'American Horror Story' recap: What Child Is THIS?!

Constance brought Ben into the library. Lit by candles, the room glowed hot, blood red. Vivien lay on a bed, writhing and screaming. The whole tableau vibed “satanic ritual.” Ben balked. “This is wrong,” he said. Constance: “This house is trying to help, and you are in no position to refuse.” (Ah, but why is the house trying to help? Altruism or agenda?) Ben saw Dr. Charles Montgomery, attending, and nursing students Gladys and Maria, ready to assist. Who were they?! His perception went fuzzy. His brain spun. His “clinical worldview” simply couldn’t handle and process the shock of crazy before him. He detached. He saw himself huddled in a corner, covering his ears and wailing…

But Constance psychically yanked at him, forcing him to man-up and be present for his wife. Ben took position near Vivien's head. He held her hand. He tried to guide her breathing. But Vivien was beyond anyone’s help. Dr. Montgomery pried and pulled with ghastly tools. She pushed. She tried not to push. She didn't know what the hell to do. The pain: Excruciating. The nurse gave her ether. The sounds of the room were smothered by the strains of a mournful cello. Vivien played the cello once, and she was remarkably exceptional at it. But then she gave it up, for a reason never spelled out, but we can now probably guess: She stopped because of motherhood; because of Violet. Regret? I doubt it. I wonder, though, if she missed it. Making music. Being an artist. The good news is that she now has all the time in the world to take it up again…

The first twin extracted from Vivien’s stormy womb -- presumably the one sired by Ben; presumably the malnourished beta to the supernatural alpha, and so only six months developed – was stillborn. Or so Ben and Vivien and all of us in the viewing audience were told. We didn't see it. Did you believe Dr. Montgomery? The experimental taxidermist/basement abortionist/wackadoodle Infantatatist hustled little lord Harmon -- quiet as the baby Jesus -- over to his wife, Norah, who wrapped him up in swaddling cloth and floated away looking as pleased as a beauty pageant winner cradling her prize of roses. The first lady of Murder House finally got her baby. Are we really supposed to believe she’ll be content to cuddle a shriveled preemie fetus for eternity?

The second twin -- presumably the fully-developed miracle-grow boy seeded by Tate’s spirit spunk -- was born alive and wailing after an extraordinarily violent exit that had Vivien screaming “IT’S RIPPING ME APART!” yet also recalling the glorious memory of bringing beautiful Violet into the world with the man she loved at her side. Constance, greedy for her grandchild, ordered Dr. Montgomery to snip the infant from its placenta. “Cut the cord,” she said. “It’s time to separate mother and son.” Constance promised to return the lad to Vivien just as soon as he was all cleaned up. Moira joined Constance in the kitchen, and for one brief moment, the enemies were able to share the same space without wanting to scoop out the three eyeballs remaining between them. “He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” Moira said. Constance: “From blood and pain comes perfection.” It was an interesting line in an episode in which the black hole sun of suffering and misery that is the house was all but likened to hell. And yet, out of this metaphysical miasma, life emerged, perfect and beautiful. Yeah, so was Lucifer, and sure, the kid could be the End of The World made flesh. But what if he’s not? What if he’s… just a kid? It got me wondering if this supernatural hotspot isn’t radiant with electromagnetic evil but constructed from the essence of existential existence, and we just mistake it for something godawful thanks to the faulty perceptions and skewed interpretations of the no-different-than-you-and-me godforsaken souls stuck there and the so-called "experts" that orbit it. Murder House is a lot like life -- just so densely packed with it that it warps time and space, and GREAT GOOGILY MOOGILY! What the hell am I even saying right now?!?!? Is this wang chung that I’m typing even English?

End pretentiousness. Enter loony-tunes chaos bringer. “Hey bitches. Got that slime off my baby yet?” Constance and Moira turned away from Sweet Baby Anti-Jesus to see shoveled-brained Hayden glaring at them with raccoon eyes. To be continued next week.

Back in the library, Vivien, now emptied of her beastly burdens, was bleeding out and fading fast. Dr. Montgomery sat helplessly and uselessly at the foot of the bed, unable to rectify his patient’s wrecked insides, looking like the conductor of a runaway train resigned to catastrophe. Ben beseeched his wife to fight for life. “We can be happy, honey,” Ben said, “just like we were before my mistakes and this house.” Violet appeared to her mother -- but remained invisible to her father -- and encouraged her to let go if she wanted to, if she felt the pain was too much. With a weak voice, Vivien answered both of them: “I don’t think I have a choice.”

Ladies and gentleman, the profoundly sad last words of Vivien Harmon, who in the last 18 months of her life suffered a miscarriage late in pregnancy, suffered the spectacle of her cheating husband, suffered a rape and a home invasion and attempted murder and betrayal by her daughter and unjust incarceration, and now, death. None of this suffering was her fault. Most of this suffering was uniquely female. I don’t think I have a choice. Nope. And she never really did. The world tilted. The light faded from her eyes. Vivien passed. The Yellow Wallpaper claims another woman. She died knowing she was loved. At least the second chance she gave Ben yielded that one reward.

Still: How bleak.

A whoosh of wind blew away the attending spirits, and Ben was left to grieve alone.

Gotta love this house.

NEXT: The Break-Up

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