Meanwhile, over in a charming brownstone -- which, as we all know, San Francisco positively teems with -- Raige, Agent Murphy, and Sam Sam The Whitelighting Man have arranged themselves upon various pieces of furniture to listen to Spelling Productions veteran John Brandon (his credits include stints on Dynasty and Melrose Place, among others) relate a sorry tale of woe regarding his daughter, who went missing thirty years ago. Well, his character's daughter went missing thirty years ago. I don't know that John Brandon even has any children of his own, actually. Oh, whatever. They never give his goddamned character a name tonight, and you knew what I was talking about anyway, and shadow images of Brian Krause kissing me are still dancing around in my head, so all of you people can just shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah: Unfortunately, John Brandon's garbled version of the daughter's disappearance makes absolutely no sense, as it seems to place him in the presence of the demon involved as well. Specifically, Murphy notes, "You mentioned in the police report that you saw a flash of light -- any idea what that was or where it came from?" "The camera, I assume," comes the reply. "She was having her picture taken for her mother's birthday." And Vaklav let you witness all that and then allowed you to live...why, exactly? God, I hate this show. In any event, Murphy rises to see if he can find out anything about the photographer, or something, allowing the still-grieving elderly gentleman to describe his daughter in a manner that makes it sound as if she, too, is a future Whitelighter. "She wanted to be a teacher," he confesses before adding, "She had such a good heart, always helping others." I mention that only because they're leaving the audience to string together the various clues as to Vaklav's motives in all of this, apparently. Either that, or they had to hack out massive bits of explanatory dialogue from the shooting script in order to accommodate the asinine sperm-bank and marital-strife subplots this week. You decide. I'm inclined to believe it's the latter, because this show always -- always -- spells things like that out. And because this show sucks, of course.
Out on the street, Murphy gets off a call with his office just as Sam and Raige emerge from their meet-and-greet with the elderly recluse, and this is as disjointed and senseless as everything else this evening. Basically, Murphy's learned the now-defunct Nob Hill photography studio where the elderly gentleman's daughter disappeared thirty years ago was a couple of blocks away from where J.D. got whacked by a cheap import that morning. And from that bit of non-information, Raige realizes the demon responsible is back in business. I...can't figure that one out at all. Fuck you, you atrociously written show. Long story short, Raige tells Murphy to go blow, as "firearms and fireballs don't mix." She and Sam will handle things on their own from here on out, thank you very much. Murphy protests, but the three eventually head their separate ways. Vaklav emerges onto the brownstone's patio below the sidewalk to smirk for a bit before he, too, squiggles away.