Hope
Denise Maass
October/November 1999


Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, amateur spec featuring characters created
by Anne Rice. No copyright infringements are intended towards her or her
publishers. Music and lyrics of "Soothe Me" by Vonda Shepard.

Spoilers: all Chronicles up to and including MtD

Time: About one week after Armand's death.

Dedicated to Moogie, for her continued love and support. And the endless supply of iced tea.

Author's note: Thanks to Pillbox and Stef for beta reading and giving very helpful comments.


**********

"Maybe I should wander
Through these streets a little longer
Find my ruthless angel
That will carry me back home
Cause we all wanna go home
And we search for love our whole lives
I found a man who only wants to be alone"

© Vonda Shepard, "Soothe Me" (Album: "By 7:30")

**********

New York city at Christmas time. Years ago, when I was still mortal, I
used to wander through these streets, waiting for him to suddenly appear. I
always knew he would come. Sooner or later, he'd show up with an amused
expression on his face. A little smile on his beautiful lips. He would
always come for me. Of that I was sure.

Now I'm back, walking along the same streets, passing the same hotels,
waiting for him to stand at a corner, merely watching me. Wearing one of the
coats he looked so gorgeous in. Like a college boy with eyes too sad for his
age, but still gorgeous. It won't happen. He'll never come for me again.
This time it wasn't me who had left, but him.

Nothing is as it was before. The people rushing past me, eager to reach
their homes for the city can be a dangerous place at this time, are nothing
to me. I'm no longer part of the crowd.

They all want to reach their homes as quickly as possible. It is a
chilly December night, but the cold doesn't affect me much. I feel much
colder inside. Thousands of tiny Christmas lights in the shop windows. He
loved those little things, you can only see at this special time of the
year. When we decorated our home for the holidays, he seemed to be less sad,
less forlorn.
I remember us talking about the modern way to celebrate Christmas. The way
it changed from an old, traditional Christian celebration to a time of
presents and advertisements, of consumerism and - was that a floating strand
of auburn hair I just saw?

All my senses wake as I turn around the corner. Suddenly people are
walking more slowly than before. I'm trying to keep up with the person
wearing this familiar looking mane. So near and yet so far. If only he could
hear my silent call.

I try not to hurt the people as I shove them aside. Why do you walk so
fast, my beloved angel? A group of tourist emerges from a shop just in front
of me, forming a barrier between us.
I need to stop him somehow. In my despair, I jump up a little, looking over
the heads of tourists,
"Armand, stop! Wait for me!" but my voice gets lost in the loud Christmas
song coming from the open shop door through which more laughing tourists are
coming like a stream of lava.

He was less than fifteen yards away, but my words had never reached
him. With a little more force I push past the people, cross a street.

He stopped. I can see him standing in front of a shop window. I slow
down and walk towards him. A book shop with a beautifully decorated window.
His hair is like a curtain, hiding his face. Beautiful auburn curls falling
over his shoulders.

I can feel my heart beating faster as I walk towards him. Everything
around me becomes unimportant; the sounds I hear seem to be from a place
far, far away. Nothing matters, only him.

I stop, not able to move any further. I can hardly breathe as I feel
both hope and fear. Slowly I lay my hand on his shoulder.
"Armand?" my voice is little more than a whisper but the uncertain hope is
clearly audible.
He turns to face me, the hair falls back over his shoulders and I can look
into his big blue eyes. Blue eyes. Looking at me confused and questioning. I
can feel my heart miss a beat as it breaks.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" so polite, so gentle.
I stare at him blankly, not able to respond.
"Excuse me, do I know you?" he almost sounds concerned, but impatient.
"No, I'm sorry. I must have mistaken you. I just thought - I - I'm sorry." I
look to the ground as I slowly back away and turn around without glancing at
him again. For a moment I stop, then start to walk slowly into the direction
I came from.

What a fool I am. Thinking that it could be that easy. I'd just have to
walk the same ways and everything would be all right. He'd just be there,
waiting for me at a corner the way he always had. Waiting for me to come
home with him. Our home, where everything was all right, where I felt safe.
We would go to our house, beautifully decorated with tiny white lights, and
inside, candles everywhere. And once more, I would see the excited
expression on his face when he hands me my carefully chosen present. The
sparkle in his eyes.

It will never happen again. I will never again have the chance to look
down at my sad angel, to brush his hair out of his eyes, those beautiful
dark eyes speaking of a past far too painful to talk about.
I always wanted to give him the comfort he provided for me. I obviously
failed. Now, everything left to me is hope, as I wander along the crowded
streets. Hope that he finally found the comfort he was looking for all his
life. No matter how long we knew each other, I never felt like I could
really understand him. There was always some dark part inside of him, I
would never be able to fathom.

New York City at Christmas time. Everyone wants to get home as quickly
as possible for it is a chilly December night. I don't know where to go from
here, but it is of no importance for no matter how desperate I am, how
lonely, in this city full of people, there still is the slightest hope to
find my angel standing at a corner with an amused smile on his beautiful
face, waiting for me to come home, where I belong.

Of course I know, that it won't happen, that he won't be there, but I
find comfort in tiny things like Christmas lights and candles. In these tiny
things that could make him forget his pain, the way I never could.
I hope you found your peace in death, my love.


The End


© Denise Maass, 1999