Foster Fledgling
Chapter Five
Louis turned on his computer, and again checked his email. There were a few more messages from the rest of the coven, but again, nothing from Lestat. With a sigh, he turned his attention to his business affairs. He had several mortal agents, all of whom required lengthy instructions, authorizations, and signed, faxed replies. It took some time, and periodically, he would hear a door open somewhere, followed by an enthusiastic exclamation, or a gasp, or, most commonly,
"Oh, wow! Cool!" He heard François coaxing Mojo to run up the stairs, which the dog obligingly did, and then heard the distinct sound of a rubber ball bouncing along the hallway, closely followed by the thud-thud-thud of large German Shepherd paws running on the carpet, and the quieter plop-plop of boot-clad feet following. Oh, well, he thought, there's nothing breakable out there which couldn't be replaced.
He finished his business matters, and had just begun to place his nightly wagers on various sporting events, when François returned to the bedroom.
"This is such a cool place," he told Louis. "I've never seen anything like it!"
"Thank you," Louis bowed slightly. "I'm glad you like it. Now, what?" He gestured around the room. "Anything you want to do, feel free."
"Can I watch TV?" François walked over to the huge screen. "I bet this is great for movies, hush?"
"Yes, it is," Louis said. He opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out the remote control, tossing it to François. "Here, you may watch whatever you like. The VCR and DVD are there, as well, if you want to watch a film."
François caught the large remote, and immediately turned on the set, flipping from channel to channel. Louis turned back to his computer, satisfied that François was occupied for the time. He would finish up with his bets, and then perhaps they could enjoy a film together. It had been weeks since Louis had felt inclined to watch anything, since he and Lestat had fought. It would be pleasant for a change to watch a film with someone so delighted with anything new. Lestat tended to be highly critical of Louis's choice of material, and oftentimes Louis found it easier to just avoid the issue entirely.
Louis placed the last of his bets, and pulled up his email. There were a few more messages from the rest of the coven, and although he knew that it was unlikely that anyone had seen Lestat since he'd last checked, he still was greatly disappointed that there was no news. Trying not to think about flights into the sun, or awakened goddesses, or body thieves, or any other impossibly dangerous, life-threatening stunts that could be taking place even as he typed, Louis began to answer the rest of the messages he'd received that night.
Not surprisingly, Armand had sent him yet another host of new sites to explore. Louis noted the addresses in a small note book, and sent his thanks. He also sent Daniel a few scores he'd heard, as well as his accounting of how much he owed Daniel, and how much Daniel now owed him, to add to the running tab which neither of them ever really expected to settle.
There was a message from Jessica, inquiring if and when Louis would be having a baby shower. Louis had no idea what she meant by this, and it puzzled him for a moment; it was only after checking his dictionary of American slang that Louis understood the implied joke. He quickly fired back a suitably silly response, sending his regrets and citing post-partum depression as the excuse. He sometimes wondered about Jessica's sense of humor.
Louis sent brief replies to everyone, again thanking them for their courtesy and kindness in welcoming François, as well as for their continued search for Lestat. As he worked his way through the list, he was very surprised to find a lengthy message from Marius. Marius, while embracing any and all new technology, rarely wrote at length; he had many mortal contacts online, and it took hours of labor just to keep up with the correspondence, so his messages tended to be brief and to the point. This was different. This post went on for pages.
He overwhelmingly approved of Louis's decision to care for François. He poured forth page after page of encouragement, praising Louis for his efforts, offering advice, giving instructions from his own experiences with his many fledglings. Louis was reminded of nothing so much as a doting mortal grandmother, obsessing over a first grandchild. The image of Marius, with his formal, gentlemanly demeanor, fussing over François as a mortal might coo over an infant, was just too hilarious. Louis chuckled, and then laughed aloud; the more he thought on it, the funnier it became. He laughed even more, and soon was overcome by a laughing fit worthy of Lestat.
"What's so funny?" François inquired.
"Oh, p'tit," Louis said, once he'd caught his breath again. "I can't explain it to you now. You wouldn't understand if I tried. Someday, I will explain it all, never worry." He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, despite his previous admonition to François. He tried to compose a response, but he was so overcome with mirth that he could not make his fingers cooperate to type. For that matter, he couldn't stop holding his aching sides long enough to raise his hands to the keyboard. Finally, he managed to shut down the system, putting off answering Marius and the rest until the next night.
He joined François, who was sprawled on the bed, head on his arms, watching the huge television. "Give me some room," Louis said, giving François a gentle shove. The boy flashed him a grin, and obligingly moved over to one side. Louis dropped down beside him, mimicking his position, which was surprisingly more comfortable than it appeared. "What are we watching?" he asked.
"It's the end of a race, the repeat broadcast I think," François replied. "It has to be, it's daylight there."
"Oh, yes, I had a bet on this with Daniel," Louis said, nodding. "I believe I won, too."
"Well, don't tell me who wins it, okay?" François said.
"Of course not," Louis responded. "That would take all the fun out of it."
François flashed him a grin, and went back to following the race. Louis reached out and ruffled his hair, and then also turned his attention to the giant television screen. A few minutes later, after a fairly horrendous crash, Louis, concerned that it might be too intense, looked over to see François's reaction. He was astounded. François lay perfectly still, unblinking, only the infinitesimal rise and fall of his back indicating that he even breathed. It came as a shock to realize, perhaps for the first time, that this child was indeed one of them, for only a vampire could remain so eerily still. Intellectually, of course, Louis had known it to be true, but it was equally saddening and startling to be faced with the irrevocable fact that this sweet-natured, loving, innocent child was a cold-blooded killer.
Louis wanted nothing so much as to reach out, pull François into his arms, and hold him so tightly that nothing and no one could ever touch him, no evil would corrupt the otherwise ordinary boy that he was. Then and there, he vowed to himself and to whatever God that might be listening, to do all in his power to protect François, to prevent his transformation into a heartless, uncaring monster. He would defy anyone, do anything, even - yes, he vowed, he would even go so far as to give his own life to ensure that François would remain as humane - and as human - as possible.
Right now, though, this cold-blooded killer lay beside him, little different from any other fifteen-year-old boy, eyes glued to the television screen, utterly lost in the spectacle of a few dozen cars tearing around a track even as Louis was lost in gazing at his unmoving form. Fortunately, François did not notice this affectionate surveillance. There were only a few laps left of the race, and when it was finished, François rolled over onto his back, stretching. His sudden movement startled Louis, as if a statue had suddenly come to vibrant life. François tossed him a curious look, and then sat up, picking up the remote and channel surfing once more. He had run through the gamut of channels four times, when Louis, too, sat up.
"Why don't we watch a film?" he suggested, rising and crossing the room to the video shelves. He quickly perused the titles, searching for something that he thought might be appealing. He immediately disregarded the art films and foreign films that he and Armand enjoyed, figuring that François would probably not be terribly interested in heavy, existential symbolism. Still, despite Lestat's constant accusations to the contrary, Louis did possess other, more mainstream films. He located a few of these, and carried the stack over to the bed.
"Here you are," he said, spreading them out before François. "Let's see what we have here. 'Time Bandits,' that is Armand's favorite, it is extremely funny, although it is dark humor . . . 'Dances With Wolves,' this is so beautiful, such a good story." François looked at the backs of these, and then set them aside. Louis went on, pointing at each box. "Oh, here's one you might like, 'Jurassic Park,' the special effects are amazing."
"Oh, yeah, I saw that one," François said, putting it aside. "It was so cool, when the T-Rex ate that one guy!"
"I enjoyed that part, too," Louis confided. "I thought he deserved it. He was such an arrogant idiot." François laughed. "Now, here's one you might enjoy, it's a musical, 'Singin' In the Rain.' Do you like musicals?"
François picked up the box. "I think I saw this on TV once," he commented. "Yeah, I like music."
Louis handed him another tape. "Have you ever seen this? It's called 'Scrooge,' it's based on a book called 'A Christmas Carol.'"
"Oh, yeah," François nodded. "That's on every year at Christmas. That's the one with the three ghosts, right?"
Louis nodded. "Yes, it's by Charles Dickens. He's one of my favorite authors."
"I thought Anne Rice was your favorite author," François said, a little too innocently, his eyes as large as saucers.
"François!" Louis said, as sternly as he could manage while keeping a straight face. "You must never say that name in my presence!" He glared at François for a moment, until he could bear it no more, and his face melted into a laugh. "Coquin!" he said, ruffling François's hair. "Just for that, you'll have to settle for what I want to see." He took back the tape he'd just handed over. "I think 'Scrooge' tonight. If you get frightened by the ghosts, it will just serve you right." He walked over to the VCR, and inserted the tape. "Anne Rice, indeed," he said, dropping down onto the bed beside François.
The movie began, and Louis fast-forwarded through the legal warnings and the inexplicably long title introduction, explaining to François, "It just gets tedious after the first ten minutes." Finally, the film proper began, and Louis was pleased to hear François singing along with the musical numbers. He soon joined in himself, thoroughly enjoying the sound of their two voices together.
For the rest of the movie, then, they sang along, with an enthusiasm that increased with each musical number. François especially enjoyed the humorous scenes, filling the room with his light laughter. Louis thought that it was perhaps the most pleasant sound he'd heard in decades, the sound of uninhibited joy. Oh, there was laughter in this house, certainly, but most often it was one of Lestat's laughing fits, and it was never this gentle, youthful chuckle.
François also plied Louis with questions.
"Louis, did people really wear clothes like that?"
"Yes, François, every day. Of course, not everyone was dressed like Bob Cratchit, he is very poor, you understand."
"Did people really have big parties like that? With, like turkeys and pies and stuff? Why didn't they eat chips or stuff like that?"
"There weren't such things in those days, François," Louis laughed. "Your guests had to eat something, it was unspeakably rude to expect them to go hungry. There were rules of good hospitality. You provided the very best you could, so your guests would know how much you valued their friendship."
"Did people really dance like that?" François pointed to the screen; it was Old Fezziwig's party. "It looks like a cross between a fais-do-do and the Rex Ball!"
Louis thought about this a moment, and had to laugh. It was a fairly accurate description. "Perhaps not exactly like that," he admitted, "but there were large dances, yes."
"Did you do dances like that?"
"Yes, something like that," Louis nodded. "There were many, many dances then. A gentleman learned how to dance the same as he learned how to ride. It was simply a necessary part of his education."
"How did ladies sit in those huge dresses?" François demanded. "Wouldn't the dress fly up so you could see their underwear?"
"François!" Louis laughed. "Well, it did occasionally happen, yes. But there were ways to fold their skirts, as I recall. Although," he whispered, raising an eyebrow, "sometimes you would see a lady's ankle as she stepped into a carriage. That was very exciting, and very risqué."
"Her ankle?" François was incredulous. "So what? What's the big deal with ankles?" He shook his head. "It isn't like it was her tits or something."
"François!" Louis reached over, and tapped a finger on his lips. "You mustn't say words like that, it is very rude."
"Sorry," François said, blushing slightly. "I mean, breasts. Is that okay?"
"It's better," Louis smiled. "But to get back to your point, you must realize one simply did not see any part of a lady's lower limbs, except her shoes. It was just - " he paused, searching for the word. "It was just the way things were."
"Okay," François seemed satisfied by this explanation. He pointed to the screen again. "Why don't the kids wear jeans?"
"There weren't such things yet. Jeans didn't come along until modern times, oh, let me think, the twenties, I believe. Children dressed very much like adults, and wore what their parents could afford."
"Did everybody wear hats all the time?" François reached up and scratched his head absently.
"Yes, most of the time. I never liked hats very well," Louis confided. "Only if it was very cold, then I would wear one."
"Why don't they have long hair like you do?"
"Yes, unfortunately," Louis sighed. "Illness showed very little discretion, and most families lost several children. My own family lost four infants before we even came to Louisiana."
The questions continued for some time; François seemed bursting with curiosity. Louis tried to keep up, answering as completely and accurately as he could, forcing himself to remember details of what had been for him ordinary life. It was appealing, this desire to know, yet it was exhausting to answer so many questions in rapid succession.
Louis enjoyed it immensely.
At one point, the questions abruptly ceased, and François was strangely silent. Louis looked over to see that the boy was biting his lower lip, tears welling up in his eyes, trying desperately not to cry. Quickly, Louis looked back to the film; was it the scene of Tiny Tim's death? Surprisingly, that was past. This was, instead, the scene after the last of the spirits has left, and Scrooge finds himself confronted by the chain his inhumanity had forged. It was the scene, often edited out of the film, wherein Scrooge sees his personal Hell.
"François," Louis said, putting an arm across his shoulders. "What is it? Why do you weep?"
François looked up, his eyes filled with terror and dread.
"Louis, I've killed people. I'm a murderer, a killer, I've committed the worst mortal sin there is.
"Louis, am I going to go to Hell?"
Foster Fledgling - Chapter Six
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