All language subtitles for The Alienist S01E08 - Psychopathia Sexualis (NetNaija.com)

Scalped.

I saw something similar when
I was ranching in the Dakotas.

Look for any mention of patients
with a connection to the West.

"Dirtier than a red Injun."

It's in the letter he wrote
to Mrs. Santorelli.

He's witnessed these things,
probably as a child.

Here's another one.

Of the patients who match
our description

that have spent time in
the West, these four were sent

to St. Elizabeth's Hospital
in Washington.

I think he may have been
a soldier.

- Have you told Kreizler?
- You'll have to tell him.

Come on, then.
We'll go together.

No.

Has something happened
between you?

You're in well over your head.

You don't scare me, Connor.

I'd very much like
if you would join me for dinner.

I wonder what's gotten into her.

I'm curious how you propose to
gain access to Bunzl's records.

Laszlo.

Yes, John.

Your attention certainly seems
to be drawn elsewhere

this morning.

If you're referring to the fact
I've not asked

about what happened
to your face,

it's only because I wanted to
spare you the embarrassment.

What if I told you I'd met
an old friend for a drink?

That resulted in two black eyes?

Sometimes, Laszlo, there are
words spoken between people

that are to be left private.

What about Julia Pratt?

Julia Pratt?

Your former fiancée.

She lives in Washington,
doesn't she?

Will you not take the time
to see her?

Why should I take the time
to see Julia Pratt?

Because you were in love
with her.

I rarely think about that time
in my life.

I've decided it's much better
to look to the future

than dwell in the past.

I'm hungry.

Let's eat.

There's a French alienist
named Broca I came across

when I researched
Mary's aphasia.

He believes there's a certain
section of the brain

responsible for speech,
another for empathy,

even one for love.

Love resides in the heart.

Nonsense.
The heart is simply a muscle.

Love isn't a mystery
any more than cholera.

Cholera is a disease.

The point is each part
of the brain has a function,

and that function is developed
or impaired...

They may as well
blame me personally

for these murders.

I'll soon find myself
tar and feathered,

and it won't be metaphorically,
either.

Dr. Kreizler's on his way
to Washington,

if it's some consolation.

Your Indians proved
illuminating, sir.

He believes there may be
some connection

between our killer and the West.

Go on.

I believe I should have gone
to Washington myself.

But that's not why you're upset.

I'm not entirely insensitive

to the hidden currents
between people.

Dr. Kreizler may need
your assistance

to gain entry into certain
federal institutions.

I have a friend there.

He knows everyone in town.

- Hooker's Division.
- How's that?

I was referring to
the neighborhood.

During the war,
General Hooker and his men

used to frequently enjoy
the hospitality on offer here

in their off-duty hours.

Uh, your finest whiskey,
darling.

And bring yourself back here
as soon as possible.

Nothing.

Make it two.

You mind if I ask you
what the other fella looks like?

I'm sorry.
The other fella?

Commissioner Roosevelt
said you work

at the Bureau of Indian Affairs.

Commissioner.

Theodore sure has a way
of falling up.

- Falling up?
- Yes.

Well, there are some men
who have a way about them

that even when they fail,
they succeed.

My friend Moore here
is hoping to examine records

of unsolved massacres
that took place out West.

Unsolved? Not many of them,
I can tell you.

We'd like to have a look anyway.

Would you care to dance, mister?

I-I'm afraid I have
two left feet.

I would only embarrass myself.

- You look like the kind of...
- Thank you, but... no, thank you.

You got a taker here, sweet pea.

Come by my office
in the morning.

Do you, uh, come here often?

You're Dr. Kreizler.

I heard a rumor
you were on the premises.

I saw you speak at Johns Hopkins
some years ago.

Dr. Ignatius Blunt.

It truly is an honor.

Uh, may I ask the...
the purpose of your visit?

I'm looking for someone
who was once a patient here.

His name?

Rudolf Bunzl.

Yes.
Uh, he was a soldier.

Uh, served in the Army
of the West, if I recall.

Uh, tall, early 30s.

I believe he suffers from
some sort of facial deformity,

something congenital
or acquired in his youth.

Mm, no.

In that case,
I'm not sure he's your man.

There was someone else
released years ago.

I don't recall his name.

He had a most, um...
horrific tic.

A tic?

Yes, an intermittent
and violent contraction

of the ocular
and facial muscles.

What happened to him?

Iggy?

What have I told you
about bothering our visitors?

I was just speaking with
Dr. Kreizler about a patient.

You know we never discuss
patients.

But he's a doctor.

Iggy.

It was a honor to meet you,
Dr. Kreizler.

Army surgeon.

Hacked off a few too many limbs
at Gettysburg.

Never quite the same.

I'm afraid I have some bad news,
Dr. Kreizler.

The patient you were
inquiring after is dead.

Our records indicate
that Rudolf Bunzl died

and was buried at Arlington...
let's see...

four months ago.

I'm, uh, sorry
to disappoint you.

Dr. Dillman, was there a
patient here some time back

who suffered from a facial tic,
one with intermittent

and violent contractions
around the eyes?

Doesn't ring a bell,
but then I'm fairly new here.

Do you mind if I have a look
at the records?

Dr. Kreizler, I was instructed
to offer you assistance.

I believe I've done
what was asked of me.

I'll be searching within a very
narrow range of indicators.

We have over 10,000 records
stored here.

I have all afternoon.

The type of mutilation

tells you which tribe
is responsible.

These were...

Well, it's hard to tell
from a photograph.

What's that in his mouth?

That, my good man,
is what every fella thinks with.

And I'm not talking about
his brains.

We were the same.

Took our fair share of peckers
and ears along the way.

Boys will be boys.

Chops?

Shh.

- Chops?
- Lunch.

There's a splendid place
on the Hill that serves them.

Good beer, too.

I think I'll poke through
the rest of these.

Just leave them on the table
when you're done.

Teething.

I'm sure that's what it is.
She's at that age.

Well, is there anything
I can do?

Clove oil.

Dab a bit on your finger and
rub it into your baby's gums.

It acts as a mild analgesic.

How much?

Don't worry.
It's only a bit of clove oil.

I want to pay for it,
Mr. Freewater.

I can take care
of my daughter alone.

Here.

I can tell by the expression
on your face

you were as successful as I was.

- How successful were you?
- I found nothing.

Every unsolved massacre

was inevitably attributed
to marauding Indians.

They seem to have become
a symbol

for all forms of savagery.

What did you find?

The man we came to inquire after
is dead.

- Dead?
- As a hobnail.

Upon further investigation,
I found another soldier,

one who fit our circumstances,

but had never served
further west than Chicago.

I found a murder that fit
our circumstances

but took place
in upstate New York.

The local constabulary
investigated

and attributed it
to a marauding Indian

supposedly seeking revenge
on a minister and his wife.

Where?
What town?

New Paltz.

- What is it?
- Look at this.

The other soldier
that drew my attention,

Corporal John Beecham,

suffered from a most noticeable
facial tic.

Look at his place of birth.

New Paltz.

Coincidence?

I need to see
the official records, of course.

In the meantime,
ring Miss Howard.

Let her know what we've found.

Me?

Why don't you tell me what
happened between the two of you?

She's to use her authority
to find out more

about this massacre
from local officials.

Miss Howard? Telephone.

- Police headquarters.
- Yes, sir.

This is Miss Howard.

Sara, listen to me.
We've found something.

There was a massacre
in New Paltz.

It's possible it was committed
by a man named Beecham.

John Beecham.

Go on.

Sixteen years ago,
a minister and his wife,

savagely murdered,
supposedly by Indians.

They had a son that survived,

and he lives not far
from Boston.

Kreizler and I intend
to go speak with him.

His name's Adam Dury.

- Shall I meet you?
- No, no.

Kreizler feels you'll be
more useful where you are.

He'd like you to contact
the authorities in New Paltz

and see if they have any more
information on the murders.

But I can't just stay here.

Why isn't he calling me himself?

What?

Sara?

I'm here.

There's one more thing.

You're to inform the Isaacsons

they're to be
on the first train west

to rendezvous with
John Beecham's former commander.

I'll let them know.

Sara?

Yes?

Be careful.

Do you think we'll see
any buffalo in North Dakota?

If they haven't all been killed.

What about Indians?

If they haven't all been killed.

You know, why should I care
if that's Esther's baby?

You don't believe me, do you?

Believe what?

That I don't have feelings
for Esther.

I came into this world
two minutes before you did.

I know you better than anyone.

I know you better
than you know yourself.

You're in love with Esther.

Do you regret
not visiting Julia?

We hardly had time.

One makes time when one wants.

Then there's your answer.

I can't believe
we're bypassing New York

and going straightaway
to God knows where.

Newton, Massachusetts.

May I ask...
Why are you so interested?

Adam Dury lives there.

I meant in my seeing Julia.

I remember when you first met
Julia.

Your company was rather dull

because you could think of
nothing else.

What does it feel like
when you're in the first throes?

Restlessness, above all.

Your mind is never still.

You wait at a street corner
in case she happens to pass by.

You attend a party
that you'd otherwise dread

in hopes she's been invited.

And you try to bring
every conversation back to love.

Are you Miss Howard?

Yes.

I'm Eliza.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick sent me
to fetch you.

- From the boarding house?
- Yes, Miss.

Let me take your bag.

It'll be dark soon.

Mrs. Kirkpatrick said
I should take you

over to the old Dury place
in the morning.

What do you sell?

What do I sell?

Most of the boarders we get
are salesmen.

I work for the New York
Police Department.

I never heard of a lady
working for the police,

especially in New York City.

I'm the first.

Excuse me.
What are those mountains?

You mean the Gunks.

The Gunks?

Shawangunks.

Locals call them Gunks
for short.

Do people climb them?

Oh, yes.
I climb them myself.

You?

Why shouldn't I?

Newton, Massachusetts.

I believe
there's a factory there

that makes a biscuit
my grandmother is very fond of.

Your grandmother?

Yes.
Made with figs.

Ghastly sounding,
but she swears by them.

I think it best
we stay the night

and attempt to speak
to Mr. Dury tomorrow.

And no mention of the Dury name
to anyone.

You think
there might be trouble?

Let's just say I'd rather
he wasn't expecting us.

- It's not respecting the dead.
- What isn't?

This.

You're sightseeing,

acting like a ghoulish tourist
visiting a grave site.

People visit the pyramids.
They're grave sites.

That's different.
This is Sitting Bull.

Battle of Little Big Horn.
Custer's Last Stand.

Are you the men waiting
to see Captain Miller?

Yes. I'm Detective Sergeant
Marcus Isaacson.

And this is my broth...

♪ Jesus loves
the little children ♪

♪ All the children
of the world ♪

♪ Red, yellow,
black, and white ♪

♪ They are precious
in his sight ♪

You've come all this way to
inquire about Corporal Beecham?

- You remember him?
- Remember him?

It's been 10 years, and I
can't get him out of my head.

His Army records state
that he was sent

to the Government Hospital
for the Insane

after being found unfit
for service.

Mm.

It says you were the officer
who relieved him of his duty.

It was the regimental surgeon
who declared him unfit to serve,

and sent him back east.

Would you say
he was a good soldier?

At first.

He was disciplined,
attentive to detail, efficient.

Didn't get on
with the other men,

but I put that down
to him being religious

and disapproving
of their whoring and drinking.

I've seen men driven to
bloodlust out here in the West,

never in a place like Chicago

and certainly not in the course
of a labor riot.

You're talking about
the Haymarket riots?

That's right.

We were called in
to keep the peace,

but the violence got ugly.

A bomb thrown amongst police,
rioters shot and killed.

I mean, you must be half-crazy
to do what he did that day.

What exactly did he do?

I came across him sitting
astride a dead striker...

young man,... boy, really...
in a back alley.

He was stabbing at the body
with a knife over and over.

That wasn't the worst of it.

He was naked.

Naked?

From head to foot,
drenched in blood.

Down there, between his legs...

...he was stiff as a flagpole.

Jesus! Does that child
ever stop bawling?!

Well, it would help
if her father took her for once.

That's enough from you, woman.

Well, let her
suck on some candy.

Thank you, Mr. Byrnes,
but she's got no teeth.

Why don't you give it
to your namesake, then?

Here you go, young Thomas.
You take it.

Got a tongue in your head,
haven't you? What you say?

- Thank you, sir.
- You're welcome, young man.

Now, go on.
Get.

All of you.

They was two days
snooping around Washington,

in and out of various buildings
and such.

Do you know
what they were looking for?

Cowboys and Indians, it seems.

Whoever does solve
these murders,

one thing's for certain.

It's not going to be...

That alienist.

I'm not going to let him throw
30 bloody years of police work

out the window.

Do you understand me?

I'll let the Swede know
of your concerns.

You knew them?

The Dury family?

I knew them.
The whole town knew them.

The reverend and his wife.

Adam, their oldest.

My brother went to school
with their youngest.

Japheth.

He was the one kidnapped
by Indians.

That's what the papers said
at the time.

Whoa.

Can't keep the sheriff waiting.

House is this way...
what's left of it.

You the gal from the city?

I'm Miss Howard of
the New York Police Department.

Well, I can't say Mr. Roosevelt
is a popular man in these parts.

Thank you for agreeing to meet.

My pleasure.

Sheriff Early, are you familiar
with what happened here?

I was a deputy at the time.

I seen what was done to them.

And what was done to them?

Butchered.

Like hogs.

This here is the Adam Dury
farm, gentlemen.

Ho, now.
Ho.

Settle, boys.

Hello?

Mr. Dury?

Anybody here?

Mr. Dury, we only want to talk.

Don't suppose you know
where your master might be.

Good morning, Mr. Dury.

Mr. Dury, my name
is John Schuyler Moore,

and I work
for The New York Times.

We've only come to talk.

We know you'd already
left home...

when the event occurred.

"Home."

That's a poor description of it.

You ask me,

old Reverend Dury
couldn't save anyone's soul

with his hellfire and damnation,
let alone redskins.

He weren't a missionary
very long

before he was driven off the
Plains and back to civilization.

And when he come back here,

he brought pictures with him
of dead white folks,

folks he'd seen mutilated in
the Minnesota Massacre of '62.

Pictures?

Photographs.

Awful, they were.

Used to show them
to the town children,

tell them
that's what would happen

if you're not God-fearing.

Nobody liked him much.

Or his wife.

Nobody blamed them Injuns for
coming all the way back here,

stealing their boy Japheth,

and getting revenge on them
for whatever they done out West.

You really think it was Indians
that killed them?

That's what the records
say happened 16 years ago,

and that's what I say happened
16 years ago.

So if you have no more
questions, I'll be on my way.

Don't believe a word he says.

Mr. Dury, we were hoping
to ask you some questions.

I don't speak ill of the dead.

Even if they deserve it.

That is why you're here,
isn't it?

We have no intention

of disparaging your parents,
Mr. Dury.

It's the police investigation
of their deaths

that we believe was flawed.

Perhaps you'd care to talk about
a different aspect of the case.

Tell us about your brother.

Japheth?

What do you want to know
about him?

He'd be in town sometimes
after school,

fetching something
for his mother

or running errands
for his father.

He didn't have any friends,
not with that condition of his.

What condition was that?

His face was always twitching,
like he was in terrible pain.

Adam Dury didn't want
his parents' house.

Nobody did.

I don't blame them.

It's full of ghosts.

I taught him how to hunt
with snares, skin animals.

I thought it would do some good,
but, uh...

But even then,
he couldn't escape her shadow.

Her shadow?

My mother.
She was a...

...a woman with no heart.

With me,
it was mostly indifference.

But, uh, with Japheth...

With Japheth,
she was at him all the time.

Telling him
that he wasn't hers...

...it was man-eating savages
left him on our doorstep.

She said that he was the bastard
child of the red Injun.

And the only time my poor
brother's soul knew any peace

was when he was
in those mountains, climbing.

Spasms in his face would stop,
and he'd be still as a pond.

He stuck to the rock face
like a lizard.

I'd never seen anyone
like Japheth Dury.

You said he had no friends.
Did he climb alone then?

Mostly, though there was a time
someone else climbed with him.

Another fella... a farmhand.

Older.
Took a liking to Japheth.

I trusted him
to look after my brother.

He betrayed that trust.

Mr. Dury... what do you think
happened to your brother?

Japheth came home one night.
He was upset.

Sobbing, cursing...

...bleeding down there.

I'd have ripped
that man's throat out myself

if I'd ever got the chance.

This man... Is he still around?

In a manner of speaking.

What manner is that?

A manner not of this earth.

He died up in the Gunks.

Fell off a 1,000-foot cliff.

It was right around the time
the Durys were killed.

Do you think it was an accident?

An accident?

His throat was cut
from ear to ear.

His eyes were missing.

Do you remember his name?

I won't never forget it.

Beecham.

George Beecham.

Extra! Extra!
More dead kids found!

Come and get your newspapers!

Theodore.

I recently had a meeting
with Chief Byrnes.

Ex-Chief Byrnes.

Ah.

Excuse me. Could you box that up
for me, please?

Certainly.

Look, there's no reason
for you and Byrnes to butt heads

over this child killer.

People aren't ready
for this new,

highfalutin form
of investigation.

They just want
this son of a bitch caught.

It'd scare the people
if they were to find out

that an alienist could
figure out who the killer was

before their police department
could.

Why are you telling me this?

Because...

faith is a terrible thing to
take away from a man, Theodore.

It's like taking away
his future.

You can't stop the future.

The facial spasms, the hunting,
the climbing...

It has to be him.

I don't know why,
but I almost feel sorry for him.

The better angels of our nature.

Laszlo, are you all right?

I don't believe it's hit bone.

You need to tie it off.

Why do you think we've been
followed all the way up here?

Because we know too much.

John, if I don't get away
and you do,

I need you to get someone
a message.

You'll have to deliver
that message yourself,

because I have no intention
of either of us dying today.

Laszlo, we must hurry.

I think it's best
if we stick to the woods.

Is the pain better or worse?

Hard to tell.

I think my brain
has already habituated to it.

What did you want to tell me?

Your message.

Oh, it's nothing.

Oh.
I'm not a fool, Laszlo.

I've been in love enough times
to recognize that look.

"Dull," I think you called it.

Does she know how you feel?

Not the extent of it.

And is it reciprocated?

Yes.

Of course, I...

I suspected it all along, but
to actually hear you say it...

She's wonderful.

She'll make you very happy.

Look after her, Laszlo.

I shall do my best.

Well, I suppose I can brag that
I introduced the two of you.

I'm not speaking of Sara.

Who, then?

Mary.

Mary?

I know it's hard to comprehend.

I've questioned my own feelings
many times.

I told myself it's concern
and duty on my part

and dependence on hers.

Naturally, I realize
how inappropriate it is, but...

there are certain things
a man cannot control.

I told you.
Love resides in the heart.

Nonsense.

It's still physiology.

My brain reacts to qualities
in her that I lack in myself...

kindness... warmth...

courage.

Humility.

That too.

No one deserves it more.

You were jealous.

Come on.

Ow.

Oh, thank you, Mary.

If I didn't know better,
I would think

that you never wanted
your room back.

Ah.
It must be the doctor.

Oh.
Good evening, miss.

Um, pardon us
for letting ourselves in.

Is, uh... the good doctor home?

I mean, certainly
he must be home by now.

We'll just have a look around.

Dr. Kreizler?

Where is he?

Huh?

Where is he?

Upstairs?

I'm sure you've spent
many a fine evening up there.

Huh?

Cat got your tongue, has it?

Fine.

I'll have a look for meself, so.

What do you think you're doing?

Huh?

Answer me.

Run, Mary.
Run!

Run!

Kreizler!

Kreizler!

Where in the name of God is he?!

It's like that, is it?

Come here, you filthy slag!

Come here!

Come here.

Give me that.

Aah!