Sentencing Goes Through On Convicted Serial
Killer, Blood Oaths Sworn
Calgary
(CP). It has been called the Trial Of The Century, often attached to cases that
might not well deserve it. To the frustration of the American media, filming is
not allowed in Canadian courts, which perhaps made the proceedings inside the
court somewhat more dignified than, say… the OJ Simpson trial. And yet it was
filled with the drama and intrigue of a high stakes legal battle. A serial
killer stands convicted of multiple murders and desecration of bodies, and connected
to thousands of more murders around the world. Now the case is at an end, with
a sentence handed out against the convicted murderer, the famed mystery
novelist Jessica Fletcher. Otherwise known as the most prolific serial killer
in history.
It is not a
common thing in Canadian justice for consecutive sentences to be handed out,
but it is not unheard of either. Fletcher stood up in court with her defense
attorney, Joni Mitchell (not the singer) at her side). Among those gathered in
the public area were a multitude of press, Fletcher’s dimwitted nephew Grady
Fletcher, and the legendary lawman who brought her crimes to an end, RCMP
Inspector Lars Ulrich. Fletcher had seen the Inspector upon being brought in,
said nothing, but fixed a death glare upon him.
The
proceedings commenced with the judge asking Fletcher if she had anything to say
before sentencing. Fletcher spent thirty minutes in a quiet but seething below
the surface voice, vowing that she would escape, that she would have her
revenge upon everyone who had put her here today, that she would sacrifice them
all to the Great Old One, Cthulhu. She singled out Ulrich in particular, vowing
that she would make his suffering a particular agony. “I will shred his nerves from ends to brain
stem, flay him alive, and feast on
his entrails and his heart.” This particular threat elicited little more than
an eye roll from the Inspector.
After the
thirty minute threat was brought to an end, the judge announced his decision in
sentencing. Fletcher was sentenced to twenty life terms, to be served
consecutively. In effect, she will die in prison. Fletcher replied that she
would see to it that his agony would be particularly brutal and would show him
no mercy. The judge ordered her removed from court. She was taken into custody
by police, turned briefly and made eye contact with Ulrich, who smirked. “I’ll
eat your heart with nutmeg, Ulrich! Do you hear me? With nutmeg!” With that, she was removed from court, brought to a
prison east of the city, and placed into maximum security, solitary confinement
for the remainder of her sentence, deprived of even the opportunity to murder a
cellmate.
In the wake
of the sentencing, Grady Fletcher faced the press outside the courthouse. A
multitude of Jessica Fletcher fans looked on, devastated by the downfall of
their idol. “I just don’t understand.
Aunt Jessica… this can’t be. She was always the nicest, kindest person you
could have ever known. This has to be a conspiracy. It has to be. Or this is a nightmare and I’m going to wake up and it’ll
all be different. Quick, someone pinch me.” Reporters filed away, not seeing
much point in trying to reason with a dimwit. Fletcher fans sobbed and wept.
Joni
Mitchell left court and was intercepted by reporters. First they reassured her
that they knew full well she was not the folk singer, given that she looked
nothing like her, and that she was much younger. Then they asked for comment,
asking if she would be filing an appeal of the verdict. “To what end?” she
asked, weary. “Whatever else I can say about this case, it was run in a professional
manner. I see no grounds for an appeal. I will only say at this time that even
the worst of us deserves a vigorous defense against criminal charges. And that
batshit crazy old battleaxe counts as
the worst of us.”
It was at this
point that Ulrich came out. He saw the reporters, got that familiar look of
exasperation on his face, and approached with hesitation. The reporters reassured
him that they knew full well he was not
that Lars Ulrich and asked for his own comment. “Justice is done. She’s spending her remaining
days behind bars. I couldn’t be happier.” He said this with a facial expression
that suggested anything but happiness, but then again, Lars Ulrich’s standard facial
expression is grumpiness.
When asked
about the multiple and graphic threats Fletcher had made against him throughout
the legal proceedings, Ulrich shrugged. “Ladies and gentlemen, please. I’ve
taken down megalomaniacs and monsters. I’ve made titans cry. I won’t dispute
that Jessica Fletcher is dangerous.
But comparatively speaking? I can sleep soundly at night knowing that her
threats are empty. Her day is done.”
A voice
called out from the back of the crowd. “Lars! Joni!” The reporters started to
make way as a vacant eyed man with an Access
Hollywood cameraman following cut through. “Cooper Collins, Access Hollywood. Can I get your comment
on the rumour that’s out there that Metallica is doing a crossover album with
Joni?”
Ulrich and
Mitchell glared at him. Then they glanced at each other. Then they glared back
at Collins. “I am not that Lars
Ulrich,” Ulrich said in a low, menacing voice. Legitimate reporters started
backing off, knowing what was coming.
“And I am not that Joni Mitchell,” Mitchell
stated.
Collins
looked confused, a common problem for entertainment reporters. “Are you sure?"
With that,
both Ulrich and Mitchell hit him in the face at the same time, sending him
falling backwards. What followed was a beating that put Collins in the hospital
in a body cast, muttering endlessly about folk-metal hybrid rage. Mitchell took
her leave of the courthouse. Ulrich was called back to duty, as the Kraken had
been sighted outside of Calgary. Within ten minutes of the inspector making
contact, the Kraken was a fallen foe, rendered unconscious by a victorious Mountie.
The last
word belongs to a Great Old One. Once thought to be the fictional creation of
H.P. Lovecraft, it turned out that Cthulhu is real, living these days deep
beneath the surface of a remote island somewhere in the Pacific. But the
gigantic monstrosity, capable of entering the dreams of man and imposing its will
on them, does have FaceTime. Speaking through a translation program, Cthulhu
made a statement to this reporter. “Look, I want to disavow any notion that Jessica Fletcher is an
acolyte of mine. I know batshit
crazy, okay? And she’s batshit crazy.
She wants to go on and on about sacrificing people to me, well, that’s on her.
Lots of crazy people have tried using my name to justify their acts.”
He paused
for a moment before carrying on. “As for Lars Ulrich… just ask him to leave me
alone. He kicked my gargantuan ass once, and once is plenty enough, thank you very much. That guy scares the hell out of
me.”
