#medium tv

“So… Who is that guy?” Allison asked as she watched the man vigorously wipe his hands with what she assumed was some kind of disinfecting towelette.

Lee noticed where her stare was directed and chuckled. “That, Allison, is Adrian Monk.”

(“Did you have a dream?” meets “Here’s what happened.” Allison Dubois and Adrian Monk team up to investigate the hit-and-run murder of a young violinist. Can they crack the case, or will the ghosts of the past cloud their judgement?)

“Besides”—Peter sat down on the arm of the couch, opposite to MJ—“if you’re really getting messages from the Great Beyond, don’t you think at least one person will get back to you?”

That was… not an unreasonable conclusion, all things considered. MJ told him so, and Peter laughed.

“Thank you. I try my best.”

(MJ is psychic. She’d rather not be. A PeterMJ rewrite of season 1, episode 1 of NBC/CBS’s Medium.)

Medium Rewatch | Pilot (1x01)

“Maybe,” Lee agreed, sounding as far from convinced as humanly possible.

“No, Mrs. Dubois might be onto something,” Monk said, matching pace with Lee and Allison. Sharona was only a step or two behind him. “Vanessa Sawyer deliberately pointed us in the direction of Marcus Jackson when she lied about the status of his and Louise Boudreaux’s relationship.”

“That’s right,” Sharona said, snapping her fingers. “She’s the only one who said anything about their relationship being on the rocks! Nobody else could confirm that.”

“Exactly,” Monk said. “They were on the verge of marriage, not breaking up!”

“According to your readings of Jackson’s body language,” Lee countered. “And he’s not exactly the most credible figure when it’s his significant other who’s dead. Besides, Sawyer was Boudreaux’s roommate. It’s entirely possible she heard stuff straight from Louise that wasn’t being passed over to Marcus.”

“Vanessa’s credibility is just as shot,” Allison insisted as they all came to a stop in front of Lee’s police cruiser. “Her story doesn’t add up and you know it.”

“Did you check out her car?” Monk asked. “The blue Nissan she claimed to own?”

“I did,” Lee confirmed. “She doesn’t own any Nissan, blue or otherwise. At least not one that’s registered with the DMV.”

“Then why did she have a key for a Nissan?” Monk demanded. He frowned. “And there was something off about her key, too. I wish I’d gotten a closer look at it.”

“I mean, she could’ve been holding onto the key for someone,” Sharona pointed out. “I agree there’s something fishy about her, but it’s possible the key wasn’t hers.”

“Then why would she lie and say it was?” Monk protested, raising his shoulders and holding out his hands. “She’s the guy. There’s a connection between that key and the murder of Louise Boudreaux.” He faltered, shoulders falling. “I just don’t know what it is. Yet.”

Vanessa stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a very talented violinist.” Monk gestured to the awards on the shelf to his left. “First chair material. It’s perfectly understandable for you to be interested in claiming the position, despite the… unfortunate circumstances by which it has become available.”

“Sir, I haven’t performed in years,” Vanessa said, both amused and offended. She lifted her left hand. Though she was still clutching the key ring, the scar that ran down her thumb was clearly visible. “I had a major surgery several years ago. I couldn’t even pick up my bow.”

Monk touched the rim of a lamp resting on a small table beside the couch. “You haven’t performed since,” he agreed, “but you have been practicing again.”

“What are you talking about?” Vanessa demanded. She glanced at Lee, who was observing the conversation with silent interest. “Detective, what does your consultant think he’s doing?”

“You have new calluses on your right fingertips,” Monk explained. Allison looked down at the woman’s right hand—sure enough, Monk was right.

“One of them blistered,” he continued, “and is now healing. You’ve been playing your violin again.” Monk paused. “Unless I’m wrong. Which, you know. I’m not.”