Angel felt as if a herd of elephants had danced on his head. Groaning, he managed to open his eyes for a brief moment, then promptly closed them; someone had apparently installed a 1,000 watt searchlight in his bedroom.

He heard Wesley's say: "I think he's awake now."

"Looks like he's still in slumberland to me," Lorne's said.

An all too familiar voice said, "Dump some cold water on him, that'll bring him around."

"Shut up Spike," Gunn, Lorne and Wes chorused.

Angel opened his eyes again. He sat up slowly, ignoring Wes's plea to stay put.

"Angelcakes, what happened?" Lorne said. "We heard you scream and found you lying on the floor next to the remains of your TV."

"I had this terrible dream," Angel said, still reeling from the horror. "I was watching American Idol and LINDSEY MCDONALD won!"

The others stared at him.

"It was all a dream, wasn't it?" Angel said shakily. There was an awkward silence. Wes shuffled his feet, "Well, uh, Angel, not as such," he finally admitted.

"Whaddya mean 'not as such'?" Angel demanded.

"Angelbuns, I hate to break this to you, but Lindsey is the new American Idol winner. In fact, I'm meeting him later today. We're representing him. Isn't it fantastico?" Lorne said cheerily.

"No, it's not fantastico!" Angel yelled.

Spike grinned. "Too bad mate. The people have spoken."

"It was fixed, I'm telling you!" Angel insisted. "There's no way he could have won on his own."

"Give it up Angel," Gunn said. "It's over." A thought struck him. "Hey, do you think they'd go for Gilbert and Sullivan next time?"

Seizing the opportunity to twit his grandsire, Spike said, "By the way, did you know your audition is on the extended DVD version in the 'Godawful' section?"

"Go away, leave me alone," Angel said, succumbing to despair.

The others left. Angel could hear Gunn and Lorne discussing which Gilbert and Sullivan song to use for the next season of American Idol.

Several hours later:

Angel lay in bed, trying desperately to ignore the voice in his head. Usually he could block out Angelus's endless stream of commentary, but the day's events had taken a lot out of Angel. Gradually Angelus's thoughts filled Angel's conscious mind.

"Gosh, Angel, aren't you proud of him?" Angelus sneered. "Just think, our little Lindsey won the big prize. I'm all verklempt."

'I'm not listening,' Angel thought.

Angelus was nothing if not persistent. "If you'd turned him when I told you to, this never would have happened," Angelus said.

Angel winced as Angelus continued. "Oh no, Angelus, I can't do that, it wouldn't be right," Angelus said in a falsetto.

'I don't sound like that,' Angel protested.

"Face it, pal, Lindsey would have made a terrific vampire. He was already pretty far down the evil brick road to start with. Oh, what fun we could have had," Angelus mourned. "But no, Mr. Goody Shanshus wouldn't even consider the idea."

'Change the subject, please,' Angel begged.

"Okay. What song did you sing for Randy, Paula and Simon? Mandy, wasn't it? I know, let's think of some new lyrics," Angelus said.

'Let's not,' Angel thought, trying to suppress the maddening voice in his skull.
"Oh Lindsey, you came to LA . . . Angel cut off your hand, Oh Lindsey."

'Shut up!' Angel thought. "No," Angelus responded. "Like that one? Here's another: He sings the songs that make the whole world sing . . . "

To his relief, Angel heard a knock on his bedroom door. Desperate for a diversion, Angel yelled, "Come in."

Wesley entered the room, followed by Gunn, Lorne and Spike. "

We came to see how you're doing," Wesley said.

"I'm fine," Angel said.

Wes seemed dubious. "You look a bit strained," he said.

Spike added, "bloody hell, peaches, I haven't seen you looking this wrecked since St. Petersburg."

"I'm fine," Angel snapped.

This is getting good, Angelus thought happily. Like shooting fish in a barrel. Now to inflict more pain. Oh yeah, the jingles, they're even more horrible than the songs. Concentrating with all his might, he filled Angel's brain with: "He's a winner, he's a winner, he's a winner. Wouldn't you like to be a winner too? Lindsey McDonald won American Idol."

Angel barely suppressed a whimper.

"Angel, are you sure you're all right?" Wesley asked, frowning.

Angel gritted his teeth. He would NOT let Angelus get to him. He gave Wes a sickly smile and said, "No, Wes. Nothing's bothering me. Why do you ask?"

Meanwhile, inside his head Angelus belted out "Looks like he made it! . . . ".

Angel began to twitch uncontrollably.

'Why, Angelus, why?' he pleaded silently, oblivious to the effect his internal monologue was having on his companions.

"Do you even have to ask?" Angelus said. "You want reasons, I'll give you reasons. The albums, the jukeboxes, most of all: THE CONCERTS! I'll never forgive you. You made me suffer, now it's your turn, buddy."

'Oh,' Angel thought. 'I guess it's too late to apologize.'

"You're right about that. Now it's time now to really turn the screws," Angelus cackled.

"Once more, with feeling: His name was Lindsey, he was a lawyer. He's got groupies out to there; he's gonna be a millionaire. . . . then Angel cut off his hand!

His name was Angel, he's still a vampire. . . Simon said he sang worse than even William Hung! On Idol, American Idol."

Angel cracked. Jumping to his feet, he grabbed his head and yelled: "Stop it, stop it, stop it! I can't take anymore." Angel tore his hair, his eyes were wild. "I can't stand it, no more, please, no more Lindsey."

His friends exchanged worried glances.

Lorne was the first to speak. "Angelcakes, not to get all "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" with you, but what's going on?"

"He's in my head and he won't shut up!" Angel cried. "And he's destroying all my favorite Manilow songs. He's EVIL!"

"Who's in your head?" Wesley asked.

Angel moaned. "Lindsey, it's non-stop Lindsey."

"Lindsey's in your head?" Spike said, making the international sign of 'he's nuts' behind Angel's back. Gunn nodded in agreement. After a moment's reflection, Wesley also nodded.

Grabbing the phone, Wesley said soothingly, "Don't worry Angel, we know what stress you've been under lately. I think you need a nice, long rest."

Much later:

The personnel of the Fairfield Clinic Psychiatric Unit had had their share of 'unusual' patients, but never had they dealt with a case such as this. Several staff members gathered to discuss Angel's condition.

"He just lies there, moaning the name Lindsey McDonald," Nurse Willetts said.

"You mean that American Idol guy?" Dr. McNamara said.

"Yeah, that's the one. I didn't realize he was such a fan," Nurse Willetts said.

Nurse Rachett had a brilliant idea. "I know, I'll bring in the newest Lindsey McDonald CD for him. That should really brighten his day."

The end.