Chapter Three

LESTAT:

ON THE EDGE OF THE ABYSS

It was the laughter that woke me. Louis didn't laugh very often, so the sound caught my attention. I knew it was him laughing because I had memorized the sound. Usually, when he laughed like that, he was at his most open and happiest, so it was something worth remembering.

I woke slowly. I could hear voices and I knew who they belonged to, but the words were distorted, as if I were hearing them through water, and I could not understand what was being said. While I waited for my senses to return, I wondered why he was laughing. He must have been laughing at me. I imagined what he would say to me if ye knew I could hear him. 'Oh, Lestat,' he would begin in his usual vexed but affectionate tone, 'you must stop overreacting to things before you even know what is going on. You made yourself suffer all this pain for nothing. See, I'm fine.' And I would look up and yes, he would be fine, and I would get up and rush over to him and kiss him and hold him in my arms. And we would both be happy again.

In the instant that I regained my faculties, I immediately looked up to the place the sound was coming from. To my confusion, I didn't see Louis. I saw David, and Merrick and Armand and Daniel, but not Louis. And then I realized with an overwhelming anguish that his voice was coming from the little cassette player on the desk. It was just a recording, the tapes from his interview. I looked down at the floor as my eyes began to fill with crimson tears. Within seconds, silent sobs wracked my body and tears of blood stained my cheeks. Louis really was gone. I wanted to curl up and die. But I'd already tried that and it didn't work. The thought that I couldn't die, that this pain would never end, made me cry even harder. And then I realized how selfish my sorrow was and I cried tears of guilt. I shouldn't have been crying for myself, I should have been crying for Louis, who must have also endured as great a pain. It's not fair that someone as kind and wonderful as Louis should suffer like this. He should have been allowed to have happiness. But he made the mistake of loving me. And I wasn't good enough. I couldn't make him happy. I couldn't make him want to live.

I don't know how long I carried on like this, sobbing and following that train of thought around in circles until it all became one blur and I wasn't thinking at all. I must have attempted to stand and failed though, because when I eventually regained awareness on my surroundings, I was sitting on the floor with David, clinging to him exhaustedly.

"I could never make him laugh like that," I said quietly, my breath still hitching a little in my throat. I'm surprised they all knew what I was talking about. I barely knew what I was talking about. "He would laugh for Claudia, or for you David, or even for strangers like Daniel, but never for me. Even when I did anything I could to make him smile." These sentences brought me back to my train of thought about guilt, and I almost thought I would start crying again, but for once in my life, it appeared that I had no more tears to shed. So instead I closed my eyes and took a long, shaky breath. Then I said to David, "I'm sorry, but I'm very, very tired. I want to go to sleep." At first he looked worried and exchanged glances, and probably thoughts, with Armand.

Once he was convinced that I meant only mortal sleep and that I would not get lost again, he looked down at me and said kindly, "Come on then, I'll help you up." He hoisted me to my feet and let me lean on him as I walked over to the bed. I lay down and he told me to try to rest. I told him that I would. I was numb. I should have said something to Armand and Merrick and Daniel, but in my state of mind, that didn't occur to me.

So they filed out of my room and David closed the door a little bit so that I could have some privacy, but left it partially open so that he could still keep an eye on me. I was glad he had left the light on. I had a feeling that I would have been afraid if it were dark. I noticed all these little pointless details because my numbness prevented me from considering anything else. And I remember thinking as I drifted off to sleep, that I very much wished my mother was there with me.

I must have been more tired than I thought, because when I awoke, both David and Merrick were already up. I entered the living room silently and neither of them saw me. David was sitting at the little wooden table over in the far corner, reading and apparently revising something that was written in a small black spiral-bound notebook. It looked like another book. He had already convinced Armand and Pandora to write books. Who on earth had he managed to con into this now? I would ask him later. Merrick was sitting sideways on one of the couched with a letter in her hands. I couldn't see what it said, but it must have been something dreadful, because the poor child was very upset and practically in tears over it.

"Merrick," David barked at last, "put that away. You're only making yourself feel worse." He turned around in the chair to face her and in doing so, saw me. He stopped dead as if he had just accidentally revealed some horrible secret. I had no idea what that look was for, so I decided to ignore it. I walked over to the other couch and sat down facing her, with my legs crossed and my right hand tapping idly against my knee. I acted as if nothing was wrong. I was still numb, you see.

I would have stayed that way too, if Merrick hadn't suddenly burst out, "But it's my fault David. I let him talk to her. I called her. I shouldn't have done it. I knew what it could do to him, but I was selfish and just pushed those worries aside. Why did I have to be so selfish?" She was standing now, her voice louder and stronger than I had ever heard it. Her bright eyes were filled with tears, mortal tears. I had no idea she was that young. David hadn't told me yet when or by whom she had been made.

"How where you being selfish," David asked. I felt great pity for her. I too knew what guilt felt like.

"Don't you see?" She looked at him imploringly, but he did not understand. By now, I was watching their conversation raptly, waiting to find out what on earth they were talking about. "I normally would never have let someone talk to the spirit of a deceased loved one if I knew that it would cause the living person such a great deal of pain. But I let Louis talk to Claudia's spirit, even when I knew it could only do him harm." My mind froze and I was forcefully jarred from my peaceful enthrallment. Louis had spoken to Claudia's ghost. And whatever she had said had hurt him enough to make him kill himself. And it had been Merrick's doing.

For the first time since his death, I felt an emotion besides sorrow break through my numbness. For the first time I turned the blame to someone else. In an instant, I had gone from negligent indifference to a towering rage.

"If you knew, then why did you do it," I demanded fiercely. She turned and when she saw my face, she shrank back in fear. "Why did you do it?" My voice was low, dangerous, and as cold as dry ice. She did not have the option of not answering me.

"Because I wanted him to need my help, to need me, to want me. I even put a spell on him to make him think he was in love with me." I pulled from her mind the memory of Louis saying he loved her and could not bear to live without her. My rage shot to a pinnacle I don't think it had ever reached in the past. It was no longer something I controlled. Jealousy rose like a wild beast in my chest. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to tear her apart. But as always, my anger momentarily paralyzed me. I cannot truly describe this thing that I felt at that moment. It was as thou my rage and jealousy were suddenly made into physical energy that had a visual form, spreading all across the sky, staining my whole world blood red. Then, just as I reached the point at which my fury would overcome my paralysis, the overwhelming, strangling grief overtook me again, suddenly suffocating all other feeling, choking me, stabbing me. I fell from my height of rage to land dangerously to the edge of the abyss. And the black nothingness with its promise of antipathy beckoned so invitingly.

I teetered precariously on the edge for a seemingly infinite moment before I was forcefully shoved back awareness by a familiar presence. Marius. Don't you dare do anything foolish, at least not until I get there. Stay right wear you are, both physically and spiritually. He said this as a firm command. I didn't know how he had known what was happening, but the idea of him being here with me in a short time gave me something to hold out for. Just a few more minutes until I could collapse against the reassurance of someone stronger than me, until I could rave without running the risk of hurting these two fledglings. Only a few more minutes, I told myself, only a few more minutes until you can let go of your control. Only a few more minutes until you can let go of your sanity.

"Lestat?" David was looking at me cautiously, as if he didn't know what to expect from me. Would I break out into tears, or destroy them? Better safe than sorry seemed to be his philosophy. Merrick was standing beside or rather behind him, shielding herself from me.

"Marius is on his way here," told them in a dead voice. That's not at all what he was asking. But I couldn't tell him if I would be alright eventually, because I didn't know. At that moment, I didn't think it was likely. I think David wanted to say something else to me, but ignored him and, zombie-like, walked out of the room. My legs were too weak to hold me up and they buckled under me as I literally fell onto the bed. My mind was once again a muddled disaster of despair. I lay utterly senseless for only God knows how long before I realized people were in my room again. Talking about me again.

"How long has it been since he last fed?" Marius was asking David.

"I don't know, a very long time. Months perhaps."

"Then even the temptation of my blood is unlikely to rouse him from that stupor. For one so powerful as he, it would be decades before he starved. Likewise it would take far more than half a dozen months for the bloodlust to become an irrepressible instinct."

"I'm already awake," I announced groggily when I finally dragged myself out of my daze. Slowly, I sat up. The movement tired me. Everything tired me. I felt the way I had felt before I went to ground in the twenties. Even for all the blood in my veins, I felt as weak as I had the night I was made, after Magnus drained me nearly to the point of death. I must have said some of this out loud because they were all looking at me strangely with a mixture of worry and pity. I bristled. I didn't want their pity. "What are you looking at me like that for," I demanded in a fierce voice. My fangs were bared in a snarl. When none of them answered me, I yelled for them to leave me alone and stormed out of the hotel.

I needed to kill. That was the only thought in my mind. We only know peace when we kill. Memories were brushed away. I stalked though the dark streets of Paris almost blindly. I knew that I would kill the first mortal I met in a reasonably secluded place. The misfortune happened to fall upon a beautiful young man in his twenties, who had no business being out this late at night. He was no evil doer. He had led a decent and modest life. He was a generally kind person. But I didn't think about any of this when I read it from his mind as I followed him down the dark alleyway that would lead him to his back door. All I was aware of was the scent on the blood that pumped through his veins. Before I could even consciously think in words that I wanted him, he was already locked in the steel embrace of death. Hid hot mortal blood gushed into my mouth and I drew it out even more violently. Like alcohol, it intoxicated me and drowned out everything that tortured me. It was not the rapture I was used to. It was not the peace I so desperately sought. But it was enough.

When finally I had drained him to the last drop, I let the body fall to the ground. I came out of the swoon feeling not quite so like a zombie, not quite so numb, but my head was clear for the first time in nights. With this new clearness, I took a good look at my victim. He was young, no older than twenty-five. His clothes were well made, but not incredibly expensive. His hair was short and curly, the color of chocolate. His eyes were closed. I did not know what color they were.

Out of a curious impulse, I crouched down and took his wallet from his pocket. His ID wasn't clearly visible, so I pulled it out of the little pocket it was in. Another piece of paper fell on the ground when I did this. I never did end up looking at his ID. I reached down and picked up the piece of paper. No, it was a picture. He and a girl around his age with red brown hair and brown eyes were hugging as they smiled at the camera. They seemed to be in love. Both of them looked so happy. I stared at the photo for minutes with a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. An odd sensation which I didn't remember the name of was creeping in and I didn't like it at all. It was as if there was a voice talking to me, in the back of my head. You don't understand, do you? It said, but it didn't use any words. Look at them. Think about it.

"Think about what," I asked aloud. If anyone saw heard me shouting to myself, they would probably think I was insane. And they would probably be right, but the voice was right too. I didn't understand.

About her. About him. I looked at the picture, trying to get rid of my confusion. The realization of what the voice was trying to tell me crept in slowly, at first just a vague uncomfortable feeling which finally bubbled up to form the thought, 'They loved each other.' And after that, other thoughts came like a flurry of bullets. She loved him. He loved her. He was her world. And now he's gone. Just like Louis, who was my world. My life is meaningless without him.' And that's when it hit me with all the horror a revelation like that can have. I had inflicted exactly the same torture on that girl that I myself was suffering under. I had taken away someone's reason to live. When I killed that boy, I destroyed her life. And it wasn't just her life I had destroyed. Every person I had ever killed had been someone's beloved, someone's child, someone's best or only friend. Every person I had ever killed had meant the world to someone else. For every person I ever killed, there was someone else who suffered as I do now. And as the terrible reality of it set in, I felt the dagger in my heart twist painfully with the pangs of the feeling I now recognized. I had killed this poor, young, innocent boy and I felt wretched for it. For the first time in my entire existence as an immortal, I, the Vampire Lestat, felt guilty for killing a mortal.

I sank to my knees on the pavement and covered my face with my hands. "Oh God!" I cried out loud, "This is what Allessandra meant. This is what it means to be unable to bear killing mortals! What a fool I was to think I knew. This is unendurable. Oh, God please help me! Lord God, help me!" I closed my eyes and continued to wail out pleas like that. The words became a mantra.

My voice was only a whisper and my whole body was trembling by the time I felt a strong hand grasp my arm and pull me to my feet. Surprised, I stumbled against the being, who caught me so that I did not fall. I stared at his pale face and long straight hair like spun gold and his grey eyes that seemed to hold the wisdom of eternity in them. I didn't know what he was. Was he an angel? No, I had seen Angels before and they never looked this ethereal in their human forms, not even Michael. I stared blankly at him for an entire minute before it registered that he was a vampire and that he was Marius. Bewildered by my lack of recognition, I kept staring at him, wondering how on earth I hadn't known it was him. The ice around my thoughts thawed finally and I was able to observe things normally.

It was raining. I was soaked. I was cold. How long had I been out there? It was almost dawn. I let him lead me down the streets toward the hotel. My senses were all registering as they should and I could form coherent thoughts, but felt lost. Disconnected from the world around me. There was no drowning despair, strangling guilt, or blinding rage. There was only that sense of strangeness. It wasn't that I couldn't recognize the world. It was that I couldn't recognize me. I could remember people, places, events from my past and I knew they should have made me feel something, that they were important. But I couldn't remember why they were important or what they were supposed to make me feel. I wasn't dead and empty inside anymore, neither was I even numb. I was just detached from myself, from everything.

"Lestat," Marius said gently as we halted on the sidewalk right beneath the balcony of my suite. I looked up at him. I had been looking at the ground. "Put your arms around my neck and hold on. We're going to fly up to the room, alright?" I did as I was told. I felt no wonder when we took to the air. I knew I had the ability to fly. But I didn't feel any familiarity at all. That didn't bother me though. Nothing affected me enough to bother me.

We landed in the room and immediately David leapt up, a paradoxal expression of worry and relief on his face. Armand, Daniel and Merrick were there as well. When I stepped away from Marius, he embraced me tightly. I returned the embrace because that was what I was expected to do. He brought me to my room and I changed into dry clothes. Then we went back to the sitting room where everyone assured themselves that I was unharmed before they returned to their own residences to sleep. Marius' was across the hall.

Soon, everyone had left and Merrick had gone to sleep. David and I were the only ones in the room. He took this opportunity to embrace me again, holding me tightly to him, as if afraid I would fall apart if he let go. Then he told me how worried he was about me and how much he cared about me. I should have felt touched by this, but none of what he said or did affected me. Nothing felt comforting. Nothing felt uncomfortable.

Nothing felt.