...Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes have infiltrated Pathetic Jane's former home, where the LYING LIARS WHO LIE pretend to be federal agents in order to give Pathetic Jane's grieving sister Olivia the third degree. "Why would federal investigators be interested in a suicide?" Grieving Olivia quite rightly wonders. "It's a new, more caring administration," Secretly Evil Sammy replies with a smile. Meanwhile, Dean's lurking around in the kitchen, and stops long enough to examine Pathetic Jane's pathetic cat calendar for a bit before swiping a candid photo of the deceased for whatever mysterious reason. Back in the living room, Grieving Olivia offers Secretly Evil Sammy an account of her pathetic sister's final hours on the planet, honestly noting that "Jane was having a really bad day" before carefully and deliberately tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear to LIE, "So, I did what any sister would do -- I tried to cheer her up, you know? Told her to hang in there." Secretly Evil Sammy's eyebrows immediately go all waspish on Grieving Olivia's ass, and he flares his remarkably healthy nostrils to peevishly inquire, "Do you know what a tell is?" "Excuse me?" Grieving Olivia gulps. "It's a poker term," Secretly Evil Sammy needlessly explains, "for when you're bluffing, like what you just did with your hair." "What are you trying to say?" Grieving Olivia flusters. "You're LYING!" Secretly Evil Sammy triumphantly declares. "Tell us what you did to your sister!"
Deeply Disturbed El Deano warily darts his eyes from his uncharacteristically hostile brother to the object of said brother's wrath and back again, but he does not intervene, and Grieving Olivia soon bursts into tears and confesses to everything. "I wanted to tell her, 'I love you,'" Grieving Olivia weeps, "but what came out was, 'You're a burden -- just kill yourself'!" "I just couldn't stop!" Grieving Olivia wails. Secretly Evil Sammy flips an openly evil smirk in Deeply Disturbed El Deano's direction, and Deeply Disturbed El Deano goes, "Buh?" until we...
...join Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes outside on the driveway, where they process through recent events. Dean came across absolutely no evidence of supernatural activity anywhere in the house, and Secretly Evil Sammy dismissively notes he himself found only "a tuba and an issue of Crochet Today!" Raoul, instantly affronted, stops polishing his tuba long enough to shriek, "And what is wrong with Crochet Today!, exactly, hmmmmm!?" Well, I'm not sure, friend of friends, but they appear to be linking interest in the domestic arts with suicidal tendencies. "Well!" gasps Raoul, appalled. "I never! I'll have those two puny little nitwits know that crochet is the craft of empresses!" Now, Raoul, I understand you're upset, but... "EMPRESSES!" Wow. I'm impressed. "AS WELL YOU SHOULD BE!" Raoul! Volume! "Oh, I do apologize, I'm sure!" Now, do you mind if I continue? "By all means! I'll just be over here practicing until you get to another good part!" "Practicing"? "Practicing!" Oh, Jesus.
In any event, the boys decide that Pathetic Jane was already predisposed to offing herself and agree that the real question is what caused Grieving Olivia to blurt out the string of hateful invective that led Pathetic Jane to pull the trigger. Our Intrepid And/Or Secretly Evil Heroes embark, and we're off to...
...a dentist's office, elsewhere in town. A perky hygienist places a tray of sterilized pointy things at the good doctor's side and exits to retrieve some additional gauze, leaving the good doctor alone with his patient, a fellow middle-aged gent who's apparently an old friend. They banter a bit until the patient nervously admits, "I gotta be honest, Paul -- I don't really want to be here." "You and most people," Doctor Paul grins, "but I don't take it personally." Doctor Paul then shoots his patient up with some Novocain and, making conversation, suggests, "You and Donna should come over for supper." "I'm not really into Donna anymore," the never-named patient confides. "She's old." Doctor Paul, who'd been firing up the drill, looks puzzled at that, and squints, "Your wife looks great for her age." "Her saggy skin makes me want to hurl," the never-named patient snaps. "I have urges, you know," No-Name continues, quickly veering into overshare territory. "Remember that camping trip that I missed because I was sick?" he leads. "Well, I wasn't -- I was just afraid to be around Melissa." "My daughter?" Doctor Paul incredulously splutters. No-Name eagerly nods, then leers, "But then, she spent the night for Jill's slumber party, and oh, it just seemed so easy, you know?" "What are you saying?" Doctor Paul gapes, increasingly horrified. "It's not so much I couldn't control myself," No-Name smiles, "I just knew I wouldn't get caught -- and I didn't!" Ominous horns blare on the soundtrack as Doctor Paul grabs No-Name by the neck and dives into the pervert's mouth with the drill. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Oh, you got that right, doll. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" Gouts of blood immediately spurt from No-Name's maw as Doctor Paul jams the drill into the back of the sick twist's throat, and No-Name involuntarily jerks around in the chair, gagging on his own shredded pharynx as Doctor Paul viciously shoves the drill even further into the fiend's gullet. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" And then the hygienist returns just in time to scream her perky self straight into this evening's first METAL TEETH CHOMP! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" This turn of events pleases you, my scaly friend? "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll take that as a yes. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
We return from the break to find Deeply Disturbed El Deano ensconced in This Week's Motel Room, once again raging at blameless Bobby via his cell over the fact that Secretly Evil Sammy's Come Back Wrong For The Seventy-Eighth Or Seventy-Ninth Time Since This Godforsaken Series Began, and long story short, Bobby's research has thus far been fruitless, though he does caution Dean that he's been thinking of "a worst-case scenario." "What, Satan's my co-pilot?" Dean snaps. "That'd be the other worst-case scenario," Bobby glums. "Well, then, what?" Dean demands. "Maybe it's just Sam," Bobby sighs. Deeply Disturbed El Deano did not want to hear that and rather rudely barks, "You got a day, Bobby, and then I'm handling this!" before hanging up to wallow in his ongoing, neverending misery with a few swigs of beer. Mmmm. Beer. And then, having decided he doesn't quite feel shitty enough about his life at the moment, Dreary El Deano dials Bendy Lisa on his cell, but hangs up again after only a couple of rings.
Fortunately, Secretly Evil Sammy returns at this moment from wherever the hell he'd been to brightly announce, "There's been another one -- a dentist drilled a guy to death!" Dean thinks that one over for a bit, then guesses, "You mean the non-sexy kind of drilling, right?" "Fifty bucks says he's mixed up in all the crazy," Secretly Evil Sammy wagers by way of response, and he goes on to propose they immediately embark to quiz the good doctor on his state of mind and whatnot. Deeply Disturbed El Deano, still tiresomely wary of the thing his brother might or might not be at the moment, begs off, claiming he'd be far more interested in some good old-fashioned research at the moment, so Secretly Evil Sammy shrugs his remarkably healthy shoulders around and leaves to interrogate Doctor Paul on his own.
One problem: Doctor Paul hanged himself in his holding cell