(speaking Norwegian)
(singing in Norwegian)
(speaking Norwegian)
a
BRENNAN: Norway?
SAROYAN: We don't have enough crucified corpses of our own?
Now the Vikings are sending them?
EDISON: The annual murder rate in Norway is 0.7.
Less than one murder a year?
In that case, they should solve the ones they have
or they'll never get any practice. The victim is American.
Still, if a Norwegian was murdered here, we'd conduct the investigation.
But the Norwegians say the victim died here and then got shipped to Norway.
What's their evidence? Nothing forensic. It's just police work.
The remains were found in the possession of a Norwegian black metal band.
What's black metal? I don't know; it's Norwegian.
Whole different kind of black.
Apparently it's a genre of heavy metal
featuring macabre imagery of death and horrific violence.
Skalle.
That's the name of the band -- Skalle. Oh, it means "skull."
You speak Norwegian? No, I'm a forensic anthropologist.
I know how to say "skull" in just about every language.
Well, Skalle... "Skall-eh."
"Skall-ay"... "Skall-eh."
They stole the body from an American metal band
while on tour in DC six months ago.
BRENNAN: The remains are male, late teens. Significant staining on the...
"skall-EH." "SKALL-eh."
It leached into the bone.
SAROYAN: Desiccated flesh on the face and scalp. Mm-hmm. Perhaps enough for DNA.
If the scraps of clothing and the boots
were actually on the victim when he died, then...
maybe Hodgins can give us something.
What's, what's the story on this?
The posterior ribs were either broken or severed.
Detached at the spine and then fanned out.
It's the Blood Eagle.
Beg pardon? It was an ancient torture in which the victim was held face down
while his back was sliced open. The ribs were then broken at the spine
and then spread to look like an eagle, thus the name.
Absence of blood on the periosteal surface
of the fractures suggests the ribs were broken postmortem.
I'll remove the bones from the cross and clean them, see if we can find
the cause of death. This is definitely murder.
There are other possibilities.
I have to admit none spring to mind.
One possibility: drunken, death- obsessed, Satan-worshipping,
drug-abusing teens rob a grave and reenact an ancient torture.
Ah, just another Saturday night.
Right, okay, so for the Norwegian crucifixion case,
I'm gonna need to know all there is about the heavy metal music scene in DC.
Okay, and tell me what, get me all the recordings that you can.
I think you're going to have to be more specific than that,
Agent Booth. Ha, Gordon-Gordon!
There's black metal, speed metal, grindcore, thrash,
doom, drone, glam, sludge, metalcore,
stoner metal, death metal, and deathcore.
Must you shake my hand with quite such a vise-like grip?
Right, yeah, okay, did you get all that? Go, go, go.
Thought you were a psychiatrist. How'd you become such a musical expert?
Oh, I've got quite a, quite a musical background, you know.
Oh, yeah, right, Saint, um, Weatherby's Glee Club in Doo-Daw-on-Henley?
So... I thought we loaned you out to Interpol?
Yes, part of the serial killer task force,
traveling the globe bathed in perversion and gore.
Have a seat.
And on a happier note, I'm to meet your bright young thing. Dr. Sweets?
Sweets, why Sweets?
Well, he wants to interview me for the book he's writing
on you and the lovely Dr. Brennan.
Anyway, I can see
you're busy.
Listen, uh, perhaps while I'm here I can barbecue for you one evening.
Oh, no, no, I am the barbecue master, remember?
You can do the boiling. Ah, I have it on good authority
that my culinary skills have advanced somewhat since last we ate.
Anyway, it's good to see you. Yeah, you, too.
Hey.
I have a computer rendering of what our victim might have looked like.
Look at him.
He's a puppy. 278-pound puppy.
Sometimes puppies are big.
Prelim tox results came back negative for embalming fluid.
So he was never buried in a sanctioned grave?
So probably murdered.
Murdered and his remains crucified
for the entertainment of people who hate life.
Gordon, Gordon Wyatt.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Sweets.
Dr. Wyatt, I am a huge admirer of your book
on the role of sexual sadism in female serial killers.
Do I detect a certain caveat in your tone?
Uh... well, the sample is small.
Comparatively speaking, there are few female serial killers.
I was wondering if you had a chance to take a look at...
Your manuscript? Yes, indeed, and may I say, Dr. Sweets,
that I think this is probably the best work I have ever read
on the dynamics of opposite personality types working towards a common... cause.
Okay, now I'm hearing a caveat. I-It's a small one.
It's just that Brennan and Booth aren't in any way opposites.
Wow, small?
What is that-- British understatement?
Well, yes, he's a man; she's a woman. He's instinctual; she's empirical.
Opposites.
Superficial ephemera, Dr. Sweets. Wow.
Okay, what about the sexual component in their relationship? Ah...
Would you agree that they have both sublimated
their attraction to each other
out of fear of endangering their working relationship
because their working relationship is paramount to both of them?
Alas, I'm afraid I wouldn't agree with that, no.
Wow.
Which part? With everything you just said.
Yes, one of them is acutely aware of that attraction.
Struggles with it daily, as a matter of fact.
(whispering): Wow.
I'm sorry I keep saying that...
but which one?
It's your book, Dr. Sweets.
I would never tell you what to write.
I was actually going to ask you to write the introduction.
That's very flattering, but I'm retiring.
I am relinquishing the field to young Turks like you.
Do you think she actually enjoys this?
This whole sexual abstinence thing--
totally twisting her out of shape.
Oh, here, the, uh... staining on the skull was propylene glycol dicocoate,
alkyl benzoate, and sorbitan sesquioleate.
What is that, some kind of systemic poison?
That's common theatrical makeup. It leached into the skull during decomp.
Oh, sorry, sorry.
I put the music on to get me in the right space.
Well, extrapolating from the stains on the skull,
it turns out that at the time of his death,
our victim looked like this.
Looks like your puppy moonlighted as a zombie werewolf.
Yeah, I ran this through my facial recognition program
with an image search of metal Web pages.
Check this out.
There's our boy.
Spew. It's very evocative.
So our victim-- Mayhem-- was the bassist.
The drummer is Wrath and the guitarist Pinworm,
but they do have a new bassist now.
His name is Grinder.
What about real names?
I imagine they play that pretty close to the vest.
Yeah, kind of ruins the magic when you find out
that Satan's name is Todd or Larry.
Okay.
I'll tell Booth to search for a death metal band named Spew.
BOOTH: Wait a second.
What do you mean Gordon-Gordon is going to quit psychiatry?
Well, I asked him to write the intro to my book about you two.
He told me he couldn't because he was retiring.
Is it possible he just hated your book? Thank you. (chuckles)
Perhaps now he'll find a pursuit worthy of his intellect--
neurochemistry, for example. Yeah. Booth.
Hold on, slow down. Okay,
why would a man with Wyatt's insights into the human psyche
want to be a mere scientist? No offense.
Perhaps because psychology is a field
which is ill-defined in conception and ineffective in execution.
Thank you. Okay, sounds great.
So Cam says we got to track down a death metal band named Spew.
They're totally underground -- no concerts listed, no contact information.
A death metal band? Yeah. But our victim's skeleton
was found in the possession of a Norwegian black metal band.
Death metal, black metal, what's the difference?
In essence, death metal is about brutal technical proficiency
while black metal is about emotion.
Now, both of 'em exploit adolescent feelings of alienation, depression...
Right, 'cause it all just sounds like a truck full of cymbals
crashing into a saw factory for me.
Well... Historically, picayune internecine squabbles account
for a huge number of deaths. Bones, just figure out cause of death for me,
all right, "interoserine" or whatever. How do you know so much about this?
I was really into death metal...
as a teenager, not anymore.
Obviously. Really?
Oh, come on. BOOTH: Come on, what?
I don't like that anymore.
According to Booth, there's no way to track down this band Spew.
No bars, clubs, or high schools.
The cross is carved of 120-year-old black oak and was stolen
from St. Benedict Episcopal Church six months ago.
That is some determined desecration going on.
Yeah, well, the bones themselves were covered in a patina of smoke, tobacco,
marijuana, meth, animal blood, semen, and saliva.
Who are these people? Sweets sent over a briefing.
Concerts are set up at secret locations, and then only insiders are invited.
Then, how do we find them? Aha... well,
the dried mud from the treads of the boots that were duct-taped to the victim
contained bovine fragments and infectious prion proteins.
A slaughterhouse?
A slaughterhouse closed down due to mad cow disease.
SAROYAN: Death metal enthusiasts prefer morbid,
horror-centric venues for performance.
In addition, they tend to perform for their fans
in the same place they practice and sometimes squat.
Like maybe this horror-centric, condemned slaughterhouse.
Wait. How do we know that those are his boots?
He was in Norway for months. You are going to be so proud.
EDISON: The victim's foot size is 11, same as his boots.
We need something more than a matching shoe size.
He's not finished.
Wear on his calcaneus and cuboid suggest
our victim walked mostly on the outside of his feet.
Supinator.
One percent of the population are supinators. That's a lot.
One percent of size 11 teenagers isn't good enough?
BRENNAN: This missing toe... did it fall off after decomposition,
or was it a preexisting condition?
That's exactly what I was thinking.
You see here?
His toes left an impression inside the boot,
but there is no impression corresponding with the big toe.
SAROYAN: Are you satisfied that this was the boot worn by the victim
while he was still alive?
It's a reasonable conclusion.
You want to say, "King of the Lab"?
No.
WYATT: So, why do I have the feeling that I'm being taken somewhere terrible for a...
a gangland whacking? We are going somewhere terrible.
We are. Look, we... we need your expertise.
Well, I'm sure the estimable Dr. Sweets is more than qualified.
Booth is lying about needing you. What?
He wants to talk you out of quitting psychiatry.
Bones, I was easing into that, okay?
WYATT: As a matter of fact, I might be able to help.
You know, as a young man, I dabbled quite extensively in the rock music scene.
(chuckling): Oh, wait a second. What were you, lead dulcimer in a flute band?
As a matter of fact, I was the founding member of a proto-glam rock outfit.
BRENNAN: I don't know what that means.
It means that for three glorious years, I wore spandex, silver lamé,
pancake makeup, and played a guitar shaped like a spaceship.
I was quite pretty in my way. Wait.
You... you were Noddy Comet. What's that?
Noddy Comet! I always wondered what happened to you. You were Noddy.
I changed jobs. That's all. Noddy Comet!
I got to get some of those original tapes.
WYATT: Actually, you know, that fellow playing the bass
is really rather good. What?
BOOTH: Okay, let's shut it down, guys. Come on.
FBI. Let's go!
Hey, I said...
FBI. Shut it down.
Oh.
WYATT: Yes.
Now, if you recall that it was shooting inanimate objects
that had you brought to me for therapy in the first place.
I thought it was a justifiable shooting.
I agree. BOOTH: She agrees, see?
You going to put your gun down? Don't rush me, okay?
BRENNAN: Well, are you coming?
BOOTH: Nope, I discharged my weapon.
I pulled desk duty until the paperwork clears.
You're 50 feet away. At my desk, okay, so just put in
the earplug and let's do this. Don't tell Sweets about the ear bud.
Booth wants us to interrogate them.
Yeah, he's not really supposed to be watching
on his laptop and talking in your ear.
So, just tell him that's not happening.
These are their real names: Monty Bigelow, Matt Stickney, and Darrel Moss.
All right, Bones, so just ease into this.
What was Mayhem's real name?
Or you can just go at them like a freight train.
Dabbler.
His stage name was Mayhem, not Dabbler.
Mayhem's a dabbler.
A poseur.
A douche.
Do you want to spend time in jail, Pinhead?
You can't actually arrest people, Bones.
We live in a slaughterhouse.
You got something worse than that?
All right, let's start over.
Tell us the name that Mayhem's mother and father gave him,
and we'll charge you with assaulting a federal agent.
Oh, no, you have that backwards.
No, Bones, he's right, okay? They want to be arrested.
BRENNAN: Oh.
Reverse psychology.
That term is almost always misused.
BOOTH: Look, just tell Tapeworm that felony assault is the best you can do.
Felony assault is the best we can do... Tapeworm.
Take it or leave it.
Justin. Justin Dancy.
When did you last see Justin?
When I killed him, ate his heart, and took his job.
I killed him, too. I never even noticed he was gone.
I ate his face off before I killed him.
I am so much better at interrogation than I thought.
Those aren't legitimate confessions. All right, guys.
Come on, give us a real answer.
About a year ago, when he quit the band.
PINWORM: How about those charges?
BOOTH: Oh, where's he going?
Booth. Yeah?
The one called Grinder is different from the others.
His body language displays an emotional connection to the murder victim.
Okay, so, uh, what do you think we should do?
We should arrange to have him cleaned up -- revealed, so to speak--
so that Dr. Wyatt and I can talk to him and exploit that connection.
Okay... all right, then.
You do that. I'll stay here on desk duty.
Okay.
EDISON: Posterior ilium, right side, damage to the cortical bone layer,
extending into the trabecular.
This skeleton was carted from DC to Norway,
then used as a prop at ultraviolent concerts. There's bound to be damage.
I enlarged the X-ray.
See the multiple clefts and wastage?
Suggesting the damage done to the pelvic bone happened very near
time of death? Now, because Dr. Brennan isn't here,
I'll guess that these gouge marks came from a knife.
Someone went digging into the victim's gluteus? Yes.
Bone damage consistent with a bullet wound.
So... the victim was shot in the ass,
then killed in some way yet to be determined,
then the killer dug the bullet out of the... Gluteus.
Yes. Okay.
Let's have Hodgins swab for trace evidence.
God knows what he'll find.
Maybe a little piece of Norway.
Ah, Darrel Moss. Come in. Sit down.
Do, please.
My name's Grinder.
Grinder, have you looked in the mirror?
Where are the other guys?
Did you delouse them, too? No, nobody else. Just you, Darrel.
You're the new guy in the band, right?
You replaced Mayhem on bass?
I told you. I killed him for the job.
Dr. Wyatt tells me that you are a skilled, classically trained bassist
influenced by... who is it? WYATT: Jaco Pastorius.
But you do everything you can to hide that, don't you?
I never heard of him. No, no, 'cause that would...
that would ruin your street cred.
SWEETS: Justin Dancy's remains show evidence of being used as a stage prop
for approximately the last six months, four of those in Norway.
His name was Mayhem. He wasn't always Mayhem.
Just as you weren't always Grinder.
Look, there he is.
There's Justin.
And that's you, Darrel.
Justin and Darrel.
You see, what we want to do
is find whoever it was that killed your boyhood friend.
What makes you think I even know?
Everyone knows everything in the metal world.
It's a small world breeding whispers, conjecture... secrets.
SWEETS: You may have even heard rumors of who murdered him.
But you're not going to tell us, are you? 'Cause we're outsiders.
That would be breaking the code.
So, we're just going to ask:
who had him before the Norwegians?
WYATT: Who crucified your boyhood friend?
We would have got him back, you know.
Got him back from who?
Zorch.
Excuse me?
That lame deathcore outfit?
They consider themselves deathcore.
I consider them crapcore.
What they did to Justin, though, was totally awesome.
It was brilliant.
And what would you have done with Justin if you had stolen him back?
We would have hung him up behind us, man.
It would have been epic.
Legendary.
I'm disturbed that despite my extensive training
as an anthropologist, all of these bands sound alike
and appear to share identical belief systems and mores.
Yeah, right, except for the trained anthropologist part,
that's how my dad felt about Black Flag and the Dead Kennedys.
I have no idea what you're saying.
Listen, Bones, I don't want you there alone, okay?
Just get a good look at this guy, and you get out; do you understand?
You ready?
BOOTH: Sweets is there? Sweets?
Well, I think it's him.
Yeah, I had to meld to get information.
Zorch's lead singer is Murderbreath.
Look at that. Who does he think he is? The guy with the tongue from Kiss?
Do you know what? Just tell Sweets to leave Gene alone.
Just get a photo, and get out of there.
Zorch and Spew are sworn enemies.
It started out with the fans throwing feces at each other, then some attacks.
Culminating in medieval torture?
CROWD (chanting): Do it! Do it!
Wait. He's got a knife. Who's got a knife?
Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!
SWEETS: Nah, don't worry. It's totally fake.
That's... not fake.
BOOTH: Whoa, whoa, what's happening? Murderbreath slit his own throat.
Excuse me.
We need a compress.
(screams) You could've asked.
Hold this against the wound.
Booth, can you call it in?
Listen, I'm not hanging up, Bones...
Help is coming. Bones?
BRENNAN: Stand back, please. FBI. Stand back!
Why'd you arrest me? I'm the one with the cut throat.
Ooh. Maybe you shouldn't talk too much.
Uh, no, his larynx wasn't affected. (hoarse): This is my actual voice.
Sounds exactly like when you sing.
Like gravel in a hubcap.
SWEETS: So, that was a very good night for you.
Word gets around that you slit your own throat for real... You got it.
Tonight, I'm a legend.
Do you have any idea who switched your prop knife?
One of the guys in the band, a fan,
someone from another band, maybe I did it myself. Who cares?
I bet it was Spew. How about Spew?
Evidence indicates that you killed and crucified their bassist.
This just gets better and better. I'm getting credit for that?
Hmm-mm. No. See, the thing is, that same credit could send you to prison.
BOOTH: Okay, listen, Bones, just tell him you don't care if he did it or not,
you'll just throw his ass in jail.
Look, it's all right to lie during an interrogation, Bones. It's a technique.
The evidence is inconclusive regarding your guilt,
but I'll damn well make sure it's conclusive!
Whoa, what? Attagirl. Give it to him.
I will perjure myself if I have to, because you... make... me... sick, punk.
Dr. Brennan... I'll put your ass on death row
and laugh at your execution. I will testify that your knife was used
to make these gouges. I will also
prove that whatever implements we find--
any props, knives, cleavers, all of your stage ware--
I will show that it was used to mutilate his remains.
Which they probably were.
Good to know. There's no rock concerts in prison.
(singsongy): There are no rock concerts in prison. Rock concerts?
I want immunity from desecration of human remains.
No promises, dirtbag!
Just tell him that we will talk to the prosecutor on your behalf.
But we'll see what we can do.
Maybe six months ago, there's a rumor,
Mayhem's dead and buried under Bridge 6,
westbound lane State Road 66.
6-6-6-- the sign of the devil.
Who told you? I dunno. Nobody.
Everybody. It was in the air, man.
Dug up the bones.
Somebody heard about this old Viking torture thing.
Sounded like a great gag, and it was, until Skall stole it.
(correcting): Skall-eh.
Doesn't matter.
Just trying to help. I dug him up, stole the cross, fastened the bones to it.
But you didn't kill him.
I believe him.
Now, my last official task as an FBI shrink is
to declare you fit for duty. Gordon, Gordon, gun under the table.
I'm sorry. Sorry. Jeez. Yes. Fine.
So, Booth is back? He's back. Hey, so,
what's next for you, Doc? I mean, when you stop shrinking heads?
I've been accepted by the Institute of Culinary Arts.
You're going to be a chef? That's correct. Yes. Mmm.
I'm going to put good things into people instead of
taking out things that are bad. Which I know sounds rather Freudian, but...
Sigmund's been largely discredited so to hell with him.
BOOTH: I don't see why you can't do both.
Well, we still don't know who murdered Justin Dancy.
Baby steps. You will prevail.
This subculture takes every notion of community and turns it upside down.
Well, no matter what they say, the fact remains that they are artists.
They create. No true nihilists ever creates.
These dark tortured people may rail against the night,
but they make music.
On an oscilloscope, what we call "music" is demonstrably distinct
from we call "noise."
Your Dr. Sweets liked it as an adolescent. He's turned out rather well...
for the most part.
"For the most part"?
Well, I read his book.
And, as is the case with most writing,
it reveals more about the writer than about
the subject matter, which, in this case, is you.
Can you provide an example? For one thing,
he finds it extremely frustrating your lack of willingness
to discuss your childhood experiences with him.
What does that tell you? No, do not ask him that.
He's going to think we both had traumatic childhoods.
We did. Your father was (groans) a violent drunk and mine abandoned me.
Great, thank you. Just tell everybody here at the diner, won't you, Bones?
Go ahead. Sweets... has scars on his back.
Old ones. Really?
What kind of scars? Well, like he'd been whipped.
Whipped? I saw them.
That explains his near-obsession with your childhood trauma, doesn't it?
Okay, I did an Internet search of Spew's concerts.
Now, this stuff is all uploaded from cell phones, so the quality is crap.
All right, check this out.
This girl runs up. Here's the gun.
She fires, then Mayhem literally spews the blood all over the crowd.
And there's the blood.
SAROYAN: Okay, obviously fake. Yeah, it's a set piece.
I've seen this same setup maybe 60 times in two years.
Is it the same girl every time?
I'm pretty sure it is.
HODGINS: The image quality stinks.
Except I combined all the different cell phone versions...
Nice!
We can get an ID from that.
Can you arrange these shows in chronological order?
Well, they all contain embedded cell phone codes so, yeah.
Did he ever bleed from his ass?
Because that's where we found the bullet fragments.
Clark determined that the gunshot wound to the victim's ilium
occurred ten months prior to his death.
There.
He fell down that time behind the audience.
Have you got another angle on this?
Oh, there. The bullet splinters his instrument.
HODGINS: Right into his ass. That's our money shot right there.
Not so tough when the blood is real, are you, metal boy?
BOOTH: So, this is you, isn't it?
My manager said not to talk to you until he gets here.
Death metal chicks have managers?
Hmm...
Ah, look at that.
Metal to what? Power punk?
It's a much larger market, but I still retain my artistic integrity.
Right. Do you still shoot bass players in your new gig?
Is that was this is about?
Not my fault someone replaced the blank with a real bullet.
No, I think you knew that the bullet was there.
Otherwise, you would've shot the guy in the neck like every other time.
I'm waiting until my manager gets here. Okay.
We can do that. In the meantime, I'm going to show you this picture here.
You see...
Your boyfriend is flinching before you even pulled the trigger.
I say the two of you were working on this together.
It was Justin's idea, okay?
He was always trying to prove to the other guys
he was more hardcore than them. Was he? Well, uh...
he wanted me to shoot him, so, yeah, I gave him his props.
Hmm...
So, what? Now that I'm making some money,
he's coming after me for shooting him in the ass two years ago?
Justin's dead. He was murdered.
What?
Oh, God, those stupid bastards.
Those stupid...
You have to get them. Get who?
You know, probably a fan found out.
You know, maybe someone in Spew. This is totally my fault.
Okay, found out what? Why is it your fault?
Maybe a year ago, he gave me a call saying that,
you know, he wanted to get back together, join my band.
Some hardcore metal fanatic found out and killed him.
EDISON: The striae and kerf width on each side of the bisected ribs
match the saw that the FBI found at the Zorch concert.
Fingerprints are all Murderbreath's.
He already confessed to digging up the corpse and mutilating it.
So you're looking at the greenstick fractures?
Yes. Hmm.
Would you mind getting on all fours?
Uh, is that strictly necessary? Yes, please.
So the fractures are adjacent to the articulation with the spine.
Now, with evidence of inward bowing (gasping)...
Incomplete fractures, evidence of inward bowing--
if I place my knee in your back...
(gasps): Hello! Tunnel vision, Dr. Brennan. Oh, I'm sorry. Sorry.
That scenario explains all the bone damage and fractures.
So stabbed and then garroted?
What if the wounds to the C5 aren't from a stab, but instead
the result of the victim being garroted?
The puncture occurred on the back of his neck.
But what would do that?
Barbed wire.
Yeah.
Yes, his ex-girlfriend is right.
Following her into the mainstream would be seen as the ultimate betrayal.
Mmm, like leaving a cult?
We think that the victim was garroted, most likely with barbed wire.
The murderer will lay claim. He'll keep a souvenir.
Yes, in the same way that a serial killer will.
Right, but it isn't for his own satisfaction.
It's a way of boasting of what he's done to the community.
Yeah, it's a totem, a signifier of some kind
that can only be discerned by the cognoscenti.
Okay, now how are we going to figure this out? None of us speak Italian.
He does that, doesn't he?
He wants to be underestimated.
You, you're one of the cognoscenti, Dr. Sweets. Oh, no.
I've outgrown that.
Mostly. Okay, maybe sometimes I'll
listen to a few bootleg tapes when I've had a bad day...
But that's good because this music sucks, and the people who listen to it
are defective. Thank you so much. I have no doubt that your parents
said the same thing to you when you were listening
to my music, Agent Booth. Mm-hmm.
Now, according to one of your squint reports
a bullet was gouged out of the victim's ass?
You read Clark's report? Well, only because I was on desk duty.
(clears throat): Now, that bullet could be a good totem pole.
A totem, Booth.
A totem pole is much larger. Yes, but nonetheless,
it would be a good totem pole otherwise.
So someone murdered the kid for leaving the fold...
Then uses a knife to gouge out the bullet.
Buries the body under the bridge.
Knowing that the cognoscenti will see the bullet
and assume he is the murderer.
But Murderbreath finds the body, puts it on display.
Mm-hmm, stealing credit.
So, we're looking for a bullet then? Mm-hmm. Look here.
Our good, happy friend Pinworm wears a smashed bullet
around his neck inside of a cross.
Is it too much to hope that the fellow's scratching out
his confession in block letters?
BOOTH: Right here, right inside the cross: .22 caliber.
Completely consistent with the mark it left
in the victim's ilium. Okay, Bones and I are going to go in there.
What we do not need to hear
is a lot of psychological mumbo jumbo stuff in our ears.
Okay, so are you bored with psychiatry?
Is that it, people don't have the capacity to surprise you anymore?
Oh, people surprise me. You surprise me. Me?
Few people looking at you would know what you'd been through.
I beg your pardon? Well, you were adopted.
And the people who adopted you were an older couple.
Probably too old for standard adoption of an infant,
meaning you weren't an infant.
You were, what... four?
Six. Six, yeah. Special needs.
A child who'd been through some sort of hell, a damaged child.
But these were loving, wonderful people.
Yes.
They saved you...
but now, they're gone. You're an orphan?
My parents died within weeks of each other.
Recently, I'd say. The wound is still fresh.
Just before I came to work here.
So now, you're mostly alone in the world.
But they had time to save you.
They gave you a good life, and that's why you believe that people
can be saved by other people with good hearts.
That's the gift your parents left you.
That, and the gift of a truly good heart.
That gives you a deeper calling I do not share.
PINWORM: I don't remember where I got this bullet.
Well, you dug it out of Justin Dancy's pelvic bone with a knife.
Hardcore, man. I-I dug it out of his ass,
and then hung it around my neck. Legendary.
If people think that means I killed him, there's nothing I can do about it.
You know...
you're one of us.
Up to your elbows in corpses and murder.
It's hot.
Thank you.
BOOTH: So what, was, uh, Lexie like your Yoko Ono?
What is that? A Bible reference?
So let's just say Justin decided to go with Lexie.
What would that do to your band?
No way any member of Spew does that. Never happen.
Why not?
Well, because we are the real thing, the genuine item.
Our music isn't made to be enjoyed. It's made to be feared.
It comes straight from hell.
Right. You don't know anything about hell. And you do?
Well, see, I was a soldier and a cop.
BRENNAN: I've identified hundreds of victims of genocide.
I accept hell as a metaphor for what I've seen.
You haven't seen hell until you've been inside my head, dreamed my nightmares.
Your delusional, cozy reality doesn't even come close.
He's, uh, he's enjoying this attention.
It's what he feels on stage, isn't it? The... the power.
But his sense of power is totally dependent on an audience.
Um, ruminate on Milton, Agent Booth. Think Paradise Lost.
What does that mean?
(whispers): Oh, uh, Satan's greatest sin was pride, vanity.
Right, okay -- well, you know what? You're free to go.
Uh, what?
Well, my associate here tells me that Murderbreath
confessed to the murder and crucifixion of Justin Dancy, so you're free to go.
Whoa, what? Murderbreath?
Yeah. You're free to go. Come on.
No, Murderbreath did not kill anybody. He weighs, what, 40 pounds?
Have you not seen Mayhem?
Murderbreath didn't strangle somebody with barbed wire.
It takes heft to choke a big guy to death.
"Barbed wire"?
Wow, well, you know, nobody said anything about barbed wire.
I think the correct term is "gotcha."
Ah! Noddy Comet.
Huh? Look at that, unbelievable.
This is you singing?
Well, yeah, my alter ego, I supposed you might say.
A bisexual spaceman with a taste for six-inch platform shoes, spandex, glitter
and an exhibitionist's disdain for underclothing.
Well, here's to Gordon-Gordon.
without him, we would not have been able to solve the murder BRENNAN:I hate admit it
but it's true. To Gordon-Gordon.
To Gordon-Gordon. (music stops) Stop, please.
Look, this is exactly what Sweets would say.
I'm too good a psychiatrist ever to leave, et cetera. Well, no...
Just put your glasses down, would you? Please.
Might I offer you a word of advice regarding young Dr. Sweets?
Might we try to stop you?
Why do we need advice about Sweets? We don't. Sweets is just fine.
He most definitely is not fine. I've read his book.
What, does he say something mean about us?
On the contrary. You might as well know that he lost both his
adoptive parents just before he came to work
for your de facto crime-fighting unit.
Jeez, what are we, The Land of Misfit Toys?
Well, he's a good lad, Sweets, but this book he's writing, he's using it
as the vehicle to get what he actually wants, which is...
A family.
So he imprinted on us? Like a baby duck?
So what do we do?
Nothing. Okay, Sweets is not a baby duck.
He wants what we all want.
He wants to find out his place in the world.
We can find a permanent place for him. Right?
Gordon-Gordon is going to want us to divulge
or share or bond or something awful. Look, perhaps you might just show the lad
that he's not the only one with scars on his back.
But he is.
Too literal?
By the way, what I'm making here, this is the masterpiece
that got me accepted into the Culinary Institute. All right, but it doesn't keep.
So, uh, be back in an hour, yeah? Let's go.
But where are we going? Duck hunting. Come on.
Not literally. (Booth clucks) Right? Come on. (clucks)
Oh! I miss you, rock and roll.
I really do.
BRENNAN: Sweets?
Hi. What are you doing here?
Well, uh, Gordon-Gordon is, uh, making dinner for us at my place, family-style.
And, um, you're invited.
Thank you, but I've actually got a lot of work here...
My foster parents locked me in the trunk of a car
for two days when I broke a dish. I was a very clumsy child.
They warned me it would happen,
but the water was so hot and the... soap was so slippery.
I still don't think it was fair, even though they gave me fair warning.
(voice breaking): The water was so hot...
No, it wasn't fair at all. It wasn't your fault.
You said that "scars on the Bones, whaback" was a metaphor.
Isn't that why we're here, to metaphorically compare scars?
I came to bring Sweets back to my place for dinner, that's all.
"Scars on the back"?
I saw them, Sweets.
So...
(sighs): what? You decided to just share something from your past?
That is so unlike you.
I still hate psychology.
Okay. Your turn. Go.
I came here to bring Sweets back to my place for dinner, that's all.
Okay, if it wasn't for my grandfather,
I probably would've killed myself when I was a kid.
That's all I'm going to say on the subject matter. Understand?
Are you okay, Bones? Yeah, I'm fine.
Here.
Why are you nodding?
Nothing. Just...
Wyatt made an observation about you two,
and I think I just saw what he saw. You coming?
Booth means that we'd like it if you joined us.
Thank you. Great! Here we go. Let's go.
Gordon-Gordon is making cassoulet. It's stew. It's bean stew.
Cassoulet is better than regular stew, Booth.
Just because it's French doesn't mean it's better.
SWEETS: It sounds better than stew. See?
It's stew. Sounds better. It's stew.
Synch: Supermauri