Mary Ann stares at the dress on the bed intently. It is old but well-kept. She picks it up and examines it. There are no tags or signs of manufacture. The stitching is almost flawless but definitely shows the dress was handcrafted. She notices a brown envelope lying on the bed. It was hidden under the dress. Inside is the story as portrayed in the prior episode and a note, also typed, which reads:
“It’s almost time for the tea party. Best be getting dressed, Alice. The Rabbit hole waits for no one.”
She sits on the edge of the bed and ponders the last few days events. Ginger goes missing. The Skipper and The Professor fighting. This place. She feels lost. Alone in a world gone mad. Memories of better days fill her mind. Her husband wasn’t always such a bastard. He was a good man once. They had a life together…and she killed him. She had killed that perfect life. No, not perfect. Broken. He was lashing out at the world and she was the only available target. She shakes her head. Stop that! He was hurting you! He had fallen to far. There is no excuse for what he did. Don’t blame yourself. Any judge would see the pictures and hear you talk about it and find you innocent. Sure. You got away with it, kiddo.
A knock on the door startles her back to reality. Her heart starts to race.”Gilligan? Is that you?”
Someone on the other side slides a piece of paper under the door. Mary ann approaches slowly, her mood shifting from fear to anger. “This has gone on long enough! Gilligan, I would really like to know what’s going on?!?!” No response. She picks up the paper and reads it.
“I had to guess at the size. You are size 6, right? Does it fit?”
Mary Ann crumbles the piece of paper and tries the knob. It’s locked. She pounds on the door and starts yelling. “Gilligan! This is not funny! Let me out!” No response. She pounds harder to no effect. What is happening? It’s all too much. She tries one last time to turn the knob and then slowly sinks to the floor sobbing. Everyone has a moment where they turn inward. This is Mary Ann’s.
We shift to a sleeping Lovey. She awakens slowly to the smell of freshly brewed coffee. A familiar voice asks, “Who is Julie?”
Still fuzzy from her slumber she replies with a half-formed, “What?” Her eyes adjust to the jury rigged lighting of the Professor’s lair. Professor sits at the counter he uses as a makeshift work station. Sitting on a stool nearby is Ginger. She’s wearing a tattered robe and sipping a cup of the presumed coffee. Lovey lets out an expletive and sits straight up grabbing a handful of sheet as a makeshift attempt to cover her nudity. The missing (and presumed dead) fellow castaway takes very little notice of Lovey’s reaction and feebly asks for some more of the brew. Professor refills her cup and continues to inquire about Lovely’s nocturnal mutterings.
“You were talking to someone named Julie. I don’t recall you mentioning her before.” He continues softly.
Lovey, still in a slight case of shocked surprise, tells him of her dream. He nods and pours her a cup. The liquid is similar to coffee but not as bitter. Tea? She really can’t tell. After a few quiet moments, she secures her sheet and regains herself. She takes an empty stool near the Professor. Ginger is gaunt and pale. Her hair is matted on one side and caked with dried blood. Her eyes are vacant. She doesn’t seem to acknowledge Lovey being there. She sips slowly and only interacts when the cup is near empty. The Professor waves her off and takes the cup away, careful not to drop it. Ginger seems to protest but then slumps into a stupor.
Lovey is mesmerized. “What’s wrong with her?” she whispers.
The Professor responds at normal volume. “As best as my cursory exam could tell, she’s suffered severe cranial trauma. I found pieces of rock imbedded in her topical dermis and some in the sub-dermal layers.”
“Someone hit her with a rock? The cannibals? Oh God, Roy! We need to do something!”
“Calm down. There aren’t any cannibals. They haven’t been on this island for at least a hundred years. No, it appears as though she had fallen and landed on an outcropping. What disturbs me was the state of her clothing. It looked as though someone had attacked her. Presumably to gain some kind of sexual advantage.”
Lovey reacts as though struck by lighting. “Someone tried to rape her?!?! Who?!?!”
“I would need more information but at a guess, narrowing down the list of suspects to the pool of viable male subjects, of course barring myself, I would conclude either Skipper or Gilligan. Although judging by the scab pattern of the wound I wouldn’t leave out that violent fellow either. He did seem to possess a familiarity with Ms. Grant that could lead to the conclusion they had relations, if not necessarily of a sexual nature, but most defiantly a familiarity nonetheless.”
At hearing the mention of the pilot, Ginger softly whispers,” Taylor. His name was Taylor.”
Mary Ann finishes putting on the dress. It fits almost perfectly. A little adjustment is needed but she is actually quite pleased. She calls out to no one in particular that she is ready. The door clicks. Without hesitation she turns the knob and leaves the room. The POV switches to a security monitor. We watch Mary Ann leave then move over to another screen and see the hallway. She walks with a steady pace. The hall is littered with trash, which was not here when she first arrived. She walks down the corridors occasionally stopping to gaze at graffiti that covers some of the walls. The paint is fresh and slick in the light from the lights. One particular image is of a school bus decorated in a cubist nightmare pattern of red, blue, and yellow. The bus is going full throttle. Standing in front of the bus is a partridge completely oblivious of its soon-to-be fate. The driver is a cartoonish rendering of a freckle faced red-head boy. The boy is grinning fanatically. The tag, apparently from the artist, is “D-DOG.”
Switchback to normal camera. The sound of laughter can be heard coming from down a hallway. Mary Ann proceeds in that direction. The sound grows louder as she approaches a set of double doors. The doors open into a wide open room. Light is coming from skylights above and hanging bowl lamps. A young girl is riding a penny-farthing in swooping circles around a long dinner table set up near the center of the room. Place settings have been laid out with plates and cups and saucers. A tea service sits in the middle like a porcine island. There are twelve chairs. Some are office chairs. others crude pieces of lumber nailed to what may have been a chair at one time. The carpenter obviously cared little about comfort. The girl on the bicycle whizzes past Mary Ann and almost loses her balance but makes a quick correction. Her pigtails flap wildly behind her head as she crests a corner and continues the frantic pace around the table. She giggles a shrill laugh and calls out, “Pick….A…Seat!!!!”
“No!” Another harsher voice calls out. Mary Ann turns and sees another older girl come in from an adjacent doorway. A huge basket bundled in her arms loaded down with breads and sweets of all types. The older girl is the author of the story from the previous episode. She is dressed in rags and very little attempt has been made at cleaning her face and arms. She trots to the table in a hurried pace, plops the basket down, and then runs over to give Mary Ann a quick welcoming bow. The girl on the penny-furthering comes barreling around the table again. Her intent is to run the older girl down but misses and sails off into a wild jerky tangent. She tries to correct her vector but over-corrects and slams dead-on into a wall. The clank of metal against stone resonates throughout the chamber. The young girl lies in a bloody crumple on the floor. Her skull cracked open and one arm bent at an odd angle. A comet steak of blood details the circumstances of her accident. One eye stares blankly at nothing while the other swells into a nasty bruise. The older girl turns to Mary Ann and says cheerfully, “You sit at the head of the table!”
Mary Ann, in shock, barely responds as the older girl takes her hand leads her to the head chair. A clean napkin sits on a plate in a careful tent like position. Mary Ann sits and slowly finds the ability to speak returning. She tries to say something but is interrupted by a sudden abrupt pounding on the doors the older girl had entered from. Voices could be heard above the pounding demanding voices. Masculine voices.
The older girl yells for the pounding to stop. It does. “That’s just Bobby and Oliver. No tea for naughty boys.” She pours a cup for her silent guest and then asks, “one lump or two?”
Torches, spaced a few feet apart, light the walls of a cave. This is a different cave from The Professor’s lair. It is well-kept. Shadows dance in the pale light. A figure moves slowly down a pathway towards the cave’s entrance. It passes a small shrine decorated with flowers and sea shells. A carved wooden idol sits at the shrine’s center. The camera lingers to reveal the idol appears to be a crude likeness of Gilligan’s head. The idol is adorned with similar face paint as the cannibals. It appears to be rather old. The figure reaches the cave’s mouth. It is a man of some size dressed in tattered rags and covered in sand and dirt.
“Well now,” A familiar voice says from off camera. “Aren’t you a sight!”
Mr. Howell sits on a rock massaging his shoulder. The figure is The Skipper. His eyes are glazed and vacant. In one hand he clenches his hat tightly. Thurston continues sternly, “He told me you would explain everything. I really want to hear it. All of it. But first, let’s talk about that bitch wife of mine and what we’re going to do about her.”
The Skipper puts his hat back on and smiles slyly. “I’m all ears.”