All language subtitles for Cakk lll ooo

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

♪ Hey, Candy Man ♪

♪ All right everybody, gather around
The Candy Man is here ♪

♪ What kind of candy you want? ♪

♪ Sweet chocolate ♪

♪ Chocolate malted candy ♪

♪ Gum drops, anything you want ♪

♪ You've come to the right man ♪

♪ Because I'm the Candy Man ♪

♪ Whoo! ♪

- ♪ Who can take a sunrise? ♪
- ♪ Who can take a sunrise? ♪

- ♪ Sprinkle it with dew ♪
- ♪ Sprinkle it with dew ♪

- ♪ Candy Man ♪
- ♪ Candy Man ♪

♪ Oh, the Candy Man can ♪

♪ The Candy Man can ♪

♪ 'Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good ♪

♪ Makes the world taste good ♪

- ♪ Who can take a rainbow? ♪
- ♪ Who can take a rainbow? ♪

- ♪ Wrap it in a sigh ♪
- ♪ Wrap it in a sigh ♪

♪ Soak it in the sun
And make a groovy lemon pie ♪

♪ The Candy Man ♪

♪ The Candy Man can ♪

♪ The Candy Man can ♪

♪ The Candy Man can ♪

♪ 'Cause he mixes it with love ♪

♪ And makes the world taste good ♪

You're under arrest.

Get on your knees.

I didn't do anything.

Hands! Hands! Hands!

William, I know I told you
to take out the laundry.

- Billy, where you going?
- Laundry.

- Oh, can you do mine?
- No.

I hope Sherman gets you.

If you see him, let us know.

We don't need him scaring
any more kids, all right?

And that's the lowdown. Them kids.

They're still looking for him.

Just don't get out after dark. You know?

That's what I said.

Suspicious noise from inside the building.
We're gonna check it out.

- You nervous?
- What?

You're doing that thing with the bottle,
with your hands.

- Are you a little fidgety?
- No. No.

- Yeah.
- Are you nervous?

No, I want to become best friends
with your sister.

See? How would you feel about that?

- I'm fine.
- Uh-huh.

Uh-uh. Uh-uh.

What is this wine? Walgreens?
Rothschild's?

We have a moscato in the fridge,
if that's more your taste.

I think Postmates delivers wine.

Is this one of yours?

Yes. Very old piece.

He hates that I put that up there.

- At some point, you gotta move on.
- Except that you haven't though, right,

made a piece in, what, two years?

It's just that you're my muse,
and I don't see you often enough, Troy.

Mm-mmm. Mm-mmm.

- Oh, my gosh, stop. You are too much.
- Hmm?

- Thank you.
- Brat.

- Let it breathe.
- Shut up.

He's still salty we didn't use him
as our realtor.

- As you can tell.
- Mm-hmm.

- Horrible. How can you stand that?
- No, no, no, sweetie.

You don't know the first thing
about Chicago real estate.

He must like you,

because he's really showing his ass.

- Isn't he always?
- You overpaid, Bri.

It's not just the inside that counts.

- It's close to the gallery.
- Yeah, it's very practical.

- Okay, what is wrong with it?
- Nothing.

As I told my sister many times,

- the neighborhood is haunted.
- Everywhere is haunted.

- Troy, do not start with that.
- Sure, sure, sure,

but why choose a place
that used to be called Smokey Hollow?

Then, Little Hell, then what is it?
Combat Alley?

- What's it called now?
- Cabrini-Green.

It was the projects.

It was affordable housing
that had a particularly bad reputation.

- You would never know.
- Because they tore it down

and gentrified the shit out of it.

Translation: White people built the ghetto
and then erased it

when they realized they built the ghetto.

- Oh, no offense.
- None taken.

They took the opportunity
to make it livable.

I could've got you a better conversion.

They kept telling people
they were gonna make it better,

moving 'em from place to place,
but they were just tearing it down,

so they could develop
everything around it.

Oh, like here.

You guys want to hear a scary story?

- No.
- Too bad.

But I voted no.

- Troy…
- Uh-oh.

Oh, my gosh.

Really?

This shit better be good.

This is a story

about a woman named Helen Lyle.

She was a grad student,
a white grad student,

doing her thesis
on the urban legends of Cabrini-Green.

For research, she came down
to Cabrini a few times, you know?

Asking questions,
taking pictures of graffiti, of people.

And then,

one day,

she just…

…snaps.

She beheaded a Rottweiler.

By the time the police show up,

she's in one of the apartments,
doing snow angels in a pool of blood.

- Ew.
- Bullshit.

- Troy.
- Bullshit.

- Where do you get this?
- She killed a Rottweiler?

This is extra, even for you.

There are articles written about this.

Look it up.

The authorities take her in,

but she escapes almost immediately.

She goes on a rampage,

leaving a trail of bodies
in her wake and then,

the baby of one of the residents…

…is abducted.

The mother is devastated.
Everyone is looking for him,

and nothing.

On the night of the annual bonfire,

with all of the residents
of Cabrini watching…

…Helen arrives…

with a sacrificial offering.

Baby in her arms,
she runs towards the fire,

but they're on her, quick.

They say she was in a fugue state,
fighting back blindly.

But they got the baby free.

While everyone is fussing over him,

Helen stands up,

and walks right into the fire.

And it's on that spot that she dies,

burns to death,
right in the middle of Cabrini-Green.

Is my rosé still in the freezer?

You don't want the moscato?

Moscato's a dessert wine.

- Bye, Bri-Bri.
- Love you.

- Nice to meet you.
- And, Anthony, get painting!

My sister's not trying to support you
the rest of her life.

Put down those weights,
pick up them brushes.

- Troy…
- Come on.

He's funny.

He is ridiculous.

He is right.

I'm just glad Troy's
finally dating someone normal.

I was getting exhausted trying to keep up
with all those European fashion designers.

Hello?

What time is Clive coming tomorrow?

10:00 a.m.

You feeling good
about what you're showing?

Uh, I think so.

Uh…

Some stuff he might enjoy.

Mm-hmm.

Okay, okay.

Huh.

I guess she did kill a Rottweiler.

Damn.

I don't care.

I'm not trying to get creeped out
in my new apartment before bed.

Your new apartment is ghost-proof.

- It was on the Zillow listing.
- Our new apartment.

Mm-hmm.

Sorry.

Come here.

Hmm.

Who are you, man?

Uh, well…

This is Anthony McCoy
of two years ago.

I want the Anthony McCoy of the future.

I want the great Black hope
of the Chicago art scene of tomorrow.

That's the guy that I gave a solo show to
straight out of grad school.

Look, I really don't want
to have to go through

the trouble of replacing you
in the summer show,

but you're the only person
who hasn't shown me what I'm putting up!

- I'm working on something.
- Dig into that history of yours, dude!

I'm thinking about doing something
about the projects.

- And about how white supremacy…
- White people.

Yeah, how it creates these spaces

of rampant neglect
for communities of color,

- in particular, Black communities.
- Yeah, like where you're from.

- Yeah. Bronzeville.
- South Side is kind of played.

Uh, or Cabrini-Green.

- I'm hungry.
- Me too.

Bye, babe.

- Don't forget we have your mom's tonight.
- 7:00.

Bye.

They'd almost never come
round here back in the day.

Unless it was to take someone in.

But that was a long time ago.

Now they can't seem to stay away.

At night, they post up where
the last of us still live,

a police car on either side of the block.

Keeping us safe…

or keeping us in.

You've lived around here for a while?

Uh, since before the high-rises came down.

William. William Burke.

Anthony McCoy.

You need a hand?

Home sweet home.

Ah, the more things change,
the more things stay the same.

How you doing, brother?

Ask the white people around here
about "Girl X," Dantrell Davis.

Blank stares.

One white woman dies in the hood,
and the story lives on forever.

It's a good story, I guess.

You mind if I take some notes?

Makes you think about what could make
someone just snap like that.

Helen Lyle was out here
looking for Candyman.

You ask me, I say she found him.

What's Candyman?

For me, Candyman
was a guy named Sherman Fields.

He had a hook for a hand.

Neighborhood character.

Used to stand there
and hand out sweets when I was a kid.

One October,

a razor blade shows up
in a little white girl's Halloween candy.

Police come around looking for Sherman,
but Sherman's gone.

And one day, I saw him myself.

He'd been hiding in the walls.

We got a suspicious noise…

That's when I saw the true face of fear.

Come on, come on.
Go, go, go!

Go, go! Come on, let's go!

Hurry! Come on, go, go, go!

Over here.

Get out of here! Come on!

They swarmed him.

Killed him right there on the spot.

What shows up a couple weeks later?

More razor blades in more candy.

That's when we knew
Sherman had been innocent.

Harmless.

But that wasn't the last we saw of him.

I don't know what to tell you.

Beshaw dropped out of my show.

Oh, I told you months ago
to put her in rehab.

You fix this.

Uh.

Uh-huh.

Uh-huh. Okay.

What's up?

- You forgot your mother's.
- Shit. I'm sorry.

Will you please call that woman?

- Tomorrow.
- You said that yesterday.

And it's nice that she wants
to spend time with you.

Not everyone has that.

Is she okay?

She implied that I give you money
so you won't visit her.

So, she's about the same.

- Stop it.
- That's great.

I wanna show you something.

Uh…

- Do I need to come upstairs?
- Stay right there.

All righty then.

Sherman's face was beaten
so badly that it was unrecognizable,

and that's where the story started.

About them seeing him around Cabrini.

About him coming to get you.

Over time, his name disappears,
and he just becomes the Candyman.

What do you think?

Well…

it's a pretty literal approach.

Not much room for viewer
interpretation, you know.

Moving from the symbolism of violence
to the actual depiction of it.

Okay, but how is it hitting you?

It's…

painful.

I feel really connected to this.
I've never been this clear before.

It's like I know exactly
what I'm meant to be doing right now.

Babe, that's great.

- And I'm sure Clive will be...
- Oh, there's one more thing.

The legend is
if you say his name five times

while looking in the mirror,

he appears in the reflection
and kills you.

So, I thought

that we could…

What did you think?

Summon him.

Hell no.

No.

Candyman.

Anthony…

- Candyman.
- Anthony, no.

- Candyman.
- Stop. Stop it.

- Candyman.
- Stop it!

Okay.

- You better not do that last one.
- Okay, okay, okay.

- Candyman.
- Anthony, you play too much!

Stop, stop, stop.

What happened to your hand?

- Fucking bee sting.
- Really?

Yeah, that shit hurt.

Mmm. Looks like it.

- Kiss it.
- Get the fuck outta here.

Help, help.

- We can go now.
- Finally.

Last year, we did a solo booth
at Frieze LA with Jameson.

Phenomenal work.

These are related works,

but here, he's recreating
and looping archival footage.

Just take your time.

This is quite a departure
from your previous work.

Go ahead, open it.

I'm trying to align these moments in time
that exist in the same place.

The idea is to almost

calibrate tragedy into a focused lineage
that culminates in the now.

Brianna,
tell your boy not to hog the critic.

He's got a whole thing.

Yeah, no, I know, I heard it.
It's complicated.

She's interacting with the piece.

The mirror invites you
to attempt the summoning yourself.

Huh.

Anyway, I don't know why
I'm standing next to my own piece

like some kind of asshole.

- The work speaks for itself.
- Oh, it speaks, all right.

It speaks in didactic knee-jerk clichés

about the ambient violence
of the gentrification cycle.

But your kind are the real pioneers
of that cycle, you know.

Excuse me?

Artists.

Artists descend upon
disenfranchised neighborhoods

divining cheap rent, so they can
dick around in their studios

without the crushing burden of a day job.

I'm gonna get another drink.

- Should we try it?
- What?

Summon the Candyman?

Uh, yeah, no. Black people don't need
to be summoning shit.

- Come on, that is nonsense.
- This isn't the bayou.

In Chicago, that's white people shit.

Mmm.

- Candyman. Candyman.
- Zip it. Hey, stop.

- Candyman.
- Stop it.

Of course, I did. I owe Brianna one.

She introduced me to Thelma Golden
three years ago.

You still owe me one for that.

And, uh…

Ah…

Tony, is it?

I love interventionist strategy.

Conventional painting is such a drag.

I love that you hid those fucking things

in a storage room
with the lights out. So smart.

Is all your work based on found material?

I mean, where'd you
even find those paintings?

Thrift store in the desert?

I found them in the studio
where I painted them.

You goofy-ass fuck.

And you, you fucking hyenas.

- Oh, what the fuck?
- Hey. Let's go. Clive.

- Anthony.
- You think you'd even be here

if it wasn't for her?

Shouldn't you be stocking up
on morning-after pills

to accommodate your summer intern program?

That's not spontaneous.
You had that one in the bank.

Yeah, I did, bitch.

That's fine.
I can take being called a bitch.

- It's fine. I'm on a NuvaRing.
- I know.

Thanks for coming.

I'm so fucking over it.

Honestly, if she can't control her man…

She lost control.

It's like, do I get a thank you? No!

Do I get an apology for that display?

Atrocity exhibition.

Shoehorning her boyfriend
into my summer show was her first mistake.

- Only mistake.
- She's done.

And she has no one to blame but herself.

Don't mix curation
with who you're fucking.

Love will tear us apart.

Jesus, Jerrica, we get it.
You like Joy Division.

- What's that thing again?
- What thing?

You know.

Say what five times in the mirror?

You tell me.

You proofread the press release, Jerrica.

"Candyman."

But don't do it, okay?

I don't want you to die tonight.

At least, not until we…

fuck.

You're no good for me.

You know what? I changed my mind. Do it.

Necrophilia's always been
on my bucket list.

Mmm.

Mmm.

Hmm.

Let's do it here then.

Um.

- No, I've been here all day.
- Come on.

Mmm.

- Candyman.
- Are you serious?

Quiet, bitch.

Candyman.

Candyman.

- Candyman.
- Mmm.

Candyman.

See?

Nothing.

So much for that.

Is this real?

This is real?

What the fuck?

What the fuck!

Hello?

What…

…the fuck?

Oh!

Fuck!

Fuck me. Must go faster.

Must go faster!

Fuck!

Fuck! No!

No! No!

Stop! Stop! Stop!

Help! No! No!

Fucking assholes.

The murders occurred after
Night Driver Gallery's group show opening.

The bodies were discovered
in front of a piece

from rising star Anthony McCoy
entitled Say My Name.

Law enforcement officers
say they are investigating...

Say My Name.

They said my name.

And Say My Name.

I don't know, just…

It's cool to be mentioned, I guess.

I mean, obviously…

Obviously, it's... Obviously, it's awful.

Really?

Clive?

Dad?

Why are you sitting there?

Hey.

I bet you didn't know
your daddy could fly.

Did you?

Well, I can.

Anthony?

Anthony?

Are you okay?

I had a bad dream.

Me too.

What was it?

What was what?

The dream.

I'll be out. I'll be out in a minute.

Anthony?

So, I don't know what this is,
or how you knew it existed,

but this is everything
we have under Helen Lyle.

I didn't. That's why I had to ask.

Well, here it is.

Thanks, I appreciate it.

Of course.
I found it filed under True Crimes.

Work-study undergrads are the worst.

So, are you a student?

Some of the things that
have happened in Cabrini over the years,

violence just so extreme, so bizarre.

It's almost as if violence
became a ritual.

The worst part,

the residents are afraid
to call the police.

A code of honor, perhaps,
fear of the police themselves.

The easy answer is always,
"Candyman did it."

The summoning game itself
could be connected.

I mean, it's clear that
no one person makes this up.

This grew from the community's
collective subconscious.

A survival tool evolved from the need
to protect itself

and its children…

…from the horrors of the community.

Bernadette and I tried the summoning.

It's amazing how effective it can be.

The suggestion that
you're being followed or stalked

by something lurking
in your own reflection.

But I get it.

…intoxicating, inexplicably alluring

about the promise of seeing a ghost.

Almost as if…

Come on.

Ow!

Hey.

Excuse me.

And she heard
a noise. Do you remember her name?

I think
her name was Ruthie Jean,

and she heard this banging and smashing…

…like somebody was trying to make
a hole in the wall.

So, Ruthie called 911

and she said, "There's somebody
coming through the walls."

And they didn't believe her.

They thought
the lady was crazy, right?

Mm-hmm.
So, she called 911 again,

and they still didn't believe her.

And when they finally got there,
she was dead.

Was she shot?

No.

No, she was killed with a hook.

Yeah.

Is it true?

Yeah, it is. I read it in the papers.

Candyman killed her.

Yeah, but...
I don't know nothing about that.

Hello?

I'm going out.

We have the dinner tonight.

I don't know how long I'll be.

Jack Hyde is coming in from New York,
and he never comes to Chicago.

So, please don't fuck this up.

I'll be fine.

For me.

Don't fuck this up for me.

It's been a crazy couple of weeks.

That is putting it mildly.

As you can imagine, what I'm writing is
no longer an exhibition review.

It's...

It's now expanded into a larger article,

which impacts both the works

and the circumstances around the murders.

I see.

So, I just wanted to get
a few quotes from you.

Well, I don't know much of anything.

Your work is so macabre, and that's…

pretty interesting,
considering what happened.

That's a coincidence.

I'm not saying that you're at fault,

and I'm certainly not saying
that a ghost manifested

by collective storytelling
killed a prominent art dealer.

I'm just saying that…

all of a sudden, your work seems…

eternal.

What's next?

I'm expanding the work into a series.

I'm hoping to do a solo show.

All about Candyman. Spread the word.

Mmm, I love that idea.

I'm surprised at how positive
your take on my piece seems to be now.

Well, it grew on me.

- Seemed like you didn't quite get it.
- No, I get it.

It's the hood, gentrification, et cetera.

Artists gentrify the hood?

Who do you think makes the hood?

The city cuts off a community
and waits for it to die.

Then they invite developers in

and say, "Hey, you artists,

you young people, you white,
preferably or only…

please come to the hood, it's cheap.

And if you stick it out for a couple
of years, we'll bring you a Whole Foods."

You wanna be a part of the story, right?

Well, as a critic, I…

To really engage with the work,

to "get it"…

you should say it.

- Say what?
- Say his name.

Think I need to use the bathroom.

Oh, this is as good a time as any.

I dare you.

Doors open
to the right at State and Lake.

Transfer to Red Line trains
at State and Lake.

Ah!

Finley?

Are you all right?

- I thought…
- What?

I gotta go.

Really?
No one's buying it, not that I care.

Careful.

I love being here.
It's so provincial, yet exciting.

Oh, my God.
Have you met Danielle Harrington?

- She's chief...
- Curator at the MCA.

I find it crazy that
we actually haven't met yet.

I've been so eager to meet you.

Don't you start already. I get first dibs.

Clive literally had to die
for Brianna to be free. Sorry.

Jameson's doing a show
at my gallery in New York.

I think it's
the perfect opportunity for you

to spread your wings a bit more.

Come to the big city.

I could introduce you to
the women of Entre Nous

if you decide on New York.

Wow. Thank you.

I've actually been considering
going out on my own.

Don't you wanna focus
on working with artists

instead of chasing outstanding invoices?

You can change the institution
from the inside.

You should come by the museum some time.

Okay.

I think I'd like that.

Oh, my God.

- What's wrong?
- What's happening?

Finley Stephens was found dead
in her apartment.

Her husband found her.

Poor thing. Oh, her husband's a suspect.

- I have to go.
- Anthony.

Anthony?

What is he?

Candyman ain't a he.

Candyman's the whole damn hive.

There are others?

Samuel Evans.

Run down during
the white housing riots of the '50s.

William Bell, lynched in the '20s.

But the first one, where it all began,

was in the 1890s.

It's a story Helen found.
The story of Daniel Robitaille.

He'd made a living touring the country
painting portraits for wealthy families.

Mostly white, and they loved him.

But you know how it goes.

They love what we make

but not us.

One day, he's commissioned

to paint the daughter
of a Chicago factory owner

who made his fortune in the stockyards.

Well,

Robitaille committed
the ultimate sin of his time.

They fell in love.

They had an affair, she got pregnant.

The girl tells her father, and, well…

you know…

He hires some men to hunt Robitaille down,

told them to get creative.

Chased him through here
in the middle of the day.

He collapses from exhaustion

right near where the old tower
in Chestnut used to be.

They beat him. Tortured him.

They cut off his arm
and jammed a meat hook in the stump.

They smeared honeycomb
from the nearby hives on his chest

and let the bees sting him.

A crowd started to form to watch the show.

The big finale:

They set him on fire

and he finally dies.

But a story like that,

a pain like that…

lasts forever.

That's Candyman.

So…

he's real?

Bell is real.

Samuel, Sherman, Daniel Robitaille.
They're all real.

Candyman is how we deal with the fact
that these things happened.

That they're still happening.

Get some rest, young blood.

You'll feel better in the morning.

Don't look at those!

What the fuck is this?

You shouldn't be looking at this.

Anthony, we are beyond
sensitive artist bullshit.

What is going on?

I think... I think…

- I made a mistake, Bri.
- What do you mean?

- I brought him back.
- Who?

You promise you won't think I'm crazy?

Anthony, who?

Oh, God.

- Burke told me…
- God. Who is Burke?

From the laundromat.
He knows about all of it.

Knows about what?

Candyman.

- Candyman isn't real.
- I saw him!

Candyman isn't real, Anthony!

You know what is real?

Me, Anthony. Me. This, this is real.

- You don't understand.
- Okay.

I will show you that... Okay.

- Candyman.
- No!

Candyman!

Don't… say his name.

- You stay the fuck right there.
- Brianna…

Don't follow me.

Mm-mmm. Mm-mmm.
Let the motherfucker try and come up here.

Fucking art ogre, fucking fee-fi-fo-fum.
Grady will stomp on his ass.

- Ain't that right, Grady?
- If I have to stomp, I'll stomp.

I mean, he literally was, like,

"I summoned Candyman," and I'm like…

Candyman ain't real, nigga.

I told you not to start dating
that Dapper Dan-ass,

li'l Basquiat-ass, fucking no-job Sun Ra...

Troy. Okay.

Ain't a dick on the planet good enough
to offset a demonology hobby.

Okay, Troy, stop!

What? It's the truth.
If Grady came up in here,

smashing mirrors.

Mirrors.

He's right.

- All right.
- You…

take care of Lucy.

And you are in time-out.

Come here.

Break it up.

I spoke to Mom.

She wants to close the storage unit out,

so we finally have to deal
with Dad's work.

I was thinking maybe we could

sell or…

- if you want to keep anything…
- No, I don't want any of that in my house.

- Thank you.
- Then, sell or do a show.

I think you should open a space.

I'm not doing a show
of the thing that killed him, Troy.

You can't hide everything, and…

- and just hope it goes away.
- Troy…

You don't have to be there every time
a tortured artist has a psychotic break.

I'm sorry.

Bri.

I'm glad you're here.

You can stay as long as you want,
on the condition you don't try

and summon Candyman.

Who would do that?

What's up?

Trina was fooked up this weekend.

- Guys, what should I do about my bangs?
- No one cares about your bangs.

Annika, look at this.

Trina's fucking trashed. Look.
Watch, watch, watch.

- Samantha.
- Oh, my God, that's so sad.

- Oh, shit.
- Look at this chunky-ass vomit.

Oh, my gosh, in front of everyone.

Have you guys heard of Candyman?

Fuck this. I changed my mind.
I'm not gonna do it.

- Come on, Boof. Don't be a pussy.
- Why not? It's a warm and wonderful thing.

Boof, we're already in formation.

- Fine.
- Okay, ready?

Candyman.

All at once, dumbass.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Candyman.

- Not today. Not today.
- Come on.

Two more times.

Candyman.

One more.

Candyman.

Well, we're still alive, so…

Hey, Trina.

Let's go.

Hey, Triney, how's that hangover?
You're such a mess.

- Trina was fucking trashed.
- Don't let her drink that much.

That's between her and her god.

Trina, you broke the fucking door.

Haley, I'm too young to die. Open it.

I'm working on it.

Guys…

What the fuck?

- Wait, I forgot my vape.
- Boof.

You know, I don't think you should…

Boof?

Boof?

Boof?

What are you doing?

- Oh, my God, guys. Stop being so stupid!
- Haley!

This isn't funny.

You guys, what the fuck?
This isn't funny!

No!

No!

We've been trying to move
in a fresher direction

for the past few years,

and our last curator was a great guy,
but just had a hard time getting there.

Well, I've certainly noticed
a shift in programming

- since you started here.
- Hopefully for the best.

I'm so happy I finally got
to meet you at Jack's dinner.

Yes. He's been trying
to get us together before.

It's crazy about Clive.

I heard you were the one
to find the bodies.

Yeah…

You've really emerged

as an interesting figure amidst all this.

The show you put together
sounded so good too.

You were so brave to embrace formlessness.

Actually, there were a lot of bodies...
figures in the show.

Like Arnold's work.

For so long, abstraction has been about
indexing a sublimated emotional state,

- and I just wanted to focus on the body.
- Of course, but I mean,

between the recent tragedies
and your father's legacy,

you've got a fascinating story.

Right.

And your eye for emerging talent.

How long have you worked
with Anthony McCoy?

Just a couple years.

My board members are buzzing
about McCoy's work.

Feels like a Project Room show
is something we could start talking about.

And of course, any other artist
you have your eye on.

The Near North Side
community, once known as Cabrini-Green,

is stunned by the vicious mass murder
at Golin College Prep.

Police have found a startling link
to the art world murders,

in particular a piece called Say My Name,

which was written in the victims' blood
on the bathroom wall.

Welcome back, Mr. McCoy.

What?

I saw in your file you were born here.

I was born on the South Side.

No, it says you were born here.

Regardless, it's good that
you came in when you did.

We need to admit you immediately
for monitoring and do some more testing.

Anthony, where have you been?

What happened to your hand?

Looks bad.

Went to River North Memorial,
near Cabrini.

They fixed me right up.

You've been painting?

Yeah, I've been inspired a lot, actually,

by Cabrini.

You want some tea?

I heard a story about a fire.

Killed a woman named Helen Lyle.

A baby that was taken.

Something they used to call Candyman.

Don't.

Don't say that.

You told me I was born on the South Side.

I did raise you in the home you remember.

But you were born in River North Memorial

and spent the first two years in Cabrini.

Why did you lie?

To protect you.

From what?

I just wanted you to grow up happy

and normal.

Do I look normal, Mama?

I have to know.

Now.

When you first got taken,
I thought she was the one who did it.

When you first got taken,
I thought she was the one who did it.

Helen.

The way I found her in her apartment,

covered in blood.

We all thought she was crazy.

But it wasn't her.

It was him.

He had a purpose for you.

He chose you to be

one of his victims.

He wanted you to burn in that fire.

But she pulled you out…

and gave you back to me.

- I thought it ended that night.
- Wait!

In the fire.
I thought she ended it.

And we vowed to never say his name again.

But…

someone broke the pact and…

He found me.

I'm sorry.

Anthony, wait, wait. Baby, wait.

Where are you going?

Anthony, baby, wait, wait, wait.

Anthony?

It is Troy.

Come out immediately where I can see you.

- Immediately.
- Troy, stop. Please, oh, my gosh.

We are picking up her things

and we will…

be leaving with them.

I see. Yeah, thanks.

He's not with Noah either.

What the hell is going on?

- Maybe Candyman got his ass.
- That's not funny, Troy.

Hello?

Anthony?

Nope.

Hello! Excuse me!

Please!

Go away.

- I wanna play.
- No.

- Please. I'm not scared anymore.
- Go play with your puppets.

I'm gonna pee on your bed
if you don't let me in.

You're being so annoying right now.

- What are you doing?
- Mind your business.

Come on, let me play. Please.

This game is for grown-ups,
and you're a big baby.

I'm not a baby.

Go away!

No, this is not gonna work.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Candyman.

Candyman.

I said…

Sabrina?

Sherman.

Now…

we have a witness.

I think I saw the guy
you're looking for.

The "Say My Name" killer.

He's roaming around
the row houses at Cabrini.

A Black man, around 30.

He was waving a hook and talking crazy.
I think he's killing people down there!

What the fuck?

What the fuck?

I was baptized here.

Isn't it beautiful?

A... A... A... Anthony?

Oh, uh... Yeah, I guess I'm on
some other shit now, huh?

When something leaves a stain,

even if you wash it out,

it's still there.

You can feel it.

A thinning, deep in the fabric.

This neighborhood got caught in a loop.

The shit got stained
in the exact same spot,

over and over,

until it finally rotted
from the inside out.

They tore down our homes,
so they could move back in.

We need Candyman.

'Cause this time,
he'll be killing their fathers,

their babies, their sisters.

I knew it was only a matter of time
before the baby came back here,

in perfect symmetry.

A chance for Candyman to take back
what's rightfully his.

His legend.

Hand.

Wait…

No, no, no, no!

Anthony!

See, you can really make
the story your own.

But… …some of the specifics

should be somewhat consistent.

Here we have the story of Anthony McCoy,

artist who lost his mind,

and the cops showed up
and shot him down in cold blood

without even saying a word.

Well, say his name, if you dare!

Say it five times in a mirror.
See what happens.

When it's all done,
they'll tell his story,

and Candyman will live…

…forever.

Here comes the swarm.

Are you ready for the sacrament?

Hey!

Where you going?

Don't you want a sweet?

Fuck!

Where you going?

♪ Who can make the sunrise ♪

♪ Sprinkle it with dew? ♪

This is as good a place as any, pet.

I think he's dead.

Brianna.

No, no!

Get up, Anthony. Get up.

Baby, baby, baby…

Please. No. No.

Anthony, baby.

- It's okay.
- Get up, please.

Please.
Please stay with me, Anthony, please.

Please, please, please. Please get up.

Please get up, Anthony.

Don't go.

We're gonna get you help.
We're gonna get you to a hospital.

We're gonna get you to a hospital.

In here!

- Put your hands up!
- He just needs…

Oh, my God.

Hey. Stay on your feet.

- Come on. Move it.
- What's going on?

We got two suspects, one's down.

- Get her in the car.
- Hurry up.

We didn't know what to do.

Very unfortunate
what happened to your man in there.

We'd been looking for him.

Got a tip he'd be here.

You know anything about that?

Whatever you tell us helps.

Any cooperation is noted.

Saying what you saw

when he came at Jones…

and Jones, obviously knowing
what he'd done before,

seeing his hook,
knowing you were in danger,

had no choice but to discharge his weapon.

Doesn't sound right to you?

Or…

she's an accomplice.

She held the victims down, he cut 'em up.

He died coming at a cop.

She goes to jail for the rest of her life.

Which story is it?

Can I see myself?

What?

In the mirror.

I'll tell you everything
if you let me see myself.

No.

I'll say whatever you want.

Candyman.

Candyman.

What?

Candyman.

What the fuck is that?

- Candyman.
- Candyman?

What the fuck?

Holy shit.

Rooney? Jesus. What the fuck?

10-1, emergency. Officer down.
Officer down.

What the fuck!

Get on the ground now! Now!

What the fuck!

- Let me in.
- I can't!

Let me in, damn it!

- Stop!
- No, no, no, no, no!

Holy shit!

What the fuck?

Who are you?

I am

the writing on the walls.

I'm the sweet smell of blood
on the street.

The buzz that echoes in the alleyways.

They will say I shed innocent blood.

You are far from innocent,

but they'll say you were.

That's all that matters.

Tell…

everyone.

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