All language subtitles for Prodigal Son - S01E03.eng

Tonight, the NYPD
arrested Dr. Martin Whitly

in connection to at least 23 murders.

Get him out of here.

Thank you.

You look stunning today.

Thank you.

How are the children?

- They're...
- We can beat this.

I've retained an attorney,
Everett Sterling.

He reassures me that,
with our resources,

no criminal charge is insurmountable...

- Stop.
- I'm coming back to you,

- to our children...
- I said, stop.

I thought we had a good life.

We still can.

Mother taught me that marriage is long,

that a woman overlooks things,
that she makes sacrifices.

I would have sacrificed
anything for you.

And you did, which is why
we will get through this.

Look at this place!

You are never getting
out of here, Martin.

You are going to be in a cage
for the rest of your life.

After what you did,

I will never come back here.

None of us will.

Do you understand?

Not ever.

Oh, Malcolm...

Be careful, Malcolm.

How many other people died?

And why can't you remember?

He changed the locks.

You changed the locks?

Malcolm.

In response to your security upgrade,

I would like to remind you that
you and that wretched parakeet

are merely tenants
of the building that I own.

Open the door!

Are you all right?

Well, then it's about time.
Buzz me in, will you?

Mmm... You'll be needing one, too,
judging by that display.

I'm fine.

Those restraints are clearly useless.
I'll look into a custom bedframe.

Mother, why are you here?

You're seeing your father.

I'm a consultant with the NYPD.

He proved helpful with my casework.

So you're a team now?

Father and son, solving crimes.
How sweet for you both.

I have no intention of returning.

This is exactly what he wants.
This is what he has always wanted.

A relationship to control you,
to infect your mind.

He does not control me.

I just watched you
throw yourself out a window.

I know you think
these memories are real.

They're not.

So shut them down.

I enjoy books on tape.

Gin also works.

I need answers.

And there are only two people
in this world that can provide them.

A convicted serial killer and you, Mom.

I have no interest
in revisiting the past,

and for the sake of your mental health,

neither should you.

My mental health is just fine.

I want new keys by tomorrow,

or I am putting in a Panera.

My mental health is fractured.
It's eroding,

maybe past the point of repair.

It's not good.

Your hyperbole remains as vibrant
as it was at 11 years old.

Which is why you still agree
to shrink me.

I "shrink" you because you tend
to barge in unannounced.

And because you've made it very clear

that you have no intentions
of seeing a therapist

more appropriate to your age group.

Well, they don't have free lollipops.

What's your professional opinion
on repressed memory?

Is this about your nightmares?

The girl in the box?

I know why they never found her.

My father...

I think he drugged me with chloroform
or a similar sedative for...

I don't know how long.

Chloroform?

Is that hyperbole?

I'm not sure.

In trademark fashion, Martin has
chosen to dance around the truth.

You've been seeing your father?

In order to preserve

any hope of overcoming your PTSD,

I would recommend that you stay
as far away from Martin Whitly

as humanly possible.

I'm sorry. I have to go.

- Police business.
- Police?

We haven't even discussed
why you were dismissed by the FBI.

Root beer.

This day just keeps getting better.

Okay.

For you, Gil.

And for you.

And for you, a lemon-lime.

Professor George Holton.

Big shot at the university
with a lot of letters after his name.

Check out his eyes.

In the early 19th century,

experimental lobotomies
produced a similar side effect.

Uh... Well, it indicates damage
to the optic nerve.

There may be damage
to the brain as well.

Uh, Mr. Bright, good morning.

Cherry?

It's my favorite.

I'm sorry. I didn't realize that
we were exchanging small gifts.

I'm unprepared.

I could go grab something.

Cause of death?

I'm still working on it.

The only presenting wounds are minor
abrasions on his wrists and ankles.

Indicating he was bound during the act.

That, plus the lethal internal injury

means that what the killer did
took time.

Another location, some place secure,

then he or she dumped the victim here.

Detectives, we've got something.

Let's find out why.

We're in Riverside Park
above 123rd Street,

where at seven o'clock this morning,

police found the body
of Dr. George Holton.

At this time, the NYPD refuses
to comment on any possible suspects...

...but we will remain on scene

pending further information on the case.

"Dear policemen,
it turned black when they came.

They said truth.

Do wildflowers grow there?

I saw them. Tell them I saw them.

Tell them it's all black now."

Glad he cleared all that up.

Well, look at the alternate slant
in the writing.

The scattered embellishments,
the lack of consistency...

Nothing here makes any sense.

To him, it does.

We're looking
at a serious mental illness.

Could be one
of Holton's former patients.

Possibly.

But this points to a pure,

perhaps, progressive psychotic break.

Guided by delusions or hallucinations.

We may be after a visionary killer.

They often convince themselves

they're acting on behalf
of a higher power

or a dissociative voice.

God, or the devil...

Well, Bright was right.

This is more than
damage to the optic nerve.

This incision goes
around his entire head.

Most likely a cranial saw,
quarter-inch in depth.

The killer cut clean through
this man's...

You don't see that every day.

He took the whole brain.

What the hell does that mean?

I have absolutely no idea.

The victim's brain
was surgically removed.

You're looking for someone
with at least a basic understanding

of cranial anatomy.

This is delicious.

So cause of death is...

no brain?

Oh, mercifully for him,

no, that's not how he killed him.

Sudden cardiac arrest.

He died of a heart attack?

A heart attack is a result
of a coronary artery blockage.

Our victim's heart was healthy,

even exceptionally low-risk for his age.

Something else caused his heart to stop?

His fists were clenched.

Tight enough and long enough

that his fingernails cut into his palms.

Almost like George Holton
was scared to death.

It's fascinating how it becomes...

It's elegant, really, the evolution of
your hypothesis because it starts...

- Edrisa.
- Uh, welcome to the team.

Why go through the trouble of
removing the brain postmortem?

To him, taking the brain
meets some deep psychological need.

I just have to find out
what that need is.

Holton's a widower.

His neighbors saw him go out
on Saturday night around 9:00 p.m.,

and then never again.

He was on sabbatical, but his psych lab

is still running at the university
under his research partners

Carl Mitchell and department head
Dr. Elaine Brown.

Elaine Brown?

She's a legend.

Okay.

I studied her research at Quantico.

Mr. Bright.

I've got your doctor on the phone.

Uh... Right.

Oh, my, uh, dentist.

Bad gums.

I'm tiring of these phone privileges.

Did he take the brain?

I saw you on television.

You and your sister.

Aw... I mean,
local news remains amateurish,

but I think she has real chops,
don't you?

Could you mute that, please?
I'm on with my son.

Now,

tell me about Mr. Holton's brain.

That's police business.

Even a layman could get there.

An incision along the circumference
of the skull?

A skull belonging
to Dr. Elaine Brown's colleague?

You think he's trying to send a message.

Are you asking my advice?

No.

Yeah, you remember our examination
of Dr. Brown's theories.

I do.

The brain is the arbiter
of the human fear response.

Fear can be both
motivating and debilitating.

I'm guessing in the case
of our killer, it's the latter.

This is not "our" case.

When both my children
take an interest in something,

it's only natural
to want to participate.

Please tell your sister
her diction is, mmm, impeccable.

Chapin paid for itself.

- Goodbye, Dr. Whitly.
- And one more thing.

This case may prove
difficult for you, Malcolm.

Fear has always been
your particular stumbling block.

I catch killers for a living.

Still,

your nightmares,

that tremor,

you've always been good
at repressing fear,

pretending it's not there.

But it is.

Because of you.

Here we go again
with the blame game. Uh...

Why don't you swing by?

You know, you seemed troubled
in our last visit.

So many unanswered questions.

I have no intention of returning.

Very well.

But do tell Elaine that her work helped

inspire me to, uh...

resist convention.

We're both devastated.

It's a tremendous loss
for the community.

Do you know of anyone who would've
wanted to harm Professor Holton?

Participant number three is distracted.

Swap out her protocol.

Detective, I have built a career
examining the human mind.

If I observe someone
who is psychologically capable

of that level of sadism,
he would already be in your custody.

- I'm Dr. Elaine Brown.
- Detective Powell.

Malcolm Bright. Consultant profiler.

- Is that my book?
- Uh, yes.

I'm also a huge fan.

Dr. Brown, we'll need
Professor Holton's class rosters.

- Access to his files.
- Of course.

Would you mind signing this?

She doesn't have a pen.
Do you have a pen?

Have there been any recent incidents
within the department,

any firings, on-campus dramas?

No. None.

Alice Downey.

She was a graduate student.

She committed suicide three months ago.

George's sabbatical
was really a mental health leave.

He blamed himself.

Did Dr. Holton and Alice
have a relationship?

Not at all, and I resent
the salacious implication.

Alice was troubled.

She succumbed to the pressures
of doctoral pursuit.

I fail to see the connection.

Hard at work, I see.

How did you...

Those insistent reports
of yours are live, dear.

All of New York knows you're here.

Well, maybe not all of New York.

How are your ratings?

What do you want, Mother?

Never lie to me again.

Malcolm's seeing your father,
and you covered for him.

I can't get through family dinner
without covering for one of you.

I need you to tell him to stop.

I'm tired of being in the middle.
Tell him yourself.

I have.

I'm worried.

You know what this could do
to your brother.

No, I don't

because...

I don't remember my dad.

I was forbidden.

I was protecting you.

- You did.
- Yeah.

You also taught me
to be ashamed of who I am.

I never knew Martin Whitly.

All I know is what you want me to know.

Maybe that's not enough.

Do you sleep at night?

What?

When you close your eyes,
do you find peace?

That peace is because
of the choices I made.

You can thank me anytime you like.

Alice Downey,
Dr. Holton's dead grad student.

There's something there.

What do you think?

I think Dr. Brown's lying.

Never meet your heroes.

I sniffed around
the university's admin building.

They're all just as wild
about Elaine Brown as you are.

But they dug up
an anonymous complaint letter

with some crazy theories
about Alice's suicide.

Handwriting look familiar?

Whoever wrote it is accusing
the Psych department

of off-the-books experiments.

How off the books?

Grad students were dosing
themselves with LSD.

Alice was tripping on acid when
she did a header off that building.

Psychedelics impair fear and inhibition.

Perhaps the professors were measuring
the LSD's effect on their responses.

This is older than the writing
we found at the crime scene.

It's inflammatory, but cogent,

indicating a continuing and severe
decline in our killer's mental state.

There's something we're missing.

Some meaning in these words.

He wants us to understand him.

To find him.

Detective Powell.

Detective, it's Carl Mitchell.

There are some things you should know.

Circumstances I couldn't discuss
in front of Elaine.

"Circumstances"?

The truth.

Dr. Mitchell, where are you?

The research building,
ninth floor. But I...

Dr. Mitchell?

Dr. Mitchell, can you hear me?

Dr. Mitchell, are you okay?

I drank it...

I've been dosed.

It's over.

Dr. Mitchell?

Security says someone triggered
the roof door alarm.

Oh, God. Please, God. Help.

He's still here!

Police! Come out
with your hands up!

Please. Oh, God.

You're safe, Carl.

Did you hear it?

They... Why? Why?

She's dead because she was high.

Did you see it? Did you see it?

Did you see how high?

Oh, please, please...

You're high on LSD.

In large enough doses,
it can mimic a psychotic break.

There are... Who is it?

Who is doing this?

No. No.

The universe!
The universe is doing this.

It wants me...

Police!

And I've got to fight for it.

I've got to fight for it.

Now, don't... Who? Who? Who?

- Who is after you? Who is it? Her?
- Don't shoot.

- Don't shoot. He's been dosed.
- What can you do?

Not a whole hell of a lot.

It's what they want.

Don't you do it.

We're so high up. We're so high up.

Bright.

Did you know that was there
to break his fall?

Sure.

So what am I putting in our report?

Oh, I don't know. I like to summarize
what happened at the scene.

Wack-job consultant pushes vic off roof?

Bright.

Carl Mitchell isn't lucid enough
to make a statement,

but he is in stable condition.

Fractured a rib in the fall.

Something going on with you?

I got a pitch.

Wack-job consultant's detailed
understanding of the human psyche

led him to anticipate that,
until diazepam could be administered,

physical pain might be the only thing

to deliver the victim from
his psychedelic experience.

Bright was...

You love saying that, don't you?

Tox screens came back positive.

Carl Mitchell's blood had extreme
levels of lysergic acid diethylamide,

LSD.

More than 50 times the standard dose.

And our original victim, Holton?

A similar concentration.

More than enough
to induce extreme panic,

fear, leading to cardiac arrest.

Those levels were no accident.

Our killer doses his victims.

That's his MO.

To induce the fear
that ultimately kills them.

We're looking for someone who was
harmed by Dr. Brown's experiments.

Someone who couldn't outrun the fear.

That's what
removing the brain represents.

The destruction of his own mind.

These kills are mission-orientated.

He wants to rid the world
of the people that did this to him.

We need to get to Elaine Brown.

Get over to her place now.

Alice Downey was experimenting
with LSD at the time of her suicide.

On your orders?

This isn't 1963, Detective.

No one ordered them to do anything.

You're lying, Dr. Brown.

You held your credentials
and authority over their heads.

How many of your students
participated in these experiments?

Quite a few.

Did any of them exhibit
signs of latent psychosis?

We're looking for a male,
30s, likely Caucasian.

The increasing hyperkinetic
abnormalities in his handwriting

suggest a progression
in his mental illness.

He may have appeared socially immature,

notable decline in hygiene,
dropping grades,

situationally incongruent emotions.

Dominic.

We need a full name.

Dominic Render.

A former doctoral student.

When did he finish his degree?

He didn't.

He dropped out maybe six months ago.

Let me guess. He succumbed to
the pressures of doctoral pursuit?

Hundreds of students submitted
to protocol with no side effects.

But Dominic was the outlier.

With him, the drug triggered
intractable paranoid schizophrenia.

Your experiment was
the trip that never ended.

And when he learned
of Alice Downey's suicide,

he decided to take his revenge.

Malcolm's not here.

I'm so sorry.

About Jackie.

What are you doing here, Jessica?

I'm trying to offer
my condolences, for starters.

Yeah, well, you're three years late.

My wife loved Malcolm like a son.

She was kind.

But she wasn't his mother.

And you aren't his father.

You don't want Malcolm to work with me?

No.

I don't want my son to continue
to throw his life away,

doing penance for his father's crimes.

I also imagine the salary
leaves something to be desired.

Malcolm is a grown man.

And you were the grown man
who befriended him,

who swore to protect him,

and then sent him back
into the arms of that monster.

- I didn't know he...
- You had a case to close.

You knew, Gil.
More than anyone, you knew.

Yeah. Who sent him there
in the first place?

I didn't have a choice.

I'm sorry.

I was losing him.

Malcolm worshipped his father.

I thought if he could see
what he really was,

maybe he would come back to me.

Jessica, he was 11.

I was wrong.

Help me fix it.

Malcolm Bright does whatever
Malcolm Bright wants to do.

We can't control him.

Speak for yourself.

I will never come back here.

None of us will.

Do you understand?

Not ever.

You're right.

We have been happy.

And you, dear, sweet Jessica,
you got the very best of me.

There's a reason for that.

Men have tendencies.

Needs.

And I did what I had to do
in order to meet those needs.

To keep me happy

and provide you
with the life you wanted.

Oh, you knew what I was.

You'll be back.

Adolpho, bring the car around.

Where to, ma'am?

Claremont Psychiatric Hospital.

Elaine is turning in
after a cup of chamomile.

Gil and Dani are closing in on Render.

He wants me to stay on
Professor Bad-Trip just in case.

That means you can go home.

What does it stand for? "JT."

Julian?

Jason?

John?

Jake?

- Joseph?
- I'm not sure you're stakeout material.

I'm a chronic insomniac.

I was born for this.

How many kids' brains you got
to scramble to get one of those?

Sorry. I know she's your people.

No. You're my people.

Tell me why I'm wrong.

In the service, we have a hierarchy.

Your rank commands respect.

Cops are the same.

I have a badge. I have a title.

But you don't respect me.

When I was a little kid,

a cop came to my house.

He put cuffs on a bad guy
and took him away.

He saved me.

No one has more respect for the badge
or the people that wear it than I do.

I need to ask Dr. Brown
one more question.

For the profile.

Your case is a real testament

to the mind's capacity to endure trauma.

I know the existence of repressed memory

is a controversial subject...

I am all for controversy.

I mean, who amongst us can qualify

any condition of the mind
as nonexistent?

I have been diagnosed as depressed,

generalized anxiety,
post-traumatic stress disorder...

All linked to fear.

And you have reason to believe
that you were drugged

during your father's active periods?

Have you ever smelled chloroform?

It's not my drug of choice.

It has chemical notes, of course,

but it's almost sweet. Pleasant, really.

Olfactory memories are very persistent.

A familiar smell

can conjure a connected experience
like nothing else.

Do you have any fears?

I have...

regrets.

Regrets can evolve into fears.

If your memories are blocked,

it may be because
they are attached to something

your subconscious mind is afraid of.

And the only way to access fear...

Is to face it.

Where is this one from?

It's African.

It's an artistic interpretation
of Lucifer himself.

I've seen this before.

Has Dominic Render ever been here?

Uh, yes.
Many of my students have.

Dominic was always fascinated...

He was...

He was fascinated with my collection.

He wants you to understand him.

To find him.

This is where he plans to kill you.

Something's wrong.

My thoughts are shifting.
My pulse is racing.

It's the tea. The chamomile.

You've been dosed with LSD.

The floor is mel... melting...

We have to get you out of here.

Turn on... Just turn it on.

Turn it on.

It's stupid. It's... Quick.

Turn it on!

Let's go back.

I'm sorry. We have to go back.

There's no going back.

JT, Render's in the house.

Turn it on! Turn on the lights.

Front door is locked.
I'm going around back.

It is breathing with me.

With me.

- It's with me.
- Stay right here.

The walls are breathing.

With me. With...

With me! It's with me...

Let's go back. With me!
We have to go back.

Dominic Render.

You said, you said you loved me...

No one else needs to die.

I know how you feel.

I've had my share of nightmares.

But they trapped you inside yours,
didn't they?

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why...

I can help.

It's not too late.

Dominic?

I know you're scared.

I am, too.

This is my response to fear.

Let's go back. Let's go back.

I killed him.

It's me.

The walls,
and everything in this home...

It's so black.

Turn it on. I have to turn it on.

Police!

No! No! Wait!

You're in the midst of
an intense psychedelic experience.

But at the end of the day,
it's still just a trip.

You can't outrun the fear.

You have to move into it.

It's too quick. I have to go back!

The fear you're feeling right now,
that's real.

Stop fighting.

You have to let the fear consume you,

and the panic will subside.

You did this.

And now, you have to live with yourself.

Well, I can't...

Jehovah?

Jerome?

What is it?

You've got to tell me.

Dr. Whitly, you have a guest.

You're stunning.

Burn in hell.

Always a gas.

And you said you'd never come.

I don't wanna be here.

Though I do prefer you on a leash.

A woman of your age...

You've only just reached
your hard-won sexual peak.

That revelation would be enough
to drive anyone back to their most...

diligent partner.

I want you to stop seeing Malcolm.

Way to kill a mood.

I'm surprised he told you
about our visit.

He didn't have to tell me.
I know my son.

Oh, that's unfortunate.

I enjoyed it.

Our little secret.

What do you want from him, Martin?

What does any good father want?

A relationship.

You already destroyed
his childhood.

By three, a child's brain has
already reached peak development.

Three-year-old Malcolm Whitly

thought his father was a kind,
caring, law-abiding citizen.

Forget about the kids.

Let's talk about us.

There is no "us."

You are dead to me.

And when your body finally submits,
I will flush your ashes down

the Port Authority's
most disgusting toilet.

Malcolm's gonna be just fine.

You did well, Jessica.

I am so proud of him

and Ainsley.

And of you...

for raising our beautiful children.

It must have been so hard.

Thank you.

Don't...

I am terrified of you.

Even chained to the wall, I am terrified

to look into your eyes. To see...

a monster.

And of what that monster
might do to my family.

Malcolm's my family, too.

And Ainsley.
All of you will always be my family.

No. We lost you.

You are dead to me because
I had to kill you in my mind,

because I loved you.

My mother warned me.

You were basically penniless.

You couldn't maintain my lifestyle.
You would hold me back.

But, oh, she was wrong.

We had everything.

And I would've done anything to save it.

We were happy.

Until everything was taken from me.

Everything.

Except our children.

And now, you want them, too?

How can you do this?

- Martin...
- Don't!

Don't do that, Jess.

I was there.

I know the whole story.

What happened to them
wasn't just about me.

You are breaking him.

He is nearly broken.

And I am begging you,

leave Malcolm alone.

Don't take the one thing I have left.

Malcolm!

What the hell are you doing?

You know very well that
your father's things are off-limits!

I saw something.

I saw a woman.

That doesn't concern you!

- Do you hear me?
- You're hurting me.

Do you hear me?

Never speak of her again.

You have no idea
what your father is capable of.

Mom.

What did you do?