dr. grey.
power went out again in our wing.
it's not shrink-appropriate to be afraid of the dark, you know?
what am i afraid of?
write a little country music, decline invites to grand social events, drink myself to sleep -- the usual. you?
again?
so is golfing, i'm told. who was your six o'clock?
i hear manhattan's full of them.
good girl. they have reached an office marked "dr. phillip parsons director" and peer in to see parsons on the phone. he gestures for pete to sit. miranda is about to exit when he covers the mouthpiece --
how do you feel?
giving you something to calm down.
just take this and we can sit down and chat.
fifty milligrams.
twenty. the nurse complies. miranda stares at the meds, trying desperately to put this into some kind of perspective.
we can discuss it at length after you take your meds. awkward nods from irene, the nurse and the attendant. pete holds miranda's gaze. miranda takes her meds.
miranda, this is very awkward. technically i shouldn't even be treating you but the court has granted us a waiver until you're transferred. so whatever is said here won't leave this room. i won't tell parsons, i won't tell anyone.
you can't to that. sit down, please. try to relax.
i understand you're upset. but we need to put some things in order.
how long have you been here?
just answer the question. humor me.
i don't mean how long you've worked here, i mean how long you've been staying here. this stops her. wanting desperately to whip out a comeback but realizing she doesn't know the answer.
of course you're a doctor. a great doctor in fact. the hint of sadness in his voice alarms her.
five days.
you were admitted to the neurosurgical unit seizing violently. that lasted three days. scans revealed left-sided weakness, numbness and severe fontal lobe deficits. miranda shakes her head in disbelief, but we --
you came out of it and tested negative for pcp, underwent extensive hypnosis and received amytal injections. flash: miranda being tied down. a nurse with a syringe --
you were tied down for a day and a half so you wouldn't hurt yourself and then you went into a state of, well -- you've been pretty much catatonic. this is the first time you speak. miranda, speechless. reality sinking in.
you're the most logical person i know, bar none. plus you have a photographic memory -- unconfirmed, but you do remember events and phrases more accurately than anyone around. why am i telling you this?
and that's a fair assessment, no?
two hundred percent. a pause here. he's waiting for her to continue. she's not used to being on the other side of the therapist's table.
don't analyze yourself, just focus on remembering.
and then what?
and then what?
there was indeed an accident, you were detoured by the cops. but there's no report of any girl.
what about your husband, what can you tell me about him?
what's the last memory you have of him that night?
let's backtrack a second. you left your office, you were driving home, you got detoured by the police -- did you call someone on the phone that night?
who would you call?
were you seeing someone else that night?
there was some trouble in your marriage, wasn't there?
wasn't there?
you don't remember anything else. anything at all? frustrated, she snatches his cell phone and starts to dial:
he's dead. this stops her cold. time stands eerily still. she stares at pete as if by looking at him long enough, he will contradict his statement.
i'm positive. you killed him.
it's going to be alright, miranda. you just need to sleep. it's going to be alright -- off pete's nod, a nurse injects the syringe into miranda's arm. they hold her down with great effort as she continues to cry, and we.
your marriage is the mistake and you know it.
i'm sorry. that was out of line. i feel like a school kid hiding from the principal.
i would just like to spend some time together.
i meant minus the schizophrenic women.
don't be too hard on yourself, dr. grey. you haven't done anything wrong.
yes.
no.
i didn't think it would help you.
it means they wouldn't have let me treat you if they thought i had any kind of involvement in what happened.
did i what?
no. we got disconnected and i couldn't get through to you. i sat there waiting all night. figured you'd changed your mind.
because the only way you'll be able to accept these events is if you remember them on your own. my job is to assist you in processing that information because you're not in a frame of mind to do it by yourself.
the subject is you don't trust me.
you want to talk about today? she takes a resigned breath, slowly shakes her head. wishing she could wake up from this nightmare:
i think that's premature.
i can't help you if you don't talk to me. silence from miranda. he is firm but not unkind:
i can stand here all day. all week. you're the one running out of time. nothing. he goes to touch her arm. she jerks it away.
what does it mean? she shakes her head, at a loss. torn between her suspicion and the need to confide in someone. finally:
then who? they stare each other down. there's definitely chemistry between these two. but the moment is far from romantic.
you're going to have to trust me.
because no matter what's going through your mind right now, i haven't done anything wrong.
you admit you're having a hard time differentiating what's reality from what's hallucination, right? so isn't it at least possible that --
how about this moment right now?
is this a hallucination?
which is why i suggest we simply increase your dose until --
alright. let's say you didn't write this --
i think it's time you look at these. miranda looks at the crime scene photos. lurid. terrible. here's part of doug's body. here's the axe. and now she sees a closeup picture of the wall with words on it. in blood, a la manson family. and it says:
you wrote that. any idea why?
you're the only person who can figure out what this means. try to remember. stop holding back. she nods meekly. staring at the picture. begins to shake as all of it finally comes flooding in --
you okay? she shakes her head slowly. he sets his hand on her shoulder. she turns to him and hugs him tight, holding on for dear life. breaks down in sobs.
it all came flooding back last night.
more like an uncontrollable reminiscence. intense, over- cathected. she's not feeling guilty of her actions, not exactly. sounds to me like last night she actually re-lived them in great detail.
that's exactly what she suggested. even in her present state, her instincts remain impeccable.
standard procedure.
teddy already filled her in.
miranda, you've seen that photograph at least a dozen times, every time you've been in this office. you're just confused --
miranda, that's none of your --
 textbook psychotic pattern.  manifestation of guilt.
i'm telling you she doesn't.  concocted alternate reality.
and the night staff?
could there be any truth to her claim?
i perused miranda's files on chloe mcgrath -- they're damn comprehensive. maybe she was a bit obsessed with her. irene and parsons share a look. he wraps it up:
yes. as a matter of fact, i was part of the search party that found the body.
you can imagine. actually, phil was in houston undergoing triple bypass surgery when it happened.
i'm sure there are. can we get back on track now? miranda pulls out the folded printout from her pocket.
where are you going with this? first i'm a suspect in doug's death, now what, phil parsons murdered his own daughter?
what same m.o.? one jumped off a bridge, one hung herself and one crashed her car. who gave you this?
you heard phil, his daughter had tried several times before --
well, you can't.
you can't because.  he died. miranda snaps to attention here.
frank albright was an eighty-year- old retired sociology professor. this is a fluff piece about teenage depression and the breakdown of the nuclear family. you can find one in any local paper, anywhere, any other week!
listen to me. you are not well. i had hoped once you remembered the murder we could deal with your feelings about it but these fixations:
rachel parsons, chloe mcgrath -- are self-created distractions to avoid looking into yourself. and the longer you --
good. saves me the trouble. discussion over. he raps on the door. triple-locks come unlocked and an orderly is there. peter exits.
who's the girl?
we need to get miranda back to the institute. she needs psychiatric care, not a prison cell.
we can take those off now. sheriff ryan leans out of the other cruiser.
are you alright?
can we talk about this later? thanks, sheriff.
i know, i know. we'll see you then.
thank you. she won't go anywhere. i guarantee it. the sheriff waves, whatever. knocks twice on the hood and the officer behind the wheel shifts into drive.
inside, okay?
what is this?
i pulled a lot of strings to get you transferred back. the best case scenario you're looking at right now is five years here. five. under my --
but you know that the brain is fully capable of tricking you into seeing all sorts of things. the simplest chemical deficiencies can --
i'm a very open-minded person, but as a doctor --
is that a threat?
to me.
miranda.  pete rushes up the steps --
everybody accounted for?
what's going on, officer?
miranda, don't do it! she glances at pete's pleading face and the room around her: cops everywhere. all guns trained on her. sheriff ryan speaks low so only she can hear the following:
i'll call your lawyer and -- !
i'll meet you at the station! she shakes her head. mouths something pete can't make out.
what? turlington hits the gas. miranda presses her face against the window so only pete can see her say the following:
you mind if i stay here tonight?
anybody in here -- ? as he turns, we reveal rachel slipping out of the room. unseen by him, of course. pete starts to exit when tracy opens her eyes. groggily waking as if from a dream.
is the sheriff here or isn't he?
we're here to see miranda grey.
it's been my pleasure, miss mcgrath. good luck out there. chloe smiles. awkward. her first day out in the real world.
hey, you never know. it's a small world, unless you have to clean it. chloe picks up her bag, climbs down the steps to her cab. stops midway, turns:
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