The equally bloody colored NOW fades in and back out again. A brunette is asleep on a couch with a book across her chest and her left arm across her eyes. We hear snoring, but it's coming from an episode of The Three Stooges on her TV, which starts flickering on and off. The reception disintegrates to snow. The brunette stirs, but doesn't wake. Her pores are crying out for exfoliation, toner and moisturizer. The lamps start flickering on and off and she slowly opens her eyes. She sits up and when she exhales, her breath is visible. Either it's well past time to brush her teeth, or there's a spirit at work. She barefoots it to a closet, ignoring her ringing phone. Her machine kicks in, "Hey, it's Olivia. I'm not in. Leave a message." She throws open the double doors, pushes the hanging clothes to either side, and pulls down a door behind them, to reveal her built-in weapons cache. She flips on her EMF reader, which lights up like the corpse of someone Dean and Sam don't want coming back.
The caller leaves his message. "Olivia, it's Bobby." Bobby Bobby. "Call me back, will ya? Got something big." Oh sheesh, Bobby, don't use Dean as your Cyrano. Olivia takes out a gun and loads it with salt rounds; it's big, too. Bobby continues: "We could use your help." Olivia screams, "What a fricking coincidence, Bobby," or maybe not. I forget. There's a weird thump thump thumping coming from outside my house.
Olivia cases the joint (hers, not mine) and a dead guy appears behind her. She says, "You," and blows him away. Literally. He poofs into a cloud of black smoke which flies out the window Olivia's just shot out. Maybe she was too hasty. In all the excitement, the TV in the background switches from the Stooges to a Soloflex commercial. That spirit could be benevolent. The camera pans to some big gray sacks on the floor. They're hand laced up the sides. Olivia grabs one and lays a thick line of salt across an interior doorway. She looks up, and dead guy is back like a bad check, or an even worse ex. She whimpers as she rises to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Okay, bad ex it is. Maybe dead guy would be buying the apologetic approach if you'd tried it before shooting him. I'm just sayin'... She backs away slowly and turns her back to him because she really trusts that salt line, I guess. She's confronted by a dead woman - a dirty blonde. A really, really, dirty blonde, in an equally dirty shirt who wants to muck up her hands to match the rest of her ensemble. She reaches into Olivia. You can hear the squick sound as her hand penetrates Olivia's flesh, and the fwomp as it pulls something out. Olivia screams "I should have laid out the salt in a circle," or something, and we fade to black. RAAAWWWR! The new title card, with its bat-like angel wings, is growing on me, but commercials never will. There's a voice that sounds like it's coming from my backyard (but I won't rule out my head). I can't quite make out what it's saying. Sounds like, "No more more?" but that's not quite it.