The Leftovers

My kid wants to quit soccer. You think I should let him?

- Is he any good? - Nobody quits what they're good at.

So, who the fuck is this asshole?

Wayne Henry Gilchrest, Jr., also known as "Holy Wayne."

- Messianic? - Maybe.

He lost a kid on the 14th,

worked the colleges and malls for a while.

Claims he can hug the pain out of people.

Magic fucking hugs.

Yeah, the only catch is he needs

to charge his batteries with teenage girls.

- Asian ones, apparently. - Apparently.

We had him on eight counts of statutory in Pennsylvania

but he went underground in April.

FBI got a tip that he set up shop at a ranch in Nevada.

- FBI? - Guy's got a pipeline to D.C.,

sells his hugs to senators, I guess.

Well, that would make him a threat to national security.

If that's your assessment.

- Guns? - Got a couple dozen guys

at the ranch. Semi-pro, no explosives.

Civilians?

Followers are mostly dumb college kids,

usually a couple on the ranch running errands.

- He looking to get martyred? - Looking to get laid.

Okay. Let's get him.

Here we go! Go, go, go!

We got clear.

Cease fire!

Don't do it! Come out here!

Hands up!

- Where is he? - Where's Wayne? Look here.

- Where is he? - I don't know!

Where's Wayne?

I got one! Do not move!

Do not run, you fucking cunt! Stop!

Do not fucking move!

Hands. Turn around.

Get on your fucking knees.

- Where's Wayne? - I don't know.

- Where the fuck is he? - I don't know. Please.

- I'll fucking kill you right now. - Please. I don't--

- Where is he? - Don't shoot! I didn't do anything!

- Are ready to die? Where is he? - I don't know where's Wayne!

Please. Don't!

I'm sorry, but she's important.

Come on. Come on, let's go, let's go.

This way.

It's okay.

Don't panic. I got you. Come on. Okay, go ahead.

Go. Okay.

Hey. Mr. Garvey.

Mr. Garvey, wake up.

- Aimee. - Hey.

Aimee, you-- You can't be in here.

Shh.

It's okay.

I need you to come with me.

Come on.

He wants you to see.

You have to be quiet or you'll scare them.

Wh... What are you doing?

Shh. She's right over there. Do you see her?

Hey, Chief, watch your feet.

Put it out, Paul.

Got a little out of control but it'll go out.

Paul, put it out now!

Shit.

What the fuck, Paul?

- I told him not to do it here. - Jesus, Ginnie, the heat's out.

- Close the goddamn door. - Sorry. Give me that.

My brother's stuff.

Can't you just take it down to the Goodwill?

So I can see some asshole wearing his clothes at the A&P next week?

- Should I call 9-1-1? - No. Do not call 9-1-1.

Next time, just put it in the attic.

I don't really want it in the attic.

You owe me a fence.

Fuck.

You burned his fence down.

Who wants French toast?

Has there been any further contact?

Sorry. What?

Your ex-wife, Lauren. Sorry. Laurie.

Have you and she had any further contact?

- We're still married. - Does she think you're married?

You're gonna have to ask her.

I get it, because she doesn't talk.

What's that for?

I work with a lot of kids. They use it for aggression.

All right, so, this mystery man who shot the deer...

No, he didn't shoot the deer.

- I thought-- - No, no, no. No one shot the deer.

The dogs killed the deer.

Uh....

Right, sorry. So the mystery man--

Wait a minute. Why do you keep calling him "the mystery man"?

- You didn't tell me his name. - I don't know his name.

It says here the squad car--

Your colleagues arrived in response to a report of gunshots

but there's no mention of anyone there other than you,

and lots of dead dogs.

The guy got into his truck and left before they got there.

So no one else saw him.

I fucking saw him.

Soup's on. Get them while you can.

No pancakes in the big house.

Oh, Christ. Fucking laundry again?

Good morning.

What? You want me to cut it down?

I thought you were bringing me out here to kill me or something.

Hey, Moonie.

Fuck you!

I know for a fact that Torres won't take attendance.

- I can't. I have an exam. - Chicken shit.

Good morning. Free of charge. They are not who you think they are.

You're doing really important work.

Someone needs to tell that dude about the Internet.

Save us a seat. I'll go order.

- Sorry. - Oh, no worries.

- Thank you. - Sorry.

I may have fucked that barista,

so if he spit in your chai, that's on me.

- What? - Do you know who that is?

Nope.

Her name is Nora something. She was at Heroes Day.

Her husband and her kids all disappeared.

- There's a gun in her purse. - No shit?

Yeah, like, a big one, too. Not some bullshit lady gun.

She probably puts in her mouth every night before bed

and says, "Just one more day."

No, she, like, puts wigs on

and uses it to hold up liquor stores

so she can feel alive again.

Or maybe she actually killed her family

and then just said they disappeared while she secretly ate their bodies.

- That's fucked up. - Yeah.

What the fuck?

I'm so sorry.

Oh, uh... No worries. It's totally cool, Mrs. Durst.

- Let me get you another one. - No, no, it's fine.

- I've got to be somewhere anyway. - Sorry.

Bye.

What was that?

Shit. She's gonna pop father nutballs.

- You want to follow her? - And what?

- Come on, dude. - What?

Hey! Big bones!

Top of the morning, ladies. Y'all need a ride to school?

Only if you let me drive your awesome Prius.

Hop on in, baby.

- You know how to turn it on, right? - Yeah.

- Go. - Quick. Close the door.

It's a hybrid. Hit the power button.

- Do you have a driver's license? - This is very confusing.

- Brake. - You got to hit the--

Here we go.

Ow! Fuck.

Ow!

So what, the tree's supposed to symbolize

my old life or something?

Can I have one?

You know, you guys are running a pretty shitty cult

if you can't even join.

"Not a cult."

Then what is it?

I'm not doing this anymore.

Because I don't want to.

Why? Why? Because I've been with you people for weeks

and all I've got is Ron and pancakes

and fucking tree-chopping! What the fuck?

I mean, it's freezing and it's stupid.

It's fucking stupid. That's why, okay?

Christine, wake up. This is it.

Just stay in the car, okay?

Is it him?

Maybe this isn't the right place. He should be here by now.

Are you calling him?

No.

Tom.

No, no, no. Hey, wait, wait.

Hey, it's Tom. I'm not here. God bless.

Hey, Tommy, it's your daddy calling.

I saw you called, so...

Listen, I'm gonna leave my phone on,

so call me whenever you can.

I love you. Shit.

Hard to get him to talk to you, right?

Maybe try with the texting.

My ten-year-old, that's all she uses.

- Where are we on the truck? - Huh?

Pickup truck I asked you to find two weeks ago. Where are we?

Oh, yeah.

We put out a bolo but no hits.

Maybe if we had a better description of the driver?

Big, bald asshole shooting dogs somewhere.

Uh....

Want me to sit down with a sketch artist?

No, it's just you're the only one who saw him, so...

Dennis, do you think I made this guy up?