While Langdon and Sophie were preoccupied by the terror of Catholics harnessing the power of fictions novels, an aging museum guard lurched toward them. His breathing was labored, and his steps were loud and irregular. This made sense, since he had two wooden legs. Hobbling along the empty corridors of the Louve, he made about as much noise as a small freight train.
Sophie and Langdon never heard him coming.
"Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir!" He demanded, squinting at the intruders with his one good eye. His other eye had been lost in a vicious battle with a rabid art student. He also bore the scars of that particular encounter in places he did not generally display in public, but that's a different story altogether.
Shrieking like a women, Langdon peed his pants and dropped to the floor, flailing wildly to fend off any bullets that might be shot at him.
Shrieking like a man, Sophie whipped out a concealed razor blade and flung herself at the offending museum guard. Her amazonian battle howl mixed with the guard's challenge of "So you want it super-sized?"
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After a few moments of digging, Silas had come in contact with a large stone tablet. Below it, there was a small hollow cavern, which held what Silas sought, he was sure of it. However, stone on the alter proved more difficult to break than Silas had anticipated. The crowbar he had brought along had not done the job. Or the huge wooden pew he had dropped on the stone with the assistance of a crane. Or the wrecking ball. Or the dynamite. Not even a herring could crack the vault of stone. Perplexed, Silas took his travel sized soap bar from his fanny pack and scrubbed it on the stone. The stone crumbled like old cheese. "Ha!" laughed Silas in triumph. "Not soap-proof I see!"
The nun gasped with fear. Quickly, she whipped out her Motorola Razor phone in slow motion, humming 'Back in Black' as she did so. Swiftly, she dialed four Paris phone numbers and...
Focus change! Back to Silas. He cleared away the rapidly dissolving rubble of the stone tablet, which reacted to the soap the way human sink reacts to strong acids. Underneath the rubble, there was yet another stone. Frustrated, Silas was about to give it a good soaping when he saw there were words written on it. Curious, he looked at the arcane and mysterious pictograms..."Oh wait, my bad. Upside down." Silas flipped the tablet over, revealing the symbols to be perfectly recognizable English.
Silas was burning with anticipation, to the point where it was almost orgasmic. Here was the object of his quest! His Grail! The key to the location of the...Grail...
Naturally, he was very let down. All his much sought-after tablet said was, "Ha ha! This was a red herring! Fooled you! Love, PS."
Silas blinked. "What the CRAP!" he shrieked. He yelled so loudly he could hear himself over the "Footloose" soundtrack, which was what was on his ipod at the moment. Then he punched himself in the gut for saying 'crap' in a church.
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The beaten corpse that was once Louve Security Guard Number 2 lay prostrate at Sophie's feet. "Supa size that, ya bastard." said Sophie, hiding her knife in her bosom and spitting elegantly in the corpse's face.
Langdon looked stunned. He had security guard blood splattered across his tweed suit and turtle-shell glasses. Throwing up heartily, Langdon asked, "What the Hell was that?"
"I had a rough childhood. Let's check around here for clues to the identity of my grandfather's killer." Langdon began to stand, but Sophie pinned him to the ground with one spiked heel, "Lemmie rephrase that. I look for clues, you clean up the physical evidence. I don't wanna single hair left behind here, got it?"
"Ye...yes ma'm!" blubbered Langdon. He wasn't going to argue with Sophie. She could do things to a human body with a blade. Things...
Forty minutes later, Sophie had ripped down every painting in that part of the Louve, except for Madonna of the Rocks. She had sliced many pieces in frustration when they failed to render any helpful clues. Langdon had finished cleaning up the crime scene and was admiring the only painting remaining painting on the wall, "'Madonna of the Rocks', hmm? Sound's kinda like a drink. You know. An alcoholic one. I don't drink much alcohol. It's bad for my valve."
Sophie rolled her eyes, "Leave that one be. There ain't no way my Grandpa would have anything to do with that one. I guess this is a dead end." she snapped her gum in annoyance and prepared to take out her anger on the prostrate body of the guard.
"Funny thing is that 'Madonna of the Rocks' is an anagram of 'Mona! Can't he do forks?'. Didja know that Sophie? I bet you didn't."
"I was supposed to get the one." Sophie pouted as she tore 'Madonna' down from the wall. She stuck her knee through it for good measure, then searched the destroyed canvas. Finally, she pulled out a small gold plated key. "Ta-da!" she announced, dangling it in front of Langon's nose.
"Yeah yeah. That's nice. Can we leave now? That dead guy is starting to creep me out and the Louve is getting really old as a setting. I mean really old. What is this, like, chapter 7? We've barely gone a few yards this entire fanfiction."
"Right you are!" said Sophie, grabbing his arm and nearly wrenching it from it's socket in her enthusiasm. She dragged him down some stairs and toward the exit of the Louve, labeled, 'Exit' in cheery, blood red letters.
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Three of the four phone numbers the nun called turned out to be duds. Apparently dead people didn't answer their phones. If the last guy didn't pick up, she was royally screwed. The phone rang four times until a angst ridden male voice announced, "Hello. You have reached the home of Jhonen Vasquez. How the Hell did you get this number? If you are one of those prissy fangirls, I swear, if you don't stop calling me, I am gonna call the police. I'm not kidding, bitches. If you had shown me this much support before, maybe Invader Zim might still be on the air. You know how you can express your unending love for my? Buy my comics. Now, if you have something intelligent to say, do it after the beep." beep
The nun clutched the phone to her withered ear, "The floor panel is broken! The other three are dead! Pick up! Darnit!" she shouted. Unfortunately, she yelled a little too loudly. The frustrated Silas was alerted to her presence. And he was not pleased to see her. Wonder why.
"Hey. Hang that stupid phone up. Those things really piss me off. The buttons are all uneven. And they get greasy." Silas complained, whipping his ipod off. Squeaking in fear, the nun snapped her Razor closed, terminating the call. She hummed 'Back in Black' backwards as she put the phone in her pocket.
"It wasn't any good calling them. They are all dead anyway. Yep. All four secret-keepers. I've had a busy week." Silas said. "I have this unhappy feeling it is about to get even busier." said the nun unhappily as Silas hefted a large and very pointy candle holder. "Got that right." he said.
One loud thunk and a dead nun later, Silas was rifling through said nun's pockets. He retrieved her Razor phone, and admired the sleek curves of cellular device. Sticking it in his own pocket he told the dead nun, "That bad stuff I said about your phone before? I was lying. I was just bitter cause I couldn't afford one. They are actually reeaallly cool."
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Sophie and Langdon burst from the museum like two maggots from the side of a dead deer: with speed and grace. Sort of. Langdon didn't need to struggle to keep up with Sophie anymore, because she had opted to drag his broken body across the Louve lawn. It was a lot quicker that way.
"There's my car!" shouted Sophie pointing at an automobile scarcely larger than a one of those PlaySkol cars kids peddle around it. That was Langdon's first impression anyway. The car was, in fact, a clown car, straight out of the circus. It was bright yellow, with a large red pom-pom on the top, and a front bumper that appeared to be smiling under eye-like headlights.
"What the Hell is the abomination?" asked Langdon. "My CAR!" said Sophie as she flung him into the passenger's seat. Diving through the driver's side window, Sophie rolled upright and slammed her keys in the ignition. "I'll drive!" she volunteered.
Langdon was marveling that the interior of the car. 'roomy' was an understatement. The car had a mini bar, a full sized fridge, a kitchette and an Olympic swimming pool packed in it. Everything was fashioned from mahogany and butterfly wings. Literally. Who knew how many monarchs had to die to furnish that car. "Nice car." commented Langdon approximately half a second before it accelerated to 50 miles per hour. That clown car packed more punch than some roller coasters.
"I think I'm gonna throw up." Langdon said, clutching his stomach. Despite the fact he had thrown up no less than three times already that night, it seemed that he still had some ammunition left. Sophie seemed to sense this. "Not in my car! Do ya have any idea how hard it was for me to steal this?" She threatened as she breezed through several stoplights. And over a dog. And an old lady too, actually.
"It's not my fault! Your driving sucks! Typical women!" shrieked Langdon as he played with the mirror on his side and changed the station on Sophie's radio.
"What did you say?" demanded Sophie, "I was gonna drive ya to the Embassy, where yah could hide from the displeasure of French law, but now I think I'm just gonna take ya with me. Yer in this adventure for the long haul, buddy."
"Nooooo!" wailed Langdon. He was drowned out as French police, peddling furiously after them on bicycles built for two, began howling loudly in imitation of real police sirens. Budget cuts. Angrily, Sophie slammed the accelerator down, cursing in the two and a third languages she knew. The third of a language was Wookie.
As she raced along the Paris freeway, Sophie had yet another vivid flashback. She recalled coming home from work early, and finding a bunch of beat-up retro vans parked in front of her grandfather's estate. Many of them were painted with wild murals of wizards and dragons. It was truly a sight to behold. Ah! So this was why grandfather wanted me to get that case of Bud Lite. He's having a party! Sophie had thought. A party will be good for the old man. He spends too much time in his room doing who knows what. He's starting to smell.
Excited, Sophie had dragged the booze inside only to find that nobody was in. "Hey Axel! Where is everybody?" she asked. Axel nodded at a tapestry, "Down the rabbit hole." he said cryptically as he fluffed his news paper.
Curiously, Sophie drew open the tapestry. Behind it, the wall was conspicuously labeled, "NOT A SECRET ENTRANCE!" Briefly, the sign convinced her to abandon her search, but then she saw a very small doorknob. Turning it, she saw that the wall was indeed a secret entrance, which lead to a secret staircase, which lead to a secret basement.
Up from the secret basement, there came the sounds of serious dance music. The pounding bass made Sophie's teeth rattle. The secret staircase emptied out into a cave, where men and women appeared to be having a rave. The women were wearing skimpy white outfits and twirling glowsticks with drunken enthusiasm. The men were dressed in tight black jeans and nothing else. They sported...acid.
Sophie had watched the bizarre spectacle with fear and amazement Grandpa really knows how to throw a party... Sophie had thought, marveling at the erratic movements of the 'trippin' participants. Suddenly, the whole group had shouted, "And we all fall down!" and promptly did so, laying like rag dolls in their drug-induced stupor. Except for the...in the middle. That Sophie could see very clearly.
Sophie had projectile vomited and ran up the stairs, out of the house, through a pile of dog poo and out of her grandfather's life.
Axel had grinned rather evilly and fluffed his newspaper some more as he watched her go.
End flashback. Sophie shook herself. Considering she had not been fully aware of her surroundings while she was flash backing, she felt lucky to wake up alive. She was doing over 150 on a freeway after all. Langdon was screaming his head off, telling her that now was not the appropriate moment to become unstuck in time. Except in much more...vivid language.