Okay, so, the next scene was one of the most disturbing ones for me since Sherriff Mills’ zombified boy killed and ate his father. We’re at the dentist’s office and a grown man is in the chair saying he really doesn’t want to be there. Who does, really? Dentist is all, “It’s fine, blah blah blah” and we get the joy of watching him inject Novocain (or whatever they use these days) into his gums.
Or, rather, you all did. The minute that needle approached the dude’s mouth I had to look away. Disturbing thing number one. They exchange some chit-chat, and I realize now looking back that the dentist must’ve said something about telling him the truth (though I missed it at the time because I was being a total wuss about the needle in the gums) and the dude in the chair suddenly starts True Confessions Of A Perverted Middle-Aged Suburbanite.
He starts saying his wife is too old and her sagging skin makes him sick. The dentist is all, WTH dude, and picks up his drill. THEN the dude tells the dentist that he molested the dentist’s daughter when she was over one night spending the night with his daughter—only it’s done really subtly so that at first you’re like, wait, what did he just say, but the sick pleasure on the dude’s face forces the realization and then he says the best part was that he didn’t get caught. Disturbing thing number two. My whole being heated up with impotent rage at that confession.
The dentist listens with his own growing rage and the moment the dude brags about getting away with it, well…Death By Dentil Drill. Bloody, gross and…well, come to think of it…not as disturbing in retrospect as I first thought. Too nice a death, you ask me.
Back at the motel, Dean’s alone and on the phone with Bobby—who is telling him that he can’t find anything. Nothing fits a “my brother is acting different” scenario. Dean pushes that they have to figure something out fast. He’s sitting on the edge of one of the beds sipping a beer.
Bobby: There is a worst-case scenario.
Dean: Satan is my co-pilot?
Bobby: That’d be the other worst-case scenario.
Dean: Well, what?
Bobby: Maybe it’s just…Sam.
Dean looks like someone gut-punched him and used his heart as the weapon. With a slightly hollow voice he says, “I gotta go.”
Dean: You’ve got a day, Bobby. And then…I’m handling this.
He hangs up looking sick. He scrolls down his list of names in his phone (past a Gwen…why do we know that name?) to Lisa and hits send, but hangs up after one ring. His mouth is working around words it appears he can’t figure out how to say. *sniff*
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