All language subtitles for Beyond.Belief.Fact.or.Fiction.S02E05.AMZN.WEB-DL.DD+2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

It's time once again to cross over

the boundary between the real and the unreal.

Beyond Belief, Fact or Fiction.

Hosted by Jonathan Frakes.

We live in a world where the real and the unreal

live side by side, where substance

is disguised as illusion and the only explanations

are unexplainable.

Can you separate truth from fantasy?

To do so you must break through the web of your experience

and open your mind to things beyond belief.

Sometimes to see the truth, we have to look

at things from another angle.

Take this portrait of a single class.

When viewed from a different perspective,

it becomes an entire circus.

We encourage you to view our stories

tonight with an open mind.

Examine them from a variety of angles.

We'll tell you at the end if they're true or false.

So follow the clown as he turns the corner.

Our circus is about to begin.

What mysterious forces cause some soil

to be fertile, while other gardens yield

nothing but wilted dreams?

What is the secret of the green thumb?

Joss Myrtle doesn't possess a green thumb.

In fact, lately his efforts to cause his land to bloom

are mostly all thumbs.

But Joss Myrtle loves his land.

And even though he has no financial resources,

he is determined to see it thrive again.

I was just a teenager when it all happened.

I worshipped my father.

But he was putting our family through terrible times.

Our farm was going under.

Nothing was growing.

But papa refused to admit it.

Joss, did you hear what I said?

I heard you.

Well, look at it.

The land is worthless.

It's been barren for two years.

Your mortgage is about to go into receivership.

Look, Joss, I understand what you're going through,

but the best financial advice I can give you

is to sell now, cut your losses, and give your family a chance.

Paula, he's going under.

He's dragging you down with him.

When are you going to wake up?

You're my brother, Harold, but I

won't have you talking about my husband that way

in his own home.

Well, you're going to lose your home.

You're going to lose everything.

Joss, I brought the papers with me.

We're making you the best offer you're going

to get I'm going to leave them.

I urge you to take a Look at them.

I'm going to urge you to accept--

Joss, I strongly urge you to accept our offer.

You got to get your farm out of--

He's hopeless.

He's utterly hopeless.

Papa.

Papa, are you OK?

This land means everything to me, April.

It's been in our family for generations.

It's been good to us.

It's given us life.

I owe this land my soul.

Uncle Harold says we're going to have to leave.

We're not leaving.

The farm stays in the family.

It's always been handed down.

And that's the way it's going to be.

I'm going to make the land rich again, so it'll grow.

How are you going to do that, papa?

Don't you worry how.

Just know we're going to stay.

A few months later,

I was tossing and turning, going in and out of sleep.

I lived on the farm all of my life.

And the idea of giving it up and moving somewhere else

frightened.

I didn't know any other life.

But as scared and sad as I was, Papa

was going through a lot worse.

I'm not sure what made me

get out of bed at that moment.

Maybe it was the voices I heard downstairs.

One voice sounded like Papa's, but the other I

had never heard before.

You got here quick.

You called.

I came.

What can I do for you?

Will you get my family 20 years of crops?

There's no saying exactly what I'll do.

You're not the one who calls the shots here, Joss.

Look, this means everything to me.

But I don't go if I can go through with it.

No or never, Joss.

Make up your mind.

Do you have everything you need to do this?

Just come with me.

I wasn't sure who the stranger was.

I thought maybe it was Mr. Johnson, the rich man

who lived in the next county.

I'd seen someone who looked like him

hanging around the barn once.

And that's who Papa told me it was.

I couldn't help but follow them out the door

to see what was going on.

It was really cold that night, but I didn't even

think about getting a coat.

Nothing could take away the chill I was feeling.

I had no idea what they were doing.

And I was too far away to hear what they were saying.

The only thing I do know is the one thing I'll never forget.

That was the last time I ever saw my papa alive.

Papa!

Papa!

Papa.

I'm telling you I went outside and I saw it.

He wasn't there. I think he went away.

But he disappeared.

What do you mean he disappeared?

It had to have been a nightmare.

No, it was a nightmare.

I know what I saw.

He's gone.

Mama said she didn't believe my story.

She said papa had just up and left

and I was making the whole thing up to ease her pain.

But I knew deep down she didn't believe her story either.

When she thought I had gone back

to sleep, she went out to the part of the world

where I had seen Papa and the man in black go.

And that's where she found it, the pile of Papa's clothing.

The wind took care of the rest.

Stay.

Stay on the land.

The wind never stop howling

for the rest of that night.

Mama and I kept hearing what we thought was a voice, a voice

that sounded like Papa's.

Finally, we fell asleep in each other's arms,

exhausted, scared, and strangely at peace.

In the morning,

the wind had died down.

And when I opened my eyes, I knew something was different.

I could feel Papa all around.

In fact, I was sure that if I opened the door,

I would see him standing outside in the field.

Mama, mama.

Mama, wake up.

What-- what is it?

Is something wrong?

Nothing's wrong.

Come on.

Oh, my god.

It was the most beautiful

scene we had ever seen.

Fields were green and the crops were growing.

I wanted Papa to see it, too.

But I had the feeling he knew all about it.

Did Joss Myrtle really disappear

and become part of his land?

Or did he simply go away one night never to return?

Was his daughter dreaming when she saw him

hit by lightning that night?

And how do you explain the sudden greening

of the Myrtle farm?

And what about that pile of clothes?

And who was the mysterious stranger?

Is there truth blossoming here?

Or is it just another home grown like?

You'll

find out whether the story is true or false

at the end of our show.

Next, a luxury liner hits an ice berg on Beyond

Belief, Fact or Fiction.

The luxury liner, very much in our thoughts these days.

The image of a giant ship cutting through the waters

combines our fantasies of opulence

with the undeniable romance of the open seas.

No wonder these miracles of the waves

have a way of capturing our imagination.

This next story of a sea faring disaster

is set in a time earlier than most of our tales.

But the inspiration for its telling

is as fresh as tomorrow.

It was a cold winter's morning

when Harris Fisher, an author who

hadn't had a best seller in much too long,

met with his publisher.

It's a good idea, Harris.

But it's just not what people are reading.

True stories are where interests lie nowadays.

Jack the Ripper, that's what's selling.

I'm a writer.

I'm not a newspaper reporter.

The stories come from my imagination.

And the tide will change.

Until it does, pick up a paper, look at the headlines.

It's not me, Zachary.

Fiction is still greater than anything

you could read in a newspaper.

You'll see.

Back in his apartment, Fisher

struggled once again with the writer's block that was

crippling his creative process.

Story after story would start in his head, only to go nowhere.

He knew his publisher's suggestion of stealing a plot

from the headlines was a good, especially

for a writer with no ideas.

But Fisher was determined to come up with an original plot.

But then an article caught his eye.

A grand story took shape in front of him, a story as rich

as the day's headlines.

That's it.

Suddenly, it was all so easy.

The chains around his imagination

seemed to be breaking off link by link.

If it was a story that came from the headlines

that people would buy, then that was what

Fisher was going to give them.

Always one who worked better from a visual concept,

he began to draw on a sketch pad.

Fisher could see the ship in front of him.

Like the Titanic, it would be a giant luxury cruiser.

Like the Titanic, it would have huge smokestack that

would tower above its decks.

There was no stopping the direction that his mind was

heading now, so he let it go.

Yes, and like the Titanic, the massive ship

would set sail from England.

This with the story Fisher knew he could sell

and so this was the story he would write.

Soon Fisher's apartment was filled

with a sound it had not heard in months, the furious clacking

of typewriter keys.

Fisher's imagination was sailing as fast as any ship.

His story would follow the same plot as the Titanic.

His ship would also be traveling to the United States.

In fact, its destination was New York.

Crowds would gather on the docks to wish it

bon voyage, this wondrous, unsinkable legend.

There were periods when Fisher questioned his project.

Could he really get away with this idea?

Wouldn't readers reject the concept?

Yet it all seemed so clear.

Why not give into the words that were crying to be let out?

After several hours of inner struggle,

Fisher knew he had no choice.

He must go ahead with his book.

The similarities to the Titanic were an intrinsic part

of Fisher's story, right down to the name

he chose for his ship, the Titan.

To the captain.

To the captain, the captain.

There was no stopping Fisher now.

The world outside his apartment ceased to exit.

All right, I'm coming.

Coming.

I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. Fisher,

but I thought you'd want your food brought up to you again.

Oh thank you, Mrs. Clark.

There's going to be a big storm coming in tonight.

Do you have enough wood? - Yes.

Yes, I'm fine.

You know, my husband and I marvel at your talent.

Your stories are always so original.

And--

Thank you, Mrs. Clark.

Goodbye.

Back to his typewriter.

The parallels would continue.

Both the Titan and the Titanic were

the same approximate length and width.

Each ship had three propellers.

And each carried over 2,000 passengers.

Both ships were the most expensive,

luxurious seagoing structures of their time.

And the creme de la creme of society

spent fortunes to book passage.

And then Fisher added his most outrageous touch of all.

His ship, the Titan, would be hit by an iceberg.

And like the Titanic, great numbers

would die of exposure in the icy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Harris, come in, come in.

I just wanted to stop by to see if you read my story yet.

Please sit down.

Harris, a 70,000 ton ship on its maiden voyage

carrying over 2,200 passengers, and it hits an iceberg

and sinks?

Over 1,500 people die?

Come on, Harris.

It's not going to happen.

I told you.

People aren't interested in fiction.

The only difference between fiction and nonfiction

is that fiction hasn't happened yet.

And this never will.

All right, Harris, give it another try.

And in the meantime, I'll give this another look.

Harris Fisher's story

was written in 1898.

The Titanic went down in 1912.

An amazing story, especially when

you consider the Titan was written 14 years

before the Titanic ever sailed.

Could Harris Fisher really have imagined all

those parallels to the Titanic?

Was there some newspaper article about plans

to build the Titanic that he lifted his ideas from?

Or was it another example of art foreshadowing life?

The same way Jules Verne wrote of submarines

long before their invention or da Vinci

sketched flying machines centuries

before the Wright brothers.

Is our story of the ship that hit an iceberg the truth

or is it simply a titanic hoax?

We'll

find out whether this story is true or false

at the end of our show.

Next, a diary predicts disaster on Beyond

Belief, Fact or Fiction.

Once, private thoughts were kept in locked diaries,

hidden away from prying eyes.

Today's high tech generation are more than

likely to record their deepest secrets on a computer.

Kim Maddox is a lonely girl, who feels safe recording

her thoughts on a computer.

But what happens when outsiders invade the private sanctuary

of her innermost feelings?

We are about to see the frightening consequences.

I never fit in.

People think I'm weird because I see things before they happen.

Can you believe that little geek actually

had the nerve to talk to me?

What did she say?

Something about Brad's party.

This is it.

Let's go.

Hey, Kim.

We've got something for you.

I wasn't popular.

And Rasha and Daley were.

So I loved it when they paid attention to me.

Loser.

Did you see the look on her face?

We got her so good.

I didn't hate them.

I hated myself.

I decided to take a walk.

Door.

Oh.

I realize now, they must have been hiding.

The freak left her computer behind.

Well, she must be going someplace special.

Who cares where she's going.

I have a better idea, let's take a trip into Kim world.

My mind was so preoccupied,

I never remember to lock up.

I can only guess what happened next.

Daley, do you think anybody saw us?

No, no one saw us. Come on.

Let's try the back door.

They really should lock their doors.

There it is, her computer.

Hm, let's see what we have.

Go to Diary.

Yeah, let's see what's on the little freak's mind.

Look, she's got stuff about all the kids in school.

No way.

How does she know that?

Wait, are we in there?

March 13th, I saw Daley and her boyfriend Travis

in the school hallway today.

I'm afraid they'll be breaking up soon.

Poor Daley.

That is so not true.

Rasha is going to fail civics and spend the summer in school.

Too bad she'd really rather go to Europe with her parents.

Her teacher is so mean.

Please, just ignore it.

She's so weird.

She's coming.

Let's go.

Come on.

When I came back,

I didn't know they had been there.

When I saw that the computer was turned on,

I thought maybe I had forgotten to turn it off.

But I wasn't sure.

It was a creepy moment that I didn't like.

It's dumb luck.

Everyone knows I hate civics.

Hello.

Hi, Travis.

What?

What do you mean we need space?

The only reason why I went out

with you in the first place was because I felt sorry for you,

you jerk.

That stupid idiot.

Daley.

What?

It's coming true.

Everything she wrote in the diary.

Oh, yeah?

Well, let's find out what else she knows.

I can't believe we're just breaking in.

Shh.

Look, we're just going to find out what the little witch

is the predicting this week.

That feeling is coming over me again.

Something bad is going to happen.

Smoke.

Lots of smoke at Daley's house.

Oh, my god, they're at my house.

My predictions were just for me to read.

I couldn't control them.

They just came over me.

I was starting to feel something really terrible

was going to happen to Rasha and Daley.

I didn't know if I can stop it from happening.

But I had to find a way to warn them.

Hi, Kim.

Hi.

We just wanted to come over and say hi.

Look, I know we haven't always gotten along.

We just wanted to say that we are sorry.

And that all is forgiven, right?

Yeah.

Yeah, sure.

Do you want to come in?

Sure.

I'm glad you guys stopped over.

My parents are going away for the night,

and I was going to see a movie.

Would you like to come?

I really need to talk to you.

OK.

OK, yeah, we will meet you there.

OK.

8 o'clock show?

Sure.

We'll see you there.

As if.

Freak.

I never told them what I wanted to say.

Then they'd never want to be my friends.

But I guess if they were reading my diary,

they would find out on their own.

Look, maybe we shouldn't do this.

Come on, let's just leave her alone.

We will.

But you know, you just can't trust these computers.

They can get really sick.

Well, wait.

We should look and see what she wrote first.

I can't believe this.

We are going to Brad's party anyway.

I knew they would never make

it to the movies to be with me.

Brad's party was going on at the same time.

The sad part was, I knew they'd never make it there either.

I didn't wish anything bad on Rasha and Daley.

It wasn't their fault they were mean to me.

And it's not my fault that I always end up the same way.

Alone.

Our story ends before we find out the exact fates

of Rasha and Daley.

Sad to say that shortly after reading Kim's diary,

they were involved in a fatal traffic accident.

Was their untimely end really predicted by Kim?

Or were they so frightened upon reading the diary entry,

that they were driving in a state of blind panic,

bringing about their own demise?

But then, how do you explain the accuracy

of all those other processes on Kim's computer?

This story may be fact.

Then again, it may be fancy.

What's your prediction?

We'll

find out whether this story is true or false

at the end of our show.

Next, a woman explores the hidden secrets

of her past on Beyond Belief, Fact or Fiction.

The human brain, much too complicated to be

understood by the human brain.

Repressed memory, total recall, deja vu, all found here.

And all basically unexplainable.

Jane Doe has no recollections of her past.

Yet on the blank wall of her memory,

images appear that she seems to remember.

You are about to enter her world to experience a tale of amnesia

you will never forget.

After the accident,

I had completely lost my memory.

I hated the name Jane Doe, but that's all they could call me.

Nobody knew who I was or where I came from.

I had no identification or records.

All I had were these flashes in my brain.

And I was beginning to get one now.

Stop.

Stop, stop the car, Susan, please.

Susan was an attendant in the hospital

where I was staying.

She was assigned to drive me to a specialist

several hundred miles away.

But what I was starting to experience

was more important than any help a doctor could give me.

I was starting to experience my past.

All of the sudden, I have this funny feeling that I've

been in this town before.

And I think I've even been in this diner.

Well, it certainly is quaint.

Something told

me there was a counter area upstairs

that I had visited many times.

Good afternoon, ladies.

What'll it be?

I'd like a gardenia float.

A what please?

A gardenia float, please.

With extra whipped cream.

Kind of fancy for this place.

Two scoops of ice cream, root beer, and some nuts

sprinkled on the top.

And it's served in a dish that looks like a flower.

In all the years I've been here,

I've never heard anybody order a gardenia float.

Would you settle for a piece of Bud's special pie.

Sure, why not?

It's going to be all right, Jane.

Stop calling me Jane.

My name isn't Jane Doe.

She's suffering from post-traumatic memory loss.

That's just a fancy way of saying I've got amnesia.

Gosh, I'd really like to help you out,

but I never seen you before.

Now, Annie here might know more than I do.

After all, she's been delivering mail in these parts

for about 100 years now.

Why don't you talk to her while I go

freshen up in the ladies room.

Oh, it's just past those two booths,

take a right and a left.

And it's across from the jukebox.

That's exactly right.

I think I'll have my usual.

Lemonade with two sugars.

How'd you know that?

Did-- did you use--

did you use to buy lemonade from a little girl on Spring Street?

Spring Street, that's--

that's part of the I-90 interstate.

That's been gone for years.

Are, you OK, hon?

I don't know.

My head is splitting open.

I see flashes.

And then they just disappear.

What is it?

This table, there is something special about it.

AW loves BP.

What does that mean?

Do you know those people? - I don't know.

But it sounds familiar.

BP is Billy Palmer.

They said he was in here all the time.

Poor kid.

He was killed in a bad crash years ago on his way to elope.

It happened on the bridge outside of town,

maybe around midnight.

Yeah.

Is the cemetery still across the road in St. Mary's Church.

Hasn't moved.

Come on, Susan.

Thank you.

There in the cemetery,

I was sure I would discover the link to my past.

I stared at the headstone of Billy Palmer,

praying that it would open some closed door.

Who was he?

I felt if I stood there long enough, it would become clear.

I had a few false hopes.

But in the end, Billy's grave gave me

absolutely no answers at all.

I felt I was so close to finding myself.

And?

Nothing.

Just a blank.

I was so sure this

was going to lead somewhere.

Our Jane Doe

never knew the possible truth.

For only a few feet from Billy's grave

was the grave of the girl who died with him that same night.

Her photo, a dead ringer for our Jane Doe.

Angela Wright born 1930, died 1950.

Did our Jane Doe actually live a past life

in the town she was visiting?

Was it really her who died in that accident years ago?

Or was that photograph in the cemetery

just someone who looked like her?

Is this the first time you are being asked

to judge the truthfulness of this tale,

or as that great philosopher Yogi Berra once said,

is this deja vu all over again?

We'll

find out whether this story is true or false

at the end of our show.

Next, spontaneous fires invade a home on Beyond

Belief Fact of Fiction.

Many say that fire is man's first great discovery.

For centuries, it has allowed us to cook our food,

heat our dwellings, and light our pathways.

And everything that has been invented since, either

relies on fire or imitates it.

But fire is inspiring something else

in the lives of Stuart and Laura Freeland, the destruction

of their security.

And when we cannot control our own safety, then all we have

left are the fires of fear.

Detective Harold Peters had

been a cop for over 20 years.

He has seen more than he cares to remember.

But the only cases that keep him up at night

are cases like this one.

That's why he's here today searching through the rubble

for answers and remembering when this was a dream house whose

dreams kept going up in smoke.

Stuart, help!

Honey.

Honey, get back.

Get back.

What the heck.

Turn off the electricity.

You folks have somewhere to stay tonight?

Yeah. Yeah.

I don't understand it.

We just bought the house.

They said everything checked out fine.

Well, I've never seen flames shoot

out from an outlet before.

I'm sure an electrician will be able to figure it out.

Good luck.

You sure this is the right one?

Yes, of course.

I can't figure it out.

I mean, it looks brand new, not even scorched.

I don't understand.

I don't know, the insurance company wants me to change

it and check out the wiring.

If there's a problem with the electrical, I'll find it.

God, Stuart.

Honey, what's that smell?

I don't know.

But it just started getting really bad.

It's in here too.

Where's Where's it coming from?

I don't know.

Call 911.

The fire

department confirmed the overwhelming odor of sulfur.

By now they had been called to the Freeland's residence

on five different occasions.

Another fire, and another dead end.

That's when Police Detective Harold Peters

was assigned to the case.

Stuart Freeland.

Nice to meet you.

Mind if I ask you a few questions?

No.

You name is Stuart Freeland, you say?

Yes.

And your name?

Laura Sloane Freeland.

Was there and Ethan Sloane?

No.

Detective, what's this all about?

Why the police?

Well, we're trying to figure that out, Mr. Freeland.

I mean, the fire department can't keep coming out here.

I will tell you what's baffling here, though.

There are no scorch marks on this wall here.

And when a fire touches the wall,

you figure it's going to leave a mark, but nothing.

Right, the insurance company has

sent inspectors, electricians, even soil specialists.

No one can figure it out.

Shame.

Where do you work, Mr. Freeland?

Tech Aerospace.

And business good?

Yeah, it's good.

What are you saying, Detective?

That we have something to do with this?

Oh, no, no, no.

Let me be honest with you.

I can't figure this out.

I mean, there are no scorch marks

on the floor or the walls.

I mean it's the damnedest fire I've ever seen.

For the fire department, too.

What do you think we should do?

Damned I know.

Maybe you ought to get yourself a psychic.

The next day, the Freeland's

called Dr. Lloyd Cameron, a man with an incredible success

record in spirit and demon possessions.

Well, there are no fluctuations in temperature

or energy levels.

What does that mean?

It means that I don't see anything in this house.

There is another answer.

Maybe the energy has attached itself to one of you.

Come on, that's crazy.

How-- how could that happen?

Something somebody has done, something bad.

Oh, God.

What?

It's me.

When I was nine, my brother Scott and I set fire

to the woods next to our house.

It got out of control and it burned the whole lot.

My father said that whoever did it would be followed by fire.

He scared us so bad we never said anything.

I never told anyone.

Now you have.

What does that do?

Well, it clears the conscience.

And it releases the spirits.

Repression and denial are the fountain

head of paranormal activity.

It's over, Mr. Freeland.

But it wasn't over.

The fires continued to burn inside the house.

Finally, the insurance company determined that the blazes

were caused by undetectable gases

and ordered the house torn down.

The same day, Stuart and Laura Freeland moved to another town.

But something was left behind.

Hey

A member

of the wrecking crew found it and handed

it over to Detective Peters.

At first, it seemed like a useless memento.

But it turned out to be much more.

It was an old scrapbook filled with memories, memories that

should have been discarded long ago,

but were saved like some horrible lesson you

don't want to remember, yet are afraid to forget.

The book showed that Laura Sloan Freeland as a little girl

was involved in an incident of criminal arson.

The fire she started killed several people.

So the psychic was right.

Only it wasn't the husband that the evil energy

had attached itself to.

It was the wife.

Detective Peters had his answer.

The question was, did he believe them?

Did this story have actually taken place?

Can spontaneous combustion occur with no scientific explanation?

Or could the fires have been caused by some repressed spirit

sent to punish a woman who had crossed the gods of flame

in the past?

Is this story real or unreal?

That is the burning question.

Coming up, we'll find out which of our stories

tonight were fact and which were fiction

when Beyond Belief returns.

And now let's find out if you able to separate

fact from fiction tonight.

And how about the farmer who vanished into thin air and then

seemed to use his spirit to replenish his land?

How do you judge this one?

If you guessed this was a work of fiction, you guessed right.

We made this one up.

What about the author who foretold

the tragedy of the Titanic 14 years before it sailed?

A 70,000 ton ship on its maiden voyage,

carrying over 2,200 passengers, and it hits an iceberg

and sinks?

Over 1,500 people die?

Come on, Harris, it's not going to happen.

I told you people aren't interested in fiction.

If you guessed this was a story based on reality,

you were correct.

It's fact.

Let's take another look at the story

of a student whose electronic diary

seemed to predict the future.

Look, maybe we shouldn't do this.

Come on, let's just leave her alone.

We will.

But you know, you just can't trust these computers.

They can get really sick.

Well, wait.

We should look and see what she wrote first.

I can't believe this.

We are going to Brad's party anyway.

I knew they would never make

it to the movies to be with me.

Brad's party was going on at the same time.

I didn't wish anything bad on Rasha and Daley.

It wasn't their fault they were mean to me.

And it's not my fault that I always end up the same way.

Alone.

Was this story based on an actual incident.

Yes, it was.

It happened.

And now it's time to decide the honesty

of the tale of amnesia and a life lived before.

Let's see a brief reprise.

I think I'll have my usual.

Lemonade with two sugars.

How'd you know that?

Did you use--

did you used to buy lemonade from a little girl

on Spring Street?

Spring Street that--

that's-- that's part of the I-90 interstate.

It's been gone for years.

Are you OK, hon?

I don't know.

My head is splitting open.

I see flashes and they just disappear.

Was this story of a woman whose memory

was based on a past life true?

Not this time.

It's fiction.

Let's Let's look at the strange story of the house

invaded by flames. Real or not?

My father said that whoever did

it would be followed by fire.

He scared us so bad, we never said any.

I never told anyone.

Now you have.

What does that do?

Well, it clears the conscience and it releases the spirits.

Repression and denial are the fountain

head of paranormal activity.

It's over, Mr. Freeland.

This story of fire that couldn't

be controlled or explained is inspired by a similar incident.

So where is the line between fact and fiction?

Who among us can see it so clearly

that there was never a question of what is true

and what is beyond belief?

I'm Jonathan Frakes.

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Belief, Fact or Fiction.