Home / Fan Fiction / V(cough) C(cough) fic / Stand Alone Stories / Song of Darkness, Book One: Star Bright, Chapter One

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are all non-profit, amateur efforts not intended to infringe on the rights of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, David Geffen, Warner Brothers, Geffen Pictures, Knopf, Randomhouse, the city of New Orleans, the U.S. Constitution, any copyright holders that I might not have thought of or even a certain author who shall remain nameless but who has a set of initials which are, coincidentally enough, just one letter off from spelling "B.S."

Song of Darkness, Book One: Star Bright, Chapter One
by The Brat Queen

This story is the sequel to my spec, Touched in Darkness. It also includes spoilers for Memnoch the Devil.

Special thanks to: Michel Pontmercy, Stephanie Buday and Diane.
Dedicated to: The one thing that keeps us all from being there but for the grace of God.

Never get angry at the stupid people,
though I go crazy at the dullness of my life.
Sit and stare into a dusty window,
an empty face stares back at me and cries.

My vulnerability rushes up to me
and I am left here,
the rebel without a cause, and the deeper I delve into
the consciousness of me with you,
the harder it gets. I need to close my eyes.
What hurts me most, I'll never see your eyes again.

Though I get weary, doesn't mean that I'm unwilling.
My body belies me, I'm of fertile mind.
And as I grow older, the world forgets me,
and talks to me as if I'm some kind of child.

Their insensitivity washes over me
till I'm left here
the rebel without a cause. The deeper I delve into
the consciousness of me and you,
the harder it gets. I need to close my eyes.
What hurts me most, I'll never see your eyes again.
The harder it gets. I need to close my eyes.
I can't recollect, I'll never see your eyes again.
I try to forget, I'll never see your eyes again.
What hurts me most, I'll never see your eyes again.

Don't...touch...me

--Erasure, Piano Song

New Year's Eve, 1999.

God I love cliches.

Imagine, if you will, the setting: St. Patrick's Cathedral, New Year's Eve Mass, thousands of the faithful gathered to celebrate the new era, cameras panning their electric eyes over it all, the image broadcast to thousands upon millions of eyes all over the world, crowds gathered outside hoping for a glimpse of it all, our dear Dora on the alter...

And me.

And a few hundred of my own close, dear friends.

Can't you just taste the excitement?

Couldn't you just die?

Oh, I'm sure you could. But I get ahead of myself.

I entered slowly, from the back of course. Directly across from that grand golden alter where our dear priestess stands. The crowd made no fuss in parting for me, I was just another face in the crowd.

Well, for now.

I smiled, standing where I was for a moment, resting my hand on the last pew, feeling the bronze numbers of it under my fingertips, watching the proceedings, taking it all in for just a moment before I struck.

This was a very solemn occasion, you see. The Veil was out. Time to make another imprinting, after all. A grand symbol for the new year. Something for everyone to watch and be mystified over. Not like those old imprintings. Those were... well... just so common, what with everyone having a chance at it and all. Couldn't have that now, could we? Oh no. The Veil was a miracle, and had to be treated with respect.

Which means that the rest of us have to keep our grubby hands off of it.

I wondered, idylly, if the Veil would leave an imprint on the very dirt of one's hand.

But then I dismissed it. I had more important fish to fry.

If you were sitting in the audience that night - and my humble apologies if you were - you might have noticed a subtle change ripple through the crowd. You might have noticed a dashingly handsome creature step forward from the rear, taking his time as he made his way up to the alter. You might have noticed the black leather that he wore. Or the yellow blond of his hair. Or that he looked just like that stained glass window of a flaming vampire Dora had put up above the alter two years back.

Or you might have noticed the man standing beside you in the aisle, holding a gun to your head.

I can't blame you. I might have noticed him too.

Life's a funny thing.

Dora, though, had my interest. And I sure as Hell had hers.

She stepped back from the alter, her eyes widening just a bit, almost - almost - dropping the Veil onto the floor as she saw me. Her hand rose up to her chest, clutching the white robe that she wore in what was, I thought, a damned good imitation of a Southern Belle. She took her eyes off of me for a moment, looking out at all of the cameras quietly taking in this snafu of her plans, before squaring her shoulders just a bit and looking towards me once more.

"Lestat?"

I couldn't resist. I lifted my arms up in greeting. "Honey, I'm home."

"What are you doing here?"

The serious approach, how dull. Well, nothing to do but make the best of it. Fortunately I had a speech prepared.

"I have come -" I turned to flash the crowd my best smile before locking my eyes back on Dora's "- to seek my Eternal Glory."

It sounded sensible to me. She, however, had questions.

"What do you mean?"

I stepped forward even more, the distance between us now almost intimate, though there were perhaps 20 feet between us still. "I've had a vision. A dream, if you will."

"Of your Eternal Glory?"

"No. Of Life. And Heaven, and Hell, and what makes us the very creatures that we are." I tapped my chest for emphasis. "Dora, I have seen this."

She stepped forward, her hand starting to reach for me, the crowd forgotten in my passion. She remembered, I knew. Remembered what I had been like after those three days. She saw it again, in my eyes.

Which is what I had hoped.

"You have had another visit, Lestat? From them?" She reached even more for me. I stepped into this touch, my cold hands taking hers, squeezing them gently, earnestly.

"I have visited, Dora. I have traveled to places...." I shook my head, stumbling a little.

"Lestat!" she caught me, supporting me. I smiled, meeting her eyes. She smiled back, the curves only just touching her lips. She drew me towards the alter to let me rest my weight there. "Can you tell me about it?"

I reached for her hand as she stepped back, holding it tight. My voice was soft, hoarse as I whispered. "I need your help, Dora. As I needed it before. I need... I can't do this, if you will not help me."

She nodded at once, visions of godliness dancing in her head. "Of course, Lestat, of course. What do you need? Tell me?"

I moved closer, lowering my voice even still, the sound of me touching her ears alone. "Blood, Dora. I need your blood. I... cannot trust the others...." I looked up, meeting her eyes again. "But your blood, Dora... if you could make your blood flow for me. Please."

She stepped back a little, her eyes flickering a bit, though her hand started towards her neck all the same. "Lestat, I don't - I mean, I'm not -"

I took her hand again, pulling her back, holding up her hand so that she could see her manicured nails gleaming in the light. "But you could."

She flexed her fingers, watching them. Again her hand moved forward, and again it stopped. "They'll only scratch."

"Then use a knife." The blade was before her at once, the light from it now dancing into her eyes. I drew her attention to me once more. "Please."

She nodded, finally, reaching for the blade. Her head fell back as she drew the edge along her neck, giving only a soft cry as her skin was split, redness starting to drip down her virgin white robe.

I took her into my arms at once, pressing her back against the alter, standing before her, embracing her as I had so many before. "That's it," I whispered, my lips just touching her ear. "Exactly. Let your blood flow for me, just like it did when I last held you. Do you remember that?"

She nodded, her head resting against my shoulder, her body becoming limp in my touch.

"Do you remember where I drank from you, beloved? Do you?"

Another nod, her hand reaching between us to press between her legs, the knife itself pointing to the spot my lips had touched.

"Oui, that's it. That's it exactly. And do you know what I would like, Dora?"

"No," her voice was soft, but I could hear it.

I smiled at her, showing my pride in her efforts. "I'd like to take blood from there again, please."

She frowned, confusion marring her face as she looked at me. "But I'm not -"

A quick twist of my hand rammed the knife inside of her.

I smiled again, brightly. "Now you are."

Her lips formed a perfect O as she looked at me, her body unable to comprehend the shock. I lifted her gently onto the alter, letting her take the weight from her feet as she sat. I spent a moment fussing with her robe, trying to make it better as I began to adjust my own clothing.

"W-why?" the stamina of her voice was positively astounding.

"Because I wanted to. And because I like to think everyone is deserving of a nice death. Not everyone gets it, you know." I pulled the knife out, laying it on the floor as I finished my adjustments, finally moving towards her and placing myself where the knife had been, feeling no pleasure from the touch as Gretchen had given, but finding an intellectual curiosity in feeling my cock surrounded by all this blood. I smiled down at her, pressing her into the now soaked tablecloth. "Isn't this nice?"

I'm not sure if it was meant to be words, but what came out of her mouth was an inhuman growl. She shoved against me, but of course it was of really no use.

"You should be honored, you know. You're the first. You may even go down in history for this."

That earned me a shriek.

Annoyed by this rudeness, I snapped her neck. She lay there, blinking, watching me as I pulled away, her heart continuing to pump red, hot blood out of her.

I'm still convinced it must be the worst kind of death to be fully conscious of it all. She was a bit unable to show much emotion, but I'm pretty sure Dora agreed.

Finished with it all, I turned my back on her. I paused a moment to take a look at myself, shaking my head over the mess I'd become. I picked up the Veil from the alter, marveling at its cleanliness as I used it to wipe Dora's blood off of me, taking particular care before I zipped myself up again.

Finally, I looked out onto the crowd, held immobile still by my power over it all, though of course there were police pounding at the Church doors, my small army the only thing keeping them out.

Somewhere in the distance, Times Square, I'm most sure, the clock struck midnight.

I grinned, looking out onto the satellite cameras which had broadcast my every move.

It was going to be one hell of a year.