Kit starts muttering the Lord's prayer, which of course makes Arden's eyes roll. "This is going to hurt," is Arden's way-too-late warning to Kit, and he plunges the syringe into the "x" he made with a marker. Very Eric Stoltz in Pulp Fiction. Kit immediately starts convulsing, and the convenient heartbeat thump on the soundtrack slows to let us know what's happening inside his body. His body goes still and Arden checks his pulse. For a terrifying second, it looks like the experiment has failed to draw out the aliens, but the lights soon flicker and that metallic whir fills the air. They're heeere.
Arden follows the light source into the hallway, chasing it down the corridor. He ends up opening a door to one of the solitary rooms, where he finds the light and sounds have stopped. Inside, it's just two returning souls: Pepper, still in her cardigan and topknot; and Grace, naked and hugely pregnant. To be honest, I'd forgotten that we hadn't seen Pepper since the night of the storm/movie/breakout/break-in. Guess the aliens took her up for a different kind of experimentation because now she's speaking in a fully adult manner: "The baby's full term," she says. "It won't be long." Grace also looks much improved since last we saw her: happy, alert, peaceful, and with much a much better haircut. Arden is understandably awestruck at the sight of her, considering her condition the last time he saw her. Pepper interrupts his reverie by requesting a room where she can look after Grace, who then takes Arden's hand and places it on her belly.
Back with Kit, the lights are still shining and the buzziness is still buzzing, but as of press time, Pretty is still dead.
Finally, the heretofore unseen Briarcliff janitor gets an ignominious intro, as he goes to mop up the chapel and finds Monsignor Timothy Howard most assuredly crucified to the giant cross hanging from the ceiling. The janitor runs away, but Howard is somehow not dead yet. As he gasps, a figure approaches him, and the last thing we see is Howard begging this stranger to help him. "I'm here," says the familiar pale, black-veiled face of the Angel of Death. Good to see you, gurl!
Joe R wonders who these alien babies grow up to be. He can be reached for lavish praise and nothing but at email@example.com.