Meanwhile, Lana begs Kit to let her kill Thredson, but he stops her. They need him. He's the only thing standing between Kit and the electric chair. Solid point. Lana, however, has another lingering question: why is there still a manhunt for Kit? Why hasn't Briarcliff turned him in to the authorities? Um, because the show already worked so hard to get him back here once?
Elsewhere, Dr. Arden pushes Grace's body down the tunnel toward the incinerator. Suddenly, there's that telltale buzzing, followed by the telltale blinding light, followed by the telltale flashes of creepy long limbs. It's abducting time! Unfortunately, it's not Dr. Arden who's taken up to the ship to be in the receiving end of experimental procedures for once; no, it's merely Grace, who has disappeared once all the buzzing and lights are gone. Guess whatever purpose they had for her doesn't end with her human death. Be seeing you soon wrapped in plastic, hon!
Back to Leigh, who is all sorts of ready to rape Sister Jude because rape is an unfortunate theme this season. He descends upon her, but we see moments ago that she grabbed that letter opener when he bent her over the desk. Now, she plunges that letter opener into Leigh's neck and stops the assault. He rolls to the floor, bleeding out, while she looks wild-eyed and lucky to have survived.
Finally, Lana and Kit drag Thredson into a junk room and camouflage him with mattresses because that's the kind of tactical brilliance we're dealing with here. Kit assures Lana that no one ever checks this room, and Thredson is bound and gagged, so I guess everything's fine? Everything's fine! Kit takes off to return to his bed so no one will get suspicious, while Lana crouches down to inform Thredson: "One day, I'll bury you."
Next week: Catherine Martin shrugs off the PTSD of her time in Buffalo Bill's pit of despair and tries to find out what makes Dylan Face tick. I bet it's murder!
Joe R would like Ian McShane to play a charismatic labor leader in some cable network's historical fiction about the rise of unions. Get on that, someone! He can be reached for lavish praise and nothing but at email@example.com.