Date: Sat, 29 Jan 2000 
I cannot take credit for the main characters here.
This is the third story in my incredibly silly series.  It immediately
follows "Honeymoon Horror."  
There is some innuendo and rude language, but no more than you'd catch on
television.
Permission is granted to archive - if anyone is of a mind to do so.

Please send all comments to Elise at HYPERLINK
mailto:ejdeal@sga.quik.com


LaCroix's Lament, Part 3 of 4
By Elise


     Six bottles in one hour, it was a new record for him.  Natalie and
LaCroix had been gone an hour, and Nick was furious.  Furious with LaCroix
for being the deceitful creature that he was and furious with Natalie for
being so damned naïve.  Most of all, he was furious with himself for feeling
so jealous.  The longer he sat and brooded on the subject, the more he
drank.  Nick's face was dark with anger and frustration, his eyes a pale
yellow.
     It wasn't too soon for him when he finally heard the Caddy pulling into
the garage below.
     Natalie walked straight to Nick, ignoring the beast, and handed him the
keys to the Caddy along with his change.  She kissed him nervously on the
cheek before removing and hanging up her coat and purse.
     LaCroix groaned in the manner of elderly men who have indulged too much
at the dinner table.  He collapsed onto the couch, unbuttoned his trousers,
and belched loudly.
     Natalie giggled, but Nick was livid.
     "You are a disgusting pig, LaCroix," Nick said in a low, soft,
dangerous voice.
     Natalie's smile faded.  She couldn't, for the life of her, figure what
was wrong with Nick.  At least she couldn't until LaCroix spoke.
     "And you are jealous that it is I and not you who have achieved this
mortal state of piggieness," he retorted.
     Nick stood, fists and teeth clenched.  Catlike, he moved forward and
stood towering over LaCroix.  "You will leave my home immediately and take
up residence in Natalie's old apartment.  It has all been arranged." With
vampiric speed, he was beside the telephone, receiver in hand.  "I will call
you a cab."
     Steely-eyed, LaCroix attempted to stare down his former son. "Natalie
will take me there in the Caddy," he replied lazily.
     "After I take a few samples," Natalie agreed as she took her medical
kit from the sofa table.  She would have agreed to almost anything at this
point.  The situation was beginning to scare her.  "Now this won't hurt a
bit," she said and sat down on the couch next to LaCroix.
     "Natalie will stay here with me, her husband," Nick roared.
     Both LaCroix and Natalie stared at Nick in amazement.  "Really, Nick,
it's no bother.  I can drop him off and see that he's tucked in on my way to
the lab with these samples," she said in a very small voice.
     "I do not wish you to do so," he ordered.  "I want you here with me.
If this were Janette in like situation, would you wish me to see that she
was tucked in?"
     Natalie closed her mouth.  She pulled out an empty syringe, an alcohol
pad, and a rubber cord.  "Sorry, LaCroix," she told him as she tied the cord
around his upper arm.  "Nick wins this round," she told him.  "Now hold still."
     When she was done, a petulant LaCroix looked up to see his son standing
near the elevator with LaCroix's still unpacked suitcase in his hand. The
General stood reluctantly and cast a glance down at the good doctor. She
was busily placing the sample in the refrigerator and simultaneously
avoiding his eyes.  Sighing deeply, he straightened his clothing and
gracefully moved to the door.
     "Have a nice life," Nick offered as he passed the suitcase to LaCroix.
The door had barely shut when Nick flashed to Natalie's side.  "Nat," he
told her. "I am sorry about the way things have turned out."  He took her by
the hand and headed towards the stairs, pulling her along.  "This is not the
way I pictured beginning our life together."
     "Me either!"
     "Let's go to sleep," he told her.  He was very careful to emphasize the
word "sleep."
     "I know what you're saying, Nick," Natalie told him.  "But could we at
least share the bed?"
     Nick frowned but nodded.  "We can try."  He paused then added sternly,
"But promise me one thing."
     "What's that?"
     "No more T-shirts," he grinned.  "At least not for two more years."
     They both laughed and headed upstairs.

                 *     *     *     *     *

     Natalie hadn't moved out of her apartment completely even though Nick
had asked her to do so.  Good old Nick was a by-the-book man.  Their plan
(so he thought) was for him to bring her over on their wedding night, and he
had wanted to empty her apartment and have everything moved into his loft
beforehand.  Nat had moved most of her clothing and most of her personal
belongings, but she had procrastinated about moving the really big items
every time he brought up the subject.  Natalie knew that, with her cure,
they would need the groceries she kept stocking up on, the cookware, and the
dishes.  She knew Nick would want a nice, sunny apartment to begin his
mortal life anew.  That cold, empty, lonely loft with all its morbid
souvenirs was the last place she wanted to begin a happy mortal life with
Nick.
     So it was a still furnished, fully-functional apartment that Lucien
LaCroix moved into with his meager belongings.  He let himself into his new
(Natalie's old) apartment and instantly turned to lock the door behind him.
While at McDonald's Natalie had impressed upon him the fact that as a
mortal, he had no special way of defending himself.  He would never admit
it, but she had him nearly paranoid with fear.
     Slowly, he wandered the apartment, examining everything he saw.
Finally, he entered the bedroom and unpacked his little suitcase.   He was
quite furious to find his suits were wrinkled.  Janette had only allowed him
to take one suitcase.  With haughty disgust, he tossed Natalie's remaining
clothing and things to the floor and kicked them out of his way.  Now, his
suits would have a proper place in which to hang.
                                                                          
                *      *     *     *     *

     It was nearly sunset when Natalie awoke.  Nick lay curled around her
back, their bodies spooned together.  Carefully, she twisted around to face
her husband, trying not to wake him.
     Nick looked so innocent in his sleep, so sweet.  He sighed and mumbled
some unintelligible dream-induced words, and his parted lips revealed long,
hard, sharp fangs.  Still mumbling sleepy words, Nick pulled Natalie close
to him and nuzzled her hair.  Nat grinned to herself as she realized that
his fangs weren't the only part of his anatomy to be aroused.
     Slowly, he woke, his eyes a smoky amber, and he kissed his wife
tenderly.  "Good evening," he murmured.
     She returned his greeting before she returned his kiss.  "Good evening
to you, too."  When the kiss ended, Natalie asked hesitantly, "How's your
control?"
     "Manageable."   He kissed her again.
     "Good," she replied.  Natalie returned the second kiss.
     "Maybe, just maybe, Nat," he told her as he pushed her onto her back,
"maybe with a little luck and a lot of patience, we could."
     The telephone rang.  Both of them froze.  Simultaneously, they spoke.
     "We're cursed," Nat whispered.
     "Ignore it," Nick urged.
     Accompanying the second ring, was Natalie's beeper.  It vibrated on the
dining room table, where she had left it before the wedding, and buzzed
loudly enough to be heard upstairs.
     "I don't believe it," Natalie spoke sharply.
     Nick shook his head in denial and rolled onto his back.
     "Nicolas, get up!" Janette shrilled.
     Both Nick and Natalie sat bolt upright.
     "What the hell are you doing here?" demanded Natalie as she snatched on
her robe.
     Janette pointedly ignored her and turned beseechingly to Nick, who was
struggling into his pants.  "I have just received an emergency call from
LaCroix."  She spoke in a worried tone of voice.  "Our father claims he is
dying."
     Nick froze in the middle of dressing.  His pants were up but unzipped,
and his shirt hung unbuttoned.
     "Dying?" asked Natalie.  She had already pulled on jeans and a sweater.
Now she was tying her sneakers.  Her doctor's training had prepared her to
be ready in an instant.
     "Yes, thanks to you and your potions," Janette spat.
     "Well, if he wasn't so mean in the first place," Nat argued as she rose
to her feet, "he wouldn't be in this fix."  She pushed her way past the
vampiress and began helping the bewildered Nick to dress.  "Besides, if you
care so much for him, why aren't you looking after him?  Why did you throw
the poor man out without any money?"  Natalie rubbed it in, and she refused
to feel the least bit sorry even when she saw the ruby tears slipping down
Janette's face.  Grabbing the now dressed Nick by one hand and her medical
bag by the other, Natalie pulled them down the stairs.  She handed him the
keys to the Caddy.  "C'mon, Nick," she ordered.  "Let's go."
     All three of them raced to the car, and soon they were roaring out of
the garage on their way to help.                                                                          

                    *     *     *     *
    
     When the trio arrived at Natalie's apartment, LaCroix met them at once.
He flung open the door and collapsed to the floor as they entered.  "I'm
dying," LaCroix gasped out.  "My stomach is on fire."  As if on cue, LaCroix
curled himself into a ball and moaned with pain.
     Natalie knelt at his side with her ever-present medical kit.
"LaCroix?" she asked.  "Can you hear me?"  A low groan answered her. "You
said your stomach hurts?"  She began to poke and prod his abdomen while
continuing to question him.
     "It feels as if I have swallowed Vesuvius!"
     Nick looked on in bewilderment.   His hands shook.  He had never, ever
in nearly eight hundred years seen LaCroix in such pain, not even when the
General had been staked.  More guilt set in as Nick remembered how rudely he
had treated his father earlier that day.
     Natalie was shaking her head.  "There is no swelling, and he doesn't
complain of anything else," she told Nick.  Remembering the day before in
Atlanta, Natalie frowned before asking her next question.  "LaCroix,"
Natalie asked her writhing patient.  "Have you eaten anything today?"
     "Yes, I made my first meal in your kitchen tonight," he cried as he
held his stomach in pain.  "I did not forget yesterday's lesson so
soon."
     "You what?" Natalie asked in utter disbelief.  She sat back onto her
heels.  LaCroix had cooked his own meal, a real mortal meal, all by himself.
The very thought was mind-boggling.  Shaking off her incredulity, Natalie
spoke sharply to her patient.  "What did you eat?"  Her voice was blunt and
demanding.
     "I had a few chili cheese hotdogs, a slice or two of leftover pizza, a
bag of French fries, some onion rings, and several colas," LaCroix clutched
his belly while itemizing his lunch.  "And I did snack a bit this afternoon
while watching television."
     Natalie's jaw dropped.  "Is that all?"
     "No, I had what was left of the carton of Hagan-Daas for dessert."
     "Is he all right, Nat?" Nick asked.
     "What have you done to our father?" Janette demanded.
     "Nick," Natalie muttered slowly, "get him a glass of water." She dug
around in her medicine bag and extracted two medications.  From a small,
white, plastic bottle, she shook out two orange and white capsules, then
replaced the cap.  Next, she produced a pink, chalky liquid, which she
poured into a small dose cup.  "Here," she ordered the General as she shoved
the capsules at him.
     With huge trusting eyes, Lucien LaCroix sat up (aided by Janette) and
swallowed the medication followed with a sip of water from the glass that
Nick held for him.
     Nat held out the cup of pink fluid.  "Now this," she insisted.
     Obediently, LaCroix took the proffered cup and tossed back its
contents.  Shivering violently he lay back down.
     Nick scooped up his miserable master and placed him gently on the
couch.  "Will he live?" he whispered.
     "He'd better live, or you will die," Janette glared at her.
     Natalie snorted rudely and ignored Janette completely.  "Yes, he will
live.  He has a tummy ache from all he ate," she explained.  "I gave him two
Tylenol and a Pepto-Bismal chaser."
     Nick looked relieved and irritated at the same time.  He stood staring
down at the sad sight of his one time master, the most feared vampire in
Toronto if not the world, now huddled on Natalie's couch with a belly ache.
     "You scared us half to death because of a case of indigestion?"
Janette squeaked.  She was livid with outrage.  "LaCroix, you are an ass!"
     LaCroix finally regained his dignity.  "I am sorry to have bothered you
with my mere mortal's compliant, my dear Elvira."
     Natalie giggled.
     Janette shot her a murderous look.  "You can forget any further help
from me," she told him angrily.  "I hope you never re-gain your vampire
status.  I hope you become fat and bald.  I hope...."
     "Yes, yes, I understand."  LaCroix sighed and rolled his eyes.  "`How
sharper than serpent's tooth it is to have an ungrateful child.'" LaCroix
quoted.  "But then," he added wickedly, "my child seems to be wearing the
serpent's teeth.  Aren't you, my dear?" He smiled at her and then at Natalie.
     Natalie giggled, again.
     Janette vanished in a huff.
     Natalie moved to sit beside LaCroix.  Nick frowned.  "It's okay,
LaCroix, Natalie told him as she soothed his brow.  "You simply can't cram
that much junk food into a stomach that hasn't seen solid food in nearly two
thousand years."
     LaCroix settled under her touch.  "You hands are so warm," he murmured.
Nick's frown deepened.  LaCroix reached up and drew one of her hands to his
mouth.  Softly, he kissed it.  "Gratias," he whispered in his Latin native
tongue.
     Natalie smiled and gave her reply in Latin as well.  "You're welcome."
     Nick stood up to his full height and cast a cold eye on LaCroix. "We
shall leave now," he announced and pulled Nat to her feet.
     LaCroix stood.  "I, I," he stammered.  "I need some help here."  He
stared at his toes.
     Nick rolled his eyes.
      "You certainly do," Natalie agreed.  "LaCroix, you've been here
exactly one day, and you've trashed the place."  She gazed around at her
ruined apartment.
     The couch and its surrounding area were littered with magazines,
papers, empty plates and food containers.  Crumbs were everywhere, and
greasy fingerprints covered everything including several video tapes which
lay scattered about as well.
     Natalie stood and wandered in awed disbelief to her kitchen.  Every
pot, pan, and dish she owned was covered in a tomato-y colored crud. There
was a spill of a brownish nature in the center of the floor.  LaCroix, in an
apparent attempt at cleaning, had tossed six tea towels over the mess. On
the counter, empty cans and boxes stood like soldiers in a row.
     Shaking her head in wonder, Nat left a surge of genuine fear when she
turned to move down the hall towards the bedroom.  Clothing, her clothing,
was strewn up and down the hallway or huddled in medium sized piles.  On
opening the bedroom closet, she took careful note of the fact that LaCroix's
clothing -all five shirts and two suits - were neatly hung and carefully
spaced apart to avoid any wrinkles.  The entire previous contents of her
closet had been evicted in order for him to establish a proper home for his
own wardrobe.
     "I don't even want to see the bathroom," she spoke wearily to herself.
     "Congratulations, LaCroix," Nick said sarcastically, "in less than
twelve hours you have successfully trashed Nat's apartment."  Good, thought
Nick, now maybe Natalie will see through his little act.  "Haven't you heard
of picking up after yourself?"  Nick continued.  "A man of your age making
such as mess.  You should be ashamed of yourself."
     LaCroix allowed his bottom lip to quiver slightly.  "I am sorry,
Nicholas, Natalie."  He looked briefly at his shoes.  "I did hang up my
clothes."
     "Yes," Nick agreed vehemently, "and threw Nat's on the floor!"
     LaCroix's voice was a bare whisper.  "I have never had to clean.  I do
not know how."
     "What do you mean?" Natalie asked.
     "Yes, do tell," Nick insisted.  He hated this poor-pitiful-me routine
LaCroix was playing.
     The General faced the angry couple.  "When I was a mortal, our family
was one of the richest in Rome.  We had slaves to do our bidding.  They took
care of such menial tasks.  Later, when I was a vampire," - a single tear
tracked its way down his cheek - "I would hypnotize some mortal into doing
such chores for me."  He drew in a deep, trembling breath.  "If you will
show me how, Natalie, I swear I will try to do better.  I do not wish you to
be ashamed of me."
     "LaCroix," Nick growled, "what game are you up to now?"
     Natalie threw her hands into the air.  "Well, I guess I could stay for
a while tonight and help get you started."  She turned to Nick.  "It is my
name still on the lease, and I am responsible."
     "I absolutely forbid it!"
     "You what?"  Natalie cocked an eyebrow, shifted her weight to the right
foot, and placed her left hand on her hip.  She was daring Mr. Nicholas B.
Knight to say that just one more time.
     "I said," Nick spoke slowly and carefully, "I absolutely forbid it!"
     Natalie's face turned red.  Ignoring Nick completely, she walked to the
closet and opening the door, pulled out a vacuum cleaner.  "Lesson one,
LaCroix.  This cleans carpets."
      "Lucien, please,' he said with an infectious grin.  He just loved
stirring up mischief for Nicholas, and the dear, dear boy made is so easy at
times.
     Natalie couldn't help but smile back.  "Lucien," she said and nodded
her head in acknowledgement.  "But first we have to pick up."
     Nick stood in growing anger and despair.  He couldn't believe how
gullible Natalie was.  "I believe I shall return to work at the precinct
then," he said in a clipped, icy tone.
     Although both Lucien (who was picking up and rewinding video tapes)and
Natalie (who was picking up and stacking magazines) heard him, neither of
them paid him any attention.  Suddenly, Nick was there no more.
     LaCroix stopped and grinned at the place where Nick had stood, but
Natalie caught his eye.  "Listen, Buddy," she told him.  Her voice was
no-nonsense.  "The only reason I'm helping you is because Nick forbade it.
In the morning, my name comes off the lease, and the rest of my personal
things and clothing are out of here.  You can keep the furnishings.  But
after tomorrow morning, you're on your own."
                                                                         

                         *     *     *     *

     "Hey, Nick, come back to work so you can get some rest?"
     "Did Nat the Cat wear you out so soon?"
     "Yo!  How's it hanging stud?"
     Nick was bombarded with cat-calls and lewd comments the moment he set
foot back in the station.  This had been a mistake.  Thankful that he
couldn't blush, he dropped into his seat opposite his partner.
     Schanke nodded sagely to himself.  "It was the Creepy Crawler, wasn't
it?  I knew that guy had no business going on your honeymoon.  Man oh
man!"
     Nick opened his desk drawer and found a pen and some forms.  He ignored
Schanke and all the lascivious commentary.
     "So, why'd you guys leave Bermuda so soon?"  Schanke asked.
     That caught Nick's attention.  "Bermuda?" he asked darkly.
     Schanke grinned.  "Yeah, I'm the one who exchanged the tickets," he
admitted.  "I figured if you guys had to put up with Uncle Creepy, you sure
didn't need to deal with the rest of the family too."  Don Schanke shrugged.
"Hey, besides, Partner, with all that money you've come into recently, you
and Nat can visit relatives any old time."
     Nick stared at his partner, wondering if it would make him feel better
to kill Schanke now or if he should save the murder for later when Natalie
could be there.
     "You don't have to thank me for saving you guys from `da family'-
sounds like the Mafia, huh?" Schanke added.  "Just tell me all the details."
He leaned forward over his desktop.
     "Our luggage went to London."  It was said flatly.
     "Oh.  I guess I forgot about the bags."  Don Schanke paused a minute.
His grin faded momentarily but quickly returned.  "Well, it's not like you
and Nat needed any pajamas.  Huh? Huh?"
     "We, all three of us, spent the day in Atlanta, Schanke, and flew home
yesterday."
     "What?"  Schanke was shocked.  "That's it?  No hanky-panky?  No, I
guess there wouldn't be with Uncle Buck hanging around."
     "Hey, Knight, er De Brabant, whatever your name is."
     Nick turned to see that the deep voice belonged to Randy Montgomery.
The traffic officer was standing over his desk.  Instantly, jealousy gripped
him.  Nick ground his back teeth as he clamped his mouth shut just in time
to prevent his fangs from showing.  "Hmm?"
     The tall Black man towered over Nick - even when they were standing.
He waved a folder in front of the detective, flexing his huge muscles. "I'm
on my way to take a copy of this report over to the coroner's office."  He
grinned, showing perfect, even, and dazzlingly white teeth.  "Natalie and
Grace's offices."
     Nick nodded, praying his eyes wouldn't go amber and that he could keep
the beast in check.  How dare he taunt me with the knowledge that he has
touched Natalie, Nick thought.
     "Anything you want me to take over there?" he asked.  "I'd be glad to
make a special delivery to Nat for you."
     Nick shook his head and stared at the blank form on his desk.
     "No one's down there," Schanke informed the traffic officer. "Grace
put in for her vacation time when Nat took hers."
     Montgomery snorted.  "Shoot!  I'm not going all the way over there for
nothing then.  No girls, no go."  Montgomery turned and walked back across
the room.
     "Listen, Nick."
     "Schanke," Nick interrupted,  "Don't even speak to me," he roared
before once again staring at the paper before him.
     "Jeez!"  Scahnke muttered.  "Well, excuse me."

End of Part 3