All language subtitles for 14-The.X-Files.S07E14.Theef

Jell-O salad with little pear chunks.

It's the Wednesday special
at the hospital cafeteria.

That didn't stop you
from eating my dessert.

The profiteroles weren't bad.
You didn't want me to starve, did you?

He ate mine, too.
Daddy, take this before my arm falls off.

Thanks, honey.

Everybody... One last shot.

Oh, Dad. Do you think we could
draw the line at 600 photographs?

601. Quit griping.

And hold up that eyesore, Robert.

God knows when
you're gonna win another one.

Irv, you wanna stay the night?
It's awful late to head back to the city.

What, I get to stay at the home of
the Bay Area Doctor of the Year?

It's a deal.

Proud of you, Robert.

Up, hold it up. Say "cheese".

"Presented to Dr Robert Wieder, MD."

"For the great wisdom,
skill and compassion

he exhibits in the practice of medicine."

It's gonna look awfully nice in your office.

What are you thinking?

How this is just the cherry on top.

How lucky I am.

- What is it?
- Downstairs motion sensor.

- You think Dad tripped the alarm?
- The alarm hasn't been tripped.

You got me. I'll go check it out.

Irv?

Irving? Is everything all right?

What do you think? Is this a name,
possibly, or a code or an anagram?

T-H-E-E-F. I assume it's supposed
to be T-H-I-E-F. "Thief."

Insert your own Dan Quayle joke here.

Lousy spelling aside, who's the thief?

Well, that's certainly one question.
I've got many.

"Mulder, why are we here?"

To be fair, I might have used the words,

"Mulder, how is this an X-File?"

You see that?
You always keep me guessing.

This is Dr Irving Thalbro, age 66.
Found hanged with his throat cut.

His family tucked away in bed, not 40 feet
from here, didn't see or hear anything.

Which would shine
the light of suspicion on them.

Except they called it in, and there's no
evidence at all to link them to the crime.

Which is why the police are rightly
wondering if Dr Thalbro killed himself.

Except who, then, did this? Blood pattern
doesn't indicate that the good doctor did it,

who I assume could read and write
above a 4th-grade level.

I'll admit this is not an open-and-shut case.

But it doesn't make it an X-File.

There is one detail that does.

This.

- Dirt?
- Dirt.

It's a very powerful component of hex-craft.

As well as the pattern in which it was
originally arranged. Check this out.

Looks like a human form.

Hex-craft, as in putting a curse on someone?

Murdering them magically?

That's what it looks like to me.
I know what you're gonna say.

No, hex-craft. I'll buy that as the intent here.

It certainly jibes with the evidence.
I say we talk to the family.

I'll always keep you guessing.

It was probably the greatest night of my life.

Until...

Can you think of any enemies
your father-in-law might have made?

Maybe inadvertently through his medical
practice or a business dealing, perhaps?

Everybody loved Irving.
Everyone who knew him.

He was...

No. I can't conceive of it.

Dr Wieder, do you have any enemies?

I'm sorry. I have to ask.
There was a message left.

If it doesn't refer to your father-in-law,
it may refer to you.

"Theef?" Are you asking if my Dad's a thief?

He saves people's lives. He's a good man.

Honey...

If I have any enemies, I don't know them.

At the home of his son-in-law,
Dr Robert Wieder,

Dr Irving Thalbro was found
hanged at 1.48 this morning.

Though details are sketchy, the police
are treating the case as a murder.

This is due in part to clues
or evidence left at the scene,

according to a spokesman,

who only characterized them
as bizarre or ritualistic...

Hello? Mr Peattie?

Mr Peattie, I know you're in there.

Are you cooking?

You aren't supposed to be cooking.

You aren't supposed to be cooking.

That smell like somethin' you wanna eat?

Well, what is it, then?

Medicine.

Oh, all right.
Just so long as you're not cooking.

Seems like you could use yourself
a poultice for your back.

Old Peattie'll fix you right up. Be ready later.

Hey, Scully. This dirt we found?

Gas chromatograph shows spikes
of methane and sulphur compounds,

the signature of decay.

It's graveyard dirt.
Also known as conjure dust.

One of the most powerful hexing elements,
whether for good or evil.

Not the kind of stuff
you wanna be on the wrong end of.

Go ahead, Scully, keep me guessing.

Kuru.

The disease that
New Guinea tribesmen get?

From eating their relatives' brains.

I thought my grandpa
slurping his soup was bad.

Practically speaking,
kuru doesn't exist any more.

Not in New Guinea
and certainly not in the US.

But this man's cerebellum and his striatum
clearly show signs of it, Mulder.

These amyloid plaques?
His brain is riddled with them.

- Kuru makes you crazy.
- Stark-raving, among other things.

But, in this case, stark-raving mad enough
to slit his own throat and hang himself.

That's what his autopsy shows. From
the wound pattern to the blood spray,

this man did it to himself, no question.

Unless... it was inflicted upon him.
The graveyard dirt, the hex.

He was given this disease
so that he would kill himself.

Nan? Honey?

Robert? Look at this.

Who would've taken that?

The police, probably.

Could be they needed it as evidence.

- We're not under investigation.
- That's not what I'm afraid of.

Then you have nothing to worry about.
Come on, let's go to bed.

You need some rest. A good night's sleep.

No, I can't sleep. I'm telling you, I'm scared.

I can't stay here. I can't live in
this house any more. Lucy can't.

Not after what's happened here.
And now this picture of us is missing.

- It'll turn up.
- No.

Nothing that's happened here
makes any sense.

It does. Nan...

Listen to me. Your Dad was ill.

He had a kind of progressive dementia.
That's what the FBI autopsy showed.

I reviewed their findings,
and I have to agree.

Honey, we will get through this.

Oh, my God!

Nan! Honey?

Oh, my God.

- Nan!
- Dad?

Lucy, call 911.

Call 911!

Nan!

Dr Wieder.

We understand you've made a diagnosis.

Diffuse cutaneous leishmaniasis.
Old-world type.

- I take it that's rare.
- In San Francisco, it's unheard of.

Maybe in Central Africa...

- The rarer, the better.
- What do you mean by that?

Someone directed this
to happen to your wife,

just as someone directed
what happened at your father-in-law.

My enemy you were talking about.
The one who thinks I'm a thief.

You're a doctor. Explain to your partner
that no one can direct a person to get sick.

The dirt in your bed drawn in the shape
of a body, that's indicative of folk magic.

That's what I believe
is being used against you.

Folk magic.

You mean like Baba Yaga. Gypsies.

I was actually thinking
less Eastern and more Celtic.

Maybe Scots-Irish or Appalachian, even.

I'm supposed to take this seriously?

Sir, regardless of the particulars,

I think it's clear that
there was an intruder in your home,

and I think it would be prudent
for you to accept our protection

and help us to identify this person.

Prudent for me would be
to continue treating my wife.

If we don't stop who's causing this,
your treatments won't matter.

So, modern medicine
and all it encompasses,

artificial hearts, laser surgery,
gene therapy, to name a few,

all of that arrayed against
a pile of magic dirt,

and you tell me I'll lose.

I have MRI's to look at.

Yeah, win him over.

He will lose unless
we can find a way to stop it.

What do you suggest?

A second opinion.

Truth always hurts, don't it, doc?

Who are you?

Is this you? You did this?

- What do you want from me?
- Don't you be frettin' none about that.

I gettin' my nickel's worth.
You're doing a fine job so far.

What the hell are you talking about?
What is this all about?

Lynette Peattie.

And don't you be saying
you don't recollect her! Uh-uh!

No, no, no.

Look, if I've done anything to upset you, I...

It's no use trying to intimidate me
if I don't know how I've offended you!

Tell me!

What makes me a thief?

You be a smart man.

I figure you ponder it a while,
it gonna come to you.

Wait!

No. No matter how I spell it,
there's no Lynette Peattie.

- She's not in my patient file?
- She's not in any doctor's patient file.

No one by that name has ever
been admitted to the hospital.

You think you treated her?

What about Jane Does?

You treated three in the last two years.

Pull the files, please.

You remember old Boon. I know you do.

This mangy old ugly dog.

Smart. People-smart, and then some.

He sure did love you.

He crawled up under that house
the very day you left.

Wouldn't come out for nothin'.

Not no ham bone. Nothin'.

He just knew that his life was over.

You stole his heart, too.

You shouldn't have oughta left.

Oh, you're there. I... wanted to thank you.

That poultice worked a miracle on my back.

I was about to knock and...
and ask if I could get a little more.

Whatever that is, it sure is stinky.

Stinky's good.

Good afternoon. Can I help you?

Yeah, we're looking for some
alternative medical advice,

You've come to the right place.

I get a lot of folks fed up with their HMOs.

- Actually, we're not here for us.
- Yeah.

Oh, chief. Back in your pocket.

It's dirt.

It's goofer dust, is what it is. I don't
know what your intentions are with that.

- Goofer dust?
- Conjure dust.

How would you go about making
somebody sick using that?

We're investigating a murder.
That's why I'm asking.

Oh.

Speaking strictly in the academic sense,

you'd spread it on or near your victim
to direct misfortune.

So you could give them
any illness you wanted,

one that you chose specifically for them?

That's a lot trickier.
It requires something special.

- A voodoo doll.
- No, they're called poppets.

Inside you place three thorns
of a blood-red rose,

a strand of hair and a photo of your victim.

Maybe other items as well.
Depends on the operator.

You sew it up, say your spell.

How would you counteract one of these?

It depends on who you're dealing with,

but if the person you're looking for
is powerful enough to bring about a murder,

he's probably charmed.

- Which would mean what?
- It means just that.

He's drawing on the energy of a charm.
A source of magic power.

It could be any item,
provided that it's very important to him.

Something that holds
great meaning for him,

and unless you can separate him
from his charm, you're out of luck.

Poppin' corn.

You gotta put the money in first.

Don't look like no poppin' corn to me.

Put it in the microwave.
Then you get your popcorn.

Microwave.

I heard tell of such a thing.
It's a true wonder.

Radiation come from the heart of the atom.

I think it be God's own glow.

You're gonna be very happy. The drug
therapy I'm giving her is working wonders.

Come on. Come see.

- Mom.
- Hi, sweetie.

- You look good.
- Yeah, right.

But I am definitely feeling better.

How come I have to go through
this thing again?

This thing gives off about as much
radiation as a dental x-ray.

- Nothing to worry about.
- I know. It still scares me.

Wish me luck?

Doctor!

Switch it off. Switch it off!

All done.

How could somebody
orchestrate all of this?

- You believe your wife was murdered?
- It was no accident.

There was no malfunction of the machine.

- Yes, I believe she was murdered.
- And you still have no idea why?

The pathologist found this
branded into your wife's chest.

Sir, we can't help you
if you withhold information from us.

A man came to see me yesterday.

My age, older maybe. Tall.

He mentioned someone
named Lynette Peattie.

I didn't know who she was at first.

Turns out she was a Jane Doe
I treated last October.

She was in a bus rollover.
Came in amid a wave of victims.

She was the worst off.

I could barely put fluids in fast enough
to keep up with the blood loss.

We were rushing around, triaging people.

Everybody knew she was dying.

It was only a matter of time.

She was in agony.

This was my course of treatment.

You gave her morphine. Lots of it.

I pushed it myself.

She kept screaming...

and her heart rate kept climbing.

So... I kept pushing.

I took maybe the last 20 minutes of her life.

It was a fair trade to make for the pain.

Her father doesn't agree.

What makes you think it's her father?

He thinks you robbed him of his family,

and that's why he's systematically
robbing you of yours.

What am I supposed to do?
My daughter Lucy...

Don't do anything.
Let us find a way to protect you.

How?

I have an idea where to start.

If Lynette Peattie was Carlos the Jackal,
it would've been easier to track her down.

There's no birth certificate,
no social security number.

Better known to the world
as Jane Doe 6149.

Her name shows up once in the records
of a VISTA inoculation programme, 1981.

- The Allegheny Mountains of West Virginia.
- Deepest Appalachia.

That's when her father, Oral Peattie, refused
to allow her to be inoculated against polio.

But there's no address for him.
There's no record of him whatsoever.

So, Mulder, why are we exhuming this girl?

I'm thinking of her dear old backwoods dad
and where he gets all his graveyard dirt.

Here? His daughter's grave?

The cultist we spoke to said the person
casting these magic spells was charmed,

that he had a source of power that was very
meaningful to him and he kept it close by.

- Lynette Peattie's body.
- That's my guess.

So as long as her body remains resting in
peace in the Bay Area, he remains powerful.

But if we were to ship it off to Quantico...

Hold that.

Mr Peattie? Mr Peattie, my pain's back.

I was wondering if I could get
a little more of that poultice?

Mr Peattie?

I'm sorry. I didn't know you were home. I...

All right, thank you.
They'll be there before dark.

- You all set?
- We still don't know where we're going.

We rented a cabin.
It's important you get out of town.

You believe by leaving, we'll weaken him.

What's important is that he believes that.

And if he can't find you, he can't hurt you.

How do you know he'll come forward?

Because he hasn't gotten
everything he wants.

John Gilnitz
is on the scene.

San Mateo County health officials
are at a loss to explain

the sudden onset of
the 56-year-old woman's bizarre illness,

but insist there is no cause for alarm.

Pretty weird.

There has been no official diagnosis.

Sources say the woman contracted
the rare but deadly group A streptococcus,

better known as the flesh-eating disease.

Freakin' scary.

Bathroom's clear.

Clear here.

Scully.

- Peattie may be onto us.
- What happened?

I found out where he lives. He's cleared out
and taken his magic charm with him.

At least as much of it as he can carry.
My guess is he's looking for you.

I didn't see anybody following us.

Just keep an eye out. I'm on my way.

OK.

Soon. Very soon.

What was that?

Stay where you are.

Oh! Oh, God.

- What is it?
- I don't know.

I can't...

I can't see.

Agent Scully!

Just stay where you are! Stay down.

Oh, doctor!

Leave him alone!

- Daddy!
- Get back. Get back!

Don't make me hurt you!

Can't hurt the man
who ain't got nothin' left.

You know who I be now?

Maybe you can recollect my daughter.

I remember. I never forgot.

I'm sorry for your loss,

but I did everything
humanly possible to save her.

You arrogant little man.

I did everything I could! And when
I couldn't do any more, I eased her suffering.

By killin' her.

If I be there... I save her!

You weren't there!

Buried her in some field.
No name on her.

Far away from her people.
That don't be right.

So now, little man,

I gonna show you what be possible.

I gonna show you an eye for an eye.

You're not gonna hurt my daughter!

Daddy!

Maybe.

Daddy! Daddy!

Doctor! What's happening?

Daddy!

Dr Wieder!

You're killing him!

Stop!

Daddy! Daddy!

Lynette Peattie's body is on its way
back home to Indiola, West Virginia.

She’s going back to her people after all.

You know. Mulder,
I would've made the same call...

as a doctor.

If I was certain that I couldn't save her life
and she was in that much pain...

I would've done what Wieder did.

It seems pretty clear-cut.

Except maybe it's not.

You're wondering if maybe
Peattie could've saved her life?

You do keep me guessing.

I made this.