It was much later when Lestat at last opened his eyes. He remembered with
vivid detail the monstrous thing that had entered the dining hall. Its face
had
seemed so terribly wrong somehow, as though some madman, in trying to bestow
some semblance of humanity, had wildly failed. Its distorted body, bulging
in some places and concave in others, was burned into his memory, forever
leaving him with an endless supply of nightmare images. Then of course, what
he
had done to Black Cat...
It all had the hazed vividness of a dream, yet Lestat knew all too well the
reality. Black Cat was dead and, as the creature had pulled away, the feeling
of his own extreme blood loss left him stunned. The world had suddenly
seemed to slip away into comforting darkness. He had not entirely expected to
survive.
So it was shocking to feel a cool damp washcloth placed upon his forehead,
and he gasped at the sensation. All of his senses began to function once more
in an unexpected rush. He was aware of the heavy blankets surrounding him and
the scent of cedar burning with so much crackling that it could only issue
from a fireplace. He was aware that he was naked and warm, covered in blankets
and obviously well cared for. It was as though all the terrible things had
not really happened and that Black Cat was alive. His imagination seemed to
run with the image, and he thought he saw a dark haired man sitting pale and
beautiful by the fire, a book in his hand and a splendid onyx cat purring in
his lap, green eyes slitting and knowing. Like a madman he struggled to sit
up,
to partake in what he thought he saw, and he stretched out his arms weakly,
his fingers questing for the familiar feel of the soft black fur so recently
grown cold in death. "Black Cat… are you there?" His voice was weak but
relatively loud enough to be heard by whomever was holding the cloth to his
face;
yet for what felt like hours he received no response. All the while he
listened fervently, straining to hear a voice, yet hearing instead the most
unusual sounds. The crackling of the hearth fire was impossibly loud and
detailed,
and what was that strange pounding sound, like fifty drums beating in two
distinct rhythms. "I must be feverish," he muttered and, until he felt cool
fingers brush his face and lift the cloth, nothing else seemed rational.
He found himself gazing into the most stunningly green eyes he had ever
seen, and in possession of those eyes was a man so new yet familiar at the
same
time. Lestat blinked, gazing about yet always returning his gaze to those
indescribable eyes. Like twin rivers of tumultuous current, Lestat felt them
drawing him in, pulling him where they wanted to go, submerging him deeper and
deeper until he felt the air squeezed out of his lungs and nothing else
mattered. They held his own eyes captive like things inhuman...
The thought made him recoil, confused by his own emotions and the unnatural
feel of the entire situation. He felt marked by the emerald gaze, as though a
brand were searing his flesh while meantime his mind, made dumb by beauty,
remained oblivious to the pain. He shuddered, rubbing his head, and found his
voice. "I know you."
The man shifted behind him, making the bed creak before at last speaking,
"And I know you, Lestat".
Lestat nodded, expecting this yet taken totally by surprise. He studied the
intricate carvings in the wooden headboard in an attempt to collect himself.
Strange, he'd never noticed them before. There was a scene, a man in the
forest hunting, but something was very wrong. Instead of the usual
accompanying
hunting dogs and a horse, the man was running alone through the detailed
foliage after a buck deer. It was a large bed, the same one Lestat used every
time
he visited the castle, yet something about it all seemed very sinister now.
He rubbed his arm absently, noticing that it was healed and nodded. "Thank
you, Monsieur, for caring for me and treating my wound."
"You are most welcome, but please, the time for formalities is long since
_past. You know my name, Lestat, so please use it instead. It's been a long
time since I thought of myself as Monsieur. I'm not sure I'm prepared for such
a
formality as of yet."
Lestat nodded. "Louis, then. Thank you, Louis. I... I just don't understand
what has happened here and I'm sorry but this is just too confusing. The last
thing on my mind now is formality."
Louis chuckled a little, a low sound that, Lestat suspected, few people ever
heard. "Very well. I will explain all in time. But first, rest a little and
take some nourishment." The thought of food for some strange reason made
Lestat's stomach turn, he was desperately thirsty but, strangely enough not at
all hungry; but Louis continued as though he'd expected such a thing. "I'll
bring up something for you to drink."
Whatever the thick red liquid was he brought, it tasted like nothing Lestat
had ever before drunk and, after finishing a bottle of the tasty drink, he
fell again into a deeply troubled sleep.
_ (http://www.geocities.com/ldpdl_and_ldl/BCC/BCC17.html)
