Disembodied Malevolence
By Kabuki
November 2000
[EMAIL PROTECTED]
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
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