The Inside · Season 1
Tell me, how old were you when you were abducted?
I was ten.
Same age as the St. Clair girl. And you don’t think it’s possible your own experience is clouding your judgment? That you see something of your own stolen innocence when you look at her?
No. I don’t see myself when I look at her. I see the man who took me.
If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them I was never here.
That would be lying.
So you do know what a lie is. I was wondering.
I don’t like the way you’re talking to me!
Yeah. I’ll bet you don’t. But I’m bigger than you. And I have a gun.
I’ve managed to persuade the St. Clairs not to file a formal complaint with the Bureau.
Thank you, sir.
They are, however, still weighing whether or not to proceed against you civilly. I’d say they have a pretty fair case. Their daughter’s arm is broken in two places, and she’s claiming you pushed her.
She’s lying.
Of course she’s lying! That’s not the point! You’ve compromised my entire team by allowing yourself to be discredited by an eleven-year-old.
She’s ten, sir.
Some will tell you it’s fantasy. That we exist on the precipice of chaos and any notion that we might have control -- over ourselves, events, others -- is sheer delusion. I disagree. I believe control is real and possible. And sacred. So I would never ask you to give up your control...I’d ask you to beg for it.
“The Well.” Private club. They have satellite branches in six states. Our three vics were all card carrying members.
So it is an S&M club?
No, Danny. It’s a support group for very clumsy people. Yeah, S&M.
It’s not just me you’re judging, Paul. You’re judging these women too. If you don’t stop judging and start empathizing, how can you expect to catch their killer?
You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Oh, I know all about you, Cole. I know your Daddy comes from money. But not your Mommy. She used to work here, back when it was a hotel. Poor relation of the people that owned it. Your Daddy got stranded on the road one night, and that’s how the courtship started. If you can call it that. She was a smart girl, though. Threatened to go to the cops. So he did the honorable thing -- he married her.
I don’t know where you heard that lie--
Same place you did -- from your mother. When she begged me not to arrest you. Even she figured you for a rapist, Cole. Said it wasn’t your fault, though. That you’d inherited it from your father.
She’s a lying bitch.
That any way to talk about your mother?
Why are you doing this? I’ve never done anything to you.
You’ve done everything to me. You’re in my head. You close my eyes every night. I see your stupid smug face staring back at me every time I make love to my wife. You know what that’s like? You know how that makes me feel?
You were there. At the Havens crime scene.
Crime scene.” You still using the word “victims,” then?
No. Victims suffer injustice. These men suffered the opposite. You. You stop them before they can cause more pain--
[laughing] Bitch, don’t try to profile me. You don’t have Virgil Webster’s track record. Besides, you’re the damaged one. I’m just someone who’s smarter than a really stupid system.
No. The stupid system accounts for human error. Your ritual depends solely on your ego. You’re about power, not justice. You kill because you’re powerless not to. Just like every other serial murderer.
That’s Paul Ryan talking. When am I going to hear from Rebecca Locke? Or better yet, put Becky George on the line. I want to ask if she wanted someone to take out her abductor before he came in through the window.
Thing that all serial killers want, is to tell their story. They want to tell you their story. It’s not hard to avoid leaving evidence. They do it because it makes nice visual aids in the big “book of them.” They’re drama queens. Anyway, it starts with the mail. They’re lazy, they’re uncreative, they need fuel. So they order illegal pornography, arson manuals, weapons, you name it. They order this crap to their house, through the mail. [slamming the table] Hey! Friends not coming. Stop looking at window. No one has a clue who I am, much less where I live.
[to Roger Comack] You... you were at the hotel. You wound up with a west facing room, and you saw a girl at the pier. From a distance, she looked like Aubrey Harris, who lives next door. You got curious. Started watching. Next time, you brought your camera. Just to get a closer look, not to take pictures yet. But every convention, you booked a west facing room. By the time you started shooting photos, you were booking the room even when there was no convention. You know it’s wrong. You hate yourself for it, and you hate the girls for making you feel this way. It will get worse. The tension there. And you’ll need to find a way out, to get normal. And that’s when it’ll happen. Six months, maybe a year from now. Just once, but it won’t last, and you’ll need to do it to get normal again. And again. And again. And again.
We don’t have enough evidence on him, Rebecca. They’ll let him go free. And we know what he’ll do. You especially.
So you wanna do me, huh? Okay. I’ll give ya a head start. My childhood was bad. I hate myself.
You hate half yourself. The other half you like. The smart half. The part of you that sees things, so quickly, and puts them all together. You like the part that thinks, and hate the part that feels. Because you feel the same thing Roger feels. The same thing Jeremy Fitch feels, and James Havens, and Frank Bicks. Every time you kill one of them, you kill that half. But nothing changes, does it? What happened a long time ago, to us? Still happened. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Family is a lie. Don’t you know that? They’re supposed to be the building blocks of civilization, but instead they’re just sick little packets of human disease.
Is that why you kill them? You’re the cure?
I don’t kill anyone. I just see a litter of rich white folks pretending like they’re the Brady Bunch, and I give ‘em what they want: some family time together.
You confine them. In a small space. And let them go mad.
Well, let’s just say that after four days or so, with nothing to drink but my urine, those true family colors start to show...
I didn’t expect you’d provide us a map to your son’s forest haunts. Not that it would matter. I believe this is where he’ll end up.
You really think he’d be stupid enough to come to us?
Not to you, Mister Robie. For you. He’ll come for you.
How we die often says more about us than how we live.
I can be nice. For a hundred fifty bucks an hour.
I can be not so nice for a lot less.
These quotes come from Wikiquote's The Inside pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.
