Roswell
Panacea

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Death Becomes Them

And then, with no advance warning, like a bat out of southern California, Morgan Fairchild was on Roswell, the poor thing. Sitting in a conference room with two incidental heavies and Michael, Morgan wears a vintage Falcon Crest suit she spent years trying to auction on eBay and, failing to do so, had to wear during a cameo guest-starring role on Roswell, a cruel final irony. Morgan asks Michael, "Now what happened immediately after the alarm was tripped?" Michael attempts to let her know that they "found a breach," but his voice is so overcome with emotion that it becomes more detached and monotone than usual. I know. I didn't think that was possible, either. And neither did Morgan. She elicits details of the untimely demise of Lenny/Carl, even though we saw her nine seconds before it happened, so we already know she is in some way completely responsible. Morgan tells Michael that she has enough information and that he's free to go. Michael asks, "Don't the police want to talk to me?" Because if Michael's character has garnered trust in one branch of authority lo these past three years, it's law enforcement. Morgan's agent's number is (310) 273-0744. You need a pen? Yeah, sure. I'll hold.

Knock knock knock. Michael is over at The Den Of Porno, where Kyle "His Agent Will Get In Touch With Him, Thanks" Valenti opens the door and tries to express sympathies that go ignored. Short people and their unrequited kindnesses. Y'know? Michael marches over to a seated Porno and begins bellowing, "I need your advice. I'm trying to catch the guy who killed my friend." Porno was clever enough to avoid watching the last scene, regurgitating, "Aren't the police investigating?" Michael rants that "that's the problem. I'm the only eyewitness and Meta-Chem doesn't want me talking to the cops." Michael tells us for the first time that he caught a glimpse of the killer but that it was dark. Michael's only vague recollection is that the assailant was "kind of tall, I guess." Just at this moment, Kyle walks over and leans over the back of the couch, secure in the fact that this simple description at least gets him off the hook for the crime. Porno asks after video surveillance, but Michael notes that "the power went out and the cameras shut down." Because he has a season-long quota for the total amount of spoken lines he's assured of, I guess, Kyle pipes in with a surprisingly colorless, "Doesn't sound like there's a lot to go on." Porno offers to help. Everyone seems sad and concerned. But no one seems mindful of Liz's absence.

Thank goodness, then, that we the audience are allowed to chaperone her on the aforementioned cramped and smelly bus all the way to the other side of the soundstage -- er, "country." We're back at Chilton, Chrissy Seaver on the hall payphone insisting, "There is no Liz Parker on this floor." I know it, Chrissy. She really is just that unmemorable, isn't she? Liz/Beth walks past her at that point, and Chrissy holds out the phone, all I know-your-name-and-now-also-your-agent-ily, accusing, "Liz, um, there's somebody on the phone for you." Chrissy walks away and Liz takes the phone to find Max "Time To Call Your Agent…(310) 859-4000" Evans on the other end. He misses her. She's over it, kinda. She's sorry that she didn't call. He just wants to know that she's okay. She's really good because Chilton "has a biology club." No lie. That's really the first thing she tells him. Gay, isn't it? He asks if she's had any more symptoms, and she tells him she hasn't. "That's great," he responds. "So maybe you can come home soon." We cut from Max back to Liz to find her holding a Spencer Gifts novelty clown phone handset, which we're not supposed to see until she hangs up the phone. Her hands start burning with that green static electricity, and she hastily ends the call with him and hangs it up, at which point we discover that the phone has become a Spencer Gifts novelty clown phone. All melty and misshapen. And it's smoking, too. Won't the dean be angry? A girl walks toward the phone, and Liz tells her, "The phone doesn't work. It's out of order." Damn. And with all those agents to call.

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Roswell

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