All language subtitles for Room 104 - 02x02 - Mr. Mulvahill.aAF

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

Dear Mr. Mulvahill, I sincerely hope

that this letter finds you
spiritually, mentally,

and physically well.

You likely won't remember me,

so please allow me to
reintroduce myself.

My name is Jim Herbers.

I attended Franklin Elementary
from 1974 through 1979,

where you coached
baseball and taught music

to kindergarten through 3rd grade.

I was an ordinary child
who, from an early age,

had ordinary aspirations
to lead an ordinary life.

But all that changed when
I was in 3rd grade...

when I met you.

I am hoping that you will be
kind enough to meet with me.

I have longed for many years
to meet face-to-face,

and have only recently
gathered the courage to ask.

You will receive a second
letter from me this afternoon

outlining the specific time and place

at which I would like to meet tomorrow.

And while I realize this may seem

an odd and presumptuous request,

I remind you that as a former teacher

your primary role in life

was to profoundly impact the
lives of your students.

I can assure you

that no one was more profoundly impacted

by the short time we
spent together than me.

Sincerely, Jim Herbers.

Jim?

Mr. Mulvahill?

Yes. That's me.

I-I'm sorry, I just...

it's been so long.

It's really you?

Well, I hope I'm him.

I'm wearing his underwear.

Please come in.

I'm sorry, I just...

No, no, it's... it's quite all right.

Well, I... I guess you've
grown a few inches

since we last saw each other.

You remember me?

I carry all my students with me.

How?

I'm sorry. How?

Yes, how?

It's just a figure of speech. I...

I...

You're all a part of my life.

I understand.

So, I was pleased to get your letter.

I have to confess that

I do have an appointment this afternoon,

but I'm eager to hear whatever it is

you wanted to discuss with me.

Mr. Mulvahill, I...

I can't thank you enough
for coming today.

You have no idea how
much this means to me.

It's no trouble at all. Really.

Please. Have a seat.

- Oh. Thank you.
- OK.

You remember?

Do you mean the piece of music?

It's the 4th movement of
Beethoven's 9th Symphony.

- "The Ode to Joy."
- His final symphony.

That's correct.

The year was 1978,

I was in the 3rd grade,

you were teaching us all music.

And we were trying to decide

what to play for the spring concert.

And all the kids wanted to play
the overture to Star Wars.

The movie had just been
released, and made

quite an impression on all of us.

I was behind that idea
a hundred percent.

Do you remember?

No? Well, you were having none of it,

Mr. Mulvahill, let me tell you.

You said, while the music
might be exciting to us,

it was highly derivative

and wasn't worth our attention.

Ha!

Then...

you told us...

about Ludwig van Beethoven.

His dark and fiery
compositions made him a star,

and yet, his personal life

was filled with pain
and deeply troubled.

Which got even worse as
he lost his hearing.

Can you imagine the ultimate tragedy?

A composer losing their hearing.

And that for the final movement
of his final symphony,

in a stroke of irony,
he composed an ode...

- to joy.
- To joy.

He even brought in a chorus

to sing along with the music.

Yes, yes.

Well, needless to say, the
children of the class

did not approve of your
choice, Mr. Mulvahill.

But I just wanted to thank you

for playing "Ode to
Joy" for me that day.

For teaching me that even though a man

may live a deeply troubled life

and come up against...

unbelievable obstacles

over which he has no control,

to which he might be an innocent victim,

even if he's...

drowning in darkness and fear

and despair and isolation...

that every person has the opportunity

to... end their life

with an ode to joy.

I desperately want to believe that.

And, ironically enough,
it's you I have to thank

for this narrow strand of hope

upon which... I now stand.

Do you remember now?

I... I do. Uh...

I... I do remember it, Jim.

And, uh, I'm so glad

that... that it stayed with you.

Well, I... I should probably...

Do you also remember what happened

after all the other kids left?

Uh, I'm sorry?

Well, you remembered the
first portion of the day,

I'm assuming you remember the
portion that followed after.

Hmm?

I'm not sure, uh, really.

But that's the most seminal
part of it for me.

That's the part that
affected me the most,

you and me alone together
in the classroom.

That's what... made me
the man I am today.

Do you remember?

Let me refresh your memory.

So, the kids voted for Star Wars.

You were disappointed,
but you handled it well.

And then the bell rang,

and all of the other children left.

And I came up to you and I said

that I really loved "Ode to Joy"

and I wanted to vote for it,

but I was afraid the other
kids would make fun of me.

So I copped out and I
voted for Star Wars, too.

And you were very sweet about it,

and you forgave me for voting for

Star Wars and not for Beethoven.

Then I turned to go,

and then you stopped me and said

could I stay for a few minutes.

Do you remember that?

I... I'm sorry, Jim, I...

- I should be going.
- Just one... one minute.

Please.

So...

you asked me to take out my
trumpet... that trumpet...

and you handed me the sheet
music for "Ode to Joy"

and asked me to play along with you.

I was thrilled.

I never got this kind
of attention at home.

You asked me to close the door,

and I did,

and then we started to play,

me on the trumpet, you on the piano.

I played terribly, of course,

and you played brilliantly.

And the whole time you... smiled at me

and nodded in encouragement.

And it made me feel
so good about myself.

Then we finished,

and I put away the trumpet,

and you looked me, you smiled...

... then you put your hand on my knee.

Can you remember what you said?

I... I, uh, I don't. I...

This one is important.

This...

is the most important.

Can you remember what happened next?

I'm gonna need you to remember.

I'm gonna need you to try harder.

OK?

No, I... I...

I'm gonna need you to work harder.

Because what happened over
the next four minutes

entirely changed the course of my life.

So the least you can do

is try and remember.

Or admit...

Please.

Tell me... what you remember...

about what happened next.

I'm sorry.

I simply don't remember.

OK.

I'm disappointed, but what can you do?

I mean... you can't remember
what you can't remember.

Thank you so much for coming.

And I sincerely hope I
haven't made you late

for your next appointment.

Well, nice to see you, Jim,
and I hope everything...

- Mr. Mulvahill!
- Yes?

If you scream,

I'll have to put a gag in your mouth.

You won't like that.

Plus, I rented all the nearby rooms,

so there's no one to help you.

But I'm confident that
we can resolve this

if we just cooperate together. OK?

I'm sorry I had to hit you like that,

but, as you'll soon realize,

I needed to have you immobilized
for about ten minutes

while we work through this.

Now, I'm pretty sure you knew
what happened on that day

and are lying to me right now.

But there is the possibility
that you have forgotten

or, even more likely, that
what was so seminal for me

was merely commonplace for you.

So, where were we? Ah, yes.

Sitting down, your hand on my knee,

the door was closed.

You remember what you said to me?

You said, "Jim...

I believe...

that anything is
possible in this world."

I remember basking in the
warm glow of your smile,

and for a moment I believed

that maybe I could
have a beautiful life,

maybe I could be a composer one day,

like Beethoven.

And then...

just like that...

you took it away.

You erased it.

And do you know why?

You teleported.

From right over here,
to right over there.

Thirty feet.

From the piano to behind the desk.

Whoosh!

Just like that.

And I... I was shocked.
I... I couldn't believe it.

So I quickly asked you about it,

and, even more strangely, you denied it.

And I wanted to find the truth.

So I asked you again.
You denied it again.

Back and forth we went...

for four minutes this
conversation went on.

Well, finally, I... I
started doubting myself.

Do you know what that's like?

When part of you deeply believes
that something is true,

and another part of you

doubts yourself to your very core?

Until you start to doubt...

any experience you might have.

Oh...

it's... it's dark.

It's a lot darker than...

the life of Ludwig van Beethoven,

I'll tell ya that.

Makes it impossible to
get close to anyone.

Because you know something they can't,

and even if you do get close enough

to confess it to someone, like, say,

your college girlfriend,

oh... it doesn't go very well.

So then you keep it a secret.

But that creates a wall
between you and other people.

You talk to therapists,
to psychiatrists,

to hypnotists, and no one believes you,

and even the medication stops
working the way it should,

which makes you doubt
yourself even more.

So what do you do? You
work a menial job, and...

you just get by.

Until, finally...

you come to the terrifying conclusion

that even though it makes
no earthly sense...

that Mr. Mulvahill, the baseball
coach and music teacher,

harbors the powers of teleportation,

you know what you saw!

And you believe it...

no matter what anyone else says.

Now, I know what you're thinking.

Why wait 40 years to
confront you about it?

Well, that's a very good question.

Believe me, I have been
thinking about this every day,

multiple times a day,
for the past 40 years.

Who and what you might be,

and why you did what you did to me.

Now, ultimately,

I decided that I can live
without knowing why.

But mm-mm. What I can't stand

is the .001 percent chance
that it didn't happen.

What if I'm crazy?

What if I... blinked

or had a blackout,

and there was no
teleportation whatsoever?

That's when I knew I
needed to confront you,

I needed to speak to you,
try and get the truth.

And, well, we went through that,

and it worked out just
as I thought: fruitless.

So then I thought, well,
why not capture him

and threaten his life until
he tells me the truth?

Well, look, you and I both know

that if my life were threatened

unless I admitted to
something ridiculous,

like, say, I don't know,
I had 39 testicles,

I would do it. Of course.

I would lie. Wouldn't you?

Of course you would.

And that's why I've never
confronted you before.

I could never figure out a strategy...

to come up with the truth.

Then, one day, when I
was eating Corn Pops

and listening to This American Life,

it hit me like a bolt of lightning.

Ha ha!

Of course!

If I tell him that he's
only got 60 seconds

before I put this baseball
bat through his skull,

well, that should give
him enough time, right?

If he can teleport, he will.

Because if not... he's dead.

- Fifty seconds.
- Please wait.

Please!

Please... D-Don't do this.

I'll do anything you want.

We're past that, Mr. Mulvahill.

Look into your heart.

You know this is not
the right thing to do.

But I need to do it.

But you know you have doubts.

Just the tiniest of doubts.

But what you are claiming is impossible.

Man cannot teleport himself!

Religion is impossible,
but man believes it...

But I know you are a man of reason!

Ah, you don't really know me.

Thirty seconds.

In 30 seconds you'll commit murder.

I don't believe that's true.

But you're not sure.

And if you're not sure,

- then...
- I need to find out!

If your life is dark now,

there'll be no hope for you

after you've killed an innocent man.

I don't believe you're innocent!

But you'll never know!

Because I'll be dead!

Please don't do this.

Don't do this to me!

- To yourself!
- Ten seconds.

Oh, dear God, help me!

- Please! Please help me!
- Help!

No one can hear you.

- Six seconds.
- Oh, God!

Oh, God! Oh, God, please!

No, no! No!

- Three...
- Oh, God! No, no!

- two...
- No!

Oh!

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