Written by: Rene Echevarria
Directed by: Ronald L. Schwary
Episode Number: 122
Original Broadcast Date: May 5, 2000
Guest Stars: Paul Gilfoyle (Ed Bernstadt), Kim Chan (Eggman), Faith Prince (Janet), Mick Foley (Charlie), Timothy Devlin (Special Agent #1)
"Uh, look, Lisa, if this is much to do..."
"What are you talking about? That's ridiculous. It'll take me a few seconds, and you'll have ten numbers. You can call them and still get your train to the city." She sits down at her desk, and Roger takes a seat across from her as Janet comes into the office.
"Oh! Look at you," Janet exclaims, surprised to see Lisa's beat her to work. "Nice and early. Catching a worm?" She gives Roger an appraising look. "Hello." Janet hands Lisa a slip of paper. "Lisa, this man called for you last night after you left."
"Ed Bernstadt," Lisa reads. "Never heard of him. Um... Janet, this is my friend Roger." Roger gets up.
"Oh, so... this is the famous Roger you're always talking about," Janet says.
"Roger, this is Janet, my boss," Lisa says, sitting down again. "Now, be patient. She suffers from acute shyness."
Janet shoots Lisa a look. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Janet," Roger says.
"So, um..." Janet begins, shaking hands "you and your wife looking for a place to rent?"
"Uh, something like that, yeah... no, uh..." Roger is getting flustered. "I mean, it, it's really... it's just for me."
"Well. I don't mean to pry but it is nice to finally meet you."
"It's nice finally to be met, Janet."
"Roger." Giggling like a schoolgirl, Janet finally goes over to her own desk.
"Well, that's a... that's a friendly woman," Roger remarks as they get back to business.
"Hmm... yeah, that Janet," Lisa sighs. "She's a regular welcome wagon." Roger chuckles at that as Lisa's phone rings, and she picks it up. "Lisa Wiseman."
"Uh, Mrs. Wiseman, my name is Ed Bernstadt," the man on the other line says. "I'm an attorney. I called your office last night."
"Oh, that's you. Um... yeah, I'm sorry. I just got into work."
Bernstadt gets right to the point. "I'm filing a class-action lawsuit and from the research I've done, you qualify as one of the plaintiffs, as part of the class, and if we prevail you stand to collect a substantial amount of money in damages."
"Damages?" Lisa asks, baffled. "Uh, what for?"
"Well, it's a class-action suit against Espotek Industries. They manufacture respirators - among other things - and a flaw has come to light in one of their portable models. The kind often used in ambulances. Now, so far, I've identified 27 patients who have either died or suffered irrevocable brain damage as a result of insufficient oxygen intake due to this problem."
"Well, I don't want to be insensitive," Bernstadt answers, "but I think your husband's treatment... just before he passed away might very well qualify him - which is to say, you - to participate in our suit."
"My husband?" Lisa echoes.
Lisa exhales sharply, deeply disturbed at what he's telling her. "Um, Mr. Bernstadt... my husband was killed by a subway train. He... he died upon impact. Oh, he never used any respirator, because he never made it to an ambulance."
"Well, uh... forgive me," Bernstadt stammers, "but, uh... that's not what these papers indicate."
Lisa is getting angry. "Well, I don't know anything about your papers, but my husband died instantly, okay?"
"Well, that's just not true, Mrs. Wiseman." Lisa cannot believe what she's hearing as Bernstadt barrels on. "Look, I don't mean to upset you, and I don't want to be morbid, but death is indicated by an absence of brain wave activity... and at the very least, I can assure you your husband was experiencing brain wave activity when he arrived at the hospital." Lisa is silent. "Mrs. Wiseman?"
Lisa takes a deep breath before replying slowly and angrily. "One last time: My husband never made it to the hospital. My husband never made it to an ambulance. So there is really nothing for us to talk about, okay? And I really want to get back to work now." With that, she hangs up, disturbed.
Prison (I want to say it's New York State Penitentiary, but I'm not sure). A guard escorts a prisoner named Charlie, a big man wearing an apron over his uniform back to his cell for the night. "Here you go, Charlie. Lights is already out so try not to make any noise."
"You got it, Boss," Charlie tells the guard as he steps into his cell and the bars slide shut.
"So, what they got you cooking up in the morning, Charlie?" the guard asks. "I'm pulling a double shift. I'm looking forward to breakfast."
"I think I read 'blueberry pancakes' on the blackboard," Charlie says amiably.
"Blueberry, huh? I like that. Sleep tight." With that, the guard leaves.
Cut to Charlie's cellmate, who's lying on the bottom bunk. The Eggman is hooked up to an oxygen tank. "Hey," Charlie whispers, proferring a paper bag. "Old man? I got them for you."
The Eggman turns and takes the bag from Charlie. He reaches inside and pulls out an egg, studying it thoughtfully.
"So, I don't get it," Charlie whispers. "What do you want them for? They're just eggs - regular, plain old eggs."
Smiling slightly, the Eggman puts a finger to his lips. "Shh!"
The townhouse. Michael is in the shower, singing "Groovin'" at the top of his lungs. Dr. Morris is sitting on the bed, talking on the cellphone. "Of course I understand it's a one-of-a-kind item. I designed it. I don't think you understand the degree of urgency attached to this particular requisition."
Michael hits a high note. Irritated, Morris slams the bathroom door shut. "Look, my experiments are being conducted under the strictest of secrecy. Without that tracking device, I am virtually immobilized. Now, isn't there anything you can do to expedite it?"
The shower shuts off, and Michael comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. "That's the Military Industrial Complex for you, Doc. Oh, hey, while you got them on the line, see if you can order one of those $2,000 coffee-makers they got."
Morris gestures at Michael to shut up as he tries to listen to the person on the other end. "No, I have nothing further to add," he snaps into the cellphone. "Oh, it was a pleasure doing business with you, too."
He hangs up, glaring at Michael. "What are you glaring at?" Michael asks. "You've never seen an artificial man with his shirt off before?"
"I know that tracking device is in that lab somewhere," Morris tells him, standing up, "and with just a little bit of effort, you could have recovered it."
"Oh, that's why I make a point never to take it out of my nose."
"They're saying it's going to be at least another week."
"Another week?" Michael echoes. "Another week cooped up in this place under constant surveillance? Trying to sleep while someone's in the other room? Some guy outside my door. Oh..."
"This is not a situation of my making, Mr. Wiseman," Morris reminds him. "I don't like it any better than you do. Perhaps we should change the subject and go on with our work. Give me 100 miles on the treadmill."
"No, not the treadmill, not again," Michael moans. "Listen, Doc, I've been inside for a week. What do you say I do my run outside today?"
"I don't see how that's possible, Mr. Wiseman."
"What are you talking about? It's completely possible. We can, uh, drive up to the country where there's no one around. You can get the guys to trail me in the van. Yeah. Give them bazookas if you want to. Just, uh... let me go outside, in the sunshine." He takes a deep breath for effect. "In the air."
"Again, I don't see how that's possible. Perhaps in a week when the new pinger arrives."
"I might not be able to make it another week," Michael insists. "Come on, think about it. It's not like I'm going to take off just because you can't track me." Morris stares at him impassively. "Doc, this is me here. I'm not new anymore. I know the drill."
"Shall we get started?"
"I can't believe this. You still don't trust me after all this time."
"I'll meet you in the gym," Morris says coolly, turning and leaving.
Michael sighs, dejected. He turns and stares out his bedroom window at the sunny day outside.
Lisa is driving Roger home. The phone call from that morning is still troubling her. "You get hit by a train, that's it, right?"
Roger is confused. "Pardon?"
"Well, you're in insurance. You know these things. You get hit by a-a subway train - a human gets hit by a subway train in motion, that's it, right?"
"Oh my God, Lisa," Roger sighs.
"Okay, all right, talk me through this," Lisa says. "Yesterday, when I was at work, a man called. He said he was a lawyer and that he had information about Michael being alive when he got to the hospital after he was hit by the train or, at least his brain was alive. Now, I mean, this, what is that? That is, that is crazy, right? I mean, how sick is that? It's, uh, it's a crank call from some college kid home on Spring Break."
Roger is saved from answering. "Uh, uh, this looks, this looks like the house."
His reaction to the house is not exactly enthusiastic. "It's a little girlie, don't you think?"
"Hmm?" Lisa looks around at the furnishings. "Mmm, yeah. Well, it could use a little trimming down."
"Uh-huh. Kitchen's kind of small. Ruth would never go for that." Roger stops, realizing what just came out of his mouth. "Wow, I can't believe I just said that. Pretty weird, huh?"
"Yeah... I know. I don't know. The other day I was setting the table for dinner and I put out three plates. After all this time, three plates."
Roger sits down. "Listen, can an old friend whose life is quickly going into the crapper make so bold as to offer you a piece of advice?"
"Throw out all the plates but two. See, now, you know, I thought of that, but..."
"Seriously," Roger says. "This nut calls you at work, yeah?"
"Then why don't you do what a lot of us powerful and important executives do?"
He doesn't elaborate. "And, uh... what's that?" Lisa asks.
"Never answer your own phone," Roger replies. "Get somebody else to do it. And if they say that it's Mr. Morbid on the line, then all you do is say: 'Tell him I will call him back.' Me, I get calls from people all day long that I don't want to talk to for whom I have no good news. Hell, I-I have people I've been promising to call back since 1987." Lisa smiles at that, and Roger chuckles. "Trust me. Eventually, they take the hint."
Salsburg and Rogeilla. Janet answers the phone, and it's for Lisa. Lisa is about to take the call when she recalls Roger's advice. "Um, did they say who it was?"
"I think it's that Bernstadt man again," Janet tells her.
"Could you tell him I'll have to call him back?"
Janet gets the hint. "I sure will." She does so and hangs up.
But Bernstadt is persistent. When Lisa gets home, she finds him parked across the street, waiting for her. She's not pleased to see him at all. "Look, you're on private property - which means I'm going into my house and I'm calling the police."
"You don't have to do that," Bernstadt says.
"I'm asking you to leave."
"And I'm just asking you to listen." Lisa pauses, letting him continue. "Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe the reason you were told your husband didn't survive that accident is because someone is trying to cover up something that went wrong immediately after the accident?"
"Look, I'm going to say this for the last time. I'm not interested in what-ifs or theories. I am certainly not interested in revisiting that, and I am completely not interested in suing anybody. So if you don't mind..."
"Oh, hell, if you're not interested," Bernstadt scoffs.
"No!" She heads for the front door.
"Of course, most of the people I represent in this case lost everything," Bernstadt adds. "They don't have the luxury of not being interested."
Hearing that, Lisa sighs.
"I'd appreciate you thinking about that as you step inside your beautiful home," Bernstadt adds.
That stops Lisa. She finally turns back to him. "All right. You have five minutes."
In the dining room, Bernstadt shows Lisa the paperwork. "As you can see, the ambulance records confirm that he was on life-support when he arrived at the hospital at 8:07."
"Where did you get this?" Lisa asks. "No one showed me this."
"You have to request them. I mean, most people never do because they assume what they're told is the truth."
"I... I just don't understand. This isn't what they told me, and this isn't what the death certificate says. Why would they lie to me?"
"To put it bluntly - to cover their behinds. It's better to say he died at an accident scene than to admit he died under their care."
"So, if he did die in the hospital," Lisa wonders, "why would they tell me that there were no remains to speak of?"
"Well, again, I'm just hazarding a guess - but maybe so no one could perform an autopsy."
Lisa is astonished. "So what are you saying? You're, you're saying that I was knowingly denied my husband's remains? That-that-that someone - a human being did that?"
"Well, I'm just following a paper trail, Mrs. Wiseman."
"Who would do that?"
Bernstadt fishes around in his briefcase. "Well... um... well... um... here we go." He pulls out a sheet of paper. "He was released to a Dr. Theodore Morris."
Lisa's eyes widen, and she snatches the paper out of his hands, staring at it in shock. "I think I know this man."
That evening, Lisa lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. She finally gives up on sleep and picks up the phone, calling Manhattan General Hospital. She asks for a number for Dr. Theodore Morris, and after some persuading, gets one. When she calls the number, she gets an answering machine. With nothing better to do, she leaves a message.
"Hi. Uh, my name is Lisa Wiseman and I'm not completely sure, but I think that - we may have met. In any event, I got your number from Manhattan General Hospital. Apparently, you attended to my husband, Michael Wiseman, last year when, uh, he was hit by a-a subway train. And a number of questions have come up relating to his death. I would appreciate it if... you could call me at, uh, 914 555-0166. Thank you." She hangs up, sighs and shuts the light off.
The next day (presumably). The Eggman and Charlie are sitting together on a bench in the prison yard while the other inmates are milling around, lifting weights, et cetera under the guards' supervision. "I don't understand," Charlie says quietly. "You're an old man, you're sick. They don't make you work. Why would you want to break out?"
"I need to kill a man."
Charlie can't help but laugh. "Kill a man? You? What man?"
"A man. A super man." Cut to a flashback of Michael swinging across the street in "Over Easy" as the Eggman continues. "He fly across the street on wire."
"You're crazy," Charlie tells him, still laughing.
A junkie is standing nearby, smoking. He scratches his cheek. The Eggman sees him and inclines his head to Charlie. Charlie takes the hint and casually gets up and moves away. The junkie sidles over to the bench, a hand in his pocket. "I hear you're looking to get set up."
He pulls something out of his pocket wrapped in white cloth, and passes it to the Eggman just as the Eggman passes him something in turn. "Pleasure doing business with you," the junkie says as he moves away.
The Eggman turns and carefully unwraps the bundle, revealing a syringe and a small packet. He tosses the packet away before wrapping the syringe up again.
The Wiseman residence. Lisa is cooking pastain the kitchen when the doorbell rings. "I'll get it," Heather says, hurrying out of the kitchen. A few seconds later, she returns with an odd look on her face. "Mom?"
"It's for you."
"Oh." Lisa finishes pouring the pasta into the strainer and goes to answer the door.
We only see the back of the visitor's shaved head as she opens the door. "Mrs. Wiseman? Lisa Wiseman?" he asks. "I'm Dr. Theodore Morris. I received your message." Lisa lets him in, and they sit down in the living room.
Surprise, surprise, Special Agent #1 is masquerading as Theo - since Theodore Morris is not an entirely uncommon name, he can get away with pretending a different Dr. Theodore Morris treated Michael.
"I am sorry. Whoever this attorney is, he's simply mistaken." Lisa nods as he continues. "I vividly remember that night. It would be inaccurate to say that I was asked to see your husband. There... simply wasn't anything to see. The encounter that he had with that train was devastating." Lisa puts a hand to her face as the agent sighs. "You have my word, he died instantly. And whatever inconsistencies there are in the paperwork - well, welcome to life in a big-city hospital. I'm sorry."
The townhouse. Michael unveils his breakfast with the usual distaste. "Ah, morning gruel... morning swill..." He smiles at the one thing he's glad to see. "Morning paper... must be..."
"Morning," Morris finishes, sitting down with his own paper.
"See that? Great minds." Michael picks up his paper. "Ah, lookee here. Says the sun rose this morning at 6:01 a.m. it will set at 6:49. Wow. The sun. I hope to see that someday."
"Please, Mr. Wiseman. I've been assured that the tracking device will arrive today."
Special Agent #1 strides in cheerfully. "Good morning."
"Why is that man smiling?" Michael asks. "I don't see a package in his hand."
"Well, it is a beautiful day out. The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the flowers are..." Michael glares at the agent, and Morris gestures for him to knock it off. "Uh, there are no flowers. Won't happen again."
"What brings you here so bright and early?" Morris asks.
"Just wanted to brief you on my errand you asked me to run last night."
"Ah, yes." Morris sets his paper down. "You still have men posted outside?" He stands up. "Special Agent Number One and I need to take a brief walk and discuss something that falls outside the purview of this project."
"What?" Michael gets up. "What? You guys going to go do guy talk?" They stop and stare at him. "No, no, I'm serious. I know I'm a little out of practice but it's like riding a bike. It'll come right back to me."
"I assure you, Mr. Wiseman, the nature of our conversation will be strictly professional," Morris tells him. "But we do need to have it in confidence." He nods to the agent, who starts off. "We'll be back in approximately five minutes."
Dr. Morris leaves. Sighing, Michael sits down to finish his breakfast.
Salsburg and Rogeilla. Janet answers the phone, and surprise, it's Bernstadt again. Lisa picks up the phone. "I'm sorry to bother you at work again," Bernstadt says, "but I've been doing some checking up on that Dr. Morris and I wonder if I could persuade you to give him a call."
"Well, you don't have to. Dr. Morris stopped by my house yesterday."
"Really?" Bernstadt asks, surprised. "I hear he certainly makes an impression."
"Well, you could say that, yes. Look... Mr. Bernstadt, I really do wish you well with your work, but Dr. Morris simply confirmed to me what I already knew. I could not possibly participate in your lawsuit. My husband was very much expired by the time he reached the hospital."
"Really. And, you know... Dr. Morris was-was was really very nice," Lisa adds. "He was - he was actually comforting in his own way. And I really wouldn't want to make any trouble for him unnecessarily. I mean, when he came to the door at first I thought he was a Hare Krishna or something."
Bernstadt is confused. "Really? Why would you think that?"
"Well, you know, the-the bald head and everything."
"Are we talking about the same guy?" Bernstadt asks. "According to the nurse I spoke to this Dr. Morris was a tall African-American gentleman with a deep voice, glasses and a goatee."
Lisa is stunned into silence.
New York City, the Upper East Side. Lisa pulls up to the curb on the other side of the street from Michael's townhouse. She turns off the engine, staring at the townhouse. "Oh, come on, Dr. Morris. Show yourself."
Salsburg and Rogeilla. Roger comes into the office, hoping to find Lisa. But there's no one at her desk. He turns to Janet. "Uh, where's..."
"She's not here," Janet replies. "But... maybe I can help you." She rests her chin on her hand and smirks.
The townhouse. Morris is reading his paper, Special Agent #1 is sitting there, and Michael is lying flat on his back on a piece of exercise equipment, bored out of his skull. Morris' cellphone rings, and the news finally pleases him. "What?" Michael asks as he hangs up.
"Tracking device landed seven minutes ago at an Air Force base in New Jersey," Morris tells them. "Should be here somewhere between two, two and a half hours."
"Hallelujah," the agent says.
"Two and a half hours?" Michael groans.
"Depending on traffic, could be sooner," Morris points out.
"It could be later."
"Well, I don't know if I can make it."
"Of course you can make it, Mr. Wiseman," Morris snaps. "It's only two and a half hours. Take a nap."
"Take a nap? Are you kidding?" Michael sits up. "All I've done these past ten days is sleep. I am slept out. I lay down and I close my eyes and all I dream about is staying up."
"Then read a book."
"I'm all read out, too. I've read everything in this townhouse - including your newspaper and my instruction manual - ten times. I am going nuts, cuckoo, out of my mind." He stands up. "How about taking me for a walk?"
"Oh, Mr. Wiseman," Morris sighs, getting up. "What? What is it you think I'll do?" Michael demands. "Don't you understand? If I really wanted to flee, I'd flee. And nobody posted at that door with a gun would stop me. Id knock the two of you over throw open the front door." He grabs the lapels of Morris' jacket. "I mean, come on, Doc, don't you get it? I'm yours. Now treat me like you believe it and let me go outside for ten minutes."
Morris looks down. Michael suddenly realizes what he's doing and lets go, trying to smooth back the lapels. After staring at Michael for a moment, the doctor sighs and turns to Special Agent #1. "Ask the car to pull around front and have the two armed agents meet me downstairs. Mr. Wiseman and I need to make a run to the bookstore. You stay here and wait for the package."
"Hallelujah," Michael says, grinning.
Lisa is still waiting outside, and is gratified to see the limo pull up. She watches as Michael, two agents, and Dr. Morris get in. "Thank you," she whispers.
The men get in, and the limo takes off. Lisa starts the engine and pulls into traffic, following them.
In the limo, Morris briefs the agents on what he wants them to do. "I need you at the front door of the store. You in the back. You are not to interfere with the customers coming and going. You're only there should Mr. Wiseman suffer a... sudden, uncontrollable lapse in judgment... which I'm sure he won't."
Janet is showing Roger a house, struggling to open the door. "Now, this one rents for $2,750." She laughs nervously, fumbling with the key, which is stuck in the door. "I cannot imagine what is wrong with this thing. I can't get it open."
"Oh, uh, why don't you let me try it?" Roger asks. He gets it open, much to Janet's delight.
"Okay, so this is the master bedroom," Janet says as she shows him the bedroom. "It's completely furnished, has brand-new carpet its own thermostat and the closets are absolutely enormous... Roger?"
"You're standing in the doorway."
"Uh, well, yes."
Janet laughs. "Don't you want to come in and see?"
"Oh, no, no, no. I'm, I'm fine. I, I can see from here."
"No, you can't. Now, come on in." He comes in a few steps, then goes right back to the doorway. Janet chuckles and sits down on the bed. "Roger? How long have you been separated?"
"Seventeen and a half days," he answers promptly. "Hmm. Roughly."
"So you're new at this."
"At this? Yes. It's brand-new. You would be my s-second one, actually."
"This... would be my second one... uh... furnished house... uh... that I've looked at. Yeah."
"Well, I'm divorced," Janet says, removing her earrings, "and I've done this a lot."
"Yes, well, you seem very... experienced."
She leans over to put her earrings on the bedside table. "May I, um, offer you some... pointers?"
"Sure. Pointers? Absolutely. I'm... I'm, I'm ready."
She beckons with her finger. "Come into the room." Awkwardly, he obeys. "How does it feel?"
"It feels nice. Roomy."
Janet giggles. "Good." She lies down on her side then, curling up on the bed and scooting back.
"What, uh, what are you doing?" Roger asks uncomfortably.
"Oh, I'm just... I'm just testing the bed."
"Oh! Oh, oh, oh, okay. Yeah. Well, how's it testing?"
"Well, it really doesn't matter what I think, does it?"
"Oh, no, no, no, no. You're wrong. I value your opinion."
"Roger?" Janet runs a hand over the bedspread. "Come here and see what you think."
Roger goes over to the bed and presses his hand onto the mattress. "Hmm. Boy, you sure know how to pick them."
Janet grabs his wrist. "You need to get on the bed, Roger."
"You think so?" Roger asks. "Uh... I didn't do this with Lisa."
She grabs his necktie and pulls him down. "Roger..."
Michael and Dr. Morris enter the bookstore, and Michael makes a beeline for the best-seller rack. "So this is the kind of thing you had to get out for?"
Morris asks derisively.
"Hey, these books are best sellers for a reason, Doc."
"I'm sure you're right. That's why they make menus. Couldn't I interest you in a classic?"
"Well, what do you mean? Mickey Spillane? Jackie Suzanne? That kind of thing?"
Morris sighs. "I'll be in non-fiction. We have ten minutes. I'll meet you at the register."
"You got it," Michael says as Morris starts off. "And thanks."
Morris smiles. "My pleasure, Mr. Wiseman."
Michael heads down another isle, stopping to check out something else.
Michael turns to see Lisa standing there. He puts the book back. "Hi."
"Hi," she manages nervously.
Michael comes over to her. "Something the matter?"
Lisa nods. "Yeah, I-I'm afraid so."
"You're shaking," Michael realizes, concerned.
"I-I followed you here. Well, not actually you; you and Dr. Morris because I really need to speak to him. He's here, right?"
"I don't know. Maybe," Michael lies, shrugging. "Is it something I might know anything about? Is it something I can help you with?"
"Um, you know, I don't... I don't think so. It concerns my husband."
Michael tenses. "Try me."
Lisa sighs. "Um, you know, I don't think I want to try you. I really need to talk to Dr. Morris."
She turns to leave. Panicked, Michael grabs her arm. "No, no, no. Lisa."
"What are you doing?" Lisa demands. "Let go of my hand."
"I'll let go in a minute. Just listen to me. You don't want to do what you're talking about doing. Dr. Morris is not the man for you to talk to about your husband."
"Let go of my wrist," Lisa snaps.
"Lisa, I am trying to help you," Michael pleads. "I'm trying to save you. Just tell me you understand, tell me you heard me. Tell me you will not speak to Dr. Morris about your husband."
"I'm going to talk to whoever the hell I want to talk to," Lisa snarls, "and you're going to let go of my wrist, or I will scream."
"Lisa, promise me."
"Don't make me do this."
She starts to scream, but she only manages a squeak as Michael pulls her to him and kisses her. Surprised, Lisa struggles and tries to pull away at first, but finally yields. They break off the kiss, still holding each other tightly.
Dazed, Lisa gasps. "What am I doing? God... what...? Who are you?"
"I'm just a guy who's trying to keep you alive," Michael whispers, his cheek still buried in her hair. "You've stumbled on to something very dangerous and if he knows you know, he'll kill you."
"Okay. Okay. Okay." Panicked, Lisa buries her face in his shoulder for a moment. "Oh, what do I do, what do I do? Do I go to the police? What do I do?"
"You don't do anything, you don't go anywhere. As long as he thinks you don't know, you're fine."
"Well, you know, he must know something because he sent somebody to my house." Hearing that, Michael pulls back to look at her, and Lisa nods. "Yeah, he did."
"Okay, then, y-y-you got to leave."
"You got to get out of here now, before he sees you."
"And then, I don't know, but I'll take care of it. Now. Before he sees you. I'll take care of it." She hesitates. "I promise you, I'll take care of it. Go."
Lisa nods and hurries away, unaware that their entire encounter is visible in one of the security mirrors. Dr. Morris watches the whole thing, his expression turning cold at this apparent betrayal.
In the limo, Michael is silent, worried. "Mr. Wiseman?" Morris asks. "I need to ask you something so I'm just going to be direct. Just now, in the bookstore, I saw you and Mrs. Wiseman engaged in conversation. Ultimately, what matters is not that you spoke, but what you spoke about. Again... I'm just going to be direct. Did she indicate that she knows who you are - or rather, who you were?"
"No. She has no idea, I swear."
"Is she aware that you are special? That you possess great strength, great speed?"
"No," Michael insists fearfully. "Doc, uh... look, I promise she doesn't know a thing. She thinks I'm a tax collector."
"And the kiss?"
"It was just a kiss, Doc." Michael sighs. "A truly foolish kiss."
Morris' cellphone rings then, and he answers it. "Yes. Excellent. We're five minutes away." He hangs up. "Good news. The tracking device just arrived and as soon as we arrive at the townhouse we'll prepare you for surgery. Put you under, get this done."
"Right. Surgery... put me under." Michael looks at the doctor worriedly. "To-to insert the tracking device?"
"Of course. To insert the tracking device."
Michael is not convinced.
In the townhouse, Special Agent #1 is waiting with a metal box that contains the tracking device. "Run that through the sterilizer and prepare the truck for surgery," Morris tells him.
The agent notices something's wrong. "Everything go all right at the bookstore?"
"Fine," Morris says.
"Great," Michael mutters. The agent leaves. "And now what happens?"
"Well... whenever you're ready, we'll go over to the truck. I'll give you an injection, and you'll black out."
Michael hesitates - they used gas to knock him out last time. "And then?"
"And then... we'll get this little chore over with and everything will be the way it's supposed to be."
"Because I'll have the tracking device in my head," Michael concludes. Morris doesn't answer. "And my wife?"
"What about your wife, Mr. Wiseman?"
"I don't know. I just..."
"You've assured me that she remains in the dark," Morris tells him. "If that's truly the case, you have nothing to fear."
"Right. Right." Michael is unconvinced, and Morris has given him no guarantees that Lisa will be all right.
He turns to go, and Morris starts to follow. Suddenly, Michael stops and drives an elbow in Morris' stomach. The doctor doubles over in pain. "Sorry," Michael apologizes before punching Morris in the face. Morris falls to the floor, unconscious, as Michael runs for the exit. There is a crash, and the alarms start blaring.
The prison cafeteria. The Eggman takes out his oxygen tubes, pulling the sections apart and handing one end to Charlie, who sticks it in his mouth.
In the Eggman's lap, under the table, is a single egg. The Eggman picks up the egg and lets it drop and smash on the floor. A second later, blood drips into a prisoner's mashed potatoes, and he realizes that his nose, mouth, and eyes are bleeding. A prison guard rushes in, but he staggers, bleeding similarly before he crashes to the floor. Another prisoner realizes he's bleeding, as some more collapse into their trays, and the guards slump to the floor. Only Charlie and the Eggman, sharing the oxygen tank, remain alive.
Charlie starts unbuttoning one of the guards' uniforms while the Eggman takes the keys from another guard's belt and starts removing his uniform as well. Wearing the guards' uniforms and carrying the oxygen tank between them, Charlie and the Eggman walk right out of the prison, passing cells full of dead prisoners. The Wiseman residence. Lisa and Heather are sitting down to dinner, and Lisa is lost in her own world. "Mom," Heather says.
"Hmm? How is it?"
Heather pokes the frozen fish with a fork. "Somewhere in between live and sushi."
"What?" Lisa pokes it herself. "Oh. I am so sorry. Uh, my mind must have been someplace else. I-I-I didn't finish microwaving the fish."
The doorbell rings then. "I'll nuke the food," Heather says. "You get the door."
"Okay," Lisa says, getting up.
The doorbell rings again as Lisa rushes to answer it, and someone pounds frantically on the door. "Take it easy!" Lisa exclaims, going to unlock the door. "What is it? What?"
Michael rushes inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. "Lisa, go grab Heather. They're right behind me."
"Who?" Lisa cries, bewildered.
"Men with guns!" Michael cries, which sets Lisa moving. "Move! Move!" They rush through the kitchen. Lisa grabs Heather as Michael opens the back door. "Come on! Out the back door!"
The three Wisemans rush out, closing the door behind them.
Silence descends for several seconds. The microwave beeps, signaling that the dinner is ready. The faucet drips. The goldfish swims in its bowl.
Then the living room window smashes in and an armed man climbs through. Another window is similarly smashed. After a few tries, two men knock down the door with a battering ram, rushing into the house with a pair of trained German Shepherds. Behind them, Morris strides up the walk. He has a split lip, but is otherwise unhurt... and he is furious.
"Find them! Find a scent, find a trail!" he bellows. "Find them!"
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