Okay, so the cops naturally assume Jason killed Dawn, and take him in. Of course, it's only after he's handcuffed in the back of Andy's car that he realizes he has an entire vial of V in his pocket, so he panics, drinks the whole thing, and leaves the empty vial stuffed between the car cushions. Meanwhile, Bon Temps takes the second murder this week as a reason to throw a barbecue, which is so realistic it's sick. While in custody, Jason's dick goes crazy and he locks himself in the bathroom to have ten thousand life-threateningly intense orgasms. Eventually Tara arrives, terrorizes Bud and Andy with jurisprudence knowledge you could glean from any random episode of Law & Order, and lies that she was with Jason -- not Sam -- last night.
Hours later, Jason's managed to rub his hands blistered; his dick is now approaching the appearance of, we're told, an eggplant; and we've taken a grand step forward in the sexual dissociation that would seem to be Jason's entire life. (At one point he actually weeps and apologizes to it like Gollum, calling it "Darlin." This is what I'm saying.) Tara finds him in the cooler at Merlotte's applying steaks to himself and takes him to the ER, where horrible things happen that we don't need to talk about. Tara remembers the day she fell for Jason: they were both in their tweens, and he saved her from Momma in an adorable fashion. Oh, and I think I know who the killer is.
Realizing things in Bon Temps are reaching a fever pitch, w/r/t serial killings, witch hunts, and general neurosis and racism, Gran realizes it's only a matter of time before the pitchfork swings back around at Jason, and tells Sookie to use her psychic abilities to get him off the hook. Learning that both Maudette and Dawn frequented the vampire bar in Shreveport, she asks Bill to accompany her there, specifying that it is not a date. Bill spends (almost) the entire episode being completely and utterly adorable. At the wildly dorky but self-aware Fangtasia, which is identical to a cheesy gothy tourist bar in the French Quarter but with vampires in addition to the hordes of deeply lame sexually confused and ambiguous, Sookie makes the acquaintance of Eric and Pam. Pam is like Kylie + Botox - Feelings + Dominatrix Gear = Awesome, and Eric is ... well, he's like the Serena to Bill's Blair Waldorf: dreeeeeeamy, effortlessly magnetic, powerful, beloved, and hilariously fun-loving and, most importantly: in charge. A random police raid sends all four of them into the night, and then on the way back home Bill listens to shitty (and eponymous) Cambodian pop, then glamours the shit out of a good ole boy cop, freaking the shit out of Sookie all the way back to square one.
What else. Oh, the nine feet of cornfed sex that is Hoyt Fortenberry finally gets some dialogue, delivering it so sweetly that he earns a kiss from Sookie; we see a bit of Arlene's nastier side and her home life with the put-upon Rene; Tara is a badass the whole time as usual; and everybody involved in the crime scene is fucking creepier than a Wegman Weimaraner. The pitchfork of blame points at everybody, basically, but ends up pointing -- as insistently as Jason's giant cock -- at one Sam Merlotte, owner of gloves, possessor of total cuteness, yipper of sleep... And landlord/likely murderer of Dawn. In whose bed we end the episode with Sam, as he goes from sniffing the sheets like a lissome but unsettling perv ... to rolling around in them like a werecollie in shit.
To reiterate: White people? All kinds of fucked up.
Sookie's still screaming, the alarm in Dawn's apartment is still going off. She calls for help, but there's no help coming. She approaches, slowly, and looks down at Dawn. "Sweetie, what did you get yourself into?" The question of the day. They'll keep asking, and every time they ask they'll really be asking Sookie, "What are you getting yourself into?" Nobody louder than Sookie herself. She pulls the sheet over Dawn's throat, on the bite marks there. Marked, as in branded; marked, as in special. Like a freckle or a mole.
Jason enters behind her, dropping a vase full of flowers in shock. Sookie runs to her brother, into his arms, sobbing. "It's okay," he says, staring at Dawn's face; Sookie slaps him across the chest: "Like hell it is! Look at her. She is definitely not okay." Jason points out that abusing him isn't going to help either, and Miss Lefebvre, the creepy neighbor, answers Sookie's scream. She gasps, and walks across broken glass. Jason holds a bouquet of flowers: the lost language, to say that he's sorry for scaring her, for pointing the finger, for seeing his own darkness and his curiosity in her. For his jealousy.
Miss Lefebvre immediately asks what Jason did, how it happened, and Sookie shakes her head, saying he just got there, but Miss Lefebvre knows better. "I saw you last night. I heard you all fighting, then she took a shot at you, and you ran off. And now she's dead?" Sookie's stunned. Jason admits that they fought, but he came back to apologize for pushing her to it. Sookie's confused -- she takes a shot at you and you're the one apologizing? -- but the explanation is too confusing, too open, too honest. He can't speak a word. He came with flowers and a vial of V: she was angry, wasn't she, because he couldn't get it up? That was his apology: flowers and the only thing he's got.
Miss Lefebvre runs off to call the cops, and Jason throws the flowers, pissed. "Then call 'em! I had nothing to do with this." It follows him like a scent, it marks him. Sookie stares after him; he sits on Dawn's porch silently, staring at the world.
Bon Temps gathers outside Dawn's home, staring at the closed door, from a safe distance, fascinated and terrified. Hoyt Fortenberry can't understand how something so beautiful could die like that, in the night, with the world all around. Arlene offers the suggestion that perhaps it was Dawn's time to go, but Rene knows better. "Ahh, she was only 23 years old. Ain't no 23-year-old in the world whose time has come." Hoyt's mother Maxine comes running up with a fan and a golf visor, playing Southern Lady. Like a vampire's black coffin, like a fangbanger's collar. Hoyt tells her Dawn's dead, but that's not what she wanted to know. There's nothing sensational about what already happened, when something's happening right now.