Holder and Linden bring Skinner almost immediately into their suspicion that Reddick is the killer -- but when Holder gets pulled in by IA at the exact same time Skinner starts acting super squirrelly, you get the impression they've messed up somehow. And you are correct: Just about the time Sarah's noticing Kallie's ring on Skinner's daughter's finger, Stephen's learning that Skinner, not Reddick, sent IA after him in the first place. (There is a great callback to her adrenaline speech from last week, as time slows down around her and she puts the math together on how she just slept/contemplated running away with a serial killer.)
Brilliantly, Stephen cops to harassing Reddick and even admits to placing a bomb in his car, which brings down bureaucratic hell on the Reddick family. A red-faced, pissed-off Reddick shows up to get him out of Skinner's trap, and Holder sends Carl off to find Adrian while he looks for Sarah.
What follows is an emotional, but sedate and oddly redundant, set of car rides as Stephen tries to beat them to Skinner's lake house, while Sarah goes slowly insane with Skinner at gunpoint, hoping to save Adrian wherever Skinner's stashed him. At one point she gets out of the car and barfs and it's pretty sad, but also you are hanging out with a serial killer. Maybe keep it together, honey.
On the way, they talk about how Sarah Linden could possibly be a fucker of serial killers (hint: easily), how many different burial sites he's got around the area that will never be found, and -- once they've reached their destination -- the fact that Adrian's body was in the trunk the whole time. But that last one's a lie! Carl finds the boy at Trisha's grave, scared and in mourning, and calls Stephen to tell him they're all safe, just as Skinner is claiming to have killed him.
In the end, it is a very complicated suicide-by-cop Skinner commits, but one with a lot of fallout and no small amount of pathos, as Skinner basically thanks her for catching him, and then begs her -- even after Adrian is found safe -- to finish the job. And in a very cool, very Killing move, that's the last thing that happens: She shoots him through the fucking head, Holder immediately starts freaking out, and she just stares into the camera with a complex and very Sarah Linden mixture of grief, horror, justice and vindication.
The twisty-turny nature of the discoveries leading up to Skinner and Sarah's little drive earned it, I think. It gave me a bit of the bends to transition from Paranoia City into the show's second mode of Sarah Emotes, but once you adjust -- and with Holder's b-story in there to provide some dark-as-hell levity and added tick-tockyness -- it does make sense. All the victims we know about are accounted for, and all the ones we don't, we never will. Most of all, the suspense-and-acting formula provided an emotional break after the last few weeks, for which I am thankful most of all.
So, knowing that Adrian is safe and the rest of this year's cast are right where you'd presume they would end up, it only makes sense for the finale to be about Sarah's own descent. What is good about it is that every time you think we're heading into a trope -- oh, of course she sleeps with the guy and kills him; oh, of course it's all about her self-imposed exile from humanity; oh, of course the cop did it -- they surprise you with a sharp turn into something less expected, some sudden rage or black humor that keeps you focused on the story at hand.
With the first half-hour of the two total hours being a graceful sendoff to basically everyone and everything about the season, it was nice to settle into an altogether more abstract, classic thriller mode: Almost a coda to the season itself, addressing the prime mover (never the most interesting part of the show) in a way that kept you close to the show's major themes and character through-lines.
Yes, we solved the Piper murder, no, it wasn't a big deal in the end: But we got more shades of Linden than any episode besides last week, we got huge shifts for all the characters, and we saw what Linden's been avoiding her whole life: That the appearance of normality is not a substitute for it. You're either a beast or you're not. Because if Skinner could fool her into thinking they were going to be normal together, you have to acount for the possibility that her self-exile from society is not all that different from his.
Great acting, as usual, and an acceptable finish to the plot, with just enough reverence for Bullet (in both hours) to make it count. The season's been a successful reboot from go, with some of the most powerful episodes of television I've ever seen in my life. In the end, the show's strength is its weakness, just like every year: The power of Skinner being the Pied Piper is robbed by the fact that in twelve episodes we've had twelve suspects, and we haven't seen Skinner for more than a few minutes an episode, if at all, in quite a while.
On the other hand, they've skillfully woven the Linden backstory -- both with Skinner and this case -- into the show all along, so that you can see how a season about exploitation of the powerless would end up exactly here: With Linden and Holder trapped in the middle of a one-man conspiracy they never even knew existed, but has been believably orchestrating certain events since before even Rosie Larsen died.
CLARKE
Adrian's foster mother is in no mood, when they come bashing at the door, but once she can't find her son their quiet worry sparks a panic in her.
She has no idea what's changed; to her, it would look like a coincidence. She has no idea how every move Sarah makes now urges the Pied Piper on; how every move is met by a countermove. How every word out of her mouth has pushed and shoved the game closer to completion.
How could she know? Not even Sarah knows that. In some ways, Sarah doesn't know that.
SKINNER
Sits in his gray sedan, waiting. Lots already accomplished, still time out of pocket before anybody notices. All the girls pouring out in their leotards are good girls, sweet girls; he only sees the one.
"I just wanted to spend some time with my little girl. Mom said it was okay. How was class, do you like the new teacher?"
She snorts. "That's jazz class. This is ballet."
Any other day, he'd get a little mad. She won't let him say goodbye.
"Do you love her? The woman from work, with the hair?"
The answer is yes. The answer is, things are moving too fast.
"Listen, just so you know, it's got nothing to do with you. I don't know if you could understand this but I can't be something that I'm not. I'm tired of it. Listen. But I will always love you, honey. Always love you. I will always be the same person you've known all your life. Nothing's gonna change that. Whatever happens."
Everything will change. He splits the world up into pieces, jamming them in pockets. Wherever they will fit. Things were easy this morning, before things changed. Before things were set in motion, things were fine. They can be fine again.
"Not my love. Not my love for you."
That's when they call him about Adrian Seward. So this will have to do.
CLARKE
"He let himself in, dumped his backpack in the hall, somebody came in and got him. Or the guy was already in the house waiting for him. But either way Adrian is gone."
He's been missing for an hour, maybe an hour and a half. Nobody was watching. Sarah whispers, safe.
"Jimmy? We got the wrong guy. It's not Joe Mills. He killed Angie Gower, that's the body that we found in the car this morning. And now he's got Adrian..."
He pretends to put the facts together while he's putting the facts together, and asks her to slow down. Asks the world to slow down.
"It's not him, it's a cop. I know this is gonna sound crazy, Lieu, but there's a lot of things pointing to Reddick..."
Skinner nods, puts the pieces back together: Holder and Reddick, the complaint, the attack. Bullet's funeral. The erratic teamwork of Linden and Holder, who spent the day tearing at a prison's walls.
"He was the one that took Bullet's final phone call. He tried to dump the Ashley Kwon case on Jablonski, a total incompetent. Reddick knew the first victim. He lived door to her. He never told us anything about this. He loses Angie Gower at the hospital before the sketch artist gets there. Angie was killed yesterday. And now Adrian's gone? He is tying up loose ends."
They're tying up themselves. He feels confident, swats the flies away, breathes in the pieces.
"Look, I know this is really bad timing," she says, trying to be supportive, to be rational. "It's bad for the department and for you..."
But she doesn't need to get in front of this one, or to sell it. It's everything he can use. He orders them to find Adrian while he tracks down Reddick. As Lieutenant, he needs to be the contact for it; no matter how many ways Stephen wants to be there: Reddick's got a side piece he can go to, he's a friend, he helped him this morning, they were partners. Everything to force Skinner's hand, make him pull rank. These are all reasons to stay away, he says. Even more reason to step off.
"We keep this quiet, between the three of us. And before we ruin a cop's life and reputation, we want to make sure. Because so far we don't have squat."
And to Sarah's guilt and shame and fear -- only Adrian, of all of them, could still be safe -- he can only offer his love. To see her hurting like this, raging against a cage without knowing where the bars are, just kills him. But it'll be over soon.
HENRY'S MOM
"Adrian just knocked on the door and asked if he could come in. That was unusual. I mean, he's shy, but... He and Henry had had a couple of play dates, but they didn't hit it off. Maybe he was scared, I think. He said someone was following him. I just thought because of what happened to his dad, he was upset. Maybe he didn't want to go home to an empty house. I didn't see anyone following him..."
She took him home, dropped him off on the way to Henry's karate and her doctor's appointment. It's not enough for Sarah Linden, that she did this; her tone implies the woman offered him up to the beast herself.
HQ
Stephen's getting DOT footage of the traffic cameras between the school, Adrian's house, Henry's house. Reddick drives a gray Crown Vic, and isn't picking up his phone.
"You're not supposed to be calling him," Sarah reminds Stephen, who continues making lists of Carl's possible hangouts and boltholes... right up until Internal Affairs shows up. They're standing right outside when they appear, threatening to cuff him.
"I'll call Skinner," she says, once he's calmly acquiesced, to keep her from melting down as usual when authority challenges her. "He'll clear it up." And she does, to no answer at all.
Inside, it feels safer again. Like somebody wiped it clean. Nobody can find Skinner, he's not answering voicemail. A cop -- one of the ones she scanned earlier, looking for evil; maybe one we've met before -- lays out the traffic cam photos: There's a gray car following Adrian in several of the shots. She asks for a better shot, and goes looking for Skinner. Something about a family emergency, they say.
IA
It takes some amount of Holder impatiently trying to get out of his situation before the IA guys explain what's going on: Carl Reddick has complained of harassment, threatening phone calls to him and to his family, some sort of fixation with his daughter... All things that are unrealistic, and that Reddick would never have mentioned.
Whoever did this, they wouldn't know that he spoke to Carl about the situation this morning -- and especially with the weird mention of the teenage daughter, the pool of possible cops is shrinking all the time. Somebody who needs this investigation stopped, quickly, and needs to keep the power team apart, and has a thing about teenage girls and/or perseverates on protecting his own teen daughter?
Whatever it is, it's bullshit, and coming from somewhere you can't see yet, probably downhill and very quickly, which means Stephen needs to get creative; think of a plan that seems audacious and/or shitty but will result in not very many consequences in the long run. He was always better than Linden at this: Covering the angles, not looking as sleazy as he by all rights should.
Addicts.
SKINNER
It's a different James that "greets" her upstairs at home, if you can call it that. A grunt and demand to know what she's doing there. Last time she saw him, they were co-conspirators investigating a high-level serial killer within the department, a time-sensitive kidnapping; the time before that, they were lovers congratulating one another. Now he's tossing shit in a duffel bag like he can't even really see her, not answering his phone, flipping out in the middle of the day.
She goes on and on about the clues, the gray Crown Vic; Skinner's turned quite a corner on her and she hasn't even got to the map yet. Before she's even pulled it out, he hisses at her.
"Could be anyone's car, doesn't mean it's Reddick's."
She's confused, strikes out blindly -- "So after all this, it's still about your reputation?" -- but he just slides past her, around her, turning his body like she's in his way at the grocery store: "You have no idea what I'm thinking," he tells her. Just straight-up tells her. "I've just got to get out of here."
He waves his hand at it, appealing vaguely to a meltdown with his wife that even now could be a lie. Even the truth, that he keeps too many secrets, that she doesn't know him and never did.
"James! Right now we need to find this car. We need to find Adrian."
He promises. He swears they will. He is telling the truth.
"But the case you and Holder made against Reddick is appallingly weak, and circumstantial, at best. Accusing a fellow cop without hard evidence? I mean -- I'm surprised at you, Sarah. You used to be a thorough and careful detective!"
Too stressed, his voice raw and unmodulated. She shuts her face down, crumples the map: This is her life, her new life. Islands connecting back to the shore. And she fucked it, again, by getting in too deep, too fast. Committing to a narrative. Unable to stop caring. This is the thing they were always talking about, Regi was always warning her about: Somehow, her bad police work has burnt the wrong fingers... She can feel him peeling away, a jigsaw piece that was shoved and hammered in. A moment of weakness. He sighs, when he sees it; comes to her like a groom. Like an abuser.
"Listen. Wait, wait, wait. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm just having a horrible day. I'm just trying to keep it together, you know? And I believe you. Of course I do. I believe you."
She's reminding him to call IA, to save Stephen, when the front door opens. Caught upon the stair, for a million years, she thinks for a moment to scream, "I'm only hear on work!" but even she knows how crazy that would sound.
The wife's disgust at this tableau -- the two of them halfway down the stairs from the bedroom; this woman in her house again -- could be that of a woman who was prepared to kick her man out. It is also the look of a woman shocked by everything. Either way, it's a woman who never really knew her husband.
He wraps his arms around his daughter, to say goodbye once again. On one finger is a ring. It's blue, to match the one Lyric coveted so much of her grandmother's, that Bullet gave to Kallie for safekeeping. Lyric is alive, and this daughter Bethany is alive. It's unfair.
It takes Sarah almost the whole walk out the door to really get it down; to swallow and digest, to taste it with her tongue. To think of Holder, held at IA; Skinner so randomly available, disappearing, family in crisis, packing a bag. Then further back: Whisking her away to the lakehouse. Making love to her, on her island. Sympathetically nodding, "You did what you could for him." The charred corpse of Angie Gower, the severed finger of Angie Gower, the tears of Angie Gower who might never be married. Bullet, in the taxi; Sarah begging him not to look.
"It's the adrenaline... You hear everything, you smell everything, you see it all, but it's like you're in a tunnel. Everything's moving slowly but happening so quickly, too."
There's an ice cream truck, driving by slow as blazes. A lawn sprinkler, on this rare sunny day. Kids on bicycles who never knew pain, who never had to run.
Trisha Seward, head nearly chopped off entirely. Months in the institution, weeks staring at the wall. Losing Jack, losing Rick, losing everything. Living out of the car, with her son, so ashamed she could smell it on herself. Turning into her mother.
She drove Pastor Mike to the water; he sat in the backseat, so you could only see his eyes. Like a cop making an arrest; hearing his last confession. She fell in love with his reflection, and when it came down to it she put her body between him and their bullets.
She stared through the glass at Ray Seward, forcing him into human shape through her reflection. She fell in love with him that day, and when it came down to it she felt his last breath, choking in her throat.
Joe Mills is going to die.
By the time James gets to the car he can feel her eyes, pressing into him. He turns, still angry -- still pasting on "angry" -- and reads it on her face. He is frightened, for a moment. Then relieved.
She pulls her gun.
"You want to see him alive, you'll come with me."
It wasn't an incapacity to care; it was the inability to stop. There is no time left.
IA
"Shooting up with your CI's in '09, caught lifting meth from an evidence locker... You're a bona fide tweakhead!"
Her hands are jittery, gun pointed at his head. He keeps changing shape, back and forth between the man and the monster. All the pieces fit just right. It wasn't that he was the lost love, the married one, the one that got away: It's that he was the right one regardless of all that.
She loved Rick, but she never managed to get on that plane.
People like us, maybe they are meant to be alone. But two people like us, maybe it cancels out. Or maybe they could have been different, or made each other different. Part of her body goes one way, part of her body goes the other way. She can't focus. She can barely hear him.
But the question is, why did she let Pastor Mike talk to her? Why did she learn to love Ray Seward, when the act of saving him had nothing to do with that? Why can't she draw that line? She gets too close: She sees herself in every victim, true. But also in every monster.
SKINNER
"Oh, for Christ's sake. Don't you people know how to use a phone? He's not here, he left twenty minutes ago. Ask his girlfriend!"
They left together, she says, and he lets her close the door. A few steps away, and lightning strikes him. Almost at the same spot it struck her, twenty minutes ago.
Stephen pounds on the door, demanding to know where the lakehouse is. Sure, now, that he's solved it all. And he has, if you're asking those questions. But those are no longer the questions.
It doesn't matter where Sarah is. It doesn't matter where Skinner is. It certainly doesn't matter where Adrian is; he hasn't mattered for three years. What matters is why, and how long it's going to take.
HAMELIN
"You had to take that case this morning. That changed everything. Why couldn't you walk away? Things would be different right now. For both of us. I don't expect you to understand."
She does not. Specifically the part where he murdered 21 girls. How could she understand that? How could anybody understand that? She feels herself getting hoarse, hysterical; she reels it in.
"How do I even know that you're taking me to Adrian? Or that he's alive?"
He understands. It's dubious. But he said Adrian was alive; that's how she should know.
"You used to trust me implicitly, Sarah."
It sounds at first like he's weaving a narrative, trying to spook or hypnotize her, and she barks at him to stop. But soon enough, you can start to see how the pieces still line up, for him. How he takes the jagged-edge bits of his world and puts them in his pockets. It isn't as insane as killing scores of girls at an incredible rate, but it's not that far off:
"This morning in your kitchen, I thought it was a ... beginning for us. I wanted to change, for you. And I thought I could. Because I have been alone... For too long. For too long. And so have you. So have you."
She swears they're nothing alike; raising her voice above a graveside whisper says otherwise.
Holder speeds to the lake house; not even afraid, just angry. Just screaming into her voicemail as his tires screech; over medians, between slow cars. Like he's rushing home.
"You think you know what this is, Sarah? You don't. The first one was an accident..."
He doesn't even hear her when she says the girl's name.
"Reddick brought her in. And I tried to help her. Then one day she doesn't show up, you know, and I go looking for her. Now I'm missing my kid's softball game, for Christ's sake. And this little crackhead could give a damn. Then I find her on the street, high, turning tricks. So I make her get in my car. You know? She spits at me. So I hit her. I mean, it was almost a reflex."
Almost.
"...She's bleeding now. And she's looking at me with that face, with those eyes. And now I know that she's gonna tell. She's gonna bring me down, destroy everything I worked for. So, I take her out to the woods, and I don't remember much after that. It was quiet. Afterwards, I mean. She didn't cry, she didn't scream, she didn't... She just looked at me. You know their eyes, when they know it's the end, they look at you like... Like no one else. When you go past the pain, you pass the animal terror, there's nothing else... Nothing else in the world like it."
He's barely making sense but she can hear him. She wants so badly for him to make sense. To shore up a story against the dark.
"But you're a father, you have Bethany, you adore her. She's no different than these girls..."
He shakes his head; she's not getting it. There isn't a story.
"They're just junkies, whores. They're just a burden to their families. I mean, they're everywhere. They're under bridges, they're just walking alone at night, they're in cheap amateur porn video. And nobody sees them. Because nobody cares. Just human garbage."
When Mike Sheehan said this, almost exactly this, it was with such love.
"I saved them from the inevitability of their lives."
Such love.
And when she calls him a monster he can't quite disagree. He fell in a hole.
But Joe Mills was going to be indicted, charged, prosecuted, jailed. Murdered. Trisha Seward was long gone. Angie Gower was long, long gone. And then it would be clean. He could have changed, he wants her to know. He was going to change, give it up. They would cancel out each other's emptiness. The new life could begin. Islands crawling back to the mainland. Until it changed, until things were set in motion.
CLARKE
"I don't want to be alone. That's what scares me. If my dad does die, I want to be with my mom."
"But his mom's dead," Stephen says.
The foster mother listens over Reddick's shoulder, trying not to imagine the other side of this conversation, as Reddick goes through Adrian's backpack. When she realizes what they're talking about, she chokes on it, wide-eyed.
Adrian's a runner. How far, and how fast, is the only question now. She closes her eyes, and begins counting.
HAMELIN
"You went to kill Adrian that night, Trisha Seward got in the way..."
He's so disappointed. He sees her trying to connect the dots, to think her way back into his head, to put the pieces back together. To take a previously known wreckage and reassemble it. But his history is like Angie Gower, now. No identifiers, no sense. No through-line.
She's a monkey at a typewriter, laboring senselessly toward a story, because that is what Sarah Linden does. Worry at the pieces until they assemble themselves. It's a kind of running, away from the unending sound of pain. The pain of the unknown.
If you asked Eurydice, whether in the end she could let him go, she would say yes. It was better to burn. Better to see him again, see his true face and hear him sing; even if it tore them both apart.
But if you sat Orpheus down and told him the whole story, start to finish -- that it would end in misery, in endless jail, in a river of oblivion that goes around and around, in lingering tricks of the eye, afterimages, misfiring in the shadows -- he'd still go down. He wouldn't have a choice. It's not the incapacity for caring.
She could sit here in this car until the sun came up. Until the last beast fell to the rain. Until every girl was dredged up out of every pond in every city in the world. She could sit here, with this man she loves, trying to see herself in his eyes, until the end of time -- and the story would never assemble itself. There is no story. There is no meaning. Grief doesn't work like that. Every killing is an unraveling, an unanswerable question.
Three years of this, hurling herself at the bricks and battlements, desperate to find somewhere to lean. To shore up a narrative against the cold and laughing darkness.
Face to face with it, how can she not ask? When the abyss presents itself for questioning, when the monster looks at you with all the love in the world, and says, "The one question you have always been denied, I know the answer. It is short, and it is long. I can save you from the inevitability of your life."
"No! I never meant to kill him. No, the tree house was far from the water. I wasn't sure how much he saw, so I just wanted to talk to him, see what he knew. That's all."
She shakes her head. They're answers but they're not the answers: "You went to his apartment at one in the morning... To talk to him? Quit lying to me."
He's trying, so hard, not to. But the pieces are jagged, and packed away too hastily.
"No, if I wanted to kill him I could have. A dozen times. But he didn't remember me. I mean, that's when I knew that I was... free."
"Until you kidnapped him," she says, and part of him relaxes. He's still got her on the hook. "Why did you take him to this place?"
"You said he was starting to remember, you were helping him remember. You left me no choice, Sarah."
She flinches when he says her name; revolted by the implication: That she has killed this boy, or worse. That her flailing, floundering, that even with Ray Seward smiling on her from the parts of the island she's only yet to know, that even with all of this she couldn't do the one thing that would save her. For three years she has burned with it, burnt off pieces of herself, of her heart, just to see this boy grow up into something other than what she thinks of as herself.
"You know? I should have. I'd be long gone by now. But I couldn't do it, I don't kill children."
"Twelve-year-old girls! How?"
"I don't need excuses," he shrugs. The actual answer, and neither of them hear it when it comes out of his mouth. "What about you? What's your excuse, why are you here? Are you here for Adrian, or is it because you need to understand how you could have made love to me just a few hours ago?"
He asks like they're mutually exclusive; he asks as if it's not the same question, in different words.
"It meant something, Sarah. Admit it."
If she loved him, she spits, it's because she didn't know him.
"Well, a part of you did. Part of you did. Come on, you knew something. It's why you ended up in the hospital. But you still loved me."
She comes at him with claws; a Fury, crouched in the fire. He swerves, nearly killing them both, and finally comes to a rest. When they've stopped, she runs across the road, vomiting it up.
Somewhere on the island: A part she'd never seen yet, in the rain. It was dark. The beast was sick, close to dying. Suffering so badly she could feel it, smell it.
Can she say, with any certainty, there aren't whole worlds she never ran to? Never found? The island was big. (The ferries went back and forth. They used to cost a coin under the tongue, or on the eyes.) Maybe somewhere there's a pond. Maybe he waited there, crouching in the marshy water. Buzzing louder than flies, louder than bees. Just waiting for her to finally come home.
He passes her a tissue and she screams at him, weeping on the ground. When he touches her shoulder, she barely shrugs him away. He wants so badly for her to stop crying; to stop being afraid, sad, ashamed. He wants so badly for her to see the whole story, as he sees it. Fractured, tainted, full of a bloody painful history, but: Real.
When they're almost there, he sighs. It's too far gone, now, but the memory of his plan, the romance of it, still lingers.
"I wish you would have seen it in the daylight. The water's beautiful. Cold, and deep."
He doesn't even remember Kallie Leeds, when she asks.
"Are there others? Are there more girls in the lake?"
He nods. "And other places. No one will ever find them."
She breaks. She waited for so long. Somewhere there's a room with little Sarah, still waiting. For three years she couldn't think of Adrian today, only Adrian that day. In that house, with that body.
"It's the loneliest thing in the world, waiting to be found."
We run because we can't stand still. We run because we are on fire, and no amount of time or love will ever put it out. We run because we want to be found.
He knows.
"It's exhausting to hide, to pretend. But I don't have to pretend anymore! Not with you. And it was working out so well, that Joe Mills -- that waste of life -- I planted those rings, I put that girl in the trunk. Perfect..."
"Her name was Bullet," Sarah spits, again, and he just keeps on going. She thinks they have names. She thinks they're waiting to be found. They were already lost.
She lowers the gun. The man she loves gets desperate. Begging for kindness. For her to save him, before they come. Her eyes are closed to him, like a trunk: He can't tell what's inside. He hopes he knows. That she can save him, from the inevitability of his life.
"Look at me, Sarah. It's got to be you. You loved me... You love me. It's over. Look at me. Look at me."
She does. She looks, and she sees him. He stops shifting shapes, and becomes one thing again. A very small man, after all. Even in the dark, afterburn images whirling, she can see him. And oh, it is dark. It isn't raining this time, but it's dark.
And he is sick, and suffering.
JACOB CLIFTON is a freelance writer and critic based in Austin, Texas. He currently recaps The Killing, Pretty Little Liars, Ray Donovan, Mistresses, and True Blood for TWoP. Jacob can be found online at jacobclifton.com, Twitter, and Facebook, as well as a regular column for Tor.com, Geek Love.