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SHADOWS.  Year 1. A 'tweener Spec. Author - Mick.
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Louis has been gone for seven days now.  

If he doesn't come back soon, I shall have to go after him.

I know he's all right, from the dreams.  

We dream together.

He finds me in the dreams and says, "Everything's fine Lestat."  Then
he goes away.  He's gone so fast I can't follow.  Only in the dreams
can he escape me so quickly.

I know they're just dreams, but I believe them.  I *know* it's Louis and 
not just a dream of him.  The real Louis.  My Louis, my own love.

Still... dreaming of Louis is not having him.

He was so strange when he left.  It frightened me.  I haven't left the
house since he went away.  I don't want him to come back and leave again 
while I'm gone, so I stay put.  This way he'll know where to find me, know 
that I waited for him.

He took my motorcycle--my Harley, the black one that is my favorite.

I didn't even know he could ride a motorcycle.

I was in the courtyard, enjoying the splash of the fountain in the
moonlight, tickling the fish in the basin and waiting for Louis to get up 
when I heard his step on the flagstones.

"Isn't it I beautiful night?" I said, not looking around.  

"Lestat, I'm going."  he said.

My heart froze.  I froze.  Don't panic.  Don't panic, I told myself.

"Going where, Louis?"  I was carefully nonchalant.  Don't press him, keep
it light, I whispered to myself. I stood up from the fountain and turned to 
look at him.

I simply stared.  My heart lurched up into my throat.  It would have flown
out to land at his feet if I hadn't clamped my teeth together so tightly.

He was wearing leather.  Black leather.  Pants that laced up the front and 
sides and fit him like a second skin, and a jacket zipped half way, 
exposing the luminous flesh of his bare chest.  

He had tied a folded black and white bandanna across his brow to hold the
midnight hair back from the pale beauty of his face.  A thin silver chain
pierced one ear, a small gleaming skull dangled from the end.  Heavy black
boots molded his feet and the lean muscles of his calves.

His eyes were black too, in the moonlight.  And as I stared, speechless,
he took out a pair of mirrored glassed and put them on.

I couldn't see his eyes anymore.

Who was this deadly looking creature before me, this creature who advanced
on me in the form of my Louis?

"What's going on Louis?"  I asked.  He didn't answer me.  He grabbed me
and kissed me instead, bruising my lips, and leaving bloody little half
moons in my arms where his fingernails had sunk into my flesh.

"I love you.  I'll come back," he said.  And then he was leaving, tugging
on the black gloves that hung from the pocket of his jacket.  As he
walked away I could see a flaming skull, etched in a faint vitreous green,
painted on the back of his jacket.  Only the eyes of the skull were well
defined, a bright glowing green that seemed to seethe and boil as I watched
him fade into the darkness.  The sound of the Harley roaring into life
let me know that he was in fact, leaving.

I held myself still.  I didn't dare follow him now.  Not when he was like
this, in the throws of one of his black moods.  I had felt the fine
trembling in his hands when he held me.  If I didn't let him go he would
get worse, and the nightmares would start again.

The nightmares were almost over.  If I let him go off when he needed to
he would be happy for weeks and weeks, throwing himself into every activity
with a giddy happiness that was at times frightening.  He would be so 
agreeable, going where ever I wanted without a fuss, watching stupid movies
with me on the late night show, making smart remarks about the "Vampire"
host until I was helpless with laughter. 

Once I dragged him to a smokey jazz club and we danced in each other's arms
all night to the sounds of Coltrane and Charlie Parker.  He found he liked
Coltrane and I'd bought the entire CD collection for him, and every time
I'd put one on and the lush sound of the sax moaned and whispered from the
speakers, he'd put down his book and come into my arms and the world would
go away while we danced.

But when the trembling starts, I can't touch him, can't even look at him or
he gets upset.  He thinks he's ugly to me, that the scars repulse me. 
Anything I say when he's like that is wrong, and if I don't say anything he
thinks I am agreeing with him.  It's hard to know what to do.  It hurts not
to be able to help.

He goes away then, sometimes for a day, sometimes two, but when he comes
home he is all right again, and I am grateful to have him back, and safe.

It's been seven days.  Seven days, and he's still far away from me.

I can see him when I'm awake, if I close my eyes and let myself drift, like
David taught me.  I can see him riding, with the wind in his face, and his
hair whipping out behind him.  That's all he's been doing as far as I can
tell.  Riding.  Every night more road devoured beneath the Harley's
spinning wheels.

David said I shouldn't do it, shouldn't trance myself anymore.  That I 
should leave the house and feed.  I said no, and he tried to make me.  

We had a fight.

He said I would give myself a "relapse" and be as bad as I was after the
whole thing with Raglan James and then what good would I be to Louis.

I hit him, too hard, and he left.

I know he went to tell Marius on me, to tell him all that "relapse" 
nonsense.

Who died and made David a psychiatrist, I'd like to know?

I'm lying on the flagstones in the courtyard right now, writing this, and
waiting.  Marius will be here soon to give me a lecture and make me
apologize to David.  

Of course, I'll apologize to David.  I was sorry as soon as I did
it, but he was gone before I could tell him.  I never meant to hit him,
it just that I'm not myself these days.

I don't know what I'd do without David.  I should tell him that, I really
should.  But that will have to wait.  Right now I have to watch Louis, to
make sure he's okay.

David understands.  I know he does.  He knows I love him.  I have to
remember to tell him that too.

I'm going to stop writing now.  I have to trance my self and look for Louis
before Marius get's here.  I know it dangerous to leave my body.  Nobody 
knows that better than me.  But I have to; it's the only way I can find him.

Anyway, this will be the last time.  

I've decided; if he doesn't turn head back this way tomorrow, I'm going 
after him.

And nobody had better get in my way.


                                            ***** Lestat de Lioncort