'd love to show you.

I painted us as...

Psyche revived by Cupid's Kiss.

It's gorgeous.

Do you love it?

Cheryl, the last time
I was here,

your Nana suggested
sacrificing me

to an angry eldritch terror.

Are you saying
you feel nothing Min-Min?

Look, I do love...the painting.

And despite our last encounter,
I still have feelings for you.

But I'm about
to leave the country

on an art buying trip
to South Africa.

In the morning?

Yes, I'm afraid so.

Well, that still leaves us
with tonight, doesn't it?

Yes.