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Evil Words 2003

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- We still can't explain it. The massacre
took place at the Biod? Me this afternoon
as the children were leaving with their teachers.
11 children were shot:
10 died, the 11th is in critical condition.
The gunman's identity has been confirmed:
He is a policeman, Constable Louis Archambault.
He is well respected, married,
with two children, which makes this tragedy so incomprehensible.
There was nothing to suggest he'd...
Okay... you will now see an amateur tape
filmed by an eye-witness.
In the center you see officer Archambault.
Viewing this horror, we can only wonder
what pushes an apparently normal and stable man
to commit without warning such a savage
and irrational act.
- Hey, Paul!
- Hi, Jeanne.
- Guess what?
- Marc's not the father of your baby?
- I have a new patient, he was admitted last night.
Guess who!
Thomas Roy.
Come on, the novelist!
- Right, those romance novels.
- Horror stories.
he tried to kill himself.
- Now, that's new.
- We see suicides, but not many Thomas Roys.
- Hi Nicole. - Hello Dr. Marcoux.
did you hear who was admitted?
- I know Hollywood won't call today. I'm not dumb.
But in a few months, who knows...
- The Mounties had me locked up here. What's that in your pocket?
Are you taping me?
You're taping me!
- It's my eyeglasses.
- You disappoint me, doctor.
Very much.
- I pray a lot.
I'd say,
about twice as much as before.
And it's paying off
'cause the rainbow God sends me after I pray
is getting closer.
It keeps getting closer.
I feel better.
And you, doctor? How are you?
- Hi Paul. - Steve.
- Dr. Lacasse?
Dr. Marcoux left you a message.
- Dammit!
A fan's pilgrimage to her idol's temple.
- I didn't think you'd come.
- I shouldn't be here, but since we're going for lunch...
- This is Inspector Goulet. - Dr. Paul Lacasse.
- You too?
It's rare shrinks show up at the scene.
- Young people are so impetuous, even young psychiatrists.
What happened?
- As I was telling your colleague,
neighbors called the police about the racket.
When they arrived, Roy was there,
his body hanging out the window.
He was unconscious, of course.
Looks like attempted suicide.
- Why didn't he open the window?
- He had no fingers.
We think he was typing on his computer,
when he flew into a rage and started smashing everything.
After that,
he chopped off his fingers with this.
First one hand,
then the other.
After that...
- Officer, may I... - Ask someone else.
Jeanne, wait!
- I know what you'll say.
- Admit it, we shouldn't have come.
Did you see how they looked at us?
- Okay, maybe I overdid it a bit.
- A bit? You're no intern.
- Okay, I heard you. What's the big deal?
HéI? Ne left, didn't she?
She finally did it.
I'm sorry, Paul.
Sorry? About what?
We both knew it was over.
She had the courage to admit it first.
Just as well.
Is there anything I can do?
- She's no worse off than I am... And don't change the subject.
You may be a fan, but Roy is our patient.
Are we clear on that?
- You're right. I admit it, I went too far.
I'm not a perfect disciple.
In fact, maybe I shouldn't take on his case.
I may be too involved.
- That's more like it.
- Who'll be assigned his case?
- Can you hear me Mr. Roy?
Make a sign to show you can hear me.
Zoloft, 50 mg daily.
- I'm more than his manager.
His best friend, his only one.
I understand, Mr. Michaud.
Had he been behaving any differently lately?
- Differently?
Tom was always a jet-setter.
But the last little while he had completely withdrawn.
Since his last novel, a year ago,
I found him totally moody.
Do you understand?
He invited me over 5 or 6 months ago.
He told me:
- I'm stopping writing.
If you're trying to get me to lower my cut, forget it.
- It's no joke.
I'm retiring.
- Get real!
You're a writer, not a bus driver.
Read the world over.
Exactly, I'm rich now.
- Cut the crap. You never wrote for the money.
So what is it?
Out of ideas?
- Ideas? They come non-stop.
- Then what's the problem?
- It's too painful.
- Painful?
- Some answer, huh?
I asked what he meant, but he wouldn't say.
We fought, he threw me out.
Me, his closest friend.
I haven't seen him since.
I called him, we'd talk for a few seconds.
But that isn't all.
For 5 months now, not a single TV talk show,
no radio interviews. Nothing.
A total recluse.
And now this...
He cuts off his...
- I knew you weren't a cop.
But shrinks who make house calls...
It's true Roy's a celebrity.
- Who said he's my patient?
- Mere details. Hard figuring someone who won't speak.
Charles Monette.
I'm with Star Weekly.
I'm writing a book on Roy.
You wouldn't believe the file I've accumulated on your patient.
Like what, his favorite aftershave?
- If I got a quarter every time I heard that, I'd be rich.
Roy was secretive. You won't find out much about him.
- I can help. - Out of altruism?
- I have a book to write. If I had a case history of his treatment...
- Goodbye, Mr... Monette, was it?
- Hold on.
This belonged to Roy.
- How did you get it?
- Information's a two-way street.
Keep it for a few days.
Read it through, see where it takes you.
When you reach a dead end...
Article for Psy
Ever more studies are carried out in the field of mental illness...
all concluding that medication is the sole solution,
while proposing no
- Still no reaction.
We've tried all kinds of stimulation. Nothing. Catatonia.
- Steve?
- No girlfriend, no family.
Just a sister in Ste. Julie we haven't yet reached.
- You were right.
The scrapbook was his inspiration.
37 clippings on 37 tragedies
in the last 20 years.
If you read Roy's 12 novels, you find all those events,
with slight changes, such as names, certain details...
- He drew on news stories.
Perfectly normal for a writer.
Other observations?
Fine, next case.
Mrs. Héneault.
I know it's unpleasant, Ms. Roy, but...
You're his sister, his only family.
- Look, doctor. We haven't seen each other in 15 years.
I understand, but...
This is serious. He cut off his fingers, then...
He cut off his fingers?
Maybe he has a conscience after all.
- How so?
- Anything concerning my brother is of no interest to me.
- Why?
You could be more subtle. What would Marc say?
- Here, I ordered your Scotch.
Speaking of cruising, when are you starting?
If you think I feel like it...
The worst is, I don't even feel sad.
Have you thought of a name?
- We like Antoine.
- How wonderfully original!
- We could go for an old-fashioned name, like Paul.
What do you think?
- My colleague, Jeanne Marcoux. - A pleasure.
Nice place. No thanks,
I'll have water.
So we're on?
- Let's make things clear. I agreed to meet you,
but I won't provide any information about Roy.
- After reading my stuff,
you'll be chasing after me.
And then,
I'll be able to negotiate.
- Ballsy, aren't you, Mr. Monette?
- How did you get the scrapbook? - That?
I found it in his garbage.
- You're not serious! - Absolutely.
You use the sources you have.
He refused to be interviewed for my book.
So I nosed around and found the scrapbook.
And discovered that...
- He based his stories on real events. We know.
- But did you notice Roy is present
in two of the articles?
This one dates back to
- You're right.
It's Roy at a younger age.
- You said two articles.
Where's this other picture?
- No, it's not a photo.
The massive pileup in 1991
in the Lafontaine Tunnel... remember?
Read it from here...
"On the scene, several drivers helped tend the victims.
Among the good Samaritans was writer Thomas Roy."
- Yeah, so what else?
- When I realized he'd witnessed two of the tragedies,
I suddenly wondered...
Anyway, I had nothing to lose...
Of the reporters who wrote these 37 items,
I know ten.
I asked if they remembered seeing Roy
on the spot.
Of the ten reporters,
three answered yes, they had.
- Were they certain?
- Absolutely.
- Okay, let's say Roy was on the scene of,
how many... five of these tragedies.
Where's that lead to?
- What do you mean?
How many deadly tragedies have you been present at?
None, I bet. One, maybe. Two'd be rare. But five...
Five confirmed.
- You don't really think Roy...
- No, listen...
- But the seven other reporters said Roy wasn't present.
- No, they just said they didn't see him.
Put yourself in Roy's shoes.
You select all those events as inspiration.
If you've witnessed five,
it seems to me you'd identify them,
circle them, underline them, something.
But in here, nothing. Nothing at all.
Maybe that means
Roy witnessed all these events.
It's possible.
- Possible, what's possible? That he was there each of the 37 times?
Gimme a break!
Here's a guy who strangled his wife in their bedroom.
Was Roy hiding in the closet? - No, I agree.
- It sounds incredible, I admit.
And I admit we can't be sure.
But it is exciting, isn't it?
- Exciting?
This scrapbook belongs to you.
- Keep it, it may come in useful.
You can give it back next time.
- You are...
- Ballsy, I know, you told me.
- Well, it wasn't a total waste of time.
- Roy witnessed all these tragedies.
- Maybe he has a conscience.
- The OT's idea...
She thought Mr. Roy might prefer to write than talk.
- With no fingers?
- He has his thumbs. She thinks he'd manage.
- Mr. Roy...
I called your sister,
She said your cutting off your fingers shows you have...
a conscience.
What did she mean by that?
Mr. Roy?
Increase the dosage.
Mrs. Héneault?
Mrs. Héneault?
That man, he shouldn't be here.
- Hello doctor, this is Inspector Goulet.
We have a print-out of the novel Roy was writing when we found him.
You know the policeman who shot 11 children two weeks ago...
It's probably a coincidence, but call me back. Goodbye.
- Frédérique!
- It's about a cop who shoots children in a schoolyard.
Mr. Roy must have seen the news,
and used it for his new novel, like he always did.
That's why he stopped writing.
He felt guilty.
Seeing the massacre on TV inspired him.
He felt compelled to write.
But his sense of remorse kicked in and he...
- Hold on.
It was 8 hours between the shooting and Tom's suicide attempt.
He couldn't have written 34 pages, he wrote 10 pages a day.
He must have started writing days before.
- The novel's too real...
- I'm sorry to insist, but...
- Excuse me, Mr. Michaud, but in a psychotic break,
a person's faculties can increase, or speed up...
- You don't understand.
- Roy wrote the novel afterwards.
It's the only logical possibility.
And logic does not require your consent.
- Think whatever you like.
I know Tom, you don't.
- Can I keep these? - We may want them back.
Your explanation is highly plausible.
His faculties accelerated because of his psychotic break.
It makes sense, no?
Some colleagues have doubts. I'd like to convince them.
- How can seeing Archambault help?
- I want to ask if he knew Roy,
and happened to have read his manuscript.
That way, it wouldn't be Roy copying Archambault,
but the opposite.
- You're not serious, Paul.
- No, I know it's implausible, but...
just to be sure.
- Isn't your theory pretty far-fetched?
- So you didn't know him?
By name, like everybody.
- Alright, then.
He wrote about what he saw on TV, it's the only explanation.
- He saw, but not on TV.
- Pardon me?
- I still don't know why I did it.
When I stopped my patrol car near those kids,
I hadn't planned a thing.
I felt absolutely fine.
They were cute, all lined up.
I don't know why I got out.
That's when the idea first came.
It was so clear.
"Kill every one of them."
Then I simply took out my gun.
Just as I was about to fire,
I had a doubt,
a hesitation.
That's when I saw him there.
- You're sure it was him?
- He seemed to be looking around,
as if he'd come to witness it.
What, I don't know.
- After, if you hadn't been stopped,
would you have gone to talk to Roy?
- I'd have shot myself.
- Out of remorse?
- What I feel is worse.
What I feel is...
- What is evil, Mr. Archambault?
- After all your years as a psychiatrist, doctor,
you still don't know, do you?
Maybe the only way to understand is to do what I did,
to have seen it.
(thunder rumbling)
- It's Nicole.
He spoke.
- Paul, did you hear?
- Why'd I come all this way?
Nicole, the Roy file please.
- Michaud called, he's coming over. - Send him in to us.
- Aren't you excited? - Calm down, Jeanne.
- Someone has to let it out. You're always so composured.
- You're so excited, you're making up words. "Composured!"
- I love you, doctor. - Yes, I know, Carl.
- Like to come along? - What do you think?
- I figured it'd curiotize you.
Hello, Mr. Roy.
Do you recognize me?
- I'm not sure.
Sigmund Freud?
- Making jokes is a good sign.
Paul Lacasse, the psychiatrist on your case.
This is Dr. Jeanne Marcoux, my colleague,
and also, one of your biggest fans.
- Really?
- I've read all your books. I love them, honest.
- Your tough luck.
- Mr. Roy,
do you remember what happened, why you're here?
- I'm not dead.
- Did you want to die?
- Ask questions, is that all you do?
- We know what you're going through.
We saw your scrapbook with the newspaper clippings.
You witnessed certain tragedies
and because of that you stopped writing.
- You think you understand?
- Well, tell us.
- I'm finished with pencil and paper!
- Explain it, if we don't understand.
- I don't understand.
- Thomas!
I'm ecstatic, just ecstatic!
You okay?
- Look, Patrick...
- I understand, take your time.
You're back! You cured him, bravo!
- Cured isn't the right word.
- I don't care. For me, he's cured.
- How many people died, doctor?
- What do you mean?
- You know, dammit! Stop playing around!
How many?
- Eleven.
- Are you upset?
- What a question to ask!
- Well, since you used the massacre in your new book, I thought...
- That's horseshit!
- Why? Isn't that what happened?
- Doctor, not now. - Please!
- You saw the killings, then wrote about them.
- What?
- Mr. Roy, you started your novel
after the massacre, right?
- Before!
I started two weeks before.
- Jeanne,
take Mr. Michaud to my office. I'll be there in a minute.
- Did I hear right?
He saw the killings and you didn't tell me?
- Not now, okay?
- It isn't the first time Roy wrote something that later occurred.
That's why I came.
I remembered while I was reading his scrapbook.
In 1996, for his 30th birthday,
his publisher and I threw a party.
He never discusses current work, but we were tipsy.
He was writing about a mother drowning her two kids.
It was on his birthday.
Now, look at this.
It's dated October.
- So, he based his writing on the clipping, as usual.
- Oh, God!
- What?
- You're a fan, you get it.
- Get what?
- Roy's birthday was on September 13. Which comes before October.
- Christ, not more of this.
- What?
- It was 6 years ago. How can you be sure it was precisely September 13?
- It was his birthday.
- You must be confused.
You're confused!
- Didn't you hear?
- You were drunk, you said so.
- Tipsy!
- Tipsy or drunk, it affected your memory.
- What's your problem? What are you so scared of?
- I've had enough.
- So have I.
I'll see Thomas later.
- I think he needs to rest.
- I think he needs another doctor. His has a few loose screws.
- What's got into you?
- Into me? You want to know?
- Yes, what's going on?
- I may be a fan, but to me Roy's a patient like any other.
I can accept coincidences, but...
Roy himself said...
- Do you know what you're saying?
You believe a man having a psychotic break
and his agent, who was drunk that night in 1996!
It makes no sense.
- Right. Roy's crazy, Michaud's crazy, Monette's crazy, and so am I.
Everyone but you.
- Jesus!
- You're repressing it.
- Cut it out. You're a psychiatrist. You can't...
- I'm not just a psychiatrist.
I'm a human being, with fears and doubts.
But you try to hide your pain behind your certitude.
HéI? Ne saw that... - Leave her out.
- Okay, I'm sorry.
It's just that...
How many coincidences will it take for you to...
- Okay, Jeanne.
Stop beating around the bush.
Spit it out, what are you thinking?
- I think it's something abnormal.
Something inexplicable.
Something irrational.
There, I said it. Happy, now?
- Hello, doctor.
- Hello.
Mrs. Héneault!
Are you alright?
- I see it!
I see it!
I see it!
I see it!
- Hi Marc, can I see Jeanne?
- I don't think so, no.
- Look, it's important.
- I don't know what you're working on,
but she's 8 months pregnant, and stressed as it is.
- Marc...
- The room's lovely.
You should decorate mine.
- Thanks, we like it.
What's up?
- I agree, Jeanne.
- Agree about what?
- Agree we should consider everything.
We should explore every possible avenue.
I agree.
- What's behind this sudden change?
Things are tough, huh Paul?
- I lost everything.
My illusions,
my wife.
And I now realize that I lost it all for nothing,
because I shut it all out.
At this point,
I'm tired of running from it.
I'm so exhausted.
Mr. Roy, if you refuse to talk, I can't help you.
You have to trust me.
The nurse told me you had terrible nightmares last night.
You screamed in your sleep. What were you dreaming about?
What did you see?
- He's back.
I knew he'd come back.
- Who came back?
Is this him, the man you mean?
Who is he?
- I don't know.
A tall, bald priest. I shouldn't have drawn it!
- Were you dreaming of him last night?
- He always comes in my dreams.
- How often?
- When I get an idea for a horrible scene, I start writing...
Sometimes at night I dream.
Always the same dream.
A church.
I go in.
Inside are lots of people,
in agony, dying. I can't see them, but I hear them.
The tall, bald priest's waiting for me, pleased.
He likes my idea, says he'll guide me.
- Guide you how?
- I don't know. The next morning, I drive in my car,
like I was being guided, controlled by someone else.
I come to the place...
- Afterwards what do you do?
- I go back and write,
inspired by what I've seen, my brain full of images.
- So you stopped writing?
- It was too much, it had to stop.
But the fucking priest came back.
- Who is he?
- I don't know!
- He sent you to the lady who drowned her kids?
You spied on her? - You know?
- We know a lot, we can help you. - No one can help me.
- Trust us. - You can't help me!
I've nothing more to say.
- They offered $5,000 to act in their film.
I refused, of course.
I wouldn't do it, even for a million.
I'm gonna get a machine gun and mow the fucking bastards down!
They'll see they can't walk all over me!
They'll see!
- Dammit!
Hello, doctor.
A priest just asked to see Mr. Roy.
I told him to talk to you, but he left.
- Nicole!
- Don't ever
let him out.
- You never mentioned your heart condition.
- It's just angina.
Jean-Paul gave me some nitro...
- Why not sign up for the Olympics? They could use a good sprinter.
- Okay, Mom. I get the message.
- It wasn't the same priest?
- He wasn't bald.
- Two priests...
What now?
- I've an idea.
- Thomas isn't my real brother.
My parents adopted him when he was a few weeks old.
At first I was happy to have a brother, but later...
- Later?
- Later things started to happen.
When he was 17
he published his first short story in the town paper,
about an evil sect that met in a church.
The kind of story where everybody's killed.
When it came out...
- I'm Father Boudreault from Mont-Mathieu.
Does Thomas Roy live here?
- Yes.
- The Thomas Roy who published a story?
- Yes.
- Is he home?
- Thomas, it's for you.
They spoke in private, but I could hear.
The priest went into a fit.
He told Thomas never to write again.
- I know you made it up,
but when did you write it? Where'd you get the idea?
- It was just a dream.
I dreamed of that sect and the priest.
- You dreamed of them? - Yeah.
I found the idea interesting.
Well, I'm sorry if my story offended you, Father, sir, but...
- How did the priest look?
- Well...
He was bald.
- If you keep writing, you'll lose your soul.
And not only yours.
- I saw the priest leave, get into his car,
head down the road.
30 seconds later, I heard the crash.
Thomas sent another story to a well-known magazine.
They published it, he was famous.
You can guess what it was about.
Soon after, he turned 18.
I sold the house. He moved to Montréal. We haven't spoken since.
You know what?
When I see him on TV, I switch channels.
When I hear one of his novels is a best-seller,
I think of that accident,
and his short story.
And I get scared.
I'm scared.
- It's your birthday next week.
It would be nice to be out. Not much fun celebrating in here.
Look, we know there are three priests involved.
The bald one, the one who died,
and the one who came to visit last week.
- Which priest? - How should I know?
- You think I know? You know more than me.
- If you helped us... - Forget it!
- What do you think about all day, sitting in silence, doing nothing?
I'm getting ideas for my novels.
You know what that means, Paul.
- Why'd you do that? - Because!
- Stop it!
- Don't look at me
with your dead fish eyes!
- I'm not a dead fish!
I'm not a dead fish!
It's going inside, doctor.
It's going inside.
- So my theories seem less hair-brained now, huh?
- You don't publish anything yet.
- I'm not that ballsy.
- Did you find out anything?
- You betcha. Father Boudreault's from Mont-Mathieu.
That's a 5-hour drive. Your average village, 2,000 inhabitants.
Its newspaper has no library. I tried the next big town.
Know how long I stayed there? Two days.
- Your devotion is very touching.
- Thank you.
But a lot has happened in that little village.
Here's our first article,
dating from 1966.
The priest's name is Father Pivot.
Ring a bell?
- A bald priest.
- A fellow priest reported him missing, your Father Boudreault.
So, Father Pivot goes missing
in 1966. Does 1966 ring a bell?
- Roy's year of birth.
- Exactly, let's move on.
A few months later, 20 people are reported missing,
from the village and countryside.
Their bodies were found in November.
- How'd they die?
- Hard to say. Most had been mutilated.
One killer or several? No one knows.
A total mystery. Plus,
there were no links between the victims.
So, after a few months, the case was shelved.
I vaguely remember.
- Impressed?
- All those disappearances and murders and deaths...
All those priests!
What's the link, the connection to Roy?
- There was a third priest with Boudreault, he's still alive.
Father Lemay. I was going to visit, but... I was seeing you.
- It's him!
The priest I saw.
- Remember, you keep me informed.
We're a team now.
- I knew it was only a matter of time.
You can run from everything except time.
Come along.
Would you like anything?
- No, thank you.
- You can leave us, Gervaise.
What do you know about Thomas Roy?
- It's like, the things he writes actually happen.
It sounds crazy, I know, but...
He often dreams about your old colleague, Father Pivot.
- God in Heaven!
- Explain what's going on.
- Do you think I know the answer?
- You know more than me.
- The situation is ironic, isn't it?
Two institutions, science and religion,
that claim to possess the truth.
Here they are, face to face, and neither has a clear answer.
- Look, Father, I just drove 5 hours to get that answer.
For a month I've been treating a brick wall, racking my soul.
This damn case has me questioning my entire life.
Don't tell me you know nothing.
- In 1964,
I'd just left the seminary.
I wanted to do a vast study
of religious practises in small villages.
I thought of Mont-Mathieu.
- An interesting subject, I admit.
we already have two priests here.
Plus Gervaise.
What do you say, Henri?
- Our devout parishioners
would make perfect subjects for our friend.
- Well...
Welcome to Mont-Mathieu.
- I soon got to know my new family.
Father Boudreault and Abbé Pivot,
two men who were
quite different.
- The Bouchards missed Mass again.
- Go easy on them, you know how hard they work.
They scarcely sleep.
- I won't let the wicked contaminate my parish.
- Wicked, that's a bit harsh.
- No, you're too lenient on your flock, as I've said before.
- Their sense of religion is different from yours.
- That's the problem. You, André,
what's your view?
- I don't know.
But given your haste to damn your flock,
Hell will soon be full.
- Sure, gang up on me two to one.
- We shared a very pleasant life.
The months went by,
with nothing to disturb our daily routine...
in the fall of 1965,
a tragic event took place.
Abbé Pivot's sister was in a terrible car accident.
Trapped, she screamed for hours,
before they could get her out.
Abbé Pivot cared about Audrey more than anything on earth.
He loved her more than his life.
We'd never seen him in such a state.
- Don't die, Audrey.
Can you hear me?
I order you not to die!
By the power God has invested in me
I exhort your soul to stay on earth among the living.
By the power of God I exhort your soul to stay among the living.
- Henri...
- Today, 36 years later,
I've come to realize that's when it started.
Back then we couldn't know.
- It's all absurd.
Why sacrifice ourselves if our sole reward is suffering?
What's the use of spreading the light, if all we reap is darkness?
I believed in the power of Good...
What power?
Where is it?
- Your revolt merely fuels your anger, Henri.
It's destructive.
- He's right. Be careful, you're verging on blasphemy.
Perhaps power lies elsewhere.
- Enough, you go too far!
- Two months went by before he returned to his old self.
he was...
- Different, how?
- I couldn't say.
Then, one evening in July,
we found out.
Father Boudreault and I
came back early from parish business.
- The power of Evil!
- Did you hear that, André?
- The power of Evil!
The power of Evil!
The power of Evil!
The power of Evil!
- Henri?
- Boudreault called Pivot the disgrace of Christendom.
He'd committed the vilest blasphemy.
He didn't recognize Pivot.
He said he couldn't understand him.
- Fiend of Satan!
- It's not the Devil we seek.
It's Evil.
Evil, in its purest and most absolute form.
I was naive to believe in Good.
Goodness is for the weak.
Real power lies in Evil.
- Evil?
- Yes.
He said that he and his disciples had almost attained it.
They were close to their goal.
- Didn't you inform the police?
- Officially, we declared that he had simply disappeared.
The police believed us.
So did the archdiocese.
We assumed he'd left the country.
We started breathing easier.
But after two months...
- He came back?
- In the night of September 12 to 13,
around 2 a. M...
What they were doing was far more horrible than before.
That much was clear.
Then, all of a sudden,
it grew silent again.
For the first time I realized,
we should never have let Abbé Pivot leave.
- What did you see?
- My God,
forgive us!
They were dead.
- Who were?
- Abbé Pivot's disciples,
sprawled among the pews, 20 of them, like last time,
but now they were all dead.
- How did they die?
- Disembowelled,
mutilated, hacked to pieces.
Blood everywhere.
They'd killed each other with their bare hands,
like beasts.
Father Boudreault and I waded through the gore,
as if hypnotized,
unable to speak.
One or two were taking their last breaths.
It was then I noticed
a woman lying spread on the altar,
a pregnant woman, dead.
Pivot had cut her baby out of her.
He pressed his lips
against the baby's,
as if he was kissing him, or...
- What have you done?
Confess your crimes, you monster!
Implore the Lord's forgiveness, this instant!
- I did it!
I did it!
- Be damned!
May your soul burn in Hell forever!
Do you hear me, for all eternity!
- Are you mad? What will happen if the police find out?
We'll be labelled satanic. The church will empty, it'll be over.
- But this time they're dead.
- Exactly, how can the police help? The evil's been done.
- You've gone crazy.
- André,
for 15 years I've served this parish as a model of devotion.
There's no way I'll have people thinking of me
as the priest who failed in his duty.
God would want us to save His parish, not destroy it.
- All night long we buried them in the woods outside the village.
Father Boudreault led the operation.
I was like a zombie, in a trance.
I just wanted it to be over, for the horror to end.
- Everything's going to be fine. Mass is in an hour.
- The baby
was Thomas Roy.
- He would become Thomas Roy.
For now he was an orphan,
his mother the disciple dead, his father unknown.
Later Father Boudreault took him to the orphanage in Quebec City.
He told them he'd found the child
abandoned on the church steps that morning.
- It's really over now.
Everything's back to normal.
- I finished my research, became a curate here.
I assisted Father Boudreault.
Everything went so well, I convinced myself
we'd done the right thing.
- You two never discussed it again?
- No, never.
in 1983...
the terror struck again.
- Who wrote this?
- A local boy, Thomas Roy.
It's him.
- It can't be.
- Read the note. The author's 17, the age fits.
Plus, there's the sect and...
the bald priest, the slaughter in the church...
I can't see... Who else could have written it?
- He can't remember, he was a baby.
- I can't explain it either.
- Where are you going?
- He lives 15 miles away.
- What will you say? - I have to see him.
Don't you see what's happening?
- Romuald, wait!
- That was the last time I saw him alive.
When Father Boudreault died,
I realized that what had happened on September 13, 1966,
was worse than a mere massacre.
That night, Abbé Pivot
had found Evil.
- Come on, it makes no sense.
He summoned up the Devil?
- Not the Devil.
I'm talking about Evil.
Pivot was right.
Evil bestows great power.
- You think Roy uses that power?
- Pivot's soul came into contact with Evil.
He pressed his lips on the baby's.
And that baby became a famous horror writer,
whose ideas become...
I don't know.
Men can but glimpse truth.
The whole truth
would be unbearable.
It would probably drive us mad.
Gervaise will see you out.
- But you can't...
- Yes I can.
It'll be 36 years tomorrow that it happened.
I never spoke of it before.
- 36 years tomorrow?
- September 13, Mr. Lacasse.
What's more, it's also the date of birth
of Abbé Pivot.
That night,
was his 36th birthday.
- What will you do now?
- Await damnation.
- Will you be at work tomorrow?
- Yes, why?
- 36 years ago tomorrow
Abbé Pivot pressed his lips on Roy's.
If I were you, I'd make sure I was there.
Is my room ready?
Good night, Gervaise.
- Will you be at work tomorrow?
36 years ago tomorrow...
- Jeanne!
Marc, I need to speak to Jeanne!
- Paul?
- I know, it's important. - She's sleeping.
This Roy business has gone too far. Stop calling!
- Marc, please.
- Give it to me.
- Put her on.
Don't go to the hospital.
- What? - Don't go in tomorrow.
- You must be kidding.
- Listen, I can't explain now. I'm probably off my rocker, but...
- What is it? - I'll explain.
In the name of our friendship, don't go.
- Okay, Paul.
I won't.
- Thank you.
I'll call when I get there.
- Ste Croix Psychiatric Department. Please leave...
Ste Croix Psychiatry.
- Nicole, it's Dr. Lacasse.
I know it sounds crazy, but is everything alright?
- In fact, no. Sorry, I have to go. All hell's broken loose.
- Nicole, I'm on my way.
- Fuck off, a lot of help you'd be.
We don't need you, Dr. Marcoux's coming.
(siren wailing)
(siren wailing)
- You can't go!
- I'm Dr. Lacasse, I work in Psychiatry.
- We sent a dozen men in half an hour ago,
nobody answers.
- Jeanne!
- Simon, what the fuck's going on?
- Too late!
- It went inside, doctor.
It went inside.
- Jeanne!
Thomas, don't. For God's sake, don't!
- I warned you, you didn't listen!
You should've listened.
- Thomas!
Open the door!
Don't move!
- A woman's being murdered! Hurry! - Stand aside!
- Put down the baby, you fuck!
- Don't do it, Thomas.
Stop him! Stop him!
Stop him!
Talk to me, Jeanne. Don't worry, we'll save you.
Talk to me!
- I saw it!
I saw it!
- Dr. Lacasse?
Dr. Lacasse?
What's wrong?
What's going on?
Is it about Roy?
Is he dead?
- It's a year now since the Ste Croix tragedy,
a bloodbath in which 38 people murdered each other
in an outburst of insane violence.
This affair is back in the news because of a new book, The Roy Case.
Published 10 days ago, and written by Charles Monette,
it's already a best-seller, with numerous translations underway.
The controversial book advances shocking hypotheses
about both Roy's death and the hospital tragedy
during which the novelist lost his life.
- I think the whole truth would be unbearable.
- Is what happened to Jeanne bearable?
- You hate me.
I understand.
- Let's just say,
I'd rather not see you.
- I understand that too.
I just came here to tell you
that I'm sorry...
and that...
I'm sorry.
- Can you watch Antoine?
- Yes, I'll watch him.
I'll watch you. You can be sure.
I won't let you out of my sight.
DVD Captioning by: CNST, Montreal
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