At the TerrorHome, TerrorMom calls TerrorTeen aside for a private convo in the hallway. She stands next to the desk and says that she and TerrorDad "agree" that TerrorTeen should be "the one" to "take care of this." And she opens the top drawer to show him a revolver. Man, what kind of TerrorParents are they to have an unlocked gun in the house with a TerrorTeenager? That's just irresponsible. TerrorTeen is confused, since Debbie didn't tell anyone about the TerrorDome. TerrorMom says this is how they're going to keep it that way. "This is riskier than letting her live," TerrorTeen says. "If she disappears her mother will call the police." Smartest thing TerrorTeen has said thus far. But TerrorMom figures that after today, the police will be "too busy" to look for Debbie. I'm a little reassured that she expects the police to still exist after today. "Just take her to the basement and do it. Don't think about it, get it over with." She thrusts the gun into TerrorTeen's hand and glides upstairs. They probably should have come to the U.S. more than four years ago. If they had, it's more likely that TerrorTeen would have seen Old Yeller at some point and this would be easier on everyone. It's 10:35:37.

10:39:50. Kiefer's hostages take their sweet time developing Stockholm Syndrome, Kiefer paces, and TerrorTeen's packing. He slowly moves into the living room with his hands hiding the gun behind his back. Of course, that's only going to work until she decides to follow him somewhere again. For the moment, she's still oblivious. TerrorTeen has come to what screenwriters call "the pinch." He stuffs the pistol in his back pocket and tells Debbie, "We have to get out of here." He starts to lead Debbie out of the house, but now that he wants her to follow him, she can't manage it. Instead she collapses in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, choking and coughing. TerrorMom appears at the top of the stairs and starts drifting down them like a malevolent helium balloon. "What did you do to her?" TerrorTeen demands. "I didn't expect you to be able to do it," TerrorMom explains calmly, continuing down the stairs. Debbie finally quits choking -- in fact, she quits breathing entirely. Must have been the TerrorTea. Note to self: don't drink anything that takes TerrorMom more than five minutes to make. TerrorTeen weeps briefly over Debbie's corpse, and then he has the gun in his hands again. "Give me the gun," TerrorMom says gently. Yes, so she can put it safely back into its unlocked desk drawer. TerrorTeen looks like he'd rather just give her a bullet from it. She holds out her hand and asks for it again. And then she does the weirdest thing: my closed captioning quotes her as saying, "Hey!" but it sounds a lot more like a feline hiss, or perhaps a hairball. Or a choked bark. It's both bizarre and scary, and also effective, because finally TerrorTeen gives her the gun. "I am so disappointed in you," she says, now that he's safely disarmed. And back upstairs she goes. It's 10:42:16.