So, yeah, The Brat's moping, and Bendy Lisa's not exactly making him feel any better, so he jumps up to grab his bike for a self-guided tour around the block. Supremely Paranoid El Deano's all, "Whoa! Where's the fire?" and Bendy Lisa and The Brat stare at him like he's just grown a new head, so Supremely Paranoid El Deano tries to smooth it all over by chastising The Brat for making his mother unpack the kitchen all by herself. "She's got you for that, jackass," The Brat does not retort, instead rolling his eyes and slouching over to his mother's side to lend a reluctant hand. Bendy Lisa suggests they head out later for lunch. Supremely Paranoid El Deano LIES that it sounds like a plan and, after shooting a hairy side-eye at The Brat's blameless bicycle like he's going to salt and burn the damn thing the first chance he gets, Supremely Paranoid El Deano drags The Brat out to the garage to fetch another load of boxes.
Meanwhile, up in Lansing, Michigan, if that location card's anything to go by, Dapper Darling Sammy's masquerading as an FBI agent in order to get the skinny on the dead marrieds from the top of the hour. A representative of the local constabulary confides that the house's alarm never went off, so they're not thinking it was a break-in. Also, the fresh infant -- "EMMA COOPER," according to the MISSING flyer Dapper Sam's got in his hand -- has vanished, and the Lansing P.D. has no idea where she's gone. Dapper Sam thanks the detective for the latter's time, and ducks beneath the crime-scene tape to take a look at the rapidly cooling corpses.
New New Bendy Estates. The doorbell rings, and it's a delivery guy with a couple of pizzas. Supremely Paranoid El Deano, you see, "forgot" that they were supposed to go out for lunch. Bendy Lisa stares at him for a second all, "I have one nerve left, asshole, and you are tap-dancing all over it with those goddamned steel-toed hunting boots of yours," then icily announces she'll scrounge up some plates. The Brat sullenly regards his mother's dicksmack of a slampiece for a very long while, then just as sullenly trails after her into the kitchen. Supremely Paranoid El Deano gulps.
Lansing. Dapper Sam descends The Death House's front steps, babbling away on his cell to -- wait for it -- Zombie Grandpa. As Dapper Sam's found no traces of sulphur or EMF in The Death House, he's inclined to believe This Is Not Their Kind Of Thing. Zombie Grandpa, much like his aggressively bow-legged grandson did in years past, proceeds to argue This Is Totally Our Kind Of Thing, You Idiot, And If You Knew What You Were Doing, You'd Understand That. Moron. To be more specific about it all, Zombie Grandpa notes that four couples have been slaughtered in Ingham County over the last couple of days, and each of those couples had a fresh infant who's now gone missing. "Either we got monsters grabbing babies to make baby stew," he impatiently growls, "or we got a bunch of psychotic yokels grabbing babies to make baby stew. Either way, it's baby stew." It pleases me to note you've not gone all drooly on me, Raoul. "I beg your pardon?!" shrieks Raoul, an instantly affronted yet immaculately manicured paw fluttering up to clutch at his nonexistent pearls. "Human infants!? Really! What sort of base, sordid, déclassé dragon do you take me for, hmmmm?!" Just checking. "HMPH!" Oh, don't pout. Here -- have a snack. "Why, I do believe I shall!"