(muffled cries)
What is it you do again?
I'm sorry but I can't understand you.
Would you mind speaking up?
(screams, pants)
Okay, okay, no need to shout.
What do you want?!
What do I want?
What do I want? I want a lot of things.
What do you want from me?
Don't we all?
I want to never receive junk mail again.
What?!
I want the show "Dead Like Me" to come back
on the air. Do you remember that show?
No... N-n-n-no... I don't understand.
What-What do you want from me?
It was on...HBO. Or was it? N-n-n-n-n-NO!
(screams in pain)
It was on Showtime! Showtime...
It was about this girl who died.
And she became the grim reaper.
She began to collect the souls
of other dead people.
Why are you telling me this?
She didn't always want to, because she didn't
always believe that they deserved to die.
But it wasn't up to her to decide who lived and
who died. Well, that's up to... (clicks tongue)
Well, who do you think that's up to?
Please... Please let me go. I don't
understand what you're doing.
I don't know what you want from me.
(whimpers)
Is it destiny?
Fate?
Chance?
If you want money, I have money. I can get you
all the money you need. Just please, let-
(grunts)
(laughs)
I just remembered what it is you do, hm?
You're a psychiatrist. Hm?
(laughs)
Well, Dr. Freud...
Psychiatry me.
What's my sin?
Do I know you?
Let's play a game, shall we? Hm?
(laughs)
(sighs)
You'll like this! I promise.
Let me go.
(chuckles) You see, you can't
even make a mistake.
It takes... Hmm, seven shuffles to completely
randomize a deck of cards.
After that... (whishing sound) ...it's all
up to chance. (taps cards)
I DO know you. You were there that night.
My God, you're the one, who was-
(grunts)
(coughs)
You know NOTHING about me!
One.
Seven shuffles.
After that, we're not responsible
for what happens.
It was an accident. A mistake. Please,
everyone makes mistakes.
Two.
GUNMAN: Not this time, Freud.
JUDGE: You have been charged
with vehicular man-slaughter.
Jury members? Have you reached a verdict?
Yes, your honor, we have. We the jury,
find the defendant, not guilty.
GUNMAN: So, have you figured out a
diagnosis for me yet, Freud?
Three.
I'm no psychiatrist. I quit.
After what happened...
I-I couldn't. I just-
Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?
My life ended that night too.
(screams)
(gun hammer clicks)
(laughs)
This isn't going to solve anything!
(laughs) I thought you quit
psychiatry, Freud.
Four.
This isn't psychiatry - it's experience.
(slaps)
Five.
You don't come back from something like this.
Who says I want to?! Huh?!
(breathing heavily)
Are you still out there?
Is there still a piece of you on that road?
Do you wake up every morning with the
feeling of glass on your skin...
...and the sound of her screams in your ears?
Do you see that image of her,
lying there on the ground...
...and do you recognize that image, more than the
face that looks back at you in the mirror?
Yes.
(weeping)
Six.
Seven.
We will be keeping score.
(taps cards)
That's one for you.
(sighs) Well well well. Whoo! You're on a roll!
(grimaces)
Please...
Please?! Please? Please what?
Please kill you now?
Or please let you walk away?
Which one is worse, Freud?
Which one is worse? Dying or walking away?
You know which one it is.
Answer me.
Answer me, damn you!
(crying) I'm so sorry.
You're sorry...
(gun barrel closes)
I'm sorry too.
(Gunshot)
