All language subtitles for Grotesquerie - 01x02 - True Crime Catholics.TGx.English.C.updated.Addic7ed.com

You understand, Merritt.
W-With those kinds of numbers,

you're looking at the
worst-case hypertension scenario.

You are not a doctor, Dad.

Well, actually he is.

Just not of medicine.

I-I don't need to be
a physician to know

what your kind of blood pressure means.

Aneurysm, stroke,

living with some kind
of compromised situation.

- You can weigh in anytime, anytime.
- Weigh in?

It's enough weight already.

Listen, I'm making, uh, soup

and Parker House rolls.

I'm in here busy with my shit.

I hope it's the ones with the
everything bagel seasoning.

- Those are good.
- H-Honey, this is not a...

Okay, look, I'm not fucking around here.

Your internist insisted
we confront this.

He said your physical showed
someone flirting with...

catastrophe.

There's so much to life.

You cannot throw it all
away, Merritt, please.

Okay, this is not one of your graduate

philosophy seminars, okay?

Do not speak to me in that
"dear students" pained tone.

Don't do that.

I'm sorry I patronized you.

I'd like you to
consider going somewhere.

Some residential treatment program.

Montana. Hawaii.

A fat farm.

You want me to go to a fat farm? Really?

Call it what you will. I'm looking

to help you reset.

This is not about me.

This is about you being uncomfortable

- with the way that I look.
- Uncomfortable with... ?

- These rolls came out great.
- Yes.

Stop. Stop.

Uncomfortable with the way you look?

I-I... You don't...
Darling, you don't get it.

I'm uncomfortable with looking
at you killing yourself.

I don't want you to die.

You know what?

This is feeling like fat-shaming.

It's making me feel awful.

By the way...

I'm gonna die now? I'm dying now?

I'm dying now?

Okay. Hmm?

Dad, please.

♪ Love me, baby ♪

♪ Till I get enough, oh... ♪

I guess that went well.

♪ Pain in my heart... ♪

Thank you. Thank you. Uh, just...

thank you for helping.

Marshall.

In the history of the human race,

nobody has ever been able
to persuade somebody else

to give up their vices.

And that's where you arrived
at philosophically, is it?

- Mm.
- I know being a cop

has fundamentally
altered your worldview.

But this cynicism, your fatalism is...

it's corrosive.

Or it's protection.

Ding, ding, ding.

Is the drinking protection, too?

Because you-you're-you're
turning from a pastime

into a profession.

You know what, maybe we
should get a family rehab plan.

We can get it for the food and booze

and sex addiction.

Huh?

You thought I didn't know
about your little side action?

- Come on.
- Huh?

- I can smell the side piece tail on you.
- Look, look...

- I can smell it.
- You-You-You're-you're drunk.

You're drunk and you-you're
talking out your head.

You don't know what you're saying.

I had you followed.

I am a detective

with foot soldiers at my employ.

Lois loyalists.

They even got photographs.

You at the Starburst Motel,

at the Happy Ho Inn...

which is a great name, by the way.

Oh.

But, yeah,

caught you in a lie.

And you've been lying
to me for quite a while.

You want some soup?

♪ When you need some lovin' arms... ♪

In the face...

of your commitment to your job,

which is more obsession
than occupation...

and to your alcoholism,

which does actually seem
like a full-time job,

both of which shut me out...

- do you blame me?
- Oh, come on now.

Marsh, we took vows.

Sickness, health, better, worse.

Don't you teach a goddamn

postgraduate seminar on ethics

for the modern world?

♪ What can the matter be? ♪

You're almost too cruel to fight for.

But I-I-I would like
your help in somehow

holding this family together...

I wish we could.

I wish we could do that.

But that ship has sailed.

So I guess what I'm saying is

"get the fuck out."

♪ And help me solve 'em ♪

♪ Then I won't be missing you ♪

♪ I won't be missing you... ♪

I still love you sometimes.

♪ Would be all over... ♪

And yet I pray sometimes

that I would get a phone call
informing me that you died.

♪ In so many circles... ♪

I hope you don't regret
those words when I do.

♪ This is my lover's prayer... ♪

- Synced and corrected by naFraC -
- www.addic7ed.com -

Why would you waste
those crocodile tears

outside his room?

He should see them.

See that you miss him, desperately,

see that you care.

You could even pretend to
have faith that he'll recover.

Act a bit.

Oh. What's this?

Pistols at dawn?

You have a very mistaken
impression of me.

So I'm-a kick your ass

so all of this habit of disrespecting me

- comes to a fucking end, bitch.
- Oh, no, no, no.

No, no, no. There's no fighting here.

No, we have security mere meters away.

And should you even touch me,

they will break every last
bone in both your hands.

And then you'll be arrested

and, irony of ironies,

chained to a bed.

See?

So, now, Detective,

I would suggest going
down to the cafeteria

and gulping down a few black coffees.

Or whatever your favored
alcoholic beverage is

for calming your nerves.

Go on, dear. Go on.

Ta-ta.

What the fuck is going on in here?

Excuse me.

I am giving your poor
husband a sponge bath.

What in the depths of your filthy mind

do you actually think is happening here?

You poor woman.

You're really not well.

You're a sicko. I actually think

you're on the edge of something.

Well, you clean him then. You clean him.

Clean him up!

You're more than
welcome to do it yourself

should you decide to bestir yourself out

of your dipsomaniacal torpor.

I know a sexual predator when I see one.

I know that look in your eyes.

I've put away so many motherfuckers

- like you.
- Mm.

Well...

maybe you need to be admitted, Officer.

Hmm?

To our psych unit.

I pity you. I understand that the stress

you're under is...

it's terrible.

These murders,

your incompetence,

the hopelessness.

Is it breaking you?

You know what's breaking me?

Is you goddamn doctors and nurses

who got so much of this shit wrong.

You didn't even see the pandemic coming.

Did you?

You didn't see any of it happening.

You know who did?

I did. I saw everything.

I saw it all breaking down.

But instead of paying
attention to your goddamn job,

here you are, jerking off
a man that's in a coma.

Well, then move him!

Move him.

Move him to a warehouse for vegetables.

Yeah. I mean... believe you me,

we could use the bed.

I'll-I'll call the transport for you.

There's a lovely
place, if you can ignore

the smell of shit and cabbage

and the staff who can't be
bothered to lift a finger

'cause it might interfere
with their backgammon game.

I'll even sign the discharge notice.

"Patient's psychotic wife has accused me

of masturbating her husband
while he's in a coma."

- I will move him. I'll move him.
- Oh, you won't.

You haven't got the
courage of your convictions.

You're terrified.

You have no idea how to handle this.

None at all.

You're weak.

Behind that charade of a tough exterior

is a broken, self-medicated woman

who has no idea how
to handle this case...

or care for her husband.

Go fuck yourself.

Here's the soap, deary.

He hasn't quite climaxed yet,

so why don't you finish him off?

Do you realize how loud?

So, this nun

Sister Megan, she's nuts.

She loves murder.

Look, the way she
writes about these cases,

it's like fan fiction.

Okay, girl, it's 4:00 a.m.

You're gonna wake up
the Connors next door.

The Connors are not even in town.

They have the time-share in Mazatlán.

They won't be back
till the fall if ever.

It's like everyone in
this town is abandoning it

like rats on a sinking ship.

So, what is it?

You're listening to Dad's
favorite record. You miss him?

So, this nun?

Okay, the way she looks,

she looks like a cross between a sparrow

and a Manson girl, I shit you not.

Whatever. Mm.

Mm-hmm.

Why buy the ham

if you're gonna judge
anyone who eats it?

I'm an ambivalent detective.

I'll say.

What, you just gonna sit
here and drink all night?

You gonna sit there and eat all night?

Seriously, though, Mom.

You're not ready to retire?

- Oh, no.
- You should retire.

- Mm-mm.
- Maybe go to rehab?

Oh, no, baby.

I have never needed that less.

I am... I'm in my zone.

I'm invigorated.

I'm gonna catch this killer.

Maybe after that, I'll hang up my spurs.

But in the meantime, if anything...

the booze makes me sharper.

Makes me see things clear.

See, I don't drink to escape.

I drink to envision it.

To manifest a solution.

Mm.

In fact, guess what.

It's almost like

the less sober I am,
the more clearer I see.

Mm-hmm. What a coinkydink.

Feel the same way about food.

Touché, little one.

I don't know, Mom.

To me,

it sounds like this
killer is taunting you.

Well, maybe.

But not as much taunting as trying

to take down Western civilization,

like a... challenge to grace.

Like, maybe the killer knew

the people he killed
from the university,

like some sick student who-who hated,

who hated the radiologist
and his nutritionist wife.

So much so that they did the unthinkable

to the entire household.

Someone who felt hurt by
one or the both of them?

Ding.

I'm gonna follow that track.

All the DNA?

Is there anything, any sample
from outside the house,

the front door, sidewalk, walkway?

Uh, blood that hasn't
been sequenced yet?

Something that doesn't match our bodies.

If that's the case,
it's probably our guy.

There was a lot of cutting
done in this house, Jack,

with a scalpel.

Scalpels are messy,

so it's easy to injure yourself.

Maybe, maybe our guy
left his blood behind.

Listen up, look for what
is hiding in plain sight.

You might say, "Oh, this is
more of our victims' blood."

That's not necessarily the case.

More cases have been
solved with chameleon clues:

A cigarette ash from some brand

leads you down some road, all roads.

Light all roads up.

Let's do it.

Let's go, fellas.

Did I interrupt vespers or something?

Vespers means "evening"
in Latin, Detective.

You see the sun is still shining, so no.

How can I help you today?

Actually, I'm thrilled you're here.

I wanted to run something past you.

The notion that the killer's connection

to the family he slaughtered
could be the university.

Yeah? Really?

Wow, that seems wrong to me.

- Why?
- Come with me.

I think you're barking
up the wrong tree.

I made this to help
clarify my reporting.

The crime scene photos you let me borrow

were very helpful and informative.

I'm looking for links.

Like on Dateline.

Have you ever watched
that show? I'm obsessed.

- No.
- My personal conviction

is, you are thinking about
this in the wrong way.

It's not anybody who knew them.

They were maybe stalked,
sure, chosen but not known.

Our killer is well past
day-to-day functional life,

not a student or professor.

- How do you know that?
- My gut tells me.

And you're not listening to yours.

No. You aren't seeing the scale of it.

This is a calling card to
live in an apocalyptic reality.

These murder tableaus
mean something profound.

This killer is sermonizing.

Proselytizing.

Telling a parable.
Preaching. Look at this.

They are saying, "It
is here, it has come.

Glorify me. Shake at my splendor."

He sees himself as God.

You can't dismiss the fact
that this could be an academic.

- I mean...
- You think good old-fashioned police logic will help you?

The world is different now. No.

No.

These are religious statements.

He is telling you that nothing is sacred

and nobody is safe.

Look, I have cleared over 400 cases

in my long, long, tired-ass career

- as a detective, and...
- You're lost.

I am not lost. I get it.

I get what he's trying to achieve.

His testimony.

To understand this monster,
you must reach... the ecstatic.

O God, come to our aid.

O Lord, make haste to help us.

Glory be to the Father and to the Son

and to the Holy Spirit,

as it was in the beginning, is now,

and evermore shall
be, world without end.

Amen.

Okay, so...

I want to talk a little bit to you all

because, hey, it's
sort of what I do best,

and what can I say, I
like hearing myself speak.

I have hubris.

But I also have faith.

One is bad, one is good,

but my faith tells me

that I can be better with time.

And my faith also tells me

that the spirit of goodness
in our community can prevail.

Those of us who believe in
firearms, which, well, hey,

that's most of us in this crowd...

we keep them close at hand,

loaded with hollow-point
ammo, am I right?

Lean into this:

Guns are fine,

so are baseball bats and axes,

so are machetes and flamethrowers.

But faith,

faith is as strong as
a hollow-point round,

so let's take care of each other.

Neighborhood watch is great,

but neighborhood prayer is astounding!

Lock your doors,

but keep your hearts open.

Let's, uh, be here together,

for one another.

That is how we will survive
this evil in our midst.

And now back to our regularly
scheduled vesper hymn

"There Is Power in the Blood."

♪ Would you be free ♪

♪ From your burden of sin? ♪

♪ There's power in the blood ♪

♪ Power in the blood. ♪

Careful now.

Mmm.

Oh. Oh, wow.

These are...

orgasmic.

Are they now? Really?

- Orgasmic, Sister?
- Hey.

I wasn't always a nun.

And you weren't always a priest.

According to my tip-top reporting,

when you were younger...

weren't you a personal trainer?

Yeah.

But, uh, spiritually,

before the seminary,
I was always a priest.

It was all I ever wanted.
Saving people's lives.

At first I thought,
"Maybe I'll be a surgeon."

But then I thought,
"That's just plumbing."

I want to remove the
cancer from their souls.

So here we are.

Saving souls and doing the Lord's work

in a sick, sick world.

And getting sicker by the day.

And you do it so well.

- Oh.
- Being a priest, I mean.

Our parishioners love you.

You know that, right?

You offer a realistic vision of hope.

I got to say that your
pieces about these murders

and the religious aspects of them,

they've got people coming to services.

Attendance is up all over the county.

The archdiocese is incredibly
impressed with you, and...

I might want you to
speak to the congregation.

Oh.

I would be happy to.

After I solve this case.
I can smell this creature.

I can sense him just out of sight.

How great for the church that would be.

The church as salvation?

Literally... protector?

Right? Wouldn't it?

The story is on fire on our website.

Mostly conjecture, conspiracy theories.

Some people are likening
it to the Ripper Crew?

The Chicago Rippers? You
think this is satanists?

Yes, I do.

The mechanics of this are so elaborate

that a coordinated effort
would make a lot of sense.

There's a great documentary online

about the Rippers that I can
send to you if you'd like.

Father,

you're not a true
crime fanatic, are you?

Well, I know you are.

I think that all of these crimes,

- they share an element of, um...
- A search for God.

- Yes, but also a summoning...
- Of Satan.

Yes. Yeah. That's,
that is exactly right.

Is that why you're drawn to them?

I tell myself that I
only watch this stuff

out of concern for the victims,

sympathy, um, but the truth is...

these crime shows, podcasts...

I have a bit of a morbid fascination.

Own it.

Look, I mean, I have a favorite
serial killer, for heaven's sake.

So do I. Who's yours?

You go first.

Ed Gein.

Ah! The OG.

He loved his mother so
much that when she died,

he tried to make a "mommy
suit" out of women's bodies

that he could crawl into and be her.

He had so many different
colors, I mean...

So, who's yours?

Sister Mariam Soulakiotis.

A serial killer nun.

That's so right for you.

High up in the mountains of Greece,

a monastery in a pine
forest in the clouds,

she runs the joint

and invites people with
TB to come for the cure,

but over a hundred folks
die of negligent homicide

because she offers no real
cure, just the elevation.

And then she kills many
more after torturing them

and getting them to donate
their riches to the church...

spinsters and widows...
money she keeps for herself.

Ends up rich and nutso.

And still the nuns in that monastery,

to this very day, insist she's a saint.

The first home invasion...

they cook and eat the dad?

Jesus, the Holy Father incarnate, says,

"Eat of my flesh."

The flesh of the Father.

Luke 22, the Last Supper.

- Okay.
- Then the next one.

Crucifixions?

And then the blood, draining the bodies?

A reference to Leviticus?

"It is the blood that makes
an atonement for the soul."

Draining the blood in an
effort to take their soul.

Right, right. That's right on.

It's the same idea as what
he... they did to the bodies

so they cannot walk with
Christ in eternal life.

It's death but worse than death.

Ultimate nothingness.

Spiritual void.

They found sulfur, too.

At the last scene.

Sister.

Theft is a sin.

The judge shall cause him to lie down

and to be beaten before his face,

according to the measure
of his wickedness, by number.

Then it shall be, if the wicked
man deserve to be beaten, that

the judge shall cause him to lie down

and to be beaten before his face,

according to the measure of his
wickedness, by number.

Then it shall be, if
the wicked man deserve

to be beaten, that the
judge shall cause him

to lie down and to be
beaten before his face,

according to the measure of
his wickedness, by number.

Lois, I'm going to press.

There's an angle.

I'm not sure it's right,
but I'm not sure it's wrong either.

I owe it to our readers
to at least mention it.

Hit me.

- Satanism.
- Satanism?

The symbolism is impossible
to miss in both of these incidents.

You're wrong on this.
Don't write anything yet.

We found blood drops on the sidewalk.

- We got a hit.
- What? Who is it?

A guy named Sullivan Firkus.
He was an organ harvester.

Racked up dozens of bodies in the '90s.

Sold 'em for parts on the black market.

That's really amazing.

Horrible, I mean, so... Wow.

He used to kidnap refugee
kids, pull 'em from war zones.

Served 21 years. Got
out nine months ago.

Must've started planning
his comeback first thing.

He's staying with his mother.

Don't release anything yet, okay?

I am gonna go on record,
and I want you to break the story.

Thank you. But, Lois,
why are you helping me?

I am not helping you. I'm using you.

Maybe your church is onto
something, using these killings

to get lapsed believers
back into the pews.

Hell, maybe nonbelievers.

- Like you?
- I got to go.

Clear.

Clear.

Clear.

- Clear.
- Clear.

Detective.

Get down here.

Wake up!

What happened?

You look shaken. Tell
me, tell me everything.

What is that?

It's nothing, it's small, I tripped.

Ladies, what can I do you for?

What's this lychee
cocktail? Sounds yummy.

Vodka, coconut water,

lychee juice, lime juice.

People on the base love it.

I'll have one. Lo?

Club soda, lime, hold the booze.

No shot of vodka in there, Detective?

I'm fine, Harv.

Off the booze, babe?

I am trying to stay sharp, Sister.

Why?

I'm losing it. My-my-my
theory wasn't right,

my-my picker's off, and
that's all I have left.

Lois,

tell me about the crime
scene, describe it.

It was staged.

Sullivan Firkus's blood,

the DNA, it was all left there for us

at the trap house slaughter.

Firkus?

He was the first killing.

He'd been dead for weeks.

Left there for us to find.

A warning.

Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!

Wake up! Wake up!

You are not a God who
delights in wickedness!

Wake up! Wake up!

Wake up.

Wake up!

Evil may not dwell with you.

The boastful shall not
stand before your eyes.

You hate all evildoers.

You destroy those

who speak lies.

The Lord abhors the bloodthirsty

and deceitful man.

Or does he?

Psalms chapter five, verse five.

Yes, I know you know your Bible.

I looked it up, but what's it about?

"The Lord abhors the bloodthirsty

and deceitful man."

See, "abhors," "hates."

It says God can hate,
which is very powerful.

Hatred as a force for good.

The killer left a calling card.

He left his name written in a...

beautifully elaborate script.

What's his name?

Grotesquerie.

"I belong to those

who have troubled the
sleep of the world."

And then: "May all
your dreams come true."

I don't recognize that.

Any other evidence?

No.

I'd like to see the crime scene
photos when they're developed.

Since we're in this together now

and no one else seems
to be helpful to you.

Were the bodies this time
arranged in a biblical tableau?

If they were, I didn't
recognize the symbolism.

Maybe I'll have better luck.

Dreams, hatred, lessons, sermons,

hallucinations, fevers, serpents.

You have to start looking
at what the philosophy

behind these murders is, Lois.

That's how we'll catch him.

Hey, aren't you married to
some philosophy professor?

Now, he can't exactly help
me out with this, can he?

Come on,

Sister, give me something I can go on.

Someone in the clergy.

Maybe not Christian,
perhaps some odd offshoot.

Pagan or, I don't know, there's so much.

There's the Temple of
the True Inner Light,

which believes that
psychoactive substances...

cannabis, LSD, mescaline,

psychedelic mushrooms, and others...

are the true flesh of God.

The organization also
believes that all religions

are based upon the
psychedelic experience.

Sister,

I am a very tired woman.

What are you saying?

Unlock the dream,

solve the crime.

Thank you.

Good golly, Miss Molly.

This beverage is a near
religious experience.

Three fingers, Chopin vodka.

On the rocks.

♪ Couldn't find me no friends ♪

♪ Had no place to go ♪

♪ If I ever get my
hands on a dollar again ♪

♪ I'm gonna hold on to it ♪

♪ Till the eagle grins... ♪

Hi, Mom.

Put that thing away!

- It's me.
- Merritt.

Please.

Don't do that.

At least until this fucker is toast.

Are you okay?

No.

I am not okay.

When I'm done...

I'm gonna sell this house.

Sell the house? What about Dad?

I'm gonna move somewhere gorgeous,

like up in Big Sur.

You're welcome to come.

The-the water's rough, but the drama

is everything.

That is the only kind of drama

I can take after this.

So...

This was at the crime scene today.

You think you can do anything with it?

You being good at puzzles and games,

you got that from me, but I'm stumped.

You think you can open it?

I don't know.

We'll see.

I don't know, Mom, this
box is not functional...

No seams.

No openings, really, I mean...

Yeah, nothing.

Maybe it doesn't mean a goddamn thing.

Nothing at a murder scene means nothing.

♪ Grab your coat... ♪

It all means something.

Okay.

I'm going to bed.

♪ Just direct your feet... ♪

Good night.

♪ Sunny side of the street ♪

♪ Can't you hear the pitter-pat, babe? ♪

♪ The happy tune is your step, and ♪

♪ Life can be so sweet,
life can be so sweet ♪

♪ Life can be so sweet ♪

♪ Life can be so sweet,
life can be so sweet ♪

♪ Life can be... ♪

Yeah?

Ye...

Okay.

Where?

Is this what people
did when they first saw

the work of Michelangelo?

Of Caravaggio?

Sit in stunned silence?

In shock and awe.

I suppose they did.

Well, this biblical positioning
is quite easy to decipher,

if I do say so myself.

The Last Supper, Sister, but...

for whom?

You? Me?

All of us?

I knew the Jesus figure.

He touched me.

My heart.

I used to give him money to buy food,

although he probably

used it to buy meth.

We think...

we know

these 12 people were homeless.

Unhoused.

Point is, they were hunted.

Preyed upon.

But not prayed for.

The craven mind behind this,

touched by genius, for sure.

This Grotesquerie.

Lois?

What are you going to do now?

Me?

Sister, I am going to go home

and drink.

Yeah.

Every time I show up
to one of these murders.

I end up bathed in invisible blood.

And I can't get it out.

I'm as doomed as you are.

The desires of the flesh
come not from the father.

But from this world.

This is the end of time.

This case that you're on.

It's as if this killer
were an atomic bomb.

He is.

Don't do this to yourself.

You're going to regret it.

These murders are parables.

He's playing with us.

He's a prophet.

Trumpeting the coming of the end.

Want me to plug in the nightlight?

So you're not scared in the dark?

Go!

This is someone who knows me.

- Synced and corrected by naFraC -
- www.addic7ed.com -