Later, Rachel creeps up to Mark's bedroom door and peers through the shutters. He's lying in semi-darkness with his eyes closed. She tip-toes in and asks if he's okay. "Is your headache back?" she wonders. Mark sits up, his back to Rachel, and we see he's got a weird reflective thing taped to the eye that won't close. It's a cross between a monocle, an eyepatch, and half a pair of sunglasses. I expect him to smoke a pipe, speak with a heavy German accent, and keep a parrot on his shoulder. Mark gently takes off his pirate monocle and lies that he's just fine. Rachel uncomfortably invites him down to the beach with her. "I'll be there in a minute," he says weakly, covertly putting eyedrops into his right peeper. As she leaves, Mark stares at the wall in dread and exhales shakily so that we know he's drawing one of his last breaths of good health.
Rachel is lying on her towel in a really skimpy string bikini, the likes of which I wouldn't even wear around my boyfriend, much less my father. Mark stares at her for a second, then joins her on the sand. Music blares from her headphones; it's the song "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park, which contains the lyric "I'm about to break," which is just so precious. What a little cherub. Mark figures it's a waste of his time to beat around the bush. "When did you start getting high?" he asks. Rachel denies that she's ever gotten high. I was going to criticize her for treating him like he's stupid, but then I remembered that he kind of is. "I was loaded most of eighth grade," he reminds her. "I'm no fool. Stop treating me like one." Rachel still insists that she doesn't get high. "I'm missing three Vicodin," Mark reveals. "Maybe you took them, and forgot," Rachel offers blithely. What a bitch. Seriously. She would throw his disease back in his face just to cover her own ass, then she'd bare said ass in a really ugly bathing suit? For shame. Mark presses her, citing the list of drugs she or her cohorts have been caught with and demanding to know what's next on her hit list. "Nothing!" she screeches. "If you don't believe me, FINE." She storms away in a right rage. Mark watches, then decides to follow his daughter despite the fact that the entire audience is begging him to let her walk back to Chicago and out of our lives. He pushes himself off the sand with his right forearm. Nice touch, actually, because it teases Mark's growing inability to work that arm. Yeah, I know, I just complimented Anthony Edwards. But Satan's not putting on sweatpants quite yet.