Medium (2005–2011): Season 1, Episode 1 - Pilot - full transcript

So, according to the statement
you gave the police,

you came home from work
and she was just...

Your wife, I mean.

She was just there like that?

Yeah.

I got off at 5 : 20,

drove home.

Stopped for gas.

It was winter, you know ? So...

by the time I pulled into the driveway,
it was dark.

That was the thing.



I walked into the house
and the house was dark.

I mean, our house, never dark.

She was always turning lights on.

I was always shutting 'em off.

Took my eyes a minute to adjust.

Even then...

I was just, like...

I saw a shape...

on the floor.

This, like, mound.

I thought maybe she had rolled a rug up.

And I got closer and I realized it was her.

It was my wife.

And I couldn't figure out



what she was doing there...

on the floor on her side.

I said something to her,

but she didn't say nothing back.

Didn't move.

Nothing.

Then I turned the light on,
and I saw all the blood.

I was standing in it, actually.

I was standing in her blood
and I didn't even know it.

I'm sorry to make you...

to remind you.

I'm sorry.

It's okay.

You're nice to say that.

Your skin is so white.

If I took my blade and ran it from the...
bottom of your neck to the top of your crotch,

the way the blood would slowly...

...seep out and cover your white skin...

Be quite a sight.

What's going on ?

You okay ?

Yeah.

Bob, back to you.

No. it was...

just a dream, I guess.

Was I in it ?

Were we naked ?

Answer the second question first.

You sure you're okay ?

I said, "I'm okay".

Okay.

Okay.

Someone needs to stop Clearway Law.
Public shouldn't leave reviews for lawyers.

{\a6}It was shortly after 6 yesterday evening

{\a6}when her parents reported three-year-old Davina missing,

{\a6}apparently abducted while on a shopping trip

{\a6}with her family at the Greysmark Shopping Center.

Will you change the channel?

{\a6}Investigators are anxious to speak to Lloyd Isaacson,

{\a6}a security guard on duty yesterday,

Joe !

{\a6}who apparently left his post

Change the channel.

{\a6}and did not clock out.

The kids are watching.
My hands are full.

{\a6}Calls to the Issacson residence...

{\a6}...Mr. Isaacson has any prior history as a sex offender.

Joe, are you deaf ?

Change the channel.

{\a6}...ingredients chosen to create the perfect little girls...

Powerpuff Girls !

{\a6}...accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction

{\a6}Chemical X...

So last night's feature attraction

My Dinner with Mr. Ginsu?

Do you have any idea
where this strange encounter took place ?

{\a6}...using their ultra super powers,

{\a6}Blossom,

{\a6}Bubbles,

{\a6}and Buttercup have...

There was a sign
on the wall behind him.

It happened near here, Phoenix.

Somewhere in Phoenix.

Lights, please.

This is the front door to Pablo's house.

Here's the detail of where
Martinez shot the lock on the front door

to gain entry and commit the homicides.

Here's the bedroom where Martinez found Pablo
and began the interrogation

in an effort to recover the $30,000 from a drug deal
that Pablo never gave him.

Here's a slug of the mattress from the first time
he shot Pablo; the leg wound.

Whoa. Back up a second.

The accused fired seven shots into Pablo.

How do you know which was first or second
or seventh for that matter?

Even the crime lab can't tell us
which shot came first.

No. You're right.

It's just... a theory, I guess.

A theory?

Guy gets shot seven times.

The leg wound's the least consequential.

I guess I'm figuring he started with that 'cause he knew
it would cause a lot of pain, but wouldn't kill him.

It's a good way to find out
where your money is.

And then what?

Pablo tells him where to find the cash,

and to show his appreciation, Martinez shoots him
six more times through the heart?

No. He shot him once in the leg.

Then he went and shot the mother
who was hiding in the bathroom with her baby.

Really?

He shoots the guy once in the leg

then decides to look around and see
if there's anyone else in the house?

That's your theory?

No.

My theory is...

Martinez shoots Pablo once in the leg.

The sound of the gunshot

startles the baby and makes it cry.

Until that happens,

it doesn't even occur to Martinez
that somebody else might be in the house.

Meanwhile, the mother is trying
so hard to silence her baby,

she inadvertently smothers it.

By the time Martinez finds her in the bathroom,

she's so consumed with remorse

that she's begging him to end her life.

And that's my theory.

What the hell are you doing?

You're an intern.

Your job is to sort the crime scene photos
and talk us through them, not come up with theories.

This is a district attorney's office,
not a detective agency.

So you don't care what's in my head?

Not if it wasn't in a law book first, no.

"Which of the following might be
a prospective juror's reason...

for suppressing information
that might prejudice him or her

...from participating in a trial?"

A: The prospective juror's actual bias with regard to..."

B: The desire to avoid maligning "one's own reputation
as an objective, bias-free citizen."

Wow.

"B" is right.

I don't think I can be a lawyer, Joe.

Is this about the dreams,

the voices?

They give me pictures to sort,
and I know what happened between the pictures.

I just know.

I sit with Legal Aid cases
and they tell me their stories

and I'm absolutely sure when they're lying
or telling the truth.

I mean, I see it.

I see the truth.

I see it.

It's like a freakin' television show,
and the dreams...

Dreams are dreams. Everybody dreams.

Does everybody see dead people
standing around their bed?

I'm supposed to be an advocate.

I'm supposed to be objective.

I'm supposed to be normal.

You are normal.

I don't feel normal.

Law school, it's a lot of money,
a lot of work, a lot of time.

I'm past 30.

Maybe it's just not meant to be.

Or maybe,

just maybe it's nerves.

- You know, stress can make the mind...
- It's not stress.

I don't know what it is,
but it's not stress.

How do you know that?
You don't know that.

- I do.
- No, you don't.

Yeah.

Who's the scientist in the house?

Am I not the aerospace engineer around here?

Am I not the rocket scientist in the house?

I believe I am.

And what I would like to do is I'd like to apply
the scientific method to this particular conundrum.

What I'm proposing is simple.

Let's take all these scenarios
you've told me about

and let's send them
to the relevant law enforcement agency.

The one you had the other night where the guy confesses
to slitting his wife up the middle?

Let's just fax that to the Phoenix PD.
Let's see if it rings any bells.

I don't follow you.
What's the point of that?

The point is simple. I've got almost 25 of these things
in just the past two years.

If you're really getting messages
from the great beyond,

well,

somebody's going to get back to you.

But if, as I suspect,

these dreams,

these voices,

even the dead people in our bedroom

have more to do with the stress
associated with being a mother of three

while trying to get into law school
and work an internship at the DA's,

well, then let's stick to our plan.

You should go to law school.
You should study hard.

You should become a heartless,
scum-sucking attorney

and buy your husband expensive foreign cars.

Just seems like the right thing to do.

I love the way you put me first.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

You're the intern, right?
I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name.

I know it begins with an "A."

Allison. Allison DuBois.

Right. Listen,
the starter just went on my car,

and the Chief asked me to run out to Brayenton
to interview a witness.

It's Balinda.

They just took the car.
But Andrea is here.

And she's offered to give me a ride.

Andrea, the intern.

I really appreciate this.

So who are you interviewing?

Some hausfrau

who thinks she can see the future or the past
or whatever it is those people think they see.

Remember the little girl who wandered off
from the shopping center about seven weeks ago?

Well, between you and me,
the boys in law enforcement don't have a clue

and the local news shows
won't talk about anything else.

So now we have to listen to every
Tom, Dick or harried housewife

with too much time on her hands
who thinks she can read tea leaves

or tarot cards or whatever.

It's the guard.

The security guard.

The one we've been looking for
for two months?

Yeah. We think so, too.

Well, don't you want to know where he is?

You know?

I saw him cross the border into Mexico...

with the girl.

"Mexico."

Terrific.

He sold her.

Oh, Mexico?

Any particular part of Mexico

or just...

"Mexico."

I don't know. I see it, but...

I know the name of the town
starts with an "F."

A town in Mexico that starts with "F"?

Eureka.
You've cracked the case.

Oh, great.

No signal.

All right.

I am going to step outside.

Try and call my office, get a list of Mexican cities
that begin with "F."

See if we can't narrow down this haystack
to something more manageable.

Are you with the girl or the guard?

- I mean, when you see these things, whose eyes...?
- The girl is dead.

She can't read. She's only three.

But she knows the letter "F."

I see.

You're talking to the dead girl.

No wonder I can't get a signal in here.

I'll be out front.

She's really a very good lawyer.

You want a beer, don't you?

Pardon me?

You don't like hearing the voices, do you?

The alcohol quiets 'em down for you, I bet.

How 'bout the dead?

You see the dead?
They come visit you?

Want you to pass on
messages to the living?

I have to go. I'm Ms. Alexander's ride.

Why are you at war with who you are?

Ma'am, respectfully,
I'm not at war with anybody.

I'm just a girl who wants to be a lawyer,

wants to do her job,
be a good wife, a good mother,

be like everybody else.

But you're not like everybody else
and you know that.

Even among the special, you're special.

They're telling me you're the best.

They're telling me, they've been speaking to you
since you were a little girl.

Showing you things.

You know what I'm talking about.

I know I have to go.

I'm here.

If you ever need to make sense out of it.

I'm here.

Sorry.

Sorry. I got pizza.

It's okay. We already did chicken.

It's on the table if you want some.

Hey, girls.

You went easy on Daddy, right?

Hey.

Look who's here.

You mad?

Mm-mm.

Okay, so what gives?

Texas Rangers called.

They read your fax.

They want to see you.

Sorry 'bout the bumpy ride.

There's a big storm over the Gulf of Mexico.

Ever been in a twin-engine prop before?

Ever been to Texas?

So, I'm guessing then that you've never worked with
the Texas Rangers before.

Well, trust me,

the fun is just beginning.

Holy crap.

Miss DuBois?

Miss Allison DuBois?

Mrs.

My name's Captain Kenneth Push
of the Texas Rangers.

I appreciate you coming over here today.

Did you write this?

My husband wrote it.

I told him what to say,
but he wrote it,

faxed it to you.

What you describe,

or what your husband describes on your behalf,

bares an uncanny resemblance

to an event that occurred here recently in Texas

in which a 17-year-old male abducted a six-year-old male

for what we believe to be
his personal sexual gratification.

We presently have the 17-year-old in custody,

although we have not yet recovered
the six-year-old or his remains.

Because the perpetrator of this act
is still technically a minor,

his name was never released to
the media or the general public.

You follow me so far?

I speak English,

and you do a passable job yourself, so yeah.

All right then.

Do you mind telling me,
if nobody knew this fella's name,

how it is that you mention it,

three times, spelled perfectly
in that fax of yours?

I don't know. I just saw it.

It was on his mail.

You saw his mail?

Sure.

He was looking at it
when he first saw the boy.

He went out to get the mail from his mailbox,
that's when he first spotted him.

At least that's the way it was in my dream.

In your dream?

A dream, huh?

I know what's going on here, young lady. I do.

You work for the defense.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Oh, don't you?

I throw in with you,

I take you into my confidence,

year later we're sitting in a courtroom...

the defense puts me up on the stand.

"Isn't it true, Captain Push, "that a soothsayer...

"a fortune teller...

Hey!

"a mystical prognosticator of some kind
helped you assemble this case?"

I don't know what to tell you.
I don't work for anybody.

If you don't want me here,
I will happily go home.

Well, I'll tell you what we're going to do.

I'm going to show you eight crime scenes.

Seven of them are bogus.

You tell me which one's real

and then maybe we'll have something to talk about.

Maybe.

Something happened here, all right.

But I don't think it was any crime.

Least not where I come from.

What do you say we go up
and take a look around?

What do you say we don't?
This is not the place.

Nope.

Yeah.

11th floor.

You are wasting my time.

We're getting close.

Get off at the next exit.

You sure this is where you meant?

Looks to me like the Partridge family lives here.

Oh, I'm sure, and I'm sure you're sure.

And besides, I always thought
those Partridges were a little strange.

Didn't you sense a little something between David Cassidy
and Susan Dey, even if they were brother and sister?

Hm?

Excuse me.

Hi.

Hi.

Hey, what're you listening to?

It's this new band, Hanson.

My older brother just got me
the CD last week.

It's him you're here about, right?

It's about what he did
to that little boy,

isn't it?

Yeah.

This place belongs to the suspect's grandparents.

The suspect and his sister were put here by Social Services in 1995

after their parents were found guilty of neglect,
largely due to uncontrolled heroin addiction.

In 1999 the sister died.

Sounds to me like she had the flu,
which brought on dysentery.

She kept telling everybody she was thirsty,
but obviously, nobody was paying attention.

It's a sad and...

stupid reason to die.

Anyway,

this is definitely where it happened.

I'm sure of it.

The sister saw everything.

The dead sister?

Yeah.

Okay, game over.

That's it.

Everybody get in the vehicles.

- I don't understand.
- Lady,

I don't know who you are,
I don't know where you're getting your information,

but obviously, somebody is feeding you
a whole lot of classified, sensitive data...

- Hey, nobody's feeding me anything.
- I am a career investigator,

I am a career criminologist,

and I will not have some lawyer's stooge

pulling some cheap carney trick

make an ass out of me or the Rangers.

Now, I said we are out of here.

We are out of here!

Hey!

Don't you want to know where the body is?

Right here!

It's about three feet down!

Hold on!

Let's not get in the dirt just yet.

Did we not sweep this area with the dogs?

Yes, sir... about a month ago.

We had a whole truckful of
first-class bloodhounds in here.

They didn't smell anything.

I don't know what to tell you.

Maybe the body wasn't here then.

Maybe he moved the body.

Maybe your dogs had a cold.

All I know is,

the body is here now.

You know that, huh?

Yeah.

And how do you know?

You just get,

what, a feeling?

Like an itch or something?

Or maybe you've seen a secret, unrecovered body map
somewhere that we missed.

Or, hell,

maybe you're online with the folks
at www. i'm buried .com!

I'm talking to you!

No, you're yelling at me

and trying to intimidate me

and attempting to ridicule me.

And you really ought to calm down.

We both know that your heart
can't take this kind of agitation.

Let me give you something to think about.

If I embrace this nonsensical hunch of yours

and waste valuable public resources
by having my 30-odd men here

use the better part of an afternoon
digging up this yard and we don't find a body,

then I figure that makes you
an accessory after the fact...

aiding and abetting a child molester
by providing us with false leads.

And I figure that's good
for three years hard time.

Now...

you ponder that for a second,

and then you tell me one more time
where you think this body is.

You're standing on it.

Anyway, I'm done.

I want to go home now.

Sir...

we've got the men here, we've got the shovels...
what's the harm in doing a little digging?

What's the harm?

You want to know what the harm is?

You wouldn't happen to have a search warrant
on you, Sergeant, would you?

No, sir.

Go find our friend a comfortable hotel room.

Make sure she's got everything she needs.

Hey, you.

Tell me no other law enforcement
agencies have called.

Um, just the District Attorney's Office
wondering when they might get their intern back.

Oh, and, uh, your husband.

Ow!

who was wondering
when he might get his wife back.

- Do you hear that?
- No, go ahead, I'll hold on.

Mrs. DuBois.

I know it's late,
but I wonder if I might show you something.

Give me a minute.

I got to go.
It's Captain Happy at the door.

At this hour?
At your hotel room?

Is there something you want to tell me?
Something I need to know?

Yes. I'm leaving you for the angriest,
ugliest man on the planet.

Now, go to bed. I love you.

Something you want to show me?

Captain Push...

Went in 23 days ago.

I've never been so scared.

That doctor cracked me open like a walnut.

Told me if I didn't calm my life down,
the next time I complained of chest pains,

he wouldn't bother with a needle, thread or latex gloves,
he'd just walk me over to the autopsy room

and have me pick out which drawer
I want to be kept in.

Everybody I knew thought I was fishing up in Alberta.

I don't know how you found out.

I didn't find out; I felt it.

And for what it's worth,
I feel you'll be living a long time.

Oh.

Thanks.

Mrs. DuBois, open up!

Mrs. DuBois, Texas Rangers.
Are you awake?

Mrs. DuBois,

I need you to pack your bags
and come with me to the airport.

The eye of this storm is moving this way,

and if we don't get you out now,
there may not be a runway left.

But I don't understand.

It's 5 : 30 in the morning.

We're supposed to excavate a crime scene
in five hours, look for a body.

You don't understand, Mrs. DuBois.

As of now there is no body.

There is no crime scene.

It's all just gone.

Haven't you watched the television?

This storm here,

it's the biggest in Texas history.

This storm is Hurricane Allison.

You know...

there's nothing to say that when the rain stops,
it all still won't be there...

the body, the evidence...

When the rain finally stops

there'll be nothing left for the dogs to smell.
All the top soil will have washed away.

When the rain finally stops,
who knows where that little boy's body will be?

Carried off by animals?

Picked at?
Maybe eaten.

If there's anything left at all.

If anyone can find it.

When the rain finally stops,

the beast that did this

will be released from jail.

He'll be off to wherever it is that people like that go

and hide and wait for the next
helpless child to suck the life out of.

You know, you are not responsible
for the fact that...

What in God's name am I responsible for?!

Huh?

I am too sensitive to practice law.

But I can't do any good with all my effin' sensitivities,

'cause I'm not sensitive enough to know

that it's gonna freakin' rain!

- Allison...
- Shut up and drive.

Look, I know you're trying
to make me feel better.

But I gotta tell you,
yesterday when I thought,

"I know where this body is,

I can help them hold this guy,

I can help them get this guy,"

I felt so like I was where I belong.

I don't mean in Texas. But,

in the field, on the line, like...

this is what I'm supposed to be doing.

This is why I'm here. Finally!

This is why I am the way I am.

And when I woke up and found that
none of it mattered...

that it had all just been washed away...

that God had played some cruel joke on me...

What?!

You're thinking I'm the most conceited,
self-involved person you've ever met.

- Whoa, what? Hey, did I say...?
- You're thinking,

"What kind of person

"thinks God Himself would unleash a rain storm
just to screw with their head?"

- Oh, that's just nuts.
- Oh, no. I'm nuts.

That's what you think, isn't it?

God, I never said that.

I didn't say you said it.

It's not what I was thinking, either.

What I was thinking was, "Go read his mind...

your 17-year-old pedophile..."

"and leave me alone!"

- That may have been in there.
- Mm-hmm.

Actually, that's a brilliant idea.

What is?

Captain Push of the Texas Rangers, please.

Excuse me, Captain, my client is due
to be released in just nine hours.

If you've uncovered any new evidence that potentially
jeopardizes that, I have a right to know about it.

Why don't you just relax, Counselor?

Don't make me call The New York Times!

Hi.

Thank you for speaking with me.
My name is Allison DuBois.

Okay.

You're with the prison?

Not really.

Oh.

You're a reporter?
'Cause I can't talk to reporters.

No.

I'm actually kind of a friend of your sister's.

Ma'am, my-my sister's dead.

I know that.

She seems happy, by the way.

I mean...

she's worried about you,
'cause of what you did and all.

But aside from that...

She's still at the house, you know.

She saw what you did.

Told me where the body was.

I came here hoping

I would feel something from you...

hear something from inside your head...

but...

What?

You're so pretty.

You look like an ad for milk or toothpaste.

But when I listen to your soul,

all I hear are the sounds
of small animals being tortured

and children crying.

You know,
you didn't walk into this room alone.

I don't mean them.

It's nothing you can see.

But over there, standing in the corner...

is the ghost of the man who molested you
after the Easter barbecue

your aunt and uncle took you to
when you were eight.

And standing next to him

is the man who molested him

at summer camp in Michigan in 1967.

And that man's soul

is forever haunted by the souls
of the three men

who took advantage of that man
when he was a ten-year-old boy back in 1955

on a school trip to Washington D.C.

- I... I would like to go now!
- Wait!

I'm just getting started.
The room is filled with them.

It's you men I'm talking to.

You men know what I'm looking for.

If any of you have anything to say... anything...

to help break this chain of evil...

I can hear you.

You just have to speak to me.

Just speak to me.

He told everything to the boy in the next cell?

Yep.

Who told you this?
Never mind.

I don't want to know.

All right, quiet on this block.

Quiet down, back up.

Quiet on this block.

Raymond Vargas,
stand and approach the cell door, please.

Son,

I have it on pretty good authority
that the boy in the next cell and you

talk some late at night.

Who are you?

And who's she?

Your friend next door...

he ever mention a six-year-old boy?

Where he might have taken him?

What he might have done with him?

What, you mean the kid
who sleeps over here?

He's a prevert.

I don't talk to preverts.

And preverts don't talk to me.

He don't talk to "preverts."

Tell him...

you know about the kiss.

Kiss?

- What kiss?
- Just tell him.

But whisper.

Uh...

So...

you two don't speak?

Man, I already told you, no.

What's the deal with the hat?

Today Cowboy Day?

I know about the kiss.

Wait a second.

He told you that?

The prevert told you about that?

Right now, son,

I'm much more interested

in what he told you.

Thank you, sir.

You will see me in court.

Bye-bye.

That was the State Attorney's office.

They just delivered
Raymond Vargas' sworn statement to the Judge,

and he's agreed to allow us
to hold and formally charge the 17-year-old.

Whoo!

With three hours to spare.

So, I'm curious.

The kiss...

you didn't mention that
before we went into Raymond's cell.

Who told you about that?

Was there some... ghost...

some spirit there on the cell block
with us that was talking to you?

Well... no.

Well, how'd you find out about that kiss?

I made it up.

Excuse me, lady?

Oh, put your bug eyes back in your head.

I said I made it up.
I took a shot.

I figured he'd either be so offended he'd talk,
or he'd be so embarrassed he'd talk. So, either way...

This... is not good for my heart.

Thank you.

Really.

Thank you.

No. Thank you.

So, anyway,
I've come to the conclusion that I am...

constitutionally incapable of being an attorney.

Okay.

But I'm confused.
What led to this change of heart?

I can't really talk about it.

Suffice it to say,
I'm apparently either a little psychic or a little psycho.

Oh.

So, anyway, I wanted to come in
and officially resign my internship.

I see.

And thank you again for the opportunity.

Allison.

While you were gone, Martinez confessed.

Seems he did shoot Pablo once in the leg.

Then he said he heard a baby crying...

shot the mother
who had accidentally suffocated the baby.

Then he came back and shot Pablo

six more times.

So what does this mean?
What are you going to do now?

So, he just hired you?

Well it's not full time.
I'm more like a consultant.

A secret consultant, and we can't really tell anybody that I work there.

Cool!

Yeah!

He wants me to help him pick

juries, interview potential witnesses and suspects,
go on lineups, things like that.

They're only going to call me when they need me.
We're sort of going to play it by ear.

That's awesome.

- Thanks.
- Holy cow!

Holy cow!

Yeah. I really want you to go in
and just get him to tell you his story.

They wanted you to have this.
It's his statement.

- They thought you might want to take a look at it.
- Thanks.

So, according to the statement you gave the police,
you came home from...

work, and she was just...

your wife, I mean...
she was just there like that.

Yeah.

I got off at 5 : 20.

Drove home.

Stopped for gas.

It was winter, you know, so...

by the time I pulled in the driveway,
it was dark.

Someone needs to stop Clearway Law.
Public shouldn't leave reviews for lawyers.