? The Nightmare Warning: Extremely violent. Disclaimer: I don't own these vampires, Anne Rice does. Spoilers: Up to QotD? Lestat opened his eyes slowly, wincing as his headache grew worse until it was pounding inside his brain. He groaned and put hands to his face, then drew his hands back. There was a wetness there that shouldn't be there. A chill passed through his spine as he watched the blood drip from his hands and fingers, staining the sheets and his clothes. He sat up and looked to his right, afraid of what he might see, but no one lay beside him. Then whose blood...? He followed the scarlet liquid off of the bed and saw it course around the door, and he stood up. The rustle of his clothing was faint but familiar, and he noticed that he was wearing his old mortal clothes, with a coat of wolf fur around his shoulders. The fur was bleeding. He shrugged it off, letting it fall into nothingness. His boots splashed through puddles of blood as he walked down the stairs and outside. And he stopped in shock. The streets ran with blood, dried and fresh, congealing and dripping, hanging in disgusting ribbons from tree branches and curling around curbs. Diseased putrescence seeped through the grass, turning the blades red like knives as they cut through the bodies of sparrows that had fallen helplessly from the sky, their wings broken. The city looked mangled beyond all recognition. If it was sharp, it was bloody. Body parts hung from windows, hung up on broken glass and metal. Lestat walked slowly through the carnage, picking his way carefully over dead mortals slung haphazardly in his path, impaled on white picket fences and strung on the electrical wires. There was a priest somehow speared on the crucifix above his church, a child crushed on the road. No, a row of children, still holding hands. Blood poured from the wounds in their imploded heads. The world was silent, save for the trickle of blood feeding into the main stream in main street. "Is there anyone out here?" he called out, wondering if everyone was dead. He closed his eyes and listened. Nothing. Nowhere. No sound anywhere, not one cricket, not one breeze. All the hearts were stopped. Just the dead girls in the school. Just the squirrel, ripped to shreds. Just the vampire a few feet away. Lestat dropped to his knees, lifting the familiar body up in his arms. The dark hair, matted with dirt and dried blood, pale skin covered in scratches, clothes torn, bones broken, face cut, throat gashed...utterly gone. "Louis, wake up! Please, wake up!" he cried, hugging the limp thing against him. Green eyes had been cut down the middle, one of them fell out of the head and disappeared into the ocean of red. A clump of hair torn from the head also dropped away. "No, don't leave me! Don't leave me, I don't want to be alone!" "But you are." Lestat looked up, holding perfectly still. He gently put the body down, losing it in the sea. He stood. His clothes were soaked. His mind was clouded. Fear. He turned around. There he was. Blonde hair turned vermillion, as vermillion as his clothes, as his fangs, his hands and face. He was blood. Except his eyes. His mocking blue eyes laughing like a screeching fool. "You are alone. Always alone with me." "You did this," Lestat accused himself. "Of course." "You enjoyed it." "Of course." "I loved him." "He was last. He put up a good fight, tearing at me with his claws, his pitiful claws and tiny fangs, pushing against me. He was weak. I cut his eyes, and tore his hair, and scratched his face. He screamed our name over and over, 'Lestat, help me, save me, Lestat, Lestat,' and then I tore his clothes away and gouged his body, broke his bones. He stopped screaming your name and just screamed. Until I tore his throat out. He cried. He whispered our name again. He died." Lestat felt rage and moved closer to the monster in front of him, but the blood moved faster. It struck him and slit his throat, pushing him into the ocean. He choked on the death swirling around him, flailing in the mire, kicking and trying to scream, but he couldn't move, he was trapped-- "Lestat!" "Lestat!" He opened his eyes slowly, wincing as his headache grew worse until it was pounding inside his brain. He groaned and put hands to his face, then drew his hands back. No blood. Just pale. He sat up, not really registering his companion, the clean sheets, the lack of bodies, and the noise, the cars, the people, the birds. "Lestat? Can you hear me?" Lestat turned his head and stared at his fledgling, barely recognizing him. "You were screaming in your sleep, you were fighting the sheets as if they were holding you. Are you all right?" No answer, except the rush of tears that spilled from his eyes. Louis put his arms around his maker and held him close, rocking him back and forth, caressing his hair. "It's all right, you're awake." "A nightmare?" Lestat whispered. "I was alone, and you were dead, everyone was dead...blood everywhere..." "It was just a nightmare," Louis insisted. "Just a nightmare. It's over now. I'm here." "I killed everyone," he continued. "I was evil, and fighting myself..." "Shh, just relax. You aren't evil." Lestat sniffled, resting his head on his fledgling's shoulder. "But I can be." Louis smiled and kissed him. "No. You are not evil." "How can you be so sure?" "Because I could never love anyone who was evil." And Louis cradled him and soothed him long into the night. The End
