The Resort (2022–…): Season 1, Episode 4 - The History of Forgetting - full transcript
- What brings you two to Akumal?
- It's our ten year anniversary.
Holy shit.
- This phone belonged
to Sam Lawford
who went missing 15 years ago.
- Holy shit.
- Violet Thompson was
also reported missing.
- Baltasar Frías, who
was our prime suspect.
But the storm washed
everything away
before I got any evidence.
- Em, you should see this.
- Which means that
that's the pent...
That's Sam and Violet!
- Whoa, whoa, whoa!
- I met a guy.
We have a date tonight.
- I found your board.
- What skateboard?
- Hey!
- Sam?
- Man, Creepy Santa
keeps getting creepier.
Oh, shit.
- That's
Baltasar Frías.
He's got the phone.
- No!
- No!
- What are you doing?
- I figured we could, like,
lock him in a
closet or something.
- No, no, no, no, no. We
can't just leave him here.
- Why not? He's
clearly not dead.
- What were you even thinking?
- I couldn't let
him take the phone.
- So you tried to kill him?
- He's fine.
- Oh!
- The phone
rang. Did you see that?
- What... what... what are
you even talking about...
- The phone rang.
- Right now?
- Ah, fuck! Fuck.
- It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay. It's okay.
- What an unusual
turn of events.
- What are you doing here?
- Well, I heard you
found the phone.
- Who told you that?
- An old friend.
- Oh, Luna.
- Yeah, where is...
Where is the phone now?
- It's in a million pieces
at the bottom of the fucking
elevator shaft because of you.
- No, the impulse to
destroy it came from you.
- Hey, maybe you
should sit down, man.
- I'm okay.
- Sit the fuck down!
- But, Em, chill out.
- What?
We don't know what
he's going to do.
He's acting like a loose cannon.
- Yeah, well, you
have the weapon,
and I have not provoked
you in any way.
- What did you do
to Sam and Violet?
- You... you think I
did something to them?
- Yeah.
- Why?
- 'Cause you had
Sam's skateboard,
and because I know about
you and your family.
- And that's all
of your evidence?
Let me... Let
me tell you something.
I come from a family
of tailors, hmm?
Not murderers.
So if this is where your
investigation has led you,
I'm not sure you're capable of
believing the true story, hmm?
What are your names?
Okay, don't tell me.
Are you guys married?
- Mm-hmm.
- Yeah, oh, okay.
I think it's time to go.
You... you seem good.
This all seems to be a big
misunderstanding, so...
- Well, maybe, maybe we can
understand it together, no?
- What's the true story?
What happened to Sam and Violet
is just one thread in a tapestry
of interconnected stories.
Everything comes back
to the Oceana Vista
and the tragic demise
of its misunderstood owner,
Alexander Vasilakis.
No one knew exactly
where Alex came from.
One rumor was that
he just wandered
out of the jungle one day
with only a dream
of opening a resort.
A more accepted rumor
was that he was born
in a family of
hedge fund managers,
and then he stole a yacht
and moved to Quintana Roo
to start his own path.
Alex possessed a
profound human insight
and belief in the
potential of others.
But let me be clear.
This man was not
a brilliant man.
- You into
metaphysical shit, man?
- I am not sure what you mean.
- Good answer.
Sit.
- Yes.
- And you are Baltasar Peniche?
- Yes, sir. Yes.
- It sounds made-up.
So you are applying for...
- Any job.
I heard you were
hiring all positions.
- Bold move... Or the
move of a fickle man
who doesn't know what he wants,
so what exactly do you want?
- Like, in life, or...
- Because I get this feeling
like you're running
from something,
rather than running towards it.
Let's go to the beach.
So why here, Peniche?
Why this resort?
- Because you're hiring?
- That's true. Thanks
for the honesty.
Yeah, we're hiring.
But it's more of a factory
where we mass produce
the single most precious thing
that humans are capable of.
- Hm. Children.
- No, no, no, memories.
- Oh. Yeah.
- Memories.
- Memories can be bad, too, no?
- Thumb wrestle. Let's do it.
One, two, three, four.
I declare a thumb war.
You're not even trying.
What are you doing?
- okay, okay, I know, I know.
- Okay. If you win,
you get the job.
One, two, three, four.
I declare a thumb war.
All right, rapid fire.
What is your first memory
of joy, motherfucker?
- Um, I don't know, sir.
- Try.
- I've had a complicated life.
- Okay, cool, me too.
Everyone does. But it
all starts from joy.
The first memory is joy, and
everything springs from that.
So what the fuck is it?
- Uh, reading.
I like reading, sir.
- Terrible reader over here.
What are we reading?
- Detective novels.
- Why detective novels?
- Because my father gave
me those when I was a kid.
- Okay, you and your
father were close?
Come on! Don't stop!
- The reason I like
detective novels, sir,
is because I understand them.
They raise questions
that always have answers.
They try to answer both
the mystery of a crime
and the mystery of life.
- Ah, come on!
- And I like the characters!
- Which characters?
- The detectives, sir!
- Why the detectives?
- Because they're
obsessed and alone
and they're home is on the edge
of the void of hopelessness.
- That's why you
like detectives?
That is so fucking
weird, Peniche.
- They want to do
the right thing,
even if that kills them.
It's for a greater good.
- You think it's gonna kill you?
- I don't know! I
don't know, sir!
Ah! Ah!
I don't know! I don't know!
- Do you feel alone?
- Yes!
- Is there a world in
which joy and loneliness
can exist in harmony?
- Yeah, sometimes!
- But do you want to
be alone, Peniche?
Do you want to be alone?
- No, I don't want to be alone!
I don't want to be alone!
- Then what do you
want to be, Peniche?
- I want to be a detective, sir!
- Then be one, you
son of a bitch.
- We became fast friends.
Alex personally
hired every employee
of theirs in the vista,
each one a lost soul
running from their past.
We had Edwin, a glass
cutter from Honduras
heading concierge.
Patricia, a runaway
nun from Tampico
on my security team.
Abigail, an actual
fugitive from Puerto Rico,
chief landscaper.
She was arrested for stealing
and then crashing the
governor's helicopter.
But most dear to me was Luna,
who lost her family
in a car accident.
She became my sister.
So then began what
vacationers referred to
as the sandcastle days.
And whatever sprung from the
odd garden of Alex's mind
found its way into the
fabric of the Oceana Vista.
- Ah!
- He used to call me at dawn
and leave me messages
about dreams he had.
- We were singing "Happy
Birthday" in my dream.
And before it was over,
I saw that your head
was a crumpled
piece of paper, man!
What the hell do you
think that means?
Oh, my God, oh, my God,
oh, my God, oh, my God!
- I did not mention
my past as a Frías,
and he didn't ask.
He always looked ahead.
all: Whoa!
- Aww.
- Alex wanted to create
memories for our guests,
but in doing so, he created
a home for his employees.
- Oh, what the fuck, Alex?
He just farted here.
- The fuck is wrong with you?
- But are we made
only of memories?
All: Oceana Vista!
- Whoo!
- Let's see.
I fucked it up. All
right, one more time.
- Okay.
- Ah!
All right, tres, dos, uno!
All: Oceana Vista!
- Yeah!
- Whoo!
- Five years. Five.
Five!
- Whoo!
- The Oceana Vista
is a manifestation
of a dream, of a memory haven.
Uh...
I love, uh...
The...
- Are you okay, Alex?
- Uh...
- What?
What?
- Stop fucking looking at me!
- Alex!
How are you doing, my friend?
- You ever feel like
something from the past
is missing from the future?
I have memory leakage.
- Hmm, yeah.
Sometimes I forget things, too.
I found that writing notes
to myself helps a lot.
Post-its.
- No, you don't understand.
I have memory leakage.
- Leakage?
- Yeah, from my ears.
This is a condition
called Tempus Exhaurire.
From my ears, from my ass...
Everywhere.
- I've never heard
of Tempus Ex...
Is that some kind of amnesia?
- I want to show you something.
It's my attempt to...
preserve my memories.
- What do you mean?
I mean like People, places... All
my memories documented.
The hippocampus, it's
the brain's pantry.
We need to keep it stocked.
I'm beginning to lose the
sense of who I am, Baltasar.
I need your help to
pick up the pieces.
I don't trust anyone else.
My appetite makes no sense.
I have a primal
hatred of iguanas
I just don't understand.
And I'm... I just want
to be a kid again.
And I...
I don't remember my family.
- Well, maybe we should
at least tell Luna?
- No, it's just...
No one will understand.
- I do not understand, Alex.
- You will someday, though.
- I don't know. Um...
This is really fucked up.
Maybe if we ask for
help or talk to a doctor
or if you change your diet,
you know, take some medication.
- I know you're a Frías.
I knew the moment I met you.
You have the fucking bone
structure of a Frías.
And nobody wakes up
dressed like you.
But then your brother
Alonso came to the resort
offering me the
deal of the century
on Frías-sewn uniforms
if I fired you.
It was a shakedown.
Ask me what I told him.
- What did you say to him?
- I told him "Fuck
the fuck off."
No more secrets between us.
We're all we have. I need you.
Right?
- I'm... I'm here for you.
- I'm sorry.
- That's when I knew Alex's
condition would be a problem.
The leak became a flood.
It affected the resort.
Renovations started,
but never finished.
Bills went unpaid.
He turned on the staff,
accusing them of stealing
to him, lying to him.
- Memory leakage.
- Yeah, memory leakage.
I never thought
Alex was capable of
being a dangerous man, but...
Then came the iguanas.
- I had to honor
my friend's secret,
but I was asking myself, why?
Over the course of that year,
he retreated to his penthouse,
a recluse, unraveling,
until it all wove
together on Christmas.
- I am a galactic
activation portal.
Enter me.
- Are you okay, jefe?
- A little disappointed.
- Yeah? Late night?
I could have been.
I don't know.
I'm having a real
problem figuring out...
- What happened to
your hands, man?
- When.
- Yeah, we need to get
you out of here, okay?
- Do you need some help?
- Fuck. Yeah.
- There you go.
So I've been thinking...
I thought forever
it was, like...
- Yeah. We need to
wash these hands.
- But then I was like, it's...
- Yeah, yeah.
- But now I'm like...
- All good, man. All good.
- What the hell?
Is it Christmas?
- Yeah, it was yesterday.
- Really?
- Yeah.
- Okay.
- Um, listen, we need
to address the iguanas.
It's beginning to
disturb the staff.
- I guess it sounds nuts,
but I think I was killed
by a fucking dinosaur
in my past life.
- Really? That's
very interesting.
- What the hell?
- This way.
- Excuse me, sir. Excuse me.
Question, if this hurricane
does change its course,
is that something that you
have safety protocols for?
- Uh, it's highly
unlikely to occur,
but yes, we have a shelter
being prepared in
case we need it.
- You'll need it.
That hurricane is
headed straight for us.
Mm-kay.
- I wanted to help my friend,
but a security matter required
my immediate attention.
I'm Detective Baltasar
Peniche.
Good morning, sir.
I am Detective Baltasar Peniche,
head of security.
I'm here to help
you find your son.
- Yes, yes.
- Is that Sam?
Who is that?
- No, no.
It's a security guy.
- It was my biggest case.
I'd only dealt with petty
theft and marital disputes,
never a missing person.
- God's sake.
- Do you happen to have a
photo of Sam that I can see?
- Uh, yeah, I may have
one. Let me just check.
- Where's his passport?
- Yeah.
- You know, I don't
have one on me,
but, um, I could describe him.
- Yes, please.
- Well, he's very handsome.
- That's not what
he's looking for.
- No, no, that...
That... that works.
That's very helpful.
He is... he's attractive.
- Do we need to call the police?
- No, Jan.
He's probably just dicking
around somewhere, right?
I mean, you must deal with this
kind of thing all the time.
- Well, um,
I promise I will find him, hm?
- I'm going to call him again.
- Yeah.
80 bucks a month,
he should answer the darn phone.
- Yeah, it went to message.
- Come on, Sammy. Come on.
- Sam, we got you this phone
so you'd answer it
when we call you.
So, uh, call me.
You can talk to us.
Uh, this is Dad.
- What do you
mean by that? Hm?
What do you mean when you
say, "You can talk to us"?
- Nothing. We're his parents.
He can... he can talk to us.
Both: Don't lie to us, Carl.
- I caught him looking
at a picture of a penis
on the way over on the plane.
- What? How do you know?
- I know what a penis
looks like, Jan.
Someone texted it to him.
- What? Both: Hey.
- Uh, any luck?
- Uh, no, he's not
anywhere by the beach
or anywhere around the pool.
- Excuse me, señorita,
can I ask you
for a photo of Sam
that I can see?
- Yeah.
- Was that photo of his own
penis or someone else's penis?
- Oh, my God!
- Well, I don't know. It
could have been Sam's.
It could have been
someone else's.
I don't know what's worse.
I don't know which
I'd rather it be.
It might have been
a little small.
- Oh.
- Maybe a little big for Sam.
I... um...
oh, I don't know.
- Just stop.
- What do you think?
- Hmm?
- Were you two having problems?
- No.
- No?
- No. God, no.
No, we've been together forever.
And I'm here on vacation
with his family.
And, you know,
we're always talking
about marriage, you know?
He's saying, "I
want to marry you."
- And what do you say
to him about marriage?
- Yeah, yeah... No,
yeah, I mean, it's...
Well, 'cause we
have a lot of time.
We're young. But
we've been together...
It's like, it could...
I don't know what you
guys are staring at.
- What are you thinking?
- I was surprised when I
saw it on his phone, okay?
I was surprised. I
didn't immediately go,
"Jan, look, a penis."
- Don't lie to me.
- Maybe the penis was,
like, an art channel.
- Is this your... your son?
- Sí.
- Yeah.
- Can I keep this?
- Yeah, mm-hmm.
- Oh. Hello again,
Mr. Thompson.
I am Detective Baltasar Peniche,
Oceana Vista head of security.
- Oh.
- Can I come in?
- Yeah, sure.
- Yeah?
Did you enjoy the mezcal?
- Uh, well, I finished it.
- Ah.
Listen, I was wondering if I
could speak to your daughter?
- Um, what is this about?
- Another guest is trying
to locate their son,
and your daughter was
the last person...
- Hey, Vi?
- He was seen with.
- Oh.
Oh, no.
Where is she?
- Alex?
Alex?
- Ah, fuck.
Just emptying out what's left.
- What is "pasaje"?
- That one's important.
I don't know why,
but it must have
been important once
'cause it's right there.
This fucking thing.
I'm thinking this
mural is actually more
about the Oceana
Vista's memory, right?
Not just my memory, but
the Oceana Vista's memory.
- Two kids are missing.
And you were the
last one to see them.
- What?
- They came to your
room last night.
- No.
- Yes.
- No. That's not right.
Wait, what?
- What do you remember
from last night?
- Uh, last night.
You're really torturing me
with a question like that.
What the fuck?
Uh...
We went dancing.
- Uh-huh.
- It was the Christmas party.
- Yes.
- Gotcha.
- What else?
- Soy pasaje. What?
- Hey, Alex.
- What?
- What do you remember?
- I don't know.
- You don't know.
- What do you remember?
- Okay. Uh, okay, who is this?
- Luna.
- Uh-huh.
And this?
- Some guy with a hat?
- Yeah, I guess.
Um, who is this?
- Oliver.
- And this?
- That's you, dummy.
- Yeah, who am I?
- Baltasar Peniche Frías,
head of security
and my best friend.
Everything is fine, man. I'm
really... I actually am okay.
- Oh, man.
Alex, who... who are these two?
- That, I don't know.
- You don't know.
What... what were you doing
in your car this morning?
Because you had
blood on your hands.
Where were you coming from?
You don't know?
- I don't know.
- Mm-hmm.
Hey, look at me and listen.
Yeah, these two
were at the party.
And you had an
altercation with them.
- No.
- Yes.
And then they ran
into your elevator
and got off on your floor.
And five minutes after
that, you did the same.
So I need you to tell me
what happened next, please.
- I'm calling bullshit.
This is a fuck hunt.
- Fuck off.
What did you do, Alex?
What did you do?
- What did I do?
- I don't know.
What did you do?
- Well, what did I do? Tell
me what the fuck I did!
I'm telling you
I don't remember!
- Try to remember
something, please.
Because if you put them there,
there must be
something up there...
- There's nothing in here, man!
- Okay, try to remember.
- It's empty!
Jesus!
- What did you do, Alex?
Wait, where... Where
did you get that?
- I've had this
since I was a kid.
- No, you haven't.
This is Sam's.
The missing boy.
- Look the other
way one last time.
You and me, this resort...
This is the family we
always wanted, right?
Right?
The hurricane's gonna come.
Everyone's gonna
forget about this.
This never even happened.
Come on, B.
This isn't the end.
The second half is
a heartbreaker, man.
Come on.
- Alex!
- Is it the end
or the beginning?
Alex!
Alex!
The next morning,
before the police could
even get involved,
the hurricane
changed its course,
just as Alex said it would.
- My sweet friend,
I can see your face,
but I can't remember your name.
- Seems like we're finally
at the end of the line.
I got to say it sucks.
- My mind, my memory,
it's just an empty space,
where I find myself
completely alone.
- Alone and afraid
that I can't remember
any of the things you were
afraid I might have done.
- You asked me if I remembered
the kids in my room.
I tried to remember
myself as a kid
falling in love
for the first time.
But, um, I can't
remember a thing.
- So if I can't remember love,
then what's the point?
- Whatever did
happen last night,
I hope that either
everyone can forgive me...
- Or forget me.
- Have you ever
seen the green ray?
It's the first ray
of the rising sun.
If you blink, you'll miss it.
- Baltasar.
- I thought you two
would be gone by now.
- I have nowhere to go.
- Me neither.
- Me neither.
What's that smell?
- After the hurricane,
the police finally investigated.
But by that moment,
any real evidence was destroyed.
They found the skateboard.
Well, it led to nothing.
My mother Beatriz got involved,
and I never said
a word about Alex.
They would never understand.
Then I came back to El
Caracol to be a Frías again,
but that place never
felt like home.
Maybe we are not meant
to have one, hmm?
The sad truth is that
if you cut the
head off an iguana,
it will die.
- Okay.
So... so you lied to the police,
to the...
- The parents.
- The parents, to everyone,
to protect a guy who said
that his memory was leaking
out of his fucking ears?
Come on!
- This is a crime scene.
- Oh, this is something, yes.
- This is all a crime scene.
- Wait, wait, hey, hey, hey,
hey, hey, hey, hey, listen.
I'm almost, almost done, yes?
I spent a year
studying this mural,
looking for a clue.
- Just emptying out what's left.
- I could tell he wasn't there.
He was lost in a different time.
I saw his memory drain.
But maybe this was different.
Maybe this was the memory
of the Oceana Vista
or maybe something else.
But no.
This was not the work of a man
with any profound insight
into the human condition.
These was the
meaningless scribbles
of a crazy person.
So I made a mistake.
I was looking for an answer
where there was none.
But today,
I realize...
I was wrong.
- Holy shit.
- Uno, dos, tres.
- It's our ten year anniversary.
Holy shit.
- This phone belonged
to Sam Lawford
who went missing 15 years ago.
- Holy shit.
- Violet Thompson was
also reported missing.
- Baltasar Frías, who
was our prime suspect.
But the storm washed
everything away
before I got any evidence.
- Em, you should see this.
- Which means that
that's the pent...
That's Sam and Violet!
- Whoa, whoa, whoa!
- I met a guy.
We have a date tonight.
- I found your board.
- What skateboard?
- Hey!
- Sam?
- Man, Creepy Santa
keeps getting creepier.
Oh, shit.
- That's
Baltasar Frías.
He's got the phone.
- No!
- No!
- What are you doing?
- I figured we could, like,
lock him in a
closet or something.
- No, no, no, no, no. We
can't just leave him here.
- Why not? He's
clearly not dead.
- What were you even thinking?
- I couldn't let
him take the phone.
- So you tried to kill him?
- He's fine.
- Oh!
- The phone
rang. Did you see that?
- What... what... what are
you even talking about...
- The phone rang.
- Right now?
- Ah, fuck! Fuck.
- It's okay. It's okay.
It's okay. It's okay.
- What an unusual
turn of events.
- What are you doing here?
- Well, I heard you
found the phone.
- Who told you that?
- An old friend.
- Oh, Luna.
- Yeah, where is...
Where is the phone now?
- It's in a million pieces
at the bottom of the fucking
elevator shaft because of you.
- No, the impulse to
destroy it came from you.
- Hey, maybe you
should sit down, man.
- I'm okay.
- Sit the fuck down!
- But, Em, chill out.
- What?
We don't know what
he's going to do.
He's acting like a loose cannon.
- Yeah, well, you
have the weapon,
and I have not provoked
you in any way.
- What did you do
to Sam and Violet?
- You... you think I
did something to them?
- Yeah.
- Why?
- 'Cause you had
Sam's skateboard,
and because I know about
you and your family.
- And that's all
of your evidence?
Let me... Let
me tell you something.
I come from a family
of tailors, hmm?
Not murderers.
So if this is where your
investigation has led you,
I'm not sure you're capable of
believing the true story, hmm?
What are your names?
Okay, don't tell me.
Are you guys married?
- Mm-hmm.
- Yeah, oh, okay.
I think it's time to go.
You... you seem good.
This all seems to be a big
misunderstanding, so...
- Well, maybe, maybe we can
understand it together, no?
- What's the true story?
What happened to Sam and Violet
is just one thread in a tapestry
of interconnected stories.
Everything comes back
to the Oceana Vista
and the tragic demise
of its misunderstood owner,
Alexander Vasilakis.
No one knew exactly
where Alex came from.
One rumor was that
he just wandered
out of the jungle one day
with only a dream
of opening a resort.
A more accepted rumor
was that he was born
in a family of
hedge fund managers,
and then he stole a yacht
and moved to Quintana Roo
to start his own path.
Alex possessed a
profound human insight
and belief in the
potential of others.
But let me be clear.
This man was not
a brilliant man.
- You into
metaphysical shit, man?
- I am not sure what you mean.
- Good answer.
Sit.
- Yes.
- And you are Baltasar Peniche?
- Yes, sir. Yes.
- It sounds made-up.
So you are applying for...
- Any job.
I heard you were
hiring all positions.
- Bold move... Or the
move of a fickle man
who doesn't know what he wants,
so what exactly do you want?
- Like, in life, or...
- Because I get this feeling
like you're running
from something,
rather than running towards it.
Let's go to the beach.
So why here, Peniche?
Why this resort?
- Because you're hiring?
- That's true. Thanks
for the honesty.
Yeah, we're hiring.
But it's more of a factory
where we mass produce
the single most precious thing
that humans are capable of.
- Hm. Children.
- No, no, no, memories.
- Oh. Yeah.
- Memories.
- Memories can be bad, too, no?
- Thumb wrestle. Let's do it.
One, two, three, four.
I declare a thumb war.
You're not even trying.
What are you doing?
- okay, okay, I know, I know.
- Okay. If you win,
you get the job.
One, two, three, four.
I declare a thumb war.
All right, rapid fire.
What is your first memory
of joy, motherfucker?
- Um, I don't know, sir.
- Try.
- I've had a complicated life.
- Okay, cool, me too.
Everyone does. But it
all starts from joy.
The first memory is joy, and
everything springs from that.
So what the fuck is it?
- Uh, reading.
I like reading, sir.
- Terrible reader over here.
What are we reading?
- Detective novels.
- Why detective novels?
- Because my father gave
me those when I was a kid.
- Okay, you and your
father were close?
Come on! Don't stop!
- The reason I like
detective novels, sir,
is because I understand them.
They raise questions
that always have answers.
They try to answer both
the mystery of a crime
and the mystery of life.
- Ah, come on!
- And I like the characters!
- Which characters?
- The detectives, sir!
- Why the detectives?
- Because they're
obsessed and alone
and they're home is on the edge
of the void of hopelessness.
- That's why you
like detectives?
That is so fucking
weird, Peniche.
- They want to do
the right thing,
even if that kills them.
It's for a greater good.
- You think it's gonna kill you?
- I don't know! I
don't know, sir!
Ah! Ah!
I don't know! I don't know!
- Do you feel alone?
- Yes!
- Is there a world in
which joy and loneliness
can exist in harmony?
- Yeah, sometimes!
- But do you want to
be alone, Peniche?
Do you want to be alone?
- No, I don't want to be alone!
I don't want to be alone!
- Then what do you
want to be, Peniche?
- I want to be a detective, sir!
- Then be one, you
son of a bitch.
- We became fast friends.
Alex personally
hired every employee
of theirs in the vista,
each one a lost soul
running from their past.
We had Edwin, a glass
cutter from Honduras
heading concierge.
Patricia, a runaway
nun from Tampico
on my security team.
Abigail, an actual
fugitive from Puerto Rico,
chief landscaper.
She was arrested for stealing
and then crashing the
governor's helicopter.
But most dear to me was Luna,
who lost her family
in a car accident.
She became my sister.
So then began what
vacationers referred to
as the sandcastle days.
And whatever sprung from the
odd garden of Alex's mind
found its way into the
fabric of the Oceana Vista.
- Ah!
- He used to call me at dawn
and leave me messages
about dreams he had.
- We were singing "Happy
Birthday" in my dream.
And before it was over,
I saw that your head
was a crumpled
piece of paper, man!
What the hell do you
think that means?
Oh, my God, oh, my God,
oh, my God, oh, my God!
- I did not mention
my past as a Frías,
and he didn't ask.
He always looked ahead.
all: Whoa!
- Aww.
- Alex wanted to create
memories for our guests,
but in doing so, he created
a home for his employees.
- Oh, what the fuck, Alex?
He just farted here.
- The fuck is wrong with you?
- But are we made
only of memories?
All: Oceana Vista!
- Whoo!
- Let's see.
I fucked it up. All
right, one more time.
- Okay.
- Ah!
All right, tres, dos, uno!
All: Oceana Vista!
- Yeah!
- Whoo!
- Five years. Five.
Five!
- Whoo!
- The Oceana Vista
is a manifestation
of a dream, of a memory haven.
Uh...
I love, uh...
The...
- Are you okay, Alex?
- Uh...
- What?
What?
- Stop fucking looking at me!
- Alex!
How are you doing, my friend?
- You ever feel like
something from the past
is missing from the future?
I have memory leakage.
- Hmm, yeah.
Sometimes I forget things, too.
I found that writing notes
to myself helps a lot.
Post-its.
- No, you don't understand.
I have memory leakage.
- Leakage?
- Yeah, from my ears.
This is a condition
called Tempus Exhaurire.
From my ears, from my ass...
Everywhere.
- I've never heard
of Tempus Ex...
Is that some kind of amnesia?
- I want to show you something.
It's my attempt to...
preserve my memories.
- What do you mean?
I mean like People, places... All
my memories documented.
The hippocampus, it's
the brain's pantry.
We need to keep it stocked.
I'm beginning to lose the
sense of who I am, Baltasar.
I need your help to
pick up the pieces.
I don't trust anyone else.
My appetite makes no sense.
I have a primal
hatred of iguanas
I just don't understand.
And I'm... I just want
to be a kid again.
And I...
I don't remember my family.
- Well, maybe we should
at least tell Luna?
- No, it's just...
No one will understand.
- I do not understand, Alex.
- You will someday, though.
- I don't know. Um...
This is really fucked up.
Maybe if we ask for
help or talk to a doctor
or if you change your diet,
you know, take some medication.
- I know you're a Frías.
I knew the moment I met you.
You have the fucking bone
structure of a Frías.
And nobody wakes up
dressed like you.
But then your brother
Alonso came to the resort
offering me the
deal of the century
on Frías-sewn uniforms
if I fired you.
It was a shakedown.
Ask me what I told him.
- What did you say to him?
- I told him "Fuck
the fuck off."
No more secrets between us.
We're all we have. I need you.
Right?
- I'm... I'm here for you.
- I'm sorry.
- That's when I knew Alex's
condition would be a problem.
The leak became a flood.
It affected the resort.
Renovations started,
but never finished.
Bills went unpaid.
He turned on the staff,
accusing them of stealing
to him, lying to him.
- Memory leakage.
- Yeah, memory leakage.
I never thought
Alex was capable of
being a dangerous man, but...
Then came the iguanas.
- I had to honor
my friend's secret,
but I was asking myself, why?
Over the course of that year,
he retreated to his penthouse,
a recluse, unraveling,
until it all wove
together on Christmas.
- I am a galactic
activation portal.
Enter me.
- Are you okay, jefe?
- A little disappointed.
- Yeah? Late night?
I could have been.
I don't know.
I'm having a real
problem figuring out...
- What happened to
your hands, man?
- When.
- Yeah, we need to get
you out of here, okay?
- Do you need some help?
- Fuck. Yeah.
- There you go.
So I've been thinking...
I thought forever
it was, like...
- Yeah. We need to
wash these hands.
- But then I was like, it's...
- Yeah, yeah.
- But now I'm like...
- All good, man. All good.
- What the hell?
Is it Christmas?
- Yeah, it was yesterday.
- Really?
- Yeah.
- Okay.
- Um, listen, we need
to address the iguanas.
It's beginning to
disturb the staff.
- I guess it sounds nuts,
but I think I was killed
by a fucking dinosaur
in my past life.
- Really? That's
very interesting.
- What the hell?
- This way.
- Excuse me, sir. Excuse me.
Question, if this hurricane
does change its course,
is that something that you
have safety protocols for?
- Uh, it's highly
unlikely to occur,
but yes, we have a shelter
being prepared in
case we need it.
- You'll need it.
That hurricane is
headed straight for us.
Mm-kay.
- I wanted to help my friend,
but a security matter required
my immediate attention.
I'm Detective Baltasar
Peniche.
Good morning, sir.
I am Detective Baltasar Peniche,
head of security.
I'm here to help
you find your son.
- Yes, yes.
- Is that Sam?
Who is that?
- No, no.
It's a security guy.
- It was my biggest case.
I'd only dealt with petty
theft and marital disputes,
never a missing person.
- God's sake.
- Do you happen to have a
photo of Sam that I can see?
- Uh, yeah, I may have
one. Let me just check.
- Where's his passport?
- Yeah.
- You know, I don't
have one on me,
but, um, I could describe him.
- Yes, please.
- Well, he's very handsome.
- That's not what
he's looking for.
- No, no, that...
That... that works.
That's very helpful.
He is... he's attractive.
- Do we need to call the police?
- No, Jan.
He's probably just dicking
around somewhere, right?
I mean, you must deal with this
kind of thing all the time.
- Well, um,
I promise I will find him, hm?
- I'm going to call him again.
- Yeah.
80 bucks a month,
he should answer the darn phone.
- Yeah, it went to message.
- Come on, Sammy. Come on.
- Sam, we got you this phone
so you'd answer it
when we call you.
So, uh, call me.
You can talk to us.
Uh, this is Dad.
- What do you
mean by that? Hm?
What do you mean when you
say, "You can talk to us"?
- Nothing. We're his parents.
He can... he can talk to us.
Both: Don't lie to us, Carl.
- I caught him looking
at a picture of a penis
on the way over on the plane.
- What? How do you know?
- I know what a penis
looks like, Jan.
Someone texted it to him.
- What? Both: Hey.
- Uh, any luck?
- Uh, no, he's not
anywhere by the beach
or anywhere around the pool.
- Excuse me, señorita,
can I ask you
for a photo of Sam
that I can see?
- Yeah.
- Was that photo of his own
penis or someone else's penis?
- Oh, my God!
- Well, I don't know. It
could have been Sam's.
It could have been
someone else's.
I don't know what's worse.
I don't know which
I'd rather it be.
It might have been
a little small.
- Oh.
- Maybe a little big for Sam.
I... um...
oh, I don't know.
- Just stop.
- What do you think?
- Hmm?
- Were you two having problems?
- No.
- No?
- No. God, no.
No, we've been together forever.
And I'm here on vacation
with his family.
And, you know,
we're always talking
about marriage, you know?
He's saying, "I
want to marry you."
- And what do you say
to him about marriage?
- Yeah, yeah... No,
yeah, I mean, it's...
Well, 'cause we
have a lot of time.
We're young. But
we've been together...
It's like, it could...
I don't know what you
guys are staring at.
- What are you thinking?
- I was surprised when I
saw it on his phone, okay?
I was surprised. I
didn't immediately go,
"Jan, look, a penis."
- Don't lie to me.
- Maybe the penis was,
like, an art channel.
- Is this your... your son?
- Sí.
- Yeah.
- Can I keep this?
- Yeah, mm-hmm.
- Oh. Hello again,
Mr. Thompson.
I am Detective Baltasar Peniche,
Oceana Vista head of security.
- Oh.
- Can I come in?
- Yeah, sure.
- Yeah?
Did you enjoy the mezcal?
- Uh, well, I finished it.
- Ah.
Listen, I was wondering if I
could speak to your daughter?
- Um, what is this about?
- Another guest is trying
to locate their son,
and your daughter was
the last person...
- Hey, Vi?
- He was seen with.
- Oh.
Oh, no.
Where is she?
- Alex?
Alex?
- Ah, fuck.
Just emptying out what's left.
- What is "pasaje"?
- That one's important.
I don't know why,
but it must have
been important once
'cause it's right there.
This fucking thing.
I'm thinking this
mural is actually more
about the Oceana
Vista's memory, right?
Not just my memory, but
the Oceana Vista's memory.
- Two kids are missing.
And you were the
last one to see them.
- What?
- They came to your
room last night.
- No.
- Yes.
- No. That's not right.
Wait, what?
- What do you remember
from last night?
- Uh, last night.
You're really torturing me
with a question like that.
What the fuck?
Uh...
We went dancing.
- Uh-huh.
- It was the Christmas party.
- Yes.
- Gotcha.
- What else?
- Soy pasaje. What?
- Hey, Alex.
- What?
- What do you remember?
- I don't know.
- You don't know.
- What do you remember?
- Okay. Uh, okay, who is this?
- Luna.
- Uh-huh.
And this?
- Some guy with a hat?
- Yeah, I guess.
Um, who is this?
- Oliver.
- And this?
- That's you, dummy.
- Yeah, who am I?
- Baltasar Peniche Frías,
head of security
and my best friend.
Everything is fine, man. I'm
really... I actually am okay.
- Oh, man.
Alex, who... who are these two?
- That, I don't know.
- You don't know.
What... what were you doing
in your car this morning?
Because you had
blood on your hands.
Where were you coming from?
You don't know?
- I don't know.
- Mm-hmm.
Hey, look at me and listen.
Yeah, these two
were at the party.
And you had an
altercation with them.
- No.
- Yes.
And then they ran
into your elevator
and got off on your floor.
And five minutes after
that, you did the same.
So I need you to tell me
what happened next, please.
- I'm calling bullshit.
This is a fuck hunt.
- Fuck off.
What did you do, Alex?
What did you do?
- What did I do?
- I don't know.
What did you do?
- Well, what did I do? Tell
me what the fuck I did!
I'm telling you
I don't remember!
- Try to remember
something, please.
Because if you put them there,
there must be
something up there...
- There's nothing in here, man!
- Okay, try to remember.
- It's empty!
Jesus!
- What did you do, Alex?
Wait, where... Where
did you get that?
- I've had this
since I was a kid.
- No, you haven't.
This is Sam's.
The missing boy.
- Look the other
way one last time.
You and me, this resort...
This is the family we
always wanted, right?
Right?
The hurricane's gonna come.
Everyone's gonna
forget about this.
This never even happened.
Come on, B.
This isn't the end.
The second half is
a heartbreaker, man.
Come on.
- Alex!
- Is it the end
or the beginning?
Alex!
Alex!
The next morning,
before the police could
even get involved,
the hurricane
changed its course,
just as Alex said it would.
- My sweet friend,
I can see your face,
but I can't remember your name.
- Seems like we're finally
at the end of the line.
I got to say it sucks.
- My mind, my memory,
it's just an empty space,
where I find myself
completely alone.
- Alone and afraid
that I can't remember
any of the things you were
afraid I might have done.
- You asked me if I remembered
the kids in my room.
I tried to remember
myself as a kid
falling in love
for the first time.
But, um, I can't
remember a thing.
- So if I can't remember love,
then what's the point?
- Whatever did
happen last night,
I hope that either
everyone can forgive me...
- Or forget me.
- Have you ever
seen the green ray?
It's the first ray
of the rising sun.
If you blink, you'll miss it.
- Baltasar.
- I thought you two
would be gone by now.
- I have nowhere to go.
- Me neither.
- Me neither.
What's that smell?
- After the hurricane,
the police finally investigated.
But by that moment,
any real evidence was destroyed.
They found the skateboard.
Well, it led to nothing.
My mother Beatriz got involved,
and I never said
a word about Alex.
They would never understand.
Then I came back to El
Caracol to be a Frías again,
but that place never
felt like home.
Maybe we are not meant
to have one, hmm?
The sad truth is that
if you cut the
head off an iguana,
it will die.
- Okay.
So... so you lied to the police,
to the...
- The parents.
- The parents, to everyone,
to protect a guy who said
that his memory was leaking
out of his fucking ears?
Come on!
- This is a crime scene.
- Oh, this is something, yes.
- This is all a crime scene.
- Wait, wait, hey, hey, hey,
hey, hey, hey, hey, listen.
I'm almost, almost done, yes?
I spent a year
studying this mural,
looking for a clue.
- Just emptying out what's left.
- I could tell he wasn't there.
He was lost in a different time.
I saw his memory drain.
But maybe this was different.
Maybe this was the memory
of the Oceana Vista
or maybe something else.
But no.
This was not the work of a man
with any profound insight
into the human condition.
These was the
meaningless scribbles
of a crazy person.
So I made a mistake.
I was looking for an answer
where there was none.
But today,
I realize...
I was wrong.
- Holy shit.
- Uno, dos, tres.