Hmm…Spoilers, probably up to Tale of the Body Thief. Does not take into account anything from Memnoch the Doorstop through to Merrique. And aren’t we all glad. Set in this very year 2000, people. Oh, and I don’t own these
Characters; Anne Rice does, yada yada ya.

A word: This spec is in two halves, illustrating the change in Louis’s outlook on his
immortality. One side is the jaded, suicidal Louis of the 18th century; the other
is the ace scruffy guy he is at the end of The Vampire Lestat.

Dedicated to: Pheebs. Loved you totally, me little pal; I truly didn’t know what I had
‘til it was gone.

______________________________
And a quote, which you might very well think could be written for a vampire:

Ah! Changed and cold, how changed and very cold!
With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes;
Changed, yet the same; much knowing; little wise.
- Christina Rossetti, “Dead Before Death”.


New Orleans, 1794

Dusk was just giving way to a darkness that would have been replete were it not for the silvery light afforded by the full moon. It gave the night a luminous, supernatural quality that struck fear into the heart of the stoutest of souls, who fancied they saw strange creatures lurking in the shadows, deadly monsters and something altogether more frightening than the usual cutthroat thief.
A young woman, in her early twenties, made her way across the exquisite lawns of one of the grandest plantations in this part of Louisiana. She walked beneath the ancient trees that were scattered about the lawns of Pointe du Lac, casting about restlessly for a familiar figure.
The night was quiet, apart from the smallest sounds of creatures stirring throughout the plantation; snort of a horse every now and then. But something…there was something menacing upon the air, and even a mortal could taste it. The hairs upon the back of her neck stood up, and she gazed around, confused, unnerved, feeling that somehow she was hunted, sensing cold eyes of a predator that watched her, waited for her.
Telling herself that she was stupid, dizzy, she forced herself to stand still and stop panicking. Her fear was irrational, she thought, inspired by Catholic reckonings of evil creatures and… she screamed out loud.
Two glittering green eyes watched her from beneath the shadows of a large oak tree. The moonlight was shimmering upon them, and they reflected it in unnatural shades of green that shot fire at her prone form as she gazed at the man in front of her, spellbound. The moonlight gave everything an eerie light, but the way it caught his eyes! They glittered like some fierce animal, as a cat, or a wolf’s might, and looked twice as cruel.
He turned his head, closed his eyes, and swallowed, ignoring her scream of fright. “Don’t you know me anymore, Heloise?” he whispered brokenly, sounding afflicted, saddened beyond all measure.
“Louis,” she breathed, “brother. Forgive me, please. The light…it caught your eyes…they seemed so vivid!” She moved forward to see him better, and he dropped his gaze, let his ebony hair fall over his pale face. “I am here, Louis, as ever. Did you think I had forgotten our usual meeting?” she laughed in a bid to rid herself of the feeling of foreboding.
“I knew you would come.” He said simply.
“Are you all right?”
He forced a smile. “I’m all right.”
She felt like her heart was breaking. He was no longer the drunken fool, the angry young man who started fights with everyone he met in order to bring about his own death. He had never seemed so contemplative, so understanding…and yet so far away from her as he did now.
Where was Louis now? Where was the protective elder brother she had so loved? The one who had gone out riding in the fields with her, laughed and talked and joked with her, the brother who had teased her and pulled her hair when she had declared her undying love for her latest paramour?
“You always seem so…sad nowadays, my brother. Is it because-“ she stopped when the object of her enquiry appeared on the lawns, walking towards them with a purposeful stride.
She had first glimpsed him about three years ago, one fleeting sighting after another. A blond-haired gentleman in his early twenties, with luminous blue eyes and an accent that betrayed him as being from the provinces of France.
Heloise did not like him at all. He was bold, brash, and ignored most conventional rules of etiquette, like barging in on conversations, as he was doing now.
“Ah, Louis,” he said, his voice smooth and low, “we are host to another delightful visit by your sister. How goes it with you, Heloise?”
“Better than my dear brother, so it seems.” She said pointedly.
“Heloise, he would be melancholy if he had all the riches in the land.”
“So it seems. I suppose something, or rather *someone* is making him unhappy.”
Louis frowned at her.
Lestat grinned. “Indeed? Then you’d better leave before I start to feel the draining effects of your personality, also!”
“Lestat! Don’t you talk to her like that!” snarled Louis, turning to face him with an anger he rarely displayed. Or at least, rarely displayed in front of Lestat.
And that, Heloise realised, was what bothered her even more than Lestat’s rudeness. It was the effect he had on Louis. Her brother, so strong, so heedless of what others thought of him in days gone by, seemed flustered in his presence, clumsy, even. Just why he was like this she was unable to tell. He did not seem afraid of him, and hate did not spark in his eyes at his arrival, more…
Her thoughts were cut off as she realised she was witnessing an argument between the two. Lestat was leaning purposefully against the tree now, his arms folded in the very manner of confrontation, whilst Louis’s angry hand gestures were more than a little telling.
“What business is it of yours?” he was asking.
Lestat shook his head. “Louis,” he hissed, “do you see how *dangerous* it is? Dear God, do you have a wish to see us destroyed?”
“Can’t you trust anyone?” he replied tersely.
“You don’t know how vulnerable you are!”
Heloise started forward. “For goodness’ sake, monsieur, I am his sister! What harm could I possibly present?”
Lestat did not reply.
“Let me talk to her, Lestat. Leave us.” Said Louis at length, raising his eyes to meet Lestat’s, and the blond gentleman seemed confused, unsettled for a moment.
“What are you going to do, Louis?” he retorted, “talk about the nice sunshine we’ve been having? Grow up, for your own sake!”
Louis’s turn to look hurt.
Lestat frowned. Then, more gently, he said, “I shall see you later. Try to remember what I told you.” He placed a hand on Louis’s shoulder, only for him to flinch away from his touch. Lestat’s face became a perfect mask of rejection, only for him to recover his composure almost immediately. “Madame.” He bowed to Heloise, then cast his friend a hesitant glance, before turning and walking away.
Louis looked hopeless, lost, watching him leave. The passion that had fired his soul with Lestat’s arrival died down once more to give way to his silent musings. At length he said, “Will you come with me, talk with me a little?”
She took his arm- so strong- and smiled. “Lead the way.”
They walked slowly through the plantation, gazing at the exquisite gardens, the cultivated fields. A pang went through her as she remembered him, youthful and happy, before Paul’s death, riding across the vast fields, a master horseman and the object of just about all of her friends’ desire. She remembered the way the sun had glinted off his hair- such pure black hair, inherited from the dark colourings of their father- and realised that she never saw him in such surroundings anymore.
“Why,” she asked him, breaking the silence, “do I never see you in the light of the sun anymore? Why must we always meet at night, Louis?”
“I like the night.”
“So much so that you spurn the sun?”
“I do go out in the sun,” he replied, “it is just easier for me to meet you at night, when the day’s work on the plantation is done.”
“You are cutting yourself off from us. You never even came to our mother’s funeral.”
“I was ill at the time, remember?”
“You must always be ill, then. For I never see you anymore. When you do receive me, more often than not it is in some darkened room, and you, my strong, healthy brother, laying there in bed professing to be in the throes of some awful fever- so awful that a doctor cannot see you!”
Louis shook his head, not replying. They walked on, arriving at the paddock where Louis’s favourite horse was kept.
“And how long is it since you have gone out riding on your horse?”
He leaned against the fence. “Recently.” He answered.
“Call her to you, then.”
Reluctantly, Louis did so, and the horse, which had been standing near them, kicked its hooves into the ground, lay its ears back against its head and backed away from him, letting out an alarmed whinny.
Louis turned to see Heloise’s pointed glance. “She…is upset,” he said softly, “because I whipped her yesterday.”
“You have never laid a finger upon that horse!”
He shrugged and turned away. “She was disobedient. I whipped her.”
“Liar.”
“Then what is it, Heloise?” he asked, exasperated, “You tell me!”
“I think maybe she is afraid of you for another reason.”
“What reason?”
“I don’t know!” she exclaimed, turning away, angry at him for hiding whatever it was, angrier still at herself for not knowing. “Your friend…maybe he frightens her. Sometimes he frightens *me.*”
“You don’t have to fear Lestat,” he said earnestly, “He’s not something to fear.” And he laughed, as if there were a terrible irony in all this.
“Why does he not leave you alone? Why is that *fou* so…*protective* of you? He won’t let anyone near! Not even me!”
Louis began to walk back to the house and she followed him, “Tell me, Louis! Do not run from this!”
“I’m not running,” he said calmly, “I am thinking.”
“About what?”
“Everything,” he said softly, “Tell me, Heloise, what do you think of my friend? Is he really so bad?”
She shrugged. “He is maybe not so bad as some of the idiots around here. He is handsome, and even clever, but Louis, he is not good for you! I see how you are around him! He does something to you…”
“Is that a bad thing?” he asked.
“Why do you let him stay at the plantation?”
“I’ve told you, he helps out with the finances, he has invested money in the business…”
“I think maybe he is in love with you.” She said, biting her lip at daring to reveal such a taboo thought in this day and age. She thought that he might even strike her in temper, or at least speak harshly. The old Louis might have. But he had changed, hadn’t he?
He smiled, and his features were alive with pleasure, sharpening his beauty so that Heloise was jealous that her husband looked so plain compared to her own brother. “I seriously doubt it. But he takes care of me.” He said simply.
“What! It is *your* house, your land!”
“You have to believe me when I say I need him.”
“He makes you unhappy.”
“No,” he said, strongly, “that is not true at all. There are other things…”
She took his hand, surprised at how cold his skin felt against her own, rubbing it absentmindedly in order to warm him, “and what are these things?”
“Heloise, I could *never* even begin to explain…”
“Why not?”
“Why do you concern yourself with it?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice. “Some things should be left alone, sister. Some things should never see the light of day.” And he laughed harshly, as if he had made some terrible joke.
“You are angry at me.” She pouted.
“No.”
“And all because I worry for your happiness.” She continued.
“I *am* happy.”
“But you are not, and your being unhappy makes me unhappy, Louis.”
“Heloise,” he whispered, and his voice was as calm and as eerily soft as always, “I want you to be happy. I…I want you to live out your life knowing that I am all right. I shall always be all right. Don’t waste your life worrying about me, or anything else, don’t waste one minute of it, because it’s a precious thing…” his voice sounded laboured; choked, even, and he fought back tears.
“And I am precious to you?” she asked, moving closer.
He took a step backwards, hiding further into the shadows. “Always.” He whispered.
“Then why can’t you let me near you? Why are you so aloof! Brother, tell me…”
“I have to go now,” he said softly, gazing at the skies. “I…can’t…” he stumbled upon his words for a second, “…don’t worry about me, sister. Don’t forget what we have spoken of…don’t forget…I love you, Heloise.”
With a movement so quick that it startled her, he moved forward and kissed both of her cheeks, and his lips, soft and silky against her face, sent a shudder of warmth through her. “Until next time, Louis?” she asked, opening her eyes to see him standing in the shadows once more.
“Until the next time,” he said softly, but he sounded aloof, sad again.
“This friend of yours will destroy you.” She whispered.
Flash of green confusion. “Never.” He seemed hurt, as if he would argue the point with her, but he kept shifting his feet awkwardly, as if anguished, pressed for time. “I tire of this place!” he announced vehemently, quickly.
“I won’t see you again, will I?” she said suddenly.
“No,” he said, his voice sounding strained, as if he fought back some great secret he wished to share with her, and, unable to, looked to her for empathy instead, “you probably won’t. *Au revoir*.”
She felt the tears rising to her eyes. “’Don’t say *au revoir,*” she began.
“…because goodbyes are forever. And I should die rather than never see you again.” He finished with her. It had been a favourite saying of Paul’s, and they met each other’s eyes tenderly, in understanding.
And his eyes were no longer cruel snares of jade, rather, for all their eerie resonance, windows to a wounded soul, an aching heart touched by troubles she knew were far beyond her reach. Silently, gracefully, he left her.
It was the last time she ever saw her brother. Two months later, the news came that he had been killed in a fire at Pointe du Lac. Heloise, pregnant with her first child, and lady of a large household, was given little pause to grieve for him, but always, up until the day she died, many years later, an old woman, she thought of him constantly. His unearthly beauty, his saddened composure remained with her, when, old and stooped, she laid fresh flowers upon his grave.
In three years, he had changed drastically, and seemed a little sadder for it. She felt his loss perhaps more keenly than that of Paul, because Louis had been so tender, so handsome, had a life full of promise ahead of him. With a sad smile, she often thought of how the Pointe du Lac dynasty had thus ended in Louisiana, and taken with it the grief and sadness of her two beloved brothers.
________________________

“…Make you want to cry the tears of joy
For all the pleasure in the certainty
That we’re surrounded by the comfort and the protection
Of the highest powers in lonely hours;
The tears devour you.”
“Truly, Madly, Deeply”, Savage Garden

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here;
I wouldn’t want to change anything at all.”
- “Black Coffee”, All Saints
____________________

Louis

One of the most terrible things about being a vampire, I think, is that you have so much history over to dwell upon. Think about it; over two hundred years of loving and fighting and hating. You could quite literally spend all of time remembering and brooding over all the little things in your life. Or at least, whatever life this is.
But perhaps the strongest memories, the times that one most often reflects upon, and I know this to be true of Lestat at least, is the duration of your mortal life. Twenty-five years I was mortal, and to a human, that is a relatively long time. As a vampire I have lived that time over and over and over again, but never so vividly.
After all, it was Paul’s state of mind and his eventual death that drove me into despair. It was my despair that drove me into the arms of the vampire Lestat, the predator who loved my beauty and was hurt by my sorrows, who took my life from me and granted me another one in return for my companionship.
Strange, then, that the mortal I most often find myself remembering is my sister. I had been closest to her, after all. She had been so feisty, yet elegant, and unlike her brothers she was untouched by tragedy, if you do not count marrying an idiot as a tragedy. Sometimes I missed her desperately, for had she not been the only mortal who had remained a true friend to me, not poisoned, like Babette had been, by my dark secret?
And what, I wondered, would she think of me now if she were here? My heart is a little darker, I suppose, and I am less inclined to trust, to love as completely as I did.
*“The world changes; we do not. Therein lies the irony that finally kills us all.”*
Armand’s words, coming back to me. He is right, I suppose in that we do not change in looks, that it hurts so much to have that which is familiar to you ripped out to take shape in the modern world. Plantations become guesthouses; old public houses are now trendy wine bars. But one thing about me has changed with the times.
“Mmm,” comes the low voice close to my ear.
I allow a smile of satisfaction to creep across my face. It seems Lestat appreciates this one change. He’s holding me close to him, standing behind me with his head leaning against my shoulder, strong and warm with love.
Strange, how these memories, these thoughts have been conjured up. We had taken a stroll through New Orleans, hardly talking, as is our custom, rather just being together had been enough comfort.
And up I had followed him, up onto the roof of this apartment block, to see the enthralling sight of the city lit up by a million neon lights, and I stood here, leaning into him, lost in memories of this beautiful city that would have swallowed me whole were it not for his presence, strong and affirming.
For one instant, the multi-storey buildings faded, and the hotels and the car parks and the streets were replaced by old-style housing. The wire fences that protected bars and clubs became iron railings; the busy highways were once more cobble-lined streets. It was once again colonial Louisiana; dark, savage and lawless, but the world that we had known and loved.
I thought of Heloise, wondering if any of her descendants walked these streets now; fancied I saw the family resemblance in people who walked past.
And the thought came to me, both saddening and enlightening at the same time, that I had survived. The awful irony of a creature desperate for death that must forever walk the earth. Heloise had been the strong one in the family, the survivor, and she was dead and dumb and gone, and I was here, surveying the night sky in twenty-first century New Orleans.
I turned my face into his palm, feeling the raging strength that is Lestat holding me, protecting me, and yet so vulnerable that he needed me, and I closed my eyes, allowing the sense of well-being to rush over me. I did not want to admit it, but at that moment I loved him; I was content to leave behind my histories and my sorrows for the brief instances of his gentle touch.
I looked at the world around me, savouring its scents, its sounds, its capacity to create beauty even in the most savage surroundings, and I thought, is it so wrong of me to appreciate this Dark Gift at this moment? To be thankful to Lestat that he has afforded me this? That the agony of my sorrows can fade away for one instant to be replaced by awe for this world? Perhaps I did not really believe that; but then I did not feel the old bitterness against him, the old hopeless quest to find God. My views and aims have changed a lot since the eerie New Orleans night when Lestat brought me over, not always for the better.
I was brought back to reality by the sudden realisation that my body was being shaken roughly. Scowling, I struggled against Lestat until he stopped shaking me- I really can’t curb that audacious habit of his manhandling me every time I fall to thinking, and I was ready to argue with him, strike him even, when he pulled me into his arms and held me there.
“You’d stand there thinking until dawn if I didn’t stop you.” He explained.
“Well, thanks for the concern, you rude madman.”
He shook with silent mirth and breathed into my hair.
I must have sighed with contentment, because I heard him laugh softly, felt his grip tighten. I leaned into his chest and felt him kiss my lowered lids, my cheeks, and for the briefest of moments, my lips. I moved towards him and he pulled his mouth away. Great. He was in a mood to tease me.
Disappointed, I turned within the circle of his arms, knowing he would not let me go, and stared out at the city once more to hide my dejected frown. I needed to feel the affirmation of his love, needed to know that it was right I left behind what I did to be here, with him, in his arms. I considered, rather shamelessly, pleading with him to just kiss me.
Just as I was about to speak, he cleared his throat and whispered into my ear:

You dozed, and watched the night revealing
The thousand sordid images
Of which your soul was constituted…

Nice, that he remembered a line from T.S Eliot. Nice that he shared it with me. But describing my soul as sordid? Well, thanks, Lestat. Then, without looking at me, he nuzzled closer still to my ear so that I felt his warm breath and shuddered despite myself.

…You had such a vision of the street
As the street hardly understands

That line was barely audible, but he knew I had heard it. I lowered my head and felt the tears rising to my eyes. We have this unspoken pact where neither of us will cry in front of the other. I think we fear being seen as weak in front of the other, so I was humiliated to feel a single crimson tear roll down my cheek. I closed my eyes and waited to hear his derisive laughter.
He wiped the tear away slowly, tenderly, whispering to me as he turned my face to his chest, holding me there so that I could feel the strength emanating from him. “Funny,” he said with a grin, “I thought you were actually *crying* there for a moment.”
“You must be mistaken.”
“Hmm, you’re probably right,” he mused, “Cold, emotionless Lestat sensing that you were overwhelmed with memories?” Affectionate laughter. “Perish the thought!”
”How did you know?” I asked softly.
“You’re predictable, that’s why.”
“Sorry.”
“I knew you were going to say that.” He deadpanned.
“Brat.”
“Dark-haired, green-eyed, beautiful bastard.”
He kissed me, quickly, fiercely, and stepped back, admiring me as if I were his. I was annoyed, because I knew that was *exactly* what he was doing. I was about to snap something at him when he said, “Are you ready to move on?”
“Yes.”
“From your musings or on our little walk?”
“Both.”
I suppose that there are many things we remember in our lives with fondness; many more that we regret. I can bathe myself in grief for these things and always will. But to behold a future! To think of all that must happen and finding yourself unafraid of it is the most sublime thing. I was not afraid of it at all.
I knew why, as well. I understood that in his presence I could not be truly unhappy. I could not be afraid. Is it really so that troubles can fade into insignificance if you have someone there alongside you?
*This friend of yours will destroy you.*
Darling Heloise, if you could only understand. If I could only have understood all those years ago! I was able to appreciate the waste of everyone’s life except my own. I had been prepared to die, young, bitter, wasted. Lestat had been the only one to curb the sheer injustice of it all, and I hated him for seducing me into the Dark Gift. Loved him, too.
He grasped my hand and led me across the rooftops, keeping his balance as easily as a cat, never straying from his chosen path. And I followed, keeping pace with him, learning with him, being with him, Lestat leading me through the future and into the endless night.


The End



Note: I had to give Louis’s sister a name, because I could not go around calling her ‘the sister’ all the time. Congratulations, Mrs. Pointe du Lac, it’s a girl, and her name’s Heloise.