And Those We've Left Behind

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She Just Wasn't Made for These Times

She breaks her pencil, and he quickly hands her a marker so she can continue writing. She's scribbling like a maniac. "Success?" he says, and she says no, but she's close. He tells her that he's sure she'll get it, any day now.

He checks his watch. Ten seconds left. He gives her a kiss on the back of her head -- and then she's gone. Her books and blackboard are gone from the dining room, replaced with a computer and doo-hickeys. There's also a wheelchair in there. The rest of the house is covered in empty dishes, pill bottles. Raymond doesn't appear surprised by this in the least, and he heads back into the kitchen, and we can see his wife, motionless in a chair in a sitting room off the other side of the kitchen. He brings her tea and cookies. She sits there, absentmindedly rubbing a pencil and staring into space. Come to think of it, she doesn't seem too different from Stephen Root's Office Space character.

"Kate," he says quietly. She turns to him, startled. "Would you like some tea?" he asks, and she stares at him, frightened. "Who are you?" she says, and he says, "I'm Raymond, sweetheart. I'm Raymond." He reaches out to stroke her face, and she recoils at his touch. She doesn't know him at all.

Back to the lab, where the "time" music theme continues. Walter's sitting there, headphones on, listening to Styx's "Too Much Time on My Hands" while Olivia and Peter work on the problem. Olivia wonders why anyone would develop technology that would cause time collisions, which A) ignores the possibility that it's accidental and B) is not really something Olivia would ask given everything that she's seen in her years in Fringe division. Peter just pointedly asks why Oppenheimer would invent the bomb, not that he knows this is some sort of weapon.

He marks the locations of the fire and the train on the map, saying that if they can find some sort of pattern, maybe they could find the source, but Olivia adds that two points isn't much to go on.

Luckily, Lincoln Lee is getting off the phone with two new reports: a perfect circle of trees appearing in a parking garage in Chestnut Hill, and an open pit of rotting garbage appearing on the eighth hole of a golf course that was built on top of a landfill four years ago.

Even with those marks plotted, it still looks really random to Peter, and suddenly Walter's had enough of the imbeciles trying to figure it out, like so many chimps poking at a desktop computer. He whips off his headphones and announces he's ready to present a theory. He grabs the marker and starts writing: "Snails! Nautilus shells. Ram's horns. These all have on thing in common: Fibonacci's golden spiral."

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