Darrow's small apartment is actually an art studio of sorts, lined with canvas upon canvas of Santeria-inspired images. By the way, instead of the tick-tick-ticking of a clock subtly underscoring the conversation that follows as it did in the two previous scenes involving those who dealt with the devil in 1996, this bit features an old blues guitar number. I get the link to Robert Johnson, another who traded his soul for artistic ability (oops! Spoiler!), but I can't even begin to think about any deeper significance, because this recap's long enough as it is. In any event, as the gentleman of the apartment pours himself a hefty slug of bourbon, the boys quiz him on the substance lining his doorway. "Goofer dust," comes the answer. George Darrow is met by a pair of blank stares. Heh. "You boys think you know something about something," he incredulously challenges them, "but not goofer dust?" Well, if you had just called it "graveyard dirt mixed with snakeskin, ash, powdered sulfur, salt, red and black pepper, powdered bones, powdered insect chitin, herbs, and iron filings," I'm sure they'd have understood its significance. Darrow slings a pouch of the stuff at Dean and tells them to keep it, as he won't be needing it anymore. He trudges over to a sprung armchair and flops down into the thing to offer Our Intrepid Heroes the brief version of his autobiography: He traded his soul at the crossroads next to Lloyd's for "talent," which he now -- and for the last ten years -- has possessed in abundance. Problem is, no one wants to buy his paintings. "They will after he's dead," Raoul nods with assurance. "In fact, I would not be surprised in the least if I learned the demon who initially brokered this deal has a horde of George Darrow originals stashed away in the back rooms of her chamber down in Hell. Or, you know, Chelsea." In any event, that's not the problem, as George resigned himself to his fate a long time ago. The problem is that, after finalizing the deal with George here, "the demon didn't leave." "The damn thing stayed at Lloyd's for a week!" he seethes. "Just chattin' -- makin' more deals." That's a bad thing, right? "Not from the demon's point of view," Raoul would like to remind us all. "And frankly, having seen the sort of materialist yuppie idiots she dealt with this go-round, I find myself taking her side." The boys pump Darrow for information on the other dealmakers and look disappointed when he seems to remember only the architect and the surgeon. "One more," George suddenly sighs. "Nice guy, too...Hudson. Evan, I think." Sam once more offers Darrow their assistance in fighting whatever it is that's coming for him -- an offer that's angrily rebuffed. Jumping out of his chair, Darrow rages, "I brought this on myself!" before admitting with a certain amount of sorrow, "I brought it on them." "I'm going to Hell, one way or the other," he mutters, waving a hand at them dismissively and turning his back. "All I want to do is finish my last painting -- day or two, and I'm done. I just want to hold them off until then." Sam -- AGAIN -- makes with his Dudley Do-Right routine, and Darrow quite awesomely screams, "GET OUT. I've got work to do." "You really don't want to die," Sam, still not getting it, snottily leads. "I don't?" George Darrow spits at him, just as the blues song he'd started on his player at the top of the scene fades out. "I'm tired," he finishes in the silence that follows. And with that, he turns his back on them for the last time. Sam and Dean, chastened, skulk out of the studio as Darrow brushes some more paint onto his last canvas.
Somewhere expensive, a numbers-crunching dork who looks like the unholy love child of Timothy Busfield and Danny Bonaduce frantically taps away at a spreadsheet on his computer until the aggressive barking of an unseen hellhound invades the guy's den from the backyard. The dork -- and I'm guessing this is Evan -- jumps around in his chair to goggle at the window as the barking slowly dies away. He rises to peer uneasily through the blinds just as his wife pops into the room from the hallway outside. "Spying on the neighbors?" she smirks. Evan bumbles through a response that isn't before wondering if she's ready to go. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you want me out of the house," Mrs. Evan teases. Evan bumbles through another response that isn't, so Mrs. Evan wonders how he's going to spend the weekend while she's visiting her sister. "I've got some bills to pay," he shrugs. D'OH! "Pain!" Raoul shrieks. "I'm in pain!" I'll ignore how horrendous that line is to note that the subtle clock motif from the earlier scenes with the partner and the housekeeper underscores this scene, as well, only this time around it's not so much the tick-tick-ticking of an electric wall clock's second hand as it is the slower tick-tocking of a mantel or grandfather clock. I'm not sure if that's supposed to mean anything, but given the fact that Evan was the only one of the four to trade his soul for selfless reasons and thus is the only one of the four who will survive the evening, I'm thinking the shift in clock tones is deliberate. Um. Ooops? Spoiler! In any event, Evan and The Mrs. hug and kiss and bid each other farewell. Just as Mrs. Evan's about to leave the room, though, she spins back to...transmogrify into a hideous ghoul! Yes, much like The Motel Of The Baskervilles' manager from earlier, Mrs. Evan's eyes sink into her skull and her skin goes ashen as she wordlessly works her gaping maw and her pupils cloud over with cataracts. Evan gapes, and the camera shoots into his eye so we can watch his pupil dilate with terror as the up-wailing strings go nuts on the soundtrack. Right before he lets loose with a full-throated scream, however, Mrs. Ghoul snaps back into Mrs. Evan form to smile, "I love you." Evan collapses into the METAL TEETH CHOMP!