Nocturne

First off, shout-out to kstanley for figuring out the Easter egg hidden in the "Heat" recap.

We open on what looks like the set of the Beauty and the Beast TV show, with fog, gravestones, and tinkly fairy-tale music. I'll say it right now and I don't care who hears it: Lana's no Linda Hamilton. Lana clomps in on a horse, as is becoming her primary mode of transportation. I wonder if she's got a horse-hitch post in front of The Talon. Lana places some flowers on her parents' grave. They demand constant attention, including ritual sacrifices and that their names and memory be invoked every hour on the hour. Lana even had to give up movement in her upper lip for them, the poor girl. Atop a Lang gravestone sits a letter. The envelope says, in fancy-schmantzy script, "Lana." The "L" is all cursive and pretty. On the back is a wax stamp with a "B" on it. It's from Danny Bonaduce! Lana hears rustling in the foreboding thickets of this dark wonderland. "Hello?" she calls out. "Look more scared! It's supposed to be more foreboding!" the set designer whispers. Lana looks around. This place is so creepy that even Creep Creepfearmonster, the noted Creepologist from Transylvania, would have given this graveyard pause. (Then he would have fast forwarded past it like I have the urge to do.) Lana is about to open the letter, but stops as she hears a wolf howl. Watch her stay immobile even as entrails and bloody babies start falling from the trees. More close-ups on the letter and the wax stamp. "B." Yes. Let's move on. Another wolf howl.

Somebody's hauling ass through the woods! And he's got stringy, starving-artist hair. And he's wearing a long coat. This is totally someone's idea of a Tim Burton-esque sequence. It's barely LeVar Burton. Artist Boy falls. We hear a dog barking at him. Suddenly, a hefty old guy is standing up above the Boy. It's Richard Moll from Night Court! I always wondered what happened to him. He's holding the dog back on a leash and points a big-ass shotgun at the young man. The man fires. The kid's been Moll-ified!

Poster of some far-off tropical paradise. Wish I were there. The boy with the stringy hair is thrown roughly to the ground inside a dank room. "Dammit, boy, what were you thinking?" says the gruff man who shot him. Guess there was no harm, no foul. "I was thinking I'm in a LeVar Burton sequence, by way of Buffy?" the boy wants to say. The boy apologizes for whatever he did to "Father," and says it won't happen again. The scary older guy asks what the one rule is they live by in the house. "Goth before beauty"? "No driving the fog machine without permission"? "No shooting back"? The rule turns out to be "Byron stays in the cellar." Oh man. "Byron." That name always makes me think of that Mr. Show sketch about the Racist in the Year 3000 and when Bob Odenkirk as the little sidekick, Dougie, finds David Cross in the desert and yells, "Bye-RUN!" Shotgun Daddy asks why they have that rule. "Because Father knows what's best for Byron," says Byron. Hee hee. That gets me every time. Spooky music plays at that last bit. In very tight close-up, Shotgun asks how the Hell Byron (hee hee) got out. Dad really needs to get on a muscle relaxant or something. He's so stressed. He yells that he wants an answer. Byron (ha!) pulls out a little metal rod and instead of stabbing his dad, just says that he pried open the lock. The combination lock? Dad takes the rod, and says that time there'll be more than a tranquilizer in that gun. First off, Byron (heh heh) seems pretty lucid for somebody who just got tranqued. Second, who uses a shotgun that blasts like a gun to shoot one of those? Doesn't it just make a "snkkkt" sound and not a loud "band"? But who am I to ask? I just work here. Dad exits the basement, which looks just like every other basement in Smallville. We zoom up the nostrils of our cellar-dweller. He's got really pale skin and dark eyes. He so belongs in the White Stripes.

Opening credits. That Bo thing doesn't get any less funny. Commercials. Why can't Catherine Zeta-Jones-Douglas come and freeze time for me? Why not, dammit?

A tree! A high-school building! For one brief moment, the alt-crap music I'm hearing sounds like Adam Ant's "Goody Two Shoes," and I get all excited, but then it's just alt-crap and the world shifts back into focus. We hear Chloe telling Lana that the sentiment of the poetic note Lana found is nice, but that the graveyard setting makes it a little "Amityville." Because it's outdoors and not in a house and in Kansas and not New York? Yes, I see the parallels, Chloe. The poem she's holding is twelve lines with lots of cursive scripts and words like "Beneath" and "upon" and "ravishing." I'd transcribe it in whole, but I'm afraid that doing so will unlock its evil and kill me, just like in that Ring movie. So if you're that curious, you can read it on DVD a few years from now. Lana says it's kind of romantic and that she hasn't gotten a love letter since third grade. Except the ones Jocko sent when he went to join the Marines, right? How quickly the show forgets. Pete is along, too, to inject a line here or there. Lana says that love letters are a lost art. Chloe says they're not; she intercepted a note going from a football player to a cheerleader. It said, "Be ready for the team." Then the cheesy '70s music started playing. Pete asks who Lana thinks wrote it. She has no idea.

Clark walks up behind the group and puts his hand on Pete's shoulder, accounting for untold amounts of future chiropractic care. As they walk into the newsroom of The Torch, Clark asks what's up. Chloe spills about the secret admirer. She takes off her jacket; she's wearing a flimsy brown shirt that says...what the hell does it say? The Friisos? The Friitos? Rue Friinge? When in doubt, I just say it's the name of a Scandinavian band. Clark gives a pained blink. Lana, embarrassed, says it's nothing. I think she's wearing the same shirt she wore last episode. "What happened to romantic?" Chloe asks. Pete tells her to let "the boy" just read it. Whatever, man. You're the one who looks thirteen. Clark and Lana exchange a look. Clark unfolds the paper and reads. Chloe smiles, finding all of this delicious. Clark reads it in about three seconds, neglecting to absorb the fine flavors, the measured meter, the cunning consonants. "It's a little mushy," he says. So's his brain. "I forgot," Lana says. "Clark Kent: Man of Steel." It's a Wisconsin cheese attack! They brought their giant Trojan cheese horses! You know, Clark would do well just to find some new friends -- ones who won't talk shit right to his face all day. Lana excuses herself, maybe to go do some laundry. "If you ask me, it sounds more like a stalker than a secret admirer," Clark says after Lana leaves. This from the guy who used to scope her out with a telescope and was looking at her ass with x-ray vision just a few weeks ago. Pete and Chloe don't say anything, but they're thinking volumes.

A new home. We hear the buzzing of a saw or some sort of power tool. Close-up of Byron (chuckle) in the dark. Upstairs, his dad is Molling down the floor, drilling into it. Downstairs in the cellar, the boy's mouth is twitching in fear and anguish. How...poetic! He holds his hands to hid head and cries.

Talon. People are walking around under the marquee, which we can only barely read from the side. It says something about a silent film festival. I'm beginning to wish this episode were silent. Inside, Lana is slinging lattes. Lex is at the counter, and he's picked up the note, which Lana just left on the counter for all customers to read. "Look at me! Somebody likes me! And not just my dead-waffle parents!" Lana says, "That's kind of personal." Which is why it's on the counter, available for reading with a penny donation to UNICEF. Lex playfully pulls the letter away as she reaches for it and smiles. Lana tells Lex to go ahead and read it. She says he'll probably agree with Clark that it's sappy. Lex follows Lana with it and remarks that the imagery is nave, but that the meter's quite sophisticated. He asks whom it's from. Lana says it's from an admirer or psychopath, depending on who you ask. Lex says that had a little "edge to it," and asks if everything all right. "Edge"? He's a dialogue coach, now? Lana says that everyone is giving her a hard time about the poem, which she can't understand. Why would people comment on something that she's been going around showing to everyone and asking their opinion about? The nerve! Then Lex does something unexpected: "Take me to you. Imprison me," he says, "For I never shall be free/ nor ever chaste/ except you ravish me." Lex says it while fixing his gaze on Lana. About a million seats are now sopping across the country. And those are just from the guys watching. "John Donne," Lana says. She says he's one of her favorites. Him and Dr. Seuss. Lex says that if he didn't know better (and how does he?), he'd say he found Lana's Achilles' Heel. Lana says she didn't know Lex was so into poetry. Lex says that anyone who doesn't appreciate poetry doesn't know that it's all about seduction. If they're setting up a Lex/Lana/Clark love triangle, I may have to just bail completely. Lana looks like she's about to melt; then she spots Clark coming up behind Lex. (As is his wont.) Clark comes in and gives a Significant Look, which he does a lot in this episode. Lana loudly says that it's nice that some people appreciate artistic expression. I in no way advocate violence against women, but seriously, Clark needs to just slap her once if she doesn't knock it off with that shit. Or better yet, ask Chloe to do it. Lex, giving back the poem, says it kind of raises the bar for other contenders. He says it in Clark's direction. Clark thinks, "Thanks. Thanks very much. Ass." Lex smirks and leaves.

When Lex leaves, Clark goes up to Lana at the counter. He says he knows things aren't so great between them. "I'm fine, Clark," she says. Well, that's not what he said, but fine. You're fine. She walks away, rudely. Clark follows. He apologizes for "ragging" on the poem. Because that was totally untubular and not at all awesome. Lana says that poetry's not for everyone. Clark is upset that Lana showed the poem to Chloe and Pete and not to him. Well, she did show him the poem soon afterward. It's not like she hid superpowers. Lana says she's not going to share everything if Clark isn't open with her. Clark clams up. He changes the subject to "weird" guy who's going around watching her. Lana says, "C'mon, Clark. Tell me you've never watched someone from afar." Clark says nothing, again. How many times are they going to have the "opening up" conversation?

Stately Luthor Manor. Papa Luthor is at a desk, fingering the fine metal at the top of his cane. He's like Big Daddy Kane. But Cane. And not so Big. A young guy with bulletproof hair starts saying something about "so as you can see" and then spends the minute correcting his oral faux pas. Papa Luthor -- no stranger to clamping down on both oral and faux pas -- assures this employee that the mistake he just made will indeed never happen again. He insults the boy's long-windedness as he holds a little reader/scanner device and says Bulletproof's stuff will be sent to him. Can't he just take it now? "Are you letting me go?" Bulletproof asks. Okay, you're getting old. Get on out. Bulletproof is shaken, but finally recovers and leaves, just as Lex is coming in. Lex says that's the fourth one Papa Luthor has devoured this month. Coincidentally, it's also the fourth assistant he's fired. Papa asks where Lex is finding these guys. Lex says he's found them at little schools like Harvard and Yale. In the Home Ec and Gym classes. Papa Luthor says that impressive résumés don't matter: Lex needs to look into their eyes. Papa Luthor says he needs Lex's eyes to look for him. Lex asks whether that means it's his fault. Papa says he was "critiquing," not "criticizing." Well, bully for you. More struggles for conversational power. Lex surmises that Papa Luthor's lack of complete control over things is driving him nuts. Papa just wants a good assistant. Lex says that even he himself couldn't meet Papa Luthor's criteria. Well, not with all that whining, you wouldn't. Papa Luthor agrees and says "nobody's perfect." Then he leaves. Lex is all sad and perplexed.

Papa Luthor is outside in a very lush garden. He's reading the newspaper with his hand-held scanner. It says something about his company's stock flailing. Papa Luthor throws the scanner in frustration. "I couldn't listen to another word of that droning either," a woman says. MamaKent! In a classy suit! She looks fine! In a very deep voice, she tells Lex's dad who she is, adding that she hopes she's not disturbing him. He says it's a welcome interruption. She says she's looking for her monthly produce check. The zucchini bill alone... Papa says his presence has thrown Lex's regimen for a loop. MamaKent assures Papa about total fictions, like that his son is happy to have him around. She comes around, sits to Papa Luthor, and takes the newspaper. She reads a quote from Papa Luthor about the stock falling that quarter. A sentence in, she figures out that it's a smokescreen -- that he's making investors nervous now, so that when the actual losses are posted, the stock will have already adjusted. Well, duh. Papa Luthor takes off his sunglasses, impressed with MamaKent's "keen business acumen." Well, there's not a lot to do when your husband's out tending to the cows instead of giving you good loving. "I wonder if your talents aren't being wasted on organic produce," he tells her. That's what I've always wanted to say to Lex. MamaKent says she's going to take that as a compliment. "You should," Papa Luthor says slyly.

Talon. He may be a waifish poet, but Byron (snerk) sure can eat! He's wolfing down cake and coffee while holding his head. That's like when someone in old movies would get bonked in the mouth and to show they had a toothache, they'd wear that big bandage around their whole head. Yeah, we just saw your head bleed. We understand it without further stage business. Byron can't believe he passed out. "I'm sorry I scared you," Clark says, like he's not sorry at all. You didn't scare him, Clark; you bumrushed the fuck out of him. The guy -- who has Edward Scissorhands skin -- says it's all right, since Clark was protecting the beautiful young lady. Oh, gag. He says that Clark is chivalrous. So was Pepe le Pew. Lana rolls her eyes. The poet says Lana's lucky to have a boyfriend who cares so much about her. Hemming and hawing about Clark being just a friend. This scene is like molasses running uphill. Clark is a friend -- "an overprotective one," Lana adds. I'll bet Clark could meet much better girls online. Lord Boring graces us with more verse about Lana's beauty and her forthwith and whatnot. Clark has a big old dumb look on his face, like, "Don't tell me this shit's actually working." Lana smiles and says that was beautiful. "Which poet wrote that?" Clark asks, all ig'nant. "Shakespeare," Bar-none says. Lana says she can't imagine being home-schooled and never seeing anyone. Yeah, she only works eighty-hour weeks at the Talon and has no concept. You know, I'm sure there are nice folks among you who don't fit this generalization, but every person I've ever met who was home-schooled was a little...um, strange. Like the kind of person who you're afraid to ask their life story because you know every sentence is going to start, "And then my parents said..." Poor Byron says you don't miss what you never had. Except a million dollars. I miss that every day. Clark notices some nasty-looking marks on the boy's wrist. Clark asks if his parents are strict. "They only want what's best for me," he replies. A life sentence. Lana hears a truck outside and says it must be the milk delivery. How does she know that? When do these kids sleep? It's all that damn coffee! Byron (har har) jumps to his feet and asks what time it is. When he's told it's 5 AM, he whines about his parents waking up and exits quickly. Lana and Clark go after him.

Outside. It's nearly dawn. Clark and Lana have driven Lord Byproduct home, and he hops out of the truck, declining an offer from them to explain to his parents what happened. He runs, runs, runs to the house. As he gets to the front steps, his mother comes out and tells him to hurry. Richard Moll is not so forgiving. He points a shotgun right at him. Lana and Clark get out to help as a dog barks. GothMa helps her son inside while Clark and Lana are confronted by Bull from Night Court. With a full head of gray hair (and if I hadn't seen his name in the credits, I would have never known it was the Moll-Man), he bellows that he'd better not see them around his son again. He threatens to shoot them for trespassing. Clark and Lana leave. The damn dog won't keep quiet.

Kent Farm. Bo is surprised that MamaKent was offered a job. He didn't find out till the morning. That's a little...fishy, no? Did her new job require a sleepover? MamaKent says her answer was that she wanted to discuss it with Bo. The morning. After the sleepover. Bo is upset and says that Papa Luthor has an ulterior motive for everything. Like the other day? He was eating a donut, and the donut was giving him insider trading information through its donut hole. Now that donut is under investigation by the SEC. It's always something with that guy. "I know all about Lionel Luthor, but we could use the money," MamaKent says. This reminds me disturbingly of when Jennifer Connelly went and had sex with her ex boyfriend for heroin money. MamaKent says she could use a "bigger" challenger in her life. Bo is mad: "Farm life's gotten just a little bit too boring for you, has it?" Well, shit, you have a superhero son doing all the chores, cows fulfilling your every sexual fantasy. What's there for her do to around there but refill your bovine coffee cup every morning? MamaKent says she doesn't mean it like that and wants to put her education to use. Bo asks if it's worth losing their privacy. "You don't trust me to make that call?" she asks. It doesn't take much to break up their little pastoral paradise, does it? "I want to do this," says MamaKent, and before they can argue further, Clark and Lana come in. Bo asks if they've been out all night. "It's not what you think," Clark says. He explains about the new kid, and that they think he's being abused. Oh, the slings and arrows of outrageous child abuse!

on America's Most Intrusive: the Kents and Lana have rounded up a single police officer to raid the abusive compound. Yes! Finally. Maybe we'll start to see some poetic justice around here. As they walk up, a bunch of antlers and horns are sticking out from swing sets. The parents answer the door. Our favorite mustachioed police officer asks to see their son. They get all indignant and fakey and say that their son died, having drowned in Crater Lake eight years earlier. Lana says they just met him the night before. Bo says that the dad threatened them. "I never seen these kids before in my life," Moll says, in a southern twang. He calls what they're doing a prank. He asks what kind of parents would raise a child to do a wicked thing like that. Well, Bo. But not in this case, exactly. The cop and the Kents leave. "They're lying," Lana says. Clark says they saw the kid go into the house. Bo platitudes that if there was a young man being tortured and abused and tied up, they wouldn't want that on their conscience. Maybe they'd want it on DVD, but not on their conscience. Ethan the Utilitarian Authority Figure says he'll get a warrant. Dude, get their "Cherry Pie" album. It raaaaawwwks!

Shirtless Byron (guffaw) by candlelight. He's so frowny. Awww. The poor widdle poet. He pulls at a shackle that binds his wrist to the wall.