Previously on Scream Queens...
Someone is targeting the patients at the C.U.R.E. Institute.
You know who the killer is, don't you?
I want a transfer to your hospital.
Denise: I pulled a few strings and had you transferred, on the condition that you cooperate with our investigation.
Chanel: I'm getting married!
Brock: I don't think you know who I am or what I'm capable of, Chad.
The things I've done, the things I'm willing to do.
The next body I touch with these hands will be Chanel's.
Chad Radwell's dead!
Chad Radwell's dead!
We know. We were all there.
I mean, he just died like five minutes ago.
How you already dressed up like Jackie Kennedy?
In my grief, I ran across the street and put on my old Halloween costume.
Well, our theory that the killer was the 1986 mother or her unborn son is out the window.
We thought that they were seeking revenge against this institution by murdering its patients, but, of course, Chad Radwell wasn't a patient.
Look, I'm just gonna be the first one to say it... we have another murder to cover up, and, you know, if the press gets wind of this, there'll be a media firestorm.
And I just... I don't think I could survive that in my current state.
Where'd you go just then?
You got real ominous for no reason.
And what exactly is your "current state?"
My state of concern that the hospital will be shut down before we've even cured our first patient.
And that would be bad, because you are curing patients.
They just keep getting killed, like, right after.
You guys! Chad is dead!
We can all see that, okay?
He fell through the rafters in the middle of your wedding.
Now can we please just stop screaming?
How I choose to grieve the passing of my rich, hot, dead fiancé is entirely up to me.
I'm just saying... we're all super upset.
Are you upset, Number Five?
Because as far as I can tell, I am the only one here showing even a modicum of anguish.
I mean, did anyone else here think to change into a costume with a subtle Jackie Kennedy leitmotif to show that the passing of Chad Radwell is a major event in our nation's history?
Is anyone else so bereaved that they've lost control of their bladder, and they've started relieving themselves in the potted plants in the hallway? No!
In fact, is anyone here raging at the heavens by peeing in places you're not supposed to pee?
So quit making this about you, Number Five, because this is about me!
Denise: All right, that is it.
Get her out of here.
Today is my day! Chanel Oberlin, bereaved fiancée of dead Chad Radwell.
Denise: that goes for all of you.
I'm gonna need this room to myself.
We are going to follow FBI protocol to the letter on this one, ladies and gentlemen.
And that means I need to examine the body alone.
Ebony, Ivory, get out of here!
Shoo, fly, shoo. Git, git, git!
Get to steppin'!
(DOOR SHUTS) I lied.
This ain't FBI protocol.
In fact, it's against FBI protocol and everything I learned at Quantico, and from watching the TV show Quantico.
I just... mm... wanted to be alone with my sweet boo.
And now I'm real curious about certain parts of your body and its relative hardness, now that this rigor mortis done kicked in.
Chad Radwell, my on-again, off-again lover, Halloween is in two days.
And that was always our special night.
That's when our role-playing sessions got particularly steamy.
Denise: Remember that time we acted out the plot of Brokeback Mountain?
Howdy, I'm Jack. Jack Twist.
I'm Ennis. Ennis Del Mar.
And I am a gay cowboy.
Whoa! But I ain't queer.
I ain't queer either.
I can't quit you!
Don't quit me!
Chad Radwell, I promise to honor your death by dressing up on Halloween as Mrs. Chad Radwell, and finding out who killed you.
And if I die trying, I will meet you up in heaven, baby boy, at one of them no-tell motels.
And you'll do whatever you want with all of this.
(SOFTLY): Oh... my baby.
Oh, God, help me.
I don't understand. You just asked the FBI if you could transfer Hester to my hospital, and they just said yes?
Actually, they texted me a "thumbs up" emoji.
I mean, the whole thing took place over WhatsApp, so it only took, like, ten seconds.
Why, hello, Dean Munsch.
You appear to be wearing a wedding gown this Halloween.
I am dressed as Mrs. Chad Radwell, because my on-again, off-again sometimes-sexy role-playing lover was murdered last night!
But you already knew that.
Munsch: No one can know the truth, or they will shut this facility down.
Munsch: The killer isn't just killing patients anymore. Why?
Why has the pattern been broken?
Who can say?
What I do know... is that Halloween night is upon us, and massacres tend to happen in this hospital on Halloween night.
I hope you two are prepared, 'cause I have a feeling that this year... is gonna be a doozy.
What do you suggest we do?
You know the killer is someone in your ranks.
Throw a Halloween party for your hospital staff.
They're the bait.
They'll draw the killer out, and you can catch him yourselves.
Let me out just for one night so I can go to the party.
What? Hell no.
No, we're not gonna do that.
But I'll help you solve the case.
You already did help us. That was a good idea about throwing that party.
But I want to go to the party.
How about this?
You tell us who the killer is, and then we'll let your crazy ass go to the party.
How 'bout I go to the party, and not tell you who the killer is?
Why would we do that?
(CELL PHONE VIBRATES)
Dr. Cathy Munsch.
You're not gonna believe this.
All right, now that we're all here, let's begin.
Chanel: Hold on. How can we read my beloved Chad's will without his awful family here?
I'm sorry, I thought you'd been informed.
When the Radwells heard about Chad's impending nuptials to you, Chanel, they all loaded into one of the family 747s and rushed here to try to stop it.
Unfortunately, on approach, the plane crashed, killing all on board.
Oh, my God, that's horrible.
The entire family fortune was passed to Chad, so when he died, a short while after, his will became the legal document that determined where all the Radwell money goes.
Exactly how much money is all the Radwell money?
I mean, are we talking George Clooney E. R. money, or George Clooney first dollar gross on Ocean's 11, and owner of Casamigos Tequila money?
Do not answer that question.
You can steal my man, with your ample booty and admittedly beautiful weave, but I will not allow you to take the money he obviously left for me so I can be rich enough for everyone to like me again.
I'm his wife, after all.
Technically speaking, you aren't.
He died before you got married.
The love of my life is dead.
Chanel-O-Ween is ruined again!
I have no money, my friends are awful, and I work in this stupid hospital.
I am sad.
And where I come from, a sad and skinny 20-something's feelings are more important than some silly little legal document.
Can we just move this along?
Yes. Thank you.
"I, Chad Radwell, being of sound mind and bitchin' body, do hereby leave all of my Benjamins, the majority of which was made decades ago by my great-great-grandfather, Mercury Radwell, through graft, corruption, and bribery, and on the broken backs of non-union labor, to... (GASPS) Dean Munsch and the C.U.R.E. Institute for reasons that are well-known to her."
Say what now?
Mitch: That's what it says.
He called and asked to have it changed the day he died.
He never explained why.
Well, clearly he just wanted his last act to be one of generosity and kindness.
To make up for all the awful things he did while he was alive.
And I, for one, am not gonna let Chad down.
So on behalf of all of the poor souls who will have a chance to be cured, you know, as well as the obviously gaudy pink mansion I'm gonna purchase in Palm Beach with my new, grossly inappropriate salary, I accept.
Chanel... are you okay?
I think everyone should leave now.
(SLOW, DRAWN-OUT SCREAM)
...terrible, I am so... so sorry. No...
This whole thing stinks worse than Number Five's lululemons after a two-hour Pilates class and Dean Munsch, you're the crotch.
Denise: Do you want to press charges against this crazy ho, who still seems to think that Chad Radwell liked her better than me?
Even though he told me on numerous occasions that having s*x with you was like banging a disinterested piece of plywood.
I will gladly arrest her ass.
No. No, it's not her fault. The poor girl is grieving.
We need to give her the space to process her loss... her way.
♪ It's all about you... ♪
Chanel: I used to love Halloween.
But now I'm poor, have to have a job.
My fiancé got murdered.
I find myself in rather a dark place. (SNARLS)
So, instead of using my ugly cow fans as pawns in a cynical ploy to bolster my popularity on social media, by making it seem like I actually like them, I am gonna use this Chanel-O-Ween to send my throngs of homely, rural well-wishers gifts that are so shocking and vile, there's no way they'll miss the fact that I actively hate them and spend every day of my life trying to avoid becoming... just like them.
This Chanel-O-Ween, I've looted the morgue and everyone at the hospital's biohazard bins for presents for my disgusting hippo fans.
Girl: Oh, my God. Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
♪ It's all about you... ♪
Oh, my God! (LAUGHS)
Girl: Her hand... wrote my name!
"... I hope this bag of rancid lipo fat can be used as lamp oil to brighten up the disgusting hovel you've chosen to live in."
(SOBBING): "You are a shining example of why euthanasia should be made legal.
This box is just filled with pus!
Chanel sent me a bag of diseased whore hearts!
Shantelle: "Shantelle, you're everything I hate about everything. Happy Chanel-O-Ween! Chanel."
There's this dumb bitch named Susan who I visited two years ago. She thinks I find her story inspiring, so...
I guess we're just gonna have to go visit her in person to tell her how I really feel.
Look! I got you this box of exploding corpse bile.
You know I loathe you, right?
♪ It's all about you... ♪
Barbara: Chanel, thank you so much for putting me in my place!
Girl: You are right Chanel.
I am garbage.
I love you so much. (SOBS)
♪ You are star bright. ♪
Brock: I think you have a viral infection.
You know, high-stress situations can cause our immune system to lose its potency and make us susceptible to all kinds of nasty things.
I am feeling pretty bad about losing my Chaddy.
But I think my biggest stress is that, for the second time in my life, a crazed serial killer has chosen to target me and my friends.
And because of that, another Halloween is kind of ruined.
I mean, why, Brock? Why do bad things happen to good people?
Chanel, I'm a surgeon. We don't do good or bad.
We do "can it be fixed, or can't it?"
I think the only thing that's gonna make you feel better is we find that killer and make sure they don't kill again.
That's what we have to do.
I'm, like, totally damp right now.
So do you have any idea who that killer might be?
Well, in my experience, it's usually more than one, with a single brilliant ringleader pulling the strings.
You have to be a pretty smart cookie to pull all those strings and get away with it, huh?
Ivy League smart.
You should know that my self-esteem is just low enough for a conversation where we are covertly intimating that you are a crazed killer... it's kind of turning me on.
Well, girls do love the bad boys.
Here's a solution of colloidal silver.
It'll clear that rash right up.
Silver? Uh, what about bacitracin or something?
Just take it before you go to bed, get a good night sleep, and in the morning, you'll be back to your old self.
(ALARM CLOCK BEEPING)
Chanel #3: Oh, my God.
How did you do that?
(INHALES) I don't...
I don't know. I mean, I just drank that stuff that Dr. Brock gave me before bed and I woke up and I looked like... like this! I mean, just kill me, kill me now!
It's actually kind of awesome. Did you know that Elizabeth I imposed sumptuary laws that said only people with royal blood could wear blue?
I am not wearing blue, Rhino Boob, I am blue!
The Egyptians considered it to be the color of divinity.
I'm sorry. Did this crappy dorm turn into a Doctor Who TARDIS while I was asleep and transport us all back to Ancient Egypt?
Are there slaves in the kitchen making me my poached eggs this morning, Chanel #3?
Are we gonna worship every cat we see today?
Then I would love to know how a society that died out over a hundred years ago is relevant to the fact that I am the color of an icy pop!
I mean, this is totally gonna ruin the staff Halloween party for me!
This is perfect!
Now you don't have to worry about a costume.
You can go as a blueberry!
Or... a Smurfette.
Or a super bummed-out mood ring.
Get out. Get out!
Get out! Get out!
("RHYTHM OF THE NIGHT" PLAYING OVER RADIO)
♪ You'll be doing fine once the music starts ♪
♪ Oh, feel the beat of the rhythm of the night ♪
♪ Dance until the morning light ♪
♪ Forget about the worries on your mind ♪
♪ You can leave them all behind ♪
♪ Feel the beat of the rhythm of the night ♪
♪ Oh, the rhythm of the night ♪
(CRASH IN DISTANCE)
I beat the Red Devil, and that was before my FBI training.
You think I'm scared of a giant booger?
And I know who you are underneath that mask.
Come on! (GRUNTING)
To hell with this.
I'm not playing around.
It's time... for you to die.
(GUN CLICKING EMPTY)
Hester: Agent Hemphill, I presume?
And you got yourself a deal.
I texted my higher-ups at Quantico, and they agreed to release you tonight, for 24 hours, when Halloween officially begins.
You will wear this anklet.
That way, they'll know if you leave the hospital grounds.
Now, at the stroke of midnight, after I've had a few cocktails, danced a little bit, and made out with a couple guys, you will tell us who the killer is.
You will not tell anybody about this arrangement, because if you do, you will be sent back to the asylum like that.
You will wear this costume, and you will keep this mask on at all times.
Is this a Jason costume?
Yes, it is.
With you in this costume, it'll be easy to keep a eye on you, 'cause nobody wants to be Jason on Halloween.
Yes, they do. It's, like, the most popular costume of all time.
Nuh-uh! Maybe on Friday the 13th.
If anything, people want to go as Michael Myers.
I've never seen Halloween.
Me neither. But I know Mike Myers played the bad guy.
It was, like, the movie he did right after Wayne's World.
Anyway, here's the axe to go with your costume.
And remember: I gots my eye on you.
Chanel: Chanel-O-Ween is supposed to be the most magical night of the year. But this Chanel-O-Ween, my life is in tatters. First, I find out that whore Dean Munsch has inherited the entire Radwell fortune. Then, I see that dumb security guard wearing my wedding gown. And then, I turn blue.
Chanel: There you are, you bitch.
I know you're in on it.
You had Chad murdered because you couldn't stand the fact that he was gonna marry me.
And here you are, in my wedding gown.
I mean, you may as well have just signed a confession.
First of all...
I look amazing.
And I'll admit, I was surprised when I tried it on and it fit like a glove.
'Cause, you know, we got different body types.
My body type is... "woman."
And yours is... "malnourished Victorian paperboy."
And second, Chad Radwell was never gonna marry you.
In fact, just a few weeks ago, during our American Beauty role-playing session, he said, and I quote...
Run away with me, Angela.
I've been living a lie.
I don't love her anymore.
I only love you.
You given me the vapors.
It's a good thing this tub is filled up with rose petals, 'cause that way you can't smell my toots.
Chanel: He just said that because it's the plot of the film!
'Cause I don't remember nobody in that movie saying they had the vapors.
Just admit it, you murdered Chad Radwell!
Shh! You stupid ho!
I ain't murdered nobody!
If anybody is behind my sweet boo getting murdered, it's that Dean Munsch.
She was the one that inherited the Radwell family fortune.
And she probably had help from that "Shay-day" Zayday Williams.
It's time to enlist the help of an old friend who always tells the truth.
My old talking board, that's who.
We're gonna talk to Chad from beyond the grave, and ask him who he loved more and find out once and for all who murdered him.
Mm, there is nobody who loves trafficking the dark arts like this top FBI recruit from Quantico, Virginia.
Bitch, I'm in.
Chanel, I've been looking all over for you.
I mean, not literally, but in my mind, I was looking for...
Oh, my God, it's true.
Uh, that you poisoned me with a bottle of nickels and dimes minted before 1964?
Yes, it's true.
This doesn't make any sense.
The amount of silver that I put in the solution was tiny... micrograms.
This shouldn't be happening.
I have a feeling that someone tampered with my mixture.
Oh, who would do that?
I need the cure!
Well, there is no cure for Argyria.
But in the spirit of this hospital, gosh darn it, I'm gonna find one.
Of course, the next few days, I'm booked.
I mean, we do have the party and all, and I, and I scheduled an appointment for laser treatment.
(WHISPERS): Ear hair removal.
And I've got to get to the dry cleaners.
But after I get all that done, I promise I'm gonna come up with a miracle cure.
Dean Munsch, I demand that you have Dr. Brock arrested immediately.
On what charge?
For assaulting me with silver!
And... probably being in cahoots with Denise Hemphill in murdering Chad and a whole bunch of other people with his serial killer hand!
Munsch: Chanel, look, I know you are feeling a tad blue right now, but Dr. Brock Holt did not murder Chad.
He has an airtight alibi.
I mean, I didn't want to believe that it was true, but after the silver and I knew you were jealous of Chad, I just... oh, I didn't know what else to think.
You know, he and I were having a little of the jiffy stiffy in my office, right before the wedding, right when Chad was being killed.
Well, see, I was distraught, and I, and I, and I needed comfort, and-and Dean Munsch was there.
Do you always keep a wig and a corset in your office?
Mm-hmm. Okay, I don't understand how all these middle-aged women keep stealing my men.
Perhaps it's because you insist on Snapchatting during s*x.
That was one time!
You know what?
I am done.
I am done with medicine, I'm done with this hospital, and I am done with all of you.
Oh, no, no, no, you cannot leave until the Halloween party.
Because we need a lot of bait here to lure the killer in.
Then take in some more patients.
I don't know much about running a hospital, but I do know if we bring in patients just so we can get them killed...
Yeah, no, no, no, we're not bringing in new patients until the killer is caught.
Look, Chanel, I'm sure once you develop personally, professionally and physically, you'll have no trouble keeping a man.
This is the place to do that.
Catch the killer without me, because I am out!
That costume is insane.
Who is that... Number Three?
What are you doing here?
There's no patients in this wing.
Who are you?
Okay, this is just creepy, so I'm gonna, I'm gonna go.
Ivanka Trump is trying to kill me!
And then I took my heel and threw it right at her face and just ran as fast as I could.
I mean, I don't know why she didn't follow me.
Chanel #5: Well, Chanel, you are safe now.
But that does sound terrifying.
Hold on, back it up a second, Chanel.
What was the mask the killer was wearing?
Ivanka Trump! (GASPS)
What is it?
Why are you guys looking at Chanel #5?
Chanel #3: Because earlier, we helped her with her Ivanka Trump costume.
It's hanging in her closet.
Okay, let's hold on one sec.
I have been here all day!
Except for when you made that phone call.
I was FaceTiming with somebody.
Liar! No one wants to look at your face.
Where's the costume, Number Five?
I have no idea, Chanel!
Somebody must've taken it!
You lying, murdering bitch!
Of course you're the killer.
What are you even talking about?
I was attacked, too.
Yeah, nobody saw it happen.
Chanel: You could've easily faked the attack and left a trail of green slime behind to throw everyone off.
I mean, sure, you seemed upset, but you're barely holding it together on a good day.
Chanel #3: Yeah.
You had a full-on panic attack that time we caught you eating spoonfuls of mayonnaise straight from the jar.
It is so unfair of you to try to kill me, Number Five!
I am telling you, I didn't do it!
Oh, stick a hot dog in it, you manatee.
You and I are officially not friends anymore.
Did you know that I wanted to go as Ivanka Trump this year?
She is an inspiration to us all.
She's like the Chelsea Clinton from a parallel universe if Hitler won the second World War!
Okay, Chanel, I am telling you, I didn't try to kill you!
And don't even think of coming to the Halloween party later.
You can't uninvite me.
This party is for all of the hospital staff.
And I will be there.
Come hell or high water!
If you show up to that party... we'll kill you.
(ROBBIE NEVIL'S "C'EST LA VIE" PLAYING)
♪ C'est la vie ♪
♪ C'est la vie ♪
♪ That's just the way it goes ♪
♪ That's right ♪
♪ Oh, yeah ♪
♪ C'est la vie, c'est la vie ♪
♪ That's just the way it goes ♪ - ♪ That's right ♪
♪ Oh, mmm ♪
♪ Baby's gone all alone... ♪
Now, remember, we are not here to have fun.
We're here to draw the killer out.
So, Chanels, feel free to wander off alone.
This is the worst Halloween party I ever been to.
Man, look at these costumes.
Brock, what the hell you supposed to be?
I'm the script of Batman v Superman.
You look like a bloody mess.
I'm sure I'm not the only one deeply offended by Zayday's ISIS costume.
I told you, I'm Isis, goddess of Ancient Egypt.
It's a totally different Isis.
I thought it would be a good idea to get comfortable being really close to it.
Maybe even find a way to love it.
Well, I got to give you props, Chanel.
Actually turning your skin blue for your costume?
That's a real commitment.
I respect it.
Dean Crunch and Munsch, what you supposed to be... George Washington?
Hamilton, you know, the Broadway, huge hit musical, Hamilton?
I don't know it.
It totally reinvented musical theater.
It's that murderous traitor, Chanel #5!
Somebody keep her away from me!
Zayday: We told you to stay home, Number Five.
It's for your own good.
Chanel #5: It's not fair that just because someone attacked Chanel and I have a tendency to be a little unstable, I don't get to come to the party.
Who the hell you supposed to be?
The Donald's first wife?
No, dear, Donald's first wife was Ivana Trump.
Ivanka is his daughter.
The one he wants to...
Chanel #5: What?
I thought that Ivana and Ivanka were the same person!
I mean, who names their kid after their wife, and just adds a random letter?
Wait, so if she's Ivana Trump, then who's that dressed as Ivanka?
(ELEVATOR BELL DINGS)
(PEOPLE GROANING, COUGHING)
We have patients.
We were all at a Halloween party! Help us!
Ah, bees! Oh, so many bees!
Chamberlain, get control of Chewbacca, man!
I'm trying; these Wookiees are powerful!
I just don't understand why everyone's acting so crazy!
Why don't you get some IVs.
And someone please help Lin-Manuel Miranda before he swallows his tongue.
What the hell is going on?
We don't know yet. We've got a dozen new patients, all presenting with symptoms of severe psychosis.
So, they were all bobbing for apples and...
I wasn't, but they all were.
What the hell happened?
I just grabbed one to use as a prop for my Snow White costume, and then I noticed everybody started totally freaking out.
Saint Anthony's Fire.
I love that movie.
No, it's not a movie.
It's what they called ergot poisoning in the Middle Ages.
Ergot was a fungus that grew on crops.
If ingested, it would cause hallucinations, seizures, diarrhea, vomiting, nausea...
That's it. Ergot was on these apples.
That's why everybody is sick.
Zayday, I need a dozen saline drips with a 200 microgram infusion of sodium nitroprusside.
Yes. It's a vasodilator.
Yes, I know.
I also know that it gets metabolized into cyanide, which can be extremely toxic.
We're talking acidosis, ischemia injury, Bell's palsy, Erb's palsy, basically any kind of palsy.
This is not a discussion.
If we don't start helping these people right away, they're gonna lose limbs to gangrene.
Okay, what happened?
It's ergot poisoning from bobbing for tainted apples.
I don't agree with Dr. Holt's assessment.
You don't agree with my assessment?
It might be ergot poisoning, but if we're wrong, these folks can end up with all manner of palsy.
Please, just give me 15 minutes to talk to everybody and find out...
You have ten.
I need all hands on deck!
Where is Chanel?!
It's Chanel Oberlin and Special Agent Denise Hemphill, FBI, and we summon you from beyond the grave!
(GASPS) It's moving.
Are you moving it?
Hell no! Are you?
Wait, let's ask him a question to make sure it's him and not that gaslighting bitch Chanel #2, who's currently getting motorboated in hell by Genghis Khan.
Chad, who did you love more?
Me... or Chanel?
(LAUGHS) He's spelling "Denise."
I knew it.
Okay, hold on.
I'm gonna ask him a question you couldn't know the answer to.
Chad... it's Chanel.
What is the name of your goat that you secretly keep in your house and milk because you're lactose intolerant?
Say what now?
"R"... "A"... "M."
Rammy! He's spelling "Rammy."
That's the name of his goat.
Chad: Hello, Chanel. (SCREAMS)
Oh, speaking of, do you mind killing for me?
Wait, what?! Kill who?
News flash, you know, I'm super dead.
I really miss that little guy.
(CHAD'S VOICE): So, if you wouldn't mind distracting him with that little tin can he likes to chew on, and just...
I'd really appreciate it.
I mean, I just told Jesus all about Rammy and I know he really wants to meet him.
You're in heaven?
Yeah, of course I'm in heaven.
You know why? 'Cause I'm awesome.
By the way, Jesus and I are buds.
Great golfer, by the way. Also, good-looking dude.
Wait... how is this happening?
Uh, I don't know.
You tell me. You got the talking board.
(CHAD'S VOICE): It's probably a ghost situation.
I think I'm pulling a Swayze and I'm momentarily inhabiting Denise Hemphill's (SINGING): body...
Don't get any ideas 'cause we can't bone 'cause, obviously, Denise doesn't have a wang.
Okay, Chad, I need to ask you something.
Who did you love more? Me or Denise?
Yeah. Definitely Denise, hands down.
I mean, you're obviously, like, way richer, which is great, but Denise... that girl is fun.
That chick knows what she's doing.
I mean, the first time we made love, ten back-to-back orgasms.
Okay, we can stop talking about this now.
No, I'll talk about it all night.
I'll talk about how smoking hot Denise Hemphill is all the time.
Okay, Chad, you need to tell us.
Who killed you?
Oh, my God, I am so happy you asked that, 'cause when I found out I was, like, P. O.'d.
I was like... you're gonna be, too.
Just wait... the person who killed me is... wait for it...
I mean, just hold on, 'cause it's a real doozy. All right, ready?
Uh, like, seriously, I want you to guess right now.
You're gonna be like, "What?!
I wouldn't have guessed that in a million years."
Okay, Chad, just say it!
Fine. The person who killed me is...
Chanel! Denise! Come on.
(NORMAL VOICE): Ooh, what the hell just happened?
I was just talking to Chad through your possessed body.
He was gonna tell us who the killer is!
Come on, whatever! It's an emergency.
Y'all slow down. I got a headache.
Oh! Damn it!
Who is that?
Well... first of all, I think that Ivanka Trump is such a better costume than Smurfette.
I mean, they're sort of similar in the sense that they're both token women who are used as pawns and live in a fantasy world.
Smurfette is so '80s, whereas Ivanka Trump is so of the moment, you know?
I mean, she could literally be appointed minister of propaganda any second now.
Oh, come on, Chanel.
Are you seriously going to kill me over a Halloween costume when we have an E. R. full of Lin-Manuel Mirandas and they're all tripping balls?
This is all... much ado about nothing.
You are Ivanka.
I am Ivana.
You get to be the sexy young face of a psychopathic, ultra right-wing, authoritarian regime bent on destroying everything that's good about this country, and I... am the old, hag mother, tossed aside for a fresh piece of ass, just like so much human garbage.
Can you please help me with these I. V. bags?
They are surprisingly heavy and I'm pitting out... like... a hospital full of terrified partygoers who might end up dying.
This is the best Halloween ever.
So, Miss Thing, let me get this straight.
You ate a apple, but you didn't bob for apples.
Is that right?
That's right. I thought an apple would go great with my Snow White costume, so I grabbed one.
And then it looked really good, so I ate it.
And you didn't start hallucinating?
That means it can't be ergot poisoning; otherwise, she would be sick, too.
I did notice one thing.
♪ Strut, pout, put it out... ♪
Snow White: At one point, a really tall guy in a slimy, green swamp costume came in and changed out the water.
♪ Strut, pout, put it out ♪
♪ All talkin' and no givin' ♪
♪ Watch me, baby ♪
♪ While I walk out the door. ♪
You should've said that from the beginning.
But... bobbing for apples can't be that sanitary, so... whoever did that, that was super nice of them.
It wasn't the apples that were poisoned.
It was the water.
Okay, so the apples are fine, just like you said, but... the water tested positive for dimethyltryptamine, DMT.
What the hell is DMT?
They call it "the spirit molecule."
It's the active ingredient in a hallucinogenic drug called ayahuasca.
I mean, the dosage was insane, but provided no one died of a heart attack for getting the bejeebus scared out of them, and we keep them hydrated, they should be able to recover in a few hours with no long-term effects.
Ayahuasca's a serious drug, but rarely fatal.
Well, that's good news.
I'm going to go inform some of their families.
Oh, Zayday... you're gonna make an excellent physician.
Not much of a serial killer, that Green Meanie, is he?
What do you mean?
Trying to kill a party full of people with a drug that isn't lethal.
Sounds pretty stupid to me.
Maybe he didn't want to kill them.
Maybe he wanted a distraction.
Chanel #5: Help!
Hold on, Number Five.
We gonna get you to a hospital.
Well, I mean, I know we in a hospital, but we gonna get you to the right part of this hospital.
Not the spooky, deserted storage area of this hospital.
The Green Meanie.
I dare you.
You tried to kill me with punch?!
Now I'm-a shoot you for ruining my Khaleesi costume, you son of a bitch!
Just as soon as I get my gun.
(ELECTRICITY CRACKLES) Oh!
You didn't need to do that.
My heart is fine!
(PANTING): Okay... that was a lot of electricity.
No, no, no, no.
Seriously, the Hemphills don't have a history of heart trouble.
Chanel #5: Denise.
(CRYING): Denise, no.