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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."

Touched in Darkness
by The Brat Queen

Spoilers:for all Vampire Chronicles stories (yes, even the paperweight. Trust me, I'm just as scared about it as you are.) And for those of you who are fans of my Sins of the Past series, this spec has absolutely nothing to do with it. ;)
DEDICATED: To my lovely wife Steph for her support and help.

Immortality Awards:
Nominated for Best Post Memnoch '95-'96

He stood by the curb, his hands safely encased in soft black gloves which blocked the cold, autumn air, and watched the wind catch trails of smoke which masqueraded as steam rising from cardboard which masqueraded as a cup of coffee high above the crowds . He winced, his green eyes flashing in momentary distraction, as the megaphone from the black preacher who had claimed the center island as his own gave out another squeal of feedback in protest to the volumes it was being demanded to reach.

It was remarkable, Louis thought as he looked out into Times Square, the things which had managed to stay the same despite all that had happened. Or perhaps the true answer was because. v Or perhaps there was no true answer at all.

Louis listened for a while as the preacher cried out against those whose skin was fair.

"For what greater proof can there be of the Evil here on earth which must be gone than the FIRE on the LAND of the WHITE MAN who crucifies himself before the building of lies which he believes in!"

Spots danced before Louis' eyes. He turned his head slightly, and saw a tourist standing beside him, taking a picture of it all. She smiled at him, meeting his eyes with unnerving openness.

"Amazing, isn't it? To be here, now?"

"Yes." Louis' voice was flat, and he knew he was answering her question for reasons other than which she meant, but, as always, of late, he did not care.

"I've been twice before," she proudly opened her jacket to display the T-shirt she wore, a silk-screened replica of the cloth which shattered the world. Louis' world. His world.

The woman was still talking. "They say there aren't many left but when I was here last one did it right on the steps, just before Mass. And Ida - that's my cousin - she was here just this summer and she saw one which could have been him. Blonde hair and everything, went up in a flash, just like that!" she snapped her fingers. "Ida swears it was him." She nodded sagely, waiting for Louis to be impressed.

"It wasn't."

Anger flared in pig-like brown eyes. "And how do you know?"

"He does not exist. The Vampire Lestat is a legend. A fairy tale, no more."

He was given an indignant sniff. "Vampire?" she muttered, turning her back on him and immediately found a new set of sympathetic ears in the tourist standing beside her. "Shows what he knows. Even my kid can tell the story of how Dora was visited by an angel."

Tourist number two, Louis noted, bore a pin with the countenance of the Veil, the words "Imprint me, O Lord" written around the border.

It occurred to him to be sick.

He left before his impromptu companion could turn back to him once more.

The chill of the autumn wind left, as he made his way along the street, replaced by another chill, the tension of mortal fear. The small little half-beat faster of every human heart around him as they walked down the long corridor of darkness that hid a longside each avenue, the bright lights of storefronts obscured by buildings, and their feet making an odd pace upon the ground as they did their best to walk as normal, hiding the truth that not even city life could destroy the most primitive of fears - that of night.

He walked it without worry. Calm and distanced from it all, his feet kept a steady movement as he plunged into the heart of this tiny city death and emerged, finally, on eighth avenue. He turned his steps uptown, passing through the patches of light and dark which stretched out endlessly before him on his way to his destination.

It struck him as interesting that mortals shied away from this area at night in favor of the brighter and more garish Broadway. Broadway had more lights, oui, but no soul. It was here, on the nighttime avenue, that one could find food, and homes, and literature, and yes, the sex trade its bright cousin was infamous for. Hidden away on this long stretch of road was everything needed for sustenance, for human contact, yet no one dared search for it.

A rush of warmth distracted him. He looked up to see a young mortal enter a fast food restaurant. It was mostly empty. Just right for robbing, if one were so inclined. A trap for hunting. But Louis wanted no such catch. He had hunted well before his journey, and would not touch the blood of this city's creatures. Not anymore. Not ever again.

On impulse he slipped inside. Within moments he was outside once more, a small box of fried chicken pieces congealing in his hands, which both froze and burned at the sensations of the grease-laden box and cool air on his bare skin, the black gloves safely tucked away in a pocket for ease in counting out his money. The smell sickened him, but he held on just the same, the flimsy cardboard giving slightly under his too-tight grip.

He walked on, his eyes focused steadily on the ground, letting his vision blur at the constant pattern of concrete and asphalt, his ears deafening at the repeated swish of car tires on wet pavement, his senses dulling until he could, for a moment, almost forget where he was.

It provided him with something akin to blissful ignorance until he reached the park entrance. He looked up finally and locked his eyes on the trees before him as he waited for his stomach to return into its original position as it performed a slow and sickly turn.

Nerves. It was always so. Nerves and excitement.

He entered slowly, taking in a reverential breath, and leaving the small box of chicken on a stone near the gate as his offering. It would be eaten soon, he know. Whether by rats in rodent or human bodies did not matter to him. Just so long as it was taken. He could not rest comfortably, without giving some token of respect.

The life in the park was as it always was. Dark, hidden, pain-filled, dangerous and secretive. Louis knew that he was the most dangerous thing in there, and paid it no mind. He strolled along the paths casually, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, and listened to the night, letting himself search for the only other true creature of danger in the forested ground, his feet finding the way just as surely as they had the last time, and the time before that, and before that yet again. The way was never the same twice, but he found it all the same.

Tonight it lead him towards the deeper wooded area, where the rocks jutted out like small mountains and encased the ground in caves of shadow.

It was in one such cave that he found what he sought. A pair of grey eyes hidden in a pile of decaying rags.

"Bon soir, Lestat," he said with a smile, kneeling comfortably on the ground beside him. "Is it a good night, tonight?"

The rags moved closer to him. Louis swore he could see an answering smile in those eyes. "Oui, oui," Lestat's voice was slightly hoarse, but still recognizable. "Cold winds, changing trees. It will be deer soon."

"Should I have brought you a bow and arrow?"

Definitely a spark of a grin there. "Why would I want to play Cupid?"

"Why indeed?" Louis grinned for them both. When there was no answer, he shifted his position a little and pressed on. "How have you been?"

"Cold." There was a pause, Louis saw a flicker of light as Lestat's eyes flashed, looking around him. The rags shifted, moving as Lestat leaned forward to whisper, his voice urgent. "They've been watching."

Louis' eyes closed for a moment, then he nodded. "I know," he said, his voice soft.

There was movement in the rags as though Lestat's head bobbed slowly. A branch moved out from the dark grey tree of his body, gesturing as he spoke, his voice so soft it was as though Louis listened to wind. "They come. I hear them. They search by day, trying to find me. They send victims for me. Every day I can hear that pounding." The branch moved inward to lightly beat against his chest. "The sick sound of their hearts. She teaches them that. Teaches them to make me want them. She wants me to come back."

"She wants you to die," Louis said. "On the Church steps, like the others."

Another bobbing movement. "She comes herself to tell me that. She holds vigils for me, right here - " he gestured around them, indicating the park " - making them all pray to God for me to come out into the light. All of them, thousands, thousands of beating hearts."

Louis felt suddenly cold. "Do you listen?"

"No! I won't. I go away."

"Away?"

"Inside. I make music so loud I can't hear them."

"Inside?"

"Inside."

Louis looked down at the ground for a moment, taking that in. Quietly, with hope, he asked "Has Memnoch returned?"

A derisive snort. "She wishes. And he doesn't dare. Not since last time."

Last time, when Memnoch had stood upon the Church steps and cried out for Lestat to kill himself. Lestat had retaliated by running a knife through the Devil's gut.

That event, Maharet had told him, had never happened.

" - There hasn't been a word from him. - "

No one saw it, Louis.

" - He was completely destroyed - "

Not the mortals, not even one of us.

" - I remember the hot blood all over me - "

Only Lestat saw it.

" - Christ in me, the Devil on me - "

Lestat sees things that aren't there, Louis.

" - And only I am strong enough to stay here on earth."

Time takes its toll on us all, Louis. And he's had more time than most.

Louis continued to stare down at the ground. His voice was soft, an unconscious echo of Lestat's. "She wants you dead."

"For the Church, I know. The last sinner to go in a world of sick."

No, Louis wanted to say. Maharet does. And Gabrielle and Marius and David who I nearly killed and everyone else in the entire coven. And they want me to do it.

You're the only one he lets see him anymore, Louis.

Go to Hell!

"Louis?" Lestat had moved forward to look at him. Louis could see the worry in his eyes. "Beautiful one, are you alright?"

Louis shuddered, feeling the words rip through his grief. He began to sob. "I won't let them take you," he whispered through the tears that fell to his lips. "I can't."

Louis felt a hand cover his. "I know, Louis. You are all I have left. I know."

No, Lestat, you are all I have left. You are the only one who saw it all, the only one who truly knows. Lestat, please... save my soul.

Louis looked up, reaching to lightly touch Lestat's cheek through all the rags. He gave his former lover a small smile. "I didn't drink from anyone here. I never would, you know."

He could feel the muscles shifting in Lestat's face as he smiled. "Good. They can't take you too."

Louis pressed his hand in more, letting his wrist move closer to Lestat's mouth. His voice was soft, only slightly trembling as he spoke. "But I did feed." Softer. "More than enough for two."

Louis could feel Lestat's body shudder. "Ah God, Louis.... Thank you." Louis swore he could see a hint of a smile through all those rags. "How you take care of me, beautiful one. I knew you always would."

It was Louis' turn to smile as he moved forward, his wrist seeking Lestat's fangs. "We take care of each other, don't we?"

"Oui, Louis. We do." The bony hands wrapped around Louis' arm, moving his sleeve up higher to expose the vein.

Quietly, softly, he asked. "We are together forever, Lestat? You would take me into Heaven with you?"

The grey eyes looked up, filled with gratitude and love. "Of course, Louis. I would never leave you again."

Louis nodded, tensing slightly as the fangs finally found their mark, then nearly falling into Lestat's arms as the rush of pleasure swam over him, clouding his mind with visions only Lestat could ever see. And I, Lestat, would never let you go.