Obituary

Circulation is down. You'll get 200 an obit.

How will I live?

Maybe you should start killing people.

Emerson Stafford.

Elvira-- Clancy. I know.

Looks like we're working together.

Maria Riedle's body was in the boot of your car.

I was gonna say that I shot her. Yeah, but you didn't shoot her!

I think we have a killer in our town.

You're right, there is a killer. You.

"Hughie Burns has been arrested for the murder of Maria Riedle."

This town needs closure.

I need to find a connection between these two deaths.

The connection.

Is he alive?

Not remotely.

Ah, hello.

Ah, you poor thing,

you must've eaten something nasty, did ya?

Oh Christ.

What is that?

Urgh. My God, that's a nose.

Oh God... right!

Help. Hello? Is there anybody there?

ELVIRA V/O: Some cultures claim that a person who dies without their eyes

can never cross over to the other side.

That their soul is tethered to this world...

.. bound to their earthy remains.

.. never to find peace.

Only to be left wandering this world for all eternity.

I hope that's not true.

That you're not destined to be stuck in this town,

haunting these people because...

Well, that's kind of my job.

Oh, Dad!

You've left me in a pretty awful position.

And I'm not talking about the unpaid bills

or a closed coffin, you've left me with...

.. writer's block.

Your eulogy.

Words supposedly ripped from the bottom of my heart,

and I have nothing. Because to write,

I need to feel something and right now...

I feel nothing.

What if I'm a monster,

incapable of grief?

You're the only one who would understand that.

And now you're not here to tell me I'm wrong.

Who knows...

.. maybe killing is how I grieve.

Instead of tears,

dead bodies are how I show sorrow

because I hate living in a world

where you're dead and they're alive,

cracking jokes about you,

the man without a face,

the drunk who drowned in a foot of water.

They'll pay.

The first one who says something--

It's time.

I, um, I know you were struggling with the eulogy,

so I jotted a few things down.

Mmm. It's sentimental.

What can I say, I adored the man.

And before you ask, change whatever you like,

I know you'll make it better.

I spent a lifetime dreading his death.

I always pictured myself alone when it happened.

I'm glad I got that wrong.

Do you mind if I have a word alone?

I'll look after her.

Which means, as much as it kills me,

she'll never know about the slippery, second-rate murderer

I think you really were.

What a pathetic way to go!

Not one thing in your pocket but a betting slip.

Oh, I saw it, all smudged and crumpled.

I checked your race...

They'd grown quite close.

That horse you bet on, won by a nose.

Which is more than they can say about you.

There you are!

Two hours sleep.

One hour less than last night.

They say insomnia can happen when you're not living true

to yourself, but I know what my true self wants to do.

Hey. You still not sleeping?

I think you should see someone.

Or kill someone.

Don't swallow it this time.

I think you dropped this.

Room 26A.

You've grandchildren, Gladys, in the States.

Teenagers?

They don't care how I feel.

Well, I do.

So tell me, how do you feel?

Let's just say, I hope the food is better in heaven than this kip!

Now we're talking.

You're not a nurse. Why are you here?

Do you want the truth? Because at your age it's not really advised.

Oh, tell me.

Alright, I write obituaries.

Four months ago I was stabbed.

While I was in the hospital I met a nurse

who does shift work here.

Oh, Bernadine? Mmm.

We struck up a deal.

I pay her, and she points me in the direction of people...

.. checking out early.

Since I've been coming, this place has been hit by strep,

E. coli and...

.. whatever it is you have.

Yeah, that one.

All this illness has been lucrative for us both.

So lucrative and well...

.. distracting.

It's kept me away from my real passion.

Which is?

As I said, telling the truth to someone your age,

not advised.

Not going to make it to the morning, am I?

Then I'm glad you're here.

I have a lot to get off my chest,

starting with those little bastards in America!

Work that ass.

Fuck off! Oi!

Dickhead!

Follow me please.

Big bum.

Well? I did warn ya.

The... Tourettes, it's a chemical imbalance

in, in my brain-- I couldn't care less about your brain.

What I do care about,

is this smudge.

A smudge which tells me you were asleep on the job.

That's narcolepsy.

Smash your fuckin' face in!

Sorry. Sorry.

Just start over. Every window?

And this time, no smudges, yes?

Fuck.

'As I said...'

.. a plane tears across the sky,

I look down and in my hands is a rocket launcher.

I place it on my shoulder, pull the trigger

and right before the plane explodes, I wake up

and that's it, dream over.

Many would call it a nightmare.

Dream, nightmare, explain it.

The plane does symbolise something.

Yeah, that I want to kill a bunch of people.

Don't we get on a plane to get away from it all?

Groundbreaking. So tell me,

how do you feel about your father's death?

I think you're avoiding dealing with it, Elvira.

I wish he hadn't got drunk, fallen,

banged his head on a rock and drowned, that's how I feel.

I'm sorry but I'm the kind of person who gets on with things.

My mental health has never been better.

So I'm not in a puddle of tears,

that doesn't make me a monster, does it?

Please say it doesn't! At the top of this session

you said you haven't slept right since he died,

that you're down to two hours a night, which tells me,

without a breakthrough, it'll only get worse.

So let's focus on your father.

Honestly?

Since the stabbing, we'd never been closer.

We'd... begun to open up to each other.

If time had allowed it,

no secrets would've remained between us.

Just down to our last minute. Of our last session.

I can't afford to do this again. I don't think that's wise.

Look, I'm no therapist but it's clear what my problem is,

I need to get back to doing what I'm good at.

Killing. Work.

I know if I throw myself into it, I'll sleeping like a baby in no time.

Bad taste?

Going as Sandy Benson to a fancy-dress party?

I love it.

Tell him. Say you ripped that arsehole's larynx open,

that it was amazing and you want him to know all about it.

Well look at that!

Dress like a man that tried to kill you and you're all over me.

Wait wait, wait wait wait. Check my pocket.

I doubt your pocket has what I'm looking for!

I think you'll find it does.

I found it in my other pocket this morning,

I must've written it last week when I was drunk.

'Tell Elvira you love her.'

Took you long enough to say it.

I haven't said it yet.

You first.

Oh wow! Don't tell me... It's that freak of a nurse?

We've got a good thing going.

And this sounds like a good one.

And what about the party?

I just finished my book,

and I wanted to take you out,