All language subtitles for The.Alienist.S01E08.Psychopathia Sexualis.AMZN.WEB-DL.SiGMA_ION10

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.

Oh, come on. 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.

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 our brain has a function,

and that function is
developed or impaired...

Synced & corrected by -robtor-
www.addic7ed.com

They may as well blame me personally

for these murders.

I'll soon find myself
tarred and feathered,

and it won't be metaphorically, either.

Dr. Kreizler is 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 offered here

in their off-duty hours.

Ah, your finest whiskey, darlin'.

And bring yourself back
here as soon as possible.

- No.
- Make it two.

Mind if I ask what the
other fellow looks like?

I'm sorry. The other fellow?

Commissioner Roosevelt said

you work at the Bureau
of Indian Affairs?

Commissioner.

Theodore certainly 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'm afraid I have two left feet.
I would only embarrass myself.

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

You got a taker here, sweet pea.

Come by my office in the morning.

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.

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.

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.

Hmm. 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, 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've 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've all afternoon.

The type of mutilations

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.

Ah. I'll take this one. 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.

And I found a murder that
fit our circumstances

but took place in upstate New York.

The local constabulary investigated

and attributed it to marauding Indians,

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.

16 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 to.

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...

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
'em "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 gravesite.

People visit the pyramids.
They're gravesites.

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 brother...

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.

Hmm.

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?

Mm, 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?

Mm-hmm, from head to
foot, drenched in blood.

Down there, between his legs,

he was stiff as a flagpole.

Jesus! That child ever stop bawlin'?!

Well, it'd have helped if her
father took her for once.

That's enough from you, woman.

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.

Go on, git.

All o' ya.

They was two days snoopin'
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 the 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 'em.

And what was done to them?

Butchered.

Like hogs.

This here's the Adam
Dury farm, gentlemen.

Ho, now. Ho. Thattaboy.

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 'fore 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 'em to the town children,

tell 'em that's what would happen

if you're not God-fearin'.

Nobody liked him much...

or his wife.

And nobody blamed them Injuns

for comin' all the way back here,

stealing their boy Japheth
and getting revenge on 'em

for whatever they done out West.

You really think it was
Indians that killed them?

That's what the record 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've 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 twitchin',

like he was in terrible pain.

Adam Dury didn't want his
parents' house. Nobody did.

I don't blame 'em. It's full of ghosts.

I taught him how to hunt with snares,

skin animals.

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.

The spasms in his face would stop,

and it'd be still as a pond.

He stuck to the rock face like a lizard.

I 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 fellow, 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, I'd ever gotten the chance.

This man... is he still around?

In a manner of speaking.

- What manner is that?
- In a manner not of this Earth.

He died up in the Gunks. Fell
off a thousand-foot cliff.

That 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!

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 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 give someone a message.

You'll have to deliver
that message yourself,

as 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,

dependence on hers.

And 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.

Oh.

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.

Ahh.

Ah. Thank you, Mary.

If I didn't know better,

I would think that you never
wanted your room back.

Ah, 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 shag!

Me leg!

Aah!

Uhh!

Come here. Aah!

Give me that. Aah!

Aah!