Hellenor's. Jimmy is visiting. He's explaining to Helen, THE DISTRICT ATTORNEY, and Ellenor about the little semen issue. Ellenor asks how old the stepdaughter was. Jimmy replies, "Sixteen." Helen: "What a pig." And she should know from pigs. Then, in a strangely anti-maternal, unfriendly tone, Helen says to Ellie, "Are you ready for your soup? You have to eat now." In fact, she sounds like the witch trying to entice Hansel and Gretel into the stockpot. They bicker back and forth about Helen's soup needing more salt. And I'm thinking any store-bought soup you heat up in a pot comes with plenty of salt -- like Helen actually cooks. Right. Ellenor gets up to go to the bathroom before she eats some lunch. Jimmy and Helen walk out of Ellenor's room, leaving her to go to the bathroom. Helen bitches about the state of the union and then the two of them hear a loud crashing sound from inside Ellenor's bedroom. They race back to find Ellenor collapsed, unconscious, on the floor. Jimmy calls 911. Helen makes a pale attempt to revive Ellenor. They scream for an ambulance, and we fade to black. Oh. The. Suspense. Will she be okay? Is the baby in trouble? Are we past caring? I thought so.
Next week on The Practice: Bobby and The Firm run their own DNA test on the semen found on the body. It is conclusively Raymond's. His response: could the police have planted it on the body? Yeah, everyone's out to get him, including the law. It's the Alamo, people -- guns, blood, and a little incest. Jimmy, for some reason, humours Raymond: "Let's assume for a minute that it was planted. Who had access?" TO HIS SEMEN? Quick cut to Non-Victoria Non-Principal screaming, "I don't want to help him!" My, what a not-so-twisted-unravelling-boring-repititious-insidious web we weave.