BONK THE BEAST

by A.N.D.

Tunnelcon I fanzine (and if you get a copy, Cheryl DuVal's illofor this story is not to be missed!) PG-13 for a few comments butnothing really graphic.

Vincent was having a bad day. A worse than bad day. Worse thanworse, even, as Mouse would put it. Vincent couldn't put into wordshow bad a day he was having, mostly because Father didn't let him uselanguage like that.

He'd gone Above to visit a helper and been seen and chased by agang of toughs. As he'd run down an alley to escape them, he'd runstraight into the territory of a possessive pit bull. Dispatching thedog, he'd found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun beingwaved by the dog's owner. Running blindly from that threat, he'dstumbled right into the street just in time to be run over by a car.He scrabbled pitifully along the side of the street until he found astorm drain and managed to wrench off the cover and fall gracelesslythrough it just in time to avoid detection by the driver of the carlooking for "that damn dog that ran right out in front of me."

Bruised, breathless, bitten, battered, and now sopping wet withsewer water, Vincent was staggering homeward, relaxing slightly inthe knowledge that he was home and therefore safe.

Then the tunnel caved in on top of him.

He almost gave up and died right there, simply for the rest itwould afford him, but Vincent wasn't the surrendering type. A littleexploration revealed that the cave-in didn't extend far; there wasonly a little rubble that had fallen. Mostly on him. He wearily dughimself out and made it without further incident back to his ownchamber and collapsed on the bed.

Which promptly collapsed out from under him.

It was too much. Vincent closed his eyes and accepted whateverfate might come his way. "Why does it seem as though the world isconspiring to hurt me?" he asked the air.

A bright white flare made him open his eyes again. Squintingthrough the doorway, he could just make out the shape of someone - awoman - wearing diaphanous draperies and interestingly backlit byklieg lights.

"Come with me," Catherine's voice crooned.

Vincent got up, vaguely surprised that his injuries weren'tbothering him so much. His healing factor must have finally kickedin. And if Catherine had suddenly developed the habit of wearingwispy little costumes and running around in lighting that made saidcostumes totally transparent, he held hopes that his night was aboutto get much better.

But as he approached, she backed up. "Where are you going?" heasked in frustration.

"You asked a question. I am here to show you the answer,"Catherine told him, her voice echoing eerily.

"Oh, no, not again!" Vincent moaned under his breath as he trottedobediently after her.

The spirit of Catherine led him down a long tunnel which openedinto a living room. It looked like any generic Above living room, asleast as much as Vincent could see of it, for most of it was randomlycovered by paper and soda bottles. Three women were sitting together;one was typing industriously into a computer, another typing equallyindustriously on an electric typewriter, and the last was writingscribbled longhand into a notebook. The one with the typewriter wastalking. As they got closer, Vincent could start to make out thewords over the music playing on their stereo.

"...If you think the one where Catherine gets amnesia, turnsVincent in to the ASPCA, and marries Elliot is good, wait until yousee the next story I plan to do! Vincent gets caught by the Silksagain and they beat him up but he gets away and gets nursed back tohealth by that hooker, what's-her name from No Way Down, but after hegets healthy and goes home he hears that she's been kidnapped bywhite slavers and he has to go rescue her but he gets caught and getsshot and in the end he dies in Catherine's arms saying 'Promise meyou'll find another man to love. Live the happy life we were nevermeant to have together.'"

"Oooooohhhhhhhhhh, that's SO romantic!" sighed the other two.

"But," the one at the computer added, "I still like my story whereVincent slips off the top of the subway during rush hour and gets runover by the Upper West Side express and Catherine has to keep him inher apartment for weeks while he recuperates."

The one with the notebook smiled. "Just wait until you see whatI'm working on!"

"What is it?" the others asked breathlessly.

"Not telling 'til it's finished," she said, curling protectivelyover the notebook.

"All the things that have happened to you are caused by thesewomen and others like them," the ghost of Catherine murmured.

"Why do they hate me so much to wish such pain upon me?"

"They do not hate you, they love you."

"Then why do they hurt me so? Why can't they let me be happy?"

The ghost shrugged. "You always hurt the one you love. Rememberthat. Remember love. Remember..."

"Wrong episode," Vincent said, shaking her.

Catherine paged through the script until she found her placeagain. "They hurt you so that they might have the pleasure ofcomforting you. The worse the hurt, the more comfort to follow."

"Even so," Vincent pleaded, "is there no one who wants me to behappy?"

"She does," the ghost said, pointing at the frantically scribblingwriter. "She wants us to have all that a love like ours leadsto."

Vincent perked up. "I shall look forward to being in thatstory."

The spirit raised an eyebrow at him. Just then, the doorbell rangand Vincent shrank back into what shadows there were. There weren'ttoo many, considering that Catherine was running around with a fullcomplement of footlights. The women in the room all jumped to theirfeet as if their chairs had suddenly been electrified.

"The delivery man!" one gasped and with the chorused battle cry of"PIIIIIZZZZZAAAA!!!!" they stampeded en masse out of the room.

Vincent crept over to the notebook, eager for a glimpse of a moregentle, loving future.

Catherine's eyes widened. When Lisa had told her Vincent'smeasurements, she hadn't realized that the dancer was discussingdiameter!

Vincent paused, resisting the urge to look down and reassurehimself that it wasn't true. He quickly skimmed the rest of the pageand saw lurid prose full of pants, groans, claws, moans, fangs,tongues, and medical impossibilities. It read like an unhappymarriage between Grey's Anatomy and Mutual of Omaha's WildKingdom.

He swallowed hard and turned to Catherine. "Please take me home,"he whispered. "I don't want to see any more."

She walked towards him, reaching her spectral arms out. "It willbe all right. It never happened. It will never happen. Itnever..."

"...happened to you, Vincent?" Catherine's voice was shrill withworry and she gripped his sore shoulder far too tightly as she triedto shake him awake.

Vincent lurched to complete awareness and wished he hadn't. Everyinch of him ached. "It was all a dream," he said dazedly.

"What was?" Catherine asked, smoothing his hair back gently. "Whathappened to you?"

"Oh, Catherine, I dreamt that there were hundreds, thousands ofpeople who wanted to see me hurt and were writing stories aboutit..." his voice trailed off as Catherine leaned forward over his nowconcave bed, giving him a wonderful cleavage shot and reminding himwhy all the fans were hurting him. If this was the comfort part, heput on his most pathetic "pity the kitty" sulk and prepared to makethe most of it.

"Oh, you poor thing," Catherine crooned and kissed his cheek.Which would have been nice if his cheekbone hadn't been fractured. Athis grunt of pain, she apologized and tried kissing his mouth,smashing his split lip against a broken tooth. She sat back as hewhimpered and asked practically, "Well, where doesn't it hurt?"

"Here!" Vincent snapped, pointing at his right elbow. "Thatdoesn't hurt!"

But he was wrong. It did. Still, he'd take whatever kissing hecould get, so Vincent tried to relax as the tune he'd heard in thatliving room replayed in his mind.

I've got those knifed, laser-blasted, torn apart and simplyshafted victim of fanfiction blues!-

fin-

"Mary Sue Fanfiction Blues" by MS Holmes and Julie Ecklar

Author's note: It's hard to remember that there was a time whenmore fanfiction was written longhand or on typewriters than oncomputer!