The Amelia Project - Episode 48 - Jackie Williams

Episode Date: January 28, 2022

“I'm tired of your half baked hallucinations and fabricated fever dreams! I'm gonna tell you something that really happened.” Episode 48, Season 4.  With Jordan Cobb, Hemi Yeroham, Erin King, Torgny G. Aanderaa and Benjamin Noble  Written by Oystein Brager and Philip Thorne with script consultancy by Leeanne Stoddart Music and Sound design by Fredrik Baden Edited by Philip Thorne  Graphic design by Anders Pedersen Production assistance by Maty Parzival For full credits see our website.  Content warning: This episode contains mentions of suicide. The Amelia Project is part of the Fable & Folly Network.  Website: ameliapodcast.com  Transcripts: ameliapodcast.com/transcripts  Twitter: @amelia_podcast  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

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Don't wait. Ancestry DNA kits are on sale now for a limited time. Visit Ancestry.ca for details. Terms apply. We're back from a brief hiatus, and we have a slightly longer episode than usual for you today. It's time to catch up with CIA agents Jackie Williams and Mia Fox and MI5 agents Cole and Haynes. Last time we left them, Mia and Jackie had gone behind Cole and Haynes' back and agreed to fake Kozlovsky's death. Cole and Haynes are unaware of this and they think the case has hit a dead end. We catch up with the agents having a few too many drinks down at the pub before they part ways. This episode is dedicated to Jem Fiddick and Curly Jo. Enjoy the show.

I'm sure she didn't mean it like that. That sounded pretty definitive to me. She'll give you a second chance. You're done for, buddy. Don't listen to Jackie. Hey, when she married you, she knew that you're with MI5, right? Yes. She opted in.

And now she's opting out again. Oh, Jenny. Cole. Cole, get it together. You're embarrassing yourself. I'm sorry. Cut him some slack, will you? He's drunk. He needs to pull himself together. He's allowed to be upset. His wife just called him a loser. Nope. She called him a good-for-nothing workaholic loser with as much charisma as a used paper tissue.

Oh, Jenny! Jesus, don't remind him. First the case that's had him working nights for months goes to shit. Then he has a fight with his wife because he's always working. And then he doesn't even have anything to show for it because the case has gone tits up. Oh!

You forgot Ninny Hammer Oh, yeah A good-for-nothing workaholic Ninny Hammer loser With as much charisma as a used pink tissue She's good with a thesaurus, your wife She is

It's not the end of your marriage What she's saying is she wants to see you more. That's positive, isn't it? Yeah. Then what the hell is he doing here getting pissed with us? To be honest, I'm surprised any of us are here. When you said you wanted to grab a pint, Jackie, I thought you were making a joke. I kind of was.

But it seemed right to go for a drink to celebrate the fact that we're wrapping up the Amelia case, right? Okay, I guess celebrate isn't the right word. Commiserate. Mark the occasion. Say bye, since we won't be working together anymore. I don't believe it. Believe what? That this case is over.

Cole, let it go, man. Go save your marriage instead. What about Krzysztof's fingerprint? Huh? You car you wanted to turn in our way? What the hell is that? MI6 are looking into that, so that's out of our hands. MI6 is a bunch of immature 00 nothing wannabes.

All they're interested in is binge drinking martinis and blowing things up. Oh, they're not really like that, are they? In the field, we call them MI6. Bloody Yukari Watanabe. What can we do, though? Yukari Watanabe is overseas It's not our remit It should be Kozlovski is in London

Kozlovski is dead? Yeah We dropped him off for an autopsy yesterday Picked up the documents today And on that note, let's not forget Here is your copy of Kozlovski's autopsy report And his death certificate Cheers No worries And thanks for dealing with that Here is your copy of Kozlovsky's autopsy report and his death certificate.

Cheers. No worries. And thanks for dealing with that. For a second there, I was worried you were going to steal him again. Why would we do that? I mean, right now the only value we can get from him is, you know, a thorough autopsy report, so... True. Northcart should send us to Osaka and not let us bonehead from MI6. You heard Northcart. It's over. She wants the report on her desk by 6pm tomorrow. After that, well, this case is out of our hands.

Two, a case well ended. Are you fucking kidding me? Come on. A toast to the relief of giving up? Oh, sure. Cheers to failing miserably. Here's to royally fucking up. Like a bunch of... what was it? Ninny Hammers. Oh, Jenny! Jesus.

I think I should get this guy home. Yeah. We should probably head home, too. I guess this is goodbye, then. It's been a pleasure. It's been... reassuring. How?

I've been reassured that I fucking hate the CIA. Right. I can see a taxi out the window. Let's go. Bye. Bye. Oh, and good luck with your marriage. Taxi's waiting.

Look, you're a great guy, Cole. Don't forget that. This is. Come on. Okay, bye. Bye. I guess that's the end of that. Haynes?

Yeah? Christopher Haynes? Yeah, that's me. Can I... Can I sleep on your couch tonight? Sure, mate. No worries. I love you, man. The Amelia Project by Philip Thorne and Ostein Braga

with music and sound direction by Frederick Barden. Episode 48. Jackie Williams. Okay, come on. Get out. Out of the bag. Good morning. What a beautiful day. Yeah, yeah. Just get in the car. You do not look well. I'm not. I am very, very hungover. I have a remedy for that. Yeah? What's that?

We can do that later. The man is naked. Get into the car. Tell me the remedy first. You take two eggs and leave them in the sun for four hours. We could also place them under the hood of the car. And that could speed up the process. As long as they don't get cooked. They need to be spoiled. Oh, stop.

Now get in the car before somebody sees you. Mia, come on. Let's get moving. You better not make us regret this. You made a wise choice. Shall I give you directions? Um... No, no, no. I will take you to a very special place.

We're headed to the U.S. Embassy, where I sincerely hope they have ibuprofen. I had something more secluded in mind. The Embassy is protected by the Marine Corps and bomb-proof triple glazing. It's as safe as it gets. This does not sound like the right setting. The right setting? For my story. You and your bloody stories.

It is what you want from me, is it not? Sure. But we couldn't give a fuck about the setting. All we're interested in is the facts. Facts? What's so funny? I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. is the facts. Facts? What's so funny? I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history.

That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death. You think you're so fucking clever, don't you? My friends, I must beg you not to be so cynical. If you want to truly understand my story, you must let me be your guide. And what is that supposed to mean?

As I have said before, my story cannot simply be told. It must be experienced. So what's the plan? You want to feed us magic mushrooms? LSD? That will not be necessary. Look, once we get to the embassy, we can, I don't know, light some incense, put on some music, anything you want to set the scene. I believe that some stories are locked to the place in which they occurred. If you want to understand an ancient battle, you must visit the battlefield. If you want to unlock the true beauty of a Wordsworth poem, you must read it in the Cumbrian countryside. If you want to be visited by your departed mother in your dreams, you must sleep in her deathbed. In plain English, please. My head feels like an

overripe watermelon. Together, we will explore the roots of the Amelia Project. I will take you to where it all began. We've already been to that office in Burmont, see? And the rooms above the Rising Phoenix pub in Hampstead. That is not what I mean. There are more offices? Stop here. Already? Why?

See that? You mean... The H&M? Yes. What about it? You must go inside. What? No fucking way. The roots of the Amelia Project have something to do with H&M?

Of course not. I need some clothes. Oh. Yeah. To the point you made earlier, a naked man being chauffeured by two ladies is bound to raise suspicion. And besides, it's getting rather chilly.

Fair enough. Please, no sharp turns. Ugh. Ugh. Please, no sharp turns. We should probably remove your handcuffs, too. We're trying to avoid looking suspicious. I would appreciate that. After this, where are we going? Out of London.

How far out of London? We will drive north and we will not stop until we reach the sea. After this, where are we going? Out of London. How far out of London? We will drive north and we will not stop until we reach the sea. You want us to cross this entire shithole country just for you to tell your story? You have not seen this country yet. I've seen enough to know that it's... You have not seen the ancient stones, the haunted forests, the sullen moors, the laughing follies,

and the fearless locks. Fucking hell. So... road trip? Yeah. Road trip. How do you like your new clothes? Linen trousers, beige jacket. If only I had a pith helmet, I would look like a British Army officer in Victorian Indies.

It was what we could get in your size from an H&M at 9 a.m. on a Saturday. I'm perfectly content. I have clothes, you have taken off the handcuffs. I'm just pointing out that I felt more like myself when I was wearing nothing but my own skin and my vial. Only, a lot of that skin isn't your own, is it? It belongs to some poor scalped gator. Crocodile. And your face belongs to...

Whoever. You probably don't even remember anymore. I didn't borrow the crocodile skin or the skin on my face. The crocodile I killed in honest combat. And my face I bought from Dr. P.E. Coslovsky in an honest transaction. What's your point? You fought a crocodile? If you borrow something, it isn't yours.

But if you buy or win or steal an item, it becomes yours. In other words, every molecule of skin on my body is mine now. Even if it didn't used to be. If you steal something, it becomes yours? From the perspective of connection, yes. Not from the perspective of morality, of course. You are something else. Jackie, do you mind if I get some shut-eye? I didn't sleep too well last night. Sure. If we're going all the way to the north of England, this is going to be a long drive. You can take over the wheel halfway.

Sure. Just to be clear, we're not going to the north of England. We are going to Scotland. Jeez. Good night. Those painkillers knocked her right out, didn't they? The second exit, please. I know where we're going. So, what should we talk about? Nothing.

We need to entertain ourselves. Do you not find silence entertaining? Nothing. We need to entertain ourselves. Do you not find silence entertaining? Uh, no. Ah. I find that during long stretches of silence, my mind does the most amusing somersaults. But if you would prefer, let's say, a game, I do have a suggestion.

Please don't say I spy with my little eye. Riddles. Okay. We each come up with a riddle, and the one who can solve the other person's riddle first wins. I feel like you would have an unfair advantage. Everything you say is a riddle. Then let's try different rules. I tell you a riddle. If you can solve it, you win.

If you can't, I lose. That makes no sense. If you fail to solve it, I made it too hard. Shame on me. If you manage to solve it, I made it too hard. Shame on me. If you managed to solve it, I made it too easy. Also shame on me. No, no, no. Fair is fair. We each solve each other's riddles.

But we only get one shot at answering. And if we get it wrong, we lose. I accept the rule. Let's go. The game is afoot. I accept the rule. Let's go.

The game is afoot. Alright, I've got one. Who is jealous of the turtle, feels kinship with the ostrich, but doesn't realize he's as free as the worm? Ah, that is a good riddle. I must admit I underestimated you. I shall have to think. Take your time. We're not in a hurry.

What's your riddle? Are you ready? As ready as I'll ever be. Good. A lot rests on you solving this. What? In the first hour, you have none of it, and none is expected of you. In the second

hour, you have it forced upon you, against your will. In the third hour, it comes to you as naturally as sunlight, and only now you recognize it. It is freedom. But at that moment, you have no more hours left to enjoy it. What is it?

No more hours left to enjoy it. And you start wishing you could bottle it. Is that part of the riddle? What? That thing you just added, about wanting to bottle it. Oh, that. Well, I guess, yes. You can't be vague about what's part of the riddle and not. In that case, yes. Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Yep. I have no idea. I'm still bored.

But now our minds are working on something. How can you be bored? I think better when I'm not thinking. Ah, the subconscious. Taking shortcuts through dreams and instincts. Pathways to which your conscious mind has no access. In the meantime,

I will tell you a story. You will? Yeah. I'm tired of your half-baked hallucinations and fabricated fever dreams. I'm going to tell you something that really happened. It's not a story about cutting your face off or grafting crocodile skin onto your arm. This is gritty reality, okay? This is true. You make me very curious. When I was 13 years old, I faked my death. Hmm.

From where I'm sitting, all I can see off your face are your eyes in the rear mirror. And I'm trying to read them. Do they say I am joking, or are they saying I dare you to believe me? The latter. I do believe you. Good. Because everything I am about to tell you is 100% true. My father worked for the army, so all through my childhood we kept moving.

We would only stay in the same place for a year at a time, or if we were lucky, two. But sometimes he would be stationed somewhere for even shorter spells. He was some kind of tech specialist, doing something so top secret that to this day, I don't really know what he did. I only know that they kept moving him around, and me and my mother had to follow. My mother worked in logistics, so wherever we moved, my father always sorted out a job for her with the army. So I had two army parents, basically.

And then there was me. I was just dragged along. I was quite a cynical child, I think. I became the master of shallow relationships, never letting anyone get close. Maybe I was shy. I just know I was lonely. But then, in eighth grade, I met Sheila It was the first time I'd had a best friend Sheila had also just moved there She was an army brat like me, so she got me Like me, she'd never had the luxury of growing roots Together, the two of us had survived the last year of middle school

And now, our plan was to tackle the first year of high school as a team. Even the thought of high school is terrifying, but I reckoned with Sheila, I could do it. But then, inevitably, the old news yet again. We're moving. Only this time, I'm a teenager. My hormones are way out of balance, so I refuse. My father, he rarely spoke, but when he had something to say, he would make himself heard. The morning of the move,

my father and I had a fight, an argument so epic, nothing like it had ever gone down in the history of the Williams household. Oh, I said some very ugly things that I meant with all my heart. And his answer, his words are etched into my memory like acid thrown on my brain. Jacqueline Aretha Williams, when I look at you, all I see is how I've failed. A true daughter of mine would understand, would show respect for me and for what we're fighting for.

Every morning I salute the flag, and you? What do you do? Every time a new opportunity opens up for this family, all you do is sulk and cry. You are ungrateful, and you cling to your own ignorance. You know, sometimes I wish I'd never had a child. Then there wouldn't always be someone trying to hold me back. I am sorry. Oh, don't worry. This is a funny story. Is it?

I'm getting to the fun part now. That would be the part where you fake your death. Yeah, exactly. So, I run to my now empty room and lock myself in. I'm so angry I can't even cry. And I decide I want to test my father. I want to see if he really means it, that his life would be better without me. I want to show him exactly what that

would look like. So I write a suicide note. I write things like, I'm so sorry for ruining your life. I hope the future looks brighter without me. Stuff like that. And then I place it on the windowsill and climb out the window. I sneak over to Sheila's house, climb up the trellis, and do our secret knock. She opens the window and lets me in, and I immediately ask if I can borrow some of her clothes. She wants to know why, and I tell her the plan, but I get her to swear to not tell anyone. She gives me one of her shell suits, and I get changed. Then I say, if anyone asks, I haven't been here today. But in one hour, call my house and ask for me.

Say you're working on a paper for school and that I still have some notes that you need. Will you do that for me? Sheila agrees. And I climb back out. Do American teenagers always climb through windows? I think I entered through windows more often than I did through doors at that time. A door is a practicality. A window is a portal.

Eh, right. Anyhow, after leaving Sheila's, I head down to the local river. I take my jeans and my new kids on the block t-shirt, which I've been carrying in a bag, and fold them up neatly, arranging them in a pile on the riverbank. Then, as a cherry on top, I take off my necklace, a birthday gift from my father, gold with a pendant shaped like a heart. My heart will always be with you, he'd said. Yeah, right, I thought. And I toss it. I have a very good arm, mind you, so I get the necklace to land in this bush hanging over the river on the other side. The scene is

perfect. It looks like I went into the river to drown myself. And the necklace got caught on the low-hanging branches. Your body was taken by the current, and all that is left of you is a heart- shaped golden memory. Only I couldn't do it.

The necklace was... I jump into the river, wade across just to save that damn necklace. Trying to get back out, the riverbed is so slippery and the riverbank so steep, I nearly get taken by the stream for real. But I managed to pull myself out of the water at the last minute. It really could have gone completely wrong. And then the weirdest thing happens. As I'm legging it. I ran through the woods, up to the nearest road, caught a bus, and sat there shivering in my wet clothes, probably looking shifty as fuck. I went as far as the bus would take me, which was a couple of towns over. By the time I got off, my clothes had dried and I headed into a diner.

I ordered a soda, turned my cell phone back on, and placed it in front of me on the table. What kind of soda? Uh, I don't remember. Never mind. I wanted to see how many times my parents tried to call me. I wanted to hear the messages they left. You wanted to discover if your father missed you or not? And if he regretted what he said.

Did he? Well, the weird thing was... Nothing happened. Nobody called. It was just... silent. And your mind was doing somersaults. I sit there for ages until suddenly I notice a moving truck outside the window. In front of it, a Plymouth station wagon. And I realize it's my father's car.

A coincidence, surely. My father marches into the diner, grabs me by the back of the neck, and pulls me out into the car. We drive off, and that was the last I ever saw of that place. Was it Sheila who told on you? No. Sheila didn't reveal anything. Probably to this day she hasn't. Then how did he find you? The necklace.

The necklace? My heart will always be with you. No. Turns out, my father had placed a tracker in it. He was a tech specialist, remember? Ah. If I'd only been able to let go of that necklace. Placing a tracker in your child's jewelry. What a unique display of love. That's one way to look at it.

And 24 hours later, I find myself in Pakistan. Pakistan? My dad's new appointment is with the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad. We're there for two years, and I lose contact with anyone I'd ever known back in the U.S. Like a rolling stone. That is a sad ending. I guess it's not the ending, really. Is it not? One day, a few years later, there's an attack on the embassy.

Coincidentally, I was in the building when it happened. I remember my father dragging me, my mother, and a cleaning lady down towards the basement. When turning a corner, we meet a man with a machine gun. My father, without hesitation, shoots and kills the man, saving our lives. That was the day I decided that I had been wrong about my father. That I would respect his choices and that I was also going to serve my country. Even if I was going to find my own way of doing it. And that was the beginning of the journey that led here, to the CIA.

This morning has turned out even better than I anticipated. That was a good story. But it is not a funny story. In fact, it is mostly sad. Yeah. When I started telling it, I thought it was going to be a funny story. Like most American stories, it ends with a moment of reconciliation. But one comedy trope does not a sitcom make. I don't even know why I told you all of that. I was just going to tell you the fun part about faking my death.

Either way, my gratitude. I collect stories. Sometimes they are my own. Most often they are gifts from other people. Your story will have a special place in my collection. You're welcome.

I guess. I think I know why you told me that. You do? Yes. In your story lies the answer to my riddle. Really? In my story lies the answer to your riddle? Yes. Do you want to venture a guess? Yes. Do you want to venture a guess? Uh, no. In fact, could you repeat your riddle? There was something about hours and... In the first hour, you have none of it, and none is expected of you.

In the second hour, you have it forced upon you, against your will. In the third hour, it comes to you as naturally as sunlight. And only in this moment you recognize it. It is freedom. But at this moment, you have no hours left to enjoy it. And you wish

you could bottle it. I remember that part. Shall I give you another clue? Do I still win if I get it right? Of course. Then bring it on. I did. Did what?

Bottle it. Excuse me? In fact, I have a drop of it here. In the vial around my neck. What the... For a second there, I was going to guess something like... Time or something. That's not my guess, by the way, but now... now I'm even more lost.

Let me see if I remember your riddle. Mm-hmm. Who is jealous of a turtle, feels kinship with an ostrich, but does not realize he's as free as a worm? Very good. And who is that? an ostrich, but does not realize he is as free as a worm. Very good. And who is that? The ostrich hides its head in the sand, so whoever feels kinship with the ostrich is someone who often hides. To lay their eggs, sea turtles go back to the beach where they were born, using the Earth's magnetic fields to find their way.

They have a family home, a place of history, so whoever is jealous of the turtle is someone who doesn't have a home to return to. And the worm is free, because he lives in the dirt so wherever he goes his home is right below him turn that image on its head and the worm carries the planet on his back like Atlas so someone who's as free as the worm is someone who carries their home on their back. You've heard it before. Never. So, who is it then? The answer is you, Jackie Williams. The answer is you.

What? Me? Yes. No, it's a snail. It's a frickin' snail. Come on. You might think the answer is a snail, but it is not. You are the answer to your riddle. That's just... I mean... I know it is, Jackie. Because you and I are the same. I see myself in you.

Always on the move. Forced to finding comfort only in myself. The answer to the riddle could just as easily have been Kozlovsky. It just so happens it is you. I don't hide. I'm not jealous. I don't carry the weight of the world on my back, and I am nothing like you. Oh, then I apologize apologize I guess I got the answer wrong you did it's a snail you could still take home the trophy

have you got an answer to my riddle first hour you got none second hour forced upon you third hour got plenty but no time to use it. Yes. And you've got it in a bottle around your neck. I do. The answer is... A lie. A lie?

Yeah. How come? When you need to lie, first you've got to come up with the lie, don't you? And no one ever expects you to lie. Secondly, people lie to you, even if you don't want them to. And finally, when you've come up with a really good lie, it feels so natural, doesn't it? Until you're found out, and it comes back around to bite you in the ass. But if you think of the lie too late, the moment is gone. As for the vial around your neck, there is nothing in there other than some nasty London tap water,

and you are just wearing it to give yourself another chance to look all mysterious. In other words, it's a lie. Hmm. Disappointing. Why? Because I cracked it? No, because you are so far from right. And because I expected more of you. Your answer isn't just wrong.

It's incoherent. So is your stupid riddle. Come on. Tell me then. What is the right answer? Patience. Oh, come on. This game has been going on for like half an hour. Just tell me what it is. Patience.

No. I'm done being patient. I've indulged you long enough, okay? Give me the answer. We both lost anyway, so it doesn't matter. doesn't matter. When you are a baby, you scream when you are hungry and people feed you. Whatever you need, you cry and it is given to you. You have no patience and none is expected of you. When you are young, you are forced to learn, forced to listen, forced to follow wherever the adults decide to go. Patience is expected of you, and your will is never considered. When you finally grow old, your blood calms. You learn to breathe, to still your mind, to take each day as it comes. For the first time, you have patience.

Effortless patience. But no time to enjoy it. For life is short and death could be around any corner. And at that point, you start wishing you could bottle it. Brew more patience. And with it, the time to enjoy it. Patience. Patience.

That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It makes no sense. Does it not? Patience? I think you lost, buddy. On account of making the dumbest riddle. Has that been ringing for long? Just started.

Hello? Who is it? Oh, Claire, hi. It's Claire from Istanbul. Who is that? Oh, Claire, hi. It's Claire from Istanbul. Who is that? Interesting. So, um, Claire, did you manage to look up those things I asked you for? Oh, you did?

Cool. Um, what did you find? Stay tuned for the epilogue, but first the credits. This episode was written by Einstein Breger and Philip Thorne with script consultancy by Leanne Stoddard. It was edited by Philip Thorne with music and sound design by Frederick Barden. It featured Jordan Cobb as Jackie, Hemi Yeroham as Kozlowski,

Erin King as Mia, Torgny G. Ondero as Cole, and Benjamin Noble as Haynes. Graphic design by Anders Piedersen and production assistance by Marty Patival. You can follow us on Tumblr, Instagram and Twitter, and you can check out ameliapodcast.com for transcripts, artwork and merchandise. That's also where you can find out how to support the show and for patrons at the $5 tier we'll be releasing a brand new episode of the bonus series The Alvina Archives next week. Speaking of patrons, a shout out to our patrons. Sophia Anderson, Sophie Leviso, Jem Fiddick, Auburn Assant, Rushab Shukla, Amelie and Alison,

Stephanie Weitenhiller, Elizabeth Curry, Mince and such, Rafael Eduardo Vifas Verastaki, and J.K. Robbins. You're a very generous bunch, and we wouldn't be doing this without you. And now, the epilogue. Yes? What did they say? And now, the epilogue. Also, there's no Faculty of Medicine in Marmaris. Hello? I knew it. Can I come out?

They couldn't find any trace of Uncle Kushu. So he's been lying to us? There was no clinic, no face swapping? It's all just BS. It is rude to get out of the car to talk alone. What do you suggest we do? What is there to do? Are you talking about something interesting?

I can't hear you from in here. Shut up! We have to take this to Miss Kennedy, don't we? Why? He's been lying to us. So? What do you mean, so? We can't trust him.

Did you ever think we could? No, but... I say we keep going. Now we know he's lying, that gives us the upper hand. What upper hand? He might be leading us straight into a trap. Maybe. But that has not changed in the last four minutes. That was always the case. What we've just got from Istanbul is a reminder of who we're dealing with.

A master of deception. Who should be kept in a holding cell in London. We're already on our way to Scotland. We might as well follow the lead. And risk wasting our time? We spent ages back in London listening to his tall tales. Maybe this will give us something new. If it is a trap, we're prepared, aren't we? Perhaps we could even catch one of his accomplices if they try to free him. Or he might actually want to tell us something, in which case going to Scotland could teach us something useful.

You're just addicted to being in the field. Please. Going to Scotland is a waste of time. Going to London is a waste of time. We don't know when Miss Kennedy would have time to see us. We could be waiting for ages. Are you two having an argument perhaps i could mediate listen jackie with all due respect this is not the kind of decision we should be making by ourselves i disagree so how do we solve this toss a coin sure i i don have cash though yeah I've got one heads or tails

heads tails let's keep going you're driving fine what did you two talk about? Are you planning my birthday? Please, just be quiet for a bit. It's my turn to sleep. You like silence, don't you? Ah, yes. Is she asleep? I think so. I think my riddle tired her out. Please do not tell me riddles.

I promise I won't. You should turn right after the bridge. Um, no. Right after the bridge. We're going left now. You just did a U-turn. What are you doing? We're going back to London. The Fable & Folly Network.

Where fiction producers flourish. It begins, as terrible things often do, with a knife. People of Hertha! Chosen children of the night! A lost soul has come to us. I'm not sure if I can do this. It's always better if you just do it quick. You came to St Kilda to escape your past, but the past isn't so easy to outrun. killed her to escape your past. But the past isn't so easy to outrun. You always say you're changing, but underneath you're just the same.

She was a child, Lockie. You liar! Did you really believe this community would accept you? I think you're meant to be here. A little bird told me that you're a liar. All of this, it comes with a cost, Lock Lucky. Did you really believe you could find redemption? The time for excuses is over. The Secret of St. Kilda, available wherever you get your podcasts. Listen to season one now and remember, there is no change

without sacrifice.