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Sorry we’re late… I had to take Hank grocery shopping.
Why didn’t you mention it was Hank Day?
Hank, I bought you this little high horse. Usually Nick rides it, but today it’s all yours.
Back at their desks, the dream team tries to figure out a way to get the evidence they need. Personally, I found it obvious that they should go talk to the living brother. But they make it look like they are working through the night before they decide to go talk to him and see if perhaps he’s still dining on the dead. I’d totally be a better detective than these too. They have a little banter about Hank not wanting to get Nick involved in all this and Nick is all “you didn’t, my family did” and I’m all “um, it’s your job, guys… a man is about to die and you’re feeling sorry for each other. How about we man up and get to work”.
I can’t believe my day is almost over.
Tomorrow it’s gonna be all about John.
Cut to Johnny Kreski making some Foot Stew… or Seafoot Gumbo… or Feet Chili. It’s all very Hannibal Lector. (Oh crap, I totally forgot… when Nick and Hank were at the Grimmobile looking at past Wendigos, they find a newspaper clipping about Jeffrey Dahmer. Apparently someone in Nick’s family thought he was a Wendigo… kinda a cool tie-in… John Wayne Gacy buried people under his house, but he didn’t eat them, but he did, um, well… whatevs.)
Tradition Hanksgiving Day Meal.
I’ve got a ‘hank’ering for some feet.
At Nick’s house, Juliette is online researching obsession. (I have researched A LOT of things… most of which I hope will never be used in a court of law. I’ve actually made arrangements that if I die or am accused of hurting anyone, one of my friends is to immediately come get all my computers and get rid of them because it would be impossible to innocently explain away some of the things I look up online.) But back to Juliette, as she’s reading about obsessions, Nick comes home and she closes the laptop and says that she can’t sleep. He (ARROGANTLY) asks if it’s because of him. She says not really. He asks what she remembers about the night and she tells him and then he says she lost her memory of him because of a cat scratch and then she says she’s had hundreds of cat scratches and then he says that he could explain a lot more to her but that she couldn’t handle it. (And I made that a run-on sentence because I just wanted to get through the scene… tell her, don’t tell her… I just don’t care… I just can’t take her furrowed brow/quizzical look any more. It’s like she can’t have an emotion other than boring/confused/dumbsht.