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Ever since I was young, I was
obsessed with the search for perfection.

Probably because
"perfection" was a word

my architecture professors
repeated all the time.

During my early years
as an architect,

I became obsessed with designing beautiful
buildings, proportionally accurate.

But 20 years ago,

I went through a huge crisis

that made me rethink
the meaning of my work.

The uncomfortable truth
is what we call "architecture"

is actually the business
of designing

for the wealthiest one percent
of the population.

It's not only wrong in terms
of social justice,

but it's also a clumsy
business strategy.

Fifteen years ago, we decided to
change the recipients of our projects,

and we traveled to Rwanda
with the goal

of building hospitals.

There we found a maternity clinic
that was making mothers sick

due to faulty design.
Quite a paradox, isn't it?

If we know that the simple view of
nature can radically improve health,

then why not design a hospital where
each family has their own view?

Designing hospitals following
that logic was decisive, but...

helping the actual community
build it with their own hands

was one of the most enriching
experiences of my entire life.

Twenty years ago,

after a serious
personal crisis,

I understood that perfection
in architecture

is not about constructing
beautiful buildings.

I truly believe that
great architecture can heal

as long as it's focused on what's truly
essential and forgets everything else.

Like Antoine de
Saint-Exupéry said,

"Perfection is achieved not when
there is nothing more to add,

but when there is nothing
left to take away."

Thank you.

Merci beaucoup.

Ciao.

Yeah, yeah, of course.

For Concha, here you are.

Bien, bien, désolé, Monsieur.

You'll have to excuse us.

I'll have to take
Mr. Angust with me,

otherwise he's going
to miss his flight.

Merci beaucoup.

Allez.

Your car is here.

OK.

Thank you for coming to Paris.
I know you don't like it.

How could I? You don't
even know what the sun is.

Still wearing it, Jeremy?

I can't forget her, Jean.

Well, it's been long enough.
She left you 20 years ago.

Maybe I need
a vacation, some rest.

I've been saying
that for months.

You work too much.
Go out, meet people.

I have to go.

OK.

Excuse me. Hello?

Hello, please?

Hey, I'm sorry to bother you,

but actually no one
is paying any attention to me.

You wouldn't happen to be
heading to the airport?

Well, if the traffic
will let us.

This is so embarrassing, but
I'm about to miss my flight

and there's not
a single free cab.

Do you mind if I catch a ride?

I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to bother you.

Come on, get in.

Yeah?

Yeah!

Oh, God, thank you,
thank you!

Get in.
Don't mind him.

Thanks. I'm soaked.

I can see that.

Jeremiasz Angust?

Were you at my conference?

- No. Your name is on that book in your bag.
- Of course.

- And so is your address in Warsaw?
- Yeah, Warsaw.

I'm Texel. I'm Texel Textor.
I'm Dutch.

Wow.

What, are you surprised by my name
or by the fact that I'm Dutch?

Your name.

Yes, kind of odd, I guess.

Yeah, it is. But it has
a nice ring to it.

Well, shit, you're the
first person I've met

that likes my name.

Did you know,
that Textor is.... Shit!

- What happened?
- My suitcase.

You only had that bag
when you got in.

Hey, stop the car, please!

- Why?
- Damn it.

I know where I left it.
It's on the corner where you picked me up.

And my passport is in there.

I put it in the doorway
to protect from the rain.

Are you going
to miss your flight?

Yeah, I'm afraid so.
I was cutting it tight.

Okay, look, it's fine.
I'll walk back.

Can you take a taxi?

I spent an hour
looking for a free one.

- Thanks.
- Yeah.

Jeez, he could
have gotten out.

He just lost his tip.

Merci.

Do you want to know
why I was named Texel?

I guess my parents really
liked Texel Island.

It's in Holland.
Do you know it?

I've heard of it, yes.

And my last name is Textor.

And Textor comes from the Latin
"texere", which means to weave.

So it basically means
words woven together.

But, you know, I prefer a more grand
meaning like "the one who weaves text".

- Interesting.
- You know, it's a shame with this last name I'm not a writer.

You can always start.

Do you think so?

We're here.

I have to run.
It was nice meeting you.

Okay.

Hey! Good luck!

Shit.

Hi, Jean. I ran into some problems on my
way to the airport and I missed my flight.

Seriously, you want me to come?

No, no, no. I don't need company
for two hours. I can handle it.

Call me if you need anything.

Yeah, OK, bye.

Enjoy your airport.

Welcome to the VIP lounge, sir.

Thank you.

Thank you.

"Angust did nothing
more than explain

what we had already read in his books.
Disappointing."

We missed our flights.

We just have to wait.

How's your book?

I'm not reading a book.

Oh, yeah, I understand. I also can't
read when there's so many people around.

- And I hate airports. Don't you?
- I'm sorry...

They say you meet
interesting people in airports,

but you know what kind of
people you meet around here?

No.

What kind?

They're all executives
on business trips,

and, like, a business trip is a
complete rejection of a trip itself.

I think they should have called
it commercial displacement.

- Don't you think?
- It's an interesting concept.

Yeah, it is interesting,

even though I'm pretty sure
you're here on a business trip.

Not exactly.

Well, you're definitely
not here on vacation.

The truth is, I don't
really feel like talking.

- How rude.
- What?

I think you're
being pretty rude.

I don't understand you. I brought you
here and I missed my flight because of it.

Yeah, well, I missed mine, too.

And now you're bugging me.

So much hostility.

Who are you?

Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Texel.
I'm Texel Textor. I'm Dutch.

And what the hell
do you want from me?

I'm sorry, but talking
isn't forbidden.

I can't stop you from talking,
but you can't force me to respond.

OK, then I guess I'll just
have to tell you about me.

Are you going to make me
leave this lounge?

No, please.

Why are you doing this?

Because I feel like it.

- And I feel like...
- Punching me in the face.

I wasn't going to say....

You don't have to. I can tell.

But by the way, physical
punishment isn't legal,

and punching a woman
on top of that,

now, that's
particularly taboo.

Do you have any higher ambition
than bothering people?

No.

- Well, I do.
- No, you don't.

How do you know?

You look like a businessman,
and earning lots of money

isn't a very high ambition.

I'm not a businessman.
I'm an architect.

Really?

Look around.

This is my work.

Wow!

Are you the architect?

You see that model?

And we are... here?

No, we're here.

Oh... were you
pleased with the result?

Not exactly. It was
a long time ago.

I've polished my
style over the years,

I think the original design had
unnecessary elements, spaces...

Perfection is achieved not when
there is nothing more to add,

but when there's nothing
left to take away.

Are you sure you weren't
at my conference?

Me? No...

Well, I think this
building is incredible.

Hey, let's get a drink.

No, thank you, but I have
a lot of work to do...

Please. Look, I know I bothered you
and I made you miss your flight.

- There's no need.
- Don't make me feel worse. A cocktail?

I'll take that smile as a yes.

Come.

I have a question. Why did
you pick me to harass?

You inspire me.

I think there's a certain
availability about you.

Don't kid yourself.
I'm not available.

Oh, don't get me wrong.
You seem curious about things.

- Curious?
- In fact,

I think you're burning with
desire to know my secret.

And you really think I'm that
interested in hearing about you.

Oh, yeah.

Tell me.. have you
ever killed anyone?

Excuse me?

I killed someone
when I was little.

You're joking now?

I see you're interested
in my stories now.

Perfect.

Then I'm going to ask
you to close your eyes

and visualize the story
I'm about to tell you

in complete detail.

It's a three-part story,
the first disgusting,

the second scary, and the
third one will end with love.

Are you ready?

Yeah, sure.

So I must have been
about 10 years old.

And I was living in the
suburbs of Rotterdam

in a tiny home with my mother,
her husband and our three cats.

I know what you mean.
I grew up in a neighborhood like that.

Always hearing the neighbors.

- No, shit!
- What's wrong?

- What type of building are you imagining?
- Who cares?

You're imagining a building from
when you were a kid, aren't you?

Yeah. Typical
Communist building.

OK, look, it's normal.
When we hear a story,

we use pictures of our own
memories to put an image together.

We basically become like
the architects of the story.

That's a wise observation.

Yeah, but I can assure
you

your building was not
like the one I lived in.

Because I lived in a motorhome

on a campsite way
far out of the city.

Remember I told you that the first
part of my story would be disgusting?

When I was little, food
was always a problem for me.

I couldn't stand many textures and flavors,
and no one in my family could cook,

so the fish was either too rotten
or the meat was really tough

and my mother was cooking all the
time and Fatso finished it all.

Who?

Oh, that's what I used
to call my stepfather,

because he always ate and he
used to make a lot of noise.

It was disgusting. I always used to sit
there in silence. I was a very quiet kid.

Oh, an aside, the three cats
were strays, not pedigree.

I imagined you with glasses.

It's a stereotype.
But yes, I did have glasses.

And with a sad face.

You're right. When a child doesn't
feel love, their face can't hide it.

Nobody loved you?

My mother only ever spoke
to me to tell me to eat.

And I tried, really, I did.

Eat up.

But every time I got to swallowing,
I couldn't get anything down.

Fatso would get up and
slap me across the face.

And your mother never
said anything?

No. She came up with a new
strategy.

Every time I didn't finish
my plate,

I got the job of preparing
the cat's meals.

You know what
they like to eat?

Cans of slimy cat food,

all that leftover meat and sometimes even
rabbit guts mixed together with rice.

Better than getting beat up?

No. In fact, I preferred
the beatings

because I had to prepare all
of that with my own hands.

Otherwise the stupid cats
wouldn't eat it.

Did the new punishment
do any good?

No. In fact, one day,

something unthinkable happened.

The cats were
meowing and meowing,

and they were going
crazy at my feet.

And then, suddenly,
I took a fistful.

- How disgusting.
- Mm-mm.

It was delicious.

I've never tasted
anything so good,

but I was terrified.

I knew that somehow it wasn't
me that wanted to eat it.

It was like an inner enemy
made me do it,

an inner enemy a thousand times
more powerful than a wimp like God.

I don't believe in God.

OK, you're right. There is no
definite proof of God's existence,

but proof of the enemy
within is palpable.

It's what crosses your path every
day, destroying everything worthwhile.

It's what brings out
all your loneliness

and that of all
your friends.

It's what makes you feel
disgusted with yourself.

You know what? There are
doctors for cases like yours.

I'm sorry, I don't want
to bother you anymore.

Hey, wait.

I'm sorry.

Are you hungry?

What?

I don't know about you,
but I'm starving.

This is a personal call
for Mr. Antonio Carrizosa.

Please, Mr. Carrizosa,
go to Gate F12. Thank you.

Did I miss something or did that story not
mention anything about you murdering someone?

I'm getting to that part.

So that was only
the introduction.

It was absolutely necessary.

Of course.

You see, I was about
12 years old

and there was this girl
in my class named Feline.

She was my only friend.
Nice, charming, funny,

not the smartest in the class,
but she got good grades.

She was the best ballet
dancer there.

Now that, in my school,
was key to popularity.

It was the same with
my school with sports.

Franck Hoffman was the most
popular. Everyone adored him.

- Yeah, you were jealous of him.
- Me? No.

Oh, come on, Angust. I can see it
on your face. You hated the kid.

Not at all. Actually, he was
one of my best friends.

We played on the rugby team
together. He was the captain.

No. Shit.

What's wrong?

What type of school
are you imagining?

No, not again.

You imagine the school
from your childhood,

but I can assure you that our
schools are very different.

We wore uniforms and we'd
never even heard about rugby.

My school was very different.
It was like an old palace.

I'm sure you're familiar
with the Dutch baroque, right?

The thing is everyone adored
Feline. I loved her.

She was my friend, but deep down,
I couldn't stand her perfection.

Oh, bear in mind, I was weak
and sickly looking,

- Do you want some water, sir?
- and always went out of my way to try to please people.

I wanted them to think
I was nice and fun,

but I never managed to.
I'm not like you.

People don't always like me.

Oh, come on. Sure they do.

Your driver was upset before when
he picked me up. I mean, look at me.

What's the problem?

You can't be so politically
correct all the time, Angust.

It's going to get you
in trouble one day.

Mm.

- What?
- Do you have to make so much noise?

Sorry, I don't
have your manners.

The thing is, I started
hating Feline more and more.

You know, she had everything.

A wonderful home,

tons of toys and family that,
you know, really loved her.

But every time I was there, I really felt
the urge to, you know, leave my mark.

And she didn't
stop inviting you?

No! I think she
felt sorry for me.

And then I did it.

Did what?

Well, here comes
the scary part.

One night my mother and Fatso were
arguing and insulting each other

and I was curled up in my bed
trying to escape from the noise,

but I couldn't do that
in the motorhome.

That night, I had
a different goal.

I wanted to eliminate
Feline's perfection.

The inner enemy again?

Exactly.

- Die, die, die, die...
- Die!

Then the next day
the teacher came to the class.

Plie and stretch and hold.

Plie, plie...

What...

What happened to her?

It wasn't your fault.

Of course it was my fault.

She was perfectly fine and then
suddenly out of nowhere,

she died of a heart attack.

If it were that easy
to kill I'm afraid

there wouldn't be so many
people left on the planet.

I have no doubt that Feline's
death was my fault.

There's nothing more powerful than
a spirit driven by conviction.

My hate killed her.
But later on, I lost that power.

So you think you
have superpowers?

Don't make fun of me.

You just told me you killed a little girl
half by praying. What did you expect?

OK, you're right. I'm not some
kind of big time criminal.

I appreciate these
moments of lucidity.

You have to realize I've only
ever killed two people in my life.

That's a mediocre figure.
You need to have higher ambitions.

The demon of guilt
stopped me from going on.

After the second murder?

Yeah.

Are you OK?

I'm tired of all this talk
about demons and murder.

I have a lot of work to do.

OK.

Have a nice evening. Take care.

Yeah, you too.

This is a personal call
for Mr. Yoshihito.

Please go to the gate F42. Your
flight to Frankfurt is about to leave.

Where did you get that knife?

I'm sorry, what knife?

Jesus, Angust, how would
I get a knife in here?

Don't do that.
There are people around.

I'll lower my foot when
you take out your earphones.

Come on Angust, I've got
one more story left,

and I promise you
it's the best.

Who are you?

I'm Texel. Texel Textor
and I'm Dutch.

That's all?

No, I have one more story left.

You lied to me.

I know I talk a lot,
but I never lie.

You were at my conference and you
knew who I was when you got in my car.

- Wow! That's really shocking.
- What is?

How much that girl
looks like me.

Please. She has your same figure.
She's wearing the same socks. It's you.

Look, I swear, I don't
know who that girl is.

- Jean?
- What's up?

Could you check the list of the
people who attended my conference

and see if there is a girl
named Texel Textor?

- Texel with an X?
- Sure, sure, what's it about?

I'll tell you later.
Just do it for me. I'll wait.

God, if you find me,
I will be so scared.

There's no Texel Textor
on the list.

No, hold on a second, Jean.
I'm sending you a photograph.

She's the one on the right. She has
curly blond hair and is in her 20s.

Hey, it's not me.

Definitely she was
at my conference.

Are you okay, Jeremy?

Yeah, I'm fine.
I'm fine. Just call me back.

Now, I understand why you're, like,
repeating your name over and over again.

A lie always needs to be repeated
more than the truth to be believed.

Did you know that lying has its own verb
in almost every language in the world?

Mentir, menteur, lügen, klamac...
But telling the truth doesn't.

- To be honest.
- That's not the same.

Being honest is revealing
the truth that was hidden.

If I tell you that
it's seven o'clock right now,

I'm not being honest.
I'm just telling the truth.

Yeah, Jean?

Yeah, the girl you mean
is Alice Myers.

I think it's her. Alice Myers.
Shall I spell it for you?

No. And do you know if they
ask for I.D. at the conference?

Yes, of course. They usually do here.
What's wrong? You OK, Jeremy?

Yeah, I'm fine.
Don't worry about it.

If I need anything,
I'll call you. Thank you.

What is your real name?

Texel Textor, should
I spell that for you?

I know your real name now.

Tell me. I would love to know
the name of my twin in Paris.

You already know.

Oh, my God, what a nightmare.

Show me your passport.

No. If you don't believe me,
then that's your problem.

If you really are Texel Textor, you should
have no problem showing me a passport.

Do you want to hear
my last story?

Before when you went
in the men's bathroom

and after that when you put your food
on my chair, what were you after?

Angust, I'm sorry, but....

do you think
I'm hitting on you?

Aren't you?

What?

As you can see,
my name is Texel Textor

and I am Dutch.

And no, I'm not hitting on you.

Although my last story
is about love.

When you finish your story, believe me,
I'll figure out what's going on here.

Mm....

Maybe.

Tell me, what is
your wife like?

Oh, you don't love her anymore.

Of course I do.
Why do you say that?

Because when we love someone, we talk
tirelessly about the object of our love.

Then you must not love
anyone either.

Oh, I love someone
who is sublime.

And why waste your time
bothering a stranger

if you could be with
the object of your love?

They don't love me back.

Use your weapons of seduction.

- I've tried.
- Try again.

It's useless.

What a coward.

This person is dead.

They were very
much alive when we met.

Hm.

Angust, don't look
at me like that.

You're right. The man of your dreams may
be dead, but it's not the end of the world.

I didn't say it was a man.

Was it a woman?

Does it really matter?

Tell me, was it
a man or a woman?

I think there's something a little
bit morbid in that question, Angust.

Please go on.

It was the first time I ever
really felt attracted to someone.

All those years I was
so consumed in myself,

my mother moved in with a Russian guy
and she left Fatso alone and devastated.

And what happened
with the three cats?

They died without
having any children.

And then I decided
to move to Paris.

And that's where I met the most
beautiful person in the universe.

Where in Paris?

Do you like cemeteries, Angust?

There's this grave in Monmartre
Cemetery that I find especially moving.

It's right next to the
tomb of Alexander Dumas.

And there's this statue
on top of a gravestone

that's collapsed with
its face on the ground.

There was this person admiring
it with the exact same face.

Oh, did you pick a man or
a woman for the mental picture?

I won't tell you.

Angust, are you going
to play with me now?

I bet you picked a woman.

One day, I gathered
enough strength to speak.

Did you.... did you act as
the model for the sculpture?

And what did they say?

This person didn't
deign to answer me.

So even still,
I saw that face...

I never recovered
from such an emotion.

It was like
total perfection.

For once I understand you.

That gaze struck me
so deep inside.

You've never been rejected by
the love of your life, Angust.

You're a good-looking man.
You don't know what it's like

to be thirsty and not
have the right to drink.

Water is denied to you for the sheer fact
that you're just not to their liking.

It sounds like a rapist
justifying herself.

Indeed.

You know, there's something really
exciting about following someone.

It's literally like
chasing after a wish.

You should be a writer.

Well, then I should warn you,
here comes the most thrilling part.

Oh.

It can't be true.

And then I dragged
their lifeless body

to a nearby pantheon
where I observed them.

I slid my hand
under their skirt

and I felt their warm skin,
even though it was cold outside.

They were still unconscious?

I thought so.

And the last thing I remember
hearing was someone shout,

"Call an ambulance."

It was the end
of December.

The first winter
snow had fallen.

I was a virgin, but I
don't think they were.

I feel sick to my stomach.
You're insane. You need therapy.

Why would I go to a therapist
when airports exist?

Why the hell are you
telling me all this?

Is that all you have
to say to me?

I also confirmed
the victim was a woman.

Yeah, it was pretty difficult to
keep it a secret for the whole story.

I don't get it. You feel guilty
for having eaten cat food

and you feel no remorse
for something like this?

What I did was flattering. I proved
that I would break the law for her.

What you're saying
is repugnant.

You attacked the first
person you physically desired.

And when you feel like
talking to someone, for me,

for example,
you force yourself on me.

You're incapable
of feeling empathy.

Typical of people who
weren't loved as children.

You see? Now, why would I go to
a therapist when I've got you?

Anyone knows that.

My parents didn't love me.

They abandoned me, and when you
love someone, you don't do that.

Of course, I should feel
sorry for you, but I can't.

I never touched or loved
anyone in all those years.

Surely that type of total
abstinence is romantic.

You're the least romantic
person I can imagine.

Do you want me to finish
telling you my story, Angust?

There's more?

I'd only just begun.

I scoured those
streets of Paris.

Street for street.
Cafe after cafe.

Restaurants, bars,
nightclubs, bakeries,

everything you can imagine.

I know what you're thinking.

"Why are you so obsessed
with that woman?"

Eventually, you'll
find someone else.

Believe it or not,
I also thought that once.

Stupid.

Then on one day,
two years later,

I'd almost given
up my search.

I was sitting, eating
my most favorite hot dog.

I would have recognized
her among four million women.

Time only made
her more beautiful.

Hey!

Pardon?

I'm sorry, have we met before?

Oh, I'm sorry,
I don't think so.

How could she not
recognize you?

I don't know.
I had longer hair.

I was wearing glasses.

Maybe she didn't see me in
the sunlight. Maybe that was it.

Are you sure you
don't remember me?

Oh, I'm so sorry.
I'm very forgetful.

I imagine we met
through my husband.

We go out to dinner sometimes
with people he knows.

My name is Texel.

Texel Textor, I'm Dutch.

Oh, I think I remember.
Was it in Amsterdam, maybe?

Yeah.

Somehow, she was confusing
me with a Berg's partner.

It was a colleague of her husband's
said they met in Amsterdam once.

- You both live here now?
- Yeah.

That's great!

Maybe you two can come over
for coffee sometime.

Sure. Yeah. Tomorrow?

Tomorrow?

Yeah. Sure.

It would be nice
to see Berg again.

Definitely.

Would five o'clock
be all right?

Five is perfect.

The address is 11 Rue de Rome,

third floor, door on
the right at five o'clock.

11 Rue de Rome,
third floor, door on the right.

Five o'clock. Got it.

OK.

I'll see you tomorrow.
We'll see you tomorrow. Bye.

And I went to my wardrobe,
then I pulled out this outfit

that I kept for that day only.

I almost threw it
in the trash, but

who would have thought that after
two years I found my love again?

Oui, j'arrive. Qui c'est?

It's Texel.

Who?

Texel Textor, you invited
me over yesterday.

Yeah, of course.

- Hi!
- Hi!

Where is Berg?

Berg got held up
at the office.

Yeah. He says he'll
come by a bit later.

You know what it's like
living with a businessman.

Tell me about it.
Come on, please.

Her apartment was very old
fashioned, very bourgeois.

I think the designer must
have been very meticulous.

Um, is your husband
home today?

No, he works afternoons,
so it's just you and me today.

Would you like sugar,
Ms. Textor?

No. And please call me Texel.

Are you named after
Texel Island?

Yeah!

She knew Texel Island.

I told her that I would
love to be her tour guide

the next time
we go there together.

What do you do now?

I work as a painter,
I mainly do jewelry.

I hate that, you know? Small talk.
I just want to cut right to the chase.

Do you like Paris?

Yeah, you know,
more and more...

She said this line about having
Stockholm syndrome in Paris.

I've been living here
for the last seven years.

And I spent half of the time
lying to myself saying I like it.

But I know it's a lie.

It's a kind of Stockholm
syndrome in Paris,

but still Stockholm syndrome.

Having Stockholm
syndrome in Paris.

Stockholm syndrome... in Paris.

Oh, what a notion.

I am so relieved
you haven't forgotten me.

What do you want from me?

I've come here out of love.
I've been looking for you all these years.

Please leave my house.

I haven't loved...

or touched anyone else
all these years.

Please, can I give you a hug?

Get out!

She rejected me.

And then I realized
she wanted revenge.

I'm sorry, I'm not
going to hurt you, OK?

First, tell me your name
and then you can kill me.

Get out!

If you kill me
I'll disappear forever.

You're crazy. Kill yourself
if you want to die.

No, no, I don't
want to die, OK?

I need you to kill me.
I need the story to have an ending.

I don't care what you need.

Oh! That's not
a very nice answer.

What if I helped
you kill me, huh?

I swear I'll do it.
Go ahead.

Do it! Come on!

She died before I could
call her by her name.

I'm sorry.

All these years,
I thought my dream woman

was going to be called
something mediocre...

like Cindy or Raymonde
or Monique, but,

actually, she had
a very charming name.

Isabelle.

Just like that,
without even meaning to,

I had committed a perfect crime.

No one saw me go in.

And I must not have
left many fingerprints

because the proof is

I'm still free.

Who told you that?

What do you mean?

I'm sorry, Angust.
We're not done yet.

What is this whole game about?

You think this is a game?

Tell me what you know
about Isabelle's disappearance.

Wow, you know Isabelle?
Now that's what I call a coincidence.

Stop fucking with me!

OK. You're right.

This encounter is by
no means a coincidence.

Come here as author
of the facts.

Stop playing with me or I swear I smash
your face in. Tell me you what you know.

You want to ally yourself
with the enemy.

You're not the enemy.

I defend my right
to be the enemy.

What exactly do you
really want here?

You still don't know?

Tell me what.

To die.

This
is a personal call

for Mr. Jeremiasz Angust.

Please, Mister Angust,
go to the gate. Thank you.

Someone who knows
my story told you

that if you came here and told
me all this, I would kill you.

Too complicated.

Tell me or I'm not
responsible for my actions.

Exactly, OK?
It's time for action.

I just confessed to killing your wife.
What are you going to do about it?

If you want to die,
go ahead and kill yourself,

but leave me alone. Isabelle's disappearance
was the worst thing that happened to me.

To both of us!

Is that what you really want
from me? To kill you right here?

[woman on PA Again, this is a personal
call for Mr. Jeremiasz Angust.

Your flight to Warsaw
is about to leave.

I'm...

I'm sorry, OK,
I'm really sorry,

but you need to help me resolve
this or I have to call the police.

Go ahead. It'd be my
word against yours.

I'd like to know the reason
for all this torture.

I just told you the truth.

And now you're trying
to convince yourself

that it wasn't me, so that
you don't have to kill me.

A young stranger asked me
to take her to the airport.

Then, after a series of
disgusting confessions,

this teenager suddenly comes out and
says that years ago she killed my wife.

I think that anyone would agree that
you've been lying to me all along.

I'm not a teenager.

That's enough. My wife
went missing 20 years ago.

So what?

You were just a kid.

This is a personal
call for Miss Texel Textor.

Please, Miss Textor,
your flight to Warsaw is about to leave.

The plane is another
good place to kill me.

- What?
- Yeah.

We're on the same flight.

Final call for Mr. Jeremiasz
Angust and Ms. Texel Textor.

Gate F28 is closing.

I'm sorry. Good evening.

Thanks.

- Good evening, sir.
- Good evening.

Cabin crew,
arm flight then cross-check.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.
This is your captain speaking.

Firstly, I'd like to welcome
you on board today's flight

from Paris, Charles de
Gaulle to Warsaw.

Today's flight will have us cruising
at an altitude of 33,000 feet

with the wind en route
being fine. We are...

Hey! Mister, Can I help you?

I have to get off.

Mister, please! You need
to sit down. Mister!

- I have to get off.
- You can't get off.

I can't take this flight.

Excuse me, we have shut the door
and begun take-off protocol...

I can't take this flight.
I have to get off.

You can't get off right now.

Excuse me, what's
the problem, sir?

- Get your hands off.
- Sir.

You don't have to
touch me, all right?

I have to get off!

- You cannot get off...
- Open this door!

Excuse me, sir,
may I see your boarding pass, please?

Sir?

Is my wife dead?

I see you're interested
in my stories now.

They're not your stories.
They're mine.

Ours.

How's about this time
you tell me your story?

Tell me where Isabelle is.

Quid pro quo.

Tell me your story
and I'll tell you mine.

What happened to you?

It must have been in February.

We had moved
to a new apartment.

We'd been married
four years

and we were ready
to start a family.

Is that it?

The last one.

Isabelle had been
absent for weeks.

You taste like a pizza.

So what?

We should keep unpacking.

Frankly, I was worried.

We used to have so
much fun together,

but those days
were far behind us.

She was distancing
herself from me.

What do you want me to do?

You don't have to do
anything, Jeremy. Just give me space.

I am giving you this space.

- Oh, come on!
- Now you are acting cold.

No, I'm not acting cold.
You can't say that. It's not fair.

Fair?! There's someone else!

No! How you got... Ah!

Yeah! Run away, Jeremy!
You're such a coward!

It wasn't the first
time we fought like this,

but somehow it felt different.

I went back to work.

I tried to refocus on
my airport expansion project.

A clear view
of the runway.

That's what I particularly
want to see in an airport.

The cars, moving planes,
things in motion.

And maybe we could change
the size of the windows, no?

What do you think?

Jeremy?

Oui, j'arrive. Qui c'est?

It's me, Isabelle.

I wanted to bring
you these flowers.

OK.

How are you?

Would you like
something to drink?

Then it all
became clear.

Your love was going to
leave you the next day.

But why would Isabelle
abandon your perfection?

My perfection?

You couldn't bring yourself
to ask about the plane ticket.

Your fear of failure
won the battle.

Isabelle...

I love you.

Please...

- Please, Jeremy.
- Yeah. I know.

You can't do that.

It's been so long.

- Isabelle...
- Stop.

Stop.

Sorry.

She rejected you.

That was the last
time I saw her.

After several days
of not hearing from her

I came back to our apartment.

Isabelle!

I had hoped to find her home
after her trip to Holland.

I needed to apologize.

Isabelle...

But she never came back.

Poor thing.

Tell me, what do you know?

Are you my daughter?

Is that what you think?

You tell me.

In a certain way, yeah.
I am your daughter.

I told you right from
the start that I'm Dutch.

Probably because you always wanted to
believe that I was born in Holland.

You're driving me crazy.

I'm driving you crazy?

I'm sorry. You don't
need any help with that.

- What do you want?
- Shh.

Lower your voice.

Why?

Because you're still
on the plane.

Hey.

Come on, Angust.
Cheer up, enjoy the trip.

I'm over here.

I'm feeling rather... good.

Ask the stewardess
for some coffee.

Good.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Excuse me, ma'am,
I would love a cup of coffee.

Louder.

Excuse me, I'd like
a cup of coffee, please.

Louder.

Hey! Excuse me, lady!
I'd love a cup of coffee!

Louder.

Bring me some coffee!

Why did you tell me
all the stories?

Because just like you, Jeremy.

I have a very well-developed
cosmetic sense.

And I wanted to tell your
story right from the start.

It all began when you started
to wish that Frank Hoffman,

the most popular boy
in class, would disappear.

And your horrible childhood?

It's the childhood you think I
would have had if I had been born.

Why would I imagine
you as a monster?

Because I'm a daughter
worthy of you, Jeremy.

I would have inherited all of your
sins and all of your violence.

It's not true.

So you don't remember when you
met Isabelle at the cemetery?

You dreamed of raping her that
night, it's all still in here.

What do you want from me?

Come on, Jeremy!
She didn't love you.

Isabelle.

Stop. Stop.

Wait, wait.

We can't end this way.

What are you doing with the knife?
Please don't do that.

I can't accept this, I just...

Come on, darling...

Wake up...

Come on, don't be lazy.

Repeat after me.

I killed what I loved
most in this world.

I deprived my daughter of the most
wonderful mother in the world.

Go away. I want
you to disappear.

After you killed her, you drove
to one of your construction sites.

You took Isabelle's
body with you.

You had committed
the perfect crime.

No one ever found the body,

and the airport is a tomb
that can't be penetrated.

I didn't kill Isabelle.
I was madly in love with her.

Who is talking when you talk?

You.

Do it fast.

I love you, Jeremy.

You didn't kill your wife.

You didn't kill your wife.

She left you.

She is still alive.

Like Antoine
de Saint-Exupéry said,

"Perfection is achieved not when
there is nothing more to add.

But when there is nothing
left to take away."

Provided by explosiveskull
https://twitter.com/kaboomskull

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