Angel of Darkness sequel to Andante, Allegro, Legato JoAnne SoperCook In terms of background, for those not familiar with the "Andante, Allegro, Legato" spec, this deals with Erik, the Phantom of the Paris Opera, someone with hom Lestat and Louis have made a special connection. However, some 100 years before, Erik died of tuberculosis after refusing the Dark Gift from Lestat--he did not want to go through eternity disfigured and chose death instead. Lestat and Louis are convinced that Erik is gone forever, and nothing metaphysical or preternatural can restore him. "Angel of Darkness" takes up where "Andante, Allegro, Legato" left off. (n.b: if you want to read "Andante, Allegro, Legato" to get a sense of background, you can see it on Heather's excellent Website, at http://www.eskimo.com/~ash) Please also note that comments, whether in the form of exultant praise (ha ha) or concise, carefully-considered criticism, are always welcome. I stress *concise* because if you send me a detailed literary analysis, I cannot respond--just don't have time! I go to school, work, and write, so I can't do it. However, I love to hear feedback, but please note that flaming accomplishes little with me. I've been writing for 21 years and my skin is just too thick--only my agent gets to flame me. :-) So without further ado, please welcome back Erik...in one form or another... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Angel of Darkness A Vampire Chronicles/Phantom of the Opera *Crossover* Spec AND sequel to "Andante, Allegro, Legato." By JoAnne Soper-Cook April 11, 1995 London...a city of wonders, a city of teeming millions, a city of lights and culture and money and drugs and sex... A city ripe for the taking, for the tasting, spreading out from the center of southern Britain like some silver spider on a lighted web. And in summer, such a place to be! Oh, such a place, when on a warm June evening I would leave my flat and hurry down to the street; first to feed and then to roam, sated, among the thronging masses, delighting in the pulse and throb of warm humanity, all around me. I was glad that we'd decided to come here, Louis and I, glad that we could have stitched something back together out of the shredded fabric of our immortal love, and glad that we were forever young, in London, in the springtime. "Lestat..." Louis appeared this evening fresh from the shower, his dark hair floating in clean, soft wisps around his naked shoulders, a towel wrapped carelessly around his hips. "I've just been reading the paper---" "Why does that not surprise me?" I teased him, pinching his cheek. "Always with your head full of words, Louis! Is there any room in there for me?" I made a show of peering into one of his ears, a bit of lighthearted foolishness. "No! There's a new musical opening tonight--I think we ought to go, you and I." His emerald eyes beseeched me and I allowed myself the luxury of a silent groan. A hundred years ago, he was dragging me to the Paris Opera, where I would pass "La Traviata" snoring... The Opera... A sudden pang went through me, and I pushed it away. I would not remember him now, not a hundred years after he was gone...it would cause me too much pain to think of Erik. "Oh, Louis...you know I hate those things! All that dancing and prancing--what was that other thing you wanted me to go to? That awful thing with dancing cats and the like..." I shuddered. "Ugh... What was that awful song? Jelly-Cooled Cats or something? What in hell are "Jelly-Cooled Cats?" Is that some sort of confection?" Louis tried to contain his mirth, but the slight quiver in the corners of his mouth betrayed him. "It's 'Jellicle Cats' Lestat--and you know fine and well that it is!" He passed me the section of newspaper. "Besides, this one is different..." His eyes softened, and he smiled. "I very much would like to see it." I unfolded the square of newspaper to the advertisement of which Louis had been speaking... Oh, Christ... I groped behind me for the sofa and sank into it, the room whirling around me. "What is this? Is this some kind of joke?" My voice withered in my throat. 'Phantom of the Opera' read the caption, 'By Andrew Lloyd Webber' What in hell was this? "I was rather...*shocked* as well," Louis said quietly, coming to sit beside me. "I had no idea that he'd become quite the legend." "A legend? Is that all he is to you now?" I was shaking quite badly and I couldn't stop! "A hundred years ago, Louis-- but I still remember! I remember him dying there in that goddamned basement---" Tears rose in my throat, choking me, and I couldn't go on.... "I loved him, too." Louis gathered me to him and cradled my head on his shoulder. "I would like to see how this Andrew Lloyd Webber has honored him... I think we should go." A play...a musical about Erik... It was certainly an interesting concept. "I don't know, Louis," I said slowly. "I might...start crying and make a fool of myself, I might..." I felt him squeeze my shoulder. "I'll be there with you," he said, and kissed me. "Alright..." I acqueised. "I'll go round and get some tickets, I suppose." I never could deny Louis anything he really wanted. "I suppose we are safe from Carlotta's singing?" I asked, reaching for my coat. "My God!" Louis made a show of covering his ears with his hands. "I suppose she's dead by now, is she?" He grinned. "Unless somebody found her and gave her the Dark Gift...." "Don't even *joke* about that," I said hurridly, shrugging into my jacket. "I shouldn't be too long, I hope." "Get some good seats," Louis admonished me, "you never know what kinds of wonderful things you'll find..." My blood froze within me. "At the Opera," I whispered. I turned hurridly and left. The entire front of the building was lined off with eager theatre patrons when I arrived. I suppose I could have arrived a little earlier, but I'd spied a juicy young thug on my way, and had stopped for a little drink. Ah, no matter...I am the Vampire Lestat, and I normally get whatever I desire. It is one of the benefits of being an immortal. Fifteen minutes later, I had finagled my way to the front of the line. "I would like two tickets, please." I spoke into the little circle cut into the ticket window...I hated speaking into that thing...it reminded me of calling down a hole, like the rabbit in 'Alice in Wonderland.' Utterly undignified, too. "For this evening's performance, sir?" The girl shrilled. Her hair was a very particular shade of orange that does not occur in nature, and I found myself gazing at it in wonder... "Uh, yes! I guess so..." I laid my MasterCard Gold on the counter and waited until she had rung up the transaction and the two little tickets were safely deposited in the deep recesses of my wallet. Louis would have a holy fit if I lost them, and I had to admit, the subject of this play had me intrigued now. I left the ticket window and wandered over to a large, framed poster of the show which was bolted to the near wall of the theatre. The poster was comprised of a white mask on a black background, that was all, and I was a little disappointed. I had at least hoped for a glimpse of the star, this nameless imposter who would propose to represent my Erik. He would in no way approach the true spirit of the man, that much was a given...still, it might be interesting to come tonight and watch this fellow make a fool of himself.... I wondered who he was...wait, the cast list was posted here... 'Erik de Lyonne as the Phantom' it read. Hmmm.... I left the thronging crowds and slipped inside the theatre to look around. I had never been in here before, and although it held none of the lofty charms of the old Paris Opera, it was still a mightily impressive place... The stage was utterly enormous, a yawning expanse of blackness stretching fore and aft like the deck of some ethereal ship. Here would be the space in which this unknown, this 'Erik de Lyonne' would re-create the life of an Angel long since flown.... I slipped away from the blackness of the stage and made my way through the narrow, carpeted corridor leading to the hall of dressing rooms. I could hear a piano playing softly, somewhere a few doors down, and the sussurating echo of feminine laughter, the tap of a cane: "And five-six-seven-eight!" The music swelled, and I pictured the *corps de ballet* swirling away on pointed toes, tulle skirts stiff against their bodies. I found myself smiling in remembrance of the day that Louis had made me go get opera tickets, of being awed by the utter hugeness and the majesty of the old Paris Opera.... I recalled practically running all the way home, flying in on him, "Oh, Louis, I've met the most *amazing* man!" And there in the dim corridor behind the stage, I was weeping softly, pressing the back of my hand into my mouth to stifle the sobs, dashing away the dark blood-tears with my fingers. God, how I missed him! I pushed on the first door I encounted, and when it opened at my touch, I slipped inside, helped myself to a glass of water from a pitcher on the table... I had to sit down, clear my head, get ahold of myself. I couldn't go home to Louis in this state. "Excuse me---" A melodious voice at my ear; it had to be some trick of my fevered imagination. "I do believe you're in my dressing room!" I raised my head slowly, fearing for my sanity. If I look up and he's there, I told myself, then I am surely going mad, for I know that he is dead! "Lestat!" A gasp of indrawn breath. "My God! It *is* you!" The man to whom the voice belonged lunged forward and grabbed my forearms in his hands and squeezed...his smooth forehead creased slightly, between the brows, as he perused my face. "You haven't aged a day...but of course, you wouldn't have...not you." Was this person insane? "I don't know you, sir; you must have mistaken me for someone else," I said stiffly, struggling to extricate myself from his grasp. "Lestat...." He stood up--he was taller than me, easily six feet three inches or more, with broad shoulders and long, elegant limbs. His hair was a dark, rich brown, and waved a little, falling over his forehead...his smooth face, with its high cheekbones was curiously ageless: he might have been fifteen, he might have been forty, I couldn't tell! And his eyes! Gorgeous, bluish-green, ringed gold around the pupils, and fringed with thick, dark lashes.... "You honestly don't know me, do you?" His wide, sculpted mouth drew back in a smile. "I should be going," I said. Obviously, this person thought I was someone else, someone he knew. "I thought you might remember me, *mon coeur*," he whispered, his hand straying to my elbow. That voice... Something about it sent a jolt of recognition racing through my brain... Those eyes.... What was it about the eyes? "I was just about to take tea," he said pleasantly, "and since you've so courteously stumbled in here, you might wish to join me." His graceful, slender hands lifted the teapot, positioned two cups on the table before us. "I trust you still appreciate Darjeeling?" What the hell...? "I don't know what kind of a puerile joke this is, Monsieur, but I can assure you, I am not amused! I ought to report you to the management!" I glared at him, and there flickered in his eyes the ancient amusement of a soul who has seen everything, and knows the final outcome. "Sit down, Lestat--*please*." He indicated the chair. "Sit, my friend, and have tea with me." Something about that voice... "I trust you have tickets for this evening's performance?" And when I nodded dumbly, "and Louis shall be joining you?" He laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. "I ought to have arranged for a box...I assure you, I would have, had I only known...." I could stand it no longer. "I must know," I said urgently. "Who are you?" "Well, I'm the Phantom!" and he laughed low in his throat, a furtive sound. I stiffened. "That's not very damned funny! Who are you? The scene-shifter? Head Gaffer?" I sneered at him. "Best Boy? Or are you the one who runs the flies up and down?" "I told you..." "Yes, you've told me---" I shut my mouth. The name plate on his dressing table said it all: 'Erik de Lyonne.' Lord God...leave it to me. If I had to insult anyone, it might as well be the leading man... God forbid that Lestat de Lioncourt should insult anyone as incidental as...well, the Best Boy... It was some time before I found my voice, and only after several sips of his excellent Darjeeling could I find courage to speak. "I...ah..." "You needn't apologise to me. You always were the bold one, plunging in where angels fear to tread!" "Please..." "Lestat!" He leaned closer, with deep urgency, and I found myself gazing into his incredible aquamarine eyes.... "It's me-- Erik! Don't you remember me?" And when I, drowning in his gaze, didn't answer, "You must remember! You were the one who ushered me into death---I touched you as I left--please, tell me you remember...you were the only one to ever look upon my face with love..." Oh God... It couldn't be! Could it? "Erik..." "Oh, thank God! You remember!" He reached out and clasped my hand in his. "You remembered me!" That voice...those eyes... My God.... "Erik..." "Yes, *mon coeur*---it is I." "Erik...." I ran my fingers up the fabric of his shirt, feeling the contours of muscle and bone underneath the skin. I tilted his perfect face into the light and stared at him for a long time. "A better model this time, I must confess." He laughed, the bold rich sound that I remembered, and I broke down and wept like a child. My Angel of Darkness... In this, of all places.... How very ironic a turn of the Wheel.... I was shaking badly with the shock of it, and I couldn't seem to remove my fingers from the sleeve of his shirt. "How can this be? You were...you *died*, I remember, I was there!" My hand moved of its own accord and pressed against his cheek, and as I did so, his eyes fluttered closed, those two aquamarine jewels. "Mon coeur...." he whispered, and his French was perfect, "N'oublie pas notre histoire..." My fingers moved, touching the high cheekbones, lingering over the silky texture of his closed eyelids, the soft lobe of an ear....his nose was short and straight, and his mouth, oddly enough, was very much the same as it had been.... He looked like... ...He looked like Erik ought to have looked if he hadn't been born disfigured...in this perfect, unblemished face, Nature had at last perfected her own mistake. "I must tell Louis..." I made as if to get up, but he restrained me gently. "Not yet---" His eyes gleamed with secrets. "--he is coming with you to the performance this evening?" "Yes--we have tickets." "Ah--perfect. Will you bring him to my dressing room after the show? You can wait for me here. Don't tell him...just bring him here." "You want to shock him!" I said, delighted by this plan of his. "Of course not!" he protested, but in vain, for his eyes slid coyly sideways in that old admission of guilt and I found myself laughing aloud. "I cannot believe it's really you." I regarded him in silence for a moment... "And here I thought that after two hundred years of immortal existence, I'd very nearly seen it all." Erik leaned across the dressing table, and in a flicker or a heartbeat, his warm mouth opened over mine...I felt the long- dormant desire uncoil inside me like a snake, and I returned the caress hungrily, taking the hot tip of his tongue gently between my teeth. "Do you still like to play rough?" he whispered, his lips hovering over mine, "like we did that night in Paris?" His questing lips descended and I reached for him again, eagerly. When he pulled away, I felt bereft. "It's going to be a long wait, until that curtain opens...." I traced the outline of his perfect mouth with my fingertips. "You will survive until then, *cherie*!" he retorted, and gently bit my fingertip. "Tonight--" I leaned down to kiss him. "Tonight." The sheer joy of my discovery lent wings to my stride, and I ran all the way home, savouring the sheer human exhilaration of the hard pavements under my feet. I vaulted up the stairs and swung into the flat, ripped open the front door in my haste. Louis was seated by the window, reading a book, his bent head haloed in a pale circle of light cast by the overhead lamp. "Louis!" I took a deep breath, steadied myself. "I've just met the most amazing man!" His posture stiffened, his knuckles white on the spine of the book, and when he raised his head, the expression in his eyes was unreadable. "That's not funny," he whispered, and the corners of his mouth quivered. "I find that not at all amusing; in fact, I find it in very poor taste indeed!" He slammed the book down on the end table. "Louis..." I shrugged out of my coat. "I've met--" "--the most amazing man." His pale forehead furrowed. "I cannot believe you would joke about this, Lestat! That's a very weak joke, even for you!" "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "Are you insinuating that I'm some kind of heartless buffoon?" "When it suits you, yes!" He got up. "I'm going for a walk!" "Louis--" He grabbed his coat from the rail. "Louis--let me come with you." I went to him, caught his arm. "Please...?" The muscles of his arm stiffened underneath my hand, and a tremor ran through his slender frame...I recognised that tremor immediately: it usually heralds tears.... "I can't believe you're doing this," he whispered, his voice ragged. "It's been a very long time, Lestat! But I will never forget him, and I can certainly not...*trivialise* his existence by going along with this--this joke that you seem to have conjured up!" I took his face in my hands. "Louis....I have met the actor who is playing Erik's role. I would very much like you to meet him. He seems like a very nice man." I dropped my hands, backed away. "That's all." Louis stared at me for a moment, as if trying to decide the truth of my statement, and then he sighed in resignation. "All right." His eyes were rimmed with dark blood-tears. "I'm sorry...it's just that---" "Those were the very same words I spoke the night that I met Erik." "Yes." He pressed the back of his hand to his lips. "Sometimes, in very private thoughts, or when I'm alone, I pretend that..." He paused, struggling with it. "...that he never died, that he still exists, *somewhere*, that I will see him in a crowd, or meet him and..." his voice faded out. "...and everything will be the way it was before." I felt like the worst kind of traitor! I *knew* that Erik had returned--through what metaphysical means, I wasn't certain-- but he was here. And tonight, Louis's dream would be realised. I went to him and cradled his dark head against my shoulder, felt the sobs beginning, deep within his body, and damned myself for keeping this secret from him. "Shhh....let's go for a walk." I kissed him and led him out the door. The theatre was filled to capacity when Louis and I arrived to take our seats, and there was a palpable excitement in the air. The rows of seats, ranked one behind the other, were filled by colourfully-dressed mortals of every shape and description. It seemed as if everyone who could afford the price of a ticket was here tonight. I was reminded of our old days at the Paris Opera, when Louis and I, the very picture of respectable 18th-century gentility, would file quietly into our private box, and I would then proceed to spend the entire performance--depending on which opera they were doing--either sleeping or groping Louis madly. He used to get quite distraught when I would, at intermission, slide my hand quietly up the inside of his thigh. "Not here, Lestat!" he would hiss, and his pale face would sport twin circles of colour, high up on the cheekbones.... "What are you grinning about? You aren't planning any kind of mischief, are you?" Louis was wearing his "Behave-Yourself- Lestat" face. "I assure you, I will be the very picture of genteel deportment," I said. "As long as they don't bring out those Jelly-Cooled Cats again...all that dancing and prancing!" "Lestat!" His fingers dug viciously into my leg just above the knee. "You promised...." "All right!" I rubbed my sore leg. "I'll be a good boy..." I slid a coy gaze sideways at him, leaned close so that my lips were almost touching his ear. "I'll be a very, *very* good boy...." But there was no more time for conversation, for the house lights had dimmed and the great curtain was rising. It had begun. "Where on earth are you taking me?" Louis's voice rose in irritation. "Lestat, really, this is insupportable! Tell me where we're going *this instant*!" We were in the dim corridor of dressing-rooms, directly behind the stage, and it was with difficulty that I threaded my way through the throngs of people that now clogged this narrow hallway: dignitaries, socialites, the various literary *illuminati* that were invariably in attendance at these sorts of things. I spied the nameplate on Erik's dressing-room door and steered Louis towards it, my hand resolutely holding his arm near the elbow. It would not do to have him get away from me now-- he'd be eaten up by this mob. I pushed open the door and ushered Louis inside, closed it against the noise of chatter outside. "Much better!" I pronounced, sinking into a chair. "Louis, have a seat--Erik should be along shortly." His eyes got huge and dark. "Lestat---" "That's his name," I said. "Erik de Lyonne--he's the actor I told you about, the one who was playing Erik tonight." "Oh." Louis subsided into a seat opposite mine, a plush green chair into which his slender frame quite disappeared. After a moment or two of adjustment, he said, "So what did you think of the performance?" I glanced at him cautiously. "Tell me what you thought." He shifted a little in his seat. "It was...unsettling." "In what way?" I leaned closer to watch his reactions. "The portrayal was...*eerie*...it was like watching Erik-- our Erik--and I had to shake myself a couple of times to be certain it wasn't really him that I was watching." "Ah...." I nodded. "Yes, I found the same thing myself." I looked up as the door clicked softly open and shut, and a tall, masked figure in a dark opera cloak stepped gracefully into the room. Louis jerked as if stung and got quickly to his feet. His eyes darted nervously to me, then back to Erik. "Gentlemen! So glad you could come." Erik reached behind him to untie the mask and draw it off, and then the rubber makeup followed. "God, but it's hot underneath that thing!" He rubbed his clean-shaven face briskly with the palms of his hands. "Would you two excuse me for just a moment? I'm going to step into the bathroom and wash off the sticky glue--won't be a moment!" He exited as gracefully as he had come, and it was only when the bathroom door had shut behind him that Louis spoke. "Lestat," he said, fighting to keep his voice very steady, "I want to go now." "Louis...please, cherie...just another few moments." "I can't!" He pressed his fist into his mouth. "This is much more difficult than I had anticipated!" "Louis, please!" "No!" He hissed, in a stage whisper. "He acts like Erik, he walks like Erik, he talks like Erik--goddamnit, he *sings* like Erik!" Louis's voice had risen to such a degree that he did not hear the bathroom door opening, nor Erik returning to the room. "That is because he *is* Erik." The melodious voice dropped this statement without preamble into the conversation. Louis looked from Erik to me, and back again. "What...?" "Louis..." Erik crossed the room and sat down before both of us. He'd discarded the opera cloak, but still wore the 19th century costume of tight dark trousers and a blousy shirt, opened at the neck, overlaid with a white vest, complete with watch and chain. The mask, of course, was absent. "It is good to see you again, after all this time." Louis was silent in confusion, in bafflement. "What is this?" he whispered, and his ivory face had gone deadly pale. "Louis, this is Erik." "Yes, I know, Erik de Lyonne, but--" "No, I am *your* Erik." The beautiful young man crossed one long, muscled leg over the other and regarded Louis with his aquamarine gaze. "That's not possible---you *died*! I was there, I saw you bleeding like that--" He turned to me, "Lestat, this man is an imposter!" and to the tall figure in the chair before him, "How *dare* you mock me, Monsieur!?" "Louis, do you remember the Opera house? Remember my Siamese cat, Mayim? Do you remember the piano, and how you played Chopin's Polonaise in A Flat Major for me, and Bach? Do you remember? Do you remember that you kissed me, and pulled up the sleeve of my shirt? And do you remember that we loved each other, that night in my house?" The ensuing silence rang with possibilities. A small clock measured out the seconds under the watchful gaze of Time, while Louis's emerald eyes stayed fixed upon Erik's face. "Tell me how this is possible," he said at last. "I don't know, exactly." Erik passed a hand over his top lip, and I saw that he was sweating. "I began having...dreams, nightmares a few years ago, and they wouldn't go away." His eyes took on a faraway gaze as he spoke, and I knew that he was being drawn into his own private reverie. "Everything I tried to exorcise them failed, until at last I sought professional help...American fellow, psychologist by the name of Mulder. He's quite the believer in this "hypnotic regression" thing, and so I had him put me under, so to speak...well!" "He regressed you to a past life," I said. "Yes. And I found out, thankfully, that I wasn't going mad, but rather that I had been...*someone else*..." He looked from Louis to me. "I realise this must sound incredible to you both..." "Not at all," I put in. "Louis, you remember the episode with Rhiannon at Belle Estat, don't you?" I referred to a "regression" incident that Louis and I had both shared, some years before, at my family estate in Auvergne. "At any rate," Erik continued, "everything we'd uncovered seemed to point to this one possibility. And once we'd gone back a few times, everything fell into place." Louis was very quiet. "I believe you," he said at last. "I believe you." "Oh, God, I'm glad!" Erik exclaimed. "Otherwise, I would have had to bring that Mulder fellow all the way over here to convince the two of you." He smiled. "Would you care to join me in a cup of tea?" "Darjeeling?" Louis whispered. He couldn't tear his eyes from Erik. "Of course." Erik reached out and clasped Louis's wrist. "Always Darjeeling, Louis." I felt myself caught again upon some sweet cusp of his spirit, drawn into the mystery and the wonder that he was. "So it really is you," Louis observed, quietly sipping his tea. His green eyes regarded Erik over the rim of his cup, as if not entirely sure to believe the words of this gorgeous vision, who now sat tending the teapot. "Indeed." Erik smiled, and the sculpted planes of his face shifted. "Amazing...." "Not really...I mean, if you believe in the cyclical nature of life, then we have been here before, all of us, as different people." Erik refilled my cup automatically. "I believe, however, that if we've not completed our appointed task, we keep coming back until we do." He laughed. "Which is why I'm here." "It's just marvellous--the symmetry, I mean--isn't it?" I laid my cup down on the table and rested my chin in my cupped hands. "Here you are again, playing...*yourself*! In an adaptation of your life..." I shook my head. "It's a bit much to grasp, really." "Except for the girl," Erik said, and his eyes gleamed with silent laughter. "I suppose they had to write Christine into it- -much more publicly palatable that way. I mean---" He broke off, laughing, "who would believe the original version?" Louis smiled in his gentle manner, and hid his face again in his tea-cup. When I looked at him again, the tell-tale circles of red burned high up on his cheekbones. "I'm intrigued...by the process of...*finding* yourself again. Tell me: were you tormented overmuch by these dreams?" Erik's forehead creased for a moment, and his eyes took on a faraway look, as if he were lost in dreams of the past. "Hmmm...yes, they did. It nearly drove me...quite mad, actually!" He passed a hand across his forehead and laughed, rather self-consciously. "I can't really explain it; it's rather like feeling as if you've forgotten something important--laid some object away somewhere, some vital object that you must have, and you *cannot* recall where you put it..." He took a deep breath. "I was so very glad to stumble upon this Mulder fellow--- I'd quite run the gamut of the therapeutic professions, looking for answers." His blue-green gaze lingered on Louis and me for a moment. "Most of the clinicians I'd contacted felt that I was...*delusional.*" "And he didn't?" Louis asked. "No--he believed me, right from the beginning. It was very odd--almost as if he'd been expecting me." "So what did he do? I mean..." Louis was somewhat embarrassed and trying not to pry, but his native curiosity was getting the better of him. "...when he hypnotised you?" "I remember that he had a very strange office...." The door was closed when I came up the stairs that day, rather winded from the climb, and somewhat worse for wear---I'd gotten no sleep the night before, plagued as I was by these damned nightmares. I'd finally crawled from my bed at six in the morning and thumbed the telephone book until I'd found what I was looking for. "You can come on in, the door's open!" A pleasant American voice called from inside the office, even before I'd raised my hand to knock. I pushed the door open tentatively and went inside...the office was small and very cluttered, and here and there, piles of folders teetered precariously on the edges of the desk. A huge poster on the wall sported a photo of a UFO and a caption that proclaimed: I WANT TO BELIEVE. There was a dish of sunflower seeds on the table, and a man's blazer slung over the back of the chair. The one window was opened a tiny crack to admit a fretful spring breeze, but for the most part, the office was shadowy and dark. "Why can you not make coffee with tap water? Huh?" a voice asked peevishly, as the owner of the sunflower seeds, the coat, and the poster appeared from an adjoining back room. He was about my height; slender and pleasant-looking, with a square, cheerful face and dark green eyes. His hair was cut short, clipped close at the temples in what I'd heard some call a "government haircut" and he was dressed in the requisite trousers and shirt, topped with what had to have been the ugliest tie I'd ever laid eyes on. If I recall correctly, it had a picture of some cartoon character with a tail.... "Damn coffee machine's broken again..." He broke off and smilingly offered me his hand. "You must be Mr. de Lyonne...I'm Mulder. Have a seat--have some sunflower seeds." "Ah, no thank you." I sank into a chair opposite his desk and waited until he had cleared enough debris to be seated himself before I spoke. "I really don't know where to begin," I said, and for a moment, I had the overwhelming sensation of making a horrible mistake. "I've been having these dreams, you see and I---" I broke off as he reached for a notepad and a pen in what must have been an automatic gesture. "Go on, I'm listening." He flashed a grin. "All right...well, I've been having these disturbing dreams..." And I told him how I would awaken at night, shaking in the throes of these nightmares, of how I would sometimes come to myself to realize that I was not in my bed at all, but in the livingroom of my house, or at the front door.... "What sorts of things do you see in these dreams, Mr. de Lyonne?" His pen was busily scratching away at the pad. "Uh..." I paused, smiled at him. "Please, call me Erik." "All right; Erik, then. Do you recall any specific imagery?" I was stymied. "Like what?" He laughed, not unkindly. "Well, I can't say--after all, they're your dreams, and I don't want to start asking leading questions." He paused for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "Why don't you start and tell me exactly how the dream would progress." I told him how I was experiencing repeated dreams of being underneath a building; of memories of a sheen of dark water; of an underground dwelling and a Siamese cat; of looking at myself in the mirror and seeing not a human face, but rather the cold artificiality of a mask.... "A mask?!" he bolted forward in his chair, gazing intently at me. "That's very interesting." "I wear it in all the dreams." My focus began to shift; I drifted from his dark little office to a vision in my mind: points of filtered light danced, rippling, on dark water, and music sifted down from somewhere high above--- I jumped, jolted back to reality by the snap of his fingers. I was very shaken, and I realised that I was trembling. "What happened?" "It's all right." His hand brushed my arm. "You spontaneously dissociated, Erik." "I...what?" "You slipped into a trance. Without any intervention from me. You dissociated for several minutes." He made a note on the pad in his hand. "Well, we've certainly established your eligibility for hypnosis... and I would like to pursue this further. Would you be averse to my performing a series of regressions on you?" My mouth was very dry, I swallowed with some difficulty. "What--what would it entail?" "Well...I would simply help you to relax very deeply, as you did just a moment ago, and then I would guide you to remember the subject of these dreams." "You can do that?" His lightning grin came and went. "Oh, yes! I think that by getting to the root of this, we can establish some etiological hypothesis." "I beg your pardon?" He sifted through the dish of seeds, popped a couple into his mouth. "We can find out why you're having these dreams." A wave of relief washed through me. "Then you don't think I'm insane?" "Do *you* think you're insane?" I bristled a little. "Of course not!" "Well then, there you are!" He stood up to signal the end of the interview, and I followed suit. "Come back tomorrow, and we can begin." I nodded, shook his hand, and departed. The bright afternoon sunlight was blinding after the cluttered gloom of his tiny office, and it felt good to be outside again. I cherished the heat of the sun upon my naked face. When I returned the next day, Mulder was waiting, and he'd even gone to the trouble of importing a comfortable armchair for our purposes. "Do you like it?" he asked. "I stole it from Baker, down the hall." I slipped into the chair and it cradled my body satisfyingly. In fact, it was almost sleep-inducing. "Yes, it's very nice; thank you." "Great." He positioned himself on a straight-backed chair in front of me. The window shade had been pulled down, darkening the room to an artificial twilight. "Now, there's nothing to be afraid of; all I'm going to do is to help you relax. And then, I'll be asking a few questions. I don't want you to structure your answers, I would prefer it if you'd just say whatever comes immediately into your mind, alright?" I nodded. "Fine." "Isn't it a comfortable chair?" Mulder's pleasant voice asked. "It's so comfortable...feel the arms of the chair, underneath your arms...." I closed my eyes.... The air was so damp here; why the hell didn't Firmin put in some more ventilation? God damn, the condensation was making the steps slippery, too.... I slid the stone shut behind me, effectively barring my passageway to anyone who might have followed me. I wanted no intrusions here--this was my only sanctuary from the outside world, the only place where I could hide, scuttle away to a dark corner like a spider and find some kind of safety.... I'd be damned if *they* would intrude upon it! I let myself into my house and Mayim immediately leapt into my arms, her tail held high in greeting. She rubbed her soft head against my masked face and inquired after my affairs with a soft miaow. "Did you miss me, dearest?" I set out a dish of fish that I'd saved for her, and a little water, and went through to the sitting room. The soft strains of music floated down to me from high above; I heard the tapping of the ballet mistress' cane, as the *corps de ballet* went swirling past the barre, tulle skirts stiff against their bodies... They would be doing "La Boheme" this evening; I must make sure and attend. A little missive to dear old Firmin would accomplish the securing of my private box; after all, I had to keep the management in line, and he'd gone for days now without a stinging little missive from "O.G." I picked up my pen.... "And when I've finished counting, you will come naturally awake, and you will feel very refreshed and...three...two...one...." I opened my eyes slowly, and Mulder's tiny office resolved itself around me. The vision still lingered, so very strongly, that my fingers went for a moment to my face-- --no mask. Just my clean-shaven skin.... I looked to Mulder questioningly. "What....?" He took a deep breath, straightened up. "Very interesting, Erik." His pen scratched furiously at the pad. "Was I hypnotised?" "Oh, absolutely!" He peered at me for a long moment, his face unreadable. "Tell me, Erik: have you ever read anything by an author named Gaston LeRoux?" I'd never heard of the fellow, and I told Mulder this. "I see." He nodded, somewhat distractedly. "Well, that puts an interesting spin on things." "I don't understand." "Erik, do you believe in reincarnation? That we've all been here before, and we keep coming back in different forms---kind of like Madonna?" "I...ah...well, sort of." I *did* but it wasn't the sort of thing I liked to make public. In my social circles, one simply didn't go about proclaiming their "past incarnations"---it just wasn't done! "And do you think you've been here before?" "Yes." The word hung nakedly in the air, and I felt profoundly foolish. "So do I. And I have a very good idea who you were, where you lived, and how you died...." His eyes slid away from me, deep in thought, and I jumped when he stood up and snapped the edge of the notepad against the desk. "Come back tomorrow, Erik. I think we may soon know why you've been having nightmares." "So that's how you found out?" Louis asked. His tea had gone completely cold during Erik's narrative, and he pushed the cup away. "Yes," Erik said softly. "Believe me when I tell you: it was not coincidence that brought you to this theatre, it was Fate." I was very curious as to where Fate would lead us next.... "I still can't think how this came about." Louis folded back the covers on our bed, regarded me thoughtfully for a moment across the room. I was lingering near the window, as is my habit, watching the first pale streaks of dawn lighten the eastern sky, teasing myself with the possibility of mortality. I wonder if it could hurt me now... "Close the blinds Lestat, *please*!" Louis shed his clothes, a graceful gesture, and slid into bed. His voice held a peevish note; he was irritated with me. "Difficulties, Louis?" I turned lazily from the window, turned the blinds down. Regrettable that I had to lose the light, but there you have it: a mortal's pithy season in exchange for glorious eternity, it was a fair trade. I slipped out of my clothing, tossed it onto the chair, and got into bed. "Lestat?" Louis' voice was muffled by the blanket; why he prefers such mortal affectations is beyond me. Still...to see him wrapped in yards of goose-down duvet makes me smile; he clings so very tightly to all things temporal. So very human, my Louis... "What is it?" I moved to burrow in beside him; the dawn was cool, even to my preternatural skin, were I mortal I might have taken chill. I slid my arms around his waist, buried my face in his back. There is a scent that clings to him, something dark and sweet, tangy like cloves or ginger... I could devour him whole, pluck him like a succulent fruit... "What do you think?" Louis turned, dislodging me, and his emerald eyes focussed sleepily on mine. "Do you believe him?" There was the question. Indeed: did I believe Erik's story? "Or do you merely want to believe?" Louis' hand caressed my cheek, withdrew. His quiet query lanced through me, a painful shard like ice. "With all my heart and soul, Louis." I swallowed hard, felt the warm blood-tears rising in my eyes. "My God, I loved him!" "But do you believe him?" The question hovered for a moment, a miasma in the air around us. "I don't know." Louis sighed. "Yes." He rolled up on his elbow, leaning over me, his dark hair tickling my cheek. "His every gesture--" "--could have been carefully studied! He plays that role, you know--" "But Lestat! His eyes! His *voice*--" "--is stage-trained, Louis! You know the boundaries of training, you yourself have heard Armand sing!" "Lestat, he frightens me." "Indeed." I yawned widely, hugely. "Cover your mouth, brat." Louis slipped a finger between my lips, and I nipped it gently. "I so want to believe him." I nodded, felt the dark descending, and turned onto my side. This was a thing I must needs ponder, but earth was turning slowly into dawn and I was tired, so tired... Sleep lowered a lid of darkness over me, and I knew nothing. The noise might have started in my dream; as it was, I leapt up out of bed and stood, heart hammering madly for an eternal moment. The door. The door! "Coming--" I snatched my robe off the hook behind the door, swirled its paisley stretch around me, knotted the belt in a frenzy of mad haste. My fingers fumbled with the door latch, and I batted at it, cursing--- "Lestat! My God, did I wake you?" Erik. "I'd quite forgotten about..." He trailed off, his eyes perusing my face thoughtfully... Dammit, he was beautiful! Just being in his presence made me quite addled with lust, much as it had before... "May I come in?" I stood aside, wordlessly waved him into our flat, took his coat. He was beautifully dressed: Armani suit in charcoal, blinding white shirt, silk tie, dark wing-tips. I missed him in the opera cloak, however. Somehow, his grace and strength of bearing were more suited to the clothing of our old era.... "What time is it?" "It is just gone darkness." He hovered near me, took my face into his hands, and my knees went weak. He was just as tall as I remembered, and his warm, moist mouth slid caressingly over mine, his tongue a flicker-tip of heat. "Erik." It was Louis. "Lestat did not tell me you'd arrived." He circled round us both, stood nearby, his warm breath on my neck. Erik slid away from me, nodded at Louis. "I thought we might take tea together..." "I would like that. Lestat will start the water." What the hell...? *Louis* was dismissing me? *Me*? "I'd quite forgotten your noble roots, my lord." I simpered at him as I went past, but his tone disturbed me. What was going on here, what specific undercurrent had drawn its serpent's tail through our midst just now? Since when did Louis order me around? I leaned against the kitchen door to listen as my hands busied themselves with the tea. Thank gods for preternatural hearing! I could listen and not embarrass either myself or them.... "I've missed you, Louis." "Erik..." I moved the door on its hinges, peered through it: what was going on? A heated pulse began to beat low in my belly as I watched them; watched Erik's slender hands clasp Louis' face, watched the sensuous play of muscles in his face and neck as he drew Louis closer, bent to kiss him.... The shrill squeal of the kettle's whistle jolted me out of my reverie and I spun away from the door. It wouldn't do to be caught listening, caught watching; doubtful even *I* could brazen my way out of that one. "Tea! Here we have tea, the lifeblood of the British empire! Tea!" I came swinging through the kitchen door, my voice shrilling out before me like some absurd waiter; in a moment I would recite the specials of the day and ask what sort of soup they wanted! "Lestat." Louis' hand on my arm, his voice carefully controlled. "Put the tray down." "But it's tea---" "Lestat!" His fingers bit into my hand. "I wonder if you wouldn't mind fetching the milk?" "Milk?! Of course!" My voice had risen yet another hysterical notch; I sounded like a demented train whistle. What in hell was going on to put me so off my stride like this?! Was it merely Erik's presence in our house, or was it something other? Were Louis' queries of the night before beginning to work some kind of subtle poison on my mind? "You don't believe me." It halted me in the middle of the room, that voice. The specific resonance of it hadn't changed, not in a hundred years. "What...?" "I said, you don't believe me. Either of you." He was rising from his chair, that very same motion, a certain unfurling of the body, his slender limbs aligning themselves at his command. "Erik--" Louis made as if to rise, but something stayed him; he replaced his cup in the saucer with a tiny click, a sound like the tumblers turning in a lock. "Be *quiet*!" He turned to face me, a catlike motion. I knew that even now, he was the equal of my preternatural strength, as he had always been. "You think I'm some kind of liar!" Something dark roiled in the air around us, seething; it put out a snakelike tendril and wrapped itself around my wrist. "Let go of me!" I flung away the jug of milk and wrapped my teeth around his hand, clamped my fangs into his fingers. His other hand shot out with lightning quickness and grabbed my throat, hooked fingers plunging into me just underneath my chin. I had no need to tease the dawn: Erik could kill me now, as surely as he'd been able to kill me all the other times. This mortal was my equal. "Erik, stop!" Louis was advancing towards us, but I waved him back, felt the world resolve again around me as the grip around my throat loosened. Kill me, I thought; stop the essential flow of blood to brain and even I will die, damn you! "I will not be accused for a liar. I assure you, I am Erik, the Phantom of the Opera. Only my physical guise has changed." I had never known him like this; with Louis and I, he had been the perfect damaged Angel, our precious flower languishing in darkness below the ground.... "What happened to you?" I sat back against the wall, massaging my throat with one hand while bright stars swam before my eyes. "You were never like this, Erik." "I have always been like this!" "You're a liar!" Louis advanced on him. "I cannot believe that you---" "That I *what*?!" Erik rounded on him, furious. "Did you think, my darling Louis that I was merely a benign presence in that Opera? Did you?!" Louis stared at him. "But you could not have been responsible for--" "*All* of it, Louis! Joseph Buquet, La Carlotta, the goddamned chandelier! I did it! All of it!" He stared at Louis for a very long moment, his tall frame sagging slightly. I understood then that the rage had left him. "In order to survive, I had to take life. In order to maintain the sanctity of my home, I must needs become Death itself!" He sank down onto the floor beside me, his head back against the wall. "Surely you both can understand it." "This is a face you have never shown us." My voice had returned, and with it, a dawning comprehension. "Louis and I had assumed you were something...other." "I am something other, Lestat!" He turned suddenly to me, took my hands in his. "Oh, my darling golden god! I am so very other, I---" "He wants the blood." Louis' voice was flat, expressionless, as he turned and walked into the bedroom. The space echoed with his absence. "Is this true?" I stared at him, my eyes lingering on the sculpted perfection of his face. Nature's mistake, at last corrected. Perhaps the human form is at its most essential in these preternatural bodies, at last perfected, eternally corrected. "'I am become Death, destroyer of worlds'..." Erik's voice enfolded an eternity of sorrow. "Every life I took to preserve the secret of my lair...you see, Lestat, I am perfectly fitted to play this role." "He could have filled the stage with none other." I understood, then, what I had not understood that day underneath the Opera. Erik, like Louis and I, was a creature of necessity: a dazzling miscreation formed around the most dire need. He could kill, I saw now, as easily as I; he was as perfect a predator as any of the undead. All that remained was the final confirmation. "Dark Gift." His beautiful voice caressed my ear as his mouth moved over my skin, laid a burning kiss against my neck. "Give it to me, Lestat." I swallowed hard. He would be so perfect, he would make a perfect vampire: I saw now why he had refused the Gift a hundred years ago. What vampire, possessed of all the most perfect preternatural gifts, could go through an eternity of beauty with a face like his? But he was made perfect now. And in perfection I could make him anew. Nature's mistake corrected, at last perfected. The thrill of creation. "Lestat, don't do it!" Louis' voice. "He has asked me, Louis, and I---" "You don't know what you're asking!" Louis had dressed, I saw now, in his habitual dark jeans and sweater. Clearly, he was going out to feed. "Take me with you." Erik approached him, hovered for a moment near him, an elemental spirit. "Let me see you kill. I could learn it." "You already know." Louis turned away from him. "You need no Punjab lasso, Erik; just let the essential hunger rise." His words held an eternity of bitterness. I listened to the click as the door swung shut behind him. "You did that...with the chandelier?" I moved away from him, took Louis' vacant seat at the tea-table. "Yes." Erik stared at me, incredulously. "Did you honestly think it just hopped down out of the ceiling by itself?" He stared at me, laughing rather breathlessly. "La Carlotta?" "A little poison in the wine; we were better off without her." "I have never seen this side of you." Erik moved to gaze out of the window. "Yes, Lestat; you have. You chose instead to close your eyes." "I could make you perfect." I whispered it to his back, not knowing if he heard me. I walked the streets for a long time after Erik had finally left, wandering aimlessly through back alleys, lingering around the corners of buildings. It seemed that my mind, so lately fixed on things ordinary was now forced to contemplate the extraordinary. What would become of him if I gave Erik the blood? I saw down on the curb near a shop, my head in my hands, and rested my wearied mind for a moment. Nobody noticed, or if they did, they ignored me, and I suppose I made a usual kind of picture: young man, hunched over on the sidewalk... I could have been anybody, a neighbourhood roustabout or the dissolute son of some ancient lord. My talent lends itself to that sort of blending. "You aren't seriously thinking of doing it, are you?" I couldn't place the voice, not really; there was something about it-- "Of course, being you, you probably will. Just to prove you can." Dammit, who was--- Mother of God. Not possible--- "Don't run, Lestat! I'm enjoying this, seeing you this way! My *God*, you look so shocked!" He slapped his knees and laughed aloud at this. Armand. Not possible. "I thought---" I climbed slowly to my feet, braced an unsteady hand against the nearby building. "You're dead." "Well thank you, Brat Prince. Might I point out that you are in just that same condition." "Armand--" Jesus... "This really is---" He plopped himself down upon the curb, stretched his legs in front of him as if he were reclining upon a sofa. "Come join me, Lestat. Talk of old times." I stared at him for an eternity, allowed myself to be subsumed by the darkness of his eyes. This wasn't possible. "Tell me about the heat of the sun." "The *sun*." His chin drew up, haughty. "Aren't you going to ask me how I survived? Or shall we save that for another tale?*" "I saw you die--" "You saw something die. Not me, necessarily." He regarded me for a moment, this ancient boy, and then his smooth, square face split apart in a grin. "You're going to give him the blood, aren't you?" He meant Erik. "I haven't decided yet." "Haven't decided?!" He roared with helpless laughter, slapped his knees. "My God, Lestat; has old age made you dull, or simply refined the liar in you?! I know you're going to give it to him! Louis knows you're going to give it to him! You, dear Brat, will loose yet another of our kind upon the earth!" I wanted to slap him, I wanted to tell him to shut up, but he was correct, of course. Armand's one talent is that he can see through me as through a pane of glass; I expect it has become honed with age, grown sharper as he goes along. "He is beautiful, isn't he?" Armand's dark eyes regarded me, and for a moment something flickered in their depths. "As perfect a paradox as you. You know, he would make a fit companion." "Still trying to lure Louis away from me?" I could resist no longer; I gathered him to me, hugged him fiercely. His body felt like breathing stone: solid, immensely old, but possessed now of a warmth previously absent. "I am glad my suppositions were mistaken." "You missed me, didn't you?" His dark eyes were impish. "I heard you crying, all that grieving, deep immortal sadness." He leaned forward and bit my cheek lightly. "We understand each other. We each have gone into the sun." "Armand---" He was rising from the curb, moving away from me, slipping out of my embrace. "What?" The wind picked up his auburn curls, tossed them carelessly against his cheek. "What should I do?" He shrugged, an ageless, elegant gesture, flicked a stray strand of hair away from the corner of his mouth. I'd quite forgotten, in my grief, how beautiful he is... "Evil is a point of view, Lestat." I nodded slowly. "No God. No Devil. Neither knows what He is doing." He leaned forward, pressed his lips to the side of my neck. "I see you've taken the lesson." A whisper, intangible breath of sound, momentary heat... When I looked again, he had vanished. I let myself into the apartment with my key, certain that Louis had gone to feed and that there was no one else about. My own footsteps echoed on the tiled-marble floors, a series of precise clicks preceding me like a warning. "I've been waiting." Of course. Armand had been correct, then: I already knew what I would do, if only to prove that I still could. "How long?" I stepped past him, shrugged out of my leather jacket, let it slither to the floor. "Louis let me in." He rose from the sofa, uncoiling his long body, and I caught him halfway, crushed him to me. The feel of his slender frame against me recalled the times of old, our dalliances underneath the Opera. "It really is you." "Yes." His thumb caught me underneath my chin, moved my face to his as his mouth closed over mine. My hands slid up his chest, fastened to the hard points of his shoulders, moved across the broad expanse of his back...this body was the same, only his face had changed. "You wouldn't take it from me before. You wouldn't take it then." I was speaking very deliberately, slowly. The nearness of him created that same dark pool of desire into which I inevitably sank. Just being in his presence engendered a kind of desperate, beating lust that had everything to do with blood, and nothing. "Lestat..." His mouth moved against my neck; I grasped the front of his shirt and it ripped in a shower of buttons. "Would you be so cruel as to damn me in that manner?" "An eternity with that face," I whispered. "No, my darling." I tilted his head and pressed my lips against the side of his throat, took him in one swift and brutal gesture. His blood flooded into me, a sweet tide, borne to me on the beating of his heart. I felt the awesome essence of him tingle all along the length of me, his ancient power thrilling in my fingertips. I could see everything: his previous life, underneath the Opera, his death, his life again. I drained him entirely, then gently let him down. "Couldn't do it?" "*Wouldn't* do it!" I rounded on him, hissing. He was sitting perched on the window seat. "Even I have boundaries, Armand!" He slipped lithely from his perch and moved to where Erik's body lay, circled him thoughtfully once, twice. "You seem to have developed a loathsome kind of ethos, Lestat." His velvet gaze bored through me, piercing. "Almost mortal in your compassion." But there was something gentle in his voice. "I loved him..." I sank to my knees and buried my head in Erik's chest; already he was growing cold. I'd taken whatever essence he possessed. "Yes. And chose to spare him." Armand regarded me in silence. "I take my leave of him again, in death." "But death is such a little thing, Lestat. Hardly the final end that some believe." Listen to him prating, the dissolute medieval devil! "He will be back, you know." I moved away to lean against the window. The glass was cold against my face, and far below, the lights and noise of London continued unabated. Mortals profess a delightful ignorance, even in the face of annihilation. "I am become Death, destroyer of worlds." Armand stood behind me, a silent wraith, and still Earth turned a measure, moving further into daylight. THE END