In any event, Sam Wesson re-explains about those dreams he's been having, leading Dean Smith to eye-roll, "So, you're telling me your dreams are special visions, and you're some kind of psychic?" Sam Wesson, taken aback by the accusation, lets his excitement ebb for a bit and frowns, "No! I mean, that would be nuts!" Wah-wah-waaaaaaaaah! He quickly changes the subject by noting he found a connection between the two apparent suicides by cracking into their e-mail accounts -- or, as Sam Wesson apologetically puts it, "I used some skills that I happen to have to satisfy my curiosity." Heh. Dean Smith is suitably impressed, and examines the hard-copy e-mails Sam Wesson's provided to learn that both apparent suicides were summoned to what they believed were human resources meetings the days before they died, but there's one problem with that: Human resources is located on the seventh floor, but both apparent suicides were told to report to Room 1444. "Should we check this out right now?" Dean Smith hesitates. "I am dying to check this out right now!" Sam Wesson replies. "I know!" Dean Smith enthuses. "Right?" Heh.
Meanwhile, yet another tech support geek's been summoned to Room 1444, which is at the end of a very dark hallway, and which appears to be nothing more than a glorified storage closet for cast-off computer accessories. Of course, no sooner has the geek crossed the threshold when the door immediately slams shut behind him of its own accord, and of course, the door's now locked tight, so the geek couldn't escape the demonic storage closet even if he tried. And soon enough, his increasingly panicked breaths stream visibly from his mouth, and all of the disused monitors on the shelves surrounding him switch on to blast snow because television writers don't know how computer monitors work, and before you know it, the tech geek's screaming his damn fool head off.
Meanwhile, out in the hall, Smith & Wesson -- now do you get it? -- arrive just in the nick of time, and Sam Wesson wastes not an instant kicking the locked door off its hinges. "Whoa!" Dean Smith Keanus in admiration before both gentlemen leap into the room to free the imperiled tech geek from the rack of shelving something had toppled over onto him off-screen. And that something? Is the elderly ghost from the bathroom, of course, who now materializes to hurl Smith & Wesson across the room before bending down over the imperiled tech geek, menacing the drone with a bit of arcing blue electricity that sparks from his fingertips. Dean Smith, thinking fast, grabs a nearby wrench and swings it like a baseball bat through the elderly specter's head. Kick ass. The ghost, of course, vanishes instantly, taking with it the improbable snow on the disused computer monitors, and now it's Sam Wesson's turn to be impressed. "How did you know to do that?" he asks, once they've freed the most grateful geek. "I don't know!" Dean Smith gulps, and the two stand there panting at each other manfully until the METAL TEETH CHOMP! comes on little cat feet to swallow them whole. Woof.