Poor old Sam Merlotte is sleeping in his car these days, with a gun in his lap. It's very sad. He was so lonely, before Bon Temps, and now he's lonelier than he's ever been. Just like Maryann wants. His phone rings and he starts awake, but there's nobody on the line from the bar but a breathy smile. Because it's Sam, he immediately heads to Merlotte's and walks in -- not dressed like a mouse or a cockroach or anything -- and into the place. The freezer door is hanging open; you already know Daphne's body is in there, but the show takes its time enjoying the suspense. Her heart has been carved out.
Sam shivers and whines for a bit, then heads out into the restaurant and grabs a bunch of garbage bags. He gets about halfway through bagging up the corpse, nearly crying, before the thousand good lessons she taught him reassert themselves, and he remembers that she was right: he's not alone, he's never been alone. He can draw a line between the darkness and these people, with whom he's chosen to make his life. Even if the town's gone nuts, he can still trust what little authority is left in Bon Temps. He never would have figured this out, if it weren't for Daphne, and it's the most important moment in the story so far, for him: Daphne laughed at their ways, but she taught him to love them, by teaching him he wasn't alone anymore. He has a choice, and she gave him that. He doesn't have to rely on fear and childish cover-ups anymore: all he has to do is call the sheriff's office, and tell them what's happened. He dials, and before he can speak -- like a miracle -- they've already arrived.
Maryann sautés onions, celery and carrots, adds some wine or something that brings it to a flame. She picks up Daphne's heart and massages it, blood dripping. She's wearing Gran's dress and that mole that's always so prominent when she's wearing Gran's dress and dickie. She cuts the heart into chunks, spongy and terrible, singing to herself, blood everywhere, fresh spices from the garden. They go into the veggies on the stovetop, her hands covered in blood. They sizzle.
Eric sizzles, bound in silver, groaning on the altar. "You see? Just as our Lord our savior was betrayed for thirty pieces of silver, a few ounces of silver can betray a child of Satan to the world!" Sookie screams, exasperated, that this doesn't even make sense, and asks how any of them can listen to him. She's always been strange, she's always lived in the strangest world: how can she possibly understand how afraid they are? How afraid they've been, for two years, watching the world stop making sense around them. Death and life, inverted. Murder and sex twisted into beauty, in a world that already terrified them.