Kevin has a dream in which he's not in a wheelchair anymore: he runs downstairs, complaining to his family that he's going to be late for school. They're all indifferent, absorbed in their own activities -- and they remind him that he's not in school anymore. His father wonders if anyone's noticed Kevin's legs are on fire. The family takes note but doesn't really react. Kevin looks down, and indeed his legs are on fire. Kevin wakes up hollering for help; Mom and Dad come running. Luke and Joan get out of bed, too; Will assures them everything's fine.
In Kevin's room, Helen soothes Kevin, telling him it was just a dream. Kevin says he was on fire. Will: "I'll get you some water." Kevin: "Dad, I'm not really on fire..." Ha! Will's going to get him some water anyway. Kevin tells his mother how real the dream was. She reminds him the doctor said he'd have dreams like this for a while. He says it was his legs that were on fire. She offers him something to help him sleep. He declines. Mom: "Drink the water anyway; it'll make your father happy." Kevin smiles at her. She strokes his head. He says, "Mom, when I woke up...my legs hurt." She nods: "In your dream." He says, "No, when I woke up. They were hurting." She looks stricken. Dad arrives with the glass of water, which he must have had to order in. I mean, it's a good-sized house and all, but how long does it take to get some water? Kevin pulls himself up, drinks a bit of water, hands the glass back to his father, and lowers himself again. He smiles at his father, saying he'll be fine now. Will takes off. I don't get the impression he's all that great at knowing what to do with his nineteen-year-old paraplegic son who's having nightmares. Helen stays put to ask, "Hurting how?" He doesn't remember: "I guess I was still dreaming." He lies down, and Helen kisses him and turns off the light. She lingers at the door to look at him, confused. Credits.
It's morning in the Girardi house. Joan looks in the fridge, complaining there's nothing to eat. Mom: "Keep looking...there might be something hidden behind all that food." Dad walks into the kitchen, yakking on the phone with someone he calls "Sir." I love the colour of the shirt Joe Mantegna's wearing; it's a warm light brown colour that's very flattering on him. Joan sneers, "'Sir?' Who does he call 'Sir'?" Luke says it's his boss. Joan says he doesn't have a boss. Luke: "Sure he does: the commissioner, the mayor, the attorney general, Mom..." Will argues with someone about whether or not the FBI has jurisdiction in a case he's working on. Helen admonishes Joan for eating some kind of Cheesy Poof snack. Joan: "What? It's just cheese and bread." Will finishes his call and waves off the food his wife offers, saying, "I can't eat a half an hour after talking to the mayor; it's like swimming." Luke mutters that that's reverse logic. Helen and Joan ask if Will's talking about the Reinemann case, in which a three-year-old boy has gone missing. Joan says she read in the paper that it's been six weeks and they have no leads. Will says it's been four days, and they have leads. How could Joan think that it's been six weeks? Even if that's what the paper said, which seems unlikely, if it had only been four days, wouldn't it be hard to think it had happened six weeks ago? In my experience, whenever a child goes missing locally, it's front-page news for the first few days or weeks. Her father asks, "And when did you start reading the paper?" Joan: "Actually, I saw it on TV. Didn't make you guys look very good." Will: "That's a surprise. Where's Kevin?" Helen says he left early to go job-hunting. Will asks, in a way that's supposed to be subtle, I guess, if everything was okay. Luke: "You mean after his screaming nightmare?" His parents don't answer, and Luke turns to look at them: "You guys are completely inept at subterfuge." The doorbell rings, and Luke and Joan both jump up to get it. Joan tells Luke, "This one's mine. You got the Jehovah's Witness." Hee! Not that I've ever, you know, given someone a hard time when they come knocking on the door of my home to proselytize about their religion. Heaven forfend. Luke relents.
Joan answers the door to find a Mindy Cohn-ish postal worker there (though it's not Mindy Cohn, but Wendy Worthington), asking her to sign for a package. Joan's pleased, until she's asked for $6.50 in postage. She hollers for her mother, but Not-Mindy says, "Uh-huh. You got twelve dollars in your pocket that you were going to use to buy a frappuccino and a muffin when you skipped history class after lunch, which by the way, do not do that." Joan's so busted. She says, "Oh, God. You are just a three-ring circus, aren't you?" I like the way she talks to God, but I think I'd be more afraid of the potential smiting if I actually believed I were talking to God. Postal Worker God smiles and says, "Okay, price went up. Give me the whole twelve." Taking the words right out of my head, Joan demands to know, "What are you gonna do with money?" Postal Worker God: "It's not what I'm gonna do with it. It's what you're gonna do without it." Joan: "Any guess as to when this is gonna end? First a job in a bookstore, then AP Chemistry...how do you top that?" Postal Worker God reminds her that she doesn't have to accept the package. Joan sneers, "Oh yeah, okay. And I can also take the blue pill. Hand it over." She takes it, fishes out her money, and hands the crumpled wad to Postal Worker God, who regards the wad and says, "In me you trust. Not entirely true." She leaves as Joan opens the package, finding a book about mastering chess. Joan's ripped off: "Chess? Hey, I do not play chess!" Never mind that: this was directed by Josh Brand! He's directed some great stuff, especially Northern Exposure, which was one of my favourite shows. That bodes well.
Arcadia Central Division. Will arrives at work, to be told by Daghlian and his assistant that the woman waiting in his office is a psychic. Will: "Not in my office, she's not." Daghlian says she's there for the missing kid case, and the Reinemanns asked for it: "We have to try everything, or risk being exposed legally." Will doesn't work with psychics. Daghlian says the mayor is on board, and she's had success with other squads. Will tells Daghlian to work with her since it's his case. Daghlian: "Yeah, but...she's in your office." As Daghlian takes off, Will's assistant brings him the tea the psychic asked for. He takes it in, hands it to her, and gives her his name, adding, "But you probably already know that." She replies, "Gee. I've never heard that one before." He says he didn't mean it quite that way. She's played by HITG! Lee Garlington, who's been on practically every show on television. If you've never seen her, you must be roommates with Walt Disney. He does tell her he's not into this whole paranormal thing, and that he's being forced into it. She introduces herself: "My name is Charlotte Bloome, since you neglected to ask, and here again, I'm shocked to find a cop who's skeptical about my profession." Will says they might as well try to make it work: "How does it work?" If you don't have any idea about it, how do you know that it doesn't? She suggests he brief her on the case: "And no, I don't know what's in [the file]."
Grace slams Joan's locker shut: "Tell your brother to stop with the aftershave. First, he has nothing to shave. Second, it smells like pickled eggs. And third, he sits behind me and I'm allergic. I have, like, one working sinus left." I'm with you, sister. Perfume and scented products are a special kind of olfactory, neurological hell. I guess they have other classes together, because in Chemistry Grace sits behind him. Joan asks, "Why don't you do it yourself?" Grace asks her to take care of it. Grace's "friends," and I use the word advisedly, from the first episode are watching nearby, and when Grace takes off, they walk over to get in Joan's grill. Scylla and Charybdis are wearing, respectively, a baby pink jacket and a hot pink T-shirt. Hate the baby pink jacket. Scylla's all, "You know her?" Joan says she doesn't really; they're in AP Chem together. Charybdis says she thought Joan's brother was the geek. Joan drops her chess book, and Scylla picks it up (highly unlikely she'd stoop -- literally -- to such lowly and kindly labour, but whatever) and expresses her incredulity. Joan says it's not hers. She snatches it back and starts walking. Charybdis and Scylla follow and flank her, as Scylla asks if it's true that Grace is a big lesbo. Joan has no idea; she hardly knows her. Scylla says there's a big pool going in a gym class and they want Joan to find out. Joan wonders if she's just supposed to ask her. Charybdis tells her to apply the fingernail test (which I had never heard of): ask her to look at her fingernails. If she holds her hand out with her palm facing away, as if admiring a ring, "not gay." If she folds her fingers over her palm and turns her nails toward herself: "gay." Scylla dismisses that test as "so unreliable." Yeah, but seeing the size of the fist gives you an idea...never mind. I suppose it works in reverse for guys? ["There's also a sole-of-the-shoe test, if I recall correctly, which works on the same principle. I had no idea kids still did that in our post-Will & Grace world." -- Sars] Scylla advises talking about some hot guy and seeing how she reacts. Yeah, now there's a reliable test. Because no gay person in the history of the world has ever pretended to find someone of the opposite sex attractive in order to pass. Frankly, I think the fingernail test is more reliable. Charybdis blurts out, "Dax Hibbing!" She and Scylla both swoon. Joan has no idea what that is. Sounds like either a tropical disease or somebody who should be on some space show, though. Scylla: "Dax Hibbing? The captain of the wrestling team?" The wrestling team? The sport God invented as a gift to adolescent queers? Sure thing. Charybdis adds, "Anyone who doesn't get him is definitely gay." Joan says she doesn't know who he is. The girls just give her a snotty, disbelieving look. Joan insists, though, that if she knew who he was, she'd totally get him. Charybdis asks, "So you'll find out?" Joan: "Is it anybody's business?" Charybdis looks at Scylla like, "What are we doing with this loser?" The two of them go upstairs together as Charybdis says to Joan, "Okay. Chill." They mutter to each other as they wander off, "They protect each other." "It's another sign." "Like shoes."
Helen's come to see the doctor, who's surprised she's there, since Kevin isn't due for a while: "Everything all right?" She says it's fine. Doc: "Oh, yeah, that's convincing." He offers her some coffee. I don't know what kind of kick-ass HMO she's got where the doctors offer coffee, but I have probably had doctor visits in my life numbering in three digits, and never has a doctor offered me anything to drink. Helen says she probably could have just phoned. She tells him about Kevin's dream, and how his legs were hurting when he woke up. Doc says it's neuropathic pain, and "pretty textbook." Helen knows, but she says there's this one thing that's never come up. After all the tests had been done, "Dr. Slater told us Kevin would be paralyzed from the waist down because of the spinal cord injury. He said it's the saddest thing in the world to tell someone their son won't walk again." Doc agrees there's no good way to say that. Helen says she remembers thinking, "He didn't actually say Kevin will never walk again." She gives the doctor a warm, hopeful smile. Ah, she's overly literal, like me. Give it up, lady. Trust me on this. The doctor leans forward and says in a serious but not mean way, as the smile fades from her face, "Helen, Kevin's back was broken in three places. When the vertebrae collapsed, the nerves were damaged, the cord itself was compressed. The circulation was denied to that area, which rendered that part of his spinal cord essentially dead. He will never walk again. Ever." In a small, sad voice, she says, "I guess I just needed to hear it." The doctor understands. She thanks him and leaves, but she stops at the door: "'Essentially.'" He looks up. "You said, 'essentially dead.'" Seriously, Helen. You'll make yourself crazy. I know from experience. The doctor asks: "You want a number, don't you?" Wouldn't they have asked for that at the time of the injury? Wouldn't they have already gone through all the "is there any hope" stuff? The doctor "strongly advise[s] against it." Helen doesn't say anything. The doctor relents, and says, "Two percent chance that he'll walk again." Helen takes that in, sighs a bit, and thanks him.
AP Chem. They're doing some experiment. Grace glares forward at Luke's back and bitches, "Do you smell that? It's like Essence of Pimp!" Joan agrees that it's pretty bad. Luke surreptitiously sniffs his shirt. For a smart kid, he's chosen an oddly clueless way to try to appeal to someone like Grace, who doesn't strike me as the type to care for cologne (an impression I had before the ranting at the beginning of this episode). Joan: "It's really...girly. It's hard to believe he's straight." Grace: "Hard to believe and hard to care." She tosses some bit of something -- a spitball, I guess -- at him. He turns around and raises his hands at her, as if to say, "What's your problem?" He swivels around again. Joan keeps pressing on in her incredibly subtle way: "You know, I know he's not really your type. I know he isn't mine." Grace looks at her like she's a bit of a freak. Joan adds, "If he weren't my brother." Joan bumbles along, saying she's more into the athletic type: "You know, that's my thing. Um, football players, wrestlers, abs, big forearms." Grace: "Small cerebral cortex." Snerk. They've got Adam's attention now; he's been listlessly working to them. He asks incredulously, "Wrestlers?" Joan nods in his direction and says, "Mm-hmm," unconvincingly. Grace flicks something off a scale at Luke. Joan continues, "Like, Dax Hibbing. Wow." Grace: "Calm down! Breathe in bags." Joan: "What, you don't get him?" Ms. Lischak whams her pointer down on the desk between them, having wandered up behind them unnoticed: "Ladies! Are we discussing ions?" Grace: "No, wrestlers. But we're done." The teacher takes off, and Grace and Joan just glare ahead. Adam asks again, "Wrestlers?" Joan tells him to mind his own business. Adam looks troubled.
Daghlian says the kid was with his mother at the park; she went to get some lemonade and then he vanished. Charlotte says, "Nobody saw anything." Will says they're still following up witness statements. Charlotte: "That wasn't a question." She wants to go to the crime scene, and says it would be helpful to have something that belonged to the missing boy, and also for the parents to be there. Will doesn't think that's a good idea. Charlotte says the parents' energy is very conducive to the process. Will thinks it's wrong to put them through that again. Daghlian suggests letting the Reinemanns decide for themselves.
Joan goes back to the empty chemistry classroom for a forgotten jacket. When she turns around, there's Cute Guy God again, perched on desk, reading something. Joan: "What are you doing? You can't be here." He smiles and says, "Hmm...and yet, I am." He tells her to walk with him. She refuses, saying people are going to see her. Cute Guy God: "Yes, they are. That optic nerve was an inspired idea, wasn't it?" Joan: "I meant that they'll see you." Cute Guy God: "Yeah, I've noticed that this look turns a lot of heads." Joan: "It's called being hot." He says, "You didn't read the book, did you?" Joan sneers, "Oh, like you don't know. 'Cain, where's your brother?'" Hee! I know it's probably totally uncool to talk about how much I love this show (and look what it got me with The West Wing) -- but I love this show. Joan: "Hmm. Very passive-aggressive." Cute Guy God nods in that appearing-to-agree-but-not-really-agreeing way. She's suddenly mindful of the potential for smiting, and adds, "Some of it. I couldn't really follow it. I'm not that bright, you know. My brother would be much better for this, if I could recommend someone to take my place." She starts to walk out, and he says it would have been so much better had she read the book: "Now I'm going to have to send you to the basement." I knew right away that there must be a chess club meeting in the basement, but Joan thinks he's talking about hell. He tells her to check out the school basement.
She goes down to the basement, past a stack of chairs that are almost exactly what I want for my dining room chairs, except in a black finish. It's deserted, and she tries a couple of doors until she opens one where a bunch of chess nerds are gathered around tables, heads bent over their chess boards. The teacher, in a navy sweater vest over a plum shirt and tie, asks if she's looking for the chess club. When Joan reluctantly admits she is, she's asked for the secret password, which is "The Picard Manoeuvre." Like she has any chance of guessing that. I kid. He just smiles and invites her in, saying they can always use another "wood-pusher." Is that, like, actual chess lingo?
After the commercials, Joan's in the cafeteria line with Charybdis and Scylla. She asks if she can sit with them. If you're really friends with someone, you don't need to ask that. Charybdis snots, "I don't know...'is it anybody's business?'" Joan says she asked, and Grace didn't tell. Scylla's all "whatever." They're sitting at a table when a tall blonde siren with ironed hair, wearing a powder blue, cable-knit sweater, comes up to them and asks, "Joan Girardi?" Charybdis and Scylla look at Joan. The siren asks if Joan knows her, and introduces herself as Lynnie Carmichael. Joan: "I guess I do now." Lynnie announces, "I am going to cut you off at the knees. I will rip your hair out, one root at a time." Charybdis and Scylla say nothing. Joan says, "Ow...seems like we just met." Lynnie: "You do not mess with my boyfriend." Joan tries to find out who her boyfriend is, so she can avoid messing with him. Lynnie says, "Nice try. Consider yourself warned." Okay, so far the only girl in this school other than Joan who isn't a stereotyped, two-dimensional, flat-out beeyotch is Grace. Lynnie flounces off, and Joan asks her "friends" who her boyfriend is. Charybdis: "Dax Hibbing." Scylla: "You hit on Dax Hibbing?" Joan says she doesn't know him. Scylla: "Are you insane? They are such a unit. You can't get in there!" Joan insists that she doesn't know the guy. Scylla: "You are either a complete freak...or my hero." She and Charybdis look at each other and nod slightly in unison. Oy. Please dump these two, as soon as humanly possible.
Will, Daghlian, and Charlotte are at the park with the parents. Will and Lt. Daghlian walk around the park as Will bitches about taxpayers' money being used for this charade, while Charlotte talks to the parents. Daghlian wonders why it bothers him so much: "It's just an exercise." Will says: "Because she's wasting our time and she's exploiting those people's pain." Mrs. Reinemann comes running over to Will and says, "He's alive! Charlotte says he's alive. But we don't have much time." Her husband tells him that Charlotte got the image of a car. Charlotte describes a small, white, beat-up car; she sees the numbers 2 and 4 on the license plate. Neither of the cops reacts much, and she suggests, "You might want to write that down." Will sarcastically asks if she happened to zone in on an address. Charlotte says it doesn't work that way. The father volunteers that she said it was a man, and adds that he lured Eric away with a puppy. The mother exhorts her, "Tell him about the barn." Charlotte's gotten a flash of a red barn, somewhere in the country. There's a farm, and some hay. Do tell. Charlotte asks to speak to Will alone. She asks, "What is your problem?" He's glad she asked. He complains about the waste of time and how he wants to be doing regular police work, like gathering evidence, interviewing and evaluating witnesses, slogging through the tip line: "We've actually found missing kids this way!" She reminds him that they haven't found this one.
Joan runs into Grace on the stairs at school and says, "Hey, thanks a lot!" Grace doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, so she just says, "Mmm...you're welcome? However, I'm picking up a lack of sincerity here." Joan follows her, sniping, "You know, that's a nice act, pretending you're disenfranchised and oh-so not a part of the high school antics." Grace says she just wanted to get Luke to knock it off with the reeking aftershave, but she's sorry she brought it up. Joan accuses her of telling everybody she was in love with Dax Hibbing: "I don't even know the guy! Now his girlfriend is threatening to rip my hair out!" Grace replies, "This may come as a shock to you, but you and your sexual fantasies do not take up any space in my brain." Joan, oblivious to the fact that they've started to make a scene, and other students have hushed to listen to what they're arguing about: "Whatever. Just stop spreading rumours about me." Luke and Adam are nearby, and Adam asks, "Did she say..." Joan's walked off, and Grace follows after her (and Adam and Luke aren't far behind), saying, "Hey, Streaky!" Hee! "Streaky." That's cute. This probably isn't the best time for Joan to try out "Butch" as an affectionate nickname for Grace, though. "I don't think about you, one way or another. But while we're on the subject of puerile high school behaviour, you think I'm not onto your stupid sexual preference quiz? I didn't take the Dax Hibbing bait, so that means I'm singing in the other choir? The only thing more obvious than that is a fingernail test. My sexuality is my business!" Joan turns to look at her. Grace marches off, and Joan's expression reveals that she knows Grace is right.
At the chess club, Joan is playing chess against some young chess punk while the teacher yammers on about some "struggle on in the face of adversity" crap. Whatever, Teachy. He comes over to watch Joan's game as she makes a move. Her partner says, "Interesting...Fianchetto." Joan complains she has no idea what she's doing. Her partner is wearing an über-dorky printed turtleneck sweater. He scorns Joan's apparent confusion: "Yeah, like I'm falling for that." Joan: "The horse can jump people, right?" Turtleneck: "That's funny." The teacher asks how it's going. Turtleneck comments, "She's bold. Kudos for the Dresden variation. But I'm about to take her queen." Joan wonders which one the queen is. Turtleneck: "Oh yeah, you're psyching me out." Joan moves a piece -- I can't see which one -- and asks, "Can I do that?" Turtleneck: "Whoa! I should have seen that!" He gets up from the table and walks out, saying, "I should have seen it!" He storms out, complaining about being bested in six moves by a girl. Get a grip, boy. Also? Join the twenty-first century. Women wear pants and own property and shit. Joan asks, "What happened? Did I win?" The teacher sits opposite her and asks, "Who do you study with?" Joan says she doesn't study: "I tried to read a book." He laughs, not buying a word of it: "Where have you been, Ms. Girardi?"
Charlotte finds Will in his office listening to the tip hotline. She asks if they can talk off the record. He says he's not a reporter, and he gestures to a chair. She tells him she died in a car accident when she was twenty-nine. And while she didn't see a tunnel or angels or what have you, when she recovered, she was different. A doctor told her it wasn't unusual for those who'd had near-death experiences. She says she starting having dreams that came true, and weird visions, and seemed to be able to hear people's thoughts. She doesn't understand how it works, but she decided that as long as she possessed this "bizarre ability," she should use it to help people. Will: "And get paid for it. Help people for a price." Charlotte, predictably: "Yeah. Like you." He ignores that, and gets up to put on his jacket. She watches him for a moment, and asks, "Is it because of the tragedy? I mean, that this makes you so angry and unwilling?" He keeps putting on his jacket, but you can tell she's caught him off-guard. As he turns to look at her, she says, "You've had a tragedy." Will: "Who hasn't?" Word. His assistant comes to his door to tell him his family's there. He says to Charlotte: "Excuse me. It's restaurant night."
He walks out and greets Helen, who apologizes for interrupting. Will says it's fine. Joan's got an unflattering grey toque (you know, as opposed to the flattering kind) pulled over her hair and seems to be looking through a mug book. Will greets Kevin with, "Hey, Slugger, how'd the job search go?" Kevin replies, "Well, the dry cleaners really seemed to recognize my particular talent, but I don't wanna get my hopes up." I don't think Will knows what to do with Kevin's sarcasm -- even less than Helen does. But I certainly enjoy it. Charlotte comes out of Will's office, and Will introduces her as "working with them on a case." Helen introduces herself and the kids. Joan briefly says hello and asks, "Dad, can I put a word in for sushi?" Everyone voices their objections to this, and Will says they're going for spaghetti: "End of discussion." He remembers he left his pager behind, and goes back for it. Charlotte seems intrigued by Joan. Helen asks if Charlotte's a detective; she tells Helen she's a psychic. Helen thinks that's interesting. Charlotte: "Your daughter has a very special connection to the universe." Joan looks up and says, "No, I don't." Luke: "No, it's true. She is from another planet." Kevin laughs as Joan gives Luke a shove. Now Kevin's caught Charlotte's attention, and she walks over to whisper something in his ear. ("Tell your brother to lay off the aftershave.") Everyone looks slightly concerned as she's doing so, not least Kevin. Will emerges from his office just in time to see the end of that. Charlotte leaves, telling Helen she has a lovely family. Will asks Kevin what she said to him. Kevin claims it was nothing. Will presses a bit, and Kevin insists it was nothing: "Let's go. I'm starving." He wheels out, leaving the family looking vaguely concerned and uncomfortable.
After the commercials, it's a new day, and Helen goes back to the Arcadia DMV to talk to the parking lot priest, a.k.a. Reverend Useless. It wasn't made entirely clear that he was a priest the first time around, though people referred to him almost exclusively that way in the forums. I know, I know, the collar -- but Protestant clergy wear those too. So I defaulted to that -- brought up Baptist and all that, you know. Anyway. I looked him up on JoanofArcadia.com, and his name is Father Ken Mallory. That sorted, my question is: Is this really something a priest would spend his time doing? Wouldn't he have bigger fish to fry (well, especially on Fridays...wait, didn't they do away with that in Vatican II? Somebody post about that in the forums, please) than collecting money for the homeless like a temp agency Santa at Christmas? Especially if, as he claims, he's in charge of a parish. Unless maybe this is his penance for something. Helen begins, "I don't know if you remember me..." Father Mallory looks nervous as he replies in the affirmative. She says she's late for work but has one quick question. He reminds her that he has a parish, and an office, and an assistant. Helen repeats that she just has one quick question. He tells her that the question of suffering stretches back to the Fall: "There isn't a parking lot version." Helen says she's onto a whole other subject: "This is about miracles." The priest looks down briefly, saying, "Oh, no." Heh. But is that very professional? A clergyperson should have more aplomb.
Helen: "Okay. Is it wrong to pray for them -- personal miracles, I mean. Not 'world peace' or 'save the planet,' nothing altruistic. Just plain old, shopping-list, God-as-Santa, 'give me this one thing and I will stop smoking!'" There's a frantic edge to her voice. Father Ken thinks she should stop smoking for herself. She says she doesn't smoke. He tries again to suggest that she come to his office; it would go better, and they could have tea if she came to see him there. Man, I don't know why he's so jittery about trying to talk to her there. Most religious officiants I have ever met have been thrilled to be engaged on the subject of spirituality just about any place and any time. In fact, I avoid bringing it up unless I'm prepared to invest some time and energy into the whole discussion. Of course, I haven't been as labile and desperate as Helen most of those times. She explains that she was raised Catholic and she was taught not to pray for specific things: "But there is this one miracle that I would really, really like to have. It's like something you see in a store and you can't stop thinking about it and you start to believe it already belongs to you and it's just misplaced. But is it wrong? Can it actually do harm to pray for something you want?" Father Ken, painfully conscious of what Helen wants to hear, says, "I think prayer can never hurt, as long as you understand you might not recognize the answer right away. Most miracles occur in hindsight." Good answer. Helen thinks about that, and starts to reach into her purse to fish out some money for the donation kettle, as consternation covers her face and she asks, "Why don't I ever feel better after I talk to you?" Father Ken shrugs, "I don't know." Helen races off.
Will and Daghlian are walking through a large, picturesque red barn out in the country. Daghlian thinks it's odd that they drove around for fifteen minutes and found a red barn. Clearly he's never been to the country before, because about the only colour of barn more readily found than red is a weathered grey. Will likewise scorns the whole thing: "And Madame Blavatsky gets a hit. What are the odds?" As Will stoops to pick up a horseshoe, he reminds his lieutenant that the longer this takes, the more likely it is they're looking for a body. As he hangs up the horseshoe (in the wrong orientation -- prongs down), he hears Mrs. Reinemann yelling, "Oh my God! Oh my God!" They run out of the barn and into Charlotte, who says that everything's fine. The parents come running around the corner; Mrs. Reinemann is waving a tattered stuffed animal which she says is her son Eric's toy, Toby. Daghlian takes it to put into an evidence bag. The parents embrace each other. Will says he'll call for a unit. Charlotte says, "Chief...you should get your guys to comb the area." Will: "Is that how it's done?"
Joan rounds a corner in the hallway at school, and some smarmy guy in a letter jacket who reminds me slightly of Joe from Say Anything tries to get her attention, giving her the once-over as she walks along, puzzled. She says she's going to be late for class. He says this'll be quick, and asks for her phone number so he can call her tonight. Joan: "Who are you?" Letter Jacket says, "Look, don't let Lynnie scare you. It's good for her to be jealous. Keeps her on her toes." Joan: "Oh...you're Dax." He tells her, "It's too late to play it cool. It's all over town." There aren't even words for how much I don't miss high school, pretty much every minute of which was a living nightmare. The principal comes up to Joan to tell her to come to his office. He warns Dax that he'll be coming to the office too if he misses the bell. Joan gives Dax a vaguely disgusted look and follows the principal.
When she gets there, her mother and the chess club supervisor, Mr. Poplin, are also there. At first when I saw her mother I thought, "Man, they called her mother in?" Then I remembered that Helen works there, though lately she spends more time running around doing Kevin-related errands. Joan stumbles over her greetings and then says as confidently as possible, "I didn't do it." The principal tells her she's not in trouble. Then he tells her he's got great news: "I have to admit, I was concerned when you wanted to take AP Chem, but recent events prove that you have some scientific talent of which only you are aware. And we're happy you're finding a way to express it." Joan has no idea what she's talking about. Mr. Poplin tells her that her mad chess skillz border on genius. Come on -- after one game, he's concluded this? Shouldn't she have to play several games, at least, to prove it's not a fluke? The Credulity Strain-o-Meter is back from the shop, and I don't want it busted again. Helen asks, "Why didn't you tell anyone? Did Luke teach you?" She says no one taught her: "It was an accident." Mr. Poplin says she beat their highest-ranked player. Joan insists that she didn't mean to. Her mother exults. The principal says they want her to represent the school in a regional chess tournament. It's just a few months off, so she's going to have to put in extra time after school. Joan puts the kibosh on that pretty quick: "I don't know how to play chess!" The adults all laugh.
The vicinity of the barn is swarming with cops and search dogs, and Will's on the phone placating the mayor about the efforts they're making out there. Will notices Mr. Reinemann walking slowly toward him in a bit of a stupor. Will concludes the call and asks the father what's wrong. Mr. Reinemann: "I don't know how to say this..." I figured he was about to confess to abducting the child himself. Instead, he says that that stuffed animal isn't Toby; he just found Eric's toy in the trunk of his car. He's never seen that toy they found. Will barely reacts to this news. The father turns and walks slowly away.
Joan enters the chess room in the basement. The room is empty except for one man, who reminds me slightly of Richard Pryor, arranging chess pieces on a board at a table in the middle. ["I love John Marshall Jones. Fans of John Doe might remember him from that; he played Frank." -- Sars] Joan wonders where the chess club members are. Chess Guy says, "They all went home. I'll be working with you today." Joan sits down opposite him, telling him she doesn't know how to play chess. Chess Guy: "Well, that's fairly obvious." Joan sighs, "God." Frink immediately dubs him "Smoove G." She admits to being very glad to see him for once, because her life is completely unravelling: "I'm up to my eyeballs in the drama of the high school mating ritual, and now, thanks to you, I've been mistaken as the school chess champion. How did this happen to me?" Smoove G: "Which part?" Joan wants to know how she beat that kid at chess. Smoove G: "He was using logic; you weren't. It's impossible to guard against chaos." Tell me about it. "It's rare, but it happens." Frink comments, "There's no public school that can afford a chess set like that." It's a set with rather elaborately carved, tall, humanoid figurines. Smoove G moves a piece and says, "Black's move." Joan doesn't want to. Smoove G gives her a look, and she reluctantly moves a pawn. She says weakly, "I don't know how to play this game." Smoove G points out that she's playing it anyway. Joan: "Because I'm forced to!" Smoove G: "'Forced to'? Your friends make a suggestion, which you follow up on, and then you're surprised at the outcome. It's a causal universe."
Smoove G moves a piece, and tells her to move. Joan asks, "I'm being punished because I made a tiny little effort to fit in?" Smoove G explains: "It's not about punishment. It's that actions have consequences. And to be in denial of that is to be disengaged from the laws of the universe, which renders you powerless and vulnerable to an inordinate amount of pain." So that must be what I'm doing wrong. He adds, "Other than that, it's not big deal. Move." Joan picks up one pawn, starts to move it, and then changes her mind. She starts to move a different piece, and Smoove G says, "No." He explains the rule called "touch move": "Once you touch a piece, you have to play that piece." Joan: "I'm not allowed to change my mind? What kind of universe is that?" Smoove G: "Oh, you can change your mind, but you still have to play that piece, so you should think before you move." So much for chaos. Joan thinks aloud, saying that this is a metaphor. She looked it up and this is definitely an example. She moves the pawn she originally selected, and says, "I took the bait. So now I'm in the game. How do I get out?" Smoove G: "There are many ways to get out: surrender is one, losing is another. Winning, cheating -- which I don't recommend -- but you have to do something. You have to have a strategy. See, the number one rule of chess is this: whatever you do, don't play the other person's game. Play your own." Smoove G moves: "Your move." Joan looks slightly troubled. The scene ends with an overhead shot of the two of them and the board. If I knew enough about chess, I could probably make some incisive commentary about the game in progress, but I don't, so you're on your own.
Kevin wheels into Joan's room, asking to borrow her hair dryer: "So I can look extra-handsome for my job interview at Wiener World?" I, like many viewers, am still wondering how Kevin gets from one floor to another in this house. I've seen two stairways now, the central one and the one leading into the kitchen, and neither of them had chair lifts so far as I could see. I highly doubt this house has three staircases. So did they install an elevator? Or will this just be one of those issues that's never addressed? Kevin finds her hair dryer as he yells for her one more time. She pops up from under the covers and says, "What?" She gives him a start, and he points the hair dryer at her, saying, "Don't. Scare. The cripple! My fight-or-flight impulse is very confused." Hee! As he's about to leave, he asks what she was doing. Maybe when you burst into your teenage sister's room and you find her hiding under the covers, that's a question best not asked. Just saying. Joan says she was imagining that she was in a coma. She flops back down on the bed and pulls the sheet over her head. She makes frustrated gestures under the sheet as she whines, "It's not so bad. I hate school. I have no friends. I can't fit in. I don't know who I like. I'm miserable...and I've got this zit in my ear! Ow!" Kevin tells her the last part was TMI, but agrees that high school sucks. She throws the sheet off and sneers, "Didn't suck for you! You were, like, the star!" Kevin admits he was part of the "in" crowd: "I just got to see the jerks closer up. Why do you think I spent so much time playing sports? I didn't like that social thing so much. Those people were mean. It was boring. I wanted to play my own game." Joan sits right up and says, "Oh my God...somebody just said that to me yesterday...about chess." Kevin says it's the basic rule of any sport: "Otherwise, you're always on the defensive posture; you're always reacting to the other guy..." Joan, still skeptical: "You really...weren't happy in high school? I mean, you really felt like a reject sometimes?" Kevin says everybody does, even the ones who claim otherwise. He assures her: "Hey...you...you are going to find some people who totally get what a non-repulsive sub-defective you are. Just trust in yourself a little bit. You'll figure it out." Joan looks like she wants to believe him. Kevin adds, "And if you need me to roll over anybody...let me know." Joan smiles. He smiles that big Ritter smile -- will I ever stop seeing his dad? -- and wheels out as Joan mumbles to herself, "Sub-defective..."
Helen's at the kitchen table with a bunch of papers and pamphlets when Will comes in, remarking that she's up early. She replies, "So are you," and seems not to have been expecting to be interrupted. He gripes about Charlotte and how much the search of the countryside cost the taxpayers. Helen says it was an interesting coincidence. Will sits down at the table with his coffee (which is in one of those mugs with a photo printed on it; the photo is of the three kids -- aw) and says, "Coincidences aren't interesting. They're common. They happen to the average person ten times a day, but nobody puts the SWAT team on alert." Helen reminds him that she's not the bad guy. Will smiles, apologizes, and kisses her cheek. He catches sight of the stuff she's looking at, as Helen says it's nothing. Will reads: "Holistic healing? Chakra energy? Lourdes?" Helen claims she's not taking Kevin to Lourdes: "I was just curious about alternative medicine." Will says, "No." She asks what he means. He tells her, "You can't do this. You can't let yourself go down this path of magical thinking, Helen." She replies, "I am just contemplating all the possibilities. What harm can that do?" Will: "Plenty. You think this is good for Kevin, dragging him around to quacks instead of letting him get on with his life the way it is? He's driving now. He's looking for a job. This is what we wanted, what you wanted." Helen explains, "I'm not looking for magic. It's more like..." Will: "What? Miracles?" She says she was raised to believe in them. Will: "So was I. I was an altar boy, for God's sake. And then I grew up." Someone once wrote on my boards that she thought "raised Catholic" might be the largest religion in the U.S. Sometimes I think that's true.
Helen, slightly agitated, says, "Well, I will tell you something, Will. I was happier when I believed it." Will gets up and kneels to her: "Helen...our boy is paralyzed. His spine is irreparably damaged. There are no miracles. There is no magic. God is not coming down to fix it, and nothing is going to change. Please, don't leave me alone knowing that." Before Helen can say anything, Joan comes down the stairs, having overheard some of their conversation. She apologizes, and her mother says it's okay, asking if she's hungry and offering to make breakfast. Joan declines and runs back upstairs. Good scene; nice work from both Mary and Joe. (Get it? Mary and Joseph? Har. I can't take credit for noticing that, though -- someone else pointed it out to me.) I'm starting to feel like I get Will more, and get their relationship better. Helen = Mulder and Will = Scully.
At the police station, Daghlian tells Will he's brought in a caller from the tip line, who thinks a neighbour in his building might have the missing boy. Will snipes that it sounds awfully scientific. The witness says the lady door to him has always been weird; she "keeps to herself, doesn't seem to have a job," and he thinks maybe she lives on disability. Well, that's probably what my neighbours think about me, too. It's called being a freelance writer, people. And don't even get me started on how it's hardly a crime to keep to oneself. Frankly, I think it's a service to humanity. There are a lot of people who could stand to keep a lot more to themselves, and I'm willing to name names. He's seen her with a little kid she claims is an orphaned nephew she's adopting. He verifies that it's the same kid when they show him a picture.
At school, Joan and Luke are walking through the halls, and Joan's telling them about the fight their parents were having. Luke shrugs it off, saying they've always had fights. Joan says this was different, because they were fighting about God. Luke says they've always fought about that: "Mom wanted to get married in the Church, and Dad didn't. You know, blah blah blah. God and money: it's basically what adults fight about." Scylla and Charybdis suddenly ooze up and tell Joan they need to talk. Scylla's hair is looking particularly bad, as if she'd had it in corn rows for two or three days and just took it out. Joan: "About what?" Charybdis: "Your behaviour." Scylla: "It's so not cool. Flirting in the hall with Dax for everyone to see? Lynnie cried all through World Geography." Maybe she's just upset about the disputes in Jammu and Kashmir. I know I am. Charybdis warns Joan, "Stealing someone's boyfriend does not look good on the social résumé." Joan points out, "I did not flirt with him. He came up to me." They look at her with disbelief; Scylla purses her lips obnoxiously. Joan just stares at them, finally saying: "You know what...bite me." She walks away. Charybdis: "Oh...that's charming." They follow her. Luke says, "Can you just leave my sister alone?" Yeah, that's forceful. Scylla calls back, "Back off, pinhead!" Luke: "Hey! That's Mister Pinhead to you!" Joan stops and turns, and says, "You know what? I don't care about Dax Hibbing, or Lynnie Carmichael, or my 'social résumé' or who's gay or who's not!" Grace is in the doorway behind Joan, but Joan doesn't see her. Joan continues, "I can't spend my time on this planet worrying about that stuff! There's other things to do." Charybdis: "Like what? Chemistry and chess?" Joan: "Yeah! Like that. Those guys may be nerds but at least they know what they're here for." Scylla and Charybdis flounce off without any parting insults, which I find hard to believe. Grace also slips away before Joan can see her. Luke walks up and says, "You called me a nerd." Good gravy, it can't be the first time. Maybe he's pleased about it. Joan says it was a metaphor.
A dowdy older woman is chopping vegetables in her bright, pleasant kitchen as Will and Daghlian question her. She says it's very sad about the missing boy, and offers them coffee or tea. They decline. A white poodle in a basket near her feet growls and runs down the hall. Predictable, much? Will says some of her neighbours reported seeing the boy in this building, and wonders if she knows anything about that. She feigns ignorance. Will says, "I understand you have a son or nephew?" She says she lives alone, in a sad, "don't probe my misery" kind of way. Will keeps trying, saying her neighbours were sure there was a little boy living here. She claims that she babysits kids in the neighbourhood sometimes. Daghlian asks if she minds if they have a look around. She says calmly, "Yes, I do mind. I don't mean to be rude, but I know you'd need a warrant for that." Daghlian admits that's true. Will says they could get one and come back. They decide to do that. Will tries that "can I use the bathroom" ruse on her, but she's seen Law & Order before, and she ain't fooled. She suddenly turns around and points the chef's knife at his throat, growling, "No, you can't use the bathroom! You can't look around! You can leave me alone!" Dude, that sure went from zero to batshit crazy in short order. Daghlian pulls his gun and tells her to put the knife down. Will's pretty cool as she continues, "This is harassment! You can't just come in here and harass me like this! I know my rights! You need a warrant!" Daghlian keeps ordering her to put the knife down. Batshit Crazy Lady looks at him and asks, "What? Are you gonna shoot me?" Daghlian points out that pulling a knife on the chief of police is a shootable offense. She quivers a bit, her resolve weakens, and Will manages to take the knife from her. Daghlian cuffs her quickly. Down the hall, the little poodle is scratching at a door so that Will knows where to look for the kid. It's locked, and as Daghlian takes Batshit Crazy Lady out of her apartment, Will asks where the key is. She snarls, "Up my ass!" Daghlian: "Nice." Actually, I think I believe her. But somebody better Mirandize her soon, because she doesn't seem to have seen quite enough episodes of Law & Order to remember the warning. You don't want this one released on a technicality. Will busts the door open with his shoulder -- probably braced to find a body -- but finds little Eric playing happily and quietly on the floor with a bunch of Duplo blocks. They smile slightly at each other.
Joan's starting to eat her lunch alone outside when Grace comes up behind her and asks, "Gonna eat all that?" Joan's surprised, but asks if she wants some. Grace wants to know what it is. Joan: "Salami and stuff. My dad's Italian. To him, a sandwich is like an opera." Frink and I crack up. Grace sits down and accepts half the sandwich. Joan starts to apologize to Grace, and Grace interrupts, saying, "Yeah, the taking of the sandwich...it's a symbolic act designed to avoid direct confrontation. Don't blow it." Joan says, "Okay," and they eat quietly, side by side. Grace finds a pickle slice in her sandwich, and tosses it. I will be so bummed if these two don't become good friends. I would love to see more of Grace.
At the Girardi dinner table, Will's complaining about how Daghlian pointed out that Batshit Crazy Lady did have a white car, like Charlotte said, despite the many other things she got wrong. Helen asks, "She didn't get anything else right?" Will admits there was a dog, but the psychic said "a man with a puppy." I wonder if he told any of them that she pulled a knife on him. He seems like he'd keep that to himself. He reminds them that there was no barn involved. Joan tells them not to fight. Will says he's not, and that ultimately, after all the time spent with the psychic, the kid was found through regular police work. Helen: "It's a miracle you found him alive." Kevin and Luke look uncomfortable, and Helen says, smiling, "I don't mean a miracle!" Will smiles too. Joan: "Can I interrupt this moment of family tension to say that I will not be representing the school in the chess tournament?" Luke, skeptically: "Was that ever a possibility?" Joan says there was a brief moment of insanity. Helen wants to know why she would turn down such an honour. Joan reminds her that she doesn't know how to play chess, and wonders why no one believes her. Kevin laughs, and Luke says he believes her. Kevin raises his hand, too. Joan says she doesn't understand it. Luke says it's just strategy, and a little bit of living in the future. Will doesn't want to hear any more talk about the future. Luke: "That's how it works, Dad. You see four moves ahead, it's empirical. You see five moves ahead, it's still grounded in science. I mean, who knows where the demarcation is? Now, if you see twelve moves ahead, maybe you're crossing over into the psychic phenomenon. And maybe -- maybe that's what a psychic does; she just reads the board of life better than we do." Kevin's listened attentively to all this. Will says there are a million people with white cars and dogs. Kevin blurts out, "She said I'd dance at my wedding." Everyone's stunned silent. He adds, "That's what she told me." Helen and Will exchange glances. Kevin smirks, "Then again, she said Joan has a special connection to the universe, so go figure." Joan tries to maintain an indifferent expression. Kevin carries on eating and smirking to himself as Richard Ashcroft's "God in the Numbers" plays. Joan tries to remain casual and neutral as she looks at Kevin, but there are whole worlds of emotions contained in her subtle expression.