Date night. Chloe and Oliver are just finishing up their yummy dinner when the hostess approaches the table. She hands Oliver a phone. "Phone call from your wife, Mr. Jones," she says. She turns to Chloe. "If you'd like my advice? You catch a cab and let him take that limo of his back home... alone." She gives Oliver a withering look and walks away. Chloe tries to look serious for all of a moment, then busts up laughing. Oliver, seeing the joke through to the end, holds the phone up to his ear and says chipperly, "Hello, Dear!" He makes a funny face, shrugs and mouths to Chloe, "I don't know." She stifles another laugh behind her hand. This heretofore fun date night suddenly comes to an end when we get a look at Mrs. Jones. She's in a dark church or someplace with stained-glass windows. She's soaked from head to toe, her hair and pretty blue dress a mess. "I know this line isn't secure, but you weren't answering your cell," she says, near tears. "I found them." Them are the poor souls who are hanging by their wrists from the ceiling of this place, their bodies wrapped in plastic. Rain leaks through the ceiling. "I don't think I have much longer," she says. A stone gargoyle perches above her. In the restaurant, Oliver grows serious. "Who is this?" She doesn't answer because she's busy trying to free one of the victims, a man whose mouth has been taped shut. She pulls at the ropes binding his wrists. Blood begins to trickle from his eyes and nose. As she watches helplessly, the same thing happens to Mrs. Jones. "He found me," she says. She screams. Oliver tries to get more out of her, but she's lying dead on the floor, blood pooling beneath her head. A gloved hand picks up her phone. "Don't worry, Mr. Jones, you'll be joining her soon enough," says a fashionably scruffy chin with an English accent. "Oliver, what is it?" Chloe asks. "I'm pretty sure Mrs. Jones just died," he says. Mr. Jones, he tells her, is going to be next. They give each other serious looks. A quick cut back to the ruined church shows the evil-doer dropping Mrs. Jones's plastic-wrapped body to the floor among a dozen or so others. So... this means there's no time for dessert?