| What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you dreamed? And what if, in your dream, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if, when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand? Coleridge The waves were caressing his limbs gently as he lay in the shallow waters at the beach. His arms stretched out wide, his body weightless. He was drifting. Floating. Dreaming. This was not a dark night; the full moon had washed the deserted coast in silver. Stillness. Only the soft sounds of the waves gently rolling in from the sea. Remembering the night before made a dreamy smile appear on Louis' lips. His fingers were tracing lazily the contours of his body lingering here and there where it seemed he could still feel the mortal's warm hands touching him. The waning imprint of the young man's heated skin against his cold flesh. The taste of his blood, his luscious rich blood, distilled into a truly divine essence by the fires of ecstasy. Ah, this one had been special. It was, of course, to be expected; for weeks he had watched the young artist, studied the works of that man whose creations had radiated with fierceness and passion, sincerity and audacity, qualities which had stirred Louis' interest in the first place. No, this one was special for another reason. He had not been afraid. He had perceived Louis' true nature, acknowledged what he really was, but still he had shown no fear. Fully aware of the impending danger, he given in to Louis completely. And this time it had not been a deadly embrace. True his victims had always loved him - at least Lestat had never tired of telling him that -- over and over again. And hadn't it been Lestat who had coined the name "Merciful Death" for him? Deep in his heart Louis had never actually believed this: How can you be merciful when you bring nothing but death? Years and decades this feeling of guilt had held his heart and soul in a relentless iron grip. Only when he had braced himself with indifference, he had been able to go on. With his feelings frozen like water deep inside a rock, there was only one thing he feared: the ice might finally break up the stone, splitting it up into a thousand jagged pieces, thus leaving him bare and defenceless. But this was over now! It was as if a dream had finally come true - he would no longer have to kill! Lestat's powerful blood had changed him so greatly that he could now live on the "little drink" -- certainly, his hunger for the kill would always be there, would always linger on the edges of his conscious being, a constant lure from the heart of darkness. Now, however, it was no longer a necessity, but merely a temptation he would be able to resist. As he would resist the temptation of seeing the artist again. When the young man had had finally fallen asleep in Louis' arms he had appeared unharmed, not only in his body but also in his soul. Mortal sanity, however, was fragile like a flame in the wind. One swift breeze of fate could extinguish it all to quickly. And even a one time encounter could have fatal consequences. Every time he looked into Daniel's unnaturally beautiful face, into his iridescent lavender eyes, he was reminded of that and - no matter how often Daniel assured him there was no need for it - sensed that stinging feeling of regret. Befriending a mortal like Lestat had done so often or pursuing him year after year like Armand had done with Daniel was simply out of the question for Louis. Naturally, it would have been fascinating to see the young man again -- not to make love again or drink from him, but simply to talk to him. For what did Louis know about that person? Watching him, stalking him, even reading his mind was one thing. Actually speaking to him was something else. Nearly his whole life among the living dead, Louis had been unable to figure out his victims' thoughts, but through the years he had never actually missed that faculty. Certainly, the blood swoon now enabled him savour the personality of his victims in all their complexity and completeness, revealing a kaleidoscope of their memories and feelings; but having a conversation, an exchange of opinions and ideas with an appealing mortal, someone he would, of course, never choose to be his victim, was a subtle intellectual pleasure he had come to estimate. That was what he had been looking for the previous night. An intention that had been blown sky-high so unexpectedly. For better or for worse. For better, that was sure. That night had been a present. "A present from your blond-haired lover" ... hadn't that been the young man's phrase? In the aftermath of their lovemaking, Louis had not paid much attention to these words. Now, it dawned on him. Why had the young man said this? How could he have known about Lestat? Come to think of it - could Lestat possibly have witnessed what had happened in the artist's studio? Undoubtedly, Lestat had been to the little village up in the mountains, most probably looking for him. And hadn't Louis been overjoyed to find the letter his maker had left for him at the centre of the monastery's cloister? With trembling fingers he had opened the letter which so suddenly and unexpectedly had appeared on the old stone table as if a mysterious fairy had left it there for him. Louis felt his heart throbbing with increasing intensity, a warm wave of bittersweet longing washed through him. Ah Lestat! Why, after all, would he need a mortal lover when he had Lestat? How long had it been since he had last lost himself in the continually changing blues of his lover's eyes? Four months, five months? Time had been passing by so quickly. He had hardly taken notice of it, so enchanted had he been with the world's mysteries which had opened up for him anew. Like it had been on his very first night as a newborn fledgling when Lestat had teased him for staring on his buttons without end, when everything seemed so full of secrets and promises. Never before had the world fascinated him so much. But this was the first time in his long existence that he had been truly free to discover the life out there supported by his new powers, his new strength - and Lestat's love. Ah, Lestat! All of a sudden, he realized that during all those months he had not even once tried to contact his maker, had not even left a message for him or informed him on his whereabouts. Even a stupid little postcard an average tourist would send home from his Grand Tour through the Old World would have been better than nothing. Foolish little comments like "bathed in the Fontana di Trevi yesterday night" or "had a great time at the Centre Pompidou - the exhibitions were delicious and so were the night watchmen" would have made him smile. Ah, Lestat! It was not too late, certainly, to see him. Tomorrow night Louis would go to Cannes and look for him there. Surprise him. But for now he needed some more time on his own to think over how he would confront his lover. One more night he wanted to dream, to bathe in the warm waters and in his recent memories .... *** |
It had not been too difficult to locate Lestat the next night. Some Franc notes in combination with Louis' most persuasive smile had helped the man at the reception quickly forget the strict rules concerning the guests' privacy. Apparently the man had even told Lestat where the hottest parties would take place that night, although after the opening of the famous film festival only two nights ago the whole Croisette seemed to be one big party. This was just the atmosphere Lestat, with his penchant for being in the limelight, loved. Louis knew that even 200 years after the abrupt end of his acting career, Lestat deep down in his heart still felt that desire to shine out on a stage, be it as an actor or a singer. He remembered Lestat telling him how much had enjoyed the filming of those video clips for his former band and how he had loved to bathe in the adoration of enthusiastic followers. If only he hadn't wakened the Queen with those damned songs! How differently things would have turned out! She had been the first step on that winding road which led from one disastrous adventure to the next until he was finally defeated and broken. But now, against all odds, it seemed they had been given a second chance ... Louis felt his heart brimming with joy when he finally discovered Lestat at the bar of the Hotel Majestic in a crowd of film people, conversing animatedly, gesticulating, overacting, laughing, deliberately lapsing from time to time into old French phrases or terms which seemed to amuse the whole company mightily -- such a charming contrast to his youthful energetic appearance. "Beautiful One" -- that's what Lestat used to call him, but actually Lestat was the one to be called beautiful. He who would enchant the people around him not only with the dazzling blue of his eyes, his aristocratic features, his wild mane of gold, but actually with his sheer enthusiasm and his vitality. To Louis he was like the sun, generously spreading its light on the all the planets in its orbit. Contrary to that Louis considered himself only as a dim reflection of his maker's splendour, like that of the waning pale moon in the darkness. It was so good seeing him like this, apparently fully restored to his former self, charming and entertaining the mortals around him, flirting shamelessly both with men and women. Not so very long ago - painful still to recall this - Louis had embraced Lestat's lifeless body, an empty shell seemingly devoid of heart and soul. Never would he forget those blank eyes which had stared at him when he had come to read for him during those bleak nights at St. Elizabeth's. Eyes apparently having perceived things so terrible and devastating that they had lost all their brilliance. A soul traumatized by having witnessed incidents beyond imagination. A silent cry from the bottom of his soul: "Give me the void. Give me oblivion. Let me be unconscious. I don't want to know any longer who I am..." And there had been no remedy against this. As if it were yesterday Louis remembered his helplessness, his utter despair when he held that lifeless body in his arms. Yes, Lestat had returned to him, but only his body, his soul still seemed to dwell in a faraway place. And there was nothing he could do to bring him back. Louis used to sit there for hours with Lestat's head resting in his lap, stroking his dusty mane, placing a hand on his maker's silent heart, whispering words of comfort and love to him. Futile those words, futile his kisses - nothing would ever bring him back. And he had felt the blackness stretching out its thin spider-like fingers to him, threatening to engulf him. This feeling had been stronger than all the guilt and remorse he had ever felt, and so much stronger than all the resentments he might have ever had against Lestat dating back from a time when he had not known that it was love that bound them, when he only felt fury and anger when he spoke his maker's name. But the remedies he had been seeking against this gradually increasing desperation had proven fatal. "This absurd witchcraft experiment," Lestat had labelled it, and he had been so very right. But it had been the last plank for which he had been grasping like a drowning man after a shipwreck. And in the end he had been convinced that only the light of the sun could cure him. "Ah, don't dwell on it," Louis instructed himself. "Don't think about that last fatal morning. When you had only one wish left - to die ..." He sighed. Yes, a miracle it was that they had left this agony behind them. That the two of them had been reborn after all this. Louis' felt such a joy when Lestat laughed out loudly, throwing his head back in sheer amusement. Suddenly, Lestat realized that he was being watched and his eyes met Louis' glance. Lestat's face went blank as if in disbelief. It seemed for a moment time stood still and they only looked at each other. Looked. And looked. And finally smiled as if in a trance. |
| And all of a sudden, too quick for mortal eyes to see, Lestat was by his side, embracing him, and then they were out on the terrace in soft warmth of the night. Lestat kissing him madly, deeply. Again and again. And Louis kissing him back. There was nothing else but these lips, these arms, that body which appeared new and exciting even if it was so familiar. It took a while before they spoke again. "Louis, " Lestat blurted out breathless, his heart on his tongue as always. "I thought ... I was afraid that ..." "That what? That you might never see me again? You should know me better than that ..." Louis answered, a small smile playing on his lips. "Although I loved that letter of yours." Leisurely he licked Lestat's neck. "Do you still want me back?" he whispered against his face. Now it was Lestat's turn to draw back a little. A frown rushed over his forehead like a turbulent cloud as his grey eyes seemed to size up Louis. He drew in a deep breath. "I didn't want to spy on you, Louis. Armand sent me a message from the Côte d'Azur where I might find you and then I ..." "Ah, Armand! I shall have a few words with him next time I see him! Seems he has been spying on me, the imp, but honestly, now that I think about it, in one way I have to thank him. It's true, I should have contacted you earlier, that was most inconsiderate of me." "Most inconsiderate indeed," Lestat grumbled, gripping Louis by the shoulders, and there was that dangerous sparkle in his eyes Louis knew only too well, but this time he didn't fall for it. "Yes, I know and I am sorry and I would like to make up for it." "You have to make up for quite a number of things, don't you?" Louis raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Lestat, you do not intend to give me a lecture on two-timing now, not seriously." "Yeah, I know. I should be the last one to get upset by something like that. But it did hurt. It hurt like hell seeing you making love to him instead of ..." "Can you imagine now, "Louis interrupted him. "How I felt about you and Akasha, and David, and all those mortals? Lestat let his arms sink and looked sideways. "I know. I know, but all that seems so long ago these days." Louis cupped his hand under Lestat's chin, gently forcing his maker to look back at him. "Listen. We're not talking here about getting even. This was not planned. Yes, I had been stalking him for some months as I found him fascinating. I did not even want to contact him actually. That night when I sat down in his studio - it was only to watch him in his sleep. And then, well, things somehow happened." Lestat rolled his eyes. "You made them happen, my friend!" "Yes, maybe," Louis admitted. "And I won't tell you that I am sorry for what happened. Perhaps you don't grasp it, but it made me realize that I can exist perfectly well without the kill. And this really is a present. A present from you. For which I am grateful without end." "You have a strange way to express your gratitude !" Lestat snarled. "Lestat! Suffice it to say that I will never see this young man again. Of course, it would be tempting. But I won't. He's not the companion I want." His maker shrugged his shoulders, swirling around and gesticulating theatrically. "Ah, you could go looking for Armand, maybe he's still somewhere out there having a good time watching this farce he has staged so skilfully. And who knows, he may welcome you with open arms." Louis caught his maker by the shoulders. "In fact, it's you who's staging a farce right now, and you know that quite well, you incurable brat! Lestat, it's you that I love! Get that into that thick stubborn head of yours!" "I was so happy when I suddenly saw you," Lestat said. "But you really have a talent to make me furious, it only takes you minutes -- non, even less. And then I'd like to grab you by the shoulders, you stupid Creole planter, shake you and ..." "And what?" Louis laughed provokingly. "Nail me down on the floor and have me at your mercy to remind me that you're my one and only "master?" "Louis, you're asking for it!" Lestat growled, grasping for the midnight hair, but not fast enough, for Louis quickly ducked away and ran down the grand stairs leading towards the beach promenade, his exuberant laugh ringing through the warm night air. Within seconds they had crossed the beach and were near the water where Louis stopped abruptly. "Seems you need some refreshment to cool down your hot temper, " he taunted, walking into the water with fast strides, his green eyes positively sparkling with delight. "You wouldn't dare, Louis," Lestat grimaced, following his fledgling into the water still trying to get hold of him, although it seemed as if all his anger had suddenly dissolved into the air. "You wouldn't." "Now you are asking for it," Louis answered with a wide grin and before Lestat could make some more comments he found himself wet to the bones, his elegant dark-blue jacket completely soaked with the gigantic splashs of water Louis had sent in his direction. "I'll make you pay for that!" Lestat declared and it didn't take long until they were both drenched, shaking with laughter, taking an almost childlike pleasure in this foolish game. Abruptly they broke off. Looked at each other. Breathless. Drops of water on Lestat's face, dripping down from his eyelashes along his cheeks, mingling with some tiny drops of blood on his lower lip where he must have hurt himself during their little tussle. Staring at the blood, Louis felt the desire rising in him. In a sudden flashback, he remembered that divine circle of blood which had united them on their last night together. "He's like the sea," Louis thought. "Turbulent and unruly at times, with violent storms rising out of the blue, and then again peaceful and gentle. And just like the sea are his eyes, ever-changing, unfathomable, whispering sweet promises at times and tempting you to dive down into the deep quiet waters. Ah, I could drown there .... " Slowly Lestat smeared the blood with his thumb along his lower lip and provokingly licked it away. "I've been waiting for you, Beautiful One, "he whispered. "All these months I've been waiting..." A crooked smile on his lips he continued in a raw voice. "I guess I was ... hmmm, overacting maybe ... must have spent too much time in the company of actors this week. Anyhow, seems the water has washed away my anger and my bad feelings. All I want now is you -- back in my arms ..." "Ah, Lestat, " Louis answered and his smile was full of tenderness. "How could I resist such an offer? And let me tell you something. Tonight is a very special night for me. I look at the sea, I look at the lights on the boulevard behind us, all those mortals over there, enjoying themselves, having a good time. And for the very first time during my life in the darkness I no longer feel as the monster hiding out there, having to chose one of them, kill one of them so that I can quench that horrible thirst." Louis looked up at the sky and made a funny face, and although his eyes were blinking he could not stop the single red tear running down his face. "I am so happy that I do no longer have to make that choice, "he said and his voice was shaking slightly. "So happy to share all this with you as this was your doing. And for that alone I would love you ..." "And what about the brat?" Lestat asked ironically. "I love the brat as well, " Louis grinned under tears and closed his arms around Lestat, kissing him on the mouth fully. "My Louis, my precious one, "Lestat breathed between kisses, tenderly licking the salty red tears away like a cat. "I can't say how much I've missed you. It's so good to have you back. You taste... so good. Louis groaned, melting in his maker's embrace, his hands roaming Lestat's body. "Just look at you," he teased. "What a mess you've made of yourself. This beautiful jacket, all wet and crumpled and full of sand." Unhurriedly, he began to open Lestat's jacket. "Looks horrible now, better take it off!" "You're the one to talk! Look at this sweater style "vie de bohème"! Is that grey or black? Doesn't matter. Almost falling to pieces, as usual. Away with it!" Lestat joked pulling it over Louis wet hair. "Hey, stop Monsieur l'impatience," Louis gasped getting hold of the hand that tried to unfasten his fly. "You don't mean to strip me right here. The beach is not exactly what you'd call empty. And people are already staring". "Let them stare. They're just envious. And they do not have the faintest idea what I'd like to do with you tonight. Come on, Lou, don't be shy!" "Lestat," Louis swallowed. "You want to do it here? On the beach? That would not be wise!" "D'accord, mon ami. Just a little joke" he winked one eye conspiringly. "So let's go back to my hotel. There's a nice whirlpool in my suite. And you look like you'd be freezing in these damp trousers." "Oh no, I've a better idea," Louis answered with a quiet smile. |
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