Manor sun porch, the following morning. Over coffee, Raige reluctantly admits to Piper that she initially met Sam Sam The Vampire Man at the Casa Del Sole. Piper one-ups Raige by copping to a few suspicions of her own regarding "a lot of little things" Cole's been doing lately. The "no orbing" rule. The "don't go after the vampires" argument. You get the picture. The two agree they should approach Phoebe with their concerns, but realize they must avoid hurting the nittering dimwit's fragile feelings in the process.
Over in the Casa Del Sole, the gentleman of the house answers the jangling cordless to find Raige on the other end. She asks for Phoebe. He lies that Phoebe's still sleeping, and offers to take a message. Back in the Manor kitchen, Raige stutters that she'll call back later in the day, and hangs up. Raige turns to gaze bleakly at Piper.
Phoebe emerges from the bedroom to join The Sole at the table. He basically orders her not to chase demons in the future. Of course, he couches this in language of concern for her well-being, but that's the gist of the conversation. Phoebe lacks the testicular fortitude to tell him to fuck off. He heads off to his office as the telephone rings again. Phoebe rises to take the call. It's the doctor from act one, going off in act three with the results of her blood workup. "I'm...I'm...what?" Phoebe gasps. Seventy-three-year-old retiree Bertha Nowicki, trapped beneath her bathtub since a tornado rolled over her split-level ranch on the outskirts of Kenosha an hour ago, screams, "YOU'RE PREGNANT." Phoebe drops dead. I'm sorry, that should read, "Were this a perfect world, this would be the point where Phoebe drops dead." Imperfect as our world is, Phoebe merely faints, dropping the receiver as she goes. The doctor bleats what Mrs. Nowicki screamed scant seconds ago as the camera slowly cranes up from Phoebe's body and we smash to black.
Next week: more Phoebe angst. I don't think I have the strength.