miranda, my wife keeps wanting to set that dinner with you and doug. are you free tonight?
you've been here a year already, dorothy's starting to take this personal. how's next wednesday?
not your fault. patients always find a way to hurt themselves if that's what they want.
hello, miranda.
of course. well, actually, i'm about to.
true. but the sheriff wants to ask me some questions. she follows his look to the parking lot where sheriff ryan emerges from his patrol car. miranda nods.
what about him?
are you complaining about his methods or are you referring to the nature of your past relationship with him? this surprises her.
he explained there might be a conflict of interest because he has feelings for you. you two engaged in a kiss at one point. am i right?
i told him we're all grownups here and the fact is he's the best doctor on my staff. as such, and given the severity of the charges you face, i consider him the most qualified person to assist your recovery. now, if you'll excuse me, sheriff ryan is not a patient man. stonewalled in the simplest of ways, she's left feeling like an idiot. watches parsons join the sheriff by his car. the two men shake hands when suddenly irene runs past her, yelling --
how much does she remember?
guilt?
hypermnesis following amnesia. could a specific epileptic element be involved?
i'd like to talk to her.
dorothy, i can't discuss this now -- i'm not taking it lightly, no. we will talk about it at home. miranda and pete sit across from him. miranda trying hard to appear composed -- acutely aware of her every gesture, and of how different her last visit to this office was. nothing casual about it now. she stares at the picture frames on phil's desk , the diplomas on the wall, the books by noted fathers of neurology . a framed quote reads: "'if you do know that here is one hand, we'll grant you all the rest.' -- wittgenstein"
yes, dear. me too. he hangs up. takes a moment to look at miranda. tries a smile but to her it comes off condescending. fact is -- there's nothing to smile about.
i'm so sorry about this, miranda. she nods, dazed. angles her head to look at a framed picture on his desk. parsons looks to pete.
has pete told you about the hearing?
teddy howard is top notch. he's going to do everything in his power -- and he's quite resourceful -- to prove you're not fit to stand trial. miranda, i know you have no family left, so we're your family now and we're all going down to the wire to protect you and help you in any way we --
excuse me?
my daughter. miranda looks up at this, perplexed.
you're obviously mistaken.
no, she's not.  all right. rachel committed suicide six years ago. this shuts miranda right up. mind spinning.
that's okay. rachel was a very troubled girl. handicapped since birth. she was born mute. my wife and i tried everything to help her fit in but.  but she ran away from home more than once, wanting to end her life. and she finally succeeded. jumped off ashley bridge. she was only seventeen years old. ashley bridge. mute. ghost? miranda hesitates here. she is not the type to believe in ghosts, and knows full well what even her suggestion of it will sound like.
peter, can i speak to you? the men step outside. push in on miranda's face as she stares at the picture of rachel. we catch snippets of the doctors' discussion outside, increasing her paranoia --
 much she knows about rachel?
i'm trusting you.  crawling with cops. a dark shadow envelops miranda's confused face, as we --
we've transferred her to a higher security room on the fifth floor. that's my final concession to any type of special treatment.
peter, we have one hundred and forty employees. thirty-five work maintenance. they all wear yellow shirts, it's their uniform. i'm holding a very discreet inquiry, sure -- but i don't want a news van parked outside day and night. it makes much more sense that she tried to escape and got caught, doesn't it? pete ponders this. it certainly seems that way.
the scariest gift god gave us is our minds. and a bright person like miranda -- she's grasping at straws here -- who knows what her brain is telling her, now that it's snapped.
what happened?
why do you ask?
you're making a complete fool of yourself. do you realize what you sound like? she sighs, climbs out of the car, leaving him there. takes three steps. stops. turns back around and lets him have it:
this proves that her story is true: my daughter appeared to her in some form and guided her through all this, putting things right.
i of all people hold logic, reason and facts above everything else. and seek the truth through proof and proof only. and what do you call that?
no. frankly, it hasn't.
the fact remains my daughter was murdered and miranda stopped the killer. a killer who was loose under your incompetent nose for over six years. we don't know how many future victims were spared, but we do know she saved that girl in the barn's life. and that's more than you or i can say -- !
i'm sorry. i will never forgive myself for what happened to you. not as long as i live. i miss you so much. he sits there, staring at his dead daughter. grieving. we pull back to see he is not alone. rachel is watching him.
we're doing the final count. now they can't find the sheriff. miranda scans the near-dark room, looking for someone. watches turlington step aside to take a call on his radio. parsons regards her with newfound respect:
are you alright, miranda?
i think doctor grey should be the one to talk to her.
officer, unlock the goddamn door to miranda's cell or i'll break it down myself. turlington is not used to being spoken to this way, certainly not by upstanding directors of psychiatric institutes. he leads the men down the corridor and unlocks the cell. the men wait as all three locks are dutifully undone and then the heavy door is slid open. the men look inside and instantly stop in their tracks.