All language subtitles for The.watcher.2022.S01E06.NF.WEBRip.x264 English

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Who are you? Come here!

- Dean!
- Stop!

Wait! He may have a gun!

Who are you?

- Dean, wait!
- Come here!

- Oh, my God!
- Hey!

Hey!

Hey!

Holy shit!

What the fuck is this?

Hey! Hey!

Come back! Stop!

Where is he?

I can't see him.

Where the fuck is he?

No!

Hey!

They're on to us.

What brings you here today?

- There is a hidden door in our basement.
- It leads to these tunnels.

And we found this guy down there.

And so we chased after him,
and he just disappeared.

So, based on your recent blowup
at the country club,

that means you think
it was me in this tunnel, right?

Because you said I was
behind all of this, along with Karen.

And you think that we were trying
to scare you into selling your house?

What happened
to your John Graff theory, Dean?

Oh, I remember!

You said I am covering up
the John Graff murders.

You said it in front of everybody.

Maybe John Graff and I are in it together.

All we're saying is,

there's been a way into our house
this whole time and we looked online.

Bootleggers used to use
those tunnels during prohibition, right?

There's a cot down there.
There's even food.

Whoever this is,
clearly they've been sleeping down there.

Or multiple people. Me and John Graff.

It could be any number of people
and that's why we're here.

To ask for help from someone you
still suspect could be behind all of it.

You know what?

It's still entirely plausible that you
and Karen are involved in this.

And you can really step it up
by getting a search warrant.

And help yourself a little,
at least in our eyes,

so we could take you off our list
of prime suspects.

Okay, so to prove my innocence,
what exactly would you like me to do?

Okay.

Uh... Okay, well, I've already
boarded up the entrance, right?

I still think you should get in there,

into those tunnels, because...

Maybe even a team of guys,
see where the tunnels lead?

- 'Cause this place is like a maze.
- They're everywhere.

So, I'm talking Mitch and Mo's house,

- definitely the Winslow house...
- The Winslows.

I get it. I get what you're saying.

Yeah, so here's what I'm going to do...

Absolutely fucking nothing.

- What?
- Excuse me?

You heard me.
You think I'll lift a finger for you?

After what you did?

Accosting me and my lady in public...

Accusing me!

The arrogance of you two!

It's unbelievable.

- You have a duty here.
- You can't turn a blind eye.

Well, watch me.

I'm gonna fucking ignore
the shit out of you two.

- You're on your own. I'm done.
- I'll go to the FBI.

What office? Newark?

I'll call ahead. Tell 'em you're coming.

Those guys are my buddies.

I'm going deer hunting
with two of them this weekend.

And then I'm coming after you,
you piece of shit.

I have a reliable source saying that
you wrote at least one of those letters.

No, I didn't!

- That's not true.
- What?

- Why would I do that?
- It's a lot of house, isn't it?

You're in over your head. You needed out.

You know that
filing false police reports is a felony?

A year and a half in prison.

And how many of those
have you filed with us?

Half a dozen?
You're looking at ten years in prison.

- Hold on.
- You know what it's called

when you threaten someone and it causes
that person to evacuate a building,

in this case, your family?

It's called a terroristic threat.

This is bullshit.

Finally,
we agree on something.

Ever since you dragged
your uptight ass in here,

we've been drowning in bullshit,
because it's the only thing

that makes its way
out of your mouth, Mr. Brannock.

So why don't you and your lovely wife
kindly get the fuck out of my office?

I don't know how he found out,
but it wasn't me who told him.

I didn't tell Chamberland
about Dean writing one of the letters.

That's the God's honest truth.

Maybe it was the handwriting expert
who told him.

I told him to keep it to himself,
but I didn't know the guy all that well.

But it wasn't me.
I don't know how else to say it,

but you're gonna have to trust me on that.

Look, I know you've
had your suspicions about me.

You met me through Chamberland,

who is now someone you no longer trust,

but I have no motive to harm you.

And I don't have long left,
do you understand?

This case keeps me up at night
and I will not rest until it is solved.

I should be spending time
with my daughter and my granddaughter,

but I am sitting right here,
with you, trying to solve this case.

And I'll tell you right now,

I will solve this case
with or without you.

So, Dean, please sit down...

...so I can tell you both what I have found.

Fine. Okay, go ahead.

Look, I get it.
You are both under a lot of pressure.

We've got to solve this

before the Westfield Police Department
pins it all on you.

I feel like I'm losing it here.

Every time I go over it in my head,
I land on somebody else!

You know, like... like now, I'm pretty
positive that it's Karen, right?

Except the police department,
they have to be in on it too, right?

Or is it Mitch and Mo
with this cult thing?

Maybe Andrew Pierce isn't crazy.

Or is it someone else entirely?

What?

Because I followed your daughter's lead
on that Roger Kaplan fellow.

And I like him for this.

- I like him a lot.
- Why?

The ex-wife.

In a case like this,
if the divorce was messy, then brilliant.

That means she'll sing.

And, oh, has Roger Kaplan's
ex-wife got a set of pipes.

- Yes?
- Are you Trish Kaplan?

No. I used to be.

She and Roger divorced
25 years ago.

He left her for a former student of his.

Roger and I, you know, were divorced for...

We weren't talking ten minutes
before she dropped this.

If someone's writing
strange letters about a house

and calling themselves The Watcher...

...it's definitely Roger.

- Holy shit.
- That's exactly what I said.

Holy shit!

She then told me his whole life story.

Roger grew up
on the other side of the tracks.

He lived in a tiny apartment
with his mother, who was divorced.

Now, back then, in the 1950s,
this was a big deal.

It was shameful,

but Roger had friends
from the rich side of town.

Wow. Look at those Cedar shakes!

Is that a Widow's walk?

I can't believe you actually live here.

This is unbelievable!

Yours wasn't the only house
he was obsessed with.

There was another one, 55 Oak Terrace,
where another boy he knew lived.

- Why do you look at our house?
- I just like it, that's all.

So are you coming in to play or what?

Yeah!

This is really bizarre.

Is it though?

He was a poor kid from a broken family.

And here he sees his friends,
no different from him,

living in these mansions,

that would have
seemed like Shangri-la to him.

So he grew up wanting to be an architect,

go to architecture school...
But he couldn't afford it.

He was poor.
So, instead, he goes to community college.

Does night classes at Rutgers,

and then gets a job
teaching English at Westfield High.

Ellie's school.

That same year, he marries Trish.

She said they were very happy.

She couldn't have children,
but he didn't seem to mind.

It gave them time
to go on these driving tours,

up and down the East Coast,
looking at houses he loved.

There it is.

Look at that!
It's even more beautiful in person.

You think we could live
in a house like this someday?

You never know.

But I won't be buying just any old house.

It'd have to be a house I really love.

One for my collection.

But then one day,
89 Maple Grove Lane came on the market.

- It's beautiful.
- Truly exquisite.

- These archways...
- It's great.

See, this is what you don't understand.
I have to have this house.

Honey...

Well, Roger,
there are three offers already,

and all I can say is
that yours is not the highest.

But you know what?
There is something you could do.

The agent told him
to write a letter to the sellers,

tell them how much he loved the house,

how much it meant to him
ever since he was a child,

that he would take better care of it
than the other buyers,

even though our offer wasn't as high.

Yeah, a lot of people do that nowadays.

Well, they didn't back then.

So, Roger sat down at the typewriter...

Dear owners of
89 Maple Grove Lane.

I have loved your house
for over 35 years now.

Ever since I was a little boy,

your home gave me comfort from afar,
something I could dream about.

And now it seems that little boy's dream
might actually come true.

And guess what happened.

- They went with a higher offer.
- Because that's what always happens.

Roger was... devastated.

I'd never seen him cry like that.

Roger wasn't that upset
when his mother died.

That's when
he got the idea for the lesson.

Started small, just a few kids
in a creative writing club.

But then after ten years,
it became a sensation.

Ode to a House.

Your next assignment

is to find a house that you love

and to write a love letter to it.

Be descriptive. Be imaginative.

What is it that
you admire about this house?

What would it feel like
to live in this house?

Now it can be
as long or as short as you like.

You'll be graded on sincerity.

One copy comes to me

and the other copy is sent to the house.

And don't sign your name.

You'll write much more freely
knowing that it's anonymous.

No one will read these
except for the homeowners and me.

Any questions?

Yes, Miko.

Can it be to your own house?

Absolutely not.
It has to be someone else's house.

Good question.

All right, have fun.

Dear 901 Folsom Bridge Drive.

I think your house is rad.

I love the way the windows look
like the house's eyes,

and the front door like the house's mouth.

I wonder when the house was built.
Probably 100 years ago...

If a home is one's castle,
then you, 452 Bolingbroke,

are the most dazzling manor in which
any king or queen could ever reside,

you are truly a magical abode.

What a joy you must be to your owners.

If I were to move,

it would definitely be you,
84 Oriole Road.

The ivy up your front looks cool,
almost like a sweater.

This lesson was, like, a smash hit,

and he did it every year until he retired.

- Thirty years.
- Wow.

And this lesson
became bigger than him, really.

That's why they had
that Facebook group about it.

And his kids just loved it.

And that included Miko,

the one he ended up marrying.

Total bitch, by the way.

But remember the other house
Roger loved as a little boy?

55 Oak Terrace.

That house started getting letters.

Roger's friend, the boy who used
to live there, had grown and moved away.

His sister now lived there,
Carol Flanagan,

and her son
had taken Roger's English class.

So when a letter showed up in the mailbox,

she knew what an Ode to a House was.

Dear 55 Oak Terrace.

Hello, old friend.

It's been way too long

and I thought I ought to write.
How I admire you, old house.

Your delicious wainscoting.

Those resplendent stained glass panels
at the second floor landing.

What a glorious treasure you are,
a magnificent jewel box.

Hi, Mom.

Danny!

When you had Mr. Kaplan,
did he ever talk about our house?

I don't think so.

Huh.

They got a letter
once a year for the next ten years.

Dear 55 Oak Terrace.

I see that old oak out back
had to be trimmed...

Why on Earth would someone
reshingle that magnificent roof of yours?

You wouldn't dare replace that old furnace
in the basement, would you?

One year,
they get a letter and it's different.

It was dark.

Dear 55 Oak Terrace.
Why don't you ever write me back?

I've spent so much of my life
loving you, admiring you,

and what do I get in return? Nothing.

I've given you my love, my longing.

What is it that you want then? My anger?

I promise, you don't want that.

You'd be very sorry
to know what that looks like.

And then a week later,

she gets another letter from someone
calling themselves The Watcher.

Dear Mrs. Flanagan,
I've devoted so much time to you.

I watch your house and keep you safe.

I've admired your family

and have only
ever wanted what's best for it.

I sat and watched you pridefully
parade around your good fortune.

You have turned the house against you.

55 Oak Terrace has already rejected you
and your insolent preening.

Is your greed the real reason
you couldn't keep your family together?

Trish, how do you know
all this about Carol Flanagan?

Because she showed up
right on my doorstep the next day.

Hello?

She handed me those last two letters,
the ones that came a week apart.

Can you please just verify
if that's your ex-husband?

Carol, these are definitely from Roger.

What did she do?
Why didn't she go to the police?

Oh, she did. Said they were of no help.

- Just weren't that interested.
- Hmm.

Sounds familiar.

I say the three of us walk over
to 55 Oak Terrace

and talk to Carol Flanagan ourselves.

It's a nice old house.

I'm surprised it didn't get
more letters over the years.

- Come on in!
- Wow!

- My God, this is stunning!
- Thank you.

Have a look around.

I inherited it from my parents
when they died.

My brother, Dave,
who was Roger's childhood friend,

he didn't want it.

Thought it was too much house
for one person.

I'm divorced.

My son is in Nashville.
My daughter's in grad school.

Rutgers, though, so she's close by.

Come in, please. Sit down.

- Make yourselves comfortable.
- Thank you!

Gorgeous!

Just beautiful.

So how did you track me down?

Facebook page?

I posted a few things there
over the years.

Those people freaking hate me.

We heard your story
from Roger Kaplan's ex-wife, Trish.

Look at the ornamental work
on the plaster.

- Amazing.
- Gorgeous.

- That's funny.
- What?

You sound just like Roger Kaplan.

I mean, he referenced things
like that in the letters, details,

things I only would have
heard him mention.

Look at these newel posts!
They're beautiful!

Do you know the name of the woodworker?

These coffered walls are just delicious!

He was such an odd little kid.

But my children took his class
and they just loved him.

The last letter you got,
the one from The Watcher...

Did you have that handy?
Can we have a look at it?

Yeah.

Here you go.

Just like
the letters we've been getting.

I mean, it's the same writing style,
same typeface,

even the same paper stock.

Yeah, but are we sure
this is Roger Kaplan?

These Ode to a House letters...
They definitely sound like him,

but, then, when The Watcher writes,
it's different. Don't you think?

Nora's right. Roger writes to the house.

The Watcher... He, she, they,
write to the homeowner.

Good point.

That's what the police said.

Said there was no way of knowing
if they were the same person.

And you're certain it was?

The letter from The Watcher arrived
when it became public knowledge

that my husband had moved out
and we were getting a divorce.

Roger wanted to scare me
out of this house so he could buy it.

It's as clear as day.

But you were never scared.

What? Of Roger?

The guy who was petrified
of the coal furnace downstairs

when he was ten?

No.

There was one time...

after that Watcher letter came
and I went to the cops,

and it was clear
they were not going to help me.

Well, one night I... I was headed to bed...

Someone was watching me.

Roger Kaplan!

You wimpy motherfucker!

I keep my kitchen knives nice and sharp!

If you ever so much
as set foot on this property again,

I will slice your tiny balls!

You get it?

You hear me?

But after that, nothing.

It was 12, 13 years ago.

For whatever reason, Roger Kaplan,

or The Watcher, decided to leave me alone.

- Can I see the letter you got?
- Yeah, of course, yeah.

Yeah, this is him.

"Have you found what's in the walls?"
Fucking Roger.

Miserable little pussy.

We should go there now.
We know where he lives.

- Let's just hold a beat.
- What're we waiting for?

- You have to think this through.
- Hon!

You can't just
go to his house and accuse him.

- He'll slam the door in your face.
- Exactly.

And we haven't got the support
of the police, if you recall.

Then how the hell do we catch him?

I don't know.

But we'll figure it out. Come on.

Hey, I just had a thought.

We know where he lives, right?

But if we scare him,

he can run back inside
and never come back out again.

But if we wait for him...

We can catch him in a public place.
That's exactly what I was thinking.

Really? Ah, you're so fuckin' hot.

Okay, just...

Whoo!

This one here?

Yeah.

That's a nice house.

My God, what's he so pissed off about?

This place is fine.

Wait, look!

Is that them?

I think so.

Oh, shit.

They're getting in their car. Hide.

Okay.

Psst.

Aisle three.

Who's Alison Roman?

YouTuber. She's brilliant.

Amazing cook. I wanna be her.

Harissa paste...

- We need that for the bean stew.
- Okay.

Um... What else do we need? We need...

- Bagels.
- Bagel and should we get some bread?

Yes!

Yes! Butter?

Go! Follow!

We could get some...

- Maybe we could get toasted...
- Oh!

Hi. Are you Roger Kaplan?

Yeah. You are?

I'm Dean Brannock. You probably know that.

Hello, I'm Nora... Brannock.

I'm sorry. Do... Do we know you?

We live at 657 Boulevard.
Do you know that house?

Well, as a matter of fact, we do, yes.

We've been getting some
strange letters at the house.

Know anything about that?
I know you like writing letters.

"Ode to a House" and all that.

Yeah, that's one of my lessons.

Leave us alone.

We'll leave you alone.

As soon as you leave us the fuck alone.
How about that?

Um...

All I've ever wanted to do
is inspire my students about architecture.

Now, if you got a letter
and you didn't like it,

that's really not my fault.

Do you know your husband
calls himself The Watcher?

He knows how to get in our house,
as he used to play there as a kid.

I have no idea what you're talking about,

and I've never seen either one
of you in my life.

You see, now that's bullshit!

Because I saw you in the tunnels
under our house two nights ago!

You were at the open house, Mr. Kaplan.
I saw you there.

Yes. That's what people do.

They go to an open house.

What about sending threatening letters?

Do people do that too?

Get the new owners to sell at a loss,
so you can buy the house?

You think I can afford to buy your house?

I'm a retired public school teacher.

I went to that open house

because it used to belong to
my childhood friend.

He died recently and that's why
I wanted to see the house.

Now, if you've got a problem with that,
why don't you call the fucking cops?

What was that?

No idea.
Never seen them in my life.

They're crazy!

Hey, buddy.

No fucking way.

Nora!

Are you fucking kidding?

Oh, God. Stay there!

What the hell are you doing?

You accused me of watching you.

So I'm making sure
that your dream comes true.

- Jesus!
- Get the fuck outta here.

You have made yourself
a very powerful enemy, you know that?

Both of you.

Cornering me like that
in public, in front of my wife?

She couldn't even
enjoy her glass of wine last night.

Please, Mr. Kaplan, calm down.

Don't tell me to calm down!

I am your worst nightmare come true.

You'll never belong in this town
and I'm going to make sure of it,

you rich sacks of shit.

You think living in a house like this
means that you can do anything,

say anything that you want?

No, you can't.

Not as long as I'm around

because I'm going to be standing
right here all day every day.

And there's nothing you can do about it

because this is public property
and it's a free goddamn country!

- Let's go.
- I won't let him fuck with us.

Yeah, go ahead.
I'll keep your house company.

Go ahead!

- What the fuck.
- Let's go.

I'm not going anywhere.
I'll be right here. That's right.

Your house knows me, your house likes me,

your house wishes that
I was living in it instead of you.

That's right.

And I probably will before you know it.

- Go on!
- Kids!

Come on! You'll be late for school!

I'm The Watcher.

Mr. Secretary,
would you begin by reading aloud

the minutes of the last meeting
of the Westfield Preservation Society?

Our efforts to block removal
of the Summit Avenue chinquapin limb,

falsely accused of encroaching
within four feet of a telephone wire,

have not been in vain.

The city has agreed that
the chinquapin won't be touched

for at least 15 years.

Truly a stunning success.

And now our vice president has an update

on the tragedy
unfolding at Spruce and Windsor.

By virtue of
my discreet methods of movement,

I can confirm,
to this body, its worst suspicions

about the renovation
at the northwest corner

of Spruce and Windsor.

An out-of-town designer purchased
and was preparing to install brand-new,

six-by-six windows,
replacing the original double-hung,

and architecturally proper,
four-over-fours.

I went over there with a hammer
and I smashed them.

I smashed every pane in every window.

Six-by-six windows
on a Queen Anne is a travesty!

Windows are the eyes of a home.

How long have I been
a member of this group?

Five, six years?

Decade?

Lost count.

When did it start happening?

All the change?

This compulsion to pervert
the very things that surround us,

that do not need changing.

Was it the computer?

Was it when we removed the human soul
and put a machine in its place?

I don't know.
I don't know, but it is maddening.

The banality of it.

To stand there,
while 3,000 years of culture

are just flushed down the toilet
as if there's nothing to be done about it.

I say there is something to be done.

We must muster up the courage to say,

"No, I do not consent to this."

That's the voice that will
echo the loudest. That is the cry...

that will reverberate through generations.

Hide.

- Mr. Brannock!
- Hi!

Can I help you?

Yes, actually, you can.

Turns out the police
are no longer cooperating with us.

Long story.

But the fact of the matter is
that someone's been getting into our house

through these tunnels,

and it's my belief that

the tunnels lead directly to
one of these neighboring houses.

I need to get into your house to make sure
the tunnel doesn't lead here.

Look in the closets,
the basement... Well, the whole house.

Do you have a search warrant?

No, I just said
the police aren't helping us.

Then I don't see
how I can help you either.

You know, just, legally,
my hands are tied.

Oh, come on!

Mr. Brannock, has anyone told you
you're not looking well?

Those dark circles under your eyes,
that's adrenal stress.

I would offer you
some freshly pressed cod liver oil,

but at this point
I don't see what good it would do.

Hi, Jasper! Hey, buddy!

Hey, is there tunnel under your house?

Maybe you use it to sneak into our house,
play with that dumbwaiter you love?

That horrible renovation must have
pushed you right over the edge.

- Butcher block countertops?
- Yeah.

Are you turning your house
into a delicatessen?

I've never seen anyone spend so much money

to make a house look so awful.

You must lie awake at night

regretting the horrors you have
visited upon that poor, beautiful home.

Who just sneezed?

Jasper?

I can see Jasper from here, you lying...

Hey! Hey!

Hey!

Fuck.

How dare you!

You're terrible neighbors!

Dean!

Nora?

Nora! Where are you?

Nora!

Mr. Brannock.

Daddy, he has a gun.

Do I? Or is it just a finger in my pocket?

- Let him go.
- Dean!

- Do what he says!
- What?

Your wife and daughter
are in the basement.

I'll show them something later.

- What do you want?
- What do I want?

You know. I want your house.

Okay, fine, you can have it.

- Am I losing your attention there?
- No.

You thinking about a knife?
This is not gonna end well.

- Dad.
- No.

Do what he says!

I am! I will!

Okay, okay, okay.

You don't have to do this.
You're in control here.

I'll give you whatever you want.

What if I want more than your house?

What are you doing?

- Dad.
- Okay, no!

No!

- Dean, what's happening?
- No!

- Dean, it's okay. You're okay.
- No!

You're okay, honey.

How are you feeling?

Feeling better. This helps.

How was drop-off?

It was fine.

Hon...

You need to see someone about this.

Oh, I know. I know.

- You know it was just a bad dream.
- Babe...

It's 9:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning
and you're drinking scotch.

We need to get out of here permanently,

for the sake of the kids,
the sake of our family.

Okay? We need to sell this house.

I agree.

I agree.

Oh, honey.

That's it. That's how you did it.

You're getting in from her house!

I knew it! It makes perfect sense.

And you... I'll find out
where that little door is, or whatever,

and you'll know when I do because
I'll start showing up in your living room.

What are you talking about?

Don't act like
I'm the crazy one here, okay?

I thought Andrew Pierce sounded crazy,

but I think Andrew Pierce might be

the sanest fucking person
that's lived in this town.

I was talking to Mr. Kaplan about my son.

He is his favorite teacher.

I'm sure that's what
you were talking about.

And you, sir, I got to say,

I wouldn't have put you
for a blood cult, kind of guy.

Okay, here we go
with the blood cult again.

Kinky town, Westfield. Who knew?

That's what we were discussing.
Ways to what?

- Kidnap children and drink their blood.
- What?

Because we're lizard people.

We love blood orgies.
That makes a lot of fucking sense.

Know what your problem is
with your paranoid suspicions?

The danger to it?

My wife is now talking to me
about separation because of you.

Sounds like a smart woman.

No, because of all of this bullshit
you've come up with,

she thinks
I've got other secrets from her.

So congratulations
on ruining my fucking marriage!

You know what, pal?

Congratulations to you, because you win!

We're listing the house.

So either one of you now can buy it

and turn it into a fucking

cult meeting house, or whatever.

Well, hallelujah! You hear that, Roger?

For our blood cult meetings!
For our blood cult...

I can't wait to tell
the other cult members

and then we'll spread the word on QAnon!

That makes a lot of sense.

You are fucking crazy!

Your wife too! Good riddance!

Don't let the door hit you
on the way out, motherfucker!

Little help here! Okay.

Sorry, we kind of overordered.
Got a bunch of stuff.

Yeah, right. All right. Thank you.

- Let me get that for you.
- Ah...

Thanks. Hey, hey, hey.

- Uh...
- Yeah?

Thanks for coming for dinner.

- Thanks for having me.
- Okay.

Look, you and I,
we got off on the wrong foot, didn't we?

That's my fault.

So, sorry about that.

It's just...

You know, having a daughter, it's...

it's hard, you know?

I'm sorry.

Okay. Let's go have some wine.

Dean, easy!

What do you mean? He's 19 years old.
Haven't you been to France?

People start drinking
when they're, like, children.

Yeah.

You're good. Make sure you smell it.

- Smell it?
- Mm-hmm. That's the bouquet.

Yeah, good, now drink it!

Huh?

- It's very good.
- Good stuff, isn't it?

- Wow.
- What's wrong with you?

Me? What do you mean?

You're, like, acting nice again.

Oh, come on. I've always been nice.

No, you haven't always been nice.
This is...

I'm not stupid.
I know something's going on.

You wanna tell them?

Tell us what?

We are going to officially sell the house.

- What?
- Wait, really?

- Yeah.
- Why didn't you ask us first?

But I like it here!

- You don't!
- I do!

- You didn't at first!
- What?

3.5 million in cash?

- Ten-day escrow.
- Wow!

We got the call yesterday
from our new real estate agent, Bruce.

And yeah,
we accepted the offer last night.

Yeah. That's 300 over asking,
which is more than we even hoped.

Plus that covers the renovations
and even the tiniest bit of profit!

So this story
has a happy ending after all.

Oh, God, I'm sorry.

That just sounded so vulgar,

talking about what we made on a house
versus what's going on in real life.

Actual important things.

Like cancer?

Yes.

You just look so healthy
and I sometimes forget.

How are you?

I have been accepted into a trial

for an experimental cancer treatment
up at Lenox Hill.

That's wonderful!

Hey, Theodora, that's... Wow, that's great.

That's great.

I'm sorry. Can we just look at
the suspect board? Just one last time?

- Dean!
- No, please.

One more time,
then I'll put the board away.

Once again, here are the prime suspects.

Yes.

Now, there's the weirdo, Roger Kaplan.

I still like good old Roger for this.

But then, there are the Winslows.

And what about these batshit lunatics?

All right, Andrew Pierce said that

they were some kind of
satanic vampires or something, right?

I just don't see what their motivation is
to terrorize you like that.

Well, that leaves...

our good friend John Graff.

Which neither one of you
have ever been serious

about entertaining him as a suspect.

Because, Dean,
why would you commit the perfect crime,

disappear for two decades,

then come back into town
just to torment you?

But that's what he did, right?

I go downstairs,
there he is in the kitchen

and, next thing, I'm in
a conversation with the guy

in which he practically admits
to murdering his daughter here!

No, you had a conversation with someone

who probably wanted you to think
he was John Graff. And it worked.

See, for us, John Graff is just a name.

You have a face in your head
and you're obsessing on it, day after day.

Maybe it was motive for somebody else.

I can't! Please, God, please,
make it stop!

I mean, come on, we sold the house!

You're absolutely right.

I'm not looking at that board again.

It's Bruce.

Hey, Bruce. Yeah.

What?

- What?
- They can't do that!

Okay.

What is it? What happened?

They pulled the offer.

What? Why?

"House from Hell."
That's fantastic.

"A New Jersey family is desperate to flee

what they thought was their dream home,

in upscale Westfield,
after receiving anonymous letters,

that hint at satanic rituals
and mass murders,

as part of the home's secret past."

"The owners maintain that a satanic cabal

uses the 100-year-old home
as a meeting place

and can enter the home at will
via a series of secret passageways."

Fuck!

You did this. This is you, right?

Oh, wow,
what an astonishing feat of deduction,

seeing as how
I told you I was gonna do it!

Why?
I thought we were friends.

I thought we were friends too, cunt!

Until you made all those accusations,

storming into the country club,
in front of everybody,

and saying that I broke into your house
and that I killed your son's muskrat.

The club has now suspended
my membership, pending review.

We are selling this house, okay?

So why do you have to screw it up

when we're actually trying to leave?

Because you don't deserve
to make a profit.

You don't deserve it!

You deserve to lose your shirts!

Fuck you, Karen.

No, fuck you.

Fuck you! Because guess what?

Payback's a bitch!