The Leftovers

I gave up.

After the four miscarriages,

we tried IVF.

40 grand for three eggs.

We joked about how we were gonna end up with triplets

and whether we should make their names rhyme.

But none of them stuck.

Not the names, the eggs.

And that was that.

I gave up.

No baby for me.

And then five years went by

and we finally stopped bullshitting about adoption,

and then it just...

happened.

I was pregnant.

And he was...

perfect.

His name is Sam.

Six months later, I walk into the Laundromat

and I strap him into his car seat.

And he was crying,

so I didn't kiss him.

I knew that once the car was moving, he'd calm down.

And then he was gone.

So, I sit in the parking lot and wait all day,

because he could come back, right?

They could all come back.

And if they did, it'd be on the exact spot where they disappeared from.

So, my son, who doesn't even know how to crawl,

I mean, he didn't.

It's been two years. Maybe he's older now?

But he could just reappear in a fucking parking lot.

And if I'm not there,

if I'm not there when he comes back,

what happens?

Do you think he even remembers me?

I should stop.

That's what my husband said.

I need to give up, right?

Right?

Are you gonna say something?

You know there are two of those bitches in white standing out front right now,

smoking their fucking cigarettes?

They probably think your patients are easy pickings.

If I asked them to tell me what to do,

they'd at least write it down for me.

Is that what I should do?

Tell me what to fucking do.

I don't know.

Tell me what to do.

Hey, Pop.

Hey, Lorelei.

What you got there?

Shoes.

It's one hell of a shiner.

You should see the other guy.

I take it your husband told you we were here.

Which husband?

I heard you were with the good Reverend Jamison.

He coming, too?

No.

He gave me something for you, though.

He says he's sorry he didn't put you in his fucking book.

Who torched it?

Your son.

Is he here?

He was.

Right now, he's off having himself a think.

A think about what?

We asked him to die.

Again.

Whatever is happening here...

I wanna be a part of it.

- What happened? - Dog bit me.

I'm fine. Just a little rabies.

- Is it them? - You tell me.

Dr. Bekker and Dr. Eden.

Yeah, that's them.

Told you it was the right house.

They don't look like physicists to me.

What are physicists supposed to look like?

I don't know. Shouldn't they be wearing lab coats or something?

So, now what?

Now? Now we wait.

So, I wake up, my leg is killing me.

I got a tube in my arm, another one up my dick,

Christopher Sunday is dead,

and I don't know where I am

or how the fuck I got there.

And by there, I mean here.

So, I am discomfuckingbobulated.

I'm lost. I'm in fucking agony.

I am in so much pain, I can't fucking see straight.

So, I got my hands on some of the dog's pain pills.

I popped them and soon realized

they were a bit more powerful than the human variety.

So, I passed out hard,

and when I wake up, I go outside,

and that is the first time I lay eyes upon this young lady.

And she was drowning the police officer?

Whose name is Kevin.

Correct.

It was a horrible mistake,

and I will be taking responsibility for what I've done.

I'm not sure she understands.

I understand.

You want to drown Kevin

so that he can go to this place where the dead people are.

And while he's there, he's going to learn a song from one of the dead people

and he's gonna bring that song back to you

so you can sing it and stop the biblical flood that's gonna happen tomorrow.

That about covers it.

And... and you've told all this to Kevin

and he's actually considering it.

Yeah.

He got one of Grace's horses,

headed out, said he'd be back by sundown.

And you think that Evie...

that she's in this place, too?

Why wouldn't she be?

Well, so everybody wants something.

A brain, a heart, courage.

Kevin's in the Emerald City.

He's the one that's gonna give it to you.

All right, Dorothy. Let's have it.

Tell us we're lunatics.

Yeah, it sounds crazy, but...

these are crazy times?

So, when Kevin comes back, you're not gonna jam us up?

No.

I'm not gonna jam you up.

You don't think he's coming back.

Well, it's a lot to... to put on someone,

asking for all that help.

I mean, if it were me, I would just keep riding.

Get as far from this as possible.

But Kevin, he'll come back.

He always does.

G'day. Miss Playford?

No, sir.

And who might you be?

My name is Maria Carmen Rodriguez.

Date of birth... 083080.

This is a copy of this morning's "Las Noticias."

This was my choice and mine alone.

I indemnify all others.

I'm of sound mind and body

and give consent to go...

to go wherever they went.

Amen.

So, the two women in that house, they recorded this?

One would assume.

And we're also assuming they're just gonna lead us

right to this device they told you about?

You don't have to stay, Laurie.

You can go help Kevin.

Kevin's still at the airport.

Last I checked, all the flights were grounded.

Well, Michael and John will call me if they need me.

I'm happy to keep helping here.

You already helped by finding me the address.

Come on. You're not gonna let me see this suicide machine for myself?

- It's not a suicide machine. - It's not?

'Cause it sure seems like an incredibly elegant way to kill yourself.

If I was gonna kill myself, I'd just go scuba diving.

What?

There are lots of ways to die when you're scuba diving.

Your oxygen tank can break.

You can get a bubble in your blood that gives you a stroke.

I know. I'm certified.

And Laurie Murphy was certified.

She had logged hundreds of hours underwater,

but accidents happen.

What a senseless tragedy.

And then Jill and Tom and John

are standing there at the funeral,

and they're protected.

They'll never know that you twisted the knob the wrong direction

because you wanted to.

And just like that, you were gone.

Clean, quiet certainty.

Fully explained.

Now, that's fucking elegant.

Can I have a napkin, please?

Or if you're going for inelegant,

you could just do it like Matt here.

Know your cancer's back,

tell no one...

get no treatment,

pray for divine fucking intervention.

- That's not fair. - Yes, it is.

I deserve that.

You... you don't wanna kill yourself.

I know suicidal when I see it.

You know suicidal when you see it?

Is that one of your psychic powers?

I don't have psychic powers.

That's right. It's John who's psychic.

Come on. You know how it works.