She has no identification, no wallet, keys, and she wouldn't talk to the cops.

So they dropped her on our doorstep?

When I was on the force, we used to do that all the time.

Involuntary psychiatric hold.

You know, we cut out a lot of paperwork.

Wait here.

You got it.

What's your name?

I hear you caused quite a disturbance tonight.

Some anti-Semitic remark set you off.

They made a joke.

The businessmen at the bar.

They said,

"Don't let them Jew you down."

That's how it always starts, you know?

With jokes.

There's blood on your coat there.

Is it yours?

It's theirs.

I broke a beer bottle.

I stabbed them.

They will live, but...

they will never forget.

I'm not immune to the atrocities your people suffered.

Did you lose someone in the war?

We'll start treatment first thing in the morning.

Lock her up.

Am I going to die?

Not exactly.

As a matter of fact, after this, you'll probably live forever.

I could sure use a cigarette about now.

Arden?

Where is it?

That son of a bitch.

No fresh incisions

to indicate surgical implantation.

What'd it do, crawl back inside you?

Through which orifice?

What are you talking about?

Yeah, he smacked me around, shot me with X-rays...

That thing he found on my neck.

The tracer from the creatures in the sky?

You still believe me, don't you?

Yeah, of course.

But it doesn't matter what I believe.

It does.

Especially in this place.

Your story is who you are.

I wish I could forget my story.

No, you have to say it out loud all the time just to keep it straight in your head.

Tell me.

Tell me your story.

I won't judge you.

I can still hear the sound if I let myself.

You hear something?

What's going on?

What time is it?

Stay here.

Grace...

Get back here!

I lost my father and my stepmother that night.

I lost my stepsister the next day when she accused me of murdering them.

Red and Patsy were secretly lovers.

They wanted the farm for themselves.

They planned every detail to convince the police, and no matter how many times I told my story, no one would believe me.

I believe you.

I loved the farm.

I miss the horses the most.

The freedom I felt riding them.

Like I was flying.

You'll fly again.

Where did you go during the movie, Lana?

I... I told you, I excused myself.

I'm not going to say a word to Sister Jude.

I would have done that already if I thought that's what was needed.

You reappeared.

You, Kit and Grace.

The Mexican,

a sex-crazed deviant, and a pinhead won't get far in this storm.

I hope they all drown out there.

Lights out in ten minutes.

All right, let's go.

Shelley made it out.

She got past whatever's out there.

What the hell were they?

We can never talk about that.

If they know we got out, it's the end of us.

Here's the thing, Lana.

You don't belong here.

You're not a danger to society.

You were right to try to escape.

You headshrinkers are such hypocrites.

According to your bible, the Diagnostic and Statistical

Manual of Mental Disorders,

I'm sick.

I have an illness.

I believe I can help you.

I'd like to try, if you'll let me.

But I'm not even your patient.

I see myself in you.

You're thoughtful and intelligent.

You have something to offer the world.

And they can't keep you here if they don't have a current diagnosis.

If I can convince them that I've cured you, they'll be forced to release you.

Doctor, I have been this way since...

...since I can remember.

There is no cure.

Your choice.

I'm not like Sister Jude.

I won't force you to do anything.

But I also won't be here very much longer - another week if we're lucky - so if you want help getting out of this shithole...

...we'd better jump in.

You're a fish out of water, Lana, gasping for life.

It won't end well.

Trust me.

15th of November 1964.

Dear Kitty:

This relentlessly cheerful tune never stops playing.

The walls are closing in.

I can hardly breathe.

It's Amsterdam all over again.

But there are eyes everywhere.

These eyes of madness and disease.

These people, they are resigned to die here.

We were never resigned.

We always held on to a shred of hope.

Give me your pen.

If they catch you writing, they'll throw you in solitary.

In spite of the religious icons everywhere, this is a godless place.

You might want a friend.

Okay.

I hope you like pain.

Ah.

You must be the new girl.

You were there.

What?

In Auschwitz.

Nazi murderer!

You Nazi swine!

Take this one.

Murderer! Nazi swine!

Don't you remember me, Doctor?

I am Anne.

Anne Frank!

So, Anne Frank, is it?

What a relief it will be to millions of schoolchildren to know you survived.

You think I'm crazy.

Anne Frank died, Bergen-Belsen, 1945.

Just weeks before the camp was liberated.

There were so many bodies when the Allies arrived - thousands...

buried in mass graves - but I wasn't one of them.

I was too sick to tell anyone my name, even if they had asked.

The Brits nursed us back to some semblance of health.

Afterwards, I kept to the streets in Germany.

A pickpocket, a thief.

And then I met a soldier.

Private William Snow of Rutherford, New Jersey.

He saved me.

He brought me to America.

So you're a married lady.

A widow.

William was called back to service during the Korean Conflict.

He was killed there in '52.

That same year, my diary was published here in America.

Only then did I realize that Pim had survived the war.

And you made no attempt to contact your father?

I wanted to, at first.

But he had a new family, a new life.

But more than that, it was the diary.

People finally started to pay attention to what they'd done to us.

All because of a martyred 15-year-old girl.

She had to stay 15.

And a martyr.

I could do more good dead than alive.

Your story is indecent.

No, you are indecent.

You have a Nazi war criminal working here.

I find myself in

a bit of an ethical dilemma, Kit.

If I deem you as sane, you'll almost certainly go to the electric chair, but if I...

judge you unfit to stand trial, you'll be allowed to live out the rest of your days here.

So... what's the problem?

The problem is I don't think you're crazy.

But I don't think you're evil.

You think I'm innocent?

In some ways, yes.

The innocent victim of a brutish society which drove you to commit acts so terrible, so... antithetical to who you are as a person that your psyche concocted this elaborate fantasy about alien abduction to absolve you of your guilt.

No.

That's not true.

I believe it is.

But I also believe that your death at the hands of the state serves no moral purpose.

Listen to me very carefully, Kit.

I'm willing to lie to the courts in order to save your life, but only under one condition:

that for the rest of our time together, you face the truth of what you've done.

If you can do that, then I'll be able to leave here feeling I've done some good.

I already told you what happened.

Yes.

Now let me tell you.

He wasn't called Arden then.

He was Gruper.

Hans Gruper.

He was SS.

And he was not like the others.

I saw him the night we arrived in Auschwitz.

That's where they sent us first.

He seemed kind... gentle.

I remember that there were two boys, twins, and when the guards herded the other children away,

Gruper saved those twins.

I can recall thinking that they were lucky.

But nobody was lucky in Auschwitz.

I didn't know it then, but Dr. Gruper never saved a single soul.

He would visit us regularly in the women's barracks, bring us sweets,

chocolates.

The guards would never strike us when he was present.

He wanted to help, he said.

But he couldn't treat all the girls, he would say.

So he left it to chance.

And when they came back, if they came back...

...something had changed.

He had made them sick.

Whatever he'd done to them.

They'd be afraid to speak out.

They'd be sworn to secrecy.

You married Alma in secret.

You didn't feel you could tell anyone.

And as time passed, what should've been your greatest joy became your greatest shame.

And the pressure in you built and needed a release.

And it found one.

On... January 16,

Donna Burton, a librarian, was abducted from the Wausaukee County Library--

a short drive from the gas station where you worked.

Her remains were found two days later.

Her skin had been removed.

So had her head.

Why the skin, Kit?

Why the head?

I don't know.

Her race?

Her identity?

The very things about Alma society was punishing you for?

No.

It happened again in March.

Allison Rydell, a secretary, was taken outside of her home.

Then it happened to Alma.

The night it happened, you said you had been visited at work by friends.

You said that they were suspicious, that they followed you home.

But it wasn't them.

Of course it was, Kit.

Kit? Kit?

And maybe Alma had had enough of the hiding, of the shame.

And when she confronted you about it, you snapped.

Your rage at Alma's shame had finally found its real target.

You killed the thing you loved the most.

It wasn't me.

It wasn't him.

I know what I saw.

You didn't see anything, because you weren't there.

I know where I came from, Sister.

Can you say the same about your Dr. Arden?

From the Commonwealth Gazette

in Western Massachusetts, for her searing, six-part exposé

of the horrific mental health abuses at Briarcliff Manor, home for the criminally insane, where she was held against her will

and subjected to unspeakable torture, the brave Miss Lana Winters.

Thank you.

I want to thank my real heroes:

the other inmates at Briarcliff, whose stories broke my heart and inspired me to survive.

Like Martha.

They say when she first arrived, she was young and beautiful.

She had suffered a nervous breakdown after her husband committed suicide.

When I met her, she banged her head against the wall pretty much every single day.

And Rudy.

Diagnosed as a chronic masturbator, Sister Jude's cane did little to help his habit.

In fact, he got worse.

They tried hard to crush my spirit.

"Something there is that doesn't love a wall

"That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And..."

To destroy my mind so I'd forget what I saw.

"...the upper boulders in the sun..."

I did everything I could think of to survive.

And then I did what I had to do to get out.

How soon can we begin your therapy?

Are you seeing Sister Jude's face in the dough?

I want to punch her, too, for making us work double shifts.

What if I am crazy?

Huh? What if I imagined the whole thing?

The spaceship, the creatures, Alma abducted.

What if... what if I made it all up because I couldn't face up to what I'd done?

Why are you saying this now?

Dr. Thredson, he...

he said some things that are starting to make sense.

Well, if you were crazy, they wouldn't make sense to you.

Self-doubt is a sure sign of sanity.

Wait, you're confusing me.

If... you're saying that if I'm crazy, then I wouldn't believe Dr. Thredson, but if I'm sane, then my crazy stories would be true?

I have no idea what you just said.

What am I?

Crazy or sane?

Am I a killer?

I don't care.

Whatever you are, I'll be with you.

I've taken the liberty of choosing one, Sister Jude.

A cane befitting their... transgression.

I don't know what's gotten into you lately, Sister, but it's a decided improvement.

You two...

are far too familiar.

You're drawn to each other like the serpent and the apple.

Are you purposely trying to make a murder baby?

Grace didn't kill anyone.

She told me her story; she was framed.

Just give us our beating and get it over with.

I think a more reliable step needs to be taken:

sterilization, for the both of you.

You can't do that.

What is it?

Two detectives are here questioning Dr. Arden.

I don't know about what.

Sister...

see to it that these two are secured till the paperwork for the procedure is approved.

I'll take 'em to solitary.

Frank... why don't you take Grace, and I'll take Kit.

Would that be all right, Sister Jude?

Just make sure they're kept apart.

Come on.

Let's go, get up.

Let's go.

It's good advice, Kit.

She's not the innocent girl she claims to be.

Dr. Arden, I'd like to go over with... oh.

Oh, I'm terribly sorry.

I wasn't aware you had visitors.

I'm Sister Jude.

I run this facility.

Detective Byers.

This is Detective Connors.

Detectives.

My gracious.

This really doesn't concern you, Sister.

Two police detectives questioning one of my most valued staff members concerns me greatly.

Maybe the sister can help.

A nun would make one hell of a character witness.

If it's a question of the doctor's character, I've got lots to say.

Well, your colleague here has been accused of roughing up a certain lady of the evening.

A prostitute?!

No need to retire to your fainting couch, Sister.

Because all of this is an egregious lie.

I've never even met the woman.

It must have been frightening, meeting strange men, what with a killer on the loose.

She says she saw some things which alarmed her.

Obscene material, pornography...

...Nazi memorabilia.

When she tried to leave his home, he got physical with her.

No!

This is utter hogwash.

I was here.

Can you verify that for us, Sister?

Did you say Nazi memorabilia?

This is outrageous.

I have no idea what I'm even being accused of.

One would think that the Wausaukee County Police Department would have something better to do with its time.

I know I have.

Good day to you.

Aren't you going to arrest him?

For what?

Well, you're the Vice detectives.

Actually, Sister, we're Homicide.

Homicide?

Certain details of the victim's statement caught our eye.

Maybe we can ask you a question.

It's about one of your patients here, Kit Walker.

What about him?

He seemed like the kind of guy that would have the surgical skill to remove a woman's skin?

And her head?

What is this stuff?

Apomorphine.

The standard drug for this kind of cutting-edge aversion therapy.

They use it at Harvard, Brigham Young, Cornell.

The theory is that we're training your body to be physically repelled by certain...

triggers.

How did you get that?

From your house, when I was there.

I thought you might want it.

Say when.

I need a few more minutes...

I need a few minutes before the next one.

I'm very impressed with your determination, Lana.

Let's take a break from that.

Let's move on to the conversion part of your therapy.

I think you might actually enjoy this part.

You know Daniel.

I've asked him to help out with your treatment.

He told me that he thinks you're a very good person, and he would be honored to participate in anything that might liberate you.

Whatever you say, Doctor.

I want to do whatever works.

Good.

Let's get started, then.

Daniel...

We'll begin with very simple visual stimulation.

Daniel will take off his robe, and you will regard his physique.

I'm sorry, but...

I don't feel anything.

That's okay.

You're not gonna make him touch me, are you?

Actually, I'm going to ask you...

to touch yourself.

Can you do that?

I don't know...

Try to focus on his genitals.

Good.

Good, Lana.

Now, take your other hand and place it on Daniel's member.

Good.

Good. Now keep touching yourself and try to relate the pleasure that you're feeling to his tumescence.

You're doing good work, Lana.

We're all rooting for you.

Oh!

Give me a few minutes!

Please just give me a few more seconds!

I know I can do it!

In a perfect world, I would love to dive into talk therapy, discover the root of your fixation, but my expertise is telling me that aversion/conversion therapy won't work with you.

Sister Jude, we need to talk.

Yes, I agree.

The police came to Briarcliff last night.

It seems Dr. Arden solicited a...

a woman of the night.

The young woman found Nazi souvenirs in his bedroom.

Are the police pursuing a case against him?

No, I don't believe so, but...

Sister, this obsession with Dr. Arden has to stop.

But there's mounting evidence that this man is a war criminal.

Just a moment.

Where are you getting this information?

There is a patient who survived the death camps.

She remembers him.

Which patient is this?

Her name is Anne.

Anne who?

Anne Frank.

I know it... I know how it sounds, but you...

No, I really don't think you do.

I saw a prison tattoo.

She was in Auschwitz.

Where's she now, hiding in the attic?

You're so eager to believe any calumny, any vile thing said about this man you despise that you're taking the word of an inmate in a mental ward.

Father, this isn't about me.

I am trying to protect you, this institution, our dream!

You imperil the dream, Sister, by refusing to face your own failures.

You'd rather see Nazi war criminals in our midst than look in the mirror.

Or maybe this job is too much for you.

No, this job means everything to me.

You know that.

All I know is that you've been drinking again.

Several of our employees witnessed you were a drunken fool on the night of the escape, slurring your words, almost slobbering during the introduction of the film from your movie night.

Do you think alcohol has compromised your judgment in these matters?

You don't need to answer now.

Reflect.

Pray on it.

Hello.

They're on to you, Arthur.

If you have any housekeeping to take care of, I suggest you do it now.

Mother Superior, I have slipped.

Oh, dear.

Pressures had mounted all around me, and then this God-forsaken storm.

And somehow there was a carafe of communion wine left in my office.

That's how God is.

He loves to test us.

Well, I failed.

And now he's giving you another opportunity.

God loves to see us triumph.

It gives Him pleasure.

Was your alcoholic transgression the only reason you sought my counsel today, my child?

No, Mother.

There's an employee of Briarcliff who I believe is a sadist and possibly a war criminal.

Have you brought this to the attention of your monsignor?

He has declined to pursue justice or action.

The men of our church - your Monsignor Timothy, even the Holy Father himself, by their very nature they react out of fear when confronted with tough questions.

It's their instinct to protect themselves, cover their mistakes.

Now, I'm familiar with somebody who may help you.

Oh, no, Mother, I cannot, I will not go behind the back of the man who gave me my mission in life; who believed in me; with whom I share a dream.

He is not who made you who you are, Jude.

You came to me a tortured woman, ravaged by alcohol and guilt, but you had a compass.

That was your gift.

And God gave you that gift for a purpose.

Now he's put obstacles in your path, and like all this debris after the storm, it's up to you to make clear that path again.

Kit?

Kit, are you all right?

Did they...

Cut my balls off?

Not yet.

I was so worried.

You are the only person I ever had a second thought about in this hellhole.

Why'd you lie to me, Grace?

There was no man named Red.

You killed your stepmother and then your father.

What do you want?

You want to hear me say I'm sorry for what I've done?

I'm not sorry.

Tell me the truth!

I was so young when it started.

My father would come into my room at night...

and do things.

Sometimes I felt like I was in a dream, watching him do it to a stranger, or a corpse.

I finally got the courage to tell my stepmother.

She gave me candy to keep quiet.

There was truth to the story I told before, Kit.

I loved my horses.

They were my escape.

I found out he sold them all.

Patsy...

That's when I woke up and saw my life for what it was.

And once I opened my eyes, there was no turning back.

Have I opened your eyes, Kit?

Are you repulsed by what I am?

No.

I admire you.

I want to talk to you.

I haven't been able to sleep since you left my office.

I'm so sorry, Lana.

I wish I had been a real help.

I'm not an aversion therapy advocate, but I thought it made sense in the moment.

Now I wish I'd spared you.

You tried.

I brought you this.

Thought you'd want it.

They'll never let me keep this.

You only have to hide it until the end of the week.

I'm leaving here on Friday and I am taking you with me.

I don't know how yet, but...

I will not leave you in this place, Lana.

That's a promise.

I understand you want to confess.

I can only regard this as a ploy, considering the circumstances.

You were, after all, caught in the act.

No, uh, Sister, this is, uh, this is not about Grace and me.

This is about my crimes.

Your crimes.

Yeah.

And I know I'm not a very religious man, but I did go to Sunday School, and I was taught that God sees everything.

Is that true?

It is. And He does.

Even if I might not remember some terrible act that I might have committed?

He knows, right?

God knows all.

Well, then He knows...

if I murdered those women.

He knows if I... if I did those horrible things.

And He knows if I killed Alma.

Did you?

I must have.

I mean...

...everyone's saying that I did.

And those creatures, the creatures, they can't really exist.

I remember when I first showed up here, you said to me that, in order to find forgiveness, that I had to...

that I had to... that I had to admit to what I'd done.

Sister...

I need to be forgiven.

God forgives all who seek Him.

Then help me.

Please.

Help me find God.

I'll admit to everything that I've done.

My child...

...we're all sinners, every one of us.

But the things I've done, Sister...

That you can't recall.

Now, what have you been saying about me?

The truth.

I know who you are!

You don't even know who you are.

Anne Frank?! She died!

Or didn't you bother to read the book?

Your lies have caused me a great deal of embarrassment.

What are you going to do to me?

The same things you did to those girls in Auschwitz? Huh?

I was never in Auschwitz.

I'm from Scottsdale!

Liar! I bet it looked a lot like this place!

You want to know what goes on in here?

You're about to find out.

Where'd you get that?

I'm not the only one who's on to you.

Oh... oh, sorry.

Come on...

now's the time.

Confess, Hans Gruper.

Nazi piece of shit.

What's that?

Bitch!

What is in that room?

Go to hell.

I've been there.

Give me the key.

Give me the key!

Want to lose another leg?

Kill me.