Foster Fledgling
Chapter Eighteen
Lestat did not look up as Marius sat beside him. Someone had provided a pillow for him to rest his head; most likely, this had been the ever-considerate Louis. Marius picked up the book Louis had been reading.
"Hmm. The Prisoner of Zenda. How appropriately melodramatic." He smiled, placing the book on a small table, and then turned his attention to Lestat. "How are you this evening, Brat?"
Lestat spared him the briefest accusatory glance, and sighed.
"Oh, that's how it is, is it?" Lestat made no reply. Marius frowned, and made up his mind; traumatized or not, a brat was a brat, and he knew how to deal with such behavior. "I suggest you stop this catatonic act, it's only serving to upset Louis, you know. You're not fooling me for a minute, I know you can hear me, Lestat. I also know that you are fully capable of speaking."
Still no response. This gave him pause; if Lestat had not responded to such a direct challenge, he was truly in distress. Still, there was always hope. Marius was resolved to do everything in his power to bring Lestat back to his senses. A plan formulated in his mind, but he must work fast. Louis would be returning soon, and after his performance the previous night, Marius had no doubts that he would make a strong protest. He had no desire to further upset the sensitive young man: after all, his intentions were noble, motivated by love, and besides, Marius truly was fond of him.
"Well, have it your own way. I only came down here to keep you company. If you cannot show the least amount of courtesy, I'll just leave you here alone." He rose to leave.
"You told Louis you'd stay." The voice was hoarse and weak, barely audible, but petulant, nonetheless. Pure Lestat.
"I wondered if you were still there," Marius smiled, relieved; this was a good sign, a very encouraging sign. Perhaps he was not too far gone.
"Just barely, no thanks to you."
"You sound much more yourself tonight." Marius sat down again, arranging his long legs carefully. "It's good to hear."
"Oh, good," Lestat said, brightly. "Then you can let me out of here."
"No, Lestat, not yet." He shook his head, and smiled gently.
"You have no right to keep me here like this," Lestat said, struggling against the chains.
Marius reached over and put his hands to Lestat's shoulders, stilling him. "I'm sorry, truly I am. But, it's for your own good, you must realize that."
"Hah."
"You'll thank us later."
"You know, that's exactly what my father used to say to me." Lestat gave him a smile, but it was entirely devoid of mirth. "He'd always say that, just before he or my brothers would beat the living daylights out of me."
"This is hardly the same thing," Marius replied dryly.
"It is to me," Lestat retorted. "I have done nothing, nothing to deserve this!" A tear rolled down his cheek to splash onto the floor.
"You are not being punished." Marius brushed the blond mop away from Lestat's face, and let his hand linger, soothingly.
"My God, it's because of Armand, isn't it?" Lestat turned his face up to Marius, his eyes wide and brimming over with tears. "I know you blame me for his death, and you're right. It was my fault, I know that."
"No, Lestat," Marius brushed the tears from his face. "I can't blame you for his death, he's not dead. You only imagined it. Amadeo - Armand, is perfectly fine. I saw him only this evening."
"Don't lie to me," Lestat shook his head, weeping in full force now. "I know how you loved him, I know what he meant to you, and now he's gone. I know what it is to lose a fledgling. You don't have to pretend for my benefit."
"I am not lying to you, Lestat." Marius bent to look directly into his eyes. "I give you my word, as the son of a Roman senator, as someone who loves you more dearly than words can speak - No, better, I give you my word as his maker, I swear to you that Armand is alive and well."
"But - but, I saw him! I saw him go out to the steps of the cathedral, to meet the dawn." Lestat nodded firmly. "I saw him burst into flames."
"Now, how could you see that?" Marius asked, putting his arms around the sobbing young man, and pulling him into a semi-upright position. "Think about it logically. If you had been there to see him burst into flames, that means that you also would have faced the sun. Since you are not even singed, you obviously were not exposed to the sun. Therefore, you did not see it." Marius felt rather proud of himself; it was a handy piece of deductive reasoning, and Lestat did seem to be thinking it over, at least.
"I - I don't actually remember seeing it," Lestat admitted, after a long moment. "No, I never saw it. I never saw either of them do it, not Armand, and not Mael."
"Mael?" Marius asked, surprised to hear the name of his old acquaintance. He suspected that for whatever reason, Lestat had hallucinated Armand's death as some manner of revenge; gods knew, everyone in the coven was purely sick of hearing Lestat whine about that damned shove off the tower a century ago. But Mael? Lestat barely knew Mael, and to the best of Marius's knowledge, the Druid had not even been in the country for several years, not since the fiasco with Akasha. For that matter, even if he had, it was doubtful that Mael had done anything to incur Lestat's wrath to such an extent that his chemically altered psyche felt compelled to destroy him. "You thought he immolated himself as well?"
"Yes, the morning after Armand did." Lestat looked to him hopefully. "Is - Is Mael still alive, too?"
"What? Oh, yes, of course he is." It would have been extremely funny, had not Lestat been so devastated by it; Marius had to make a concerted effort not to smile. He resolved to pay a visit to Mael as soon as Lestat was himself again.
"So, I didn't kill them?" Lestat sighed, and Marius thought he saw a hint of the old spark in his eyes.
"No, you didn't kill them, and they did not kill themselves. There was no great religious movement given new life, no miracle to inspire the faithful. You are, well, innocent of any of that."
"I see." Lestat was quiet for a moment, his tears finally ceasing to roll down his face, the sobs relinquishing their grip upon him.
"Good. I'm glad you can see reason, now." Marius breathed a sigh of relief.
"So, if I have indeed done nothing wrong," Lestat's eyes narrowed, the accusatory glint returning. "Then pray, why am I trussed up like something out of a butcher's window?"
"I told you, it was for your own good," Marius repeated. "You would have harmed yourself or someone else. You were out of control. Don't you remember what happened last night?"
"I remember talking to Gabrielle," Lestat said, sniffing quietly. "And Louis, I remember Louis."
"I see," Marius continued to stroke Lestat's hair, but looked away thoughtfully. "You don't remember a boy?"
"What? A boy?" Lestat stared off into the middle distance. For an instant, there was a tiny spark of recognition, but it immediately faded. He shook his head. "No, I don't remember any boy, just David, and you, and that bitch Maharet." His eyes flamed with anger, and he looked nearly himself again. But, it was gone in a moment, replaced by the haunted, confused fear of the past two nights. "Marius, please, if you love me, get me out of here. I just want to go home. I want to go home with Louis, to my house."
"You must stay here, Lestat," Marius said softly. "Just a little while, only until you are yourself again."
"But I am myself!" Lestat struggled against the chains again. "I am me, I'm the vampire Lestat!"
"You know what I meant," Marius smiled. Madness or no, Lestat was still the most damnable creature. "You will be released when you are no longer . . . ill."
"You all think I'm mad, don't you?" he accused. "You think I made it up, all of it. I can accept that maybe they didn't kill themselves, if you say Armand is alive, you wouldn't lie about that. But, the rest, it was real."
"No, Lestat, it was not what you think."
"You don't believe me, you don't believe that I saw . . . what I saw."
"I believe you had visions," Marius said, carefully choosing his words. "I believe that you saw and did something, but it was not what you perceived it to be. I don't think you're lying, no one thinks that. No one doubts your sincerity, only . . . the accuracy of your perception of what actually happened."
"Then let me go," Lestat pleaded. "Let me show you the proof. I have proof, Marius, I have proof!" He turned his eyes toward the table. "Up there. You see it? The Veil, I have the Veil of Veronica."
"Ah, yes, the Veil," Marius obligingly gathered up the bit of stained cloth. "Lestat, I know that you believe this is a holy relic, but I am afraid you are mistaken."
"I saw it, Marius," Lestat protested. "I saw it when she wiped His Face, I used it myself, I helped her."
"You used it to wipe blood off a face, that much I do believe," Marius unfolded the cloth square, and held it out to examine it. There was no face, no miraculous image; it was merely a bloodied handkerchief, of exceptionally fine quality, of course, and with the letters LdL embroidered in red silk. "You see? Please, look closely, Lestat."
Lestat peered at the cloth as Marius held it up. "That isn't it, Marius." He scowled. "Where is it? The one I brought back with me? What have you done with it?"
"This is it, Lestat," Marius said firmly. "This is your handkerchief, the one you had with you last night. See?" He pointed out the monogram. "I would not try to deceive you."
"It's gone," he whispered. "The Image, it's gone." He began to weep again.
"Hush," Marius folded the cloth again, and returned it to the table. "It was only a delusion, it was never truly there. You must believe me, Lestat."
"Why?" Lestat demanded. "Why should I believe you? You weren't there. You never believed, anyway. You had your Roman gods, not that you ever - "
"Religion is not the question here," Marius interjected mildly. "The point is, you were deluded. That is the same cloth you had with you, it hasn't changed. The only difference is, you can see it for what it is now."
"You mean I can't see it," Lestat said bitterly. "The Image is gone."
"You were hallucinating, Lestat," Marius said firmly. "You drank poisoned blood. It caused you to hallucinate."
"But I didn't imagine it!" Lestat protested. "You saw my clothes! You saw my eye -"
"Your eye was perfectly fine."
"Then why couldn't I see!" Lestat blinked his left eye, as if remembering its absence. "Explain that! Why couldn't I see out of it? Why couldn't I feel it?"
"It is a form of hysteria, that's all." Marius reached out to stroke Lestat's hair again, exerting the slightest suggestion to calm him.
"But, my clothes were torn, there was blood everywhere. I'm not like that, I'm neat when I hunt." There was a hint of pride in his voice.
"Your clothes were damaged, yes," Marius agreed, pushing the mental sedative a bit more. "But it was not from some time-traveling journey. It was mortal blood, from your mortal victims. And your clothes were damaged because you were, well, falling down drunk, as they say."
"I was not drunk," Lestat said, dryly. "I have fed from drunks before, many time, in fact, and one particular drunken Creole comes to mind." He smiled softly. "Ah, Louis. Louis was so . . . Where is Louis? I want to see him." He looked around the small room. "Why isn't he here?"
"He had to go hunt." Lestat's shields were down, and Marius was able to search through his jumbled, rambling thoughts. The utter chaos of the night before was still there, but it was giving way to something a bit more clear and organized. "He has other responsibilities now, too. He'll be back soon."
"I don't want to be alone," Lestat whispered. "I'm afraid he'll come back if I'm alone."
"Who will come back?" Marius made tiny adjustments, altering a memory here, clearing up a foggy one there, all the while imbuing Lestat with a sensation of calm and peace. "Louis will be back soon. Did you mean Louis?"
"No!" Lestat shook his head emphatically. "I want him to come back, I want Louis. No, I mean, him." He lowered his voice. "Memnoch. The devil. I'm afraid he'll come back, and take me back there. I don't want to go. I can't go there. I can't face them. There's too many, I can't do it."
"Back where, Lestat?" Marius asked softly, continuing to stroke his hair comfortingly. "Too many what? Face whom?"
"Back to Hell, where all my victims are," Lestat whispered. "All the people I've hurt, they're all there, waiting for me. She's there, too. I can't face them. I don't want to. I won't do it."
Marius didn't need to use his preternatural abilities to know exactly who she was. "You can't go back there, it was just a bad dream."
"It was real, Marius, it was as real as you are," Lestat protested. "I saw them, I saw so many of them. I saw Roger, he was there, and he told me."
"Roger?" Marius furrowed his brow, remembering. "Oh, yes, the drug lord? You stalked him, didn't you? You followed him for weeks, and took the little drink from him."
"Yes, that's him," Lestat nodded as much as the chains would allow. "You know about Roger?"
"Yes, Louis has told us of him. He used drugs, didn't he? And you drank from him. You killed him, too, finally, didn't you?"
"Yes, but he didn't hold it against me," Lestat said, his voice filled with wonderment. "He forgave me for killing him."
"You do remember that he had used these drugs, don't you?" Marius asked, searching through Lestat's jumbled memory for any sign of the drug lord. "You know this, that he was altered, so to speak."
"Yes," Lestat admitted. "He liked it, I think."
"You know what those chemicals can do to mortals, yes?"
"I suppose so," Lestat admitted. "But that can't harm us, surely."
"Lestat, listen carefully to me." He eased him down again on the floor, making him as comfortable as possible without removing the chains that bound him. He put his hands on either side of Lestat's face, and kissed him, gently, as a father might kiss a favorite child.
"Listen to me carefully, my child. You drank polluted blood. It had a hallucinatory effect upon your mind. You did not go to heaven or hell, you did not travel back in time to the creation of the world, nor did you go back to the age of Augustus. Remember, I lived in the East, and during that era, Lestat; I think I would have remembered hearing of another vampire in the neighborhood."
"But -"
"Quiet!" Marius used his sternest tone, much like the one his father had utilized millennia before to quell detractors in the Roman Senate. It still worked; Lestat shut his mouth without another word, a miracle in itself.
"Now, you will listen to me. You did not time travel, you did not drink from Christ; you drank from a mortal, from several mortals, right here in New Orleans, a few weeks ago. You did not travel to Judea, you were not on the Via Dolorosa, you did not see the Crucifixion. You hallucinated those things. You did not use your handkerchief to wipe the blood off the face of the Messiah, it was not transformed into a holy relic. It was merely blood, the blood of one of your victims, or your own." Marius was actually quite certain which mortal's blood it was, but this was not the time to bring up that particular detail.
"You did not bring about the deaths of Armand and Mael and whomever else you think you killed. They are both alive and well. You did not have any relic, it is just a soiled handkerchief. It did not start some revitalization of a church, it did not spur on any fanatical woman.
"For once in your life, you did not bring about some huge disaster of epic proportions."
Lestat was quiet for several minutes, gazing into space as he thought over what Marius had told him. Finally, he shook his head. "I don't know what to think anymore."
"That's understandable," Marius said, softly. "You just think on it for awhile, and you will see the sense in what I say."
He shook his head again, wearily. "I'm very tired, I don't want to think about it any more. You're confusing me."
"Very well," Marius sighed. It was a start, at least the ranting had ceased, and he had done a bit of mental housecleaning. "It's enough for now." He checked his watch. "Louis will not be back for a bit, would you like me to read to you?"
"Alright," Lestat said, his voice weak and fatigued again. "That would be a good thing. I can't think about these things now, I need the distraction."
Marius retrieved the book from the table, and opened it at the place where Louis had thoughtfully placed a silk marker. Lestat closed his eyes, and lay his head back on the pillow. Marius began to read aloud, all the while keeping a tenuous link to Lestat's mind. He had expected Lestat to succumb to the exhaustion, and fall into a mortal sleep, but although he did quiet down, and seemed to relax considerably, he remained awake. Marius continued to read to him, and several hours passed before Lestat finally closed his eyes, and slept.
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Nineteen
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