Original subtitles

What brings you two to Akumal?

It's our ten year anniversary.

Holy shit.

This phone belonged to Sam Lawford

who went missing 15 years ago.

Holy shit.

Violet Thompson was also reported missing.

Baltasar Frías, who was our prime suspect.

But the storm washed everything away

before I got any evidence.

Em, you should see this.

Which means that that's the pent...

That's Sam and Violet!

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

I met a guy.

We have a date tonight.

I found your board.

What skateboard?

Hey!

Sam?

Man, Creepy Santa keeps getting creepier.

Oh, shit.

That's Baltasar Frías.

He's got the phone.

No!

No!

What are you doing?

I figured we could, like,

lock him in a closet or something.

- No, no, no, no, no. - We can't just leave him here.

Why not? He's clearly not dead.

What were you even thinking?

I couldn't let him take the phone.

So you tried to kill him?

He's fine.

Oh!

- The phone rang. - Did you see that?

What... what... what are you even talking about...

- The phone rang. - Right now?

Ah, fuck! Fuck.

- It's okay. It's okay. - It's okay. It's okay.

What an unusual turn of events.

What are you doing here?

Well, I heard you found the phone.

Who told you that?

An old friend.

Oh, Luna.

- Yeah, where is... - Where is the phone now?

It's in a million pieces

at the bottom of the fucking elevator shaft because of you.

No, the impulse to destroy it came from you.

Hey, maybe you should sit down, man.

- I'm okay. - Sit the fuck down!

- But, Em, chill out. - What?

We don't know what he's going to do.

He's acting like a loose cannon.

Yeah, well, you have the weapon,

and I have not provoked you in any way.

What did you do to Sam and Violet?

You... you think I did something to them?

- Yeah. - Why?

'Cause you had Sam's skateboard,

and because I know about you and your family.

And that's all of your evidence?

Let me... Let me tell you something.

I come from a family of tailors, hmm?

Not murderers.

So if this is where your investigation has led you,

I'm not sure you're capable of believing the true story, hmm?

What are your names?

Okay, don't tell me. Are you guys married?

- Mm-hmm. - Yeah, oh, okay.

I think it's time to go.

You... you seem good.

This all seems to be a big misunderstanding, so...

Well, maybe, maybe we can understand it together, no?

What's the true story?

What happened to Sam and Violet

is just one thread in a tapestry

of interconnected stories.

Everything comes back to the Oceana Vista

and the tragic demise

of its misunderstood owner,

Alexander Vasilakis.

No one knew exactly where Alex came from.

One rumor was that he just wandered

out of the jungle one day

with only a dream of opening a resort.

A more accepted rumor was that he was born

in a family of hedge fund managers,

and then he stole a yacht and moved to Quintana Roo

to start his own path.

Alex possessed a profound human insight

and belief in the potential of others.

But let me be clear.

This man was not a brilliant man.

You into metaphysical shit, man?

I am not sure what you mean.

Good answer.

Sit.

Yes.

And you are Baltasar Peniche?

- Yes, sir. Yes. - It sounds made-up.

So you are applying for...

Any job.

I heard you were hiring all positions.

- Bold move... - Or the move of a fickle man

who doesn't know what he wants, so what exactly do you want?

Like, in life, or...

Because I get this feeling

like you're running from something,

rather than running towards it.

Let's go to the beach.

So why here, Peniche? Why this resort?

Because you're hiring?

That's true. Thanks for the honesty.

Yeah, we're hiring.

But it's more of a factory where we mass produce

the single most precious thing that humans are capable of.

- Hm. Children. - No, no, no, memories.

- Oh. Yeah. - Memories.

Memories can be bad, too, no?

Thumb wrestle. Let's do it.

One, two, three, four. I declare a thumb war.

You're not even trying. What are you doing?

Okay, okay, I know, I know.

Okay. If you win, you get the job.

One, two, three, four. I declare a thumb war.

All right, rapid fire.

What is your first memory of joy, motherfucker?

- Um, I don't know, sir. - Try.

- I've had a complicated life. - Okay, cool, me too.

Everyone does. But it all starts from joy.

The first memory is joy, and everything springs from that.

- So what the fuck is it? - Uh, reading.

- I like reading, sir. - Terrible reader over here.

What are we reading?

- Detective novels. - Why detective novels?

Because my father gave me those when I was a kid.

Okay, you and your father were close?

Come on! Don't stop!

The reason I like detective novels, sir,

is because I understand them.

They raise questions that always have answers.

They try to answer both the mystery of a crime

- and the mystery of life. - Ah, come on!

- And I like the characters! - Which characters?

- The detectives, sir! - Why the detectives?

Because they're obsessed and alone

and they're home is on the edge of the void of hopelessness.

That's why you like detectives?

That is so fucking weird, Peniche.

They want to do the right thing,

even if that kills them.

It's for a greater good.

You think it's gonna kill you?

I don't know! I don't know, sir!

Ah! Ah!

I don't know! I don't know!

- Do you feel alone? - Yes!

Is there a world in which joy and loneliness

- can exist in harmony? - Yeah, sometimes!

But do you want to be alone, Peniche?

- Do you want to be alone? - No, I don't want to be alone!

I don't want to be alone!

Then what do you want to be, Peniche?

I want to be a detective, sir!

Then be one, you son of a bitch.

We became fast friends.

Alex personally hired every employee

of theirs in the vista,

each one a lost soul running from their past.

We had Edwin, a glass cutter from Honduras

heading concierge.

Patricia, a runaway nun from Tampico

on my security team.

Abigail, an actual fugitive from Puerto Rico,

chief landscaper.

She was arrested for stealing

and then crashing the governor's helicopter.

But most dear to me was Luna,

who lost her family in a car accident.

She became my sister.

So then began what vacationers referred to

as the sandcastle days.

And whatever sprung from the odd garden of Alex's mind

found its way into the fabric of the Oceana Vista.

Ah!

He used to call me at dawn

and leave me messages about dreams he had.

We were singing "Happy Birthday" in my dream.

And before it was over, I saw that your head

was a crumpled piece of paper, man!

What the hell do you think that means?

Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!

I did not mention my past as a Frías,

and he didn't ask.

He always looked ahead.

Whoa!

Aww.

Alex wanted to create memories for our guests,

but in doing so, he created a home for his employees.

Oh, what the fuck, Alex?

He just farted here.

The fuck is wrong with you?

But are we made only of memories?

Oceana Vista!

- Whoo! - Let's see.

I fucked it up. All right, one more time.

- Okay. - Ah!

All right, tres, dos, uno!

Oceana Vista!

- Yeah! - Whoo!

Five years. Five.

- Five! - Whoo!

The Oceana Vista is a manifestation

of a dream, of a memory haven.

Uh...

I love, uh...

The...

Are you okay, Alex?

Uh...

What?

What?

Stop fucking looking at me!

Alex!

How are you doing, my friend?

You ever feel like something from the past

is missing from the future?

I have memory leakage.

Hmm, yeah.

Sometimes I forget things, too.

I found that writing notes to myself helps a lot.

- Post-its. - No, you don't understand.

I have memory leakage.

- Leakage? - Yeah, from my ears.

This is a condition called Tempus Exhaurire.

From my ears, from my ass...

Everywhere.

I've never heard of Tempus Ex...

Is that some kind of amnesia?

I want to show you something.

It's my attempt to...

preserve my memories.

What do you mean?

- People, places... - All my memories documented.

The hippocampus, it's the brain's pantry.

We need to keep it stocked.

I'm beginning to lose the sense of who I am, Baltasar.

I need your help to pick up the pieces.

I don't trust anyone else.

My appetite makes no sense.

I have a primal hatred of iguanas

I just don't understand.

And I'm... I just want to be a kid again.

And I...

I don't remember my family.

Well, maybe we should at least tell Luna?

No, it's just...

No one will understand.

I do not understand, Alex.

You will someday, though.

I don't know. Um...

This is really fucked up.

Maybe if we ask for help or talk to a doctor

or if you change your diet, you know, take some medication.

I know you're a Frías.

I knew the moment I met you.

You have the fucking bone structure of a Frías.

And nobody wakes up dressed like you.

But then your brother Alonso came to the resort

offering me the deal of the century

on Frías-sewn uniforms if I fired you.

It was a shakedown.

Ask me what I told him.

What did you say to him?

I told him "Fuck the fuck off."

No more secrets between us.

We're all we have. I need you.

Right?

I'm... I'm here for you.

I'm sorry.

That's when I knew Alex's condition would be a problem.

The leak became a flood.

It affected the resort.

Renovations started, but never finished.

Bills went unpaid.

He turned on the staff,

accusing them of stealing to him, lying to him.

Memory leakage.

Yeah, memory leakage.

I never thought Alex was capable of

being a dangerous man, but...

Then came the iguanas.

I had to honor my friend's secret,

but I was asking myself, why?

Over the course of that year,

he retreated to his penthouse, a recluse, unraveling,

until it all wove together on Christmas.

I am a galactic activation portal.

Enter me.

Are you okay, jefe?

A little disappointed.

Yeah? Late night?

I could have been. I don't know.

I'm having a real problem figuring out...

What happened to your hands, man?

When.

Yeah, we need to get you out of here, okay?

- Do you need some help? - Fuck. Yeah.

There you go.

So I've been thinking...

I thought forever it was, like...

Yeah. We need to wash these hands.

- But then I was like, it's... - Yeah, yeah.

But now I'm like...

All good, man. All good.

What the hell? Is it Christmas?

Yeah, it was yesterday.

- Really? - Yeah.

Okay.

Um, listen, we need to address the iguanas.

It's beginning to disturb the staff.

I guess it sounds nuts, but I think I was killed

by a fucking dinosaur in my past life.

Really? That's very interesting.

- What the hell? - This way.

Excuse me, sir. Excuse me.

Question, if this hurricane does change its course,

is that something that you have safety protocols for?

Uh, it's highly unlikely to occur,

but yes, we have a shelter

being prepared in case we need it.

You'll need it.

That hurricane is headed straight for us.

Mm-kay.

I wanted to help my friend,

but a security matter required my immediate attention.

I'm Detective Baltasar Peniche.

Good morning, sir.

I am Detective Baltasar Peniche,

head of security.

I'm here to help you find your son.

- Yes, yes. - Is that Sam?

- Who is that? - No, no.

It's a security guy.

It was my biggest case.

I'd only dealt with petty theft and marital disputes,

never a missing person.

God's sake.

Do you happen to have a photo of Sam that I can see?

- Uh, yeah, I may have one. - Let me just check.

- Where's his passport? - Yeah.

You know, I don't have one on me,

but, um, I could describe him.

Yes, please.

Well, he's very handsome.

That's not what he's looking for.

No, no, that... that... that works.

That's very helpful.

He is... he's attractive.

Do we need to call the police?

No, Jan.

He's probably just dicking around somewhere, right?

I mean, you must deal with this kind of thing all the time.

Well, um,

I promise I will find him, hm?

- I'm going to call him again. - Yeah.

80 bucks a month,

he should answer the darn phone.

Yeah, it went to message.

Come on, Sammy. Come on.

Sam, we got you this phone

so you'd answer it when we call you.

So, uh, call me.

You can talk to us.

Uh, this is Dad.

What do you mean by that? Hm?

What do you mean when you say, "You can talk to us"?

Nothing. We're his parents.

He can... he can talk to us.

Don't lie to us, Carl.

I caught him looking at a picture of a penis

on the way over on the plane.

What? How do you know?

I know what a penis looks like, Jan.

Someone texted it to him.

What? both: Hey.

Uh, any luck?

Uh, no, he's not anywhere by the beach

or anywhere around the pool.

Excuse me, señorita, can I ask you

for a photo of Sam that I can see?

Yeah.

Was that photo of his own penis or someone else's penis?

Oh, my God!

- Well, I don't know. - It could have been Sam's.

It could have been someone else's.

I don't know what's worse.

I don't know which I'd rather it be.

It might have been a little small.

- Oh. - Maybe a little big for Sam.

I... um...

oh, I don't know.

- Just stop. - What do you think?

- Hmm? - Were you two having problems?

- No. - No?

No. God, no.

No, we've been together forever.

And I'm here on vacation with his family.

And, you know, we're always talking

about marriage, you know?

He's saying, "I want to marry you."

And what do you say to him about marriage?

Yeah, yeah... no, yeah, I mean, it's...

Well, 'cause we have a lot of time.

We're young. But we've been together...

It's like, it could...

I don't know what you guys are staring at.

What are you thinking?

I was surprised when I saw it on his phone, okay?

I was surprised. I didn't immediately go,

- "Jan, look, a penis." - Don't lie to me.

Maybe the penis was, like, an art channel.

Is this your... your son?

- Sí. - Yeah.

Can I keep this?

Yeah, mm-hmm.

Oh. Hello again, Mr. Thompson.

I am Detective Baltasar Peniche,

Oceana Vista head of security.

- Oh. - Can I come in?

- Yeah, sure. - Yeah?

Did you enjoy the mezcal?

Uh, well, I finished it.

Ah.

Listen, I was wondering if I could speak to your daughter?

Um, what is this about?

Another guest is trying to locate their son,

and your daughter was the last person...

Hey, Vi?

He was seen with.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Where is she?

Alex?

Alex?

Ah, fuck.

Just emptying out what's left.

What is "pasaje"?

That one's important.

I don't know why,

but it must have been important once

'cause it's right there.

This fucking thing.

I'm thinking this mural is actually more

about the Oceana Vista's memory, right?

Not just my memory, but the Oceana Vista's memory.

Two kids are missing.

And you were the last one to see them.

What?

They came to your room last night.

- No. - Yes.

No. That's not right.

Wait, what?

What do you remember from last night?

Uh, last night.

You're really torturing me with a question like that.

What the fuck?

Uh...

- We went dancing. - Uh-huh.

- It was the Christmas party. - Yes.

- Gotcha. - What else?

Soy pasaje. What?

- Hey, Alex. - What?

- What do you remember? - I don't know.

- You don't know. - What do you remember?

Okay. Uh, okay, who is this?

- Luna. - Uh-huh.

- And this? - Some guy with a hat?

Yeah, I guess.

Um, who is this?

- Oliver. - And this?

- That's you, dummy. - Yeah, who am I?

Baltasar Peniche Frías,

head of security and my best friend.

Everything is fine, man. I'm really... I actually am okay.

Oh, man.

Alex, who... who are these two?

- That, I don't know. - You don't know.

What... what were you doing in your car this morning?

Because you had blood on your hands.

Where were you coming from?

- You don't know? - I don't know.

Mm-hmm.

Hey, look at me and listen.

Yeah, these two were at the party.

And you had an altercation with them.

- No. - Yes.

And then they ran into your elevator

and got off on your floor.

And five minutes after that, you did the same.

So I need you to tell me what happened next, please.

I'm calling bullshit.

- This is a fuck hunt. - Fuck off.

What did you do, Alex?

- What did you do? - What did I do?

I don't know. What did you do?

- Well, what did I do? - Tell me what the fuck I did!

I'm telling you I don't remember!

Try to remember something, please.

Because if you put them there,

there must be something up there...

- There's nothing in here, man! - Okay, try to remember.

It's empty!

Jesus!

What did you do, Alex?

Wait, where... where did you get that?

I've had this since I was a kid.

No, you haven't.

This is Sam's. The missing boy.

Look the other way one last time.

You and me, this resort...

This is the family we always wanted, right?

Right?

The hurricane's gonna come.

Everyone's gonna forget about this.

This never even happened.

Come on, B.

This isn't the end.

The second half is a heartbreaker, man.

Come on.

Alex!

Is it the end or the beginning?

Alex!

Alex!

The next morning,

before the police could even get involved,

the hurricane changed its course,

just as Alex said it would.

My sweet friend, I can see your face,

but I can't remember your name.

Seems like we're finally at the end of the line.

I got to say it sucks.

My mind, my memory, it's just an empty space,

where I find myself completely alone.

Alone and afraid that I can't remember

any of the things you were afraid I might have done.

You asked me if I remembered the kids in my room.

I tried to remember myself as a kid

falling in love for the first time.

But, um, I can't remember a thing.

So if I can't remember love,

then what's the point?

Whatever did happen last night,

I hope that either everyone can forgive me...

Or forget me.

Have you ever seen the green ray?

It's the first ray of the rising sun.

If you blink, you'll miss it.

Baltasar.

I thought you two would be gone by now.

I have nowhere to go.

Me neither.

Me neither.

What's that smell?

After the hurricane,

the police finally investigated.

But by that moment,

any real evidence was destroyed.

They found the skateboard.

Well, it led to nothing.

My mother Beatriz got involved,

and I never said a word about Alex.

They would never understand.

Then I came back to El Caracol to be a Frías again,

but that place never felt like home.

Maybe we are not meant to have one, hmm?

The sad truth is that

if you cut the head off an iguana,

it will die.

Okay.

So... so you lied to the police,

- to the... - The parents.

The parents, to everyone, to protect a guy who said

that his memory was leaking out of his fucking ears?

- Come on! - This is a crime scene.

- Oh, this is something, yes. - This is all a crime scene.

Wait, wait, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, listen.

I'm almost, almost done, yes?

I spent a year

studying this mural, looking for a clue.

Just emptying out what's left.

I could tell he wasn't there.

He was lost in a different time.

I saw his memory drain.

But maybe this was different.

Maybe this was the memory of the Oceana Vista

or maybe something else.

But no.

This was not the work of a man

with any profound insight into the human condition.

These was the meaningless scribbles

of a crazy person.

So I made a mistake.

I was looking for an answer where there was none.

But today,

I realize...

I was wrong.

Holy shit.

Uno, dos, tres.