Off in the bowels of the hospital, Mrs. D and her boy go looking for ghosts. Bobby's all, "You tired, Mama? Would you like a wheelchair?" What is it with the shows that feature the touched-by-the-supernatural woman and her hulking idiot son? First we had Adrienne Barbeau and her boy on Carnivale, and now this? I would love it if just once, instead of a sweet, simple hulk, the giant guy turned out to be freakishly smart and possessed of a razor-sharp wit. Anyway, Mrs. D dismissively says that would be nice, and continues tripping down an ever-darker corridor, not listening to Bobby's exhortation to "Wait here. I don't want to have to go looking all over for you." She stops by a set of elevator doors and asks, "Little girl, little girl…if you're here, give me a sign." She sighs as the crystal does nothing. Then, as Mrs. D moves toward the elevator door, the crystal begins moving wildly from side to side. "Oh! You are here. You are," she gasps. Mrs. D leans against the elevator door and tells it, "I know you're here."
On the other side, Paul rolls his eyes demonically before looking thoughtful. Eeee! Scaaaary. Mrs. D whispers, "Give me a word, little girl." Paul gives a happy, malicious grin, then squeaks, "Help me." Mrs. D is so excited, she's practically hyperventilating, and then the percussion of portentousness kicks in and she quickly adopts a look of horror. She whispers, "Who are you? You're no child. What are you?" Mrs. D crosses herself, and then Paul says in a low, creepy voice, "Druuuuuse." The camera zooms up so we can see the lit corridor she's standing in on one side of the door, and the purple-lit elevator shaft with Paul snuggled up to the door on the other. Because the door's a metaphor, you see. Paul looks up at the ceiling, snarling. At least whoever cast this had the good sense to use an actor who can be believably creepy and evil. Of all the miscasting gaffes in The Stand -- Rob Lowe as a swarthy Greek, Molly Ringwald as the tough and independent Fran (I kept expecting her to whine, "What about prom, Harold? What about prom?"), Stephen King as…well, the painfully obvious author cameo -- Jamey Sheridan as the Prince of Darkness was the most egregiously wrong. Jamey Sheridan could maybe play the marquis of moral relativism. Playing bone-chilling evil? Not his forte. I can't believe they couldn't get Kevin Spacey -- he was still small potatoes then, it would have been possible. Ah, well.
Mona's watching what appears to be a reflection of light off water as it dances on her ceiling. She rocks back and forth as Renee pleads with her to make eye contact. Mona can't. She's too busy checking out the poolside of the damned. Mrs. Klingerman weeps, "What's that son of a bitch done to you?" We may find out after the commercials. Or maybe not. This show isn't exactly tripping over itself in its zeal for narrative clarity.