(Yeah.. I've been procrastinating for that long. It's my one natural talent and I didn't want to get out of practice. But, hey, it *is* longer than my usual couple of kilobytes! Or is that a *good* thing? I recommend witholding any comments until this is done. I'm no Plot Mistress and it shows)

Contact can be made by e-mailing: [email protected] Flames will be knitted into warm sweaters for when the temperature here (Arizona) dips below 95 (F).

Yeah, Yeah, they ain't mine either. Some bigwigs at Sony/Tristar or something owns them. Personally, I think they should free the characters from that enforced servitude if they are just going to let them get dusty. Oh, and I don't own any part of the other licensed, character references, either.

The Abduction Statistic:

It was several hours into the night and Nicholas was feeling decidedly tipsy.

It was not that he had just imbibed at the Raven (that Toronto haven for thirsty vampires which his beautiful sister, Janette, owned), No... he was, in fact, currently struggling towards his parked Caddy which was patiently waiting for its master by one of the farmlands located just outside of that Canadian metropolis. Toronto was his temporary home while he paid his self-inflicted dues to society thru the local police department; whereas this farm had been the site of a rather bizarre murder scene that was remarkably similar to a current case. So he had decided to take a nice, quiet drive into the country to talk to the locals and escape from the aroma of garlic-laden souvlakis that his mortal partner seemed to thrive on. A little innocent mixing of business with pleasure.

Everything had gone well until a coyote had suddenly run in front of his car, making his vampiric reflexes take over--- which caused the bottle of blood he had brought along for the trip to spill open--- in order to avoid making said coyote the Caddy's new hood ornament. Not only was the upholstery of the front seat ruined by his humanitarian impulse, but that had been the only sustenance he had brought with him. This secondary concern had seemed an easy enough fix, though, as he *was* near a dairy farm and, therefore, diary cows...

"Just a little moo-lite snack for the road" he had chuckled to himself as he had stopped the Caddy and eyed the walking drink dispensers aka Gurnseys. Natalie had recently berated him for not working on his sense of humor--- a 'human' attribute she avowed--- and letting himself slip into too much 'vampiric' angst. The tongue-in-cheek rebuke had made an impression and he was determined not to let this current 'mishap' depress him overmuch.

If he had only known!

He *would* have had to have picked a bovine that had gotten into something--- well... something that cows were not meant to consume, anyway. Certaintly not cows that were the potential blue-plate special for a particular human-rights minded vampire.

"Whatever it was *has* to be illegal!" Nick giggled to himself as he finished wobbling to his car. He made a mental note to himself to have Narcotics send someone to inspect the pasture those cows were penned in. He made a mental note to have a mechanic fix the doorlock so it wouldn't keep moving on him when he tried to insert the key. On his fifth stab-at-it-and-miss attempt to unlock the door, he remembered that it didn't really matter as he had been driving with the hood down. Nick eyed the ignition lock with an air of gleeful wariness. Maybe he should just call Natalie and ask her to drive him home while he sobered up? Nah. He was just about to hop into his car when a high, squeeky voice sounded from just behind him.

"Freeze, bloodsucker!" Oh great. Just what he needed right now--- some kid Hunter-wannabe. Hadn't he just dealt with one the*previous* Halloween? Was there some kind of college institute somewhere like in those boring daytime commercials? 'Out of work? Crave job satisfaction? Tired of being a potential blood doner? Let us start you on a new career as Humanity's savior from Blood-Sucking Creatures of the Night!' Operators are standing by to offer you our FREE catalog of classes!'

"Look, kid... " Nick began as he turned around to confront his would-be assailant. He had planned to finish with "isn't it a little late to be out trick-or-treating? Halloween was *last* night." Instead he started giggling uncontrollably at what met his admittedly less-than-reliable-right-now eyeballs.

"You're looking a little green there, Kermit." he finally managed to gasp out. (Actually, he should have been shocked speechless by the sight of his accoster, but heavy intoxication can do that to you. *note-- drugs are w-a-a-y bad news for your sense of self preservation. Got that? No sunlight, no sharp stick, no holy objects and *definitely* say NO to drugs.)

The little greenish alien, (who did indeed bear a passing resemblance to that frog of media fame--- with the noteable exception that it sported real amphibian-like skin and a pair of bobbing antennae), grimaced in what Nick took to be a sour expression. For the first time the award-winning detective noticed that he (she? it?) was clutching a rather ergonomically-shaped weapon in his (hers? its?) long fingers. It looked like a rather well-done prop from some science fiction movie. (Not that he could pin-point *which* movie what with Nat tending to hog the VCR's viewing time with such slapstick comedies as 'Nosferatu--King of the Vampires' and 'King Kong'.)

"Do you have a license for that?" Nick asked trying to summon a serious attitude more in keeping with this sudden chain of events--- and failing miserably. His unstoppable grinning only appeared to irritate the creature further and did nothing for his usual 'I am a no-nonsense homicide cop/vampire so don't even try to mess with me.' aura which usually stood him in such good stead when dealing with serial killers.

"You *are* Nicholas deBrabant? The angsty one?" he (she? it?) asked suspiciously, pulling out a 3D image from his (hers? its?) belt. He (she? oh, you get the picture!) studied the image for a moment and grunted before sticking it back in its belt pouch.

"Listen Mr. Vampire, I haven't got all cycle. Surrender yourself or I'll be forced to subdue you in a painful way." It waved the tech-ish weapon in front of Nick's face. (Well, actually, his chest area. Did I mention it was a rather shor.. er... vertically-challenged alien?)

This was just too much for the detective's current state of artificially-scrambled grey matter, so naturally he did something rather stupid just like any other pharmaceutically-impaired-brain-celled victim. Sliding down the Caddy's metal hide until he was more or less at eye level with the alien, he gave it his most charmingly boyish grin and with eyes a-sparkle with righteous mischief--- stuck his finger into the offending gun barrel.

Except the alien blaster didn't *have* your run-of-the-mill-type, hollow-tubish gun barrel.

"OW!"
"HEY!"

'Kermit' looked aghast at his gleaming pride-and-joy neural blaster which now sported a not-so-nifty looking dent at the end. "DWAZ YOU-- YOU-- Argh! I'm still making lunar *PAYMENTS* on this! Do you know how many credits it costs to buy one of these things!"

Distracted by the throbbing of his own severely-dented and prized possession, Nick barely had time to acknowledge the familiar feeling of angst trying to grab his conscience's attention before the irked alien pointed the blaster right into his face, (yes, his actual face this time), and shot him. There was a bluish-white blast of searing light before Nicholas deBrabant slumped over into unconsciousness.

Where Am I?:

"Uhonesstly, Nawtalee... yor neckz... F-I-n-n-e. Ooo..." Nick mumbled outloud as his brain struggled to re-establish a meaningful rapport with the rest of himself. One part of his grey matter was gratified to get the report that the 'illegal whatsit' he had last consumed had at last been purged from his system. Unfortunately, even more parts were grumbling about having been blasted by what had looked like a ray gun refuge from a George Lucas flik.

Immortal Life just kept getting more interesting by the night. He wondered if after he was finally redeemed it would be worth the risk to file a complaint at the Heavenly Customer Service Desk. Even being one of the evil undead for several centuries shouldn't warrant *this* much grief!

Deciding that he had put in the required allotment for angsting before actually waking up, Nick opened his eyes and took stock of his surroundings.

He was lying flat on his back on what felt like one of Nat's complimentary beds at the morgue, in a small room painted an obnoxious orange color rather like---oh... just like Nat's apartment. And he was held down by restraints--- just like Nat's... (no--come to think of it--- that had been Janette's idea.)

Nick almost went into a flashback right then and there, but stopped himself in time. Someone had pointed out to him recently (Nat, of course) that he was starting to spend more of his life in [review] than in [record]. An annoying side effect of advancing centuries, he imagined (how *did* the two-thousand year old LaCroix keep from going completely catatonic from memory overload?) Nick mused. Too, was flashbacking really more annoying than being held captive in an orange room? Expecially when the flashback was of Janette doing-- ouch! Ouch! Nick double flinched as his conscience, (surgically enhanced courtesy of Natalie for those times his thoughts drifted towards THAT particular memory of the beautiful pub owner), administered a second mental THWAP! on his arm for good measure.

Sighing, Nick went back to staring at the ugly plain walls. He knew from long experience that be the *advesary of the week* LaCroix, a mad scientist or a little muppetish alien, it would not be long in coming to gloat over him. Life just worked out that way in situations like this.

Sure enough, it wasn't two minutes before the door opened to let in Kermit's Twisted Twin and his Brother. This new alien would have been an exact copy of Nick's mugger except that it was a whole one and three-quarters of an inch taller and sported a blue t-shirt with the words "My Pod Mother went to Arizona and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!" written in fluorescent yellow. It clashed nicely with the flourescant green and custom fit "But its a dry heat!" baseball cap gracing its head (two holes thoughtfully custom cut out for the antennae--- the customer is always right). Also, its space gun was undented.

Nick shuddered. Not only was he being held by real space amphibians--- he was being held by space amphibians that would brave Sonoran desert heat just to buy tacky souvenirs. What depraved and twisted minds they must have!

The taller one holstered its gun and walked over to stare down at him.

"So... this is the Great Detective." "You Zwasfat!" the younger one smirked. "Does he look like Jeremy Brett? "How would YOU know what Sherlock Holmes looks like" the other rejoined tartly "--- you never watch Alien Art & History with me. You never strive for anything of great distinction!" Its long fingers lovingly caressed a collectors edition 'Sherlock Holmes' medallion with "Made in Taiwan" sticker attached. "My brother," it confided to Nick in a manner that implied that it could just as likely be conversing witth the air, "has no sense of style." It flipped over the medallion to show off the front side. Their captive did a double-take as he eyed the jewelry piece's miniature center: Elvis. Wearing an odd cap. Portraid on black velvet. He wisely decided to keep his opinion silent. Besides, another, much more important matter was on his mind anyhow.

"Um... exc.." Nick began.

"If you *did* you'd know that the Great One has BLACK hair and not this ridiculous shade of straw that this thing sports."

Nick frowned. If he was going to be kidnapped the least his capturers could do was to make him the center of attention. He'd always been the center of attention before, he thought somewhat poutily. After all, Sherlock Holmes was only a fictional character and *he* was an honest-to-gosh bloodsucking fiend. Or in Nat's view, a diseased man with an unfortunate drinking disorder.

"Oh, like watching Earthlings waste time while everyone listening*already* knows the butler did--"

"Um... excuse.." Nick tried once more to politely interrupt Rudeness in ignoring him aside, he was in no position to fight these creatures. At the same time he found their squeeky voices increasingly annoying.... To hell with politeness! Sensitive ears aching from the sqeeky, nonstop bickering, the vampire cop roared. "EXCUSE ME!!"

The Cantankerous Kermits (or so Nick had decided to think of them) went silent and looked at him with their intense bulbous eyes; antennae bobbing up and down in a slow rythm. Synchronized at that. It was kind of unnerving.

"Look," Nick began quietly in his most reasonablish tone. "I'm sure your... discussion... is highly important, but would you mind telling me what I'm doing here?" (He dearly hoped it wasn't to referee on the merits of a literary detective over an inhumanely perfect cable show star. Whereas he *had* had occasion to meet the esteemed Sir Arthur, he had never suffered the company of the overly cheerful decorator Nat so admired. If there was anything that drove him up the wall, (literally), it was perkiness. If ever God thrust a perky person upon him he would know for certain that the Almighty had judged him for Hell and was giving him a preview.)

Tacky Attired Kermit gave him a haunty look, (At least, Nick supposed it was haunty. It was hard to tell.), before signaling his cohort who dutifully punched a button on its watch. Immediately psychodelic lights similiar to those used in '70s discos flashed accross the room. (Another flashback? Nich cringed. He had always hated the Seventies--- and the 1900's version had been the worst of all.)

"I AM REFERENCED 'DWOD' AND THIS IS MY YOUNG POD BROTHER, 'ZWIPTIG." Dwod and Zwiptig puffed out their amphibian chests. "WE ARE CREAMWHIZ FROM THE OOMPAPA GALAXY-B1/2, HIGH CZOONIDS TO THE POD MOTHER.... MISERABLE VAMPIRE." Dwod finished with a flourish.

Well, Nick couldn't argue with *that* statement. He *was* feeling quite miserable. Especially since it had hit him during the alien's argument that he had likely left the Caddy's keys in the car's ignition and rural Canadian joyriders being the young hellions that they were...

THWAP
"Ow!"

The elder alien handed the rolled up edition of the Cweamwhitx Inquirer to its companion who had been frantically trying to turn of the light show started earlier. At last succeeding in unsticking the recalicant button in question, Zwipdig immediately unrolled it and became engrossed in an advertisement on Galacto II Neural Blaster repair work with a free 50-credit coupon for first-time customers.

"We were warned of your tendency to flashback, vampire. Such time wasting will not be tolerated while you are working for us."

"Working for you?" The 800-year old Crusader's jaw worked silently for a moment. "Why would I work for you two? You've threatened me, tied me up... " He gave them a look of annoyance. "Is this one of those dumb 'we're-going-to-take-over-the-world plotlines'?"

The alien's eyes bugged even further in horror. "Take over *this* world?! Are you crazy?" Dwod sputtered. "Granted, the souvenir marketability has potential, however, the natives are excessively belligerant--- do you know one of them actually 'tagged' Zwiptig over here?" It gestured at the other who silently held up an exposed the back of its elbow for Nick's inspection. Inserted into the alien skin was a hang tag for '$9.97 as is' that the detective had earlier been too out of it to notice before. "Of course," the lead alien sneered and rolled its eyes, "He thinks its just shwammin' body art and *refuses* to let me remove it... " Zwiptig flashed Nick a smug grin before going back to his perusal of the Galatic rag sheet. "but I still think its some sort of tracking device. These humans creatures may be stupid--- but they are devious and unpredictable. Vampires are even worse."

"Thats why we need you," Zwiptig continued while the other caught his breath, "you came highly recommended."

"I did?" Nick asked in startlement.

"Oh, yes."

Your Hired!:

The detective frowned as he searched his memory for something that had been related several paragraphs back. He was much better at recalling flashbacks from past centuries then at more recent events... oh, yes, that was it!. "Wait a minute--- you said you were warned about my flashbacks.... and just *who* was it who recommened me to you?"

In answer Zwipdig pushed another small button on his watch (a neat-o Dick Tracy affair that Nick kind of envied him. **author's aside-- what is it with males and gizmo/machinery anyway?**) A holographic image appeared in the air a foot above Nicks head. He stared at it as a copyright warning flashed and then a commercial for something called Wiffsat Cream hosted by a bluish being began to play...

ZZZWWWWRRRRRR!

The scene flashforwarded past the series of commercials and one plug for an upcoming movie. Thanks to his vampiric eyesight, Nick was able to watch the movie trailer which he idly wondered if it would be available in VHS-format Earthen video. The main character was a giant polka-dotted ape that seemed to have a thing for squashing cheezily made spaceship props. Just the kind of celluloid drivel Nata--

"NAT!?" Nick blinked in surprise. His beloved's holographic face was suddenly staring down at him--- and she did not look happy.

"Oh this is just great." The hologram of Toronto's best coroner fumed. "After assuring these dipsticks that NO WAY would you ever fall for that fake lead on the murders, what does my hero do but get landed like a trout. Really, Nick!"

"Nat!?"

The holographic coroner rolled her eyes in exasperation before laying one on him.

THWAP!
"Ow!"

"Would you get your brain in gear already? I swear I have an easier time getting somewhere with that monstrosity you call a car than I do with you." She rolled her eyes. "Vampires! Superior beings my test tube." A string of Dr. Lambertian-style epithets followed, thoughtfully uncensored by their captors.

Nick winced at the continuous flow of insults. Yep, it was really her. Good ol' Nat. No chance of his becoming an egotistical monster like LaCroix with her by his side. Gosh, he loved her. If only her neck could have been just a *teensy* bit more... A thought clicked into place after having gotten lost in the intersections of his mind and having at last managed to hitchike a ride back via the courtesy of a sympathetic neurotransmitter.

"The murders... you mean the Ribena Murders didn't really take place out here?" he asked with a sinking feeling. He had foolishly accepted a bet with Schanke that the mysterious lead was a bona fide one. After all, how many people kept that stuff around?

"Nope. Seems the odd-couple here planted the fake story of forced Ribena consumption just to draw you out of Toronto." She glanced back to where her alien guard was playing with her blender , biting her lip. Having a gorgeous undead man rise up into her life was one thing. Having crazy alien frogs take over her apartment was something else! "You've got to do something, Nick!" she pleaded. "They've tied up poor Sydney--- catnapped him--- and they even stole the paint right off the walls of my apartment!"

"The paint?" Nick cast a curious glance at Dwod. Though he had never particularly cared for cats himself, he could understand the ki-- catnapping. The feline *was* kinda cute. But why *anyone* would want...

"The Pod Mother liked the color and waiting in line at those color-matching machines is such a bore."

"Ah." That settled it. They *were* insane. He put his gaze back on Nat again so she wouldn't feel tempted to sock him for ignoring her. She hit him anyway.

THWAP!
"Ow! Geez, Nat, what did I do now?"

The hologram cocked an eybrow while frowning. It had really only been a reflex. Thwapping him was just so plain darn therapeutic sometimes and she had felt the need. "Mr. Perfect Memory doesn't know?" she asked imperiously, bluffing. It was a certain bet that even without something concrete, her overly dentured beau would find an incident to feel guilty about. The angsty ex-crusader did not disappoint her.

After the 83rd reason why Nat would have cause to thwap him flashed by his brain, Nick cut the movie short and gave her a sheepish "Oh."

Holo-Natalie breathed a tiny satisfied grunt. Off the hook again. "Just do whatever the Henson Boys want, Nick," she pleaded tearfully, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief he had given her and looking very much like a patented Lady In Distress. "Who knows what terrible torturous things they'll do to me and Syd if you don't cooperate!"

The hologram image fritzed out leaving the smuggish aliens and a furious vampire alone to silently stare at each other. What, indeed, would these fiendish creatures do to his dearest... <an image of Janette's annoyed face burst into his mind>... MORTAL ...! Nick amended hastily. (Nat wielded a mean Thwap but his vampiric sister was known to bite... Oooh.. and *what* a bite... er... where was he? Oh yeah.)... friend? The reddish glow from Nicholas's eyes played over Dwod's face for a moment before he sighed resignedly. What could he do? Nat was in danger and it *was* (c'mon everybody!) All. His. Fault. <Angst!>