After the credits/commercials, Lana is brought in to Devil Eunice's office, and we get a taste of how Eunice is already starting to terrorize the staff, particularly this here nun with the cat-eye glasses. Lana knows Sister Eunice never told anybody about her claims against Dr. Thredson, so she knows she's the enemy. She sasses Eunice about stepping right into Sister Jude's totalitarian shoes. Eunice does her one better, though. Looking up from Lana's file, she announced that, "The good news is you've conquered your sexual perversion. The bad news is: the rabbit died."
Eunice jokes about offering Lana what her aunt would call a "Drano margarita." She also prods Lana about how she doesn't seem to be railing against Dr. Thredson anymore now that she's carrying his baby. At this, Lana claims that all that rape talk was just car-accident-induced hallucinations. So, you know, don't try to call Dr. Thredson or anything. Lana says she can't have this baby, but Eunice is like, "You can and will." She blithely talks about how asylum patients are constantly humping like bunnies, so the occasional pregnancy isn't new. They take these little babies, cuckoo as they may genetically be, and get them ready for the orphanage. Lana tells Devil Eunice she's worse than Jude. "You're a sadist." "Calm down, Mommy," Eunice calmly replies, before threatening to put her in restraints if she doesn't fall in line. Lana gets it and asks to leave now, with one more damn thing to deal with. As she goes to walk out, she faints.
Next thing we see is the foggy-eyed perspective of someone just waking in their hospital bed to the blurry sight of Monsignor Howard. It's not Lana who is getting this prestigious visit, though. It's Sister Jude, who finds herself strapped to an inmate's bed with a brace on her head and everything. She panics and struggles against the restraints, but Howard tells her to calm herself, that she's been injured. He tries to jog her memory, reminding her that she's killed a man, "God rest his soul." Jude recalls the frightening events of the previous night, Leigh Emerson climbing atop her in his Santa outfit, her plunging a letter opener into his neck and spraying his blood everywhere. She's probably wondering what God would rest that man's soul as she insists to the Monsignor that she had no choice. "You've become unhinged," he tells her, sadness and pity in his voice. These are not the words you hear when you've killed your mass-murdering attacker. He goes on and on about how the pressures of Briarcliff finally got to her, how she became paranoid and unhinged, "and now Frank McCann is dead." Ohhhh. Dear. This is news to Jude, of course, that her dear, sweet ally Frank is gone, and then it slowly begins to sink in: she's been accused of his murder.