Since it seems that killing off Michael is the in thing to do at the moment, I thought I should take a stab at it. Oops, sorry, I mean jump on (or maybe fall off and break my neck; oops, sorry again) the band wagon. Thanks to stayathomemum for the 'two for one special' idea.
The Idyll of Michael Bower
The sound of a phone ringing incessantly woke the inhabitants of 3344 Oak Hills Drive. Tony was the first occupant to reach semi-coherence, he wiped the sleep away from his face and groggily threw an arm over the phone to pick up the receiver, "'lo? Bower residence...someone speaking." So he still wasn't very awake.
"Tony? Tony? Is it you?" Heather's hysterical voice rang through the phone line. The woman was obviously upset.
"Yes, it's me. Who are you?"
"Heather. Heather Bower." Tony had never realized before what a silly sounding name that was; it conjured up visions of boughs of purple greenery draped over a pergola, or a gazebo or some other architectural accessory that he really shouldn't be thinking of at this hour or the night; or day for that matter.
Angela finally wanted in on the fuss, she rolled over, still half asleep herself and asked, "Tony, honey, what's going on?"
"Don't know. All I know is that it's Heather."
"Heather? Why would she be calling here? At this hour?"
He simply shrugged and handed her the phone.
She gave him a silent, sarcastic, 'thanks' with her eyes. Tony grinned and snuggled back into bed, hoping this was some sort of Michael Bower Wife and Ex-Wife Bitch Fest and he would be free.
He was so very, very wrong.
Angela took a deep breath, "hello," she almost yelled in to the phone.
"Angelaaaaaaaaaaaa," was wailed back at her.
"Heather, what's the matter?"
"It's M...Mi...Mike..." she broke down in uncontrollable sobs.
Angela looked at Tony with a 'help me here' look. He ignored her and tried to pretend he was asleep, even though he knew that Angela knew he wasn't asleep. He'd be paying for that ruse for a while.
"Heather?" Angela tried to pull the woman back from the brink, "Heather, put Michael on the phone." Even though she didn't particularly want to talk to him, it had to be better than trying to talk to this hysterical harpy.
"C..c...c...can't; he's...d..d...d..."
"D...d...d...what, Heather? Dreaming? Dyslexic? Droopy? Dopey? Doc? Happy? Grumpy? Sneezy? Bashful? Sleepy?"
"I know I'm sleepy," Tony muttered. Angela could think of a few other adjectives for him at the moment, but kept them to herself and only agreed with him.
"Heather, what's the problem?" Angela demanded.
"Michael's dead."
Dead silence reigned.
Tony heard Heather's announcement and stopped pretending to be pretending to be asleep, he opened his eyes and sat up. Tony and Angela just stared at each other, the shock of Heather's news still trying to sink in.
"Michael? Dead?" Angela said into the phone.
"Yeessss," came back the choked sob, "we were in a sleeping bag, not in a tent; but cuddled up in front of the fireplace. He thought it would be fun if we tried a sack race...so we got up and started to hop around the room, but we tripped over the sleeping bag and when he fell he hit the mantel and his Oscar for Best Short Subject Documentary hit him on the head and killed him. You know, the one he won for the profile of the politician who presided over his town's annual Bratwurst Festival?"
Yes, Michael was killed by a Wiener Mayor Oscar.
insert face palm here
But neither Tony nor Angela registered that horrible pun and were struck dumb in bed (a definite first for them.) They just stared at each other unable to process what Heather had told them.
"Hello? Hello? Is anybody there? Does anybody care?" Heather called plaintively in to the phone.
"What? Sorry, Heather; we're in shock here," Angela confessed.
"It's worse, I know we haven't told anyone back East, but I'm nine months pregnant."
No wonder they tripped in the sleeping bag; how could Heather hop around being nine months pregnant? Wasn't she worried about going into labor? Apparently not; and labor was suddenly the least of her worries.
Angela dropped the phone, fortunately it landed softly on a pillow, unlike the Oscar that hadn't killed Michael softly with its song as it landed on his head. When he once said he would kill for an Oscar, he didn't know the eventual victim would be himself.
"She's pregnant?" Tony mouthed.
"Guess so," Angela mouthed back. It didn't seem likely that she would lie about such a thing, especially at a time like this.
"Please come out as soon as you can," a weak voice was heard coming from the depths of the sheets, "I don't know the first thing about planning a funeral." It was among the many things she didn't know how to do.
Angela came to her senses and fished the phone out of the sheets, "of course we'll come out tomorrow, Heather. Is there anyone there with you now?"
"Yes, my sister is here; she's pregnant too."
Of course. Angela involuntarily looked down, just to make sure she wasn't instantaneously, miraculously pregnant.
"Good, try to get some rest and we'll be there as soon as we can."
"We'll try, but we don't have enough kalamata olives and licorice to get us through much longer."
Kalamata olives and licorice? Angela had had some strange cravings when she was pregnant, but never a combination like that.
Tony hung up the phone; their world had suddenly been turned upside down and neither knew what to say. Or maybe their writer just didn't know what to write, hardly the first time for that.
"Well, I'm going back to sleep," Tony finally said.
"Tony, how can you sleep at a time like this?" Angela asked.
"I'm tired?" he tried.
She glared at him.
"Doing anything other than sleep seems inappropriate at the moment," although the look in his eyes said he wouldn't be averse to trying the limits of the appropriateness.
"Very," she answered, ending all thoughts along that line.
"So, what does that leave us with? Getting out of bed and pacing? Seems pointless, I already exercised enough today."
"Yes, yes you did," Angela sighed as she remembered watching him work out today, then rebuked herself for thinking such thoughts at a time like this; but really what better time than now was there to distract oneself? So, she indulged. Her eyes glazed over and a grin came over her face.
"Yoohoo; Angela?" Tony waved his hand in front of her face to bring her back from wherever she was.
"Huh?"
"Michael."
"Who? Oh...yeah." Way to interrupt a good fantasy there, Tony. Angela would have to get him for that, someday; right now she had her son to think about, "we should tell Jonathan."
"Now? Why ruin his sleep?"
"Good point. So...we still have to figure out how we are going to get through the night."
"We could play canasta."
"I don't know how to play."
"That makes two of us."
"Then why did you suggest it?"
"Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"It's not."
"Fine, then what bright idea do you have?"
Angela thought and thought. And thought and thought. And thought and thought some more.
"Angela, you keep this up and I am going to fall back asleep out of boredom."
"We could tell each other ghost stories."
"Well, at least there is some appropriateness to that."
So they told each other ghost stories, just like at summer camp, until the sun came up at which point they told Jonathan the news about his father. Jonathan took the news quite well; after all, to him, his father was a guy who left him when he was young and hadn't spent much time with him since. He was very practical about the whole event, his only question being, "does this mean I get his Oscar? It would be a great way to get girls."
Inwardly Tony had to agree with him, but there was no way he would ever voice that thought, not if he ever expected to sleep with Angela again anyway, and he did want to sleep with Angela again, soon.
But Jonathan might have an Oscar; not only an Oscar; but along with it the tale of how it killed his father; so he would have prestige and sympathy all in one golden idol; it was win-win for the teen.
Jonathan did inherit the Oscar; along with a Porsche, a Malibu beach house and a trust fund. All in all he made out pretty well on the deal.
The funeral was packed with friends, acquaintances and hangers-on; some came to bury Michael, not to praise him. Heather was trying to keep everything under control; but the music and the flowers and the stress all combined to produce one result, "ouch!" she yelled at a particularly solemn part of the service. Everyone looked at her oddly, they weren't judging the bereaved widow, but they did think this was a peculiar reaction to the event of the day. Crying and sobbing they could understand, but a yelled 'ouch' was an unusual choice in this situation.
Suddenly one or two people in the crowd gasped, suddenly grasping the situation. Heather was grabbing her abdomen – she was in labor! Cell phones were suddenly pulled out everywhere as many people wanted to help; although some were calling the local news stations instead. A widow in labor at her husband's funeral? Only in LA. There had to be a camera crew available for this.
Angela and Sam sprung into action as Heather's sister proved to be not up to the task. They moved Heather into a side room of the chapel and tried to calm her down. It was no use, she screamed and wailed; cursing life, the universe and everything. Angela did her best to take control, but some events are out of anyone's control and this one was happening too quickly. This kid was being born now. Angela didn't think the paramedics would get here quickly enough, and she was right.
Outside the little room of the chapel, Tony paced; he felt it was his duty as Michael was in no position to do his paternal chore. It was a pity Angela was otherwise occupied and couldn't watch him and sigh.
Angela and Sam helped Heather as best they could, but nature took its course and sooner than anyone could have imagined, a new baby boy was screaming his presence.
Sam grabbed some towels from a nearby bathroom and wrapped the newborn in them and presented him to his mother.
Heather took one look at the baby in her arms and pronounced him: "David Soul Bower."
"David Soul?"
"Yes, Michael said I could name the baby whatever I wanted. This way I feel Michael's soul is nearby." She had no idea. Dun dun dun. It could also be that her decision was influenced by the fact that she had a huge crush on David Soul at one time; oh, those years of watching "Starsky and Hutch" influenced her in ways that could not be imagined at the time the show aired; but now was not the time to reflect on that.
At least she hadn't tried some twisted way to mark the child as related to her and named the kid Shrub or Scotland or Culluna Vulgaris (the Latin name for Heather; isn't the internet wonderful? Think of it: Culluna Vulgaris Bower; even more drapey foliage allusions. The kid would definitely grow up to be Goth.)
As he was here already, the minister christened the baby; it was a convenient two for one deal. One thing was certain, someone was going to make a movie out of this.
Five years later Heather was driving down the coast when her son said, "Mommy, I'm Michael." Heather almost drove off the cliff.
"What are you talking about David? Your name is David, your father was Michael."
"I'm my own father. That's pretty cool, isn't it?"
"No, it's not 'cool', David, it's impossible. You can't be your own father."
"Yes, you can," he argued, "I died, then reincarnated as my own son, so now you don't have to miss Michael anymore because I am right here."
"David Soul Bower, I know we live in California, but you are freaking me out. Stop it. Mommy has to drive now."
David didn't want to stop it, but as his mom pulled out the big guns by using his full name, he could see his mom; (or was that previous wife?) was upset, so he shut up. If he didn't keep quiet he knew she would soon bring out the biggest threat of all and tell him he'd shoot his eye out if he wasn't careful. Which made no sense whatsoever as he never once asked for a BB gun.
From time to time he would try to broach the subject again; but Heather always shut him down. She was a very open-minded person, but having her son claim he was her reincarnated husband was too much, even for her.
It should come as no surprise that David hated every man who tried to date his mom; and many tried. They were quite easy to get rid of though; all he had to do was be a brat and every man went running from Heather. This eventually got him banished to boarding school, but even then he still clung to his belief.
For he was right; he was his own father. Mwuaahaha.