But Donald's already there, having been spending most of the day crossing motels off that phone book page. No way of knowing how he knew which room August is in, but he busts open the correct door, even though the room appears empty now. Although there is still a loop of rope on the floor, and a couple of bare spots on the dust on the minibar to tell him he's in the right place. Oh, and the closet door is ajar. Donald makes a move toward it, but it bursts open, and out comes August's gun, with its adorable little clicking noise and its ability to fling Donald backwards against the door frame, which it does. August, his hat on to show he means business, steps over him and outside. Donald's not out for long, though, following with his own gun while staying out of the line of fire of August's. Eventually he catches up to him in the parking lot, and demands August tell him where Christine is. Instead of answering, August turns to face the approaching headlights of Olivia's car, with Peter in the shotgun seat. It turns out of sight without either of them seeming to spot what's going on, and August turns back to Donald, raising his weapon and whispering, "Goodbye." Donald shoots August three times and he goes down on the wet parking lot. Apparently Observers are less adept at catching bullets with their chests.
From behind a parked pickup, Olivia hollers, "FBI!" Which is a good way to get herself shot at, because that's what happens as Donald lays down covering fire for himself so he can make a run for it. Olivia goes after him while Peter goes to the fallen ex-Observer. Who doesn't say anything, but simply thrusts his gun into Peter's hand. Meanwhile, Olivia stalks around the motel, looking for Donald, unaware that he's up on the roof behind her. Fortunately Peter sees him, and lets him have another taste of the Observer weapon, sending him tumbling. Olivia turns and shoots him twice while he's falling, so by the time he hits the ground, his day is pretty much ruined. Peter approaches, satisfies himself that Donald is dead, and looks at the gun in his hand before looking up at Olivia. Someone finally gave him a gun after all.
But when Peter returns to where he left August, there's nothing there but a narrow-brimmed hat. Meanwhile, Olivia finds the right hotel room, and from looking at the bed, figures out that Christine is wedged between the mattress and the headboard. Nice hiding job, August. Good thing Donald didn't spend three seconds searching in there before going after the guy he wasn't supposed to be chasing anyway. Olivia introduces herself to Christine and helps her out of there. Christine asks her, "What about the man? The one who took me?" Olivia's only answer is, "Let's get you home." Where I'm sure her subletter will be thrilled to see her.
A big old brick shithouse of a Ford LTD cruises down the road with August in the back seat, wondering if she'll be safe. From behind the wheel, Famous Original Observer asks who she is and why August saved her. August says he saw her years ago. "Her parents had just been killed. She was crying. But she w...she was brave. She crossed my mind somehow. She never left it." Famous Original Observer watches August through the rearview mirror. Hey, eyes on the road, Cue Ball, unless your ability to observe time extends to oncoming traffic. "I think it's what they call feelings," August gasps. "I think I love her." So what is he so afraid of? He repeats his initial question, and FOO tells him, "Yes. You made her important." A tear spills from August's dying cheek as FOO concludes, "She is responsible for the death of one of us." Wait, so where does that leave Donald?
Back at Christine's apartment the next morning, Peter is trying to debrief Christine, who can't really tell him anything. I think I understand what August sees in her: just like an Observer, she never does anything. Walter steps up and says, "He asked me to give you something. The bald man. In the event that he couldn't." Walter draws that teddy bear from inside his cardigan and hands it over. It is Christine's, of course -- the very one she was holding in the back seat of the car when the bridge collapsed under it twenty years ago. "I think you'll be safe now," Walter tells her. She looks touched, but Peter doesn't look anything but really, really FBI.
In the hall on the way out, he demands of Walter, "When did you see the Observer? And why didn't you tell me?" Walter says he just did, but Peter's not satisfied. "We're so close! I can't let these guys get away again." But Walter just calms Peter with a hand to the side of his neck and an invitation to a long drive for a milkshake. Peter allows himself a defeated smile, like Walter just waved a roll of Mentos at him.
In the park, Broyles, whose arm sling from where Peter shot him is much more obvious than it was in the last scene he was in, tells Olivia all about Donald, whose gun was connected to a string of unsolved murders going back ten years. And of course no one has any idea who hired him. "Nothing in his car or on his person gave any indication." Even the ancient printer that apparently plugs into a cigarette lighter? As for August's gun, they can't get the thing to work at all, and the techs figure Peter fired the last "round." The final bit of info is that it looks like the person who called in the August sighting was August himself. Olivia starts talking about how August might have realized he couldn't protect her on his own, and that was his way of calling for backup. "That's what I thought," says Broyles and continues walking on in a "case closed" sort of way. Olivia catches up to him and asks for the rest of the day off. "Sure," Broyles says. "Big plans?" Olivia says, "Yeah."
Cut to her sitting next to Ella in the front car of a roller coaster and looking distinctly nervous. They laugh and scream through the ride. Down below, Famous Original Observer watches, holding a popsicle that I assume is jalapeno-flavored. Suddenly Boss Observer shows up next to him and says, "Look how happy she is. It's a shame things are about to get so hard for her." Harder than before? Olivia continues suffering through the ride, unaware that this is, if the Observers are to be believed, the most fun she'll be having for a while.
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.