“Where is he? What’s wrong with him?” Lestat bombarded Armand and the others with questions as soon as the sunset came. They were all back in the familiar old coven home on Night Island, all sitting around the main room, looking for all the world like a pride of lions.
Lestat was pacing the floor. His whole body was animated with anxiety, and his golden hair floated out around his head like a halo or a mane, as if it, too, was agitated.
Armand was better, though not by much. He sat in an armchair, leaning back with hands folded primly in his lap. But he was coiled as tight as a cobra, and his dark eyes snapped fire and sparks. The other vampires watched with interest, and a bit with worry. It would only take one misstep to set the two at each others’ throats. And neither Lestat nor Armand looked very diplomatic at the moment.
Then there was the matter of the member who was missing, the vampire who had caused all this in the first place. Louis. Lestat had learned only moments before sunrise that something had befallen him, and it was making him crazy that he could not know what.
Armand was concentrating; it could be seen easily in the set of his jaw. But he said nothing. Lestat restrained himself from yelling, only because he knew that it would interrupt the process of contact that Armand was attempting. But he clenched his hands, and hardened glass fingernails bit into his skin, drawing the faintest blush of blood.
Lestat scrutinized Armand’s face, searching for a trace, a hint of understanding that might bring him closer to his Louis. But there was nothing. Armand was unreadable and stony.
Finally, his face relaxed. “Well?” Lestat asked anxiously.
Armand shook his head, not even seeing Lestat. “He won’t speak. I don’t know where he is, or why he’s doing what he’s doing. He hurts so much... It’s so confusing in there, all jumbled up and crushed together. He won’t tell me where he is. I don’t know where he is.”
Lestat wanted to throw his arms up in anger. Actually, he wanted to rip Armand’s throat out in anger, but that was a different issue. “Why won’t he tell you?!” Lestat asked.
Armand looked up and his eyes were fiery orange with repressed emotion. “All he tells me,” Armand said, nearly spitting with hate, “is that it has something to do with you.” He snarled the last word.
Marius, sensing the rising tension, moved swiftly to prevent the fight he knew was coming. “I will search for him, Lestat. He has never been that good at protecting his mind; perhaps I can gain information from him. Meanwhile, I think you should leave.”
Lestat bristled. “If you are looking to contact him, then I will be with you.”
Marius inclined his head. “What I meant, Lestat, was that you attempt looking for him yourself. Perhaps you can find his trail, or guess where he might have gone. I doubt that he has gone too far, though I might be wrong. Besides, it will be better than you just staying here and irritating the hell out of everyone around you.”
The last part was said wryly. Lestat wanted to get angry, but he didn’t waste the energy. He realized now that Marius was saying they probably wouldn’t find Louis this way. That they probably wouldn’t find him for a long time.
At least he was still alive. At least he knew that much. He sat down heavily and bowed his head, steepling his fingers.
It was his fault. He’d known before Armand had mentioned it, although the words had still caused their intended pain. It was his fault. Louis was gone, hidden from the world in some secret place that his weakened mind refused to divulge. Lestat was seized with the urge to find him, to scour every inch of the city, and then the country, and then the world, until he found Louis.
He’ll just run away again, if you ever find him. You drove him to ground. His dark side spoke to him, reminding him of the reason he’d lost Louis in the first place. But then, what was he to do? Sit here and wait for Louis to return? It could be years. Long, lonely years. The last time Louis had left him, he’d spent decades locked in a small, decrepit house, pining for himself and for Louis. Would he survive this time?
Daniel, Armand’s fledgling, came and tapped him gently on the shoulder. It was a tempting thought to simply bite the younger vampire’s hand, but he reined in his anger and let the boy speak. “He’s gone to ground, Lestat. That’s all Marius and I were able to find.”
It was strangely touching that Armand even had his fledglings looking for Louis. Then Lestat remembered that Daniel had been the one to give Louis the infamous interview, so long ago. There was a personal connection there, as well.
“Thank you,” Lestat muttered. He stared at the floor directly in front of him and wondered what he should do.
“I will help you look for him, if you like,” Daniel offered uncertainly. His violet eyes shone with determination and a bit of fear.
“No,” Lestat said, strangely calm. “No. I am not going to look for him.”
He got up, feeling suddenly sturdy and strong in his resolve. “We are not going to look for him at all. We are going to let him go. I am going to let him go.”
With this statement delivered and his mind made up, he swept out of the mansion. Out into the night.
He didn’t know where he was going. But it didn’t much matter. The world was his playground now; he could go anywhere and do anything.
Only, strangely enough, now that he had it, he found he didn’t know what to do with it. The world had nothing to offer him, not anymore.
He drifted through the sky aimlessly for a while, musing. If he wanted to, he could spend years traveling the same mile over and over again.
It so happened that he passed over the train station. Dana, he remembered bemusedly. He knew he should be worried and that he’d forgotten about the other vampire completely, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that much. Complacency had settled deep in his bones and he couldn’t shake it, and didn’t want to. It was much better than the pain that would surely take its place.
Still, he supposed that now that he remembered, he ought to do something about it. So he corrected the heading of his drift and lowered himself down to the ground, landing with a soft thump. To him, though, it was jarring.
It did not take him long to find the tall, thin vampire, standing alone like a pale beacon amongst the sluggish crowd of humans. Dana was looking around with bewilderment. Lestat checked his watch. Good. He’d only been here fifteen minutes.
Lestat slid through the people as if he was merely a passing shadow. Don’t notice me, his aura screamed, and for the most part, the people obeyed.
Not Dana. Their eyes met and they recognized each other, on some primal level, as fellow creatures of the night. The waves of humanity around them seemed to speed up, leaving them behind.
Lestat made his way to the younger vampire. “I apologize for being late. Now, come with me, won’t you?”
Dana eyed Lestat suspiciously. He’d never known the other to be courteous. But he accepted it gratefully. “Yes, thank you,” he responded, with a slight accent.
They walked for a few moments before Dana asked, somewhat boldly, “What about my supplies? Some of them are quite expensive and hard to find. I’d prefer not to lose them.”
Lestat smiled lasciviously. “Don’t worry, arrangements have been made. They will be waiting for you at the house when we get there.”
Yes. They would. And so would David. Lestat wondered if he could pretend to be easy and normal with things the way they were. David had come to the meeting, but although they had eyed each other, they had not spoken. It was possible that David was angry at him for caring so much about Louis, more so than for him. It was also possible that David didn’t give a damn, and hadn’t even noticed that Lestat was gone. Like Louis, David was a blank wall to him.
Either way, the house in the Garden District was where he had directed Dana’s supplies to be sent. And, in a few minutes, that’s where they would be, too.
Except that when Lestat went to put his arms around Dana to take him to the house, in the interests of saving time, he couldn’t do it. He found himself repulsed by the other vampire. Not that he wasn’t attracted to Dana, because he was. The other vampire was very attractive, in a waifish, exotic sort of way. But that wasn’t it. He had never flown with anyone other than Louis. He didn’t want to fly with anyone other than Louis. It was too intimate, too beautiful to share with someone else.
So instead, he hailed a cab. Dana got in, and Lestat stared at his hopeful, shining face. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to spend time with either of them. Dana or David. They weren’t worth it. Or was it that he wasn’t worth it? It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to go, he didn’t want to see them.
So he closed the door and leaned in the window of the taxi, giving the human driver instructions and then paying him.
The cab drove off, and he stood alone at the curb, watching it go. He sat down heavily on the curb. He hadn’t been in a funk like this for years upon years. He didn’t like it, and he couldn’t shake it. He loved Louis and Louis was gone. He loved Claudia and Claudia was gone. He loved Gabrielle, and she was gone too. He’d ruined it all.
Maybe this was hell. He couldn’t change himself, or his damnable personality. He couldn’t kill himself. He could barely even inflict harm upon himself. He had no control, no way to stop the pain that crashed into him in regular intervals. This was hell. He was damned to walk this earth forever, loving and losing and loving again.
He didn’t know what to do with himself. So he let instinct take over. He got up. He lifted his head to the night and scented the air, his subconscious defining the separate thick odors of human blood. A woman passed by him in a hurry. His head snapped to the side, and he deftly separated out her thoughts from the vast gray of the rest of human consciousness. He separated out her scent, the way she looked. He let her become alive, vivid with colors and motion, the only important thing in the world.
And he followed her. Stalking her, making sure that he wasn’t seen. It didn’t matter that he could have handled anything that came at him. It didn’t matter that he could have taken her in less than a second. The point was in the hunting of her.
/damn i forgot to get groceries the kids will just have to order pizza unless jason already took them and fed them bastard.../ He listened to her thoughts, drinking in her consciousness as if it was sustenance and he was starving. She became his world. He cared about what she cared about. He hated who she hated, he loved who she loved. She was him, and he was her.
Still he followed her, slipping through alleys and streets and people and cars. He followed her like a shadow. She wouldn’t escape him. He would dog her for the rest of her life, and when he was done, she would turn around and do the same to him, getting in line behind the countless others who stalked him. victims? They weren’t really, were they?
Didn’t matter. She was almost home. Apartment 9. Two children. Divorced. Little ones would be in bed; pay the babysitter. Lestat absentmindedly fondled a bill in his pocket, mentally counting out the money owed. Tuck the kids in. Have a drink; no, two drinks. Cry over bills I/she can’t pay. Go to bed. Wake up tomorrow and do it all over again.
The saddest thing in her life was that it could be figured out in less than a minute. She could be figured out in less than a minute. Like a child’s puzzle, she wasn’t hard to figure out. Her entire life was compressed into a tiny segment, a memory that Lestat could carry around inside him, just like the blood he would take from her. She’d be inside him forever.
She fumbled with her keys. Which one, which one? Ah, right. The cold metal slid into the lock with a clink.
Now. Lestat separated himself from the shadows. Reverse melting, growing up like a statue in the span of an instant. She looked at him calmly, and didn’t say anything. She recognized her tomb. “Make sure the kids are taken care of,” she said.
He nodded mutely and descended. Past the epidermal layer into the thin layer of complex muscle tissue and through the artery, deeper through smooth muscle and tissue, down into her soul. Hello, he greeted. You are mine now.
There. The blood began to leak. He’d found the golden line of her soul and he was taking it, along with the sanguinity of her body. Wisdom/blood. Same thing.
She died. He didn’t notice, only kept suckling away at her throat. Had to make sure he got every last bit. Every last drop, every part of her. Nothing could be left behind. Then there was nothing. Or at least, nothing he could ever get at.
He dragged her body to the trash chute and pushed it in. It slid and thumped down to the dumpster below. Then, wiping his mouth, he went back to her apartment. He opened the door with the keys that had been left in the lock. He paid the babysitter, who was asleep on the couch, explaining that he was Jason, the ex-husband. The babysitter, sleepy and complacent, took the money and left. The kids were asleep in their rooms; Lestat checked on them and tucked them in. Then he picked up the phone and called child services.
His debt to the woman complete, he opened the window and dropped out, landing on the ground solidly. He turned to walk away, but he heard a voice from the shadows.
“Lestat. Why aren’t you looking for him? Tell me.” It was Armand. His voice was calm, but his eyes were wild.
Lestat felt a chill run through him, despite the warm blood that flushed though him still. “He wanted to be left in peace,” he said tightly. “I think that it’s time we followed his wishes.”
“How do you know what he wants?” Armand asked hotly. “You can’t see him like I do. You never will. So don’t pretend like you know him.”
Lestat looked up to the night. “You’re right,” he said sadly, defeatedly. “I don’t know him. But what do you want me to do? Charge after him? I don’t even know where he is.”
Armand’s eyes flashed. “Where is the Brat Prince? He loves you, you fool. He never wanted me, not truly. You were the one he wanted to be with. He thinks you are angry with him. He thinks himself a monster. He has buried himself both figuratively and literally in self-loathing. And you propose to leave him there? I cannot save him; only you can do that.”
Armand calmed. He walked closer, swaggering a bit. “My responsibility has been discharged. I love Louis, but I wash my hands of this whole business. I can only make things worse.” He laid a hand on Lestat’s shoulder.
Lestat’s eyes traveled slowly toward that hand. He remembered then why he had loved Armand so. He began to feel a bit like his old self then: impetuous and youthful, unheeding of consequences. He would find Louis. He would bring him back, make him see that Lestat loved him and that they belonged with each other. And if Louis didn’t like it, well, that was too bad.
“C’est la vie,” Lestat murmured, taking Armand’s hands in his. “I will go get him. And Armand,” he said, mischief surging in his eyes. “Perhaps another time we can...work things out between the three of us to a more...satisfactory agreement.”
He winked, thickening the sexual innuendo, and headed off into the fading night.