The Killing
Reckoning

Episode Report Card
Jacob Clifton: A+ | 154 USERS: A
YOU GRADE IT
Until You See It, You Won't Know

TWITCH

Looks at the pictures of them all, stick in a shattered mirror. He counts his money, grabs a rucksack, and heads out. They put on brave faces as they enter their home for the first time.

Lyric: "You paid the deposit? This is mine?"
Twitch: "Ours."

She dances; the place is beautiful. Empty, but bigger on the inside. They cleave together in the emptiness.

"It's so clean."

It smells like new paint, like home; she stares up at the ceiling suddenly, mid-twirl, embarrassed by her joy. Her safety.

HOLDER

Is silent when Sarah lets herself in; he hands her a cigarette without looking, and settles back against the couch. He can't talk about Bullet, so he asks about Adrian.

Sarah: "He confirmed Mills. Who was not in Seattle. He lied."
Stephen: "He must've seen him on TV. Trying to make you happy."

When Orpheus looks back down that path, his eyes have not adjusted to the darkness, so he sees shapes. Sometimes a girl, sometimes a monster. Short-persistence phosphorescence memories, afterimages his brain naturally assembles into something whole.

Trying to solve the crime without solving it, trying to make it go away; the thing we all do, the thing everybody does on this show, every time. Constellating the stars into shapes, just to have a story in place against the night. Putting the hardness of narrative up against the giving texture of chaos.

Linden: "Nobody knows he was out of town. I could still, um, use Adrian's testimony to get Seward a stay. It won't hold up long-term, but..."
Holder: "Burying evidence. In a way that would serve us both, emotionally."
Linden: "And literally. Ray Seward is going to die by hanging tomorrow."

They sit in the enormity, pushing back against the night.

Stephen: "I should have picked up."
Sarah: "Don't do that. You will sit here until you die. Please believe me that it's not your fault."

He lunges for her mouth, and she takes control of the moment, angling around. Bumping foreheads to break the assault. He's so ashamed, in the next moment, he can't even look at her; his headache is compounded. He brushed up against something as fragile as a glycerine bubble, and disrespected everything. For just a moment, because he is an addict. And she knows this too, because she knows him, so she knows to reach out, calmly, and tell him it didn't count.

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The Killing

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