Disembodied Malevolence
By Kabuki
November 2000


DISCLAIMER: All chars belong to Mater, though I don't know what she ever accomplishes with them. Spoilers for up to the doorstop. It's a PWP, folks, so be nice to it.



"Cursed the ground where dead thoughts live new and oddly bodied, and evil the mind that is held by no head."
-- HP Lovecraft





"Tell me, Armand, what is it like to see spirits?"

It was a question that caught Armand off guard temporarily so that he turned his head against the sand of the beach and regarded his dark brother with mild amusement. Lestat was stretched out on his back, his left hand raised to examine a conch shell which had washed up on the white sand beach. By the light of the full moon, the shell caught a glint of light upon its colorful inner casement. But the brightness of the shell, and even the pale moon-bathed sand of the Night Island beach were bland when compared to the luminescence of Lestat's flesh. So young this one was, so freshly risen from his self-imposed torment, and already the curiosity had begun to fester in his mind. Obviously, he had been reading David's work. "Really, Lestat? Since when have the dead interested you? Or... is this related in some way --"

Lestat waved his hand, grimacing in a manner that animated his face, as only the very old should be able to do. Armand was sad suddenly to have brought up the Memnoch encounter in the mind of his momentary companion, but knew that the pain could only diminish through a frequency of mentioning. The coven tiptoed around Lestat with words and phrases deemed safe. Armand wondered of anyone else had even hinted at so much as a religious holiday since Lestat awoke. "In all seriousness, Armand. I've been thinking on other things. Distraction seems to play more of a part in my life now than ever before."

At this last statement a bitter smile crossed Lestat's lips which made Armand a little uncomfortable. Bitterness too had set itself deep within Lestat's soul with the passage of time. The memory came unbidden yet with perfect clarity, of a fledgling not yet a year old talking his way out of an attack. Freeing himself and his children with the surety of his words and the charismatic air of his presence. Looking at Lestat now, Armand saw the burden of the years. As a coven leader he knew what was to come if Lestat was not given enough support and care. As Armand he could not help but feel the regrets pile up inside; regrets that should not exist and could not be forgotten.

"I understand, Lestat." Armand closed his eyes. The ocean breeze and the salty scent of it was refreshing, instilling false confidence and passion in all things. Armand would not be swept away by such surroundings.

Lestat meanwhile had abandoned the shell in the pale sand, his gaze slightly unfocused, his head tipped toward the heavens. "I know it must be hard. I have seen a few ghosts in my time, you know."

"Enlighten me. You know my disdain for your form of literature."

Lestat chuckled, the low tenor wafting in the ocean breeze. "You think I refer to Claudia. No, I have at least one foggy memory of the supernatural in my mortal life." He smiled. "Magnus not included, of course."

"I should have thought he would serve as more than enough of the supernatural for your entire life, Lestat."

"Unfortunately no. I remember an interesting encounter in Renaud's theatre." Armand turned his head sharply at this, eliciting a wink from Lestat. "So you experienced it too, then? In your time there or from Nicholas?"

Armand folded his arms and sat up, opting to stare across the water instead of taking Lestat's bait. In the distance hidden by the waves and the space was the strip of land that was Florida. Even a vampire could not see that far, but Armand could fancy that he could see the land, laying lumped upon the surface of the sea. Perhaps Daniel was there, hunting and contemplating his return. Wishful thinking, naturally, but such thoughts seemed to be a lone source of hope lately. He could feel the weight of Lestat's gaze on his passive face, and as he pondered the question Lestat had posed a memory returned. Nicholas dressed in absurd finery, his eyes seemingly sane for the first time in many months as he stood in a posture of fear ordering no one to enter the storage room under any circumstances. "But why?" Eleni had asked. No explanation had been given, but none was needed. Armand had glanced into that dark space in which no oil lamps stood filled and boxes moldered in the dark. After that he had enforced Nicholas' decree until the theatre and that accursed room had burned to the ground nearly a hundred years later.

"You know, don't you." Lestat's voice was soft, as though reverent of the memory even this far from the place of which they spoke. "You saw it."

"Yes. A horror. I do not know what happened in that room, but it would not leave for any other plane of existence, if there is such a thing. That spirit was filled with anger, more than any manifestation I have ever come across. But how did you know of it?"

Lestat was silent for a long time, as though the thought was difficult to remember or articulate. When he finally began to speak, his voice was so soft, one might have mistaken it for a trick of the wind in the nearby trees not too far from where they lay. "I was mortal and not yet Lelio on the stage. I was foolish enough to think spare costumes might have been stored in that room. I brought a lamp with me, of course, but I was in a hurry. The costume was needed for the next act and, well, I was more intent on my job than anything else at the moment."

When he gazed into Lestat's face, Armand could tell that the brat was trying to remember exactly what had happened. Mortal memories were so fleeting, and no matter how important they might have been in life the haze of immortality could cause those memories to fade while those of the vampire remained crystal clear for all time. This memory, though, seemed particularly disturbing; yet for all his protective feelings toward Lestat after the Memnoch encounter there was an uncontrollable urge to hear him out. There was something about Lestat's face, normally so animated and now subdued beneath the burden of memory. It didn't even occur to Armand to speak. The weight of the past in Lestat's eyes and in the crease of his brow was too great for a sudden reminder of the present to do any good.

"As soon as I opened the door and stepped into the room my heart began to beat incredibly fast. A chill broke out over my body, but I attributed that to the cold outside and a lack of warmth in this unused room. There were boxes everywhere, most overturned, but the stack I was searching for were in the far corner."

"The darkest one."

Lestat nodded, his eyes a clear blue even in memory. "Yes. That one. I walked forward, and realized it was becoming harder and harder to move with each step. Now remember, I was not a believer in God in a pure Catholic sense, but anyone raised in that strict teaching finds himself believing in the supernatural one way or another. Ghostly presences were nothing new to me, I lived in a castle for Christ's sake, but this thing was angry. I was shaking. Then the darkness seemed to close in and... "

Armand was sitting up and leaning forward, looking with the utmost intent at Lestat's face. "And what?"

Lestat shrugged. "I woke up. Backstage. Renaud was furious. Told me never to go back there. That Nick had gone and found me. I remember looking at Nick and feeling as though he had seen something unspeakably awful, but we never talked about it again. We thought about it, but every time one of us tried to bring up the subject the other didn't want to speak of it. Then I got my role and everything went to Hell, but you know the rest of that."

Armand peered into Lestat's face for a long time before standing up, stretching his long legs and flexing his bare feet in the white sand. He looked back up toward the sleek but no longer entirely modern Night Island Hotel. A figure with short-cropped hair passed the main glass doors and Armand could tell by the being's gait that it was undoubtedly inhuman. David perhaps, but more likely Marius trying to decide whether or not to come outside and see what the talk was all about.

The other vampire raised himself up on his elbow to regard to building critically before laughing deep in his throat. "You'd never think we were over two hundred by the way he acts."

Armand nodded. It was Marius then most likely. Lestat would be able to tell easily. "They mean well."

Lestat was getting to his feet with languor, the low laughter still coming from his throat. "But before we indulge them, you must tell me how you knew of it. That presence in the storage room of the theatre. Did Nicholas tell you and you chose to avoid it or did it come after you?"

"I experienced it, Lestat, thank you." Armand bent to pick up a bright and shining pebble, weighing it in his hand before flicking it across the water with a practiced ease.

"Three skips. Nice."

"Thank you."

Lestat picked up another rock, weighing it and allowing a sad smile. "It occurs to me that I've never done this." He threw the rock and it landed in the water with a plunk. "Damn."

"You have to practice it. It's not enough to watch it done. Hold it like this. That's right."

Lestat threw it again with no more success. He retrieved loosened another rock with the toe of his boot and bent to pick it up. "Alright, I'll practice and you do the story time thing. It's your turn, after all."

Armand sat down in the sand again, one hand coming up to finger his long red hair. He wished he'd thought to cut it this evening. It's length always made him feel very young. "Very well." He brought his hands together, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on their tips. "One of the coven, no more then a month I believe, went into the room to explore. He was humming something. I assume this because he was humming when he came by my chambre to poke around, so I can envision him doing just that when he went into that room. There was no reason for him to go there, but he must have angered something. When we found him he was sitting in the middle of that room never to speak again."

Lestat paused in mid-throw and, still facing the ocean, he spoke. "Why not? What do you mean 'never to speak again'?"

"Just what I said. Something happened to him in there. He never spoke after that, not a word, and he went into the sun a week later. Your Nicholas blamed to room. Said no one should enter."

Lestat snorted, tossing his fourth rock directly into the water. He wasn't really trying anymore, just watching how far his thrown rocks would go. "You said that you experienced it. That's not much of an experience on your part."

"I wasn't finished."

"Then I beg your pardon!"

Armand glared at the billowy white shirt on Lestat's back before continuing. "I looked into that room, while Nicholas was speaking. I too felt my heart rate speeding in my chest. And when I saw the darkness beginning to take a form, as though some of it were darker and had more shape than the rest of the normal darkness in the room, I reached out and shut the door. It was my coven then, so I was not questioned. No one went into that room again."

"And you never heard what might have caused such a restless spirit?"

"No. It was a mystery to me."

Lestat turned from the ocean and began fishing for an elastic band for his unruly hair. "I'm tired of this. Let's go back inside and hear what Marius is dying to tell us."

Armand let him get within seven feet of the doors before choosing to speak. "You're afraid, aren't you. Do the ghosts still plague you? Did they plague you as a child?"

Lestat stopped just at the door. Resting his hand on the frame he turned to regard Armand with cold eyes. "No. Good evening, Armand."

The blonde then threw open the door and slipped inside. Armand could see Marius, yes definitely Marius now, moving toward the brat. Asking him something to which Lestat shook his head furiously before asking a few things of his own. Armand turned back to the sea. The tide was lovely as it caught to silvery light of a waxing moon. He could sit there for years and think of nothing if he so chose. The world might end and he wouldn't care, or so he imagined. He gazed across the sea, searching for that strip of land once more as he smiled. "Pleasant dreams, Lestat."



~ Fin