All language subtitles for Forever - 1x16 - Memories of Murder.HDTV.LOL.en

What is your problem?

I-if you don't stop calling me...

I got to go.

I'm so sorry.

Ah, homicide.

What morning's complete

without a 100-yard hike through
garbage to a dead body?

You picked up.

When I pick up,

the crime scene is a fountain
or a museum, someplace nice.

You pick up, it's a crack den or a tunnel.

What? I got bad crimescene karma?

I'm just saying.

No purse, no I.D.

Someone liked to take pictures, though.

What do you think? She a pro?

Well, it wouldn't be the first
prostitute to end up here.

H-hey, possible murder weapon.

What is that thing?

Fondue skewer.

What the hell?

Her hair, her dress...

It's like she's ready for a
'70s costume party.

Could be an extra in a movie.

Maybe they're finally remaking
"Saturday Night Fever."

Did I ever tell you that
was my first R-rated movie?

It's come up. I'm gonna
need Henry on this one.

They used to say my hair and
Travolta's was identical...

Thick, jet-black, the perfect sheen.

Tell you about this, too?

It has come up.

Sorry.

Oh, goodness gracious, Abraham, what's that?

That, sir, is the aroma of,
uh, wet cardboard and mold.

It was so cold last night, one
of the pipes burst in the attic.

Fortunately, this is the
only box that got soaked.

Not your baseball cards, I hope.

No, those I have in a safety-deposit box.

This is just some old junk.

Baby Abraham's bronzed booties.

Yeah. Stopped fitting a long time ago.

It's just sentimental garbage, you know,

without any real value.

Well, it's part of your past.

Yeah, well, what I want
to keep, I keep up here.

If not, I just forget it,
make room for the new.

The other stuff belongs in a landfill.

Oh, uh...

Mom's cookbook.

I, uh, didn't see that.

Um... I'm sorry.

That was not junk.

Perhaps you're right, Abraham.

It's a new day.

There are new memories to be made.

I'm off.

We are told that
those who ignore the past

are doomed to repeat it,

while those who dwell in the past

would love nothing more than to repeat it

over and over again.

But memories, like photographs,
have a way of fading with time.

Well, based on the amount of blood,

we figure she bled out from
her neck wound, made by this.

Oh, I love fondue!

You can go, like, savory with cheese

or sweet with chocolate,

but the best part... It's social.

And, therefore, a petri dish
for communicable diseases.

- I'll get this tested.
- Yum.

So, doc, bruises on her wrists

suggest she might have been held down.

That's amazing.

What's amazing?

Her hair.

It smells of...

Garbage?

Chlorofluorocarbons,

used in aerosol products
like hair spray in the '70s,

before it was banned.

I wonder...

Yeah, we were thinking the
vintage outfit she's wearing

might point to an actor in costume.

Well, no costume is this exact, no.

Our victim's nail Polish
contains phthalate ester,

a plasticizer,

discontinued due to its
carcinogenic properties.

The anachronisms don't stop there.

This wrap is a Von Furstenberg original.

Every item is vintage.

What are we talking about
here, doc... a time traveler?

Or a victim who was obsessed with the past,

and speaking of obsessions,

due to the voyeuristic
nature of these photographs,

I'd wager that our victim was
the object of someone's fantasy.

Which turned into a nightmare.

Synced by emmasan
www.addic7ed.com

The victim bled out
when her carotid was cut.

And the fondue skewer we
recovered matches the wound.

Just when you think you've heard it all.

Have we run her past vice?

Yeah, but we're not sure she's a prostitute.

Based on her wardrobe,

Henry thinks she was part
of some weird '70s fantasy.

Well, who knew we had
Anna Wintour downstairs

doing our autopsies?

Missing Persons came back with reports

matching our Jane Doe's description.

We got a match... Sarah Clancy,

junior at N.Y.U., reported
missing by her roommate.

It's hard to believe it's the same girl.

Jo, talk to the roommate.

Hanson, go back to the landfill.

See if you can trace back from the dump site

to find out where our victim was murdered.

See what happens when you pick up the phone?

We met our first day.

We were both from small towns,

in the city for the first time.

The fact that we ended up as
roommates, it was perfect...

Like Sarah and I had been
friends our whole lives.

Had Sarah been dealing
with any personal issues?

New boyfriend, bad breakup maybe?

I don't know.

I thought you were best friends.

We were v-very close, and then we weren't.

Sarah may have arrived
in New York a small-town girl,

but she was changing, wasn't she?

Rather a sophisticated wardrobe.

Not exactly contemporary couture, is it?

Jennifer, you can talk to us.

We just want to find
the person who did this.

She had changed.

And not just the way that she looked.

Do you have any idea who or what

would be responsible
for this transformation?

She had become so secretive.

Dropped all of her classes, except for one.

It was like she was obsessed with it.

Which class?

What urge
creates these fantasies?

Is it control,

power, transformation?

If our fantasies are fed
by our deepest desires...

Is it just me, or has college changed?

Then understanding them can
teach us who we truly are...

Since Freud, psychology has
become obsessed with sexuality.

I've always found it rather...

stimulating.

We all have someone or
something we fantasize about.

The question is, what could
we learn about ourselves

if we gave in to that desire?

That's all I have for today. Thank you.

Iona.

Oh, that's Professor Dawes in the classroom.

You can call me Molly.

Well, it's a pleasure
to see you again, Molly.

You may call me Henry.

You are full of surprises.

Therapist, dominatrix,

professor?

Well, I do have a PhD
in psychology from Yale,

so the head of the department calls me in

any time there's subject matter

her staff isn't as well-versed in.

Such as sexual fantasy.

Which is exactly what
we've come here to discuss.

Professionally, of course.

I can't believe she's dead.

Did you know Sarah well?

We had a lot in common.

She and I both had very
sheltered childhoods.

She was different from
the rest of my students.

She was very mature.

Did she talk a lot about her personal life?

We're trying to find out...

Who took these.

She did come to office
hours a few weeks ago...

Not about class.

She told me

that she was involved in a
role-playing relationship

and she knew it wasn't normal, per se.

Did she know about your...

secondary occupation?

That I'm a domination therapist?

That's why I felt obliged

to ask her if she enjoyed
it and if she felt safe,

and she said yes.

But...

If she was wrong and then I didn't...

It's not your fault.

Perhaps there's a way I can help.

I mean, if there's anything that you can
tell me about the crime scene, then...

Thank you, professor,

but we have New York City's finest on it.

Thank you.

You sure they only
gave us one Hazmat suit?

What? Oh, uh, cutbacks, I guess.

Wow, great article on Jimmy
Caan's walk-in humidor.

I think I found something...

A possible location for the crime scene.

I did a reagent search

on all the debris near where
the victim's body was found

and picked up traces of
blood on this junk mail.

All from the same apartment building.

Thinking that's where she was killed

and then dumped the body here
with the rest of the garbage?

We got an address. Blow it up?

You need a shower.

I'm calling Joe.

I'm gonna need my own badge soon.

Yeah, aim high, Lucas.

Come on, an honorary badge, something.

Sarah was a real good tenant.

Huh, yeah, always paid on time, quiet.

Was there a boyfriend, an
older gentleman perhaps?

No.

Do you have surveillance?

This is an older building.

Well, when it was built,
it was state-of-the-art.

You should've seen it.

It was just like...

What the hell?

Uh...

Thank you.

There is not one article
of clothing in this closet.

Ah.

A Technics SL-220... 40 years old.

Like it just came out of the box.

We had the exact same one.

In the shop.

Check out these magazines.

They're all from the same
year and the same month.

This fondue set is original, too.

Every item in this place
has been carefully chosen

to create a perfect
simulacrum of the late 1970s.

Everything is in accord with that design.

Everything except for this.

The little rug?

It's a macramé wall hanging...

Very popular at the time

and never ever placed on the floor.

No, that would be insane.

I believe we've found our crime scene.

But if the victim bled out slowly,

why would the blood be concentrated here?

Why didn't she get up, go for help?

You think she was knocked out?

Perhaps the killer held her
down and watched her die.

Hey.

Look at this.

Another polaroid.

This one looks different.

Polaroids fade.

And judging by the
deterioration of this image,

I'd say this one was
actually taken in the '70s.

This isn't the same girl,

but they're both wearing the same dress.

So, who is this woman?

The woman Sarah was supposed to be.

The apartment was a perfect
replica of a 1970s home,

exact in every detail.

What do you mean, like, disco,

uh, polyester, Nixon?

Not the 20th century's finest hour, but...

Iona... Molly... believes
that it was part of

some sort of role-playing fantasy.

Iona.

As in your dominatrix gal pal?

Eh, professor.

She teaches a psychology class at N.Y.U.

Oh, now I get it.

New scarf.

You're dressed to impress, Henry.

Look, I'll grant you

that, uh, Molly is a fascinating woman,

but my interest in her
is strictly professional.

I hear she's very strict.

No, I know. I know. I get it. I get it.

You're scared. Okay, so,
it's been a long time

and you're out of practice.

I'm not a monk.

I've had relations.

No, no, I know.

You've had sex, yeah, with
countless beautiful women.

Oh, you've got that immortal
charm going for you, I know,

but none of them have
ever gone anywhere, Henry.

I mean, do you even remember

going out on a date with
someone you actually cared for?

Abigail dear, you ready?

Reservations at La Camilia
are not easy to come by.

Dino will give our table away.

Are you sure we shouldn't stay in?

It's our anniversary.

Oh, darling Henry, I don't know.

Really, what will people think?

An older woman with her young escort.

We're a distinguished couple

out for a sophisticated dinner

and a spot of unsophisticated dancing,

courtesy of my two left feet.

But you're a marvelous dancer.

Everyone will stare at us.

We've braved a war together,

raised a child together.

I'm sure we can survive a night
out in New York together.

Come on. It'll be fun.

You're right.

Let's have fun.

I had a thought.

- New scarf?
- Yes.

Now, I don't usually have a say

in how we manage an investigation,

= but I had a thought.
- You mentioned this thought.

What if we were to involve Professor Dawes

as a psychological profiler

with an eye toward sexual fantasies?

Thank you, Henry,

but I think we have it
covered without Molly.

Jo! We got something.

Forensics pulled video from Sarah's laptop.

You must be exhausted,
dear. Take off your jacket.

Subway construction was just
awful today at 59th and Lex.

I had to walk two blocks to get home.

Poor baby.

You look tense.

I know just the thing to calm you down.

Sorry.

My roommate's home.

I'm not much of an actress,

but I'm interested in your offer.

I hope we can play together.

Almost like she's auditioning.

What kind of killer puts out a casting call?

Perhaps the insights of an
expert would be helpful.

Okay, Henry, let's go
talk to your girlfriend.

Oh, please, doctor, do go on.

Well, most fantasies are flights of fancy.

They're scenarios

that the participants can't
live out in their normal lives.

But this one couldn't be more ordinary.

Exactly, so...

The man who concocted it,
his fantasy is about control.

He dresses her, puts
her in this apartment...

And tells her what to say.

Some men seek that out, to dominate a woman.

Others look to be dominated.

At its simplest,

it's really just about
who wants to be on top.

New scarf?

New fragrance?

Professor Dawes?

Hmm?

You see anything else in the video?

This fantasy isn't about domination,

it's about re-creation.

A memory.

A moment from his past.

The last time he was
happy, in love, something,

but you're looking for a man in his mid 60s,

maybe, um, a doctor, a scientist,

but somebody who employs exacting control

in their work and their life.

Subway construction was just
awful today at 59th and Lex.

I had to walk two blocks to get home.

If this fantasy is about a
moment from our killer's past,

then all of these details are meaningful.

Wait.

There was a massive subway construction

at 59th and Lexington in 1979,

blocks away from the crime scene,

which begs the question...

Who rented that apartment in 1979?

Can you confirm that you leased an apartment

at, um, 112 East 61st Street in 1979?

I don't remember.

The lease has you listed as
tenant from 1978 to 1982.

That's a long time ago, but it sounds right.

Um...

That is not for sightseeing.

So, what is this about?

A woman was murdered in your old apartment.

Her name was Sarah Clancy.

Maybe you remember seeing her somewhere?

Mnh-mnh.

How about this woman?

Thank you for your time, Mr. Neville.

Hey, wait. No, don't.

Stop.

You're gonna destroy that.

It's very delicate.

Please.

Give me the picture.

Who was she?

My wife... Catelyn.

When did she die?

1981, breast cancer.

The picture you just destroyed

I took a few weeks before she was diagnosed.

Where were you two nights ago, Mr. Neville?

I was there.

With Sarah in the apartment?

What happened to Sarah, Mr. Neville?

I think I killed her.

Can you tell us how a man like you

came to meet a 20-year-old
undergraduate student...

Sarah Clancy?

I was downtown for a building
inspection, and I saw her.

At first, I could've sworn it was...

your wife?

So much alike,

the pieces fell into place
as soon as I saw her.

I could rent the apartment, remodel.

I wanted it to be as real as possible.

Okay, what'd you make Sarah do,

other than impersonate your dead wife?

I didn't make her do anything.

I hired her, and she was compensated.

Oh, I'm sure it was all very romantic

till she ended up dead.

Okay, night of the murder...
Tell us what happened.

The same thing as always...
I came home to the apartment.

It wasn't some random
night he was re-creating.

- She asked about work,
- It was the night.

The best moment in his life.

And what did Sarah do?

She tells me she's just
found out she's pregnant...

I'm pregnant.

Just the way my late wife told me.

And in my excitement, I take her picture

because I want to remember that moment

for the rest of my life.

But each time...

The moment seemed to slip

farther and farther into the past.

It felt fainter somehow.

Is that why you killed her?

The fantasy wasn't realistic enough?

She had her cellphone, and...

I forbade any items from
Sarah's regular life,

- and that threw me off.
- Made you angry.

She ruined your fantasy.

So, you stabbed her, didn't you?

I think so. Yes.

With what?

The skewer from the fondue set.

Show us how you did it.

In the neck once...

Like that.

Nice work, detective.

You can't beat a murder confession.

If only it were true.

Henry, he said he did it.

The murder weapon entered
Sarah's neck from beneath,

yet based on Neville's pantomime,

the angle of entry was downward.

We have the man who owned
the apartment in '79,

who created some whacka-doodle fantasy

and then dumped a young
co-ed down a garbage chute.

Listen, if...

If you're looking for an excuse
to spend more time with Molly,

all you got to do is ask her out.

How long has it been since
you and Abigail split up?

It's been a while.

Well, maybe it's time you
get yourself back out there.

We have a closed case,
and you have a new scarf.

What's the worst that can happen, huh?

Oh, I told you
this was a terrible idea!

The hostess thought you were so sweet

to take your mother out to dinner.

And did you see the way
everyone looked at us

when you took my hand?

No one was looking.

Henry, you really are blind, aren't you?

Yes.

Since the moment I first saw you.

Henry, look at us.

We're ridiculous.

A ridiculous love story.

That what makes us so special.

Look, I want to believe you,

but every time I look at you...

Then don't.

Close your eyes.

And where do you imagine us?

The Queensbury
All-service Club in London.

You're dressed in your smart tuxedo.

Glenn Miller is playing.

Then that's where we are tonight.

You're thinking
about the case, aren't you?

The case, yes. Sorry.

No, no, it's okay.

I can't stop thinking about Sarah, either.

Detective Martinez, my
partner, made me promise

that I wouldn't talk about
any murders on our date.

Oh, is that what this is?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

I'm not up on all of the latest rituals...

But be aware, you're
currently being courted.

Duly noted.

Here's to fate bringing us back together

and justice served.

I'm not quite sure that's the case.

What do you mean? I thought
you had a confession.

We do, but...

Henry, stop.

You can talk murder on our date.

It's fine.

There's something off about
his recollection of events.

Is it possible that he had
a psychological break

that would have prevented
him from remembering

the manner in which he stabbed her

- and then held her down while she bled to death?
- I'm sorry. Stop, stop.

You're saying that Neville held
her down and watched her die?

Yes. I suppose that was part
of his perverse fantasy.

No, that doesn't make any
sense, not based on his profile.

I mean, his fantasy was
all about preservation.

He was immortalizing his
late wife through Sarah.

Would you like my expert opinion?

Please, doctor.

The only way you can really
understand someone's fantasy...

is to inhabit it.

Now, that sounds like a date.

Well, I'm no stranger to
obsessive personalities,

but this seems...

Just like stepping into the past.

All right, you go outside
and come back in again.

Remember, this time, you are Neville.

Hi, honey. I'm home.

Did you come home from a
long day at the office?

You hang up your coat,

you tell me how wonderful my cooking smells.

Is that the smell of molten cheese

bubbling over a chemical flame?

Mmm!

- Fondue... my favorite!
- Mm-hmm.

What? No kiss?

Sorry.

You, sir, go enjoy your cocktail

and let your little lady slip into
something more comfortable.

It's at this point I think
that she would disrobe,

although I am not wearing any lingerie.

Well, I have a very vivid imagination.

I'm sure you do, doctor.

He sat here. Notice the indentation.

All right, well, then where do I sit?

There's only one indentation.

Well, I believe I'm your seat.

Well, we must be precise.

Mm-hmm.

My glass.

Forget it.

A stain.

Perhaps Neville spilled his
drink the night of the murder.

Okay, so he's clumsy.

No, no, no. He's precise.

Exacting.

He's meticulous about cleaning.

Why on earth would he have left this stain?

Well, perhaps he didn't
remember spilling it.

Or perhaps there was another ingredient

in his evening cocktail.

Drinks and a trip to the morgue?

This is the best date I've had in years.

I knew I recognized the odor... Ketamine.

It smells like dish detergent.

Neville said he was drinking
from a soapy glass,

when, in fact, he was drugged.

Well, by whom?

Oh, someone who wanted
to destroy his fantasy,

not only frame him for murder,

but make him believe he was responsible.

You had me with the new
scarf, but I must admit...

I am genuinely impressed.

Well, I... do have my moments.

Mm-hmm. And right now's one of 'em.

Whoo-hoo. My day to sleep in,

and I get a call with him
raving about Neville.

You know, I don't get it. Didn't he confess?

However, in re-enacting

Neville's fantasy in the apartment,

we discovered a clue

that will shed new light on his confession.

We? As in...

Professor Dawes accompanied
me. She was very helpful.

You took Molly to the crime scene?

Well, you're the one who
suggested I ask her on a date.

Most people start with
dinner and a movie, doc.

Nope, not me... Too predictable.

No, fear is an underrated aphrodisiac.

So, did the strategy pay... Dividends?

Afterwards...

I brought her back to the lab,
and we ran a tox report

which proves that Neville was poisoned.

Smooth! I bet that buttered her muffin.

Can someone please tell me

why I got called in from my tennis match

to work a closed case?

Uh, we... have made some new discoveries.

Yeah.

Doc thinks someone slipped
our murderer a Mickey.

Ketamine, to be precise,

in the neighborhood of 250 milligrams,

and when Neville came to
with Sarah's body before him

and a fondue skewer in his hand,

his mind leapt to the
grim, logical conclusion.

That he killed her?

While someone else snuck in

while Neville was knocked out.

And killed his fake wife.

Yeah, right, and left the
murder weapon in his hand.

- I don't know. This sounds...
- I agree. It sounds farfetched.

Well, it couldn't hurt
to talk to Neville again.

There goes my afternoon match.

Mr. Neville, do you take any medications...

Sleeping pills, tranquilizers?

Any... recreational drugs?

Did you have anything to
drink the night of the murder?

My usual Manhattan.

Why?

We recovered spilt bourbon at the scene.

It was laced with a sedative.

What sedative?

Ketamine. It's an anesthetic,
but it can also be used...

Recreationally.

I know what ketamine is.

Did you catch that? He...

Of course you did.

Would you be willing to subject
yourself to a blood test?

We may be able to prove

that someone slipped
ketamine into your drink.

But I already told you... I did it.

I killed Sarah.

Mr. Neville, I'm not sure you
understand what I'm saying.

He knows what he's doing.

He's covering for someone.

Someone who framed him for
murder, destroyed his fantasy?

Who could he possibly be covering for?

Another person whose life
was ruined when his wife died.

Remember Neville's fantasy?

The night when his wife told
him that she was pregnant.

Cecily Neville, born November 20, 1979.

Nine months after the night
Neville wanted to immortalize.

No wonder he wanted to go
back in time. Check it out.

Daughter ran away from home
at 15, petty larceny charge.

Two years ago, she was
arrested for possession.

Ketamine.

No wonder Neville took the blame.

He was protecting his daughter.

Where is she now?

Paroled last month.

P.O.'s got her working
at a coffeehouse on 10th.

Three days ago,

a woman was murdered in an
apartment you used to live in.

Okay.

Sorry, that's terrible.

The same night,

your father was drugged
in the same apartment.

This is getting weird.

Cecily, we'd like you to tell us

about your relationship with your father.

There is none.

Why? Did something happen?

My father wasn't a bad person.

It was like...

He wasn't ever there,

not after my mom died.

I knew he didn't want me.

I just reminded him of
her... mom... so I left.

You must have hated him.

Too bad I was here from noon to midnight,

so check with my boss if you
think I killed his girlfriend.

Detective Martinez said "woman,"

but yet you knew he was sleeping with her.

The only photo I have of my mom.

Doesn't even seem like she was real until...

One day,

a woman walks past the window
looking exactly like her...

Same jacket.

It was eerie.

So I followed her,

and she walked into the
building we used to live in.

Of course, it wasn't her,

just some girl my dad had
dressed up to look like my mom

so he could bang her.

Is this the woman you saw?

No.

Sorry.

A healthy fantasy returns us to reality.

We can also lose ourselves in fantasy

and behave in ways

that our rational selves
could never imagine.

I'll see you all next time.

Professor Dawes?

I've been thinking about switching majors,

and I was wondering if
I could pick your brain?

Sure. Why don't we talk in my office?

Neville said no one knew about
their secret '70s love nest.

Yeah, yet Cecily

followed a woman dressed
as her dead mother there.

But if Sarah wasn't our
mystery woman, who was she...

Our killer?

I've got it.

What if someone was
impersonating the impersonator?

Okay, that just hurts my head.

Sarah was dressed as Neville's dead wife.

Because he was obsessed with her,

so who was obsessed with Sarah?

Who dressed up as her?

Who else had access to her clothes?

Her roommate.

So, you want to be a psych major?

Maybe.

I don't know.

I'm trying different things out.

Isn't that what college is
all about... experience?

Well, education is what it's about.

Right.

Of course.

I just thought maybe I
could get outside myself.

You made such a huge
impact in my friend's life,

someone I really looked up to.

Your friend?

Sarah Clancy?

You're wearing her coat.

It makes me feel closer
to her when I wear it.

Like she's still here.

Jennifer, I am so sorry, honey,

but I'm late for my next appointment,

so let's talk later, okay?

Oh. Sure.

Well, thanks for chatting.

Mm-hmm.

N.Y.P.D.

N.Y.P.D., uh, I need to speak
with Dr. Henry Morgan, please.

It's an emergency.

One moment.

M.E.'S office. This is Lucas.

Hello?

Yello?

Hello?

Jennifer?

We've been thinking about the case wrong.

It's always been about
obsession but the wrong person's.

Hey.

Lucas.

Okay, I will tell him.

That was Lucas.

He said you got a crank call.

Uh, caller I.D.

said it was coming from the
N.Y.U. Psych department.

What's wrong?

Jennifer printed Sarah's
class schedule for today.

Sarah had dropped out of
all her classes except one.

Molly's.

What did I do?

Why did you try and call the police?

I really messed up.

I just wanted to rescue her,

to get her away from
that disgusting old man!

You killed Sarah?

I didn't mean to!

I was trying to save her

so that things could go
back to the way they were,

but she got so mad, and now...

What do I do?!

We tell the truth. I mean,
we'll... we'll do it together.

I know the police.

I can just tell them you
had a psychotic break.

Look, I'm not some sort of psycho!

No, I'm not saying that you are.

I'm not, honey. That's an excuse.

That's... that's, um
it's a defense, okay?

We all make mistakes.

We... we get caught up in our fantasies.

But what's important

is that we have to come
back down to reality, okay?

No matter what the consequences, we have to.

Molly!

Molly, are you there?

Professor? Detective Martinez.

Molly?

Be quiet.

Shh!

Be quiet!

- Drop it! Put it down now!
- Put it down!

Call an ambulance.

Molly!

Back against the wall!

Oh, God.

Turn around! Hands behind your back!

This is Detective Jo Martinez.
We need an ambulance.

M-my h... my hero.

I forgot what this feels like.

What's that?

Being scared...

Vulnerable.

Well, that's what happens
when you open yourself up.

Yeah, I suppose.

It's a good thing, Henry.

I'm sure Molly's gonna be just...

Dr. Morgan?

Patient's out of surgery.

She lost a lot of blood,
but she's gonna be okay.

Can I see her?

Uh, it's best that she rests.

Um, N.Y.P.D.

Mm, let him in.

Hello, Henry.

You want to know a secret?

I've always harbored a
"damsel in distress" fantasy.

Being saved by a dashing doctor was...

It was kind of hot.

- I won't tell anyone.
- Mm-hmm.

Wouldn't want to ruin your credibility

with the dominatrix community.

Thank you.

But I'm the one that got my throat slashed,

but, honey, you look terrible.

Well, thank you.

It's been a harrowing evening,

sitting out there, worried about you.

Mm.

I don't know how to say this...

But I've started to...

develop real feelings for you, Molly Dawes.

Isn't that a good thing?

Yes, usually.

You're not a usual man, though, huh?

And you avoid real feelings at all costs.

Yes.

Whoever she is, she hurt
you pretty bad, huh?

Let's just say the...

wounds haven't healed yet.

I understand.

But do me a favor, Henry...

You ever decide you don't like
me so much, you call me, okay?

So, it was the roommate, huh?

She developed an unhealthy obsession

with our victim, Sarah Clancy,

and when she lost her to
someone else's fantasy,

she snapped.

Girl's a complete whack job.

That's the technical term, boss.

Don't joke. She's probably gonna try
to get off on a psych plea.

So, how's Professor Dawes doing?

Molly's recovering well.

That's good. I'd like see
her and Henry get together.

I know everything that
goes on in my precinct.

Abraham?

Is that...

Mom's lasagna!

With secret sauce.

- I'm shocked.
- So am I.

It turns out that despite

my ever-youthful, forward-thinking...

21st-century ways,

when it came down to throwing
away mom's old recipes,

I just couldn't do it!

I held this old cookbook in my hands,

and all of a sudden...

I remembered coming home
from school and that smell.

Abigail's cooking.

My mouth started watering right away.

You know, it turns out that, uh,

a pinch of nostalgia might
not be such a bad thing.

Mm, for a moment, it felt
like she was still here.

I know just how you feel, pops.

Some memories are so powerful

that they never fade...

Smells great, mom.

Thank you.

It's positively Pavlovian.

Every time I smell it,

I experience this overwhelming desire

to dance with a beautiful woman.

No.

- Yes.
- No, Henry.

Yes.

I'm a mess.

You're perfect.

Everything is perfect.

Memories which become more powerful

every time we remember them...

This can't last forever.

Shh.

Let's not think about that.

Thus making our present lives

seem a little more faded.

But let's not think about that now.

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