Title: Lindsay Vs William George Vogelinks
Author: Ally
Author's Notes: This is another parody. If you didn't find The Child of Satan and the Shoelaces funny, I suggest you leave this one well alone. As always, basket weaving is a pleasant alternative. In my opinion, this story is much much worse than that one hehehe.
Summary: Lindsay gets stalked by a homicidal cross dressing stalker. Again. Bobby's heartstrings get a firm workout. Again. But his client didn't do it. Again.
Disclaimer: My storylines are recycled from that wonderful place "DEK's Favourite Secondhand Plotlines". The characters are his too. So blame him. Don't you dare point your finger at me for this atrocious fic.
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It was night in Boston. We know this because we just saw the camera pan over the twinkling city with its bright clock tower swooping past. For consistency, the lights are on in the office and people are saying things like "wow we work late" and "do we ever get to go home?" Jimmy can be heard wondering aloud whether he's been home since season 4 when he busted into his apartment with the police to find a naked Roberta Kittleson standing in his bedroom. Maybe it's a good thing he hasn't been home since then – that would give me nightmares too.
Bobby (he of the lurid locks or terrible tresses or horrendous hair...use whichever alliteration you prefer) was working late. He knows this because the set designer had just blacked out the windows. Anyway, he was giving his high morals a thorough workout as he discussed a case with Rebecca. Not that they needed a workout. They were as buffed and toned as they could be, but like a gym-junkie he couldn't resist putting them to the test.
Which he did.
Every day.
Luckily for us, they were interrupted by a piercing shriek coming from the outer office.
"What the hell was that?!" Bobby asked, straightening up his tie in case it was David's pretty wife Michelle. But when he opened the door, he found Lindsay lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Shocked to see his wife in this state he picked up the mop and tried to clean that damned blood off the nice floor, all the while heart-wrenchingly crying out her name over and over again. It was a while before he realized what she really needed was an ambulance.
Idiot.
The paramedics sighed when they got the call that someone had been injured in the law offices of DYD&F. Their conversation went something like this:
"Those lawyers sure are accident prone."
"No Fergus, they're not accident prone. They just seem to get stabbed and blown up and shot and kidnapped and bashed with crutches and run over by drunk drivers and bitten by dentists and pregnant and overcome by seizures an awful lot. Apparently it improves ratings."
"Wilma, there are other ways to improve ratings." Fergus whined.
"Such as?" Wilma challenged.
Fergus rolled his eyes. Didn't she know anything? (probably not, I based the character of Wilma on myself) "Such as giving a main character a terminal illness (e.g. Mark Green), giving a character a baby (e.g. Rachel Green) and playing pranks on your parents (e.g. Tom Green)."
"What is it with you and Greens today?" Wilma asked dumbly.
"Look I just feel like giving examples with Greens. There are a lot of them around. It just proves my point that TV writers are creatively barren."
"Wasn't your point that TV writers use overly dramatic and unrealistic plotlines to entice disenchanted viewers back to the show, but in doing so simply serve to alienate viewers who feel their intelligence is being insulted?"
"Wow Wilma, that is exactly my point! I didn't realize you were so smart!" Fergus cooed excitedly.
"Ally told me what to say," she confessed, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.
Fergus slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Dammit Wilma! I told you not to listen to her!"
"I'm sorry! I can't help it! You don't have to get hostile!" she pursed her lips, wishing she had got that job on ER. "Why don't we just go and see who's been injured this time?" she offered petulantly.
Fergus shook his head. "No! If they want to improve ratings, let's help them out and increase the suspense a little and let the lawyers wait. Trust me, with a crappy idea like this for a story, they need all the suspense they can get!" He licked his lips, seeing the magic golden arches ahead. "I feel like a burger, how 'bout you?"
"Sure!" Wilma replied eagerly.
Meanwhile...back at the office...
"What's keeping the ambulance?" Lindsay moaned, on the brink of death. She clutched at her blood soaked abdomen and clenched her teeth at the considerable pain.
Bobby rested the mop against a desk and knelt down to take her hand and support her through the latest wave of agony. "I don't know sweetheart. I'm sure they'll be here soon. Just HOLD ON."
"Why are you calling me sweetheart?" Lindsay asked curiously. "You haven't said one affectionate word to me in about a year."
"That's what I always call you when we're going through tough times."
"Oh."
"That's what David told me," Bobby whispered confidentially.
"Oh."
"Now lie still and look like you're in more pain."
"But I AM in pain!"
"You don't look like you are."
"I'd be in less pain if I didn't have to look at your awful hair," she muttered under her breath.
Bobby put on his puzzled face, "What?"
"Nothing." Lindsay smiled up at him, but seeing his hair flop down over his forehead, twisted her face up in anguish. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh," she moaned...and promptly (and conveniently for me) slipped into a coma.
Finally, wiping ketchup from their faces, the paramedics arrived at the scene and efficiently whisked Lindsay off the busiest and most negligent hospital in Boston: St. Ann's.
While Bobby was waiting for Lindsay to come out of some life-saving surgery he received a call on his cell phone.
"Bobby Donnell." he answered importantly.
"Bobby you've got to help me." A voice announced on the other end.
"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down! Listen to me, you've GOT TO CALM DOWN!" Bobby yelled into his phone. That's what he always says to his potential clients. Apparently people who have just murdered someone talk really, really, really ( :-p Lisa) fast. Yet they still have the presence of mind to wash fingerprints from the evidence and remember Bobby's phone number. Go figure.
"I am calm." the person replied...calmly.
"I need you to stay with me here, John. We'll get through this together. You just have to CALM DOWN!"
"Bobby, my name's not John. It's Jeffrey."
"Oh. Jeffrey, what can I do for you?"
"I've just been arrested for murder."
"Then why aren't you yelling and panicking and shouting and abusing me?" Bobby asked, confused.
"Because I didn't do it," Jeffrey answered reasonably.
"Oh so you're innocent are you? Like I haven't heard that excuse before."
"I AM innocent. I've been arrested for the murder of Omar Hartsdead"
Bobby gasped. "Didn't he commit suicide on national TV last night?"
"That's him. They've arrested me for his murder!"
"Well that's not fair, and since it will give me the opportunity to show how emotional I can get over my mother's death, I'll represent you. Post bail and meet me at my office in an hour!"
"Okay. Thanks Bobby. No matter what they say about your hair, I'll always know that you're the best damn lawyer in Boston."
Meanwhile...back in the operating theatre...
"Hemostats," the surgeon ordered. The nurse handed them to him and watched as he tied off a blood vessel.
"Doctor, isn't that her aorta?" she gasped.
He glared at her over his face mask. "Nurse, who is the doctor here?"
"You are," she replied meekly.
The actor grinned, loving the power. "Right, next I'll just chop this mass out, look at it thumping away in her chest like a big revolting lump of meat."
The nurse frowned worriedly, looking around for someone who could help her. She was pretty sure the "doctor" was about to cut out Ms. Dole's heart.
Suddenly there was a beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep and everyone in the OR panicked.
"Get me the defibrillators!" the "doctor" yelled.
Shaking with fear the nurse handed him the paddles and watched as he inserted them into Lindsay's chest.
"Sorry, sorry!" a voice called out just as the doctor yelled 'CLEAR'. Everyone stopped and Lindsay peeked through her left eye to see what was going on. It was hard staying really still while imbeciles like the "doctor" fumbled around her for hours on end. The lighting guy grinned sheepishly, "The beep was just my phone. You don't need to shock her. Sorry about that."
Meanwhile...on the street...
William George Vogelinks strutted along in broad daylight feeling very proud of himself. He had attacked the most violated character on television; his Ma would have been so proud if she weren't quite so....dead. I wouldn't normally tell you the background of some peripheral characters...that would show a consistency that is simply unheard of on the show. No offense David. But I think this woman's history is rather interesting and I have a feeling that you'll agree with me (of course I think its interesting...I did make it up myself after all).
Ms. Vogelinks managed to somehow get herself pregnant when she was 14. She swore it was an immaculate conception but the kid down the road had a guilty look about him that week, which led her father to believe he was the culprit. (Actually, it turned out he wasn't the father, he had simply accidentally run over old Mrs. Reynold's favourite cat the night before. But don't worry, the forced castration got him into the National Boys' Choir and he's never looked back). Anyhow, Mrs. Vogelinks gave birth to an evil looking son and she named him William George
(Hey, its me again, but has anyone else noticed that George Vogelman was created when Bill (William) Clinton was prez and then William Hinks was created when George W Bush was prez? Coincidence? I think not).
Where was I? Oh yeah, the interesting Mrs. Vogelinks story.
Little William George was a nasty little bugger who used to pull wings off flies and do all that other stereotypical behavior we witness in quality TV shows such as The Practice (note the sarcasm). He was finally arrested after making a critical mistake during his fifth murder (he left his business card at the scene) and his mother, in an effort to pay the extravagant fees of the defense attorneys (our own prominent lawyers, Robert G Donnell, esquire and Ms. Lindsay Suzanne Dole, esquirette), sold her left kidney on the black market. Here was where she made her fatal (pardon the pun) mistake. She was born with a genetic defect that left her with only one kidney to begin with, so when the other one was ripped out and sold to the billionaire media baron, she died a slow and painful death. And that concludes the interesting story.
Anyway, William George was left in the capable (or culpable?) hands of Robert G Donnell, esquire, who blazed into court with outrageous accusations and a zealous and rigorous defense. On one day, he even accused the honorable judge of committing the heinous crimes. The press had a field day. Bobby went to town. The judge brought down the house with his gavel as dignity was thrown out the window and Ally was made to suffer the consequences of using too many awful clichés. In the end, it didn't even matter (to paraphrase a song by Linkin Park) because the judge had a coronary on the stand and a mistrial was called.
In William George's second murder trial, Lindsay Dole was the star and in no time at all she convinced the jury that she was actually the murderer and her client was innocent. She was such a lovely, honest looking gal that the jury took only 5 seconds (a record for fanfiction jury trials) to come back with the big NG for William George Vogelinks. Lindsay was arrested, but since her character on the TV show was nothing more than the pretty wife of Robert G Donnell esquire, she was released with the punishment of having to try contrived and uninteresting cases for the rest of her TV career. And she must never see her son again.
It was a heartbreaking day for her.
So as William George walked down the street, marveling at his unique past, he came to a sudden conclusion.
He was channeling Ally.
No wait, that wasn't it.
The conclusion was that he had done a terrible thing. This woman had put herself on the line for him. She had broken her back and bent over backwards (simultaneously) for him. She had crossed lines and avoided red tape in the obstacle course that is the American Legal System. And how had he thanked her? He'd stabbed her, cutting through arteries and ligaments and tissues. She didn't deserve that! What had he done!?
William George was startled by the unfamiliar pricking of tears in his eyes. He had never even realized he had tear ducts, yet here they were, producing tears by the gallon.
"What have I done?" he cried in anguish. "Why do psychotic mass murdering characters on TV show their thanks to their attorneys by harming them? It's time for us to take a stand against unimaginative TV writers and insist with manic laughs that we will not conform! We will not allow TV writers to give the public the wrong idea about us! With one voice we will proclaim our desire to get in touch with our softer side, our urge to kiss babies and hug kittens, to explore those unchartered territories of compassion and gasp love. And if those freaking TV writers don't listen, there's always the threat of murder to make them obey!"
Of course, he didn't realize that murdering the TV writers wouldn't be conducive to removing the stereotypes associated with mass murderers. But he's just a murderer, he isn't smart enough to realize his mistake. (Whoops now I'm stereotyping. Put the gun down, William George. I'll behave from now on, I promise).
William George wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and looked around wildly for a cab. The crowd that had gathered on the street, looking on in horrified fascination, dispersed quicker than if you'd yelled "Anthrax!" in a Post Office (oooh bad joke, Ally. Bad joke. They're not going to like you for that one.)
A cab pulled up, driven by the typical and well stereotyped migrant man.
"St. Ann's Hospital!" William George ordered breathlessly.
Meanwhile...at the office...
"Bobby what are you doing here?" Rebecca questioned as he walked in the door. "How's Lindsay?"
Meanwhile... at the hospital...
"Good job Doctor. You've saved her life. We should tell her husband."
Meanwhile...back at the office...
Ring Ring
"Bobby Donnell."
"Mr. Donnell, this is Dr. Cutter, your wife came through the surgery, the next 24 hours are critical, but we are optimistic about her chances of survival."
Bobby gulped air, speechless for the first time in his life. "Th...tha...thanks docc..cc..tor." he stammered. "She is my life, my reason for living. I've never really appreciated her until this moment."
"Well sometimes it takes a tragedy, or in your case 3 tragedies, to realize that we take our loved ones for granted. Oh, I should tell you, Lindsay is suffering from a lack of hugs and kisses so maybe you could remedy that sometime this season."
"I'll try, Doc, I'll give it my best shot."
"You're a good man, Bobby."
"Thanks again, Doc."
He glanced at the expectant Rebecca and broke into a broad smile. The good Lord (or DEK as he was known in seasons 2 and 3) has smiled down upon us once again!"
"Wow, Lindsay has more lives than a cat." Rebecca replied, shaking her head in amazement (secretly wishing that she could get blown up a few more times. She was proud of her skill at staying still during the crucial moments that the cameras were on her. She gets a lot of practice at doing nothing on the show).
"Anyway, I have a new client."
"Oh what did he do?"
"He killed Omar Hartsdead."
"The guy who committed suicide on TV last night?"
"That's the one. This is going to be a tough case; I'll need all the doomsday music and atmospheric lighting that I can get."
"So you'll be working lots of nights to show your commitment to your clients?"
"Of course. That goes without saying."
"Well I'll second chair the case so you can instruct me on ethics and how to avoid them, and I'll complain about our moral ambiguity and you'll show me that if it gets a mass murderer free, we are obliged to use whatever methods we can.."
"Great. It'll be like old times. You remember the ones."
"Oh boy, do I ever." Rebecca muttered.
Meanwhile...back at the hospital...
"Lindsay?"
"Wha? Nun. Nun."
William George adjusted his camouflage. "It's me, Lindsay. I'm sorry for what I did. From now on I'm going to serve and protect you. I will never let you come to harm ever again!"
"Nun." Lindsay murmured again, before her eyes drooped closed again William George watched with an affectionate, paternal smile on his face.
Meanwhile...back at the office...
"Bobby thanks for taking my case." Jeffrey shook Bobby's hand.
"No problem, this is Rebecca Washington, she'll be second chairing at trial and will most likely offer resistance to any tactics I suggest. Just ignore her. God knows the rest of us do."
Rebecca smiled warmly.
Jeffrey nodded. "Okay."
"So let's get started. Tell me what happened."
"Well it was a dark and stormy night– "
Bobby stood up angrily, "Don't lie to me!" he shouted. "You need to tell me EVERYTHING otherwise I can't represent you effectively."
"I AM telling you the truth! Check the weather channel!"
Bobby looked at him disbelievingly, "Keep going."
Jeffrey sighed. "I'm the janitor at the TV station and last night they showed a live and exclusive TV event at prime time – the suicide of a terminally ill man."
"Omar Hartsdead?"
"Yes. And I thought to myself, 'Jeff, death isn't something you see everyday, maybe you should have a look-see.' So I went down and watched from the side door. And when the program ended police busted in and arrested me for the man's death."
Bobby breathed out slowly. "Wow. This is going to be tough. Maybe we should plead it out."
"Bobby, the police have no case!" Rebecca argued.
Bobby turned to Jeffrey and rolled his eyes, "Didn't I tell you she'd argue with every tactic?"
Jeffrey nodded, "Yeah you did. You're a smart guy. But I don't want to plead this out, I'm innocent. I want to go to trial."
"Then go to trial you shall!" Bobby proclaimed, and the heavens opened and rain poured down for 40 days and 40 nights and Noah and his ark sailed on valiantly through the storm, while the animals on board died from pneumonia.
Oh, where was I?
That's right, I was about to say this...
Meanwhile...back at the hospital...
Lindsay moaned in pain, and was immediately startled by a cool facecloth being applied to her forehead. She peeked through one eye to see what was going on and was met with a warm smile from William George.
"Where's Bobby?" she groaned.
"Lindsay, you should know by now that he cares more about his work than about you. Now that he knows you're okay, he's thrown himself back into his cases."
"I was almost killed and he can't bring himself to see me! What happened to the caring, affectionate man I married?"
"He disappeared along with the quality of the show. But don't worry, one day the show may be cancelled and you and Bobby can live for eternity in fanfiction."
"But fanfiction writers always hurt me in some way! I've even been killed!"
"It's a risk you have to take. But at least Bobby is the loving man you always wanted him to be."
"That's because the fanfiction writers are delusional. They see him as this perfect individual who can do no wrong. They don't see him like I do; he's constantly leaving the toilet seat up and burping the alphabet for our son."
"Lindsay, don't you see what's happening? If fanfiction writers don't put your husband up on a pedestal, they'll lose interest in him right away."
"He'd no longer be a sex symbol?"
"He'd be just a common man. How many sex symbols do you know that leave the toilet seat up?"
Lindsay thought for a moment, "None...and I know a lot of sex symbols."
"Exactly. And you wouldn't be happy with your marriage if he was just a common man. You need that cute Danish girl to be drooling over him every night. You'd be worried if that crazy Indian girl didn't swoon when she saw his blue eyes on TV."
"You're right, William George. Thanks for helping me come to terms with this. I never thought a serial killer could ever have anything worthwhile to say. You've proved me wrong."
William George beamed happily, "I'm trying my best."
***
So now I need to stop and take a breather. Bear with me (or bare with me, if you prefer. Just make sure your webcam is switched off and your seats and tray tables are in their full, upright position). I know you're dying to know what's going on with the other characters, but since DEK seems unable to give storylines to more than 3 characters at a time, we're going to have to stick with Bobby, Lindsay and Rebecca. This wouldn't be an accurate portrayal of the show if I gave them all storylines, so I apologise if you were counting on a nice Jimmy story to take your mind off your mundane life. But since I'm such a nice person, I'll tell you that Eugene is representing a black man in a case that has something to do with race. Jimmy has lied to everybody about his whereabouts, but my spies tell me he's at the racetrack betting away Bobby's car on "Slowpoke", in race 5. Ellenor is in court fighting DEK for custody of her daughter, Zoe and Lucy is doing whatever Lucy does in her spare time. She's probably being violated once again by another creepy guy.
Now that your curiosity is sated, we can continue.
The big question is what happens next. No really, I'm wondering.
OK what happened next was shocking and bewildering, Jeffrey's son, Johnny, confessed to Omar Hartsdead's murder. I told you it was shocking and bewildering, I didn't expect that to happen either!
A lot of boring crap happened around this time too, but unlike DEK, I know how to edit out the rubbish. So lets pick up this story from where little Johnny confessed to the murder. He was on the stand at the PC hearing.
***
"Little Johnny, you went to work with your Dad on the day of the murder is that right?" Bobby's tone was soft and encouraging.
The four year old looked back at him with wide eyes and nodded.
"Let the record reflect that Little Johnny has responded affirmatively to that question." Bobby smiled at Little Johnny, who promptly burst into tears. The man was scary with his weird hair and big teeth. Little Johnny's mom, Jenny, comforted him and with a glare at Bobby, allowed her son to be questioned again.
"In your own one syllable words, can you tell us what happened, Little Johnny?"
"I did it." he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"I did it," Little Johnny announced more boldly.
"Oh puhlease!" Helen groaned. She turned to the script writers, "Do we have to do this storyline again? One week it's the wife that did it, the next it's the kid." Her voice was rising steadily, "Why can't we have a storyline where the grandmother did it, just for a change?" she commented sarcastically.
"Helen, this is different to usual. The kids only four."
"Oh yeah, how stupid of me not to notice that," sarcasm now steadily dripped from her voice, like...umm...a dripping tap. Yeah, good Simile.
"Just sit down and be the good little anorexic DA that you are," the script writer mocked.
"You're worse than fanfic writers!" she muttered, always having to have the last word.
"At least we get paid for our work," the script writer replied narkily.
Helen decided, intelligently, to ignore him. Little did she know there was a mob of angry fanfic writers outside ready to take out this arrogant script writer.
"Little Johnny, are you trying to protect your dad?" she asked bluntly.
Little Johnny shook his head emphatically, "No, I did it."
"Do you understand what perjury is, Little Johnny?"
"No."
"Perjury means lying."
"Oh like when Mommy tells Daddy that her sweater was on sale, when it wasn't?"
"That's right. That's lying."
"Well I'm not doing that. I'm just four." He held up four fingers to prove his point.
Helen sighed, "No more questions."
Bobby and Jeffrey gave each other high fives at the defense table.
Lindsay and William George were sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching the proceedings.
"That kid looks evil," William George commented. "I think I should take him out."
"William George! He's only four!" Lindsay cried in horror.
"I bet he'll try and hurt you."
Lindsay pointed her finger at him, "Don't you dare touch him!"
"Okay, okay. It was just an offer."
Bobby looked back and saw Lindsay, he smiled at her, but his smile turned upside down when he saw who was sitting next to her. That guy had been following her everywhere since she was released from hospital. It was bad enough that William George slept on the stoop to their apartment, but this was just too much. He'd have to do something about him. And soon. His wife was in mortal danger. Again.
His thoughts were interrupted by the smack of the gavel on the judge's bench. "I find probable cause. Trial scheduled for next week. Adjourned!"
One week later...
Let's skip to the important stuff here, I don't want to bore you with their opening arguments. They were very...boring. Put me right to sleep. You're so lucky I'm here filtering the crap that comes out of my brain, censoring what you read, manipulating your thoughts and emotions. Mwa hahaha. Ah hem. Let's continue...
"Little Johnny, is it possible that you possibly killed Omar Hartsdead?"
"I killed him."
"Is it POSSIBLE, Johnny?"
"Its 'POSSIBLE' counsel because I DID IT."
"Answer the question, Little Johnny."
Johnny rolled his eyes, "Do you have to fill a quota of how many times you say 'possible' in an episode?"
Bobby nodded sheepishly, "Yeah. It makes me look like I have a case."
"Ok, just wondering."
"No more questions."
Helen stood up and buttoned her jacket with a big sigh. She couldn't believe she was stuck with this storyline, when she could be in the capable hands of a Swiss masseuse. OK two questions, why are stereotypical masseuse's always Swiss? And secondly, does Helen ever think of anything but her spa day. Will she ever get it? Or will she strive for her day of mindless massage for eternity? I for one feel sorry for her. Surely the other DA's could take up some of her workload.
Oh. That's right. There aren't any other DA's.
Silly me.
Helen was still standing up, waiting for me to finish my musings. She walked over to Little Johnny.
"Are you a liar, Little Johnny?"
"No. Are you?"
"Don't get smart with me."
"You're not my mother!"
Helen sighed before starting again, "Little Johnny, who killed Omar Hartsdead?"
"I did."
Helen's eyes flashed triumphantly, she was about to play her final card, "You're lying. Nobody's responsible for Omar Hartsdead's death! He killed himself!"
The gallery murmurings turned into yells of disbelief.
"Ah HA!" Bobby yelled in excitement. "As an officer of this court, I hold YOU in contempt!"
"Huh?" Helen asked, puzzled.
"That's the best line David's ever written for me, I'm just trying to relive my past glories."
"Oh, go for it," Helen replied casually.
Bobby smiled his thanks before turning to the judge. "Your Honor, Helen has proven our case. Jeffrey Howard did not commit the crimes he was arrested of. Sure, he's guilty of reproducing children such as Little Johnny, but that is a crime we cannot arrest him for. He should be released immediately!"
"I agree with the defense." The judge intoned. "Omar Hartsdead was responsible for his own death. The defendant is free to go."
Jeffrey turned to Bobby and threw his arms around him.
"Watch the hair!" Bobby warned.
"Hard not to," Jeffrey replied. "Look Bobby," he drew Bobby aside. "I know a great barber in a quiet location. He could do wonders for you."
"What are you talking about? I don't need a Barber."
"Well the offer is always there."
"Thanks but no thanks. My hair is fine."
Jeffrey picked up little Johnny and carried him away. "Thanks again, Bobby."
"You're welcome."
Lindsay and William George approached Bobby excitedly.
"Congratulations!" Lindsay gave him a big hug. Their first in 6 months.
"Thanks honey. You know what?"
"What."
"I didn't even dredge up all my feelings about assisted suicides and euthanasia as they related to my mother during this case. I think I'm finally finding peace within myself with regards to that issue."
Helen overheard him, "Wow, and I didn't think about my grandmother and how she was forced to switch off her own machines!"
Lindsay frowned, "Well, I hate to break it to both of you, but you didn't think about any of these things because Ally completely forgot to include them."
"So I haven't found inner peace?"
"Probably not," Lindsay gave him a sympathetic hug (the people in the gallery looked shocked at this outward display of public affection between the two. Lisa, who was sitting in the back, fell off her chair).
"Damn that Ally! Damn her to hell!" Bobby bellowed. "I want inner peace!"
"You'll get it one day, honey. Maybe when ABC cancels the show, David will write you a nice little story about finding inner peace."
"You really think so?"
"I do."
"Thanks sweetheart."
Lindsay flashed him a brilliant smile. "You're welcome. Lets go home and see our son."
"No Lindsay, you forgot your punishment. You're not allowed to see little Robbiebob anymore."
She sighed. "Well say hi to him for me."
"I will."
They parted with a sad smile. "Come on William George," Lindsay called.
Bobby seethed when he saw them leaving together. But just as he was just about to whip out his cell phone and call Alan Neal, fate smiled down on him and Little Johnny came belting out of left field and tackled William George to the ground.
"William George Vogelinks!" Johnny screeched. "You're my hero."
Jeffrey raced onto the scene and pulled Johnny off the serial killer. "Johnny, that's so rude!"
Everyone waited for William George to get up, instead he groaned and looked deathly pale (convenient really, considering what's about to happen). Lindsay bent down over him, tears running down her face, "William George, don't leave me. Bobby can't protect me; you're my only chance of living a non-violated life!"
But William George had only one thing to say...
ready for it? its coming...credits are almost ready to roll, the boop de boop music is about to play....
William George opened his mouth and said to Lindsay, "I told you that kid was evil."
And with that his eyes closed, never to look upon his friend and victim, and lawyer, Lindsay, again.
The End
Author: Ally
Author's Notes: This is another parody. If you didn't find The Child of Satan and the Shoelaces funny, I suggest you leave this one well alone. As always, basket weaving is a pleasant alternative. In my opinion, this story is much much worse than that one hehehe.
Summary: Lindsay gets stalked by a homicidal cross dressing stalker. Again. Bobby's heartstrings get a firm workout. Again. But his client didn't do it. Again.
Disclaimer: My storylines are recycled from that wonderful place "DEK's Favourite Secondhand Plotlines". The characters are his too. So blame him. Don't you dare point your finger at me for this atrocious fic.
*****************
It was night in Boston. We know this because we just saw the camera pan over the twinkling city with its bright clock tower swooping past. For consistency, the lights are on in the office and people are saying things like "wow we work late" and "do we ever get to go home?" Jimmy can be heard wondering aloud whether he's been home since season 4 when he busted into his apartment with the police to find a naked Roberta Kittleson standing in his bedroom. Maybe it's a good thing he hasn't been home since then – that would give me nightmares too.
Bobby (he of the lurid locks or terrible tresses or horrendous hair...use whichever alliteration you prefer) was working late. He knows this because the set designer had just blacked out the windows. Anyway, he was giving his high morals a thorough workout as he discussed a case with Rebecca. Not that they needed a workout. They were as buffed and toned as they could be, but like a gym-junkie he couldn't resist putting them to the test.
Which he did.
Every day.
Luckily for us, they were interrupted by a piercing shriek coming from the outer office.
"What the hell was that?!" Bobby asked, straightening up his tie in case it was David's pretty wife Michelle. But when he opened the door, he found Lindsay lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Shocked to see his wife in this state he picked up the mop and tried to clean that damned blood off the nice floor, all the while heart-wrenchingly crying out her name over and over again. It was a while before he realized what she really needed was an ambulance.
Idiot.
The paramedics sighed when they got the call that someone had been injured in the law offices of DYD&F. Their conversation went something like this:
"Those lawyers sure are accident prone."
"No Fergus, they're not accident prone. They just seem to get stabbed and blown up and shot and kidnapped and bashed with crutches and run over by drunk drivers and bitten by dentists and pregnant and overcome by seizures an awful lot. Apparently it improves ratings."
"Wilma, there are other ways to improve ratings." Fergus whined.
"Such as?" Wilma challenged.
Fergus rolled his eyes. Didn't she know anything? (probably not, I based the character of Wilma on myself) "Such as giving a main character a terminal illness (e.g. Mark Green), giving a character a baby (e.g. Rachel Green) and playing pranks on your parents (e.g. Tom Green)."
"What is it with you and Greens today?" Wilma asked dumbly.
"Look I just feel like giving examples with Greens. There are a lot of them around. It just proves my point that TV writers are creatively barren."
"Wasn't your point that TV writers use overly dramatic and unrealistic plotlines to entice disenchanted viewers back to the show, but in doing so simply serve to alienate viewers who feel their intelligence is being insulted?"
"Wow Wilma, that is exactly my point! I didn't realize you were so smart!" Fergus cooed excitedly.
"Ally told me what to say," she confessed, her cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.
Fergus slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Dammit Wilma! I told you not to listen to her!"
"I'm sorry! I can't help it! You don't have to get hostile!" she pursed her lips, wishing she had got that job on ER. "Why don't we just go and see who's been injured this time?" she offered petulantly.
Fergus shook his head. "No! If they want to improve ratings, let's help them out and increase the suspense a little and let the lawyers wait. Trust me, with a crappy idea like this for a story, they need all the suspense they can get!" He licked his lips, seeing the magic golden arches ahead. "I feel like a burger, how 'bout you?"
"Sure!" Wilma replied eagerly.
Meanwhile...back at the office...
"What's keeping the ambulance?" Lindsay moaned, on the brink of death. She clutched at her blood soaked abdomen and clenched her teeth at the considerable pain.
Bobby rested the mop against a desk and knelt down to take her hand and support her through the latest wave of agony. "I don't know sweetheart. I'm sure they'll be here soon. Just HOLD ON."
"Why are you calling me sweetheart?" Lindsay asked curiously. "You haven't said one affectionate word to me in about a year."
"That's what I always call you when we're going through tough times."
"Oh."
"That's what David told me," Bobby whispered confidentially.
"Oh."
"Now lie still and look like you're in more pain."
"But I AM in pain!"
"You don't look like you are."
"I'd be in less pain if I didn't have to look at your awful hair," she muttered under her breath.
Bobby put on his puzzled face, "What?"
"Nothing." Lindsay smiled up at him, but seeing his hair flop down over his forehead, twisted her face up in anguish. "Ohhhhhhhhhhh," she moaned...and promptly (and conveniently for me) slipped into a coma.
Finally, wiping ketchup from their faces, the paramedics arrived at the scene and efficiently whisked Lindsay off the busiest and most negligent hospital in Boston: St. Ann's.
While Bobby was waiting for Lindsay to come out of some life-saving surgery he received a call on his cell phone.
"Bobby Donnell." he answered importantly.
"Bobby you've got to help me." A voice announced on the other end.
"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down! Listen to me, you've GOT TO CALM DOWN!" Bobby yelled into his phone. That's what he always says to his potential clients. Apparently people who have just murdered someone talk really, really, really ( :-p Lisa) fast. Yet they still have the presence of mind to wash fingerprints from the evidence and remember Bobby's phone number. Go figure.
"I am calm." the person replied...calmly.
"I need you to stay with me here, John. We'll get through this together. You just have to CALM DOWN!"
"Bobby, my name's not John. It's Jeffrey."
"Oh. Jeffrey, what can I do for you?"
"I've just been arrested for murder."
"Then why aren't you yelling and panicking and shouting and abusing me?" Bobby asked, confused.
"Because I didn't do it," Jeffrey answered reasonably.
"Oh so you're innocent are you? Like I haven't heard that excuse before."
"I AM innocent. I've been arrested for the murder of Omar Hartsdead"
Bobby gasped. "Didn't he commit suicide on national TV last night?"
"That's him. They've arrested me for his murder!"
"Well that's not fair, and since it will give me the opportunity to show how emotional I can get over my mother's death, I'll represent you. Post bail and meet me at my office in an hour!"
"Okay. Thanks Bobby. No matter what they say about your hair, I'll always know that you're the best damn lawyer in Boston."
Meanwhile...back in the operating theatre...
"Hemostats," the surgeon ordered. The nurse handed them to him and watched as he tied off a blood vessel.
"Doctor, isn't that her aorta?" she gasped.
He glared at her over his face mask. "Nurse, who is the doctor here?"
"You are," she replied meekly.
The actor grinned, loving the power. "Right, next I'll just chop this mass out, look at it thumping away in her chest like a big revolting lump of meat."
The nurse frowned worriedly, looking around for someone who could help her. She was pretty sure the "doctor" was about to cut out Ms. Dole's heart.
Suddenly there was a beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep and everyone in the OR panicked.
"Get me the defibrillators!" the "doctor" yelled.
Shaking with fear the nurse handed him the paddles and watched as he inserted them into Lindsay's chest.
"Sorry, sorry!" a voice called out just as the doctor yelled 'CLEAR'. Everyone stopped and Lindsay peeked through her left eye to see what was going on. It was hard staying really still while imbeciles like the "doctor" fumbled around her for hours on end. The lighting guy grinned sheepishly, "The beep was just my phone. You don't need to shock her. Sorry about that."
Meanwhile...on the street...
William George Vogelinks strutted along in broad daylight feeling very proud of himself. He had attacked the most violated character on television; his Ma would have been so proud if she weren't quite so....dead. I wouldn't normally tell you the background of some peripheral characters...that would show a consistency that is simply unheard of on the show. No offense David. But I think this woman's history is rather interesting and I have a feeling that you'll agree with me (of course I think its interesting...I did make it up myself after all).
Ms. Vogelinks managed to somehow get herself pregnant when she was 14. She swore it was an immaculate conception but the kid down the road had a guilty look about him that week, which led her father to believe he was the culprit. (Actually, it turned out he wasn't the father, he had simply accidentally run over old Mrs. Reynold's favourite cat the night before. But don't worry, the forced castration got him into the National Boys' Choir and he's never looked back). Anyhow, Mrs. Vogelinks gave birth to an evil looking son and she named him William George
(Hey, its me again, but has anyone else noticed that George Vogelman was created when Bill (William) Clinton was prez and then William Hinks was created when George W Bush was prez? Coincidence? I think not).
Where was I? Oh yeah, the interesting Mrs. Vogelinks story.
Little William George was a nasty little bugger who used to pull wings off flies and do all that other stereotypical behavior we witness in quality TV shows such as The Practice (note the sarcasm). He was finally arrested after making a critical mistake during his fifth murder (he left his business card at the scene) and his mother, in an effort to pay the extravagant fees of the defense attorneys (our own prominent lawyers, Robert G Donnell, esquire and Ms. Lindsay Suzanne Dole, esquirette), sold her left kidney on the black market. Here was where she made her fatal (pardon the pun) mistake. She was born with a genetic defect that left her with only one kidney to begin with, so when the other one was ripped out and sold to the billionaire media baron, she died a slow and painful death. And that concludes the interesting story.
Anyway, William George was left in the capable (or culpable?) hands of Robert G Donnell, esquire, who blazed into court with outrageous accusations and a zealous and rigorous defense. On one day, he even accused the honorable judge of committing the heinous crimes. The press had a field day. Bobby went to town. The judge brought down the house with his gavel as dignity was thrown out the window and Ally was made to suffer the consequences of using too many awful clichés. In the end, it didn't even matter (to paraphrase a song by Linkin Park) because the judge had a coronary on the stand and a mistrial was called.
In William George's second murder trial, Lindsay Dole was the star and in no time at all she convinced the jury that she was actually the murderer and her client was innocent. She was such a lovely, honest looking gal that the jury took only 5 seconds (a record for fanfiction jury trials) to come back with the big NG for William George Vogelinks. Lindsay was arrested, but since her character on the TV show was nothing more than the pretty wife of Robert G Donnell esquire, she was released with the punishment of having to try contrived and uninteresting cases for the rest of her TV career. And she must never see her son again.
It was a heartbreaking day for her.
So as William George walked down the street, marveling at his unique past, he came to a sudden conclusion.
He was channeling Ally.
No wait, that wasn't it.
The conclusion was that he had done a terrible thing. This woman had put herself on the line for him. She had broken her back and bent over backwards (simultaneously) for him. She had crossed lines and avoided red tape in the obstacle course that is the American Legal System. And how had he thanked her? He'd stabbed her, cutting through arteries and ligaments and tissues. She didn't deserve that! What had he done!?
William George was startled by the unfamiliar pricking of tears in his eyes. He had never even realized he had tear ducts, yet here they were, producing tears by the gallon.
"What have I done?" he cried in anguish. "Why do psychotic mass murdering characters on TV show their thanks to their attorneys by harming them? It's time for us to take a stand against unimaginative TV writers and insist with manic laughs that we will not conform! We will not allow TV writers to give the public the wrong idea about us! With one voice we will proclaim our desire to get in touch with our softer side, our urge to kiss babies and hug kittens, to explore those unchartered territories of compassion and gasp love. And if those freaking TV writers don't listen, there's always the threat of murder to make them obey!"
Of course, he didn't realize that murdering the TV writers wouldn't be conducive to removing the stereotypes associated with mass murderers. But he's just a murderer, he isn't smart enough to realize his mistake. (Whoops now I'm stereotyping. Put the gun down, William George. I'll behave from now on, I promise).
William George wiped the tears away with the back of his hand and looked around wildly for a cab. The crowd that had gathered on the street, looking on in horrified fascination, dispersed quicker than if you'd yelled "Anthrax!" in a Post Office (oooh bad joke, Ally. Bad joke. They're not going to like you for that one.)
A cab pulled up, driven by the typical and well stereotyped migrant man.
"St. Ann's Hospital!" William George ordered breathlessly.
Meanwhile...at the office...
"Bobby what are you doing here?" Rebecca questioned as he walked in the door. "How's Lindsay?"
Meanwhile... at the hospital...
"Good job Doctor. You've saved her life. We should tell her husband."
Meanwhile...back at the office...
Ring Ring
"Bobby Donnell."
"Mr. Donnell, this is Dr. Cutter, your wife came through the surgery, the next 24 hours are critical, but we are optimistic about her chances of survival."
Bobby gulped air, speechless for the first time in his life. "Th...tha...thanks docc..cc..tor." he stammered. "She is my life, my reason for living. I've never really appreciated her until this moment."
"Well sometimes it takes a tragedy, or in your case 3 tragedies, to realize that we take our loved ones for granted. Oh, I should tell you, Lindsay is suffering from a lack of hugs and kisses so maybe you could remedy that sometime this season."
"I'll try, Doc, I'll give it my best shot."
"You're a good man, Bobby."
"Thanks again, Doc."
He glanced at the expectant Rebecca and broke into a broad smile. The good Lord (or DEK as he was known in seasons 2 and 3) has smiled down upon us once again!"
"Wow, Lindsay has more lives than a cat." Rebecca replied, shaking her head in amazement (secretly wishing that she could get blown up a few more times. She was proud of her skill at staying still during the crucial moments that the cameras were on her. She gets a lot of practice at doing nothing on the show).
"Anyway, I have a new client."
"Oh what did he do?"
"He killed Omar Hartsdead."
"The guy who committed suicide on TV last night?"
"That's the one. This is going to be a tough case; I'll need all the doomsday music and atmospheric lighting that I can get."
"So you'll be working lots of nights to show your commitment to your clients?"
"Of course. That goes without saying."
"Well I'll second chair the case so you can instruct me on ethics and how to avoid them, and I'll complain about our moral ambiguity and you'll show me that if it gets a mass murderer free, we are obliged to use whatever methods we can.."
"Great. It'll be like old times. You remember the ones."
"Oh boy, do I ever." Rebecca muttered.
Meanwhile...back at the hospital...
"Lindsay?"
"Wha? Nun. Nun."
William George adjusted his camouflage. "It's me, Lindsay. I'm sorry for what I did. From now on I'm going to serve and protect you. I will never let you come to harm ever again!"
"Nun." Lindsay murmured again, before her eyes drooped closed again William George watched with an affectionate, paternal smile on his face.
Meanwhile...back at the office...
"Bobby thanks for taking my case." Jeffrey shook Bobby's hand.
"No problem, this is Rebecca Washington, she'll be second chairing at trial and will most likely offer resistance to any tactics I suggest. Just ignore her. God knows the rest of us do."
Rebecca smiled warmly.
Jeffrey nodded. "Okay."
"So let's get started. Tell me what happened."
"Well it was a dark and stormy night– "
Bobby stood up angrily, "Don't lie to me!" he shouted. "You need to tell me EVERYTHING otherwise I can't represent you effectively."
"I AM telling you the truth! Check the weather channel!"
Bobby looked at him disbelievingly, "Keep going."
Jeffrey sighed. "I'm the janitor at the TV station and last night they showed a live and exclusive TV event at prime time – the suicide of a terminally ill man."
"Omar Hartsdead?"
"Yes. And I thought to myself, 'Jeff, death isn't something you see everyday, maybe you should have a look-see.' So I went down and watched from the side door. And when the program ended police busted in and arrested me for the man's death."
Bobby breathed out slowly. "Wow. This is going to be tough. Maybe we should plead it out."
"Bobby, the police have no case!" Rebecca argued.
Bobby turned to Jeffrey and rolled his eyes, "Didn't I tell you she'd argue with every tactic?"
Jeffrey nodded, "Yeah you did. You're a smart guy. But I don't want to plead this out, I'm innocent. I want to go to trial."
"Then go to trial you shall!" Bobby proclaimed, and the heavens opened and rain poured down for 40 days and 40 nights and Noah and his ark sailed on valiantly through the storm, while the animals on board died from pneumonia.
Oh, where was I?
That's right, I was about to say this...
Meanwhile...back at the hospital...
Lindsay moaned in pain, and was immediately startled by a cool facecloth being applied to her forehead. She peeked through one eye to see what was going on and was met with a warm smile from William George.
"Where's Bobby?" she groaned.
"Lindsay, you should know by now that he cares more about his work than about you. Now that he knows you're okay, he's thrown himself back into his cases."
"I was almost killed and he can't bring himself to see me! What happened to the caring, affectionate man I married?"
"He disappeared along with the quality of the show. But don't worry, one day the show may be cancelled and you and Bobby can live for eternity in fanfiction."
"But fanfiction writers always hurt me in some way! I've even been killed!"
"It's a risk you have to take. But at least Bobby is the loving man you always wanted him to be."
"That's because the fanfiction writers are delusional. They see him as this perfect individual who can do no wrong. They don't see him like I do; he's constantly leaving the toilet seat up and burping the alphabet for our son."
"Lindsay, don't you see what's happening? If fanfiction writers don't put your husband up on a pedestal, they'll lose interest in him right away."
"He'd no longer be a sex symbol?"
"He'd be just a common man. How many sex symbols do you know that leave the toilet seat up?"
Lindsay thought for a moment, "None...and I know a lot of sex symbols."
"Exactly. And you wouldn't be happy with your marriage if he was just a common man. You need that cute Danish girl to be drooling over him every night. You'd be worried if that crazy Indian girl didn't swoon when she saw his blue eyes on TV."
"You're right, William George. Thanks for helping me come to terms with this. I never thought a serial killer could ever have anything worthwhile to say. You've proved me wrong."
William George beamed happily, "I'm trying my best."
***
So now I need to stop and take a breather. Bear with me (or bare with me, if you prefer. Just make sure your webcam is switched off and your seats and tray tables are in their full, upright position). I know you're dying to know what's going on with the other characters, but since DEK seems unable to give storylines to more than 3 characters at a time, we're going to have to stick with Bobby, Lindsay and Rebecca. This wouldn't be an accurate portrayal of the show if I gave them all storylines, so I apologise if you were counting on a nice Jimmy story to take your mind off your mundane life. But since I'm such a nice person, I'll tell you that Eugene is representing a black man in a case that has something to do with race. Jimmy has lied to everybody about his whereabouts, but my spies tell me he's at the racetrack betting away Bobby's car on "Slowpoke", in race 5. Ellenor is in court fighting DEK for custody of her daughter, Zoe and Lucy is doing whatever Lucy does in her spare time. She's probably being violated once again by another creepy guy.
Now that your curiosity is sated, we can continue.
The big question is what happens next. No really, I'm wondering.
OK what happened next was shocking and bewildering, Jeffrey's son, Johnny, confessed to Omar Hartsdead's murder. I told you it was shocking and bewildering, I didn't expect that to happen either!
A lot of boring crap happened around this time too, but unlike DEK, I know how to edit out the rubbish. So lets pick up this story from where little Johnny confessed to the murder. He was on the stand at the PC hearing.
***
"Little Johnny, you went to work with your Dad on the day of the murder is that right?" Bobby's tone was soft and encouraging.
The four year old looked back at him with wide eyes and nodded.
"Let the record reflect that Little Johnny has responded affirmatively to that question." Bobby smiled at Little Johnny, who promptly burst into tears. The man was scary with his weird hair and big teeth. Little Johnny's mom, Jenny, comforted him and with a glare at Bobby, allowed her son to be questioned again.
"In your own one syllable words, can you tell us what happened, Little Johnny?"
"I did it." he whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"I did it," Little Johnny announced more boldly.
"Oh puhlease!" Helen groaned. She turned to the script writers, "Do we have to do this storyline again? One week it's the wife that did it, the next it's the kid." Her voice was rising steadily, "Why can't we have a storyline where the grandmother did it, just for a change?" she commented sarcastically.
"Helen, this is different to usual. The kids only four."
"Oh yeah, how stupid of me not to notice that," sarcasm now steadily dripped from her voice, like...umm...a dripping tap. Yeah, good Simile.
"Just sit down and be the good little anorexic DA that you are," the script writer mocked.
"You're worse than fanfic writers!" she muttered, always having to have the last word.
"At least we get paid for our work," the script writer replied narkily.
Helen decided, intelligently, to ignore him. Little did she know there was a mob of angry fanfic writers outside ready to take out this arrogant script writer.
"Little Johnny, are you trying to protect your dad?" she asked bluntly.
Little Johnny shook his head emphatically, "No, I did it."
"Do you understand what perjury is, Little Johnny?"
"No."
"Perjury means lying."
"Oh like when Mommy tells Daddy that her sweater was on sale, when it wasn't?"
"That's right. That's lying."
"Well I'm not doing that. I'm just four." He held up four fingers to prove his point.
Helen sighed, "No more questions."
Bobby and Jeffrey gave each other high fives at the defense table.
Lindsay and William George were sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching the proceedings.
"That kid looks evil," William George commented. "I think I should take him out."
"William George! He's only four!" Lindsay cried in horror.
"I bet he'll try and hurt you."
Lindsay pointed her finger at him, "Don't you dare touch him!"
"Okay, okay. It was just an offer."
Bobby looked back and saw Lindsay, he smiled at her, but his smile turned upside down when he saw who was sitting next to her. That guy had been following her everywhere since she was released from hospital. It was bad enough that William George slept on the stoop to their apartment, but this was just too much. He'd have to do something about him. And soon. His wife was in mortal danger. Again.
His thoughts were interrupted by the smack of the gavel on the judge's bench. "I find probable cause. Trial scheduled for next week. Adjourned!"
One week later...
Let's skip to the important stuff here, I don't want to bore you with their opening arguments. They were very...boring. Put me right to sleep. You're so lucky I'm here filtering the crap that comes out of my brain, censoring what you read, manipulating your thoughts and emotions. Mwa hahaha. Ah hem. Let's continue...
"Little Johnny, is it possible that you possibly killed Omar Hartsdead?"
"I killed him."
"Is it POSSIBLE, Johnny?"
"Its 'POSSIBLE' counsel because I DID IT."
"Answer the question, Little Johnny."
Johnny rolled his eyes, "Do you have to fill a quota of how many times you say 'possible' in an episode?"
Bobby nodded sheepishly, "Yeah. It makes me look like I have a case."
"Ok, just wondering."
"No more questions."
Helen stood up and buttoned her jacket with a big sigh. She couldn't believe she was stuck with this storyline, when she could be in the capable hands of a Swiss masseuse. OK two questions, why are stereotypical masseuse's always Swiss? And secondly, does Helen ever think of anything but her spa day. Will she ever get it? Or will she strive for her day of mindless massage for eternity? I for one feel sorry for her. Surely the other DA's could take up some of her workload.
Oh. That's right. There aren't any other DA's.
Silly me.
Helen was still standing up, waiting for me to finish my musings. She walked over to Little Johnny.
"Are you a liar, Little Johnny?"
"No. Are you?"
"Don't get smart with me."
"You're not my mother!"
Helen sighed before starting again, "Little Johnny, who killed Omar Hartsdead?"
"I did."
Helen's eyes flashed triumphantly, she was about to play her final card, "You're lying. Nobody's responsible for Omar Hartsdead's death! He killed himself!"
The gallery murmurings turned into yells of disbelief.
"Ah HA!" Bobby yelled in excitement. "As an officer of this court, I hold YOU in contempt!"
"Huh?" Helen asked, puzzled.
"That's the best line David's ever written for me, I'm just trying to relive my past glories."
"Oh, go for it," Helen replied casually.
Bobby smiled his thanks before turning to the judge. "Your Honor, Helen has proven our case. Jeffrey Howard did not commit the crimes he was arrested of. Sure, he's guilty of reproducing children such as Little Johnny, but that is a crime we cannot arrest him for. He should be released immediately!"
"I agree with the defense." The judge intoned. "Omar Hartsdead was responsible for his own death. The defendant is free to go."
Jeffrey turned to Bobby and threw his arms around him.
"Watch the hair!" Bobby warned.
"Hard not to," Jeffrey replied. "Look Bobby," he drew Bobby aside. "I know a great barber in a quiet location. He could do wonders for you."
"What are you talking about? I don't need a Barber."
"Well the offer is always there."
"Thanks but no thanks. My hair is fine."
Jeffrey picked up little Johnny and carried him away. "Thanks again, Bobby."
"You're welcome."
Lindsay and William George approached Bobby excitedly.
"Congratulations!" Lindsay gave him a big hug. Their first in 6 months.
"Thanks honey. You know what?"
"What."
"I didn't even dredge up all my feelings about assisted suicides and euthanasia as they related to my mother during this case. I think I'm finally finding peace within myself with regards to that issue."
Helen overheard him, "Wow, and I didn't think about my grandmother and how she was forced to switch off her own machines!"
Lindsay frowned, "Well, I hate to break it to both of you, but you didn't think about any of these things because Ally completely forgot to include them."
"So I haven't found inner peace?"
"Probably not," Lindsay gave him a sympathetic hug (the people in the gallery looked shocked at this outward display of public affection between the two. Lisa, who was sitting in the back, fell off her chair).
"Damn that Ally! Damn her to hell!" Bobby bellowed. "I want inner peace!"
"You'll get it one day, honey. Maybe when ABC cancels the show, David will write you a nice little story about finding inner peace."
"You really think so?"
"I do."
"Thanks sweetheart."
Lindsay flashed him a brilliant smile. "You're welcome. Lets go home and see our son."
"No Lindsay, you forgot your punishment. You're not allowed to see little Robbiebob anymore."
She sighed. "Well say hi to him for me."
"I will."
They parted with a sad smile. "Come on William George," Lindsay called.
Bobby seethed when he saw them leaving together. But just as he was just about to whip out his cell phone and call Alan Neal, fate smiled down on him and Little Johnny came belting out of left field and tackled William George to the ground.
"William George Vogelinks!" Johnny screeched. "You're my hero."
Jeffrey raced onto the scene and pulled Johnny off the serial killer. "Johnny, that's so rude!"
Everyone waited for William George to get up, instead he groaned and looked deathly pale (convenient really, considering what's about to happen). Lindsay bent down over him, tears running down her face, "William George, don't leave me. Bobby can't protect me; you're my only chance of living a non-violated life!"
But William George had only one thing to say...
ready for it? its coming...credits are almost ready to roll, the boop de boop music is about to play....
William George opened his mouth and said to Lindsay, "I told you that kid was evil."
And with that his eyes closed, never to look upon his friend and victim, and lawyer, Lindsay, again.
The End