Much later, long after night has fallen, yet another Bristol brunette eases herself onto the cell block and quickly crosses to berate Our Incarcerated Hero. "What happened to my husband?" Bristol Brunette Number...what is this, now, eight? We'll go with eight. "What happened to my husband?" Bristol Brunette Number Eight demands. Darling Sammy unleashes the mighty power of his recently reconstituted Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Pleading And Doom, but alas! They seem to have no hold on this woman. For now, at any rate. "Don't lie to me!" Bristol Brunette Number Eight fumes. "I know who you are, Sam, and I know what you do!" Dun-dun-DUN! Also:
FLASHBACK! This one is, by far, the lengthiest we've seen up to this point, and as the jittery jumps around in time are being kept to a minimum, I'm guessing this means Death's crappy little Wall will be tumbling down long before this evening's episode ends. In any event, it's all still in black-and-white, and in it, we find Slutty Sammy and Zombie Grandpa explaining themselves to Soon-To-Be-Dead Sheriff and his lovely wife, Bristol Brunette Number Eight. The latter are, of course, initially shocked and appalled, but as testament to their solid character, or whatever, the flashback ends with Sheriff Monster Chow stoically taking his wife's hand in his own and asking of Slutty Sammy, "What do you need us to do?"
Sam snaps back to the present in time to gasp, "Your husband -- he's the sheriff?" "Was the sheriff," Bristol Brunette Number Eight frostily corrects, "until he vanished!" She rages at Our Incarcerated Hero for a bit before calming herself down and insisting, "I just want to know what happened." "So do I," Sam admits, and there's a bit of tiresome back-and-forth wherein he attempts to explain his condition and she yells that he's full of shit until he unleashes a heretofore never-seen extra-special super-powered version of his patented Ultra-Deluxe Puppy-Dog Eyes Of Abject Pleading And Doom, and she lets him out of the cell. Just go with it. She reintroduces herself as "Brenna Dobbs," and follows that up with, "Help me find some rope -- if it's gonna look like a breakout, you're gonna need to tie me up." "Atta girl!" shrieks Raoul, and honey, you know I love you more than my luggage, but she didn't mean it like that. "Rats!" Now, pay attention. "I shall!" Excellent.
Elsewhere, Bristol Brunette Number Four pours herself a healing glass of boxed wine while her cuckold of a husband -- wait for it -- scowls. "What?" she snaps after catching his disapproving eye. "It's not like it's gonna drink itself." "Atta girl!" Raoul, hush -- I'm not sure if you've noticed, but we haven't even hit the first damn commercial break yet, and I'd like to get through this before Justin Bieber reaches in and crushes what's left of my puny little brain. "Oh, I do apologize, I'm sure! Please continue!" Thanks. Cuckold Don -- wait for it -- scowls, again, after which he exits the scene, never to be heard from again. Thus so left alone, Brunette Number Four returns her attentions to her wine box, but alas, it is drained, so she heads down into her gloomy basement to fetch some more. Of course, the light's out, so she must navigate the rickety staircase atop her tottering heels in the dark, and barely has she made it halfway down when...a grubby hand snatches at her ankle! DUN! Brunette Number Four howls and wails and lands flat on her face on the concrete floor below, and when she opens her eyes to stare up at the clacking, chittering thing now looming high above her, she unhinges her lower jaw and screams herself all the way into this evening's very first METAL TEETH CHOMP!