A note from the author: Hi! This is my first shot at a parody. I hope there are at least a few parts of this story which are worth reading. Naturally, I don't own the Da Vinci code. If I did, it wouldn't exist. Okay. I'm shutting up. Get ready to READ

The Louve, Paris

Curator Jacques Sauniere was running for his life. For a fat academic like himself, this was not an easy thing to do. Jacques had been jogging for nearly five minutes, and already his breath was coming to him in short rasping puffs. There is no way I can depend on my physical strength to get me out of here alive. I've got to use my intellect to get out of this situation. Jacques thought desperately. I know! I'll play dead! Flopping to the floor, the force of his fall caused a few priceless paintings to fall to the floor. The museum, sensing a threat to it's valuable innards, closed it's defensive gates, separating Jacques and his attacker. That works, too. Considered Jacques with satisfaction, convincing himself that had been his plan all along.

"You know, I have a gun, right?" came a voice on the other side of the bars. D'oh thought Jacques, trying even harder to look dead. "I can hear you whimpering, so quit playing possum." the man said, sounding tired.

Slowly, Jacques rose and faced his attacker. The man was startlingly white, with red pupils which glowed with sinister intent (though it might have been a nearby illuminated, crimson exit sign causing that particular effect). "Did you see a ghost or are you one?" asked Jacques, attempting to be funny. The albino man rolled his red eyes, "Like I haven't heard that one before. Anyway, I'm here because you have some information for me. Where is it?"

Jacques blinked, "Weren't you paying attention the first time I told you?" The albino sighed heavily, "It was SUPPOSED to be creepy and dramatic, like the prologue of a mystery novel. It's foreshadowing, you dig?" Jacques nodded in agreement, "So, now what are you going to do? You have your information." The albino waved the gun around, "Shot you, duh." he then poked the muzzle of the gun through the bars of the security gate, and fired. The shot punctured Jacques's stomach. "Ow!" yelped Jacques, poking the hole in his shirt, which was now trickling blood and various biles.

"Crud. This thing always pulls down...I was aiming for your head." the albino confessed as he tucked the weapon into his brown robe. "You should play more video games." Jacques suggested, "They can really improve your aim." The albino ignored Jacques, in favor of beginning a bad guy monologue, "No matter Jacques. You will be dead in a matter of minutes anyway. I've killed your little friends as well. Your secret belongs to me now! My mission is complete!" cackling madly, the albino began to hobble off, occasionally punctuating his laughter with curses when he jarred one of his legs.

Fudgemuffins! Thought Jacques, If I die, nobody will know the truth! And that would really suck. So, Jacques stood unsteadily, pulling out a convenient magic marker and a cell phone. He could call someone, and tell them his secret, or write a message to them on the floor. But that would take like, five minutes tops, and I've got like, 15 minutes left on earth. There has gotta be something better that I could do. Eying a few famous portraits, Jacques began to grin. I've always wanted to do something like this...he thought evilly.

A Sleazy Hotel, Paris

Robert Langdon was dreaming. He was floating on a calm stream of purple chocolate, surrounded by scantily clad mermaids. They happily, flipping their tails and cooing seductively. "Calm down ladies...there is enough of me to go around." Langdon said smoothly. This was true; though Langdon had lost some weight, he was still essentially the typical fat American middle aged male. One mermaid opened her mouth to giggle, but instead of a tinkling laugh, a loud ringing sound escaped her mouth. Langdon winced. She kept making the sound, and regrettably, Langdon felt himself waking. When he opened his eyes, he discovered that it was a phone, not a sexy mermaid, which was making the noise. Cursing and struggling with soggy bed sheets, Langdon groped for the phone, finding it, he jammed it to his mouth, "What the Hell do you want!" he demanded, only do discover he had mistakenly pressed the receiver to his ear. Flipping the phone over, he repeated his question into the correct end of the phone. "Eh...Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir, Monsieur Langdon. Did I wake you?" came the voice of the hotel night clerk, "A man came asking for you. I sent him up." "What! No! I asked for a women! Who do these people think I am? They should really pay more attention to their client's requests." Langdon said, outraged. "It was an officer of the French police." said the clerk quietly. "The wrong routine even..." began Langdon. He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Just great. I bet that's him. This is gonna be awkward as anything." Langdon hung up the phone and answered the door.

"Mr. Langdon, Harvard Professor and symbology expert, I presume?" asked the real life policeman. Oh shit. Thought Langdon, realizing his mistake. Then he stammered, "Yes...that's me." "Right. You were supposed to meet with curator Jacques Sauniere tonight. Am I correct?" the police officer waggled his eyebrows. Langdon nodded nervously. "Yeah. But he didn't show up."

The police officer sighed dramatically. Several times. "Look at this picture, Mr, Langdon, and it will be explained why he did not come." the police officer said, wiping a tear from his eye as he passed a polaroid to Langdon. Examining the picture, Langdon winced, threw up, then wrinkled his nose and threw up again, "Okay. That's nasty. You could have just told me he was dead." said Langdon, shoving the picture back to the weeping police officer. "Well, you would have seen the body one way or the other. The commissioner himself wants you to join him at the crime seen, to help him interpret the meanings behind the more...ah...unusual aspects of the corpse." Langdon nodded, still feeling rather ill. "Right...I'll change into something...dry. Be right back."

A few minutes later, Langdon was standing in front of the Louve, bracing himself for his meeting with the most powerful officer in Paris. His head was still reeling from what the officer had told him about the corpse during the drive to the famous museum. Apparently, curator Jacques Sauniere had done...that stuff...to himself. Langdon shivered, That guy was crazy with a capital 'C'! To think, I almost went drinking with the guy...who knows what kind of crazy stuff he would have pulled.

Before the police officer dumped Langdon in the Louve, he reported, "Monsieur Langdon voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir." into a walkie-talkie. Langdon assumed it meant, "Yep, I've got him."

After shoving Langdon unceremoniously onto the pavement outside the Louve, the police officer sped off at a break-neck speed, causing Langdon to wonder if the man had been a legit officer at all. Walking toward the giant glass pyramid which house the main entrance of the Louve, Langdon was surprised when a big man with a nose ring popped up from the ground, "Hello Mr. Langdon! I am the police commissioner, known behind my back as the Bull! Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir" said the head hancho police man in greeting. Langdon struggled, attempting to dredge up the remains of his high school french lessons. If only I hadn't pulled all nighters playing D and D so often...I might have learned more if I was actually awake for that class. He mourned mentally. "No hablo ingl├ęs." he told the commissioner in a forced polish accent.

The commissioner nodded as though he understood. With the annoying formal stuff over with, the commissioner began asking Langdon's opinion on the most controversial item in Paris: the pyramid in front of the Louve. Apparently, there was nothing better (or more important) to discuss. "So Mr. Langdon. What do you think of our pyramid?" Langdon could tell by the commissioner's tone that this was the question he used to test the character of every man he met. If Langdon did not answer well, the commissioner's opinion of him would be forever soiled. After a brief moment of thought, Langdon responded with, "It looks like Madonna minus one." The commissioner nodded. It was a fair answer.

Afterwards, the commissioner dragged Langdon into the dark, burbbly bowls of the Louve, where he began questioning Langdon about his friendship with Jacques Sauniere. "How long have you known Jacques Sauniere?" demanded the commissioner. "Not at all. We had similar interested. He invited me to meet him for the first time tonight." responded Lagdon truthfully. "You two were never lovers?" asked the commissioner suspiciously. "WHAT? No!" said Lagdon, feeling bile rise in he throat. Mentally, Langdon crossed out 'crime of passion' from his list of possible motives. The pair navigated the seemingly endless maze of art fill corridors, until suddenly the commissioner stopped. "You feel that Langdon? We are close to the crime scene. You can feel the very suffering of..." "No we're not." whined Langdon, "We passed the crime scene like, 10 minutes ago. I was wondering where you were going."

The commissioner looked puzzled, "So, what are we close to then?" "The end of this chapter, bitches!" shouted the author as she suddenly stopped typing.