Author's Note: This is a follow-up to Another Chance and is especially for Snow, who kept reminding me I was going to write this. So, well, I just really felt compelled to tell Lestat's side of the story...so...enjoy. ^_^;; I didn't expect it to be this long, but it just happened. It's really corny, too, but oh well. :p

Also, I realized this long after I'd written it, but the kind of house described? Not the kind of house on Rue Royale. So...maybe someday I'll fix that. In the meantime, pretend it's an alternate reality Rue Royale. :p

Louis/Lestat. Slash. Rated PG-13. AU.

Looking down at Louis' sleeping face, I want to cry. A hiccupping sound escapes my throat and I know that if I don't get a hold of myself he's going to wake up to find himself drenched in tears. But he's just so beautiful and he's mine...again. Finally. And when the first drop spills down my cheek, I repeat to myself the words that have been my mantra, my prayer for more than a decade.

"Don't let me make the same mistakes I made before."

When I told Louis that I have always remembered my previous life, I wasn't kidding. As a child it wasn't like I had all these memories crowding my head like I do now, it was more like everything that happened had the faintest tinge of deja vu. Some things were really clear, though. Some things seemed more real than anything in this life.

And what is that to a little boy? When you're four you don't know that other people don't feel this way, you don't know anything. When it's story time and your teacher reads a fairytale, you don't know that "I used to live in a castle!" is the wrong answer.

"Oh, have you visited a castle, Lestat?"

"Not visited. I used to live there. With my dad and my mom and my brothers and my dogs. I liked my doggies." The memory of the dogs brings a smile to your chubby little face.

You don't hear the slightly patronizing tone as she asks, "And when was this?"

"Before."

"Before what?"

You try to work out all the meanings of the word "before" in your little boy's brain and the best you can come up with is, "Just...before. Before I was born."

And you wonder why the teacher and the other kids all laugh, but you don't want to look stupid, so you laugh, too.

"Lestat's always daydreaming."

"My, but Lestat has an active imagination."

"Lestat's off. He's weird."

"Don't play with Lestat or you'll turn weird, too!"

How many times did I hear those words before I finally got with the program, so to speak? And even when I realized that saying such things only disturbed people, there were times when I couldn't help it. Things slipped out.

It did not make for a pleasant home life, if you can imagine. My parents were...frightened of me. That's the only way I can think of to describe it. Not that I think they believed me, but it disturbed them, and rightly so. I can't say I blame them. Their reaction is perfectly normal when confronted with such a thing. But they could have tried harder to love me anyway. They didn't have to give up so easily. I dare say I'm a little bitter over that, but I've never been one to dwell on the past and that hasn't changed now.

I don't remember exactly how old I was when I began to put together the pieces and come up with reincarnation. Not a teenager yet, surely. Maybe ten or eleven. I saw a movie or read a book, something in which the main character remembered a past life. It intrigued me, this idea, and I threw myself into researching it. But time and again I found myself disappointed in what I found, for nothing seemed to describe my own situation.

For others, if their stories are true, reincarnation is a series of steps going up or down, depending on one's actions during life. There is usually nothing to connect a past life to one's present. The person you were is not who you are now. Not so with me. I am like a broken record that keeps playing the same thing over and over.

I was born in 1760 in Auvergne, France, and again in 1974 in the same region. Both times I had distant parents and brothers who hated me. I was the youngest son. Blond hair, grey eyes, always tall for my age. Our home did not have many mirrors, and of course there were no photographs at the time, but I remember paintings of myself as a child, and in the flat on Rue Royale I spent many hours in front of the mirror, trying to look just right for Louis (though at the time I would have died before admitting it to him) so I know that it's not just my coloring that's the same. My bone structure, the set of my eyes, my nose, my chin. I am that person.

Even my name is the same! And Lestat is not at all a common name, in fact I've never once come across anyone else named that. What possessed my mother - not Gabrielle, but my mother now - to name me that? I am no longer de Lioncourt but some twist of fate has made my surname Lion. Still the same initials.

When I think on it too much my brain starts to melt, so I try to avoid it as much as possible and just accept it.

But despite the dissimilarities between what seemed to be the general consensus on reincarnation and the reality of my own experience, I was forced to come to the conclusion that that was indeed what had happened.

Now, as I said before, I did not remember everything from the very beginning, for which fact I am profoundly grateful. I did many things in my previous life that I regret, and even those things which were right and good...well, there were plenty of those that are certainly not fit for a child. So in a general sense, when I was very young, I only remembered being young once before. There were a few exceptions, of course. I had a toy gun that I kept on my person for nearly my entire seventh year, only parting from it when forced to. I loved to run around and pretend to shoot at the neighborhood cats and dogs.

"When I was a grown-up, I killed a bunch of wolves once."

"He called me Wolfkiller!"

But I had no concept of who "he" was or what had happened after. I only thought it was a cool name and that I had been very brave to fight all those wolves all alone.

As I grew, more and more things came back to me, especially when I reached puberty. I was plagued with dreams of Louis, and unlike what he has described to me, by that time I knew exactly who he was and what had happened.

It was then that the terrible sense of guilt began to eat away at me. Over and over again I wondered how I could treat him that way and still claim to love him. But the memories served as a reminder, too, for just as my physical self remained unchanged, so did my personality. I knew that my insecurities and pride could very easily lead me down the same path again.

As Louis has said, the fact of my having been a vampire was strangely easy to accept. There was no sense of shock and disbelief when the "Wolfkiller" memories gradually played themselves out to their end. It was more a feeling of "Oh yes, I remember now."

I couldn't question it, I couldn't question any of my memories. They were too real, too solid, to be anything but true. And if that meant that vampires were real and I had been one, then so be it.

With each passing year, I grew more and more distant from my family. There was a sense of urgency in me, a desperate need to make things right somehow.

Unlike Louis, I didn't take the fatalistic view that this must be some sort of divine punishment. If I was here, if I remembered all these things, then there must be a reason. And the only reason I could think of was to correct the wrongs I had done to Louis. He had to be out there somewhere, and if I could just find him again...

I must find Louis. With that thought foremost in my mind, I cast about for the best way to begin my search.

Now at this time, I did not for a moment think that Louis was not still a vampire. I, well I was fairly certain that he did love me, but I had treated him so wretchedly that it never crossed my mind that he might have followed me into death.

I didn't know what to think really. It's not as if Claudia told me her plans as she was lighting me on fire. Maybe she meant to kill him, too. After all, her last words to me had been, "I wouldn't have to do this if Louis didn't love you." But I had to think that Louis had more sense than that. That if he saw me dead on the floor, that no matter what story Claudia told him, he would be on guard against her.

So I didn't think that Claudia would have been able to kill him. He was too smart for that. But my God, that was over a hundred years ago. What had happened in the meantime? Had he traveled the world? Had he met other vampires? If such were the case then he could have met his end at the hands of someone other than Claudia.

But thoughts like that would get me nowhere. I had to start somewhere, so I was starting with the assumption that Louis was still a vampire.

The problem was how, as a mortal, was I supposed to locate him? It's not like he was just going to be sitting somewhere with a sign that said, "Here I am, Louis de Pointe du Lac. If my reincarnated lover happens to come looking for me, be sure to point him this way." Ha!

I briefly entertained the idea of finding someone to give me the Dark Gift, but that had about as much chance of happening as hell freezing over. First of all I hadn't seen any other vampires since before I met Louis in 1791, which was now a good two hundred years ago. Who knew where they were now, if they were even still alive?

But besides that, there was also the fact that they might be just as hard to find as Louis, if not more so. I could look for Armand in Paris, of course, but there was no love lost between the two of us, and I didn't for a moment think that if I went to him and asked to be made a vampire that he'd just comply without question. No, not that one. He would love to have me in his power, but would be unlikely to let me go. And the rest of the vampires from Les Innocents, well I doubted they would be any more likely to help.

Marius then. Would Marius give me the Dark Gift? I didn't know. I didn't know Marius that well, but I didn't think he would. And if I told him why I was here, why I was human again, well he might be so disgusted with my mistakes that he'd send me away again. If I were to ever find him, that is. I didn't really even know where his fortress had been before, and he was sure to have moved them since then. He was not the type to stay too long in one place, it was too dangerous.

And then of course there was the third vampire I knew. Gabrielle. My own mother. I was certain that she would not refuse me in this, but I was just as certain that I would never be able to find her to ask.

Apart from them, who was there? Claudia, if she was still alive? Oh yes, I could just imagine myself going up to her and saying, "Sorry, but that whole death thing didn't seem to be permanent and I'm back for Louis again. Would you be so kind as to make me one of you? There's a good girl." Right. And of course if she were alive then Louis would be with her, wouldn't he? She wouldn't have killed him, too...would she? No, I'd already decided that even if that were her goal, Louis was too smart to fall for it. And if Louis were with her then I could just ask him myself.

Ah, too many questions and not enough answers. No, best not to waste my time looking for any of the others. If I found Louis and he still wanted me, then he could make me a vampire himself. That's all there was to it. I'd just have to use all my skills as a mortal to find him and then...what would happen would happen. I had to believe that he would want me back, that he would change me to be like him. It was all I had.

My decision made, I immediately began to formulate a plan. I cashed out both my savings account and the entire college fund my parents had set up for me. Poor my family was not, and this would be enough to keep me going for quite some time. What I would do after that, well unlike Louis, I have never been unaware of the affect I have on people. My charm, my good looks, they open doors that might otherwise stay closed. People fall in love with me, they want to help. I would manage somehow.

I packed a bag with what clothes and other items I would need and made all the other necessary preparations. When I was ready, I stood before my parents and announced my plans.

"I'm going to America to search for the man I love," I declared quite shamelessly, as if daring them to challenge me. "I don't know when I'll be back."

I don't know what kind of reaction I'd been hoping for, but I would have been sorely disappointed if I'd been expecting them to suddenly play the role of doting parents. My mother looked at me askance, but all she said was, "If you know what you're doing then..." My father didn't even deign to reply at all. I think they were just as happy to be rid of me.

And I didn't think it would hurt so much, but it did. It hurt like hell, but it made me that much more determined to find Louis so that I never had to come back again.

That was the summer of 1992 and I was eighteen years old. My search was to last ten years. Ten long years, the last few of which were spent worrying that if I didn't find Louis soon, I would be too much changed for him to even recognize me. After all, as a vampire my body had stayed that of the twenty-year-old boy I'd been when Magnus made me.

Of course I didn't know then how long it would take. How could I? Of course I didn't think I would just be able to waltz into New Orleans and find Louis, I don't know what I thought, but I didn't imagine it would take ten years, that much I'm sure of. And while ten years may be nothing to a vampire, it can be quite discouraging for a mortal.

But back to the story. I had purchased a one-way ticket to New Orleans, figuring that since that was the last place I had seen Louis, it was the best place to start my search.

Unfortunately I had totally forgotten to take into account the fact that I had never been to America before, and neither did I speak English all that well.

Slight setback. But hell, I knew enough English, what I'd learned in school and that sort of thing, to get along. And I figured maybe it would even work to my advantage. After all, what nice rich woman (or man) wouldn't take pity on a poor (but handsome and charming!) French boy all alone in a foreign country? Oh yeah, the more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea.

So by the time I stepped off the plane in Louisiana, I had decided to save as much of my cash supply until I needed it and rely, as they say, on the kindness of strangers as often as I could.

This was to become my way of life for the next decade. I would do anything to find Louis.

It was the oddest sensation wandering the streets of the city I'd called home for so many years. I'd get the same feeling back home in Auvergne or Paris, too, when I came across a pattern of streets or a building that had remained unchanged over the years, but it didn't happen so often as you might think. Too many changes, too many years had passed.

Here, though, well that was a different story. I'd seen many so changes just in the time our not-so-happy little family had occupied the flat on Rue Royale that I found I knew my way around pretty damn well. It certainly came in handy, let me tell you.

Royal Street, they were calling it now, but it would always be Rue Royale to me. And within a matter of hours I was standing in front of our old home.

Home. Yes, this was home to me. I had spent more time here than in any other place, but more than that, I had spent it with Louis, and that, more than anything, was what made it feel like home.

But time had not been kind too our old house. There was a rusty "No Trespassing" sign on the front gate and the place appeared to be abandoned.

Like something like that was going to stop me. Ha! Besides, just because it seemed to be abandoned didn't mean there might not be vampires hiding out somewhere.

I could imagine Louis doing that. It was always me who wanted to be out among the mortals, pretending to be one of them. Going to their parties and dances. Oh, Louis loved to go out, too, to the opera or a play or whatnot, but without me to prompt him to do so, I could see him just staying in the house, reading or writing or just daydreaming. I could see him living in an old, falling apart building.

It was late, my watch was still set to France time, but I thought it to be around midnight or one. The streetlamps were low, and the house, of course, had no lights lit of its own. No one would see me if I tried to climb the fence. Not if I was quiet.

Wrought iron and a little taller than me, but aside from the gate itself, the rest of the fence had brick on the bottom half. This would be a cinch. I hopped up on the brick part and lowered my bag over the side, trying to reach down as far as possible to it didn't make a lot of noise.

Then I pulled myself over and dropped down with a thud, remembering the good old days as a vampire when I would have been able to land without making a sound. No use pining over things like that, but while I was at it, I spared a moment to wish I still had that good old vampire night vision cause it was God damned dark in the courtyard!

The light from the streetlamps didn't extend very far inside and although there was a nearly full moon, it didn't really seem to be doing much good in the way of lighting things up. I wished very badly that I'd thought to bring along a flashlight.

Well at least no neighbors appeared to have noticed anything amiss. Either that or they just didn't care. Whatever. I was just glad no one was raising the alarm.

Picking up my bag, I ventured further into the garden towards the front of the house. The place was totally overgrown and I wondered that no one complained to the city about it being an eyesore. I had to tread carefully to avoid tripping on various vines and bushes that had encroached on what had once been a neat walkway. It didn't help anything that I could barely see either.

By the time I finally reached the front porch, my eyes had adjusted a little better and I could see that the house itself was in no better state than was the yard. I began to wonder if even a vampire would want to live here. Ah well, I suppose Armand and his band of merry men (or not so merry, as the case may be) had lived in a cemetery and this was definitely a step above that (not too big a step, though, mind you), but they'd had their reasons, stupid as I'd found them to be, whereas there was no reason my beautiful Louis should live in an old rundown place like this! But then it came to me that if he wasn't living here it would be a lot harder to find him, so I prayed that, loathsome as I found the idea, he was hiding in there somewhere.

I fully expected the front door to be locked, but to my surprise it creaked open with no problem. That discouraged me more than anything else, as Louis had always been compulsive about locking up. Of course we hadn't been pretending to live in an abandoned place back then, either.

Inside was pitch black except for the faint bit of moonlight coming in through the door. The windows were either all shuttered or had fallen victim to the ever-encroaching vines. That flashlight would be really handy right about now.

OK, so you're in a house that may or may not contain one or more vampires. Supposing that you do not, in fact, have a death wish, what do you do? Think fast! Well considering it was the middle of the night and I had already gone to considerable (OK, not so considerable, but still) trouble not to announce my presence to the rest of the neighborhood, I certainly wasn't going to start shouting.

Not out loud anyway. But in my mind, I was practically screaming Louis' name. I couldn't really move around in there, it was just too dark and from what little I could see by the door, things were no longer arranged the way I remembered them being when I was here last. Hardly surprising as that was over a hundred years ago.

So I'm sitting there in the darkness of the foyer mentally yelling, "Louis! It's me, Lestat! I'm alive. Please come out if you're here!" I tried different variations on the same theme for what seemed like hours and then I must have passed out from exhaustion because the next thing I knew it was morning. Or more like early afternoon, really.

Needless to say, I was more than a little confused when I woke up. I hadn't slept at all since before I left France. On the plane I'd been too nervous and excited to even think of sleeping, and then I'd been wandering the city all night before I finally arrived here at the house. No wonder I'd conked out.

But if I'd fallen asleep here and was still alive then chances are there were no vampires living here anymore. But just to make sure, I decided to make a thorough search of the house. Who knows, even if I didn't find anyplace lair-like maybe I'd find some sort of clue or something.

Looking back on myself now I was so damn bright-eyed and optimistic it makes me want to retch. Reminds me of when Nicki and I ran away to Paris.

I searched and searched and searched. Even though the thick layer of dust coating everything, including the floor, should have told me that no one had been in there in years, I still kept at it. I just didn't want to face the truth, but finally I had no other choice.

Louis did not live here. No one lived here. There was electricity (not on, of course, God forbid I get a break here) and what little furniture was left looked more like something from the 1950s, although I'm no expert, so someone must have been living in here at least up until sometime in the latter half of this century. Whether it was Louis or not, though, now I wasn't too certain.

I spent the next night in the house again, figuring that I was already dirty and it was late, so what the hell. Even if he wasn't here, I still felt closer to Louis than I had before. It was a good feeling.

The following day I wandered the city and finally found a YMCA where I could shower and change. I really was filthy and my clothes were in even worse shape. There was no way I could do anything until I got cleaned up. Putting my dirty clothes in a plastic bag, I found a nearby laundromat where I proceeded to ponder my next step while they tumbled about.

He wasn't here. I think it was only then that the full weight of that realization came crashing down on me. I was overcome by a feeling of utter hopelessness and I started bawling, right there in the fucking laundromat. I probably looked like a homesick runaway, which I suppose wasn't too far from the truth - not the homesick part, but being a runaway.

Finally getting a hold of myself, I dried my eyes and tried to think of places he might be, places he'd mentioned wanting to visit. France, of course, but I'd just come from there, Italy, Britain, New York. And of course there were so many other places now that he might be, places that hadn't even existed or that we didn't know about back then.

My next stop was a drugstore where I bought a notepad to help me organize my plans. I was bound and determined not to get discouraged. My life was nothing without Louis, so even if I spent my whole life looking for him, it was no waste.

The plan was simple. I would start in America, since I was already here. I would travel to various cities looking for him. Should I fail to find him here, I would move on to Europe and then to Asia or Australia or South America or Africa, wherever there was a city that would sustain a vampire, if that's what it took.

I'm not the world's best artist, but I drew what I thought was a fairly good sketch of Louis and wrote a description to go with it. I had it photocopied and passed it around at various locations I thought he might frequent: bookstores, libraries, the theatre and the opera, museums.

As times changed and things like cell phones and the internet became more common, I put those to use, too. The flyers now included a phone number or email where I could be reached, so I posted them on telephone poles and bulletin boards like ads for missing children.

Money was never a problem. I suppose if it had been, I could have gone back to my parents and asked for more. I don't think they would have refused, much as they were happy to get rid of me, I was still their son. But it never came to that. Sometimes if I stayed in one place long enough I'd get a job, usually as a waiter or bartender, something that let me meet people, make connections. I was all about connections. But most often when I needed money, I would pick someone up. Even if all I got out of it was a free dinner and a place to stay for the night, it was better than going hungry and sleeping on the street.

I won't go into detail about those next years save to say that the older I got the more frequently my determination not to get discouraged broke and I would lapse into bouts of depression that lasted for weeks at a time. I would get to a point where everything just seemed so overwhelming, so futile, that it seemed...ridiculous to go on.

But go on I did, and in nine years I had pretty much covered the entire globe. I was a world traveler in the truest sense of the word, but nowhere did I find any sign of my Louis.

And so it was that in December of 2000, I found myself back where I'd started, back in the old flat on Rue Royale. This time I cleaned it up a bit and installed myself in what used to be my old room. Of course there was still no electricity or running water and there was still the sign on the front gate that said "No Trespassing" but it was a place to stay and it was free.

This time I opened what windows I could and brought in a couple high-powered flashlights. This time I was determined not to leave until I found some sort of clue to tell me what the hell had happened here.

On the third day my determination was rewarded. Or maybe it was just luck.

I was walking through the parlor after having removed a large moth-eaten Persian rug that had covered most of the room, when a section of rotted floor gave way beneath my foot and my left leg plunged through the boards to about mid thigh. Had I not been wearing jeans I'm sure I would have ended up with some very nasty splinters. As it was, I was thrown off balance and ended up with my face on the floor and a mouth full of dust. Ugh. Not to mention my leg was stuck and twisted rather painfully. Ah, to be a vampire again.

Coughing and sputtering, I tried to sit up and pull my leg out when I noticed the reason for the rug. There were two faded bloody stains that had obviously been scrubbed at and scrubbed at to no avail. One was large, the size of a man. The other... I think my heart stopped then. The other was the size of a small child.

My mind was suddenly filled with that horrible memory of her face, twisted in jealousy and anger and hurt, as she loomed over me with the candle. And then the searing heat of the flames as my blood caught fire and consumed me. I think I must have started screaming for when I finally gained some measure of control over myself my throat was raw and aching.

And I knew and I knew and I knew that she had done this to herself. I knew with absolute certainty that no matter what happened, Louis could not kill our daughter. And I understood the logic behind her acts. This was her revenge, her punishment for Louis. To leave him all alone.

I sat there like a fool with my leg still stuck in the damn floor and I cried for her. I cried for me and Louis and our utter stupidity. My stupidity. I was the one who started this. If I'd just been honest with him in the beginning, if I hadn't treated him like shit because I was so scared he would leave me, if I'd had an ounce of sense in my head... It went on and on. I think that was the first time I really considered what effect our actions had on Claudia. Until that point all my regrets had been centered on Louis. Of course I felt bad, of course I realized I'd driven her to kill me, but I didn't really think about it. I don't think I wanted to.

Once I was over my crying jag, I finally pulled my leg out and stood up somewhat shakily. It was raining outside, pretty hard from the sound of it. Well, I knew I must look absolutely frightful, what with the dust and the dirt and the tears and everything, so I figured the best way to clean up would be to just go outside and let the rain wash everything away, including the black mood that was threatening to envelope me.

It was getting dark and I didn't really think anyone would see me, but I kept a pair of boxers on anyway. Never know when the neighbors might take it into their minds to call the police and report me as a squatter and all that rot.

So I took one of the flashlights and made my way to the back garden, which I hadn't really explored much anyway, so I figured that'd give me something to do while getting cleaned off.

I waved the flashlight around in an arc, trying to get an idea of how badly overgrown things were. The flagstones were actually pretty clear, but I didn't have long to be surprised about that before something else caught my attention. Just slightly off to the side was an odd, blotchy patch, a black smudge on the pale grey of the stones.

My stomach clenched up as I got closer and recognized it for what it was - a burn. Then suddenly everything fell into place and I know I screamed this time. Practically naked in the rain screaming my fucking head off. Maybe the neighbors thought the place was haunted.

It was too much, it was just too much all at once and I couldn't handle it. My mind refused to function. I don't even remember what I did next, but seeing as I woke up the next morning in the house, I can only extrapolate that I managed to get myself back inside somehow.

The sun was shining and it made the events of the night before seem like a bad dream, but I knew they weren't. I had only to walk through the parlor to see the hole in the floor - and the stains.

And then there was the matter of the garden. I couldn't even bear to think about it. If Claudia's suicide had made me feel bad, Louis' made me feel like the scum of the Earth, like the biggest asshole in the history of the world.

Finally, though, I knew I had no choice but to face up to what had happened. Louis had gone into the sun, probably the very next morning. My heart hurt just thinking about it - a terrible stabbing pain that was laced with guilt and sorrow and a deep regret.

I went out and sat down on the stones. I laid myself out to fit the shape of the burn. He'd had his hands folded over his chest as if he were in his coffin. I looked up into the sun that couldn't hurt me anymore and I started crying again. Not bawling this time, just tears leaking silently out of the corners of my eyes.

"Louis...Claudia...I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." I didn't try to think of any fancy words, didn't try to make excuses.

It was only after lying there for some time that I began to notice something was poking me in the back. Thinking it to be a pebble, I sat up and looked behind me to brush it away, but the blackness of the stones seemed solid and I couldn't see anything. I ran my hands over the stones in annoyance. It may seem rather morbid, but I just wanted to lie out there for a while longer, but at the same time, I didn't want some stupid rock poking at me, either.

There. My fingers found a raised spot between two of the flagstones; something was wedged down in there. I pulled and wiggled it until it finally came loose.

"Oh my God..."

It was a ring. More specifically, it was my ring. Blackened like the stones, but bits of gold shown through in places where it had scraped against the rock in my attempts to free it.

My ring. I remember the night he bought it, I saw him stop as it caught his eye in the store window. Following him, of course I was following him. When did I not? I remember the thrill that ran through me at the thought of Louis slipping it on my finger. I thought of how I'd kiss him and tell him I loved him.

I watched from the shadows as the excited glow faded from his face with every step that brought him closer to home, to be replaced with uncertainty and despair. I watched as he went back the next night and had a matching ring made for Claudia.

Of course I knew why he'd done it. What had I ever done to make him think I'd appreciate such a gift? He probably thought I'd laugh at him. And I might have, when the time came. I might have chickened out and laughed rather than put myself anymore in his power. His hold over me was already too great, frighteningly so.

Blackened as it was, I slid it over my finger. Still a perfect fit. I held my hand and twisted the ring over and over, just like I'd done every morning before falling into the death sleep.

My ring... I wondered how it would clean up.

My thoughts, my feelings, everything was all over the place. I was trying to calm down and make sense of what happened, trying to figure out what my next step should be.

He's dead. I've wasted the last nine years of my life looking for someone who died over a century ago. But if I'm alive, then he's got to be alive somewhere. He has to. But at least before I knew who I was looking for. Now I, I don't even know where to start.

My mind was racing. My heart was racing. I had to cling to the belief I'd held all these years, that I was here for a reason, and that reason was to make things right with Louis. I would find him.

So just as I'd done before, I tried to organize my thoughts, tried to come up with a plan. I had to start somewhere, so I was going to have to make some assumptions based on my own life.

Writing down as many possible names as I could get from Pointe du Lac, I began my search.

I had decided to stay there on Rue Royale rather than looking for an apartment. I didn't really have a lot of money, not enough to get an apartment anyway, so that seemed as good an option as anything.

One morning, I had stopped to look up at the house before leaving and I must have been staring for quite some time when a voice jolted me out of my reverie.

"Are you interested in the house?" It was a young woman, I think I'd seen her around before, maybe one of the neighbors. "I've seen you come by and look at it several times."

Either she was too polite to mention I'd been engaging in more than a little trespassing or she really had only seen me outside, I don't know.

"Yeah...do you know anything about it?"

"Oh, there are all sorts of stories." Now that was interesting. "Stories?"

"Yeah, it's been empty all my life. They say it's haunted."

"A real haunted house?"

"Uh-huh. Back in the eighteen hundreds some guy and his daughter lived here." Um, this was suddenly starting to sound familiar. "Anyway, I think there was another guy, too, a business partner or something. So supposedly there was some sort of murder or suicide or something, but their bodies were never found."

"So it's been empty all that time then?" That didn't explain the furniture or electricity, though.

"No, there've been various owners over the years, but they never lasted long, I guess. Well, I've gotta run. Have a nice day."

So our little house was famous. I almost could have laughed if it hadn't all been so damn tragic. I almost did laugh anyway.

But back to the search. My plan was to look through birth certificates and school records to see if I could find anyone that might fit the description.

Easier said than done. I followed up on a lot of leads that turned out to be dead ends before I hit on anything promising. One Louis Point, born in 1976, black hair, green eyes.

I managed to find an address, but when I arrived at the house and asked for him, I was greeted by an angry woman, not my beloved Louis.

"He doesn't live here anymore! Now get out of here, we don't need your kind coming around!"

My kind? What, French? Blond? Tall? Male? Oh, you meant gay? I had no idea.

I was just itching to make some sort of sarcastic comment, but I held my tongue. It didn't matter, though, for all I was unfailingly polite, she still wouldn't give me any more information on his current whereabouts.

But this was interesting, very interesting. A (handsome) blond man comes around asking after your son and you automatically assume...? Uh-uh. Not unless it's happened before.

So here we have a Louis, approximately my age, who has black hair, green eyes, and likes guys who look like me? Oh, very good. Very good, indeed, except for the fact that after months of searching, I was still unable to find where the hell he'd gone. He couldn't be anywhere in the city; if he was I would have found him. So that left...?

Agh! I felt like screaming. So close I could taste it, could taste him! And now what...?

I was seriously at a loss as to what to do next. That's when I got the call. Not just any call, the call. It was from a guy who'd helped me out a few years back when I'd been in Los Angeles.

"Lestat, I don't know if you want to come running out here for what might be a false alarm, but I, we just moved into this new office building and there's this guy. I swear, he fits your description perfectly, and his name's Louis. I've heard people call his name."

"Tomorrow," I could barely get the words out, my heart was pounding so fast I felt like I was going to pass out, "I'll be there tomorrow."

And when I saw him...it was indescribable. It was like not a second of those last ten years had been wasted because in the end I found him. And whether it was God or fate or just stupid coincidence, it doesn't matter. All that matters is he's here and I'm here and we're together.

A tear hits him on the cheek and his eyes flutter open. He reaches up to brush away the tears and I grab his hand. This is the moment I've been waiting for.

"Close your eyes, love." And he does. My jeans are on the floor, and I reach into the pocket and take out the rings. The one he gave me and the matching one I'd had made for him a few months after my discovery at the house. Matching except for the fact that his has emeralds to match his eyes.

I put mine on first and then his. "Don't open them yet," I caution as I weave my fingers with his so that the first thing he'll see will be the two rings together. "OK, now."

His eyes widen and I know he recognizes it. "Lestat, I, how...?"

"Shh. It's a long story, I'll tell you later," I say as I silence his questions with a kiss. "I love you."

The End.