WOMAN: You need to help me.
PRIEST: What is your plight?
I feel darkness all around me.
It compels me to do things.
What sorts of things?
Shameful things. Please...
don't make me say.
You must acknowledge your sins
before you can be forgiven them.
I'm so weak.
I allowed the darkness inside me.
And I'm so afraid.
You're a child of God. He will not let harm come to you.
I'm not afraid for me.
I am afraid for you.
(He screams)
- (Woman shrieks) - Take his flesh and devour him!
(Shrieking and groaning)
(Speaks in tongues)
(Bones snapping)
(Woman sobs)
Ripped By mstoll
(Birdsong)
You find out anything more about Nigel Pennington's death?
This is not the place.
Have you requested the coroner's report?
Dr Doyle, have you discovered anything?
The victim's facial distortion is a symptom
of stress-provoked ventricular fibrillation,
which flooded her heart with adrenaline.
She was frightened to death.
You look worse than usual.
The children were rambunctious last night.
Witnesses reported she exhibited the strength of several men.
Adrenaline can make people do extraordinary things.
My Lake Michigan stunt, for example.
The whole thing was frozen over.
I dove into this hole, but I couldn't find my way back.
I was drowning. I had to punch through eight inches of ice.
The priest claims that she was possessed by some sort of demon.
The only thing that possessed her was a sick mind.
- You don't believe in evil? - Human evil, yes.
Don't tell me you think there's an actual devil out there
walking around with horns and a pitchfork?
- I believe in God. Why not Lucifer? - Believing in one fairy-tale
doesn't mean you have to believe them all. This isn't possession, it's insanity.
Or being possessed made her look insane. Look at this.
HOUDINI: Some sort of skin sensitivity? - Urticaria.
Although I've never seen such a configuration.
She's wearing a nice ring, but her clothes, they seem institutional.
- BRH. Bethlem Royal Hospital. - Commonly known as Bedlam.
Clothes they issue to patients who've been released.
So she just got out of the loony bin.
That'd make her - what? Loony?
Anyone behaving at all out of the ordinary can be committed.
Jumping into a frozen lake, for instance.
DOYLE: Imagine the atrocities committed in this snake pit.
Bedlam awaits.
Clearly, Molly should never have been released,
especially with her weak heart and her history of delusions.
I never went to medical school, but did he just say I'm right and you're wrong?
A weak heart doesn't rule out possession.
- You authorised her release? - Ah, no. No, it was Dr Randall.
He harbours the hope of curing fear itself.
Bit too abstract for my taste, but he's had glimmers of promise.
I've chastened him. He assures me it won't happen again.
As long as we have his word.
Rest assured, I take a more substantive approach than Dr Randall.
Electroshock and lobotomies have proven very effective.
Turning people into house plants.
Surely, as a doctor, you understand the brain is an organ like any other.
- Like any other? - (Distant cries of distress)
I'd hate to hear the kidney's idea of a symphony.
(Man cries out)
(Chatter)
You know, patients here lived in their own filth.
Rich patrons could pay a shilling to view them, like animals in a zoo.
I brought humanity to Bethlem Royal.
Arthur Conan Doyle.
We meet at last.
My name is Holmes.
Sherlock Holmes.
We currently have three patients here with that same delusion.
Then, by all laws of logic, two of us must be wrong.
At least. Bet you have a lot of fans in here.
I'm honoured you like the character.
Actually, I've noted 87 occasions where you've portrayed me inaccurately,
and I plan to take appropriate legal action to stop this libel.
I'll alert my solicitor.
That's right, mock the lunatic.
You didn't make me.
I made you.
For posterity, his name was Wilson!
I imagine you've had several patients claiming to be possessed?
Yes. It's an all too common delusion.
Have you ever had a case you thought could be actual possession?
Oh, no. Well, er...
we do have one patient who has given me pause.
A defrocked priest named Nathaniel, very disturbed.
He stoked the imaginations of other patients, including Molly.
How many others? Have any of them been released?
- I'm not sure. There's no reason to think... - No, they may be in danger.
- We need to see your records. - No, no. You know I can't do that.
The Lord Chief Justice owes me a favour. I'll be back very soon.
I can't wait till he finishes lunch. I need that court order.
Did you tell him who was asking?
- Father, let's play some football. - I'm working.
- You don't look like you're working. - I'm thinking. For a writer, thinking is working.
- You're not thinking, you're stamping. - Kingsley, out!
- (Whimpers) - Stop your whining.
MAN: Stop your whining, Arthur!
The world hates a whinger.
(Man speaking Latin)
No! You go to hell!
- I cast out the demon in you... - To hell with you!
...in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. - You feeble man!
Christ is a myth, you pathetic weakling!
Hand me the holy water.
- We use this purified water... - Death to all those you love!
...to banish the creature within you... - Damn you!
...and deliver you from all that is unclean. - Shut up!
Ahh! Ahh! Put that scum water away!
I'll kill you!
Stand back!
Catatonia. And he's also from Bedlam.
If we'd had access to the records, we might have saved this man.
- Please, stop. - I smell whisky... and despair.
Your children are never rambunctious,
and for a professional writer, you're spending too much time with us.
I'm guessing you have a case of writer's block.
Keeping Holmes dead is proving more difficult than I thought.
So let him live. Give the people what they want.
- More Sherlock, less Boer War. Win-win. - It's more complicated than that.
Oh, my God.
- Another reaction? - A configuration.
- It's similar to the one we saw on Molly. - Not similar.
Identical.
- This can't be random. There's a pattern. - I don't see a pattern.
- I think I do. - Cos we're built to spot patterns.
- Helps us pick out hidden predators. - It's apophenia.
It makes us see faces everywhere, from the man in the moon to Jesus on a piece of toast.
Sometimes we see them on the front of people's heads.
Come on, you are playing connect the dots. You could make anything...
I know where I've seen that before.
Oh, the Mark of Abaddon. This is helpful.
Means we don't have to round up all demons, just Abaddon.
- These points clearly suggest a pentagram. - And Ursa Major clearly looks like a bear.
Abaddon, Lord of the Abyss, paralyses his victims with fear,
so that he may feed on their souls, leaving his mark on his prey.
- It's the demonic equivalent of stigmata. - Ah, it's skin writing.
Some people can cause a spontaneous allergic reaction,
and then consciously form it into whatever they want.
It's like getting a tattoo without a needle. It's a great trick.
How does one consciously do something when one's unconscious?
A better question is, why does our Addie have The Big Book Of Creepy Symbols?
My husband... had a ring with this marking on it.
It's the insignia of a Polish anarchist group.
Those guys have done some nasty things.
DOYLE: Do you think he was involved with these assassins?
I think he was trying to stop them, and that's why he was killed.
They left him hanging in his study for me to find.
Look, I...
- From the Lord Chief Justice's office. - Thank you.
Ah. We have our warrant.
We'll see the priest first, then your records.
(Distressed cries in background)
Nathaniel.
I've been waiting for you three.
Nice jacket. I have one just like it at home.
Do you know Molly Morgan and Simon Fleming?
They were my acolytes. I have quite a number of them.
How many?
Molly's dead. Simon's catatonic.
They have fulfilled their purpose.
The Beast must be fed.
- One of them's still alive. - But his soul is gone.
I'm thinking he used hypnosis.
I need no such trickery.
I corrupt the souls for Abaddon to feed off them.
- How do you do that? - I expose your deepest fear.
Then it's a simple matter.
Do you know what I most fear?
Being condemned to the same hell as me.
I see that you are weak, a prisoner of your thirst.
And it won't be long!
That's enough of that. Guard!
It's never enough! Abaddon's hunger is never sated!
There will be others! Many others!
He's nothing more than a talented cold reader
trying to grab credit for what happened to the victims.
No cold reading could make Molly and Simon behave as they did.
Or make the Mark of Abaddon appear on their bodies.
Here's another one. That's five patients who've had contact with Nathaniel
- and are out there somewhere. - Time bombs, waiting to go off.
- What's that one? - Dead patient. Not relevant.
I'll ask the Yard to track these down.
You two go. I'd like to see what Dr Randall has to say.
I believe committing one's fear to paper has the effect of defining it,
and once defined, it can be targeted.
Molly and Simon, what was their condition when you released them?
I thought they were cured.
Sounds arrogant, I know.
And now it just sounds foolish.
Why was a man like Nathaniel allowed contact with vulnerable patients?
Not just allowed, encouraged. And not by me.
Dr Pilsen believes if we terrify the patients with demons,
they'll come running to God.
- He's using fear to manipulate them. - Fear is the disease itself.
He doesn't understand that.
What about the rest of Dr Pilsen's so-called therapies?
- Electroshock, lobotomies? - He assures me he's had success.
It's barbaric and you know it.
I have a court order. I intend to search this place
and find out everything that's been going on here and stop the abuse.
Can I count on your help, or your hindrance?
We have much to discuss.
- Can I offer you a cup of tea? - Yes.
Argh! Get off me! Get off me!
Get... off... me!
Stop your whining, Arthur. The world hates a whinger!
- (Sobs) - Argh!
(Shouting)
Get off! (Grunts)
(Charles groans)
Four of the five released inmates have been found and detained.
They're safe and healthy.
- We're trying to find an address for the fifth. - Hm. Just leaving one question.
What's in the file you put aside when you saw me approach?
It's the coroner's report on Nigel Pennington.
No water found in lungs. Likely strangulation.
Suspicious death.
The police have no leads, no suspects.
You wanna tell me about this guy?
He was my husband's friend, then his business partner.
The police said Benjamin gambled all our money away,
but Nigel thought he'd embezzled it, and that I knew where it was.
If I didn't know you, you'd be my top suspect.
Nigel tried to open an inquest into the suicide. I wanted that too.
You don't think your husband gambled the money away.
Benjamin took me to the Eiffel Tower, not to see the structure or enjoy the view...
...but so we could kiss at the top of the world.
He wasn't a gambler.
He was a romantic.
Yeah. Those two are obviously mutually exclusive.
- You bastard! - Dr Doyle!
- Please! - I know what you did to my father.
You stole that file. I-I could charge you.
- Charge me? You tortured him to death. - Attendant!
You... You've been drinking. Perhaps your wife's condition
- proves too stressful for you. - I'm fine.
- I could give you a tincture of laudanum. - I don't need your opium.
You clearly need help. You're obviously suffering from a great deal of anxiety.
I'm not the crazy one.
Nor was my father.
Your father suffered from dementia praecox. He was a very disturbed...
You are going to prison for what you did to him!
- Please. It's for your own good. - What's this?
- I'm committing you. - You can't do this.
You can't! You're doing this to shut me up! No!
No! No!
Like father, like son, I'm afraid.
I'm sorry, Arthur.
- No! - I'm sorry.
- Is Doyle back yet? - No.
Good. Then I can admit he was right.
- You think Abaddon was behind this? - Don't be cute.
But I do think there's something rotten at that asylum.
We should go back there and open every file they have.
I think we should get Doyle first.
I demand to see my solicitor. Nobody even knows I'm in here.
- Meet your new roommate. - You and your bloody solicitor.
No, no, no, this isn't right.
This time it's not so amusing, is it?
What Pilsen's doing is illegal. You have to alert Scotland Yard.
Guard! Guard!
- I've been thinking. - I'm not talking to you.
No need. Puffy eyes, sallow skin. You've been drinking heavily.
Parotid swelling and rhinophyma - or as you would know it, drinker's nose.
That suggests a more long-term issue. But abuse of the devil's mouthwash
is but one symptom of an even bigger problem.
Fear.
Of course I'm scared. I'm locked in a bloody mental hospital.
Did somebody steal your identity
and now everyone thinks you're crazy as soon as you mention your name?
Creased forehead, darting eyes, stooped back.
It's obvious the fear has been with you your entire life. But why?
What has wounded you so profoundly?
More importantly, why did you kill my fictional counterpart?
Holmes was a lightweight who stood in the way of something more profound.
It's a tad more personal. I find it interesting that a mere three months after your father died,
you threw Sherlock over the falls.
I made some enquiries. Doyle's father was a patient at Bedlam,
where he died eight years ago.
Well, that would explain Doyle's behaviour. And that file.
Let me guess.
Daddy loved it when you became a doctor, and hated it when you became a hack.
Though I will admit, every once in a while you did have an inspired turn of phrase.
- They say insanity stirs the creative juices. - I'm not insane.
Your surroundings suggest otherwise. Did he ever once acknowledge you as a writer?
And Sherlock was one of the most successful characters in the history of fiction.
- Nonfiction. - (Sighs)
- I need to get out of here. - Or you could embrace your situation
and see this as an opportunity to investigate from the inside.
I suppose I could try and find proof that my father was right, proof of Abaddon.
I'd tone down the Abaddon rhetoric. Just focus on Nathaniel.
How do you know about the case?
I hear things. When they think you're barking mad, no-one is discreet.
- In fact, I've solved your little matter. - Oh, really? Who did it?
Professor Moriarty? An evil stepmother?
The victims died in a state of great fear.
They also exhibited dry gangrene and paraesthesia.
Ever think they may have been poisoned?
There was a fear-inducing poison in A Study In Scarlet.
Ergot. Causes terrifying hallucinations.
"The house of Charles Doyle. Offer to purchase."
I thought he was just sleeping in, but his bed's untouched.
He mustn't have come home at all last night.
- Daddy? - It's not your father, love.
- Where is he? - I'm not sure.
I'm Adelaide.
You must be Kingsley.
Your father's told me so much about you.
- Most of it good. - Hm.
I don't like broccoli, either.
- You're a policeman? - I am.
And we are going to find your father. I promise.
- I need to talk to Nathaniel. - I've devised a way to get you into his cell.
Five ways, in fact. But four end up with giving the guard a concussion.
- Let's go with number five. - As you wish. Guard! Come quick!
Dr Doyle is ill! Possibly consumption!
Although at least eight other ailments manifest similar symptoms!
(Whispers) Look ill.
- Perfect. - (Keys rattling)
I thought you said this method didn't involve knocking him out.
They all did. I just expected you'd disapprove.
The stakes seemed high enough to justify a headache...
...perhaps even a mild brain injury.
- You need medical treatment. - It's too late for that.
Abaddon has come for me.
Your followers, Molly and Simon,
- we think they were poisoned. - With fear.
Abaddon loves the smell of fear. Your father reeked of it.
How do you know about my father?
He died eight years ago, before you came to Bedlam.
Abaddon has always been here. He is everywhere the troubled souls gather.
Your father was riddled with weakness.
So easy to squeeze the life out of him.
He's goading you.
Do you work for Pilsen?
I have but one master, as does the good doctor.
- Pilsen answers to Abaddon? - That's why he brought me here. And you.
- Argh! - (Snap)
This is impossible.
Apparently not.
Dr Doyle. What have you done?
No, I-I didn't... I just came to talk to him.
You attacked a guard, and murdered this deluded fool.
No, I never touched him. Some force wrenched his neck.
- He said Abaddon was coming for him. Tell him. - He dragged me in here.
- I had no idea he was going to do this. - What? No!
Tell him. Wait! No, he's lying!
No! No! No!
(Tools rattling)
(Gasps)
I liked your father.
But I failed him.
If I'd given him a lobotomy, I'm sure he'd be alive and grateful today.
It will end your writing, but that's a small price to pay for ending your torment.
No! No! No!
Doyle?
- (Drill whines) - No, no, no! Please!
- I need to write! - Relax. Just relax.
Excuse me. Please don't drill into my friend's brain.
- Attendant! - They're indisposed.
And by indisposed, I mean unconscious.
Let me apologise in advance for rendering you unconscious as well.
Ugh!
Obviously, my earlier act of betrayal was just a ruse. I had six options.
The cowardly retreat led to the most satisfying conclusion.
Wait, wait. Ergot was in an early draft of A Study In Scarlet,
but I cut it before it went to print. How could you know about it?
We're in the middle of a thrilling escape, and that's what you're thinking about? Come on!
There's our way out.
- No! - (Laughs)
Doyle!
There must be a logical answer to this. Nothing is making sense.
Remember that line you stole from me:
"Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains..."
- Everything here is impossible. - And therefore...
Everything is a figment of my imagination. Including you.
I'm just like the other victims. I've been given ergot.
I'm hallucinating, and the real me is dying...
Convulsions, shock, oedema... My best guess is some sort of poison.
Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell which one.
Ergot.
Yes, ergot could certainly explain all his symptoms.
- How did you ever think of that? - Lucky guess.
- Daddy? - Kingsley.
We found him, and we're going to make him better.
Good as new. All right?
- I'm afraid the children can't be in here. - No.
- We're not leaving our father. - What, are you gonna throw them out?
(Whispers) Without an antidote, there's nothing I can do for him.
We'll get one.
You have to find a way out of your nightmare.
Arthur.
Touie.
(Birdsong)
I haven't given up. I've been searching the world for a cure.
Well, stop searching because I feel wonderful.
He said ergot takes 12 hours to peak.
Both victims had breakdowns the day they were released -
so they were in Bedlam when they were poisoned.
Nathaniel was confined to his cell, so that lets him off the hook.
Why would anybody else want to scare people to death?
For thrills?
The only ones with access to the victims were Pilsen and Randall.
But the only time Doyle saw Pilsen, he was with us.
And the only time he wasn't with us, he met Randall.
You think I poisoned him?
I'm trying to figure out why anybody would kill people in such a torturous way.
But you're a scientist. You're not trying to kill them with fear, but to cure them of it.
The way Pasteur inoculated people against rabies,
- by giving them a small dose. - How do you suppose I administered poison?
It's called ergot. It's some kind of rye fungus, and we were wondering the same thing.
How the heck do you get rye fungus into somebody?
- Bread, I suppose. - Certain drinks. Beer, alcohol.
- Tea? - Like any good scientist,
you wouldn't try something you couldn't control.
I think you have an antidote.
Why would I have an antidote to a poison I don't have?
You'd better have, cos I laced your tea with ergot.
I do this sort of thing professionally.
We had to stop you before you could poison any more of those poor people.
- What are you doing? Trying to kill me? - I think you'll give us the antidote first.
No. Don't do this. I'm so close!
If I can cure fear,
it'd end madness, save so many lives from ruin.
Yes. Others died for your cause. Are you willing to?
You told me you knew how to sail.
- Like you told me you knew how to ski! - Of course I can ski.
- Take me to Mont Blanc and I will show you. - Yes, of course you can.
Because you're not real.
Why does that matter?
The feelings are real, and that's enough. That's everything.
I must go back.
You'll have to watch me die.
I know.
Then why?
Why go back to all that pain, that torment?
Because it's real.
And if the pain is real, then so is the joy.
What about me?
You're a dream. A beautiful dream.
I'm sorry.
Goodbye, my love.
The flickering light.
That's the product of your dying brain. There's not much time left.
- There must be a way out of this. - Ergot is surging through your veins.
What can you possibly do about that?
Euphoria.
A massive surge would spike your calcium
- and constrict your peripheral blood vessels. - And probably kill me.
It's the only thing that will physically stop the ergot.
How am I to feel euphoria in this place?
By eliminating your misery.
What is causing all your dark memories of this house?
Go on, say it.
Father.
In the flesh, so to speak.
Am I dead?
No, Arthur. You're losing your mind.
Out of the way!
- Ooh! Oh! - No. No! No!
NURSE: Are you all right? OLD MAN: Yes.
I suppose you think all your problems were my fault.
Do you deny that you didn't have the faintest idea how to be a father?
Yes, I was a terrible father. All better now?
- You bastard. - Hm. Apparently not.
So let's see, what is this really about?
Oh, I know. Your precious work.
Most fathers would have been proud of what I created.
Sherlock Holmes, the most sceptical ass who ever lived?
You hated my work because of a fictional character?
A character who was contemptuous of everything I was.
A character you made that way with the sole purpose of hurting me.
Of course I wanted to hurt you.
You were an alcoholic madman,
and the best day of my life was the day they took you away.
You know that's not true.
Steady now. Steady, steady. There, there.
Shh.
Doctor Doyle. Steady, steady, Doctor.
Steady, Doctor.
The alcohol was my fault. The madness wasn't.
- Whose fault was it? Mine? - It was no-one's fault.
Do you know how miserable it was to have a certified lunatic for a father?
Do you know the utter horror of losing one's mind?
At first I tried to justify it as a quirk of the creative brain.
Then I tried to camouflage it with alcohol. Hid bottles in the piano.
Better a lush than a nutcase.
But I kept sinking deeper and deeper, until it took everything from me.
My work, your dear mother...
...your brother and sisters...
...you. - Hm.
Quite the loss.
Would this all have been different if I had remained a doctor?
Probably.
It was only when I read your work that I came to despise you.
Hold him, Nurse.
- Doctor. - Hold him, Nurse.
You found my work that awful?
No.
My father and brother were acclaimed artists.
I was...
...the disappointment.
Then you came along, and it was so easy for you.
Your brilliance only illuminated my own mediocrity.
My death didn't warrant a single obituary in the newspapers,
and yet the entire world mourned the death of your cartoon.
Why couldn't you tell me?
Because I was a weak and petty little man.
I didn't despise you.
I despised myself.
I know it's too late, but...
...but would you allow me to do something I wish I had the courage to do when I was alive?
(Arthur sobs)
Thank you.
But you're thinking this is a shade too facile,
and you're realising I'm just a figment of your imagination.
Precisely.
I think you'd better take my word for it.
(He chuckles)
Daddy.
Come here, son.
I was never cross with you.
Nor you.
I was cross within myself.
You know, you gave Adelaide and the kids a hell of a scare.
Yes, all three of us.
It wasn't Pilsen, was it?
It was Randall.
How could you possibly have learned that?
Holmes cracked the case.
Up here, the case was cracked by Houdini.
Figured out you were poisoned with ergot.
How could you poss...
No. No, I don't know what you're thinking, but wipe that grin off your face.
I must've communicated it to you telepathically.
Or it came to me in one of my frequent bursts of inspiration.
- And where does inspiration come from? - Please, let him have the last word.
And one last signature.
Thank you, Dr Doyle.
Thank you.
(Sighs)
I love you, Ma.
Ripped By mstoll