There are moments in every man's life when he says to himself: this was a really, really bad idea. I was smack-dab in the middle of one of those moments as I crouched in the dark behind the statue of someone who'd done something to impress a University donor. I was, in fact, wishing that the impressive person had been a little more portly, the better to hide me from the snapping, snarling brawl taking place about three feet in front of its cast-bronze toes. It sounded for all the world like a pair of enraged dogs going postal on a hot summer night - but dogs they certainly were not. What exactly they were I wasn't sure. One of them was named Jeremy, that was all I knew - and the other qualified as "extremely dangerous" in my book. Of course, that same book was now informing me what a stupendously bad idea it had been to follow Jeremy here. I guess I'd felt the driving urge to do something after Dennis had been attacked - right about here, come to think of it. I'd been watching then, too, though not from any kind of hiding. I'd just started across the quad to meet Dennis by the Student Union for a night of decadent carousing at Brewer's in traditional University style. He'd been waiting for me by the front steps, and I was just about to call out to him. Then I did one of those double-takes, because there was someone else standing next to Dennis that I had managed not to notice. I had about half a second to register the thought that the guy had a really weird-looking face before he, ye gods, grabbed Dennis' head and started biting at his throat like an animal. I'd like to think I was yelling for help, though screaming in shock is probably a more accurate description if I'm going to be honest. Next thing I know I'm down by Dennis trying to stop the bleeding at Dennis' neck and the lunatic is completely gone. I stayed with Dennis until the paramedics picked him up, and then went over those ten seconds or so with the campus cops three or four times. Apparently the recent shock to my nerves required those bozos to get on my few remaining ones. By the time they decided they were done I felt I was in need of a lot of sedatives. Failing that, I sallied forth toward Brewer's to get myself seriously drunk. Of course, I had to fill in a couple of friends on the reason I was late (and pretty shell-shocked) and Dennis was absent. That's when I met Jeremy. Well, I say met - actually, he slid up next to us at the bar. He was a bit scrawny, with an untidy thatch of straw-blond hair; he gave the overall impression of having ferret genes somewhere in his ancestry. "I'm sorry," he says, "I couldn't help overhearing." Which was complete bull, considering how crowded Brewer's was, but I was on my third drink by then, so I let it pass. "My name's Jeremy - hi. Hi. Pleased to meet you. Anyhow... I'm part of a campus safety group - we try to keep track of any... ah, any muggings or anything in the area. Could you repeat what you were just saying about an attack?" Being well-lubricated enough to have calmed down a bit, I gave the story another run-through for Jeremy's benefit, and that of several other hangers-around that seemed to have collected themselves nearby. Jeremy was pretty decent about it, listening carefully and making all the right noises when I paused for breath. However, when I put down my finished drink, while my friends were noisily speculating about the incident, I happened to notice Jeremy and a few others making quick tracks for the exit. Maybe I should blame the drinks, or just a crazy curiosity. I think, though, it had more to do with feeling a kind of let-down now that I was no longer scared spitless. One of my best friends had been savaged in front of my eyes, and I had done nothing about it but yell. That kinda stings in a guy's pride. So I found myself giving the guys a lame excuse and heading out to see what that Jeremy character was up to. It beat doing nothing, I suppose. Getting close to the exit, I saw Jeremy clustered with a little group. One of 'em, a willowy brunette with a perky nose, was teasing Jeremy, it sounded like. "... safety group, huh? I like that one..." Jeremy shrugged at her. "Close enough," he told her. "There's all sorts of groups around any university. It sounded good enough to get the story." He turned toward another woman, this one with a Latin sort of look to her - rich black hair twisted into an intricate braid, onyx eyes framed by jet lashes. "You think it's one of ours?" The Latin Lady scowled out toward the parking lot, and then nodded. "I think so." She had a slight accent to her voice, though I couldn't quite place it. "He was interrupted - it's possible he might still be near. If we can pick up the trail..." "The kid said it just happened," volunteered Jeremy. "Let's check," the Latina decided. The group pushed their way out of the exit, and I kept them in sight as I worked my way out behind them. It seemed like the minute they cleared the door they were acting differently - more brisk, somehow, like they were getting down to business. One of the guys popped the trunk of a car and started tossing items to the others. It was all done very professionally; everyone was there to get theirs, and then got out of the way. When they grouped up again and started down the sidewalk, they looked almost military in formation. I was starting to get seriously odd vibes from this. So, in what I now think was a moment of drunken insanity, I followed along behind them. I confess, it was rather far behind them; I didn't want to get wrapped up in explanations if they were FBI agents or something. It helped that I had a pretty good idea where they were headed. By the time I got back to the Union, however, the group appeared to have split up. Only Jeremy was visible, down on one knee and checking out the ground by the steps. Definitely law enforcement of some sort, I thought to myself, and took up the post behind the statue to watch this. Thus I had a front-row seat when the pale and distorted face of Dennis' assailant flashed into view as the lunatic lunged at Jeremy's back. Before I could even shout, Jeremy apparently heard something, and flipped around with a snarl of his own. For an instant there I had a good view of both faces - similarly strange, elongated and with too-prominent, too-sharp teeth. Jeremy's features were still recognizable, but twisted into an unnatural mirror of his attacker's. Then I lost sight of the details in a blur of snapping teeth as they went for each other hardcore. That brings me up to the point of realizing how bad an idea following Jeremy had been in the first place. The two of them were so fast and ferocious in the brawl that I was frozen in place listening to the snarls. All the alcohol I'd had seemed to be draining away faster than it had any right to, leaving me colder and a lot more scared. The slam of something against my protective statue jolted me out of my stupor. Jeremy had pulled something - a weapon? - out of his jacket, and the other had managed to knock it right out of his hands. Jeremy went down flat on his back under the lunatic's next assault. So right after chastizing myself for following one bad idea, I found myself moving under the impetus of an even worse one, and groping for the fallen weapon. It was weighty and cylindrical, like a nightstick. The thought of "why am I doing this?" didn't really have time to get the consideration it deserved before I was slamming the stick as hard as I could against the back of the snarling terror on top of the pile. Even as it twisted around to lunge at me, the snarling terror on the bottom - Jeremy - seized the stick out of my hand and stabbed it end-first at the lunatic's chest, resulting in a meaty sound like a steak being dropped from a third-story balcony. The lunatic slid away from me to slump across the ground. All Jeremy's very sharp teeth grinned up at me. "Good show - good God." He scrambled to his feet, and his face seemed to snap back into normal proportions. "It's you." The dismay in his expression might have been at the situation, or at how far my eyes were bugging out of my head at the time, I'm not certain. "What's going on here?" Ah. Somehow the lovely Latina had made her way to my side without my noticing. "Jeremy, what did you do?" "I didn't!" Jeremy protested. His kid-in-cookie-jar tone of voice just added to the surreal atmosphere. "The bastard jumped me, and the kid showed up and went all Buffy..." The Latina gave Jeremy the Black Stare of Doom for a few moments more before rapping out, "Let's get clear of here. We'll discuss this elsewhere." Her hand curled around my arm and started to steer me back along the sidewalk at a rapid pace. More of the gang, who just happened to be there without my having seen them move - I was getting to wonder about that trend - scooped up the fallen lunatic and faded into the shadows of the quad again. "What's going on?" I figured it was about time I got around to asking that. Half-past time, really. "Jeremy... he... his..." "Eh..." The woman towing me along gave me a sidelong look. "You're safe." Well, that would be welcome news, if not entirely believable. "We can discuss it elsewhere." "But..." "Elsewhere." That was all she would say until the parking lot, where I found myself bundled into the backseat of a car next to Jeremy. I was not particularly thrilled at this arrangement, but she was possessed of an excellent shove, and the slam of the car door cut off any protest. I was left staring at Jeremy and wondering whether it would be better to try a leap from a moving vehicle. "Well," Jeremy said as the car accelerated, "this is going to be interesting. The good news is that you're not crazy..." "And..." I cleared my throat to sound less squeaky, "... the bad news?" Jeremy, I was to discover, has a sense of the dramatic. His demonic grin at me had the benefit of two large, fang-like canines to add emphasis. "The bad news is that you really saw what you thought you saw."