Fade up on the bare-treed, slate-skied, perpetual winter that is the Amityville-esque establishing shot of the bereaved Palmer residence. Inside, we pan from the framed prom-queen photo of Laura Palmer (a photo which seems to exist in almost as copious supply in Twin Peaks as, say, shots of wind blowing forebodingly through trees, considering there is a crumpled, blood-soaked version of that same picture somewhere in the master bedroom's recycling pile as a result of Leland's maniacal big band redux back in the second episode) across to the living room couch. Andy, whose talents apparently include artist's renderings of dream-hopping, ostensibly supernatural forces of evil (in lieu of other policeman-worthy hallmarks such as bravery, stoicism, or the ability to control one's own weeping of woeful tears in the face of human tragedy), sketches a pretty accurate depiction of Sarah Palmer's vision, seen also in Cooper's dream and known now to us as BOB. Also present are Truman, Donna, and Madeline (again, herewith "Sarah Jessy Laura Palmer," or even "SJLP," should the mood strike for me to become really cryptic and lazy), who serves coffee to a curious and peering Truman. Yeah, Truman, it's Sheryl Lee, with big red glasses and a brunette wig, prancing about with her serving tray and coffee cups, as all the while her two-dimensional blonde doppelganger on the sofa's end table somehow continues to act rings around her. I know. I can't believe it either.

Sarah continues on that her vision "looked like an animal," and I half-picture Andy's inherently childlike imagination totally running away with him as he draws a big cartoon-ish tail and ears, and maybe also a thought bubble coming out of BOB's mouth with a sentiment reading "I hate Mondays!" or "Hang in there!" Y'know. Animal. He doesn't really do that, though. Anyway. Truman asks Sarah if she has even seen this man in the real world, and she is quick to respond, "No, never." She starts to work herself into another round of hysteria unprecedented since whenever the last time it was we saw her on camera, screaming, "His face. My God, HIS FACE!" but is soon to be interrupted by the entrance of her far more lucid husband. Leland ambles into the room in a rumpled robe and even more problematic hair, apparently tousled when he officially tossed his hat into the ring for the "Most Disturbed Undead Palmer Currently In This Room Who Isn't Sarah" competition, in which he currently maintains quite the dramatic lead over all his competitors. He speaks to Sarah: "Did you tell them about the necklace? They're gonna love that one." What necklace, Harry wants to know. Leland: "She's had two visions." He flashes a ghostly smile that sends chills right up my spine and falls somewhere between wan and "egads, now that's what I call wan" on the scary-smile spectrum. If smiles had colors, that one would be puke green. Leland's gettin' freaky. And then he leaves. Sarah stands and gives chase, yelling his name angrily, as she had no apparent intention of visiting this particular hallucination again, but Truman beckons her back. Standing alone in the shot, Sarah begins to recount the second vision, and the downright solo creepiness of it all seems to necessitate her holding a flashlight up below her chin and telling a story about a man with hooks for hands who once roamed these woods and it was a dark and stormy night just like tonight and blah blah blah spoooookycakes. That doesn't happen, either. She says, "It's night. A flashlight beam moves across the ground. A hand -- a gloved hand -- lifts a rock and takes out a necklace. Broken in half. It was Laura's." The necklace Sarah describes, of course, is the half of the heart Donna and Slater Fetus buried in the forest near the end of the Pilot, and Donna looks guiltily away from the proceedings, doubtlessly thinking, "They can see through me. They can see right through me. And not in that usual way people can see through me in which, due to a combination of my pallid skin and gaunt figure, you can look closely at my body and actually see my internal organs struggling to maintain the basic tenets of human life inside of my disintegrating body."