It Had To Be You (01/01) A story of love at third sight Erika Wilson July, 2000 I suspect those following the current threads on FORKNI-L will know from whence this sprang. All usual disclaimers apply. Requests to archive are, as always, very welcome. Nancy, you don't even have to ask. *** There weren't many car dealerships open after dark, especially during the long days of summer, but Nick's old automobile had finally gone to that great junkyard in the sky and it was time to go shopping. He briefly pondered the concept of an auto afterlife, but found the idea of his beloved DeSoto achieving a salvation that he could never share, too depressing to dwell upon. The sound of a blaring loudspeaker caught his attention and he landed in the darkness just beyond the blazing lights and flapping pennons of Mad Mel's Midnight Motor Market. The noise; the color; the lights battered his ultra-sensitive senses and he wondered if he'd be able to bear the sensory overload long enough to accomplish his purpose. Then he saw Mad Mel himself; standing on the driver's seat of the most hideous blue-green monster of a cadillac convertible, screaming the latest deals and steals into a bullhorn. It was at that moment that he almost decided to give up the quest; to move about the earth as vampires were intended--by bus and taxi, but he thought about the smell of the last taxi he'd been in and shuddered--too reminiscent of the Parisian catacombs. No, he needed his own car. He thought about the early years; tagging blindly after LaCroix with no say in how or where they went. Then later; repeatedly fleeing his Master's influence with increasingly futile desperation. But no longer. Now he was in the driver's seat of his own destiny. And to remain in that position he needed a car. He clenched his jaw, girded his loins and sallied forth, dear friends, into the breech. Though neither for God, for Harry, and certainly not for St. George. Hours later he was whizzing through the empty city streets in his new Spider. Now this, he thought to himself with a feral grin on his face, was what living forever was supposed to be about. The power; the speed; the ease of maneuverability--it was as close to flying as driving could get. The sight of flashing lights in his rearview mirror didn't even begin to dampen his spirits. He cheerfully rolled down his window and simply explained to the officer that there was no problem at all and that he should simply let Nick go with a suitable warning. The officer nodded agreeable and in his most pleasant voice, warned Nick that he'd better pay the fine or show up at court at the appointed time if he didn't want his license suspended. Then the officer smiled and complimented Nick on his choice of vehicles and wished him a good evening. Bemused, Nick glanced down at the ticket and saw that the time of his court date was set for 11:00 AM. He growled, crumpled the ticket and tossed it into the glove compartment. Then he thought better of it, retrieved the ball of paper and smoothed it out. He wasn't ready to change identities just yet. Best let Aristotle deal with such a minor annoyance. The old vampire was still paying off that so-called 'Battle of Hastings' debt, after all. He moved cautiously back into the traffic lane and kept one eye on the speedometer and the other eye on the lookout for police cars as he drove out of the city and out onto the deserted, winding roads of the surrounding countryside. Then with a wild banshee cry, he floored it. The nighttime landscape, as well as the hours, sped by in an unseen blur. Before he realized, the sky began to lighten with the approaching dawn. Panicked, Nick slammed on the brakes, jumped out of the car, ran around to the back and frantically opened the trunk. He froze in horrified shock. This was the trunk? How was he supposed to survive the day in that . . . that breadbox? He looked up at the ever-brightening sky; looked around at the flat, featureless countryside and started pulling out everything from the trunk, which consisted almost entirely of a very compact jack assembly and a black rubber mat. There was no spare tire. He wasn't even sure if there was room for one. He was extremely doubtful that there would end up being room for him. Unless he remained unprotected for much longer and then there'd be *plenty* of room. In a few moments, a medium-sized pickle jar would be large enough to contain his charred remains. He exhaled massively and squeezed himself into the trunk. Grunting with the effort, he reached up and grabbed hold of the lid to slam it shut. It bounced off his ankle and popped back up. He gritted his teeth and wriggled his ankle into a slightly less protuberant position. This time the lid impacted with his knee. Then his hip, his elbow, his shoulder and ultimately, his head. With a roar he reached outside, grabbed the black plastic mat and pulled it inside just as his forearm began to smoulder. Using his belt to hold the lid together, he blocked most of the gap with the mat and settled in as best he could to wait for dusk. It was a very long day. They were very understanding back at Mad Mel's. They charged him for the extra miles, the transfer costs and a few other unspecified expenses and led him back out onto the lot. He told them what he was looking for in a car. Trunk space? They frowned and looked thoughtful. That's funny, normally they had *plenty* of cars with *loads* of trunk space, but just at the moment . . . hey, how about *this* one? It's got the most trunk space of any car on the lot. Nick looked at the blue-green behemoth, but even without Mad Mel blaring into his bullhorn in the front seat, Nick couldn't imagine driving such a thing. Besides, a vampire with a convertible? How ridiculous is that? He shook his head. No, not that one. Did they have anything else? Welll . . . they did have the other cadillac, but if he had something against fins, he might not like this one either. They showed him the '59. Black. Oooooh, fins look good in black. Nick knew he looked good in black too. Sold. He slid off the lot like an oil slick. The cadillac prowled through the streets of the city like a shark through warm tropical waters. A couple of streetwalkers called out invitations as he drove by and a predatory gleam sparked in Nick's eyes. He was a sleek, powerful creature of the night. He felt like a hunter again. It felt good. He slammed on the brakes and took a few deep breaths. This would not do. Not at all. Back at Mad Mel's they were surprised to see him. But this time they didn't charge him for returning the car, especially when he wordlessly pointed at the blue-green '62 Cadillac convertible that no one else but Mad Mel had ever even stepped into. It did not purr. It did not glide. It . . . wallowed. But the air blowing through his hair still provided a gentle reminder of what it felt like to fly. The stars sparkled overhead and the soft moonlight cast a forgiving glamour across the unfortunate color choice. He pulled over and popped the trunk. Glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses, he stepped in, lay down and pulled the lid shut. Not bad. Not bad at all. The entire Spider would probably fit in here. Smiling with satisfaction, he returned to the driver's seat. There were still several hours 'til dawn and it was a lovely night to spend driving around . . . thinking. After a while, he reached over absently and turned on the radio. There was a familiar tune playing and he found himself crooning softly along: Why do I do, just as you say, why must I just, give you your way Why do I sigh, why don't I try - to forget It must have been, that something lovers call fate Kept me saying: "I have to wait" I saw them all, just couldn't fall - 'til we met It had to be you, it had to be you I wandered around, and finally found - the somebody who Could make me be true, and could make me be blue And even be glad, just to be sad - thinking of you Some others I've seen, might never be mean Might never be cross, or try to be boss, but they wouldn't do For nobody else, gave me a thrill - with all your faults, I love you still It had to be you, wonderful you, it had to be you. END 'It Had to be You' Lyrics by Gus Kahn. ----------------------------------- Ornamental purple flames to: Erika