...AND THERE ARE NO BELLS OF HELL RINGING IN MY EARS
(c) Ems, July 97'
blackemeralds@geocities.com

Disclaimer: This is a piece of non profit amateur fan fiction featuring
characters created by Anne Rice. No copyright infringements are intended
towards her or her publishers. Any of the others you don't recognize, and
the story itself are mine, and you c an't touch them either... else chain
saws are in order. ;) 

Dedication: To a friend affectionately known to me as Demon... for a
friendship well seasoned over numerous quarrels, and that sometimes we are
too alike to truly understand each other. (And also because she wrote the
poemthat sparked this entire thing of f) <hugs> Chin up sweetheart, things
can't get worse. 

Note: This runs along the same vein as my previous spec "Leave a candle
burning"... Armand seems to be chatty only in short bursts occasionally.

Warning: This contains some hints of the very ugly and yet very real issue
of sexual child abuse. Not explicit but I thought you might want to know. 

Who to Blame: All comments, criticisms, chocolate vampires and assorted
European holidays will all make me *very* happy... send to
blackemeralds@geocities.com (Requests for previous specs go here too) 

***
      "For some, the night brings more than just a whispering darkness. It
brings memories: memories born not of experience, but of blood... memories
that skip the imagination and slices straight to the quick. The chill of
the night brings memories of a t housand years of snowfall, of frozen
music hanging in the air, of endless nights, of a hundred screams of pain,
of a darkness one hides within...... The night brings silence...and
perhaps that is what I fear the most. Come to me. Hold me. Keep me in the
d ark, I've seen too much and I no longer want to know." 
		-Armand, from 'Leave a Candle Burning' by Ems ***

Night Island, Miami Nights after the Death of the Queen

	On reflection it all seems rather dim, that part of my life. A
dark smudge on the crystal-lined clarity of preternatural memory. Then
again, I was mortal... and mortal memories never are very clear to vampire
minds. Just as well. Memories serve no purpos e for our kind, save to
bring pain and repentance at the darkest of times, and I've never clutched
any one memory close to my heart, let alone my mortal ones. 

	My mortal memories I despise the most, and think of the least,
except perhaps for those before my making... before the coming of release
from the dim and desperate mortal life of clinging from solid object to
solid object, and a light warms within me eve ry time I think of him,
think of Marius: - maker, lover, teacher... one-time-god, and of our five
hundred lost years of dispassion and self-recrimination. I sometimes
wonder if I had in some way, beyond even my knowledge caused our
separation... based on the mentality that he *was* god. And for god to
speak to a mortal but sparsely in a lifetime was to be expected.

	"Do you not want revenge?" he whispered in his usual shadowy
voice, and with a slender finger, pointed to the Italian vampire Santino,
who was sitting across me contemplating his next chess move. I glanced up
at my old friend and at his pale face... his dark hair which was
exquisitely tied back with black silk ribbon. A private friend that had
not been invited and not known to the others on this island... and yet I
had felt him anyway a few nights before... I should not be surprised.
Despair had always m oved in quiet and patient ways. 

	::Revenge for what my friend? For something that he had done 5
centuries ago?:: I questioned him privately. 

	"Revenge for so much time lost Armand. A compensation for what was
lost-" he said again. Cool tendrils sobered Armand, like icy fingers,
something seemed to grip his heart. 

	::What we have lost can be easily made up in the eternity that is
yet to come. And if I had wanted revenge I would have taken it centuries
ago.:: 

	"He's in love with you you know." Despair whispered into his ear
suddenly, breath cool on Armand's skin. "And indeed, he always had been,
from the beginning, even before you learnt the dark ways." 

	::My sympathies for him then.:: Armand replied in a tempered
manner. ::And you cannot convince me to care about this now. Please leave
me. This is not our time. Not yet.:: 

	And at this, the cold steel of a hook that had lodge itself in his
heart was lifted and Despair left Armand for the evening. Left the
relieved auburn haired vampire to continue with his chess game, as Pandora
was left to continue her hypnotic playing of the piano.... 

	And as Daniel was left to laugh deliriously at the reflection of
the moon as it crossed the waters. 

***

	Armand had not really felt the need to hunt tonight. Yet he was
stalking the teeming streets of Miami, watching as mortal flesh passed him
by, rejecting those that offered themselves to him, holding a pistol
behind their backs if he would only come with them behind that alley.

	No thank you. 

	There was a certain kind of kill tonight that he craved... needed.
And yet Armand was not quite sure what it was he was seeking. 

	His hunt was not fueled so much by the desire for the blood as it
was for the wish to be away from so many of his kind. The presence of so
many immortals had put a strange resentment in his heart, and a sadness,
like foam laced waves on a fine sand beach
 lapped and pulled at his soul. 

	Armand approached the backwater of Miami, the lights seeming to
get dimmer as he approached the area despite the neon signs that were
proclaiming for the provisions for all of men's desires. And as he turned
a corner, he caught the scent of Despair. He r emembered it well... a
scent sometimes too faint for mortals to detect until it was too late, or
rather a scent that engulfed them so completely that it no longer was the
scent but the very air they breathed. It was tangy, sharp... and almost
sweet, like the summer peaches that Armand remembered smelling while in
Venice. And at this, Armand realized just what he was seeking tonight. 

	He turned into the alley. From the pale moon light and the dim
neon of the street he saw the child that was huddled in the corner,
sitting beside a puddle... and beside the child was who he expected to
see. Immaculate as always, Despair stood staring at Armand with the
sublime expression on his face that Armand had never in all their
centuries of partnership been able to comprehend fully. 

	::I am what you seek am I not Armand?:: Despair said without
words. ::What you seek, a companionship none of the others are able to
provide for you... not even Marius.:: Despair continued with words said
with solace and comfort, devoid of sarcasm. 

	Armand did not answer and instead took slow steps towards the
small cold form that was shivering in the shadows. Bending, Armand tilted
the tiny frightened face into the moonlight and contemplated his tears
with a sad empathy. Armand didn't have to read the boy's mind to realize
the source of his despair... his face told him... told him of the pain,
the confusion and the humiliation the boy had suffered and would suffer
again... indeed a thousand fold worse when he is finally discovered and
brought back to the horror house of grown men and their perverse desires.
Armand didn't have to read it. Armand understood only too well.

	::Remember how it was Armand? The first time that you gave
yourself over to me? You could not have been much older than him.::
Despair said in his usual patient manner.

	::Yes, I remember.:: Armand replied, brushing a lock of hair from
the boy's face as the child recoiled from his cold touch. Such wounded
eyes. Armand remembered exactly how he had fallen into Despair's grip.

	Memories again, mortal memories.... this time poignant and
mercilessly clear, filled his mind like a flood, and Armand knew for
certain he would drown in it. 

	Vividly, the impossibly small cell in which Armand was imprisoned
in reconstructed itself... apathy hung in the still dead air, undoubtedly
murdered by the same men who had imprisoned him there. Armand remembered
how the vision had came... first the thin
 ray of light accompanied by hope that grew so bright in a matter of
seconds that he had to shield his eyes from it. And two figures, halos
made of pure liquid gold and mighty wings that beat mutely in the air
descended upon his prison. Soft eyes and lips
 beckoned him... won't he come with them? Up to a city made of silver and
of velvet? Where he would live eternally, away from this hard cold
reality, away from the men and the pain... away from this very plane. 

	For a second then, so many years ago, and only for a second,
Armand thought that he was to be saved. One of them had come down, and
sweeping the auburn curl from his eye, it touched his cheek. And it that,
the pain Armand had been trying to ignore for th e last few hours had
miraculously gone from his body, as it had gone from his soul.

	Armand remembered vividly how he had looked up into cobalt blue
eyes, remembered how he saw salvation, saw a cure, and saw eternal life in
them..... Armand also remembered vividly how the light suddenly began to
recede from him in a terrifying deliberate
 pace.... how the cobalt blue eyes had slowly turned muddy brown, and in
place of love and salvation, desire and damnation. The beings had somehow
fallen and disappeared into the shadows of the cell, never to return...
Armand did not struggle for the firs t time and allowed himself to be
carried out from the cell into the larger room fitted with velvet sheets
and silver candelabras. And at that time, somehow, in a bitterly ironic
way... Armand was relieved. 

	Relieved that his nightmare that promised salvation had ended. 

	Armand lay defenseless and unmoving on the sheets as his body was
brutally taken and violated. Armand lay uncaring. The pain was clear, that
was for certain, the ripping agony tore through his tiny body.... and
through that haze Armand saw Despair for th e first time. Pale of skin and
dark of hair, Despair had that same sublime expression of empathy and
indifference on his immaculate face... on reflection, Armand might have
fallen in love with him at that second. That was also when Despair had
leaned down
 and pressed his lips to Armand's, sealing a partnership that was to be
broken with the coming of Marius, and to be made again after the fire. 

	Armand was abruptly pulled out of his reverie when the boy
suddenly flung his arms around his neck... begging and sobbing in a
language that hinted of Spanish. Begging for release, for help.... for
salvation.

	::Would you give him salvation Armand? As you were once promised
but denied? Even under the pretense that you *know* all of this has been
carefully orchestrated by me?:: Asked Despair who stood behind Armand now.
::Will you come to me?:: Armand for a tim e gave no answer and held still
to the shivering boy. After a few soundless seconds save for the racking
sobs of the child, Armand asked: -

	::Why?:: 

	Despair paused and ignoring the question for a while continued
::We were lovers once, you and I, weren't we Armand? For a time I was your
only companion. The only one you would kill with and for.:: he leaned on
the stained brick wall now, the pale moon h ighlighting his perfect
cheekbones. ::Why, you ask me... for many reasons. But if you need one,
perhaps to make you see that you *do* want me... that you *do* need me...
as all who have fallen to my domain for as long as you have need my
familiarity and c ertainty. The certainty of emptiness.::

	Armand felt the beating of the child's heart beside his own, the
frantic pace and the rushing of the hot blood beneath the skin fueled his
already growing hunger further. The vein, so delicate pressed itself,
offering itself to Armand, so innocent and so
 abandoned that he felt that he might weep. 

	::Well, Armand?:: Despair asked, his tone again devoid of any
sarcasm... Despair had never spoken harshly to Armand, never in their five
hundred years. Perhaps it was in it's nature. Despair itself feels
nothing. 

	Seconds passed in the silence... and finally, Armand, weary, tired
and pushed to the point of snapping finally relented. Brushing the hair
delicately away from the small vulnerable neck, he placed a few soft
kisses on it before he drove his fangs into th e child. The hot sweet
blood hit the roof of his mouth and there was no struggle. No resistance
from the child as Armand fed on him, draining away all the fear and pain
with the images he threw out for boy... images that the boy wanted to see,
of love of acceptance and of release. Everything Armand wanted and now
never could have. 

	Exquisite sensations shot up Armand's spine as killing always did
for him, the ecstasy engulfed him and his victim entirely for those
precious few short minutes... as the beating of the heart began to slow,
so did the images. The curtain was slowly lower ing again, as it did for
Armand every time he killed... he envisioned the boy walking through the
curtains as it continued on it's downward descent.... The curtain that
obscured a tiny piece of heaven was lowered to Armand's disappointed eyes,
as it did a lmost every night, the lowering that finally left Armand cold,
outcast and utterly alone. 

	Finally, the boy's heart was still. 

	Armand let the small frame slide from his arms, both disgusted and
relieved at what he had just done. The boy, still warm from his death lay
at an impossible angle on the asphalt... it was quiet... so quiet that
Armand fancied he could hear the blood in the child's veins slow it's
circuit around the tiny body... the faint rush that now turned into a
mummer... and then finally, nothing. 

	Silence again. 

	::Are you satisfied?:: Armand asked the figure he both desired and
hated after some time ::Are you happy now?:: a bitter acid tone. 

	The figure took a step closer in his usual languid way and bent
down to Armand. His icy cold hand touched Armand's cheek and tilted his
face to meet his gray eyes... ::What a question Armand. How beautifully
ironic.:: Despair searched Armand's heated bro wn eyes for a reaction, but
the vampire simply stared back into his, unyielding and yet at the same
time unresisting... a tempered mask refined over years of practice. ::But
you know my answer. I feel nothing, I never have and I never will.:: At
this, Des pair lowered his face and pressed his lips to Armand's, the
tangy chill sent shock waves down Armand's entire body. Despair's tongue
delicately traced Armand's perfect lips... comforting and yet questing...
until finally, Armand relented and opened under him. Despair's kisses were
never passionate. Rather a delicate touch so soft one might not even
notice until after it was over.... after when the chill began to set
it.... soft, and patient. 

	At this, Despair seemed to cease to exist as the beautiful and
perfect figure that he was. Instead, his very matter seemed to dissipate
to something less solid, like a shadow... Despair turned into a mist, and
in this form, he entered Armand's body, a sl ow steady waltz into Armand's
being as the kiss continued... the cool darkness filling him, cradling him
until there was nothing left of the phantom figure Armand had both cursed,
feared and yearned for. Nothing.

	Absolutely nothing. 

	Armand, unable to fully understand his disquiet began a slow walk
away from the alley, which cumulated to a preternatural dash of impossible
speed... a ghost that whipped about the city streets known to the mortals
only as a soft brush of cloth or a mute d whisper of air. Away from city
lights... away to the black speed boat that awaited him at the quiet
docks... disgust and an utter distaste for himself welled in Armand, and
nothing seemed to quiet the demons that constantly danced over his mind,
his hea rt. 

	Twilight.... It was perhaps the most beautiful time of all when on
Night Island... and Armand lay back flat on his boat, watching the
multitude of dusted stars on the sky. He tried not to think. But the quiet
and the darkness left him not much choice. A cool breeze ran through his
body, and his heart seemed to be touched by cold metal. It was still...
and Armand, realizing a darkness again searched the night sky for the
answers.

	Suddenly, and against his will, Armand's chest heaved. His lungs
filled with the cool night air... and he began to cry. The sobs racked
this body and his tears scalded his cheeks, burning tracks of crimson down
his skin. A giving over of himself to Despa ir, if only for a while... for
something lost, for something loved.... and for a battle he had for this
time been defeated. 

	The stars winked overhead and the night music called. But there
were still no answers, and the moon continued it path across the crystal
waters... only this time, the sound of Daniel's laughter no longer rang in
Armand's ears. 

***
	What more is there to know? Armand wept that night for many
things; wept for a coward that hid behind a well made mask, for the kind
of happiness and carefree heart that he would never know... And for a
child that had died five hundred years before and h ad never received
salvation, but with his youth and all it's needs were rendered truly
eternal in death. A child that could neither be saved nor perfected.

	What is there to give? Perhaps love, and perhaps comfort; treat
him well... and indeed sometimes more than he might seem to deserve. If
for anything, to honor the tragedy of a wounded child that would forever
die a little more each night as he had done f or the past five hundred
years. 

***

	"What is there to know? What is there to give? We are the
abandoned of god, and there is no Devil's Road spinning out before me and
there are no bells of hell ringing in my ears." -Armand, 'The Vampire
Lestat'

			-The End-