One of our reporters is missing

by Angstosaur

Summary:

It is 1986. Louis sees a TV news broadcast while waiting for a connecting flight.

He buys a ticket to Melbourne, intent on asking Lestat what the hell he thinks he's up to pretending to be a news reporter.

Meanwhile, Dale Jennings has no idea what's about to come hurtling through his front door in the middle of the night.

Please note - this story was written and completed before S2 of IWTV aired, so the timeline from The Vampire Chronicles was used and not the new timeline established in the show. [I realise this would be confusing otherwise to anyone starting to read the fic since S2 was shown].

PS - new chapter 24 is the first chapter of the sequel, now being posted, Once Bitten, Twice Shy - Dale and Tim go investigating with Daniel Molloy.

Chapter 1

 

 

It was the hammering at his door that woke him up. He fumbled on the nightstand for the alarm clock and peered at the luminous digits to work out the time. It was only 3:30 in the morning and he wasn’t due at work until 5:00 that day.

The noise had stopped and he was grateful – perhaps the idiot in the flat above had been locked out by his wife again and ended up on his doorstep again, having lost count of how many flights of stairs he had staggered up. He pulled the bedcovers over his head and hoped he’d be able to get back to sleep again.

He’d barely had the chance to close his eyes when an almighty crashing sound resonated through his apartment. Leaping out of bed, he fumbled under the bed for the cricket bat he kept there in case of burglaries. Hair mussed and sleep shorts rucked up, he swallowed down the fear rising in his throat. Should he call the police first? Or try to scare off the intruder by himself? If he made a phone call, the burglar would hear him. No choice. He gripped hold of the bat and resolved to be brave. He’d survived a bomb explosion after all. He could do this. Either way, the phone was in the other room, so he couldn’t stay put.

Slowly opening his bedroom door, any further decisions were snatched from him as he was swept off his feet and slammed against the wall. The cricket bat fell from his hands. It was too dark to see what was happening. His thoughts went blank.

“What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?” growled an unfamiliar voice. A deep, rich voice.

Swirling dots before his eyes obscured the features of the man. But he felt something sharp on his throat.

Was it a knife? Oh shit!

Oh my God, I’m going to die. What am I going to tell Helen? Oh shit!

He started to kick out at the guy at his throat, and was relieved when whatever was biting into his neck was moved away.

“What? You made her a vampire? Can’t you control your fuckin’ self?” snarled his captor, his head snapping up. His eyes seemed to gleam greenly in the dim light from the nightlight in the hallway. “What the hell is wrong wit’ you, Lestat?”

He held up his hands in an effort to pacify the intruder.

“Um … I think you’ve got the wrong flat. There’s no Lestat living here. My name is Dale…um, Dale Jennings.”

“Stop fuckin’ with me, Lestat. You can drop the fake identity with me – I know you.”

Dale could feel the sweat starting to trickle down his spine. Whoever it was that had him pinned to the wall had been looking for him specifically which meant it wasn’t a random break in at all.  

The sound of sniffing filled the silence as the man began to smell Dale, starting with his throat, then his chest, a cold nose snuffling into the gap between the buttons of his shirt. Dale held still, afraid to alarm the clearly deranged intruder.

“Fuck!” exclaimed the American, releasing one of Dale’s arms so he could punch a hole in the wall next to his head.

“Um,” Dale gulped and whispered. “Do you think you could put me down? Please?”

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Lowering the trembling human, because he was in no doubt that the man he’d just accosted was mortal, Louis started to apologise.

“Look… I don’t know what’s going on here…”

It had been the moment when the guy’s thoughts had tumbled free, a torrent of fear amidst the scent of human sweat that clued Louis into the fact that something was terribly wrong.

But the face he’d seen on the TV screens in the airport lounge had been unmistakable.

Lestat had always been an actor, and he’d just imagined that the humble, compassionate reporter image conveyed by the persona ‘Dale Jennings’ was just that. Another character played by Lestat, as far removed as possible from the flamboyant rock star as possible. The suit and tie, a throwback to another time, but somehow more conservative. He’d once told Louis that he was more than capable of playing the fool. But this time … there was something off.

He was in no doubt that this was Lestat. Despite the fact he smelt ‘wrong’ – and that was probably just because he was human again – and his voice was different, and his hair shorter. There was something drawing Louis to him. He could feel his heart racing as the other guy’s was hammering in his chest. It had to be Lestat.

He was broken from his thoughts by subdued throat clearing sounds, as the man he had lowered back onto his feet, tried to get his attention.

“I think it might be easier to discuss this if I put the lights on … just… don’t do anything, please.” Although Louis could see well enough in the dark, it would seem that Lestat couldn’t any longer. He thought perhaps when the lights were on that Lestat would recognise him.

“Sure, go ahead.” Louis took a step back, allowing Lestat to wriggle free and reach out for the light switch.

The flickering brightness of the electric lights briefly overwhelmed Louis’ sensitive eyes. He blinked and stared again. Close up, the guy looked even more like Lestat, right down to the little scar at the corner of his mouth. It was remarkable. Louis peered into his eyes, they were large and shiny, a pleasant shade of blue, but didn’t gleam in the way Lestat’s did – that iridescent silvery blue-grey, like moonlight on the sea.

“What the fuck have you done now?” he asked, confused to see no sign of recognition in Lestat’s eyes. He stabbed a finger into his chest trying to provoke the real Lestat to respond in kind, without success. “You been doin’ some crazy shit tryin’ to be human again?”

“I.. um… I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Standing there, in stripey pyjamas, wringing his hands nervously, the figure Lestat was cutting was nothing like the last version he’d seen. “If you don’t mind, I really need a drink-”

“So do I, damn it,” muttered Louis, as he watched Lestat walking backwards awkwardly towards the small dining room. Where was the strut? Why weren’t his hips swaying hypnotically?

“I … there’s a box of wine.”

At the sight of the proffered carton of supermarket red wine, Louis gaped in shock. A winebox? What the hell had happened to Lestat that he would countenance drinking anything other than the finest vintage of wine, even when he’d been unable to appreciate the taste.

“No, thanks.” Louis frowned. Something was very, very wrong. “So, how long you been here?”

“In this flat?” asked Lestat, trembling as he held a glass under the tap of the offensive wine box.

“In Australia, Lestat.” Louis rolled his eyes. “You know, I have to say it’s the last place I’d have thought you’d choose to hide out. If I’d not seen you in that live broadcast yesterday, I’d never have thought of looking for you in Melbourne.”

“I’ve been here all my life,” came the confused response. “And I told you, my name is Dale, not Lestat.”

“Someone’s well and truly fucked you up.” Louis shook his head. “I’d ask if Armand had anything to do with it, but I doubt you’d remember.”

“Armand? Like you say, the name means nothing to me.” Lestat swallowed a mouthful of wine, that left a red stain on his lips. Louis wanted to lick away the drop that trickled from the corner of his mouth, chased by the tip of a familiar tongue, but figured he’d only scare the amnesiac, human version of his lover if he did.

“Sexy bastard, hair that curls in dark silky locks that are begging to be messed with.” Louis paused, waiting for the expected grunt of disdain, and sighed when all he got for his efforts was a dopey smile. “Guy’s got a fucked-up sense o’ humour. Always a wicked glint in his amber eyes, like he knows somethin’ you don’t.”

“Sounds a bit like someone I work with.” Louis heard the name ‘Tim’ muttered under his breath.

Louis smirked as he saw images pass through human Lestat’s mind. This ‘work colleague’ was a very attractive man, similar to Armand, he had to admit. He raised an eyebrow as he witnessed the stolen kiss. He was thrown by the way the dark-haired beauty had been shoved away. Interesting. Added to which, that look of bitter rejection was classic Armand.

Louis heard the human Lestat put down his glass loudly on a coaster, attempting yet again to get his attention. Lestat had placed his hands flat against the table top, his nails short and distinctly not translucent. He seemed to be gathering the courage to make a statement of some sort.

“Well, now we’ve established this is an unfortunate case of mistaken identity, perhaps you would be so kind as to leave. I have an early start, no front door and will need to contact my landlord in the morning. I’d like to try to grab another hour’s sleep in the hope this has all been a particularly vivid nightmare.”  

“You were sleeping?” Louis put together two and two and came up with zero vampiric tendencies. It was dark and Lestat had been asleep.

“It is the middle of the night,” snapped Lestat irritably. “If I’d known a stranger was going to knock my door down before the crack of dawn, I’d’ve stayed up.”

“And would you have dressed up?” asked Louis, waving a hand to draw attention to the crumpled sleepwear.

“Naturally, I’d have worn a suit, arranged a camera crew and been ready to interview you,” came a sardonic response. Lestat then ran his hands through his hair and sighed in exasperation.

Well, mused Louis, there was still a trace of the sarcasm left intact. Gazing at his lover, soft and vulnerable, he felt the same pull as always whenever Lestat seemed to lower his guard. But the sense of danger lurking close under the surface, that added an element of thrill to all their encounters, that was completely absent. Instead, Louis felt an overwhelming compulsion to tuck him up in bed and stroke his messed-up hair.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I scared you earlier, but I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Lestat’s eyes widened as he pointed to his front door that was lying in the entrance to the kitchen.

“My front door is off its hinges and is currently on the floor of the kitchen. So, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not quite prepared to take your word on that, Mister ..um .. I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Louis, Louis de Pointe du Lac.” If he’d hoped for a glimmer of recognition he was disappointed. Shit, they’d really done a number on Lestat if his name meant nothing to him. “I guess you don’t remember me, Lestat- ”

“It’s Dale,” came a snapped response.

“Yeah well, I’m gonna keep calling you Lestat, anything else just feels weird.”

“Fine.” Lestat just nodded his head and nervously swiped the tip of his tongue over his lips. “If that makes you happy, Mister de Pointe du Lac, I’ll go along with that. You know I really should call the police, for all I know you could be a serial killer and – ”

Louis burst into laughter, highly amused at Lestat worrying about him being a murderer.

“Sorry! It’s, nothing … it’s … I’m glad you’ve not called the police. But you don’t want to do that. Trust me.”

“I get the idea you’d stop me if I tried.”

“Damn right I would,” said Louis. “That would open a can o’ worms that I’d need help shutting and I don’t think we need to involve too many agencies until I figure out what’s happened to you. We’ve gotta get you sorted out.”

Louis rubbed his face as he considered his options. He was sure he could persuade Armand to undo whatever he’d done to Lestat’s mind – unlock his memories and have him remember him once more. It had to be him, no one else would have the ability or incentive … but how had he been turned into a human? Louis wondered what would happen if he tried to drain Lestat, feed him his own blood and turn him back. Maybe then he’d recall who he truly was.

He was torn from his thoughts by Lestat raising a hand as if requesting the chance to speak.

“Your intentions, Louis … is it alright if I just call you Louis? Your full name is quite a mouthful and I would hate to offend you by pronouncing it incorrectly.” Lestat waited for a sign that it was alright before continuing. “If you’re not intending to leave-”

“Not without you - fuck no! Not when you’re all over the TV and so easy to find. You’re damn lucky I was the first to find where you lived. You can’t stay here and you can’t be alone.”

Louis darted to the window, belatedly realising he needed to be on the look-out and listening for any approaching vampires.

“We’ll need to get outta here. You can sleep later.”

“I can’t leave! What about the door? Anyone could just walk in!”

“Fuck the door, it don’t matter. You’re coming with me. Get dressed and pack a bag.”

“What?” blurted out the stunned looking human. “I can’t … I have a job … and there are people who would come looking for me.”

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll look after you.”

 

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He was being abducted by a madman.

A very handsome madman.

A madman who had grabbed him by the arm and steered him into his bedroom. It was only as the grip was removed that he realised that the man’s fingers were cool. For some unfathomable reason he heard his mum’s voice in his head whispering in a conspiratorial manner: ‘cold hands - warm heart.’

A sinister chuckle almost suggested that his captor could read Dale’s mind.

Stop it! Imagine Helen’s reaction – she’d dismiss that as paranoia. Get a grip!

Paranoid or not, Dale was determined to avoid looking directly at Louis de Pointe du Lac – and where the hell did that name come from? Dale didn’t want him to see how scared he was. He wished he could conceal his feelings like some of his colleagues did – the professionals who kept their own feelings locked away so they could present an impartial face to the viewers. Dale was an open book in comparison to them.

He couldn’t help his hands shaking as he started to open drawers to pull out clothes to pack into the same overnight bag that Helen had left outside her door, the morning after he told her about Tim. The bag in which she’d crammed everything he’d left at her house. How many days’ worth of underwear and socks would he need? Should he ask? A week’s worth seemed about right. He’d either have managed to escape by then, or been murdered. It didn’t seem as if a ransom was going to be demanded – but if there was, who’d pay it? The network wouldn’t set that precedent. Maybe Helen had some money tucked away?

“Calm the fuck down – I ain’t gonna kill you. If I wanted to I’d have done that by now. Properly – you know? Permanently. No more half-assed attempts. Come on, deep down, you know if I wanted you dead I wouldn’t have saved your pretty ass when I had the chance to finish you off for good.”

Fuck! He’d tried to kill this Lestat guy – that didn’t sound reassuring.

Glancing at the spiralbound notepad on his nightstand, it occurred to him that he should try to leave a note for Helen and his mum. What would he write? ‘I’m very sorry, but by the time you read this I may have been murdered by a psychopath called Louis who mistook me for an ex-boyfriend’?

The wording of his goodbye note wasn’t his most pressing concern though and it would have been impossible with the stranger hovering over him constantly, seeming to glide from room to room watching Dale like a hawk. Every now and then Dale stole a glance to see if he was still under observation, only to see that intense face scrutinising his every move. He tried not to stare in return, although he found himself almost mesmerised by the perfect features that appeared to be carved from living stone. Turning to shove the clothes he’d gathered into a holdall, he gasped as a floral print shirt was ripped from his hand, shortly followed by a pair of pants that he had chosen for their crease-resistant properties. Although why that should bother him he wasn’t entirely sure.

“No, not that shirt– those colours aren’t good on you.” The shirt was tossed across the room before the pants were subjected to closer scrutiny. “And if these pants are polyester, they’re getting ditched.”

“They’re a blend!” protested Dale, attempting to snatch them back only to watch in horror as they were ripped along the seams.

“Ooops! Guess that solves that problem – but I like the striped shirts you’ve got there. You always did look dashing in stripes.” Dale watched in concern as Louis traced a sharp, glossy fingernail along one of the approved stripes, murmuring to himself. “Like tramlines for fingers to follow.”

Frowning to himself, Dale wondered what sort of kidnapper stopped to give sartorial advice to their victim. Unable to come up with a suitable answer, he just tutted and quickly bundled the rolled-up underwear and socks into the bag, in the hopes they wouldn’t face critique. It occurred to him briefly that perhaps the man was a homosexual. Tim Ahern was always passing comments about his attire. Casting a sideling glance, he noticed that Louis’ clothing, apart from being all black, was all the same shade of black. An ensemble outfit, not the run of the mill, burgling outfit. For a start there was no mask, so he wasn’t trying to hide his face. Which was unforgettable. But he dared not look there too long.

Gulping yet again, Dale tried to unscramble his feelings. Naturally, he was frightened. He’d been assaulted at knifepoint. Knifepoint? Why did he think that? He’d felt the sharpness of a blade at his throat, but there was no sign of any weapons when he’d put the light on. Perhaps he’d imagined it? Dale felt the side of his neck and there was a tender spot, the skin grazed and a stickiness as if he had actually bled.

“Shit, I didn’t think! I am sorry – let me get that!” At the same time that Dale held his fingertips up to his face to check for traces of blood, Louis swooped in close and, without warning, swiped his tongue over the area affected. It should have scared the crap out of Dale, but he felt strangely aroused by the gesture. It didn’t help that he imagined Louis smacking his lips after moving away from his throat.

No. Dale shook his head. He was in severe danger of sliding into Stockholm Syndrome, attracted to a criminal whose intentions he knew nothing about.

“I just need to… um.. get some toiletries I guess… if that’s…”

“Sure.” Louis shrugged and followed Dale into the bathroom, watching as he gathered together toothbrush, toothpaste and deodorant. Dale was about to add a razor, shaving foam and aftershave, only to have his hand stopped.

“Best not.” The packets of razor blades were removed from the bathroom cabinet along with the razor. “I’ll get rid of these.”

Sighing in resignation, Dale threw the few items he had collected, plus a bottle of body wash into the holdall. Louis took the bag from him and zipped it up.

Dale watched as Louis placed the holdall on one of the armchairs, before taking his shaving kit to the kitchen to dispose of in the wastebin. There was no way he could retrieve it without being seen.

“I’ll … um … I think I’ll get dressed now.” Dale pointed towards his bedroom. “If you could perhaps give me some privacy?”

“Fuck’s sake, Lestat. I have seen your ‘considerable considerables’ enough times and not always when I wanted to! You ain’t got anything that’s gonna shock me – unless you’ve got a piercing. Fuck, tell me you haven’t!”

“No!” Dale felt his eyebrows shoot up in horror. “I do not have any piercings, not that it’s any of your damn business!”

His indignation only served to amuse Louis further.

“See, now you got me curious and I may have to investigate for myself.”

Swallowing nervously again, despite the fact he was rapidly running out of saliva, Dale was aware of the man slowly looking him up and down, chuckling to himself as his eyes came to land on his bare knees.

“Please?” Dale felt himself blushing. “Why don’t you wait in here. I’m not going to climb out of the bedroom window.”

“It’s all right, I get it. I’d be embarrassed if you’d caught me unawares wearing sleepwear like that. Seriously, the Lestat I knew wouldn’t be seen dead in those.” With a grin that wouldn’t have looked amiss on the face of Rob, the lothario of the office, Louis ran a finger along the spines of the books in Dale’s bookcase, coming to rest on the battered hardback copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, one of Dale’s favourite books.

“Yes, this one.” Louis pulled the book from the shelf, returned to the bedroom and lowered himself gracefully to the floor by the window. Folding his legs at the knee, he opened the book and smiled up at Dale. “Tell you what, let’s compromise. I’ll just sit here and read, OK? I promise I won’t sneak a look. We can save that for later.”

Even though he doubted his opinion would have made a difference, Dale nodded his head. He quickly slipped out of his sleep shorts and replaced them with a pair of boxers while Louis leafed through the pages as if looking for a favourite passage. Taking advantage of the other man’s momentary distraction, Dale almost tripped over his own feet as he quickly pulled on the dark green corduroy trousers that Louis had set aside for him. He swapped the wrinkled sleep shirt and vest for one of the striped shirts hanging on the wardrobe door, one that had been deemed acceptable.

Half way through buttoning the shirt from the bottom upwards, Dale nearly rebelled and was about to change into one of the brightly coloured, ‘cheerful’ shirts his mum had bought him for his birthday. But then he caught sight of a beatific smile on the Louis’ face, his eyes fixed on Dale’s chest as his fingers hesitated on the buttons.

“Yeah – those stripes still suit you. Gonna take me a while to get used to that hair though.” With a nod of approval, Louis closed the book with a snap and stood up, apparently without using his hands to push himself up from the floor. He favoured Dale with a lascivious grin as he added: “Lot less to hold onto, but I’ll figure something out.”

Dale shuddered, just when he thought his private life couldn’t get any more complicated. It was becoming increasingly evident that his kidnapper was not only convinced he was this Lestat guy but that they had been lovers. He was in trouble, although hopefully less than if Lestat had been someone who’d done wrong by this Louis. At least he hoped that wasn’t the case, although there was something about the angry demands when Louis had shoved him up against the wall that implied a bad break-up.

It had been bad enough being the recipient of what he had belatedly realised were more than admiring looks from Tim at work. He was still lamenting that kiss … and then telling Helen about it. It was just his luck that at the point when he was hopeful of a reconciliation between him and Helen, he has to get abducted by a handsome American.

He looked up sharply, thinking he’d overheard the word ‘handsome’ being murmured.

Pressing his lips together, Dale could see that Louis was undressing him with his eyes faster than he could add to the layers of clothing. He should have felt scared, or threatened. But… there was as much fondness as lust in those green eyes and something else that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Um… I need to use the …” Dale pointed in the direction of his bathroom and hoped he would be allowed some privacy to go to the toilet before being dragged off into the night.

“Sure, if you need to …” Louis seems befuddled for a moment. “Yeah, of course. Go on.”

Sighing with relief as he shut the door, Dale quickly took a piss, but didn’t flush straight away . He fumbled in the cabinet under the sink until he found a spare tube of toothpaste. The kind with red and blue stripes would be perfect. He quickly used to it to leave a message inside the bath tub, one he hoped would be found by the police that someone would call as soon as one of his neighbours saw there had been a break-in. He ran out of toothpaste before he thought of adding his car details, but hopefully it would be enough to convince anyone looking that he’d not left of his own accord. Shaking with nervous energy, he pulled the shower curtain across, flushed the toilet and washed his hands. He opened the door to find Louis leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

“What about a jacket?” Dale asked nervously. “Will I need a jacket … or coat?”

Louis narrowed his eyes and then darted towards the rack of outdoor wear by the door. He rifled through assorted jackets, until he grinned and pulled out one that he liked.

“Yep. This one. Feels ssssoft,” he drawled out the last word.

Dale had already thought there was something distinctly feline about Louis, the way he moved and the way he spoke, almost purring when something pleased him. So, he was not totally surprised to see the man rubbing his cheek against the sleeve of the Italian wool overcoat. The coat that Helen had bought for him.

Looking on the positive side, Dale took a deep breath and told himself that the fact Louis de Pointe du Lac was showing such an interest in what clothing he packed seemed to indicate that he wasn’t intending to kill him. At least not straight away.

Realising that he was blushing furiously, Dale reached for the coat, only to find it being held out for him to get into. The hand that brushed across the lapels moved slowly and carefully, even as fingertips skimmed across his throat to his chin. As his face was tilted up, he found himself gazing into emerald eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul. The kiss when it came, was soft and tender, a brushing of lips that ignited a spark he had never felt before. A connection burrowed under his skin, gently whispering tendrils that persuaded him to trust the beautiful stranger, even as he felt his feet lift off the carpet.

Shaking his head, he licked his lips, tasting blood for some reason. He didn’t think he’d bitten his lip, but perhaps he had earlier that morning. Wouldn’t surprise him, being half scared to death.

 

 

~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

Louis could have kicked himself. Why the fuck had he done that? Because it was Lestat. Not just Lestat, but a scared, vulnerable Lestat who didn’t know who he was and … damn it, Louis wanted to kiss him.

The tingling on his lips as he tasted a smidgeon of his blood confirmed that. The fact he’d caught the inside of his own cheek with a fang earlier had allowed their blood to mingle sufficiently to spark that connection that never truly died. It felt slightly different, but he put that down to Lestat being human and no longer having the blood of the ancients flowing in his veins.

Shaking his head, he picked up the holdall, grabbed hold of the sleeve of Lestat’s coat and started to drag him towards the door. But he didn’t get very far before his arm was tugged back, Lestat having dug his heels in and refusing to budge. Looking over his shoulder Louis saw that, despite his fear, the man who insisted he wasn’t Lestat was challenging him.

“Mister de Pointe du Lac, if that’s really your name, before you make an irreversible error of judgment, I am asking you to reconsider your actions.” Having got Louis’ attention, he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue before continuing. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you that I am Dale Jennings and that you have mistaken me for someone else?”

“Sorry, no.” Louis shook his head. “And as the sun’s gonna be comin’ up soon, we need to be heading out. I got here by taxi, so I hope you’ve got a car.”

“Yes. Why don’t you just take it. Keys are in the bowl by the door.. well where the door used to be.” Lestat pointed towards the open doorway. “I filled up yesterday, so there’s a full tank. Go now, and I won’t even report it as missing until you’ve had time to get clear away.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.” Louis thought back to a time long ago, when Lestat had gifted him a Rolls Royce, only that time he’d been the one to offer to leave for good. It seemed odd, their role reversal, with Lestat now pleading with him to go and not to stay. “But from now on, I’m not going anywhere without you.”

“And where are you planning to take me to?” asked Lestat, tilting his head to one side as he released a weary sigh.

“For tonight, I’ve got a room at one of the hotels near the airport. We’ll go there first, get a good day’s sleep and then…” Louis could see from the irritated expression on Lestat’s face that he had something else to say. “What?”

“I tried to tell you that I will be missed at work. People will start looking for me.” Lestat rubbed his face with a hand. “Look, I don’t know what your intentions are, but to be honest, at this stage I think I’d prefer to take my chances here. My mum always used to warn me never to get in a car with a stranger – and I don’t know who the hell you are.”

Louis burst out laughing. The idea of Lestat’s mother giving him any advice to keep him safe was beyond ridiculous.  Fuck Armand and his fucking diabolical sense of humour.

There was a flicker of anger in the sharp blue eyes that Louis hadn’t seen earlier. Oh yes, he may not recall who he really was, but Lestat still hated losing control of any situation. He wrenched his arm free from Louis’ grip and started pacing up and down the small seating area.

Incensed with the absurdity of the situation, Louis had to fight not to grab hold of Lestat by the lapels and scream at him in the hope of snapping him out of whatever had him believe Louis was a stranger. They’d been friends, lovers, enemies, but never strangers to one another. Never.

“One – I’m not a fucking stranger, you just don’t remember me!” snapped Louis, counting off reasons on his fingers. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could read his human mind, he’d be tempted to think Lestat was faking the amnesia just to mess with his head. “Two – you have no idea how much danger you’re in – especially here. Three – I am all that’s gonna keep you safe for now. And four – my intention is to get you to someone who can help get your memories back and maybe even make you immortal again.”

“You’ve yet to explain exactly why I’m in danger … ?” Lestat suddenly came to a halt and spun around to point a finger in Louis’ face. “Hold on a minute! What was that about immortality? And again? What the bloody hell are you? Some sort of religious fanatic? Please don’t tell me you’re a scientologist!”

“Hell, no!” Louis bit his tongue before he yelled back that he was a vampire. He suspected that wouldn’t go down well. This belligerent attitude from Lestat was the last thing he needed, even if it was more like the man he was bound to for eternity. Being difficult wasn’t going to help a man who was completely unaware of the potential danger he was in.

“What the hell was I thinking? Packing a bloody bag-”  Lestat collapsed onto a chair and held his head in his hands. “You caught me half asleep and I’ll admit being thrown against the wall did scare the crap out of me. But I thought you were just some psychotic idiot who confused me for someone else. I’d hoped you’d figure it out eventually that I wasn’t this Lestat. Now you come out with this bullshit-”

Lestat paused and narrowed his eyes at Louis, appearing to study his figure from shoulder to toe.

“It’s not as if you’re armed. No. I’m done with this.” Clutching the arms of the chair with a ferocious grip as if he was anchoring himself to the furniture, Lestat sat back and yelled at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you! Try to make me and I’ll scream until someone comes.”

Seeing the explosion of temper and the fire in Lestat’s eyes came as a welcome relief to Louis, but, as usual, the timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Hush! We can discuss that all later. For now, we really need to leave this flat.” Louis could sense the sky becoming lighter without even looking out of the window. He was anxious to get Lestat out of harm’s way and into a light-proof room as soon as possible. “It isn’t safe – I’d be alright, but you wouldn’t!”

“Why?”

“Because, even if those who really do wish you harm hadn’t seen you on the TV, they’d be aware of my movements. If you were, let us say, your old self, that wouldn’t be so much of a problem.” Louis hadn’t thought this through at all. He had just assumed the Dale Jennings character was another face of Lestat, and once he realised his ruse had failed he’d let Louis talk him out of his foolish charade. Lestat had been powerful enough to destroy anyone who did attempt to overpower him. But that was no longer the case. “However, seeing as you’re basically defenceless, you’re in a shitload of trouble.”

“You can’t make me.” Louis could see the sinews in Lestat’s throat standing out as he swallowed hard.

In any other situation Louis could admire the ill-placed bravado, but time was passing and he had no time for brat behaviour. He loomed over Lestat, scowling as he had so many times before.

“Trust me, I can and I will if you don’t move your ass.”

As their eyes met, Louis saw the defiance and recalled yet another time at Rue Royale when he’d seen those eyes before, when Claudia had been reciting the rules Lestat had to abide by if he wanted to return home. There was even the glistening of imminent tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Please, don’t make me do this,” muttered Louis, closing his eyes and wondering just how much force he’d have to use to get Lestat out of his flat.

“I’m due in the studio in about half an hour,” stated Lestat. “Go now and no one will be any the wiser. I’ll call the police and report an attempted break-in and say the burglar ran off before I could see what they looked like. I won’t even mention the car.”

There was the look of pleading in Lestat’s eyes. Louis could read his desperate thoughts racing through his mind, images of a dark-haired woman, an older female and then that pretty boy again. He was scared he’d never see them again. A valid fear considering that he probably wouldn’t. Louis wondered how he’d have dealt with the situation if their roles were reversed and it occurred to him that he’d have done the same. He’d have tried to talk down the intruder, provide them with an exit route and hoped not to get himself killed in the process.

The fears running rampant in Lestat’s head were perfectly valid, but for totally the wrong reasons. Louis knew that using force to get Lestat to leave with him wasn’t the way to make him any less scared. Although it would’ve been a fuck of a lot easier just to grab him around his tiny waist and hoist him over his shoulder – like that night when he dragged his ass out of Antionette’s house. Except that time, Lestat had been more than willing to be manhandled anywhere, with or without force.

Louis crouched down on the floor next to Lestat, placed his hands on his knees and looked up, into his eyes.

“How ‘bout you give me forty-eight hours to explain it all to you. If you then decide that you’re willing to take your chances, having been fully informed of the dangers, then I’ll abide by your decision and bring you back here. I swear I have zero intentions of killing you. The last thing I want is for you to die – and that’s why I am here.”

“Two days?” asked Lestat, his brow creased.

“You say you’re a journalist now, right?” Thoughts of Daniel Molloy came to Louis’ mind. He’d persuaded him to listen, surely he could appeal to ‘Dale Jennings’. “Then come with me and hear a story that’ll blow your mind.”

Louis glanced anxiously at the crack in the curtains. He had to either persuade Lestat or knock him out and carry him away. He really didn’t want to be forced to resort to violence.

“Please,” begged Louis. He didn’t need to feign concern, he was genuinely afraid that if he left without Lestat, he would never see him again. As a mortal he wouldn’t stand a chance. They would torture him before killing him. Wiping at the corner of his own eye before Lestat saw the dark red tear, Louis grasped his hand and squeezed it gently.

“And it has to be now? Not tomorrow? Or next week?”

“Trust me, any delay is putting you in extreme danger.” As he paused to listen into Lestat’s thoughts, wondering if his attempts at persuasion were having any impact, Louis saw images again of the two dark-haired women and had a light bulb moment. “They may even come after people you’re close to.”

That did it. Louis could feel the moment that Lestat was swayed. He hadn’t stopped to think that Lestat might have been more concerned about the fate of others and not himself.

“Trust? You have to understand why I’m finding it hard to trust a guy that broke my door down and has since either threatened me or made fairly blatant advances towards me.” With a wry smile, Lestat dislodged Louis’ hand from his leg, where it had crept up from his knee to his thigh.

“I’m sorry!” Louis held up his hand in apology. “But you … you see, Lestat and I have a long … very long… intimate …history and I can’t always control my feelings. But if it helps, I’ll not do anything without your express consent. How about that?”

Lestat rolled his eyes and bit his lip.

“And you expect me to believe you’ll keep your word?”

“Yeah - because if you don’t I’ll have to do something we’re both gonna regret.”

“I don’t suppose I can call – ” Lestat looked towards the phone sitting on the side table.

“No. You’ll only be putting them in danger.”

Louis held onto the hand that hadn’t been pulled free of his grasp and, as his fingers brushed Lestat’s knuckles, against his better instincts, he reached into his human mind and sowed another echo of a memory. He’d placed a feeling of trust there earlier when he’d told him to pack. It had obviously not been enough. It helped reconcile his conscience by thinking all he was doing was planting memories of the closeness they had once shared. As he sat, crouched on the worn carpet, at Lestat’s knees, he shared an impression of them curled up around one another in the dark, breathing as one.

Lestat’s eyes widened and his cheeks became pink. Flustered, he cleared his throat and nodded his head.

“Alright then. Let’s go.”

~~~~~~

 

Dale was relieved when Louis parked up in the carpark for one of the large hotels situated close to the airport. At the back of his mind lodged fears of being driven out of town into the outback, where anything could happen to him and no one would ever know.

By the time they’d reached Louis’ room, the sun was rising. When Louis asked Dale to shut the curtains, he nearly tripped over a bag left lying carelessly on the floor as if just abandoned there. He only just managed to break his fall by reaching out to grab hold of the desk.

“Sorry! Forgot you can’t see in the dark now.”

The overhead fluorescent lights suddenly clicked on.

“Is that better?” came the deep voice of Louis from behind him.

“Thanks, at least I won’t break my neck, because that would be embarrassing,” muttered Dale as he pulled the curtains shut. He then turned around to face Louis.

It was in the harsh, unnatural light that Dale saw Louis properly for the first time. Back in his apartment he’d not put all the lights on, apart from in the bathroom, and he’d been too distracted, only daring to look for brief moments. But in the stark hotel room, the plain white walls devoid of any features to obscure the outline of his abductor, he was able to take in the sheer splendour of the man. The blue-green harshness from the light above did nothing to tarnish the image standing in front of Dale.

There was something about the way he stood, tall and proud, head held high. Like a powerful athlete, restrained energy harnessed in his every muscle and sinew.

Louis had caught his gaze and smiled. He had already started to undress, his black sweater and t-shirt tossed onto the back of a chair. He was bare to the waist and quite magnificent. As for his skin. Dale hadn’t really taken in how it glowed with a warmth at odds to the cool touch he had briefly felt. The texture was like the most luxurious, delicate silk, the colour of pale bronze. But no – that wasn’t quite right. The longer he gazed the more he saw. It was like sunlight was trying to shine through a solid bronze object. Louis de Plante du Lac was pure radiance.

As he gaped, Dale watched the soft smile continue to grace the beautiful mouth. His open-mouthed admiration had not gone unnoticed or unappreciated. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. And he did, he wanted to break eye contact, because he was falling under a spell and was starting to wonder if it wasn’t all an elaborate dream. With a grin, Louis turned away, to unzip his black jeans and ease them over his hips, taking his tight briefs down with them in one fluid movement.

With all the grace of a panther, and the strength hidden yet hinted at as muscles flexed under the satiny sheen of his skin, Louis pulled back the sheets and slid into the bed.

Dale dug his short nails into the palms of his hands, checking that he was still awake, still alive and that he wasn’t imagining what he was seeing.

“Time for bed,” Louis said, patting the other side of the mattress invitingly.

“You’re going to sleep? Now?”

For a moment, it looked as if Louis was going to laugh and then he stopped himself.

“Jet lag… where I came from, it’s night now. And I woke you up half way through your night, so I guess you must be tired as well.”

“There’s only one bed.” Dale knew he was pointing out the obvious, but felt obliged to do so.

“Yeah, well I hadn’t counted on you wanting your own space.”

Louis looked sad for a moment and Dale almost felt sorry for him. He’d obviously hoped for a reconciliation of some sort, and that was something Dale had sympathy for. Helen’s decision to take it slow after the revelations and confessions of the previous week had hurt, but he understood her need to proceed cautiously. He missed her.

“I’ll use the … sofa.” Dale sat down on the ratty cushioned bench under the window, a poor alternative and not long enough to accommodate his height. He bent down to take off his shoes and socks.

“Uh oh.” Louis shook his head. “You’re getting in here with me.”

“No. Not going to happen,” replied Dale, shaking his head and pointing at the bed and then at Louis, who was sitting up and glaring at him. “There is no way that I am getting into that bed with you!”

Yet again, Louis looked on the verge of hysterical laughter as if a private joke had been whispered in his ear. He patted the top of the bedcovers and smiled.

“You can go on top.” There was a definite smirk on his face as he made that suggestion, even though Dale had to acknowledge that it would be better than the alternative. The cushion was very thin and there were stains he didn’t want to inspect too closely. And he was feeling extraordinarily tired. Any adrenaline that had been pumping around his body had long been exhausted and he felt fit to drop.

With a huff, Dale walked to the opposite side of the bed, averting his eyes from Louis who was lounging sleepily, his bare legs, lean and graceful on view, the only token gesture at modesty being a fold of the sheet strategically covering his crotch. Whoever Lestat was, he must’ve been an idiot to walk out on this man. He switched on the reading lamp and plumped up the pillow he pulled to the edge of the mattress.

With a dry mouth, Dale went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth and, on the way back, turned off the bright overhead lights. He then curled up on his side, facing away from Louis, who had at least covered himself up in the meantime.

“Come to me,” murmured Louis, his voice husky with sleep.

Dale looked over his shoulder and swore.

“What the hell- ?”

“I can’t afford to take any risk that you won’t be here when I wake up.”

Before Dale could object, his left wrist was cuffed. The other cuff, joined by a long, thin chain, was attached to Louis’ right wrist.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

As the sun set beneath the horizon, Louis woke. With a sigh, he recalled the disastrous events of the previous night. Not at all what he’d imagined as he’d got out of the taxi in the Melbourne suburbs. So much for a shouting match, followed by a fight, then the make-up sex he’d had in mind.

Louis opened his eyes to see the sleeping figure of Lestat, still dressed and curled up close by. Their hands were close together, and he risked slotting their fingers together. Breathing as one with the man he loved, Louis wished he could capture this soft, gentle side of Lestat and bottle it as an antidote to all the times his vicious tongue cut their love to ribbons.

More than anything, he wanted to get him out of his clothes and into the warm bed next to him. He wanted to make love slowly to this precious creature. If he were Lestat … or Armand for that matter… he would have taken the human without his conscience bothering him. But he had made a promise and, unlike Lestat, he would keep his word.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

With thanks to Slaysweeet for some words to describe Louis' beauty as seen by Dale when the lights come on...

The next chapter will reveal what they missed as they slept, as the News at Six team realise one of their reporters is missing...

Chapter 4

 

While Louis and Dale slept…

Ten minutes after entering her office, there was a rapping sound on the door, which was shoved open before she even had the chance to answer.

“I hope he’s got a fucking good reason for standing us up!” yelled Tim, hands on hips.

“Who?” asked Helen, wishing she’d had chance to get a coffee before dealing with petty arguments.

“Dale-bloody-Jennings. Who else?” Tim bit his lip as if holding back on what he really wanted to say.

“Why should I know?” Helen pulled back a sleeve to peer at her watch. It wasn’t even eight o’clock. She was in early as her house actually felt so empty, she’d wanted company. “It’s not that late anyway.”

“We had an early start this morning. That nurse you put him on to, the union woman who said that the way things are going, there are gonna be strikes?” Tim pointed at Helen as if that was her fault.

“What of it? I really think that something big is going to happen down the line, now the union have scrapped the no strike clause.” She shrugged. “What happened?”

“She would only give an interview if we could meet her privately, at her house. It had to be before her shift starts. Only Jennings didn’t show up. I had to call her and postpone.”

“Did you try calling him?” asked Helen.

“Of course. Ten bloody times – no bloody answer. And, before you ask, I did leave messages on the machine for him. His ears may bleed when he gets to the last of them.”

Helen nodded her head before narrowing her eyes at the distraught cameraman.

“And therefore you assumed he was with me.” She pressed her lips close together. Of course they all probably assumed that it was a lover's tiff and that all was well, when that was far from true. She loved Dale, but she could tell he had issues to deal with and there was no winding back the clock and pretending that things hadn't happened. 

“Yeah – of course. Where else would he be?”

“Well – ” Helen raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow and glared at Tim as if the answer were obvious.

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be so bloody stupid. He’s never been to my place. I asked him over once and he blew me over so he could go to Geoff’s party with you.” Tim glared at Helen for a moment before looking away. “Why wasn’t he at your place? I thought you two had got back together.”

Helen took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through her nose as she inspected her perfectly manicured nails, not wanting to look one of the main causes of their rift in the eye.

“We’re still working through some stuff,” admitted Helen, reluctant to explain that she loved Dale, but needed to rebuild her trust before they could pick up again from where they’d left off. She needed to know what it was he truly wanted. “Have you tried his flat? Maybe he’s sick.”

“To be honest, that hadn’t occurred to me.” Tim looked sheepish. “I just sort of assumed he was with you.”

Before Helen could reply, there was a loud knocking at the door as Dennis burst in.

“Where’s Jennings?” he demanded.

“We don’t know,” snapped Helen.

“Fucking hell – we’ve got a story breaking on his bloody doorstep and of course the numpty’s nowhere to be found!”

“What do you mean, on his doorstep?” Helen got up quickly and tried, unsuccessfully, to snatch the scrap of paper from Dennis’ hand.

“Police reports of a suspected aggravated burglary on the same street where he lives. Neighbours reported a disturbance and a patrol car’s been sent ‘round to investigate. I was hoping Jennings would be on the spot and able to interview the neighbours – get the inside scoop on it.”

“I’ll go,” announced Helen. “Tim’s crew’s available – their scheduled interview got cancelled so they’re free now.”

“What?” blurted out Tim, until he caught the worried expression on Helen’s face. “Yeah, sure. Come on then, let’s go.”

“The address – ” called out Dennis, waving the piece of paper.

“I know where it is!” yelled both Helen and Tim as they rushed past Dennis.

~~~~~~~

On arrival, Helen took off quickly, not waiting for Tim or Ross to get out of the car. She saw a policeman coming out of the building and dashed across to catch his eye.

“Excuse me, officer. I’m from News at Six – we’ve heard there’s been an incident reported.”

“Break-in.”

“We heard it was an aggravated burglary. Are there casualties?”

“Not that we know of, miss. But it looks like an organised gang, not a random incident.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Door was flung half way across the bloody flat. Ripped off its hinges. I can only think they must’ve used a battering ram of some sort to do that sort of damage.”

“Any other signs of violence?” asked Helen, noticing that Tim and Ross had scrambled into position behind her and were recording her impromptu interview.

“Hole in the wall at about head height, maybe a foot higher. I’d say it looks like someone punched it, except it’s a brick wall.”

“Oh. Um… can we go up and get some footage of the damage?”

“I’m not meant to let anyone near the place until scene of the crime blokes get here. But if you can film from outside, without touching anything, that should be alright. I’ll follow you up - just don’t go in the flat itself.”

Helen nodded and turned to make sure Tim and Ross were ready.

From the grim expression on Tim’s face, she could tell he shared the same fears she was battling to control. She’d been so pissed off with Tim for interrogating her about Dale’s whereabouts, it hadn’t even occurred to her that Dale could’ve been in danger. She could feel her heart racing, her chest feeling tight. Just one Valium, that’s all she needed to keep the panic at bay and allow her to function. Walking towards the building, she opened her shoulder bag, slid a hand inside and having located the familiar bottle, she unscrewed it one-handed and tipped out one tablet. Stealthily dry swallowing the pill, she realised that she was already halfway up the familiar staircase towards Dale’s flat. Any hope that it might’ve been someone else’s flat that had been broken into, and that Dale was busy gathering interviews, was shattered.

She heard Ross swear and Tim gasp as they came to stand either side of her. Tim grimly hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and filmed the doorway, before zooming in on the damage visible inside the apartment.

Helen chewed on her lip, wishing the Valium would kick in soon. Schooling her features into a calm, neutral expression, she turned to the police officer standing guard outside.

“Is there any sign of the resident?” She avoided using Dale’s name. If she didn’t say it, it wasn’t real. It wasn’t happening.

“You mean is there a body inside?” asked the man, shrugging as if she was just a ghoulish reporter.

That hadn’t occurred to Helen and she suddenly felt the walls closing in on her, swirling dots clouding her vision and a buzzing in her ears. It was Ross that took her arm quickly, steadying her, before she passed out.

“Leave it out, Kev,” snapped the policeman who had followed them up the stairs. “If there was, I wouldn’t have let you lot get close.”

Helen took Tim to one side and whispered at him frantically.

“Perhaps they’ll let us in if we say we know who lives here?”

“Or, keep us out,” hissed Tim. “Say you feel faint and ask to go in for a glass of water. See what you can see from there.”

“Yes, yes…” Helen agreed. Turning around, she fanned her face, not having to fake feeling unwell. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m not feeling too good… is there any chance I could go in and get a drink of water?”

“Snooping more like,” sneered the constable who was leaning against the wall next to the door.

“Probably,” agreed his senior. “But she’s definitely a lot paler that she was out on the street. Just you, miss, no cameras and you wear these so you don’t contaminate the scene. Forensics guys will have a fit if they knew I’d let you in.”

He handed Helen a pair of latex gloves, that she pulled on quickly. She didn’t want to mention that her fingerprints would be all over the surfaces in Dale’s kitchen… and bedroom… and bathroom. Damn.

As she ducked under the police tape, she looked at the shelf by the door. Keys missing from the bowl, but wallet still there. Then as she walked through, she looked to one side into the bedroom and saw some clothes strewn around the bed and rugs. Dale was fastidiously tidy, he never threw clothes on the floor. Then she stepped over the front door and into the kitchenette. All was as it should be, apart from a broken mug no doubt knocked flying when the door came through. She looked back and tried to work out what force would have been required to push the door that far. As she did so, she saw the hole in the brickwork. The size of a man’s fist. But it had gone through the plaster and into the brick itself. Perhaps someone wearing knuckledusters could do that sort of damage.

Where the fuck was Dale?

She poured herself a glass of water, not noticing that the policeman who’d accompanied her had seen that she knew exactly which cupboard to open to find the glasses. Her hands trembling, she reached into her bag for one more tablet. One wasn’t going to be enough.

As soon as Helen came out of the flat, she pulled the gloves off her hands and shook her head at Tim. No sign of him.

“Thank you, officer. We’ll interview the neighbours shortly, if that’s alright and won’t interfere with your investigation.”

She bustled both Tim and Ross down the stairs and out into the bright sunshine before saying another word.

“Dale’s gone. His car keys are missing, but his wallet is still there. It looks like at least two intruders to have done that much damage. The hole in the wall – did you get that, Tim?”

“Yeah- zoomed in on that. What caused that? Looks like a mallet got swung at it.”

“But why? Why there?”

Tim and Ross looked at each other and grimaced.

“Oh God … no. Don’t think that.” Going white as a sheet, Helen turned and threw up the water, along with the muesli she’d had for breakfast, into the nearest shrub. Wiping her mouth with a tissue, she turned to see Tim hovering close.

“It might not have been that, Helen.” Tim tried to look reassuring, but the tears collecting on his lashes gave him away. “Did you see any sign of –”

“Blood?” Helen pressed her lips close together and shook her head. “No.”

“They could have just punched him,” suggested Ross, before catching the shared looks of horror from Tim and Helen. “Or not. Maybe just threatened him.”

“His wallet was still there, you say?” asked Tim, looking up towards the flat.

“Yes – so not a robbery for valuables, they’d have taken that.”

“And his car’s gone,” added Tim. “I can’t see it on the street where he usually parks.”

“So, they came for Dale.” Helen swore under her breath. Her knees were feeling weak all of a sudden and she was only standing because she was leaning against the car. “I can’t do this. Someone else needs to interview the neighbour that called it in.”

“There isn’t anyone else, Helen – not unless you reckon Rob’s up to this!”

“Shit.” Helen slammed her hand on the side of the car, angry. She was angry at Dale for getting himself abducted or worse. Angry at the heartless CEO demanding his pound of flesh and instructing Lindsay that it would make ‘must-see’ TV to have one of the ‘golden pair’ report on her missing partner.

“Alright, Tim please tell the police, if they haven’t already figured it out, that it was my … it is one of our colleagues who lives there and that he never turned up to work today.”

~~~~~~~

The rest of the morning swept by in a whirlwind of interviews after Lindsay shouted at Helen over the radio in the link car that he wasn’t sending Rob out to replace her and that she had to stay put, and do her ‘fucking job’. He made it clear that she wasn’t to give ground to any other news network that got wind of the story and that they were to share nothing with anyone other than the police.

The scene of crime team came and went, silently gathering evidence, as Helen leaned back against the car, her arms folded over her chest, refusing anything to eat when Ross came by with a pizza he’d ordered. She noticed that Tim barely nibbled on a slice before throwing it back in the box.

Worried about Dale’s flat being open for anyone to wander into, Helen had called Jean and asked her to arrange for a carpenter to come around and replace the door. Jean had called her back to inform her that the invoice was to go to Lindsay and that the keys to the new lock would be dropped off at the News at Six reception desk later that day.

It was early afternoon by the time a detective came across to explain the situation to them. He needed someone to lodge a missing person’s report and Helen readily agreed to filling in the necessary paperwork. She had to fill in the form under the guidance of the cocky young policeman who’d been standing guard earlier. As she signed it and handed it over, he suggested that perhaps Dale had flipped and trashed the place himself before doing a runner. It had taken both Tim and Ross to hold Helen back and avoid her getting arrested for assaulting a police officer.

The altercation had drawn the attention of the policeman’s superior who attempted to calm down the situation.

“Hey there, I’m sure no offence was meant. We just have to keep an open mind to all possibilities.” He winced as he saw Helen tilt her head back as if readying for another battle. “I get it, he’s someone all you guys work with and it’s always a shock. But you can never tell what’s going on in someone’s head, especially the quiet ones.”

“Not Dale,” said Helen between gritted teeth. “I have never, ever seen him act like this. He wouldn’t disappear without trace. That’s not his way.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, you never truly know. Please accept our condolences for your-” It was only half way through the platitude offered relatives of victims that the officer caught himself and stopped. “Look, I’m sorry your bloke’s gone missing. We’ll do our best to find him.”

Helen shook Tim’s hand from her arm, turned on her heel, got in the car and slammed the door shut without another word.

“I hope Dad’s alright, ‘cos Mum’s gonna be scary as fuck until he turns up,” muttered Ross as he got his sound equipment packed away.

“Don’t joke about it,” snapped Tim, his lip trembling and eyes watering as he looked back towards the empty apartment, the brightly coloured police tape fluttering in the breeze. “This is serious. I’m worried about him, too.”

 

~~~~~~~

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dale woke up to find himself under the intense gaze of the man he was cuffed to. The unguarded look of adoration came as a shock. He shut his eyes again to take a moment to process that. He then realised that the room was dark. Shit.

“What time is it?” asked Dale anxiously, his voice husky with sleep.

“Hey there.” The deep voice seemed to purr in his ear. “I guess you still can’t recall who I am to you?”

Dale kept his eyes closed, partly because it was easier to think when he wasn’t looking at Louis, and partly so he didn’t have to see visual confirmation that their heads were on the same pillow. He felt cool fingers laced between his, a disconcerting feeling, yet oddly welcome after having cried himself to sleep for the past couple of weeks. He could tell that he was still on top of the bed, which was a relief, even if he was very aware of the long limbs of his sleeping companion creeping closer towards him. The image of a fly caught in the web of a spider came to him. He definitely saw himself as prey. Which made him think carefully before speaking, not wanting to give the alluring spider any encouragement to pounce.

“No. Sorry, but I’ve never seen you before, not until you broke into my home.” He was about to lift his arm to read the time until he realised his watch was still on the nightstand in his flat. “Can you tell me what time it is?”

A murmur of laughter whispered through his hair.

“Five fifty. Why?”

“Five fifty in the evening?” asked Dale, his heart starting to race.

“Yeah – sun set not long ago.” Louis brushed a loose strand of hair from Dale’s eyes, his movements slow and gentle. “Why do you need to know?”

Dale disentangled his hand from Louis’ and tried to sit up, only to be reminded that his arm was attached to the other man’s wrist.

“Can you take this off now? Please?” He held up his arm and looked earnestly at Louis. “You’re awake and I’m not going to run away.”

“Oh… oh, sure.” Sliding the key from under the pillow, Louis used it to unlock the handcuffs.

Rubbing his wrist, Dale sat up, frowning at the wrinkled state of his trousers.

“That’s why I was going to wear the other pair,” he muttered to himself, as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“You could’ve taken them off – I wasn’t stoppin’ you.”

Trying to ignore the flirtatious comment while refraining from muttering anything else that could’ve been overheard, Dale got to his feet and wandered over to the desk to pick up the TV remote control.

“Whoa! What are you doin’?” asked Louis, suddenly between him and the TV, completely naked

Resolutely keeping his eyes fixed on the man’s ear, to avoid his eyes, or anything south of his collar bones, Dale cleared his throat. He then realised he was staring at the TV screen and although it was switched off, the glass screen was providing a perfect reflection of Louis’ backside, buttocks clenched. Averting his eyes once more, Dale focused on the pleated curtains.

“I’m putting on the TV to watch News at Six. I’d have thought it would be to your benefit to know what’s being done, if anything, to find me.” Raising an eyebrow, Dale dared meet Louis’ eyes and saw that he reluctantly agreed.

“Good point.” With a sharp nod of his head, Louis moved out of the way, leaving Dale to switch on the TV and tune it in to the right channel.

Dale was unable to quell his shaking as he sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the sponsor’s advert to finish. He was vaguely aware of Louis getting dressed behind him, but focused on the small screen while gripping the remote tightly in his hand. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Louis changed his mind and tried to snatch the remote from him, or even throw the TV through the window. But he needed to watch the show. He needed to know what they thought had happened to him. He needed to see Helen.

She was dressed in a dark blue suit, one he didn’t recognise. To anyone else, her face would have appeared as calm and tranquil as ever, but he knew her better. He could see the way her lips pressed closer together when she stopped speaking. Her make up only just concealed the fact her eyes were puffy. She had been crying. Rob was on the desk with her and his eyes kept straying towards Helen, eyeing her anxiously as if he expected her to have a meltdown on air.

Dale started to rock gently forward and back as the story unfolded. His story.

The video of his apartment, the garish swathe of police tape where the door should’ve been. Helen interviewing the neighbour who had heard shouting early in the morning and called the police eventually. Then a statement from the police, suggesting that there was no conclusive evidence that he had left his home against his will, but that the police were keeping an open mind. There was a statement requesting anyone with information regarding his whereabouts to contact the Melbourne police or the network if they wished to remain anonymous. Dale watched on as his car registration details were shared on screen, only realising the implications when he heard Louis cursing from where he was hovering close by.

Back to the studio. Helen at the desk. Hands clasped in front of her. Biting her lip. She was staring straight at him.

“Dale, if you’re watching this, get in touch. Let us know you’re OK. Come home. We all miss you.”

Then she handed over to Rob, who picked up on the other news stories of the day. Dale knew that offscreen, Helen would be struggling. At least Noeleen would be there for her.

The remote was taken from his hand and a box of tissues from the bathroom placed in his lap.

He looked up and wondered why the picture on the screen was blurry, until his felt a tear drip from his cheek onto his hand.

“Hey there.” Louis was speaking softly. In his hand he held a folded tissue and was gently dabbing the tears spilling from his eyes.

“I need to get in touch – let them know I’m unharmed. God knows what my mum must be thinking- ”

“Write a note and I’ll deliver it wherever you want. I’ll need to read it first, you understand. I know how important it is to reassure family.” Louis looked genuinely sympathetic. Dale wondered if he’d been through something similar. “How about that?”

“Thank you,” answered Dale, grateful that his abductor was showing compassion. Although he wanted to let Helen know as soon as possible, he didn’t want to give Louis her address. Perhaps the studio would be best – that way someone would make sure she got the message. “If you could drop off a note at the network’s main office building? They can let mum know I’m safe. Am I safe?”

Despite his determination not to lose control, Dale heard his voice crack slightly.

Louis crouched down on the floor between Dale’s knees and took his hand.

“I swear to you, I’m not going to do anything to hurt you or cause you harm.” There was a sincerity about his eyes that Dale felt he could trust. “You have my word on that.”

“I don’t suppose I have much choice,” admitted Dale. “But, against my better judgment, I do trust you.”

Louis smiled and tucked a finger under Dale’s chin to lift it.

“OK, I need to feed and I guess you’ll need something to eat as well. But before I go out, why don’t you grab a shower? You’ll feel better for that. While you’re in the bathroom, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Dale blinked rapidly to clear his eyes. Louis was looking at him with undisguised concern and was slowly stroking his arms as if calming a frightened animal.

“Can I have a cup of coffee? Please?”

“Sure – well, it’ll be whatever’s in those sachets on the tray.” With a self-deprecating smile, Louis winked at him. “I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you.”

Dale wasn’t sure why he was being so polite to the man who had dragged him away from what was his family, but he was grateful for the consideration being shown by Louis. Despite all the confused thoughts battling in his head, there was one thing that stood out. Whoever Lestat was, and whatever he’d done wrong, Louis truly loved him. He found himself envying that sort of unconditional love.

 

~~~~~~~~

 

As soon as the broadcast was over, Helen rushed back to her office, grabbed her bag and was half way towards the main entrance when she heard her name being called out.

“Helen!” It was Tim. He was running towards her, a hefty bag over his shoulder. He reached out to hold onto her arm. “If you want, I’ll come with you. You don’t have to do this on your own.”

She couldn’t speak, but she nodded. Despite her mixed feelings about Tim, she didn’t want to go back to Dale’s flat on her own. She had the new keys in her coat pocket and squeezed hold of them tightly, letting the hard edges cut into the palm of her hand.

“Fine,” she finally managed. “I’ll meet you there.”

She couldn’t face having him in her car. Sitting in the seat last occupied by Dale. She needed to scream in privacy.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Having showered and put on a clean t-shirt and sweater, Dale felt refreshed, if not happy. The coffee that Louis had made for him was strong and sweet, probably made with two sachets of instant coffee and all the sugar. He winced as he tasted it, but swallowed it down, figuring the sugar and caffeine would help him be more alert.

“It’s been a while since I made a hot drink for anyone,” said Louis, apologetically. “Wasn’t sure if you took sugar or not.”

His eyes narrowing, Dale picked up on something Louis had given away unintentionally.

“Are you saying you never made coffee for this Lestat guy, or that you no longer think I’m him?” asked Dale.

“You got me there.” Louis smiled sadly and shrugged. “I never got to do that for him, no. He usually got his own… drinks. He had a thing for crystal cut glass.”

Dale’s heart skipped a beat as he realised that he had interpreted Louis’ wording correctly. He was no longer talking about him, but about Lestat as a separate entity, as if finally acknowledging they were not the same person.

“So – you accept that I’m not him!” he asked eagerly.

“I didn’t say that!” snapped Louis, pointing a finger at Dale. “Twisting my words again. I guess you’re not him now – but that don’t mean you weren’t him, or that you can’t be him again. I ain’t giving up on you or Lestat. If our situations were reversed I know he wouldn’t give up on me. He’d call it enduring - leaving no stone unturned.” With a sigh, Louis reached out and took Dale’s hand, carefully cradling it in his own. “Except he’d be a hell of a lot more dramatic about it.”

“I’m not sure I’d like to meet this Lestat,” said Dale. He wondered what could be more dramatic than knocking down a door in the middle of the night. Swallowing hard, he squeezed Louis’ hand, letting the cool fingers wrap around his. “Do you think you could humour me and call me Dale and not Lestat then? It would mean a great deal to me.”

It occurred to Dale that his best hope for eventual freedom lay in acknowledging Louis’ love for Lestat and using it to his own advantage. Perhaps he could offer to help him find his ex-lover? That way he stood more chance of gaining concessions.

Louis scrunched up his face and then slowly nodded his head.

“I guess that it wouldn’t hurt and you aren’t my Lestat, not yet.” He seemed saddened to admit the truth that he had yet to find ‘his’ Lestat. Louis then pressed a hand to Dale’s chest as if feeling for his heart beat. “Dale it is then. That’s until your memory comes back, then all bets are off.”

Before Dale could thank him, Louis was by the door, putting on a long black leather coat that had been hanging up unnoticed until that moment.

“I really gotta feed…” Louis paused to lick his lips, his nostrils flaring as if he could smell something enticing in the air. “So… I’m gonna go out and get something to eat. What can I get you?”

“Um … pizza would be good. And a decent cup of coffee – not that your efforts aren’t appreciated, it was just...”

“Crap?” asked Louis, grinning. “Sure, how do you take it?”

“Milk, no sugar. And a bottle of Coke as well would be good.”

“Sure thing.” Louis picked up the set of handcuffs and slowly approached Dale, looking almost reticent. “Sorry about this, but I’m gonna have to-”

“Of course. Of course,” muttered Dale, sitting back on the bed, with his arm held out. “Of course you can. As long as you come back to -”

Dale stopped midsentence as Louis froze in place, one cuff secured on the headboard and the other about to circle Dale’s wrist. For a moment a smile lit up his face radiantly. What was it he’d said?

“I swear you’re using words straight outta my memories of him. How the hell is that happening if you’re not Lestat?”

 

~~~~~~~

 

Helen unlocked the new door and let Tim push it open. It didn’t fit quite right and would need planing down so it didn’t stick on the frame. Taking a deep breath she put the lights on as Tim walked on ahead.

They started in the living room.

“Anything look out of place to you?” asked Tim, setting down his camera bag. He’d only been there once and apart from looking at the rack of videotapes hadn’t really taken in a great deal.

Helen had picked up the wine glass from the dining table. There were red lines etched in the glass as the dregs of wine had started to dry up.

“Dale would’ve rinsed this out – in case it stained.” Helen didn’t want to touch the glass, noting the fine powder residue left behind from where fingerprints had been collected.

“So what? Maybe he was disturbed as he was having a late-night drink?” asked Tim, recalling the night when he’d dropped by to see how Dale was doing. He’d been drinking wine alone that evening.

“No, the neighbour said the disturbance was nearer three in the morning.” Helen was slowly walking around the room, desperately seeking something the police may have missed. “Dale wouldn’t stay up that late on a work night.”

“So, he had a drink after being woken up-” Tim frowned. Something wasn’t making sense.

Helen sighed and headed for the bedroom, Tim on her heels. They saw the crumpled pyjamas on the bed and various items of clothing scattered around the room. Tim tried to work out a sequence of events.

“He got dressed and then went to see what was going on?”

“No – that doesn’t make sense.” Helen shook her head and then looked under the bed. “The cricket bat was in the hallway. Forensics bagged it up to take with them, so we’ll have to wait for the police to tell us if it was used.”

“So he must’ve grabbed that and gone to investigate.” Tim leaned against the door and tried to visualise a frightened Dale confronting an intruder with a cricket bat, probably in his pj’s. If it wasn’t so real it would be funny. But not with Dale missing.

Helen nodded as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

“And then got dressed, had a glass of wine and packed a bag?” asked Tim, dubiously. “Why, unless he knew the guys? Maybe it was one of them that had the glass of wine?”

“You agree with the police that there was more than one?” asked Helen, looking up at Tim, worry lines etched into her forehead.  

“I hate to say it, but yeah, makes sense. One guy on his own couldn’t have knocked a door all the way into the kitchen.” Tim was glad the broken door had been removed. The sight of it would only have been a stark reminder of the forcefulness of the break-in. “Not unless he played prop for the national rugby team.”

Helen had idly pulled Dale’s pyjama top into her lap and was fidgeting with the buttons. She attempted a smile and failed.

“I don’t think Dale’s done anything to attract the ire of the rugby team, that’s more likely to be Rob.” Helen brought the blue striped top to her face and tucked her nose into the folds as if searching for a scent of Dale. “I can’t think who would’ve come after him.”

Tim clasped his hands together and screwed up his face as a question popped up that wouldn’t go away. He knew it would upset Helen, but he had to ask.

“Is there any chance Dale was involved in anything dodgy?” asked Tim, even though it seemed highly unlikely. Dale didn’t break rules. And if he did, he felt guilty as hell about it.

“Such as?” asked Helen, defensively.

“Gambling … drugs? I mean he does look kinda spaced out sometimes and - ”

“No. Definitely not!” exclaimed Helen, offended on Dale’s behalf. “He doesn’t smoke. He hardly ever takes anything for a headache even. No. There’s more chance of Jean being involved in organised crime than Dale!”

Tim wandered into the room, having felt awkward standing on the threshold of Dale’s bedroom. He saw the torn trousers on the rug and wondered if he dared point them out to Helen. He chose not to. Chances were Dale wasn’t wearing them when they were ripped. He crouched down to get a closer look, which revealed they were buttoned and zipped as if taken out of the wardrobe. What’s more they were the polyester pair he’d worn out in Darwin. No great loss.

It was then that he caught sight of a book on the floor. Why would Dale leave a book there and not on his nightstand if he was reading in bed?

“What have you got there?” asked Helen, seeing Tim picking up the book.

“Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Strange place to leave a book – but there are no signs it was fingerprinted, so either the cops didn’t think it significant or it was one of them that dropped it there.”

“I didn’t know he was into gothic literature,” mused Helen, holding out a hand to take the book from Tim.

“Not all of it – just the vampire stories,” replied Tim. Then, with what he knew was an inappropriately smug expression, he smiled. “Didn’t you know about that? I guess you didn’t hear about the New Year’s Eve pub crawl?”

“The three-legged, fancy-dress event in town?” Helen frowned as if wondering what relevance that had to Dale’s reading habits. “Yes. I heard a group of you went on that. Did Dale go?”

“Yeah. We got Noeleen to persuade him it would be fun. The two of us got paired up,” said Tim, pausing to check Helen’s reaction. As she appeared to be keen to hear more and not annoyed with him, he continued. “Ross and I were going to go as Musketeers, but he bailed on me, and as Dale was also in a cape Noeleen and Rob decided to put us together.”

“A cape?” asked Helen, the corner of her mouth twitching slightly.

“Well, more of a long cloak – he went as Count Dracula. Even had a little set of fangs.”

Tim smiled as the memory of their drunken fumbling in a dark corner of a pub garden came back to him. Dale had been fooling around earlier, pretending to bite his neck. They’d slipped out together after midnight and the singing of Auld Lang Syne. Their cloaks had hidden them from view as they’d privately wished each other a Happy New Year. Dale never mentioned it afterwards so Tim wasn’t sure if he had suppressed the memory or had just been too drunk to recall what had happened. Helen didn’t need to know about it either way.

“That I would’ve loved to have seen,” said Helen. “I don’t suppose there are photos?”

“I sincerely hope not,” replied Tim, ducking his head quickly as he felt his cheeks grow warmer.

“That’s a shame,” said Helen, clutching the book in her hands and smiling fondly.

“Let’s check the bathroom – see what’s missing there, shall we?” suggested Tim, anxious to move out of the bedroom.

“Yes, I suppose we should.” Setting the book down on the pillow that still bore the indent of Dale’s head, Helen sighed. “Oh God, it seems like only yesterday I was collecting all his gear out of my bathroom – I wanted to scrub all trace of him out of my house.”

“You were angry,” said Tim quietly as he followed Helen into the bathroom. He had seen the impact of Helen’s anger on Dale and while he’d also been upset with Dale, once he’d heard his backstory his heart had gone out to him. Having gone through the betrayal, public humiliation and traumatising arrest, it wasn’t surprising that Dale hid his true self. He wondered how much of the truth Helen actually knew.

He stood back as Helen opened the bathroom cabinet and then checked the shelf above the washbasin.

“Um, toothbrush and paste are missing,” she noted. “Deodorant … can’t see the razor either.”

“What sort of kidnappers let you pack toiletries?” asked Tim. It made sense that they’d want Dale to get dressed, but why bother with anything else? Had he been told to pack?

“We don’t know for certain he was kidnapped!” snapped Helen. “For all we know, whoever broke in got the wrong address.” She was roughly pushing her hair back behind her ears. To Tim it seemed that she was desperately seeking an alternative theory that allowed her to cope. “What Ross said earlier, when he saw the hole in the wall, perhaps Dale was… roughed up, but then maybe they realised they’d got the wrong person and left him here. Maybe he grabbed his keys and tried to drive himself to hospital. We should be ringing around hospitals– ”

“Noelene’s already done that, Helen.” Tim risked taking Helen by the arm as he tried to get her to move away from the bathroom. She was bending over the sink, her fingers shifted from her hair to the porcelain sink, gripping so hard that her knuckles had gone white. “No one matching Dale’s description had been seen. But they’ll leave a message if he does show up.”

“What if he was badly hurt and crashed on the way?” suggested Helen, chewing on the edge of thumbnail.

“The police are looking out for his car, if it turns up, they’ll let us know.” Tim took a deep breath. He knew what she was doing, trying to think of scenarios that were marginally less bad than Dale having been abducted by persons unknown. “But you know that doesn’t explain why he packed clothes and the rest of this stuff. Here blow your nose.”

Tim tore off a long piece of toilet paper and handed it to Helen, having noticed the mascara running down her cheeks.

She thanked him and wiped away the tears before blowing her nose. It was as she bent down to throw the soggy clump of tissue paper in the bin that she gasped.

“What the hell?” She straightened up, clutching an empty toothpaste tube in one hand.  

Tim shrugged, wondering what had got Helen so agitated.

“He must’ve used it up. What’s the problem?”

“Dale hates this stuff. He only got it in when he thought his mum was going to be staying here at Easter. In the end I put her up at my place, so there’s no reason for this being emptied. And look-” Helen held the tube up triumphantly. “It’s been squeezed from the middle! Dale would never-”

“Over here!” Tim pointed at a smear of the striped toothpaste he’d spotted on the edge of the bath.

As her attention was drawn to the bath tub, Helen frowned.

“The shower curtain… he leaves it open after showering.” She then took one edge and was about to pull it back, before she stopped to stare at Tim, her eyes wide in horror. “Oh my God, Tim… what if?”

“No. If he was there, the police would’ve found him.” He shook his head, dispelling the image of Dale’s slumped body from his mind.

Tim pulled open the curtain. On the bottom of the tub there were trails of white, pink and blue toothpaste running into each other. It looked as if they had formed letters, but drips of water from the shower head had mostly obscured whatever it was that they had once said.

“Can you get a photo of that?” asked Helen, her voice trembling.

“Shit… hang on, I left my camera bag on the table, I’ll go fetch it. Don’t touch anything!”

His mind racing with images of Dale desperately trying to leave some sort of message, Tim was acutely aware of the fact that he’d been missing for at least twenty hours. He’d worked on enough cases of missing people to know the first twenty-four hours were crucial. And so did Helen. Fuck.

Fumbling with his camera, trying to focus despite the poor lighting, Tim snapped picture after picture of the toothpaste squiggles. Behind him, pacing in and out of the bathroom, Helen was speculating out loud, talking through possible scenarios.

“Not on paper – so this must have been the only place he could be alone. He must have asked to use the toilet and then did this.” Helen paused, hands on hips as she looked from one room to another. “That means he knew he was being taken somewhere. If his car has gone, they must have used that. They aren’t going to kill him, or they’d have done that here. They want something from him, or whoever they think he is… and they need to keep him alive for now, otherwise why bother letting him pack …?”

Finding the evidence that Dale had not gone willingly and that he wanted to be found had given Helen the impetus to pull herself together. Tim couldn’t help smiling, assured that Helen Norville had the bit between her teeth and that she wouldn’t leave a stone unturned looking for Dale. He was determined that he’d be lifting them with her.

“Helen? Helen!” shouted Tim, grabbing her by the elbow as she dashed past him on the way back to the bedroom. Swallowing down the fear bubbling up from his chest, he looked her in the eye and pleaded with her. “Let me help you. Whatever you need.”

He could see a shadow cross her face, the spectre of whatever it was that had happened, or not happened, between himself and Dale. However, she pursed her lips and nodded her head, conceding that she needed help and that she was willing to put aside her misgivings about Tim for the sake of rescuing Dale.

“Yes… yes. He’s out there and he needs me.”

“Us,” insisted Tim.

“Agreed. The more of us working on getting him back, the better.”

 

~~~~~~~

Chapter 6

 

Louis had been considerate enough to give him the remote for the TV before he’d left and Dale was idly flipping through the channels when he heard the door opening.

“You OK there?” asked Louis, sounding genuinely concerned. His arms were full and he had to shove the door shut with his hip.

The smile that lit up Louis’ face when he saw Dale sitting up watching TV seemed sincere. And, to his surprise, Dale was pleased to see his captor return. He’d imagined that perhaps Louis would disappear, leaving him to be found by the hotel staff in the morning in a compromising position, chained to the bed. He’d even imagined photos appearing in the tabloids. He’d never have lived that down. His career would’ve been over. How the hell could he have explained that to Helen?

With a grin, Louis presented Dale with a box that was still remarkably hot – he had to wonder how on earth Louis had managed to get back before it cooled down to an unpleasant tepid temperature.

“Voila, café pour mon cher!” Louis presented a disposable cup of piping hot coffee with a flourish. Setting the coffee next to the pizza on the nightstand, Louis unlocked the cuffs so Dale was free to eat and drink. “Milk, no sugar. And I got the soda and some snacks for later. Don’t want you wastin’ away on me.”

He held up a bag in which Dale could see was the bottle of soda he’d requested and some miscellaneous chocolate bars.

“Thank you. Why French?” asked Dale, peeling off the lid carefully to avoid pouring coffee down his front. He took a sip and sighed as if it were the best thing he’d tasted for a long while. He looked over the top of the cup to see Louis tilting his head, studying his every move. “Don’t tell me this Lestat is a Frenchman?”

“Yeah … French… Italian. He’s a lot,” came Louis’ enigmatic reply as he placed the carrier bag on top of the desk. “I guess you don’t speak French.”

“Just basic school French. I can read it far better than I speak it.” Dale glanced up from his coffee to see Louis’ eyes lingering on his mouth. “I can also understand enough to know you’re still flirting with me in the hopes I am your Lestat.”

“I can’t help it,” replied Louis, unapologetically shrugging as he ignored Dale’s quiet tutting.

The smell of the freshly cooked pizza had Dale’s stomach rumble loudly, his hunger displacing any other concerns. He set down what was left of the coffee on the nightstand and pulled the pizza box closer to him.

“Hungry?” asked Louis with a knowing smile as he sat down next to Dale. “That’s all yours, I’ve already eaten.”

It was then, with Louis leaning close, that Dale spotted something red in the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, Dale reached out to brush at it with his fingertips.

“You have something on your mouth... sauce maybe?” Then he frowned as he squinted at what looked like some strands of fluff caught on the slight stubble of Louis’ chin. He grimaced at the realisation that it resembled animal fur. “That looks like … is that… is that fur?”

Louis quickly leaned back and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I don’t believe you’re still doin’ that!” Louis scowled as if it was a long running bone of contention. “How many times do I have to tell you, it’s rude.”

“So’s eating koalas, but that’s what it looks like you’ve been up to,” pointed out Dale, his lips pursed as he opened the pizza box. The disdainful look he got in return made him feel the need to ensure that Louis didn’t think he really believed he’d been eating the indigenous wildlife. “No need to pretend you’re offended, I was just kidding.”

Dale stared at the pizza – it was huge. Was he being fattened up?

“Are you sure you don’t want any of this? There’s a lot of it.”

Louis had turned his back on Dale to look at his face in the mirror on the wardrobe door, apparently checking there was nothing caught between his teeth.

“No. I’m good. I ate while I was out.” Satisfied that there wasn’t any more food on his face, Louis sat next to Dale again. He pointed at the toppings on the pizza. “I hope all that’s ok… wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I asked for a bit of everything.”

Dale couldn’t help but laugh – the pizza was outrageously over garnished, with layers upon layers of assorted vegetables and meats. It looked like a pizza ordered by someone who’d never eaten one before and had plenty of money.

“So you didn’t go with what Lestat would’ve ordered?” asked Dale, out of curiosity. “I mean if he’s part Italian I’d have thought he’d be quite particular about his pizza toppings.”

For some reason that caused Louis to laugh out loud. He chuckled to himself so hard, the bed started to shake.

“You’re right that he’s one of the most particular men I’ve ever met. But I’ve never known him not be impressed by excess.”

Their shoulders bumped together as they continued to laugh, unable to stop giggling at the ridiculous spectacle of the pizza that defied description. There was something irresistible about the sight of the sombrely dressed man laughing like a child, his joy was infectious and in spite of the circumstances, Dale couldn’t keep himself from joining in.

Eventually, Louis draped an arm around Dale’s back and squeezed gently, as he rested his head on Dale’s shoulder.

“However, I figured that you wouldn’t be up to anything like the last meal I shared with Lestat.” Louis smiled at Dale as if amused at a private joke. “It was quite an acquired taste you could say.”

Smiling in return, Dale picked out the pineapple and the chillies and then bit into the surprisingly good pizza. This time it was Louis who reached out to dab at the trickle of sauce that ran from the corner of Dale’s mouth.

“But some things don’t change,” said Louis with undisguised fondness. “You’re still a messy eater.”

 

~~~~~~~

 

Three hours later, when the hotel was quiet and no one was around, Louis made his way to the rooftop and then exited via the emergency stairs that clung to the outside of the building. He moved silently in the shadows, unseen and unnoticed. When he reached the bottom, he patted his pocket to make sure he still had the letter he’d allowed Dale to write. He’d checked the draft and, after crossing out a few lines, returned it to Dale to write out again.

Driving Dale’s car to the building where the News at Six offices were located, Louis mused on his problematic situation.

Thinking of the letter, it struck him like a punch to the gut that he was controlling what Dale could tell his work colleagues. It had been for the guy’s own safety. In just the same way Lestat had controlled his interactions with his own family, only more so. He regretted not having been able to read Lestat’s thoughts then, if only he’d heard Lestat’s reasoning and understood that he did what he did in a misguided sense of keeping him and Claudia safe. The fact that his possessiveness only made them feel like escaping no matter the cost had caused immeasurable harm to them all.

The parking lot behind the building was empty apart from a few large vans. Louis made sure to park well away from them. There was only one security camera and if he kept his back to it, there would be no way of identifying him. A newspaper in the footwell of the passenger seat would serve him well enough for his purposes. He tore the pages up and screwed them up into balls that he tossed back onto the floor.

He slipped out of the car and slowly strolled towards the front of the building. He pushed Dales’ ‘I’m still alive, don’t worry about me’ note through the letterbox. He hoped it would help reassure the woman who was obviously deeply in love with him. What was it about Lestat that had people so devoted to him?

Tilting his head to one side, Louis took a good look at Dale’s car as he rounded the corner on his return to the parking lot. It was ugly and the doors creaked. Lestat would’ve hated its lack of style. He’d be doing him a favour getting rid of it. Deciding that his instincts earlier were right, Louis focused on the combustibles inside the vehicle and concentrated until he could hear the crackle of flames catching. From his hidden vantage point he could see an orange glow building inside the car.

Leaning back against the brick wall at the side of the building, Louis lit up a cigarette and paused to consider what he’d set in motion.

What if Dale really was just a doppelganger and not Lestat at all?

Louis had just drawn even more attention to what may have been an innocent human. Not just a random stranger anymore, but someone he’d grown to like. A lot. Dale Jennings reminded him of everything he loved about Lestat. In a good way. But, through his impulsive actions, Louis had painted a target on the guy’s back for every vengeful vampire to seek out. Lestat could’ve looked after himself. A human wearing Lestat’s face couldn’t. Especially one such as Dale.

With a wry laugh, Louis realised that he was walking the same path trod by Lestat all those decades ago. He was in danger of falling in love with a human that reminded him of a previous beloved. The fact that the human may have once been Lestat added another layer of tragedy to the situation. His life was taking on the themes of the classical Greek tragedies and he idly wondered if they were originally written by vampires. Depressed vampires.  

After stubbing out his cigarette on the wall, Louis started to walk briskly in the direction of the hotel. He’d have to rent a hire car. Or buy one. He needed to call someone. Maybe Daniel? Armand? What would either or those two have to say to him? Hell, he’d need to protect Dale from Armand – whether or not he was responsible for the mind wipe, Armand would want to possess a weakened Lestat. Louis shuddered at the thought of just what Armand would do with him or to him. Although he loved that murderous vampire, Armand took derangement to a whole new level, making Lestat at his wildest seem prudent and restrained.

Whatever Lous chose to do, he knew that the time had come to explain to Dale what was going on.  He had to tell him what his true nature was and what he thought Dale might have been and maybe still could be. It was a fucking mess.

He could, of course, blame Lestat for disappearing. Again. Damn. Despite the desire to blame his tendency to screw up on a grand scale on the influence of his maker, Louis figured that a lot of it was on him. He had more in common with Lestat than he could ever have imagined.

Meanwhile, back in his hotel room, chained to the bed, was a guileless human, afraid yet putting on a brave face. Whether he was Lestat or not, Jennings deserved the chance to have a say in his own fate.

As Louis walked along the highway that headed out of the city towards the airport, a truly horrific thought came to him and had him collapse to his knees.

The image of Lestat, battered and bruised from when he’d dragged him back from Antoinette’s house. His eyes filled with pain. A hand tucked into his side where Louis had stabbed him, his knee trembling with rage as he answered Claudia’s question. Lestat’s words when he described how Magnus had made him, his voice on the verge of breaking.

“He took me from my room in Paris, as I kicked and screamed. He kept me for a week, locked in a room full of corpses...”

Fuck. What the hell had he done? Had he managed to trigger Lestat into an even deeper state of memory suppression?

 

~~~~~~~

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“We need to talk,” announced Louis as he shoved open the door to the hotel room.

The television was on. But then again, what else was the man to do, cuffed to a bed in a hotel room isolated from everyone and everything he knew- or thought he knew.

As the door hit the wall with a resounding crash, Louis feel an accompanying wave of fear emanate from the occupant of the room. It didn’t take much effort to listen in on his thoughts. He believed his time was up, that he was about to die. Louis saw the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed nervously. Amongst the panicked thoughts of how Louis could possibly kill him, another thought was emerging. He was wondering where his body was going to be dumped and whether it would be found while his corpse was still recognisable.

Shaking his head, Louis hung his coat up on a hook and locked the door, putting the security chain on. He then squinted at the television until the screen flashed and then went dark. The silence had got the attention he needed. He huffed to himself, wondering when he had picked up on Lestat’s habit of making a dramatic entrance.

“There’s stuff I need to tell you.” Leaning against the desk, he pointed at his own head and then at Dale’s. “To start with, I know what you’re thinking. I can read your thoughts – that’s when they slow down and stop tripping over each other.”

“What …?”

“And I swear to you, I’m not gonna kill you and dump your body.”

A jolt to his conscience had Louis bite his tongue. He had done just that in the past. He’d slit Lestat’s throat and put his body out on the street with the trash. He’d driven away without a backward glance at the remains of the man he loved who he’d left to be taken away and tossed on the dump.

As penance, along with Lestat’s body, he’d abandoned his own wounded heart in New Orleans.

“What are you on about? An educated guess, that’s all. A trick.” Dale was chewing on his lower lip, his thoughts angry and hurt. “You’re trying to mess with my head. There’s no need for that- the current situation is already scary as fuck.”

Snapping out of memories that haunted him, Louis slowly approached the frightened man. He crouched down at the side of the bed and made the effort to keep his voice calm.

“You’re scared, I get that. And you’re right, I could’ve guessed what’s goin’ on in your head. But I ain’t lyin’.” The sound of a terrified heart contracting erratically filled his senses. He had to tackle the necessary revelations with care. “Test me – think about the last meal you had with that woman you can’t get outta your head.”

It was too late to change the prompt and Louis swore when he saw the glistening of tears accumulating on the lower lashes of blue-grey eyes. Trembling lips pressed together did little to keep the thoughts from being read by Louis.

“Beef casserole,” announced Louis. There was no sense of victory in having fished that from the man’s mind, not when the cost had been the heart-breaking look of sorrow on his face. “You told her it was delicious, even though the rice wasn’t fully cooked and the meat was tough.”

“That’s cruel,” came the well-deserved retort, words distorted by a sob breaking free. “I didn’t think you were a cruel man, Mister de Pointe du lac.”

Lestat had once told him he’d never been cruel, but that wasn’t true and they’d both known it, even then. There had been many times when he’d been deliberately unkind to Lestat, passively withholding what he needed the most and delighting in the resultant pain he’d inflicted.

With a sigh, Louis pulled a key from the pocket of his jeans and unlocked the cuffs. As the metal bracelet fell away he tried to unfold the fingers clenched in an impotent fist, only to have the hand snatched away. His faster reflexes allowed him to capture the man’s wrist, only to have a cry of pain alert him to the force he’d used. Louis quickly loosened his grip to avoid crushing the fragile bones within. He then sat down on the edge of the bed, far enough away so he wasn’t hovering, but close enough to prevent any attempts to run away.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Not this time, I swear. “It wasn’t intentional. I just needed to explain before I tell you anything else. You need to know I can hear what you’re thinking.”

“There’s more?” asked Dale incredulously, a tear spilling down his cheek. He narrowed his eyes and raised his chin defiantly. “Can you hear this?”

‘Why won’t you believe me when I say I’m not Lestat?’

Louis shook his head and considered how to reply.

“The fact that I can read your mind means you ain’t Lestat – not right now. I don’t know how or why, but you’re definitely human. At least for now.” Louis closed his eyes as he thought through his next words carefully. “Whether you’ve always been a human called Dale Jennings, or you’re Lestat and you’ve been made human again is something we need to figure out.”

The mixed emotions displayed on the man’s face echoed those tumbling around in his head. The strongest thought being what Louis meant by not being human.

“What the hell do you mean by being made human again?” demanded Dale, his voice strained. His pupils were blown so wide his eyes looked more like Lestat’s than before. Dark pools that drew him in without conscious intention. “What’s the alternative?”

“It’s what I am. What I am willing to admit to you… when for the longest time I refused to acknowledge it to the one who made me.” Louis sighed wearily as he thought back to the screaming matches in the house on Rue Royale. “Lestat begged me to accept what I was, what I am. It took a lot to get me there.”

“Just what the hell are you?”

Louis recognised it as the trait of a good journalist, a willingness to ask the questions to which the answers were always unpredictable and often frightening. It reminded him of Daniel. But he didn’t miss the sharp spike of terror that caused heart rate to speed up and breaths to come shallow and fast. There was no way he could sugar coat the answer.

Planting his feet firmly on the floor, Louis stood up. He pulled back his shoulders to convey his full height, and held his hands loosely clasped in front of him, the long glassy nails on show. With a deep, albeit unnecessary breath, Louis decided it was time.

“I’m a vampire.” He could see from the blank face that he would have to repeat his admission more slowly. “I. Am. A. Vampire.”

He was completely taken by surprise when he was angrily shoved backwards, causing him to lose his balance. By the time he’d righted himself he could see the bed was no longer occupied. He could hear the rattling of the chain on the door. Moving with inhuman speed, Louis intercepted the escape bid. Wrapping his hands around the man’s waist he lifted him away from the door as if he were nothing but a child.

Then, without thinking, Louis twisted around and threw him onto the bed. Then, looming over the prone figure, he closed a fist around a handful of the soft woollen sweater.

“Don’t do that!” he growled. “You need to listen to me!”

“OK, I get it, you’re stronger than I am, and you get off on that whole macho thing!” The man in Louis’ grasp was shaking with anger as much as fear. “Just like every other bully!”

Assaulted by memories of being attacked by bullies, Louis instantly loosened his hold. He knew that Lestat had suffered brutality at the hands of his father and brothers. Part of him wanted to delve deeper to see when and where the attacks had happened, to see if they were Lestat’s memories resurfacing. But all he could discern were memories of pain and humiliation, not of the people inflicting the harm.

Whether the pain caused had been to Lestat or to the human calling himself Dale, the effect was to generate an anger in Louis. He wished he could go back and find the people responsible and kill them. Without conscious thought, Louis bared his teeth and his long fangs protruded down towards his lower lip.

“What the fuck are those?” came an angry demand.

Shit! He’d not meant for that to happen. Louis clamped his mouth shut, hiding the elongated canines from view.

“I get it,” snarled the human, his lip curling as his thoughts drifted to the times he’d been the victim of ridicule and taunts. “You picked up Dracula from the bookcase in my flat and decided to take the piss out of me-”

“I am not joking!” bellowed Louis, launching himself at the bed. “This is as serious as it gets.”

Pressing his hands close to each side of the broad shoulders, Louis tried to immobilise the man he had just revealed his true self to – against all the rules if he were not Lestat. As he felt knees come up in a futile attempt to push him off, he couldn’t believe there’d ever be a time when Lestat would try to get away from him with such urgency. Especially on a bed.

“They’re real, I promise you.” Louis lifted a hand to his mouth and bit a fingertip. He held it out, letting the blood be seen, before sucking it into his mouth to clean it. He smacked his lips noisily in an attempt to prompt a moment of realisation.

“Are you trying to tell me that you … feed on blood?” Yet another question dripping with scorn.

“Now you’re getting it.” Louis smiled in encouragement.

“You feed on people?”

“No! Well, not always.” Louis shrugged as it came to him that he’d not always been so discriminating about what he fed on.

“That fur on your mouth earlier - ?”

A finger tentatively reached out to brush against Louis’ face.

“Rat… not koala. I feed on the blood of the living. Don’t need to be human blood, but it’s better if it is. More nutritious.”

Listening in to the other man’s thoughts, Louis could sense panic and a fear that he was losing his mind, or had been drugged. Despite the relatively calm exterior, there was a furious storm of anxiety and fear brewing within. He could tell from the nervous swallowing that the man’s mouth was dry. Adrenaline was fuelling the preparation to fight or flee, despite both having already been proved hopeless.

“I’ll get you a glass of water and then you can ask me whatever you want. Don’t go anywhere. And no, I’m not going to bite you – not unless you ask me to.”

When Louis returned with a glass of cool tap water, he was relieved to see the man who looked so much like his beloved hadn’t moved from the bed. He was sitting with his back against the headboard, arms folded across his chest, in such a familiar pose, one of defensive defiance.

“Here, drink.” Louis held out the glass of water and waited until it was accepted before continuing. It didn’t surprise him that it was sniffed first as if it might have been tampered with. “It’s just water. I’ll tell you the basics first while you gather your thoughts. If it makes you feel better, I’ll keep outta your head for now, OK?”

As he had with Daniel he decided to start by going over all the folklore that wasn’t true. He sat at the end of the bed and started to talk.

“I do have a reflection, as you probably noticed. I don’t need to be invited into a house – but I guess you figured that out too.” Louis winced as he recalled the door he kicked down. “Yeah, and for information, crucifixes and stakes have no effect. For now, I’m not gonna tell you what does. Not just for self-preservation, but you’re gonna need me to survive and it’s not in your interests to kill me.”

“For argument’s sake, if I believe a word of your insane story, wouldn’t I need to know how to protect myself from these others you said would come after me? I imagine you’re going to tell me they’re also vampires?”

Louis grimaced as he realised that was another issue he’d have to discuss sooner or later. He would need to get them both out of Melbourne and probably out of Australia to be assured of safety.

“Yeah, they’re vampires.” He kept the details to himself, not wanting to explain any further.

“So, wouldn’t it help if I knew how to defend myself? Especially as you’re so convinced I’m in danger.”

“Good question.” Louis took a fond look at the gentle soul slowly sipping water. He couldn’t see him tearing off heads or setting fire to assailants of any nature. It would be up to Louis to take on the role of defender. “Trust me, you’re gonna have to leave that to me.”

Louis waited as the human took another gulp of water and licked his lips.

“So, Lestat … he’s a … a vampire as well?”

Louis felt his heart breaking at the question. Because he genuinely didn’t know the answer at that moment, and it was eating him alive. He shrugged and saw a fleeting glimpse of compassion in blue-grey eyes.

“You got me there,” he said wistfully. “What I can say is that last time I saw him he was very much the vampire Lestat.”

“And he looks just like me?”

“Identical, except he wore his hair longer.”

“Does that make much difference?”

“Oh – you’d be surprised what difference that makes. He’d flick it back when annoyed or, when he was in a good mood, he’d let it drape across-” Louis hesitated as he recalled running his hands through that hair, clenching handfuls of it as Lestat worked his way down his body, worshipping every inch of him with lips and tongue. Smiling at the memories he nodded his head. “Yeah, it made a difference.”

“And you really believe that I’m him and that I was a …. a vampire?” The anxious human scrunched up his face, unable to disguise how worried he was, for his own sanity and that of Louis. “But somehow, I got turned into a human and have no memory of ever having been a vampire?”

“That about sums it up,” agreed Louis.

“You realise how ridiculous that sounds, don’t you? What makes you think that can even be done?”

“For a start, your mind could’ve definitely been wiped so you had no memory of me or who you once were. New memories coulda been planted to replace the missing ones. I’ve seen that done.” It hadn’t been that long ago since Louis had witnessed Armand do that very thing to Daniel Molloy. Even though the journalist was a human, Louis had no doubt Armand could mess with vampires’ heads just as effectively. Louis wasn’t convinced he’d not tampered with his own memories.

“Fine, I’ll accept that. I’ve read reports of both brainwashing and false memory implantation in certain military regimes.”

“Yeah, well, I know someone who fucks with other people’s heads for the fun of it.” Louis scowled as  yet again, he found himself broadcasting to Armand. What the fuck have you done?

“But how do you explain converting a vampire into a human again?” The look of disbelief on the man’s face looked as scornful as Lestat’s when he’d dismissed Louis’ dietary choices.

“I have no idea. But I’ve heard rumours of all sorts of research.”

“By humans or vampires?” Pinching the bridge of his nose, it looked as if the human was in the throes of a massive headache. Louis hadn’t considered buying anything for headaches, and even if he had he doubted they’d be trusted.

“Both,” replied Louis, thinking again of Armand and his gruesome experiments.

Louis saw the glass was empty, so got up to refill it and when he returned it to the nightstand he chose to sit nearer the top of the bed.

“What else do you wanna know? I can tell you’re curious, even though you think at least one of us is losing his mind.”

“Let’s say, for one second, that I believe you are a vampire. Is that why you can move incredibly fast? I wasn’t imagining that earlier was I?”

Louis nodded in affirmation.

“And I guess it’s true that you can’t be out in sunlight? That’s why you waited until it was dark before going out.”

“That’s right. Sunlight is dangerous to us. That’s why we need to stay here until sunset tomorrow, it’s too late to make a move now.” Louis then recalled that he needed to get a replacement vehicle as well. “Speaking of which, I have to tell you something about your car - ”

“Did it stall? You have to – ”

“Nope. It didn’t stall and it’s never gonna stall again.” Louis wrinkled his nose as he realised there was no good way to explain what had actually happened to the vehicle.

“Oh my God, don’t tell me you crashed it?”

“No! Of course not”” Louis was offended. He had always been the safer driver. It had been Lestat and Claudia that drove like maniacs. “I’ll have you know, I’ve been driving for over seventy-five years now without a single accident. I did not crash that piece of crap - ”

“What have you done to my car?” Sitting up, hands fisted as he leaned towards Louis angrily, it was evident that he was more concerned over the fate of his car than his own uncertain future.

Louis’ eyes lit up and for the first time since he returned that night, he felt as if all was not lost. The outrage, the puffed-out chest, the mouth almost pouting in indignation - that was pure Lestat.

“I’ll get you a new one,” said Louis, with a grin, realising that he was also sounding like Lestat. Never mind destroying all the links to your family, you have me now. All those attempts to buy affection or forgiveness with gifts.

“I liked that car. I bought it when I got the job.”

“As newsreader?” asked Louis, curious. He’d not thought to test the depth to which the false memories had been planted. If that was indeed the case. “I was gonna ask how you got that job.”

“I wasn’t employed as a newsreader. I started as yet another office dogsbody. But I always wanted to read the news.”

“So, how come I saw you on TV reporting on the disaster at Chernobyl?” asked Louis, narrowing his eyes. It had seemed strange that Armand would have placed Lestat in such a high-profile career where he’d be easy to find. Unless that was just him being vindictive. Again, nothing would surprise Louis with regard to that vampire.    

“Accident of fate, I guess. This time last year I was just working behind the scenes, producing the news program.” With a look of fondness on his face, he blushed adorably. “If it hadn’t been for Helen, I would never have got a second chance to be on the desk after making such a disaster the first time.”

It was all beginning to make sense to Louis. He realised it was yet another chance encounter that had opened the door to Lestat venturing out into the limelight. Always a performer, Lestat relished the attention. It fit the pattern that even brainwashed into believing he was just a shy, bashful young reporter, Lestat would want to impress an audience and receive praise.

Any doubts Louis had entertained earlier were dispelled as he dipped inside the human’s thoughts. There was that peacock level pride and excitement he craved, all from presenting a news bulletin alongside a beautiful woman who loved him.

Louis sprawled back onto the bed and closed his eyes. So, apart from the identical appearance, disregarding the hair, which could grow back, the man next to him was ambitious, craved love and attention, had been bullied as a child, was attracted to both beautiful women and men … and was a slave to his emotions however hard he tried to repress them.

Smiling broadly, Louis rolled over onto his front and crawled towards the stunned human. He moved slowly, forecasting his intentions with plenty of time to escape if they were unwanted.  Reaching out, Louis slid a hand around the back of Lestat’s neck and leaned up to kiss him on the mouth. A tender kiss, nothing forceful or demanding. Just a kiss to let Lestat know, however deeply buried he was, that Louis loved him and was there for him.

~~~~~~~

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dale shut his eyes and tried not to react. His heart was galloping in his chest and he wasn’t entirely certain that it was just fear.  

‘Tell me to stop and I will.’ He could feel soft lips brushing against his mouth as he heard the words in his head. ‘I promise I’ll leave you alone.’

Dale believed Louis’ words were sincere. Part of him wanted to push the frighteningly seductive man away – and another part of him, that part of him he tried to pretend didn’t exist, felt cared for and seen.

Screwing his eyes shut he considered his options. He’d been in this situation before and his instincts had made matters far worse for all concerned. There was nothing to lose from trying to ask politely for the man whose sinful mouth was dangerously close to his face to stop what he was doing. Worst that could happen was for him to keep doing what he was doing. And no one died of a kiss. Did they?

Inhaling sharply, having held his breath, Dale was aware of a pain in his chest. Was he going to have a heart attack?

“I’d like you to stop. Please.” Dale slowly raised a hand and placed a finger on Louis’ lips. “I can’t think straight. My head’s a mess-”

'That fucking bastard Armand!’

Dale pushed himself up on one elbow and glared at Louis. How had he shouted that inside his head?

“I don’t know who the hell you’re on about!” He wanted to grab hold of Louis and shake him, and would have done if he didn’t suspect it would end up with him being thrown across the room. “It’s you! You’re the one who’s been messing with my head! Since the minute you came crashing into my life.”

Seeing Louis rear back as if slapped gave Dale the courage to keep going. He managed to sit up, which made him feel a lot less vulnerable than lying on his back.  

“You took me from my home saying that I’m not who I think I am. You claim that I’m your … your what? Boyfriend? Lover? Mortal enemy? It sounds to me you’re not sure if you love the guy or hate his guts. And, to top it all off, now you’re telling me that you’re a vampire and so’s this Lestat, and therefore so am I.” Dale paused to run a hand through his hair and take stock of just how absurd the situation was. “Do you seriously expect me to believe all that bullshit about vampires? Because, to be honest, that is one of the most disturbing things I’ve heard from you since you kidnapped me.”

Dale could see that Louis was about to say something out loud, so he pressed a hand fully against the man’s mouth in the hope he’d let him have his say while he was sufficiently brave to get it off his chest. If he was going to be killed he didn’t want his last words to have been ‘don’t do that’ or ‘shut up and listen’.

“No. And don’t talk to me in my head either – however the fuck you’re doing that! Are you a hypnotist? Is that what’s going on?” He scowled as Louis started to grin and was pleased to see he thought again and adopted a more neutral expression. “It’s your turn to listen. I haven’t the first idea what your agenda is – or your motive. I’ve never met anyone more a mess of contradictions – one minute you’re cuffing me to the bed and the next you’re feeding me pizza. And now you’re trying to kiss me? No, that’s not … I don’t know what to think anymore.” Swallowing hard as his heart seemed to be trying to crawl up his throat, Dale stared into emerald eyes that didn’t look real and stated his worst fears. “At this point in time, I’m not sure if you’re going to kill me or fuck me. Maybe both. And I’m not even sure what order you’d do that in! Just what exactly do you want from me? An interview? Ransom money? Your fifteen minutes of fame when you’re arrested for kidnapping?”

Breathing rapidly, Dale glared at Louis daring him to explain himself. If he’d been hoping for a look of remorse he was disappointed. Louis was smiling that beatific, charming smile even as he shuffled back a little, sensing that Dale needed a bit more space.

“Oh Lestat … you were right all those years ago. You used to call me stubborn. Unaccommodating. Maddening. A challenge.” Full lips stretching into a lazy smile, Louis reached out to clasp one of Dale’s knees. “Seems I still am. I’ve given my interview, I’m rich beyond measure thanks to you and I’m not the one obsessed with either fame or infamy.”

“Ah,” Dale raised an eyebrow as he worked out what was going on. “So you’re back to thinking I’m definitely him?”

“Yeah,” purred Louis, his thumb rubbing tiny circles on Dale’s thigh. Licking his lips he smiled again. “You know, I reckon if we were to make a … connection… if we made love… then it would all come back to you.”

Dale pulled his legs away from Louis. The words of seduction should be anathema to him. He had enough problems trying to reconcile his commitment to Helen with his inability to shut down the feelings he had for Tim.

“No! That’s not going to happen.” Dale shook his head vehemently. “What kind of twisted, fucked-up mind thinks that’s a good idea?”

Louis went quiet and drew back further, pressing his lips tightly together as if suppressing laughter bubbling away, on the verge of escaping.

“Yours! So many times, I lost count.” Louis laughed out loud and then, wiping moisture from his eyes he continued. “And guess what – you were usually right. Not always, but more often than not, it did make things better.”

“Him - not me! That’s not how I work.” Dale tucked his legs underneath him to remove them from the wandering hands that he could see were itching to reach out for him. “For God’s sake, I’ve only just got the woman I love to speak to me again! Meanwhile, there’s someone else that looks at me as if I’ve kicked his puppy-”

“You kicked a puppy?” Louis looked shocked. “I thought you loved dogs!”

“There is no puppy! It’s a metaphor. Keep up.” Dale licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry once more. “There are people … people I have feelings for who felt that I’d been dishonest with them. And it’s true that I’d kept the truth from them, but –”

“Classic Lestat,” observed Louis with a wry expression. “Economical with the truth until it bites him in the ass.”

“Will you please stop that.” Dale rubbed his head again. “You don’t know me! There’s no way I’m going to willingly do anything to jeopardise what I’m trying to rebuild with Helen.”

Dragging his hands through his hair, he recalled the first time Helen had run her fingers through his hair. If he closed his eyes he could see her in the mirror as she told him how much more handsome he looked with it tucked behind his ears.

“You still with me?” asked Louis, as he jostled Dale’s knee to get his attention. “That’s a different look for you, but I recognise that expression. Like looking in a mirror for me too. You’re feeling guilty.” Louis had hit the nail on the head and for the first time, Dale truly believed that he did understand him. “Guilt for what you’ve done and what you’ve thought of doing. Guilt for what your body wants, but your head says you shouldn’t, ‘cos it’s wrong.”

Dale let his head fall back against the panel above the headboard. He shut his eyes tightly and knew that even without him saying a word, Louis knew he’d got it right.

‘I can take away that feeling.’

Before he could respond, Louis had got up from the bed and was wandering towards the window.

“The sun will be up soon. I’m gonna have to get under the covers to keep the light out. Will you at least get in the bed to sleep today?”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep,” replied Dale. He was mentally exhausted and the headache that had started earlier hadn’t abated. He massaged his temples in the vain hope of easing the tension.

“I know something that will get rid of that headache,” whispered Louis, suddenly at his side again.

Dale knew exactly what Louis was referring to and he very much doubted that diverting the blood supply from his brain to his groin would make him feel any better in the long run. Temporarily maybe. But he’d never forgive himself.

“Oh God … why do you keep tormenting me like this?”

“You know why,” replied Louis, despite the question not requiring an answer. He leant down to press a gentle kiss to Dale’s forehead.

Before Dale had the chance to make a half-hearted protest, Louis was half way across the room again.

“How do you do that? Move so fast?”

“I told you – I’m a vampire.”

“Don’t keep saying that.”

“What would it take to convince you?” asked Louis while unbuttoning his shirt slowly, revealing one inch of skin at a time. His shirt was falling open, revealing his bare chest. Perfect in every way, without blemish and impossibly smooth.

Dale felt his heart skip a beat.

“I can set fire to things– ”

“Don’t! You’ll set off the smoke detector,” said Dale, immediately regretting his words of caution. A fire alarm and evacuation of the building could have given him the opportunity to escape.

“Tear off a corner from the pizza box and put it under one of the glasses on that tray.”

Dale frowned, but followed the instructions and then watched in awe as the paper started to smoulder and then catch fire. A piece of cheese melted and sizzled, before blackening as it, too, burnt. That wasn’t normal. Normal people couldn’t do tricks like that. No sleight of hand could explain all that he’d seen. He turned his head to catch the knowing look on Louis’ face.

Louis was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and taking off his boots without taking his eyes from Dale. He maintained eye contact as he stood up and slowly unbuttoned his jeans, peeled them down over his thighs and let them slide to the floor. With yet another enigmatic smile, he stooped down to pick up his discarded clothes before heading for the wardrobe.

While putting the shirt on a hanger, Louis looked over his shoulder. Making no attempt to hide his blatant attempts at seduction he slid a finger under the waistband of his boxers, pulled it away from his taut stomach and then shrugged, letting it snap back into place, cinching his small waist. Leaning against the wardrobe door, Louis moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, fully aware of just what effect he was having on Dale.

Clearing his throat, Dale grabbed the bottle of Coke and took a long gulp. He had lost track of how long he had been gazing, open-mouthed, mesmerised by the revelation of expanses of satiny skin begging to be touched. His resolve to remain unaffected was weakening.

“Come on, you need to sleep and so do I,” said Louis, gesturing towards the bed. “Tomorrow, after sunset, once I’ve eaten and got us some transport, we’re gonna be leaving Melbourne.”

Thrown by the mercurial switch from lasciviousness to pragmatism, Dale blinked furiously until he recalled what Louis had previously told him.

“What if I don’t want to go with you? You said you’d give me forty-eight hours to consider what you had to tell me.” Dale was curious. After all he’d heard and seen, would Louis really take him by force?

Louis shrugged and seemed about to reach out before changing his mind.

“Give me one more chance to convince you to come with me, mon cher.” Louis’ eyes seemed rimmed with red, which Dale put down to the lighting, although they did look sad. “If, after you’ve considered what you’re turning your back on, you’re happy to remain in this mortal existence … well I guess there’s nothing I can force you to do. I’ll leave you alone. You’d never have to see me again.”

“Really?” asked Dale, confused, again. “You promise?”

“But, for my peace of mind, I shall reach out to certain people who will do what they can to make sure you’re not hunted or harmed by others of our kind.”

“Are they likely to kidnap me and try to get me to sleep with them?” asked Dale, wondering if he’d be better off taking his chances with the devil he was getting to know than an unknown group of strangers.

“Only one – and I’m already intending to have words with Armand.” Louis bit his lip as if picturing the encounter with this Armand character. His face then took on the look of a child pleading for something they’d been repeatedly denied. “Try for me, mon cher, please? I promise to let you take your chances if you’re not convinced, but only if you give me one more opportunity to persuade you that you’re not who you think you are.”

Dale tried to keep his eyes on the other man’s face and not at the muscles perfectly defined on his chest that his outspread arms seemed to be framing. Eventually he nodded his head.

“Yes, I’ll hear you out.” Listening he could do. Believing was another matter. The amused expression on Louis’ face suggested he had actually overheard that thought. “I imagine this Lestat of yours found it hard to refuse you anything.”

“To his immortal cost …yeah.”

Again, that wistful look on the man’s face that Dale found intriguing. It hinted at regrets and sorrow – and those were emotions he could empathise with.

“Can still hear him saying he could never say no to me.”

Dale frowned and held up his hand urgently.

“Hang on – I hope that you’re not interpreting my agreement as evidence that I’m him, are you? Or that I believe anything you’ve said about vampires?”

Louis just smiled enigmatically in response.

“Tell me this, can you deny what you’ve seen with your own eyes?”

Dale scoffed at the idea of trusting anything he saw or heard from the alluring stranger.

“They could be tricks… you could’ve drugged me.” His mind was desperately seeking explanations for what he’d observed. Accepting it all as truth was too much.

If all he’d seen was true, perhaps he really was Lestat? Perhaps he did have amnesia and had been given memories that weren’t his. Would that explain why he was struggling with who he was? Was that why he had these feelings that wouldn’t go away?

“I could be hallucinating…”

At this suggestion, Louis shook his head and came to stand beside Dale. Placing his hands on Dale’s shoulders he turned him around in a circle.

“Does anything else in this room seem ‘wrong’ or distorted? Are you seeing colours where there shouldn’t be?” asked Louis, challenging his suggestions. “What colour are the curtains?”

“Grey,” admitted Dale. The whole room was devoid of bright colours. It looked just like any other nondescript budget hotel room.

“Is there any traffic on the highway out there?” whispered Louis.

“I … I’m not sure.”

“Have a look.” Louis gestured towards the window. “Then tell me what you see.”

Dale wasn’t sure why it mattered whether or not there was any traffic outside. He couldn’t hear anything to suggest there was. He went to the curtains and pulled them apart enough to peer out in the night. It was growing lighter, but it was overcast. The road surface was shining under the streetlights from where it had rained and as he peered out he could see the headlights reflecting white from the road and then the red glow of the taillights dwindling into the distance as they drove away.

“Yes,” he said, frowning. “Um … yes, there are some cars on the road.”

“Are you sure?” Louis raised an eyebrow, testing Dale.

“Of course I’m sure – I can see them.” Dale was getting frustrated, not understanding the point of the apparently irrelevant exercise.

“So, you trust your eyes?”

As soon as Dale nodded his head, Louis pointed towards the nightstand. He watched on, startled to see the handcuffs rise up before hurtling towards the waste bin, clattering as they hit the metal sides.

“How - ?” he demanded.

“Telekinesis,” replied Louis with a shrug.

Dale shivered involuntarily. Whatever Louis de Pointe du Lac was, he was able to do things that defied science.

“Only the impossible can do the impossible,” muttered Dale to himself.

“Now you have it!” Louis was grinning broadly and almost dancing on the spot. It was as if Dale had said the most profound thing known to humanity. “Now, why don’t you get out of those pants? So you can sleep comfortably, that’s all. You have my word I won’t do anything you don’t consent to.”

Turning his back on the impossible man, Dale wriggled out of the crumpled trousers he’d slept in the previous day and pulled the sweater over his head. As he did so, Louis turned out all the lights apart from the reading light by the bed, for which Dale was grateful. It made him feel less exposed. He kept on the white t-shirt and boxer shorts.

As he turned around, Dale noticed that the bed had been moved. Apparently, while he’d been getting undressed, Louis had somehow managed to push the bed against the wall without making a sound. It occurred to him, that Louis was strong enough to do with Dale whatever he wanted and that he really was respecting Dale’s wishes.

Louis held the sheet back to let Dale into the bed first.

“After you,” said Louis. He was smiling and not leering, which was reassuring. “This way, you can’t sneak off, but you’re not chained to me. I thought you’d feel more at ease.”

Shuffling over, as close to the wall as he could, Dale felt the mattress sink as Louis got in behind him. With his knees pressed against the wall, he wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d be safer keeping a watchful eye on the other person in the bed, or curling up into a ball and hoping he'd take a hint. 

A high-pitched buzzing sound penetrated the air and Dale felt Louis tense up behind him.

“You let a mozzie in,” grumbled Dale. “Those are blood suckers I know exist as they always go for me. If I come up in large red lumps, it’s your fault.”

“They got taste, is all,” replied Louis nonchalantly.

Then, suddenly, Louis slapped Dale’s arm. Hard.

“What the fuck-?”

“Sorry!” said Louis, despite sounding anything but apologetic. “It’s dead now. I saved you from the nasty blood sucker.”

“So instead of being bitten I’ve been clawed,” whinged Dale, holding his arm out to the weak light coming through the windows. “Those false nails of yours are a liability. They’re so sharp you managed to cut me!”

Dale’s perspective of the room rapidly shifted as he was rolled onto his back. He found himself staring at the ceiling, with Louis straddling his waist and holding up his injured arm. There was just enough light to make out three trickles of blood running towards the inside of his elbow from where Louis’ nails had caught in the soft skin of Dale’s forearm. Before Dale knew what was going on, Louis had latched his mouth to the injured area and was sucking. He cried out in pain. It hurt… in the way hickeys hurt when he’d been a teenager and his inexperienced girlfriend went in teeth first. But then something changed and it stopped hurting. The sensation had become pleasant, almost sensual. The feel of lips on his bare skin and a tongue delicately lapping at the scratches was unexpectedly soothing. Dale felt himself drifting off, the mattress beneath him was feeling softer by the minute, closing in around him, like a cocoon. He thought he was about to faint.

Then, as quickly as it begun, it stopped. He snapped his eyes open, not realising he’d closed them. His back had been arching up for some reason and he was aware that whatever his hips had been in contact with before had gone. Above him, lips and tongue discoloured by blood, Louis looked mortified.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I … here, let me.” Louis then lowered his face to Dale’s arm once more and licked gently, just once. “That’s better. All healed now.”

Shocked, Dale thought about the recent publicity about the risks of exchanging body fluids. Louis had obviously had a gay lover. That interview Helen arranged with Adam and Russ came back to haunt him. Again, but for different reasons than when he’d first seen the person who’d ruined his childhood when they’d been school friends.

Finally finding his voice, Dale found himself stuttering incoherently.

“You shouldn’t … no... shouldn’t have done that … not safe… you don’t … blood … saliva… it’s not ... I should get antiseptic or … does it even kill the virus?” He felt panic blooming in his chest, waves of it building up.

He was grateful when Louis hushed him, stroking his hair in an attempt to calm him down.

“I’m not infected with anything and neither are you. I’d taste it if you were. No need for antiseptic. Look-” Louis switched on the reading light and held Dale’s arm up so he could see that, apart from a slight trace of blood, there was no sign of any cuts at all. “Like I said, all healed.”

“But…” Dale rubbed at the skin where he knew there had been crescent shaped cuts from Louis’ fingernails. It was unblemished and as smooth as the surrounding skin. Swallowing hard, he pushed Louis away and rolled back onto his side to stare at the wall. What was going on? He’d been bleeding. Then he wasn’t. Louis had been sucking on his arm. Not kissing. Sucking. He had actually heard him slurp.

He could feel Louis’ breath on the back of his neck and felt his mind being swayed by his own incontrovertible observations. Whether Louis was a vampire or not, he wasn’t exactly human. There were things he could do and had shown Dale that were impossible.

“Would it be all right if I held you?” came a whispered plea. “I kinda think we could both do with a hug right now.”

Dale rolled his eyes.

“Really? A hug?”

“Does it bother you that I’m a guy?”

Dale was about to say ‘yes’ when it occurred to him that, of all his objections, that wasn’t the main one.

“It bothers me that you’re a guy who thinks he’s a vampire and that I’m his vampiric soul mate. That bothers me.”

“Are you afraid I’ll try to turn you against your will?” asked Louis, chuckling softly.

“No. Because, even if I did believe in vampires, I don’t think you’d do that.”

He felt Louis reach around to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him back, away from the wall. Being held so close to the other man’s body wasn’t unpleasant. He had thought he’d flinch, but instead his traitorous body had surrendered without consulting the rest of him.

Louis was nuzzling his neck from behind, as his long-fingered hands splayed across Dale’s abdomen. Dale shuddered a little as a cool, smooth-skinned leg was draped over his. He felt cradled in a cage of limbs, as strong as steel, yet the feeling was one of protection and not captivity.

“When you … sucked my arm… it felt strange. What was that? Another trick?”

“No. It usually happens when a vampire takes a little drink from the neck. Like the best high you’ve ever had.”

“I’ve not made a habit of getting high, so I don’t have much to compare it with,” said Dale, grasping Louis hand to keep it from sliding under the hem of his t-shirt. The other hand was teasing at the waistband of his boxer shorts, but he could only contain one at a time.

“I can show you more…maybe when I wake up tomorrow?” Louis pressed a languid kiss to the pulse point on Dale’s throat.

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” replied Dale, sleepily. For some reason he was feeling very tired. “Tell me more about Lestat.”

“So you can decide whether or not you want to be him?” asked Louis with a smile in his voice.

“You never know. Something in the story may suddenly click and everything will come back to me.” Melting into the sensations surrounding him, Dale was beginning to think that resistance was futile.

“Are you kidding?”

“Go on. Start at the beginning.” Dale wasn’t sure how long he’d stay awake, but the growing light beyond the curtains was insufficient to keep him from yawning and curling up. His breathing slowed down, as he inhaled and exhaled in time with the breaths he felt on his neck. Little spoon today. “When and where did you meet?”

“You asked for it.” Louis snuggled closer to Dale. In the most seductive voice Dale had ever heard, Louis started to talk. “It was in the year 1910, in New Orleans…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tim had got up early to use the dark room at work. He’d wanted to develop the photos he’d taken in Dale’s flat before there was a chance of getting called out on a job. As he was leaving the dark room, to grab a cup of coffee while the prints dried, he heard sirens outside. Tim ran down the stairs to the loading bay and grabbed his camera equipment. Outside he saw the flashing red lights glowing in the darkness. The fire truck had pulled off the main road and was in the rear car park. Running towards it, he could see flames reflected in the windscreens of the link trucks and radio cars parked to one side.

His thoughts were all over the place. Perhaps it was a campaign against News at Six – first Dale and now the station’s vehicles. Maybe a vendetta due to one of their reports?

Tim started to film the fire crew as they ran purposefully in different directions some unreeling the hose and others connecting it to the fire hydrant out on the street. One of the firemen ran towards him, waving him back, so Tim ran towards the white link trucks and sneaked into a gap between two of them where he was able to get an unobstructed view. Swinging his camera up on his shoulder, he focused in on the source of the fire.

It was a car.

Fuck. It was Dale’s car.

Tim’s heart skipped a beat and he almost dropped the camera. Fighting against the spike of horror, he tried to do what he’d always done in situations where he’d had to film distressing scenes, he concentrated on the technicalities. Adjusting the settings for the lighting conditions, he gripped hold of the camera and started to film.

All the while, racing through his head were thoughts he’d deal with later.

Dale could be in there. He could be dead, dying or injured.

He swallowed hard and turned slowly to get a sweeping shot of the emergency vehicles gathering nearby – a police car and ambulance had arrived while he’d been filming the fire being extinguished. He had flashbacks to the Russell Street bombings, and wished Dale was back in front of him, reporting on the live events unfolding. That kiss in the bar came back to haunt him. He wondered what could have happened if he’d held onto Dale and not stood aside to let the man’s guilt drag him back into denying what he really wanted?

Fuck ‘what ifs’. It was too bloody late. He could be recording the man’s death mere yards from where he was standing. Overwhelmed by nausea, Tim quicky set the camera down on the bonnet of the truck and bent over to throw up.

Then, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, he picked up his camera and kept filming. For the network. For Dale.

Through bleary eyes he witnessed the car disappearing under a blanket of foam, the flames gradually receding.  As the sky grew lighter, thick clouds of black smoke became more visible billowing into the air above him. A gust of wind blew some towards him and he coughed as the acrid smoke caught in his throat.

 

~~~~~~~~~

“Tim, mate, what the fuck’s going on?” Someone was yelling at him. It was Rob, jogging across to where he was standing.

“Get up there and tell them! Someone, anyone – that’s Dale’s car!” shouted Tim, coughing as he did so.

Rob stood stock still, his mouth falling open in horror. He did a double take of the burnt-out car and then Tim.

“Fuck’s sake, mate, this is gonna destroy Helen!”

“Don’t tell her – not until we know for certain he was in there,” said Tim. While there was a chance that Dale hadn’t been in the car it was the merciful thing to do.

“Do they know yet?” Rob pointed towards the police officers who were in discussion with one of the fire crew.

“Not yet. The fire investigation team are waiting until it’s safe enough to approach.”

“Was it a bomb?” asked Rob. “Like on Russell Street?”

Tim shook his head quickly.

“No explosion. Security guy didn’t know anything was up until he saw the camera feed showing a car on fire.”

Rob just stood there, hands on hips, frowning as he tried to process what he was seeing.

“Fuck.” Succinct, he summarised the situation in one word.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go call people in.”

Looking pale, Rob turned and ran back towards the building.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Helen had not slept well and there were dark circles under her eyes that she was hoping Cheryl could hide because she’d failed despite her best efforts with makeup that morning. Coming in, she was surprised to see the front car parking area cordoned off and had to park up the street. She had too much on her mind to wonder what was going on and assumed it was something to do with imminent road works. That morning, she’d woken up hoping it was all a nightmare and that Dale would be calling her in the morning to ask if she wanted to have breakfast with him. But he hadn’t. All she could think about was him.

Where was he? Who had taken him? Why? Was he alright? Was he harmed?

As her thoughts started to spiral again, she realised she was standing at the threshold of the newsroom. Blinking rapidly she took in the mayhem.

Dennis was screaming at Rob for some unaccountable reason. Noeleen was on the phone, hand clamping the receiver to her ear, trying to block out the cacophony surrounding her. Murray was pacing up and down impatiently. Jean was taking calls and glaring at Dennis.

Trying frantically to catch someone’s attention, Helen’s eyes came to rest on Dale’s desk. Books and notes neatly stacked. Chair tucked under. No one there. Of course not.

“What’s going on?” she yelled loudly to be heard over the din.

“Helen!” shouted Rob, manhandling Dennis to one side so he could get to her. The urgency of his voice and the grim expression on his face struck fear into Helen’s heart.

“Is there a breaking story?” She asked, hoping that it was just that. Something dreadful, but somewhere else, happening to someone else. But she knew, from Rob’s inability to hide his concern, that it wasn’t. “What’s happened? What’s going on?”  

Rob had put an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to soothe her, yet all it did was spark more anxiety.

“Just tell me what the fuck’s going on, Rob!” She shook his arm off her, not wanting comfort. If she accepted comfort it meant accepting the worst and she wasn’t ready to do that.

Her voice had cut through the din, which quietened momentarily as she felt all eyes on her. Her stomach lurched when she looked around to see pitiful looks from the rest of the team, settling on her one by one.

“No. No!”

Her knees buckled and she was vaguely aware of someone’s hands under her arms, hoisting her back as someone else shoved a chair towards her and she was seated.

“Tell me,” she demanded. “Don’t even think of hiding anything from me.”

Rob looked as though the words were stuck in his throat and fighting to get free. He looked to one side and visibly relaxed as Noeleen pushed in front of him and crouched down in front of Helen. 

“Early this morning, a car was left in the car park at the back. It was set on fire.” Noeleen’s voice wavered slightly and, on closer inspection, Helen could see her eyes were reddened. “We are still waiting for confirmation, but it seems likely that it was Dale’s car – ”

“Was it a bomb?” asked Helen, her eyes wide in horror.

“No,” stated Noeleen, definitively. “I called the security guard – and he confirmed there was no explosion. He saw the flames inside the car on the surveillance camera and called Fire and Rescue.”

“What about Dale?” Helen’s mouth was dry and she needed a Valium more than air at that moment. She felt as if she was going to throw up. “Was… was he in there?”

Noeleen looked around anxiously and seeing that the men were expecting her to do heavy work, she sighed and continued.

“We don’t know.” Noeleen took hold of Helen’s hand and looked her in the eye, ignoring the mumbling around her. Helen appreciated that Noeleen respected her need for facts and not platitudes. “Rob spoke to the fire crew and they told him that as far as they can tell no one was in the car, but the fire investigation team will need to carry out a thorough search before that can be officially confirmed.”

Helen felt her heart sink and her peripheral vision became blurred. The office seemed to ebb into the background and the hubbub became muffled as if she had put her head under water. She heard Rob suggesting someone put her head between her knees and saw Noeleen slapping his arm while muttering that he’d obviously not been paying attention in the first aid training course.

Jean appeared from nowhere, bearing a glass of water that she pressed into Helen’s hand. She took a sip, wishing they’d all leave her alone so she could take a much-needed Valium.

Wishing for a distraction, she got one, as the sounds of someone running down the corridor drew attention away from her. As all eyes were drawn to whoever was making an entrance, she quickly slid her hand into her bag and, with well-practised ease, popped open the bottle, tipped a pill into her hand and swallowed it down without anyone seeing.

Out of breath, his hair all over the place, it was Tim. There were smuts of soot on his face and shirt.

“I’ve got it!” shouted Tim. Rising to her feet, Helen could see he was waving a cassette above his head. Murray dashed forward and grabbed it from him.

“About fucking time, mate!” Murray cursed as he dashed off towards his editing room.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” said Tim, turning to walk over to Helen. Any other time he’d be the last person she’d want to speak to, but he was the only one there who had any idea how she was really feeling.

Standing in front of her, Tim took hold of her arm, his grip firm and reassuring.

“He wasn’t in the car,” said Tim, speaking slowly and clearly, so there was no mistaking what he was saying. “I watched them checking the boot. Heard them confirm the car was empty.”

“Thank fuck for that!” came Rob’s voice.

Helen could see the effect of that on Tim. It must have been harrowing to stand by and wait. She pulled him to her and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her heart was still pounding, but she had hope again.

“I should get down there. I need to interview the fire crew on camera.” Helen brushed her hair back from her face and rubbed her eyes. “Tim, get hold of Ross and I’ll meet you downstairs. I just need to tidy up a bit first-”

“Are you sure about this, Helen?” asked Dennis, looking dubious. “I mean, Rob could – ”

“No. It has to be me and you know it.”

Not waiting for a reply, Helen turned her back on Dennis and walked towards her office. She needed to get prepared. She had to have questions ready. In the background she could hear Dennis rallying the rest of the team and giving them orders.

“Right, everyone – let’s get on top of this!” he shouted. It was reassuring to hear him haranguing the team again. “I’ll go see what Murray has got on that tape. Noeleen – get onto the police again and see what they’ve got to say. We need to lead on this story today, with exclusive footage and interviews. Get to it people!”

That was good. Order over chaos. Something to hold onto.

She’d just finished writing out a list of questions in her notebook when the door was flung open and the space occupied by the imposing figure of Lindsay Cunningham. His chest was puffed out and his face almost purple with rage.

“What the fuck has that boyfriend of yours done this time?” he bellowed, so loud, the newsroom beyond hushed. “Is this all about getting bumped off the rota after his last screw up?”

“Don’t be so bloody ridiculous!” shouted Helen.

“If I find out he’s responsible he’s gonna pay for the whole bloody car park to be resurfaced! And if he’s hiding out at your place, you’d better call and tell him to get his arse back to work!”

Helen rose from her seat and pressed her hands flat down onto the desk, steadying her and keeping them from shaking.

“You heartless fucking bastard. You do realise that Dale has been kidnapped, don’t you?” Walking around from behind her desk, Helen approached Lindsay, no longer giving a damn what he thought of her. “Up until two minutes ago, I thought he was dead. And you have the fucking nerve to - ”

“I don’t fucking care! Until proved otherwise, I still reckon there’s a chance he’s faking the whole bloody thing for attention. He’s that fucking pathetic, I wouldn’t put it past him having a mental breakdown and – ”

Lindsay’s head snapped around as Helen slapped his face. There were collective gasps from the audience that had slowly gathered outside the door to her office.

“What the fuck?” growled Lindsay.

Before either of them got a chance to say another word, or exchange any more blows, they heard Tim calling out from the emptied newsroom.

“Murray’s copied the tape and I’ve just taken the original down to the police. Helen, do you wanna come down and see it before interviewing anyone?”

Helen nodded her head and pushed past Lindsay to follow Tim. As she did so, he grabbed her by the shoulder, spinning her around.

“I’m coming down as well to see for myself, and I’m telling you, if it shows Dale-fucking-Jennings torching his own car, I’m going to bury the story. And then sack the bastard. If it’s not him, we run with that as lead story tonight. Exclusive footage, whatever we can get-”

“I got a good ten minutes of the fire crew and the burning car this morning,” ventured Tim from outside the office. “They wouldn’t let me film the investigation team checking the car though.”

“That’s a start, but we’re going to need more than that,” said Lindsay, rubbing his hands in excited anticipation.

Helen felt sick again, Lindsay didn’t give a shit about Dale, he was just thinking of the viewing figures.

“Dennis!” yelled Lindsay. “The press are gonna lap this up. Get pictures of the burning car ready with a press release. If I see proof it’s definitely not Jennings having a hissy fit, I’ll call the Herald – see if they’re interested in an exclusive to tie in with a report on News at Six.”

Turning on him, Helen jabbed a finger in his podgy chest and glared at him.

“I’m doing this for Dale, in the hope that we can get him back in one piece. But I swear to you, if you put profit and viewing figures above his safety, I’ll resign and take the whole fucking show down with me!”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Huddled around the screen in the small editing room, Helen and Tim were pressed close together, partly resorting to that rather than being any closer to their boss than was necessary.

Peering at the grainy footage, they saw the car pulling across two parking spaces diagonally.

“For a start, that’s not like Dale,” stated Tim. “Even if it was empty he’d park in a single space.”

“That’s right,” agreed Helen, a wry smile on her lips.  

They watched in silence as the lights were switched off and the door opened. It was on the side away from the camera, so it wasn’t possible to see the face of the man who got out. But Helen could see immediately that it wasn’t Dale.

The figure was about the same height, but his bearing was totally different. The man who got out of Dale’s car was striding across the tarmac with his head held high, his stride long and confident. He almost seemed to glide rather than walk.

“That’s not Dale.” Helen said with utter certainty.

“Does he even have a coat like that?” asked Tim, pointing at the long leather coat that flapped around the man’s legs like a cloak.

“You tell me,” murmured Helen, sparing Tim a piercing glare.

Murray cleared his throat and pressed pause on the tape.

“Look here – see the light catching the fella’s hair? It’s short and dark, nothing like Jennings’ hair.”

“When does the car start burning?” asked Lindsay, leaning forward. “Do we see him setting it alight?”

“No, he just disappears into the shadows. After five minutes and forty seconds, you can see this-”

Pressing fast forward, Murray paused at the time stamp he’d made a note of. There was nothing to see to start with and then it was possible to see a reflection on the inside of the windscreen of flames flickering. Then the fire grew larger, gradually engulfing the interior of the car.

“That’s when security called Fire and Rescue. Not long after, the windows cracked. And nine minutes and twenty seconds after it was parked, the whole thing was on fire.”

They watched on as the fire truck arrived and saw Tim squeezing between two of the link trucks with his camera.

“I’ve got it from there,” said Tim. “With sound.”

“Fuck. I owe you an apology, Helen,” said Lindsay. “Murray, mate, rewind to the bit where the driver got out of the car.”

Along with everyone else, he peered at the screen until it came to stop with the image of the slender figure frozen in motion. Scratching his beard, he huffed to himself.

“That’s definitely not Jennings. But what if it’s a mate of his – ”

Both Helen and Tim turned around to glare at Lindsay.

“Are you for real?” asked Tim, pointing at the still image of the elegant figure striding away from the car, hands in the pockets of the long leather coat. “That’s not the sort of bloke Dale Jennings hangs out with. Trust me.”

“What are you saying?” snapped Lindsay, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Tim. “Do you know him?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

“No, I don’t recognise him. But he’s obviously the person responsible for snatching Dale from his flat- ”

“And for all we know he could be a killer!” shouted Helen, her patience fraying. Waving her hand at the screen she was seething. “That bastard, whoever the fuck he is, could’ve murdered Dale and dumped his body in the fucking bay – so don’t you dare say anything else that’ll make me do something I regret!”

~~~~~~~~~

 

Tim was glad that he’d persuaded Helen to come with him to get on with the interviews, as he was certain she was about to knee Lindsay in the balls. Not that he wouldn’t have deserved it, but he wasn’t worth destroying a career over.

It was fortunate that someone else had informed Ross of the events that morning. He was ready to go with his sound equipment and didn’t pester Tim with any stupid questions. They’d never spoken about it, but Ross knew about Tim’s crush on Dale. He’d have to have been blind not to have spotted the way Tim couldn’t keep his hands off Dale and how he would smile fondly at Dale whenever he was being ridiculously gauche and awkward. The fact that Tim made sure that it was always him that went on jobs with Dale didn’t go amiss either, or the way he had sulked when Dale had insisted on another crew for the trip to interview the woman with AIDS.

Ross gave him a knowing look, one that said he understood how tough it was for Tim and then briefly clutched his arm before they followed in Helen’s wake towards the cluster of emergency vehicles.

He never ceased to be amazed at how Helen transformed her facial expression from one of personal distress to that of the consummate professional. But watching her do just that, despite the way he’d seen her shaking with a combination of fear and anger, astounded him. Noeleen had already secured agreements to be interviewed from a couple of the fire crew who were first on the scene as well as the lead investigator from the Fire Department. The latter waited until Helen handed the microphone back to Ross before taking her aside to speak off record.

“Something’s not making sense about this … the fire started inside but there’s no trace of any accelerant or any other devices that could’ve caused a spark.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked baffled. “Source of fire was some screwed up paper in the footwell – passenger side. But paper doesn’t just spontaneously ignite. Didn’t find any cigarette ends – ”

“Dale doesn’t smoke,” said Helen anxiously.

 “Someone who used that car did. There was an empty packet under the driver’s seat. But it’s weird – nothing until a few minutes after that fella left the car. Keys were left in the ignition, like he knew he wasn’t coming back to it.”

“So not accidental – you’re saying that somehow, after walking away from the car, this man set it on fire?” Helen looked confused.

“Fuck knows how he did it, but that’s what it looks like.”

Helen got him to promise to send a full report to the newsroom as soon as they’d got the remains of the car back to their workshop for closer inspection. 

As soon as he walked away, Helen turned to Tim and caught his eye.

“Did you get all that?” she asked, casually pointing at the camera.

“Yeah – but he said it was off the record,” hissed Tim.

“We don’t need to use the tape or his name,” whispered Helen, conspiratorially. “But I can use that information in my report tonight.”

“But, what if the police don’t want that getting out there- ”

“Hang on, I don’t want to be involved in anything that’s dodgy,” said Ross, looking uncomfortable. “These guys get really pissed off if they- ”

Helen held up a hand, shutting Ross up as she shook her head.

“Trust me, when someone takes a reporter aside to confide in them, it’s in full expectation of being quoted.”

“She’s got a point, mate,” said Tim, realising that Helen was right. “If he wanted all those details to be kept secret he wouldn’t have said a word.”

Tim had switched off the camera and was turning to return to the building when Helen grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. She cast her eyes towards the unmarked car that had just arrived. One of the uniformed police had jogged across and was holding open the door. A woman in a trouser suit was getting out and requesting an update.

“Hold on! You too, Ross. That’s DS Jones,” whispered Helen. “She’s the detective I spoke to about Dale’s abduction. I’m going to ask for a statement from her. Ready?”

It came as a relief that the detective was willing to give them a brief statement. Although she avoided making any assumptions, she confirmed that it seemed probable that there was a connection between the burnt-out car and Dale’s disappearance. She also declined to comment on Helen’s suggestion that perhaps it had been the kidnapper’s intention to destroy evidence. When pressed further, DI Jones also told Helen that as the motives of the kidnapper were uncertain, there would be a police presence in the vicinity of the station and that employees of News at Six would be given extra protection.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

After reviewing the footage of the interviews, Murray sent everyone out of his editing room while he put together the segments for the update bulletin. They were going to reserve most of the interview footage for the evening show, with just a few snippets to tease what was being promoted as an exclusive extended report.

Helen was grateful that Tim was sticking close by her side, ready to run interference if anyone else asked how she was doing. The answer that came to mind was ‘fucking awful’ instead of politely thanking them for asking.

She was taking yet another Valium as someone knocked on the door. Biting her tongue in case she told them to ‘fuck off’, she looked at Tim and asked him to deal with whoever it was.

It was Jean, a concerned look on her face.

“Before you ask, Jean, no thank you, I don’t want another cup of tea.” What she really wanted was a bottle of Scotch and for the past two days to have been nothing more than a bad dream. “And if you’ve come to remind me to call Val Jennings, it’s on my list. I’ll- ”

“Not to worry, I’ve spoken to Mrs Jennings, so you don’t need to. I didn’t think she should find out from seeing the front page of the Herald or from anyone else for that matter.”

“Thank you, Jean. I don’t think I could have faced talking to her today.” Helen looked ready to collapse. “What do you need, Jean? If it’s Lindsay, I can’t deal with him right now.”

“Not him – I’ve given him a piece of my mind, don’t worry on that score. It’s this, Helen.” Jean held out a folded piece of paper. “It was caught up in the junk mail and nearly got thrown out. I only saw it by chance when looking through for vouchers – anyway, I know we should give it to the police, but you’ll want to photocopy it first I should think.”

“What is it?” Helen stared at the innocuous looking sheet as if it was going to bite.

“I think it’s from Dale,” answered Jean, placing the note on Helen’s desk. “It’s addressed to you and it looks like his handwriting. I’ve not let anyone else see it.”

“Oh God.” Helen scanned the writing on the outside. It was definitely Dale’s. She recognised it from the notes he’d left for her around her house. She clutched it to her chest and looked up at Jean who was waiting expectantly. “Thank you, Jean. Please – I’d like to read it in private.”

Tim held the door open for Jean who slipped out quietly. As he was about to leave, Helen called out to him.

“You can stay, Tim. In fact … please, could you read it to me. I’m too scared to look.”

He could see that her eyes were brimming with tears and her hands shaking as she held the letter out to him.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded.

Unfolding the note, Tim took a deep breath and started to read out loud.

“Dear Helen, as you may be aware I have been abducted.” He paused and shared a smile with Helen. Only Dale would think of writing that. “I am perfectly well though. Please don’t worry. As kidnappers go mine has been extremely courteous and insists he means me no harm. He bought me a pizza big enough to feed an army so he isn’t intending to starve me. It appears that he has mistaken me for someone he knows. I am endeavouring to convince him that I am not that person. I think he will release me once he can accept that it is a case of mistaken identity. In the meantime, please tell mum I’m unharmed and that I’ve got clean underwear (she’ll understand!).”

Tim looked up on hearing Helen laugh, even as tears ran down her cheeks, smearing her mascara.

“Underwear?” he repeated with a frown.

“I asked him why his overnight bag always contained at least three pairs of boxer shorts and he told me his mum used to nag him to make sure he was wearing clean underwear in case he got in an accident.” Helen grabbed a handful of tissues from the Kleenex box and blew her nose. “Is there more?”

“Yeah – just a bit more. Hang on.” Tim skimmed down to find where he’d left off and then continued to read. “I saw your broadcast last night. I haven’t seen that dark suit before. Please don’t worry too much. Thinking of the flowers I gave you in Darwin – love you, Dale.”

He showed her the bottom of the note where there was a row of x’s. Part of him felt jealous. Pressing his lips tightly together, Tim passed the note back to Helen.

“Well, apart from the fact it’s definitely from Dale, you think there are any clues there?” he asked.

“It was unsealed, which means the kidnapper saw what he wrote. I don’t suppose there’s much he could have put in writing.” Cradling the note in her hands, her fingertips tracing over the words, she checked the last section again. “The reference to the dark suit though – that means he was able to watch last night’s news.”

“Is it a new suit?” asked Tim.

“Not quite – but it’s not mine. Had to borrow it from wardrobe.”

“OK, so that’s his way of letting you know he was still alright last night then?” asked Tim, thinking of Dale out there, somewhere, watching Helen reporting on his disappearance. What a mindfuck.

Helen held the paper to her face, trying to inhale any trace of Dale’s scent. She nodded her head.

“The paper looks like hotel stationery,” said Tim. “See how the top and the bottom have been torn away – to remove the address or logo?”

“Yes. A hotel! That’s it! The reference to flowers was a clue.” Helen glanced wistfully at the champagne bottle on the bookcase. Tim saw the sprig of plastic flowers propped up in the neck of it. “He stole those for me -  from the front desk at the hotel in Darwin. He’s definitely in a hotel somewhere.”

“Hang on a moment,” Tim switched on her desk lamp and prompted Helen to hold the paper close to the light. “Hold it to the light - can you make out the watermark?”

Helen squinted but couldn’t make out the letters.

“No … but I bet the police could.”

“You need to make a copy and hand over the original to the police. If they can use that to narrow down where to search and then find one where his car was parked-”

“Yes!” exclaimed Helen.

“We’re gonna get him back,” said Tim, grinning as he saw Helen’s face light up with optimism.

“Yes, Tim, we are.”

Hearing her refer to ‘we’ and not ‘I’ made Tim’s heart flutter momentarily and he ducked his head to hide the fact he was blushing furiously.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Bonjour.”

 “How the fuck did you get this number? It’s ex-directory for a reason.”

“As always, it’s a pleasure to hear your voice.”

“Are you calling for any particular reason or are you just letting me know that you have my number?”

“Don’t fight it … I’ve always had your number, darling. I believe you have a fax machine.”

“If you send me a picture of your dick I shall-”

“I’m flattered that your mind went there first.”

“Don’t pretend you haven’t or wouldn’t! Now instead of wasting my time, explain why you are bothering me. Again.”

“Think of this as a courtesy call. I was under the impression that you’d appreciate being told that a mutual acquaintance of ours has been drawing attention to himself. Again”

“Why should it be any of my business?”

“He’s creating quite an inflammatory situation if you catch my drift. I’m sending you a fax now. Call me back when you’ve had chance to read it.”

The caller hung up.

“Why should I want to call you back? Damn irritating gremlin…”

The machine started to whirr and clank as the paper was drawn in. Millimetre by millimetre the scanned document became visible.

It was a scan of the front page of a newspaper.

The Melbourne Herald. Dated that day.

“Do I care what mortals are doing on the other side of the planet? Is this a joke?”

The main headline read:  ‘News at Six reporter missing’.

Then, a blotchy picture of a car on fire.

And another poorly produced image of a slim figure with his back to the camera.

“Surely not… I wondered where that coat had gone …”

Then at the very bottom of the page a photograph of this missing reporter.

“Putain de merde!”

The fax machine hit the wall and shattered into pieces.

“Oh Saint Louis, qu'as-tu fait maintenant?”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Notes:

Oh Saint Louis, qu'as-tu fait maintenant? = Oh, Saint Louis, what have you done now?

If confused - check the tags.

Chapter 10

The sound of sirens woke Dale. He tried to turn, but couldn’t. He was penned in by limbs – slender , yet muscular arms and legs holding him in place. One of the arms was tightly wrapped around his waist.

Louis.

Of course. It was Louis. But there was something wrong. Tentatively, he ran his fingertips along the arm from elbow to wrist. The skin was cool to the touch. Too cool. And rigid. Like stone. Living stone. Was this what rigor mortis felt like?

Shit.

Was Louis dead?

Fumbling to press his fingers against the inside of the man’s wrist, Dale felt for a pulse. He had to press hard before he felt anything. It was slow, very slow, but steady.

Breathing out slowly, relieved that he wasn’t trapped in the arms of a corpse, Dale allowed the exhaustion to take him once more into the realms of sleep.

Words chased him into his dreams. Words woven into spells by Louis as he’d spoken of his history with Lestat.

“I wanted him out of my life. I wanted him all to myself. But the cut was mine to make and I did. In more ways than one… I lost him for the longest time. He gave himself to others and instead of being relieved to be rid of him, it just had me understand that I never wanted to lose him. He was a monster. But he was my monster. And I am his.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The room was dark when Dale woke the next time. He could feel movement behind him. His shoulder was being tenderly caressed. The bars of his prison had loosened so he was able to stretch out to let a yawn draw air into his lungs. The deep inhalation made him aware of a scent surrounding him that he hadn’t noticed before. It was like smelling a distillation of pure seduction and he had to suppress a subconscious desire to roll around in it and embrace it.

He clenched his eyes shut and tried to think of something to distract him. His mother’s Tupperware containers filled with portions of casserole, labelled and dated, stacked neatly in the freezer. The rack of videotapes on the bookcase – yes, he could visualise those and tried to recall from memory the events preserved on each one and his role as researcher, producer or presenter. Then he stumbled on a memory that shoved its way to the front. It was the time when he’d heard Helen watching the tape of his disastrous first time on the desk. Her laughter had been gentle and teasing, not mocking. That had been when he’d progressed from having a crush to falling in love.

The night that Helen’s kindness had comforted him after he’d screwed up. Up until then it had been his mother who had called in an attempt to make him feel better – since he’d moved away from home it seemed that she was trying to make up for the time after his father’s death when she’d not been able to support herself, never mind him.

No one else had ever helped him out of that pit of self-pity like Helen had done. No one else’s touch had made him…

No, that was a lie!

He was lying to himself. Again. How could he deny that Tim’s hand on his shoulder and encouragement had made a difference? He’d tried so hard to pretend it did nothing for him. But it had. Every time, making him feel warm inside. Tim’s lingering touches should have made him feel uncomfortable, but they didn’t. He’d leaned into them and not away. He’d chased Tim’s mouth to kiss him back while standing on broken glass in that wrecked bar. If that hadn’t been a physical metaphor for his fucked-up feelings, what was?

“Hey there, you OK?” asked a soft American voice from behind him. “You’re not crying are you?”

Realising to his horror that a sob had broken free, Dale shook his head in denial although his voice betrayed him as soon as he tried to speak.

“No… I’m fine.” Biting down on his lower lip, Dale sniffled.

“Come here,” beckoned Louis, gently.

Louis’ deceptively strong arms turned him around and drew him closer until he was pressed up against the lean body of the man he was in bed with. How had that happened?

“Hush there. It’s all gonna to be fine.” Dale’s head was clasped to Louis’ chest and he could feel the reverberations of his deep voice surrounding him like a warm blanket. “What’s goin’ on in your head that’s got you so upset?”

“Beyond being kidnapped?” asked Dale, swallowing down another sob that had become caught in his throat.

“Yeah, because I thought we’d got past that. I figured you understood the last thing I want is to cause you any harm.” Louis stroked his head as if he were a child. “Like I said, if after tonight, you decide you want to stay as you are, I’ll leave you here. But I’d like one more chance to persuade you to come with me.”

Dale could feel long fingers combing through his hair. It felt soothing, he closed his eyes, only to be confronted with the memory of Helen staring at him, saying she wanted to get her hands on his hair.

“Oh God … this is all wrong,” groaned Dale, pulling away and trying to bury his face in the pillow.

“What’s wrong?” asked Louis, a hand tightening on his shoulder. “Oh! That! Hey, I didn’t mean to invade your thoughts, but they’re real loud.”

Dale swore, realising that any belated attempts to mask his thoughts with images of the contents of his fridge would be too late. His anxieties had spilled out and Louis had figured them out.

“Come on, be honest with me and yourself,” chided Louis. “You’re feeling guilty about enjoying the attentions of a guy – aren’t you?”

“I can’t … it’s … I just need to get this out of my system,” mumbled Dale, ineffectually hitting the pillow with his fist. He turned his head to one side, not wanting to see the pity in Louis’ face.  

“Why?” asked Louis, intrigued. In all the time he’d known Lestat, he’d rarely seen him express guilt over anything, least of all his attraction to more than one gender. He certainly wouldn’t consider it worthy of an existential crisis. “Why’s it an issue that you’re attracted to both men and women?”

“It’s … complicated,” mumbled Dale, hoping Louis wouldn’t pursue it any further.

“No it ain’t. Follow what your heart and body tell you. They’ll let you know if it’s love or lust, or both.” Louis paused to chuckle to himself. “Let me tell you, having lived as long as I have, I’m getting to understand the futility of denying yourself what you need to make you happy.”

“But I can’t bear to hurt …” Dale bit the inside of his cheek. Who didn’t he want to hurt? It wasn’t just Helen. “If I have feelings for more than one person, someone’s going to get hurt… I’m going to hurt them … what do I do?”

“Love both of them?” suggested Louis as if it was the obvious solution.

“What?”

“All depends on whether it’s love or lust,” said Louis. “No, don’t say anything. I can see you’re havin’ trouble putting this into words. Just open your mind and let me see what’s troublin’ you.”

“Why do you want to know?” asked Dale, suspicious of Louis’ motives. If he was able to read Dale’s mind, could he be able to hypnotise him and plant false memories?

“That’s not my style – trust me. Although I know who would do that. Why do I wanna know? I guess I care about you. Even if you want to stay hidden away in here-” Louis paused to tap Dale’s head. “Inside Dale Jennings, newsreader and currently missing person. I want what’s best for you and if you don’t wanna come with me, least I can do is help you be happy with who you’ve decided to be.”

“That’s … you realise that’s both fucked up and… very thoughtful in the circumstances.” Dale lifted his head so that he could look into the face of his abductor. He could not deny the physical attraction, but he was beginning to appreciate the presence of a kind of kindred spirit. Even if Louis was, in fact, a supernatural being. Which was impossible. Wasn’t it?

“You are attracted to me.” Louis grinned and his face lit up with delight. He then wrinkled his nose as if sniffing out Dale’s thoughts and doubts. “But, you happen to be in love with the lovely Helen … as well as the handsome Tim. I hate to say this, but that is so Lestat, fallin’ in love so easily.”

“Sounds like an excuse to sleep around to me,” stated Dale.

“I used to think that. But, it’s just he has so much love to give, he don’t know when to stop.”

“How does that work?” asked Dale, curious.

“It just does… it’s like love.” Louis shrugged and seemed to disappear into his own thoughts for a while, closing his eyes and smiling sadly. Yet again, Dale understood that Louis had it bad for the man he’d mistaken him for. He also wondered how he could continue to be with Helen while he was still fighting to suppress his feelings for Tim.

“Ah… I get it!” said Louis, suddenly snapping to attention. “You can’t reconcile loving this incredible woman, who you think is way out of your league, and having the hots for the camera guy.”

“I’m committed to Helen,” growled Dale. “I want to make things right this time and I can’t risk losing her again …”

Wishing he could bury his head under the pillow in the hope that it would muffle his screaming conscience, Dale settled for resting his forehead on his folded arms. A hand came to rest on the back of his neck, the cool fingers against his skin actually calming his racing thoughts.

“Hey, stop blaming yourself. You can’t deny all these feelings – they ain’t goin’ away. Trust me on that. Don’t fight it, you gotta accept who you are.” To Dale, it sounded as if Louis had personal experience of the dilemma he was facing. “Is it just an itch you need to scratch? That unrequited lust burning a hole in your pants.”

Wanting to clamp his hands over his ears so he didn’t have to listen to Louis put into words the questions he asked himself on a daily basis, Dale shook his head.

“What does your heart tell you when you think of this guy?”

“I ..” Dale decided to accept that Louis could read his thoughts, and if that spared him the torment of trying to put his feelings for Tim into words, he’d take a chance on that.

From the smile on Louis’ lips and the sparkle in his eyes, it was evident that he’d seen something.

“He loves you and you know it. And you saw his heart break when you pushed him away, more than once, yeah? But instead of being able to move on, leave all that behind as a moment of madness, you were just as cut up, weren’t you?”

Dale remembered vividly the struggle to keep his arms firmly at his side and not reach out to take Tim into his arms and beg forgiveness. He nodded in acknowledgement of Louis’ assessment as a tear ran down his cheek and into the pillow.

The touch of Louis’ hand on his back, stroking him tenderly soothed him.

“See, that ain’t so hard is it? It was a very long time ago for me, but I still recall the moment I finally accepted that the person I loved was a man. Have you ever done more than kissed another guy?”

Waves of guilt and shame ambushed Dale. Adam’s bedroom, their school trousers opened and their hands in each other’s pants, fumbling with the awkward angles while sharing sloppy kisses. Then Adam’s father. The police. Being shoved around and thumped, kicked. It could only lead to pain.

“Hey, hey … hush there. Damn. I dunno where these memories have come from, but, shit, man, you gotta let them go!” Louis sounded furious, but not at him. “It don’t have to be like that!”

“How?” sobbed Dale. “I can’t…”

“Let me show you?” As Louis ran his hand up and down Dale’s spine, even through the fabric of the t-shirt, he felt his nerves tingle. “Help you realise it’s not wrong … that it can be so good…”

“Please, I’m not him,” said Dale, confused again by the swirling emotions overwhelming him. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t tempted, but he needed to be clear with Louis that he was not falling in love with him. “I don’t love you.”

“Don’t matter,” whispered Louis, continuing to caress his shoulders, drawing intricate designs with the tips of his fingers. “Sex is sex … good sex will relax you and make you feel good about yourself. No need to feel shame nor guilt. Just say yes and I’ll take all that guilt away from you…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” muttered Dale, desperately trying to ignore a pull in his groin that was demanding attention.

“That’s not true,” smirked Louis. “I can tell your body thinks it’s a great idea – it’s your misinformed conscience that’s out to wreck your life.”

Dale shook his head and whimpered. What the hell was he thinking of doing? Whatever it was, he didn’t resist as Louis rolled him onto his side to face him,

“Why not let me try?” asked Louis sincerely, taking hold of his hands. “All you gotta do is ask me to stop and I will.”

“Try what?”

“Try to make you feel better about yourself. Show you that there’s no shame in finding pleasure with another guy. If you can accept that, you’ll be in a better place to decide what to do next.” Louis pressed his lips to Dale’s forehead. “I can deal with you choosing to stay here as Dale Jennings if I believe that’s what you truly want, but there’s no way I’m leaving you here with your head fucked up. Armand sure did a number on you- and I’ll make him pay for that.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

It would not have come as any surprise to Louis if Armand was to blame. He’d have got such a kick to leave Lestat sexually repressed, with his libido in a virtual straitjacket. However, it was beyond cruel to plant memories of being punished so brutally for being intimate with a young lover. He’d make Armand pay for that if he was responsible.

In the meantime, Louis took the decision that, as long as he had consent, he was going to show this wonderful man what it felt like to receive pleasure from another man. If he was Lestat, it might be enough to break through the memory block and if he really had made a massive error of judgment and this was just a guy who looked just like Lestat, well at least he would have helped him come to terms with his sexuality. Thankfully, he could and would monitor his thoughts and not just wait to be told to stop.

First of all, Louis took a warm, slightly sweaty hand and carefully inspected each fingernail. He took pleasure in pressing on each in turn, watching it go from pink to white and then pink again as the capillaries refilled with blood. He held the hand close to his chest and then leaned in to nuzzle at the slender throat of the man in his arms. Inhaling his scent he found it exquisite, warm and so very alive. Louis couldn’t help wanting him.

Slowly, to allow time for the object of his desire to object, Louis rolled him onto his back so he could look at him properly. Floppy hair in his eyes, lashes fanning slightly onto those wondrous cheekbones, stubble on his remarkable jaw, so very mortal. He had never seen Lestat so vulnerable. He had such an overwhelming urge to protect him. And whatever happened he was not going to leave him believing it was wrong to have feelings for another man, or to enjoy the sensations of a physical relationship with one. Whoever had put those notions in his head – whether Armand out of petty spite, or society at large – it offended Louis to think of the sensual being that was Lestat being caged in terms of who or how he could love.

“May I?” asked Louis, his lips caressing the shell of an ear. As he worked down from there he nibbled on a succulent earlobe, resulting in a delightful squeal and the involuntary raising of knees.

“Ow – your teeth are sharp!”

“Hey, don’t tense up,” said Louis, gently coaxing Lestat to lower his legs again. “I told you I can take away the guilt.”

“Oh God. Why am I listening to a madman.”

“Because you believe what I’ve been telling you? That I’m not mad, but I am a vampire?”

Louis leaned back and opened his mouth to show his elongated canine teeth.

“May I kiss you?” asked Louis. “I promise not to bite.”

He watched avidly as the tip of a very pink tongue slid out as Lestat licked his lips, a fleeting look of anxiety crossing his face before his features relaxed once more.

Then he nodded.

Louis slung a leg over Lestat’s thighs and leaning in, cradling his head in one hand, savoured the warmth, the heat from his mouth as he gently explored it with his tongue. So alive and fragile. Pulsing with the finite energy of a mortal. He wondered if this what it had been like for Lestat courting him when he was still mortal – the intoxication of the warm flesh, the pulsing blood, the scent of all those human odours. The scent of arousal.

Trying to disguise the smirk teasing his lips, Louis could feel that another part of the mortal Lestat was responding to his attentions. Through the thin fabric of boxer shorts, he could feel it heavy and hard against his thigh, heating his skin as the flow of blood engorged the flesh.

Sliding a hand down and teasing at the waistband, Louis brushed his fingertips across the sensitive tip. As hips arched upwards, he was aware of thoughts warring between wanting to flee and wanting more. He had never felt Lestat like this and it was so tempting. He felt warm. So warm and alive. Louis licked his lips, wondering if he could steal another taste before being pushed away. Slowly he kissed his way down the throat and along a collar bone. The pulse beneath the skin so close and so vibrant. He could hear the heart beating, fast and strong, pumping blood through arteries. The vibrant sensations washed over him.

He needed it to be consensual – he would not ravish this precious man without his express permission. The warm body beneath him was pliant as it reached out for him. He could feel the desire thrumming below the surface. A dip into the mind revealed a willingness, tinged with that ever-present guilt at receiving pleasure. A struggle between heart, mind and flesh wrought beneath the glistening blue eyes.

“No need to feel bad about this… just let it happen. I can make sure you feel no guilt.” Louis would make sure there was no sensation of guilt left behind, even if he had to resort to tricks taught to him by Armand to achieve that goal. “Let me take away the guilt and make you feel good. I can make you feel so good.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Dale found himself staring at the ceiling, the smoke detector slowly coming back into focus.  His fingers of one hand were tightly gripping hold of the bedsheet. His other hand was resting on a curly head of hair. He swallowed hard, wondering what the hell had just happened.

There were hands on his thighs. Cool hands. Hands that were loosening their grip. The head under his hand shifted and a smiling face appeared from under the sheet.

Louis.

He was licking his lips like the cat that got the cream.

Oh shit. Fuck.

That’s what had happened.

Dale felt that maybe he’d lost consciousness and was coming back to reality – even though it was the most surreal situation he had ever found himself in.  

“Fuck,” he muttered out loud, unsurprised to find himself still catching his breath. How the hell had Louis done that?

“No need to breathe. No gag reflex,” said Louis smugly, having read his mind. “See, now you’re much more relaxed.”

Dale flung an arm over his eyes and bit down on his lip, hard.

“What have I done?”

“Technically, nothing. You let me take control. You just lay back and I – ”

“I let you!” squealed Dale, recalling shouting out as he’d come. A wave of guilt slowly broke over him. He was shocked that it was crashing down on him. “Oh God … what am I going to tell-”

“You don’t need to tell no-one,” said Louis, as he tucked Dale back into his underwear.

“That’s a double negative,” muttered Dale, wincing as he realised he was being pedantic over grammar after a self-confessed vampire had just sucked him off and then licked him clean.

Louis guffawed, finding Dale’s words hilarious. He couldn’t stop and the whole bed was shaking as he laughed.

“I thought nothing could surprise me.” Louis paused to wipe tears from his eyes. “But those are words I’d never expect to hear after doing what we just did!”

Dale found himself chuckling at the absurdity of his own statement.

“I think I may be on the edge of hysteria now.”

Louis crawled up from where he’d been crouched over Dale’s legs and settled his head on the pillow next to Dale’s.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, gently caressing Dale, his fingernails gently teasing the soft golden curls of chest hair. “Guilty? Ashamed?”

“Not as much as I think I should. And I feel a bit guilty about that.”

“You’re feeling guilty about not feeling guilty? Shit, man. That’s unbelievable – but I can empathise.”

Louis stroked a long finger along Dale’s jaw, with just enough pressure to tip his face to one side, so that he was looking into the iridescent green eyes. There was a sadness to them.

“When I first … when Lestat first made love to me, it felt better than anything I’d ever experienced. It was only after that it sunk in that it was a sin. But all I could think of was that night – and guilt ate me up inside. Got so bad I even ran to the church beggin’ to confess my sins.”

“I’m not religious. But confessing sins …” Dale felt his mouth dry up at just the thought of Helen’s face. “That’s familiar. Just telling Helen that I’d had these … feelings … that I’d acted on them… “

“Tim?” asked Louis, evidently reading his thoughts again.

“Yep. It was a moment … a good minute I suppose. She looked broken. I can’t do that to her again.”

“Like I said, loving both is an option you need to consider.”

Dale watched as Louis slipped out of the bed and got dressed.

“Think on it, while I go out and fetch you somethin’ to eat and arrange for a hire car to be dropped off.” Louis looked at him wistfully as if expecting him to disappear. “I’d appreciate if you stayed here and waited for me to get back. Will you do that?”

Louis peered into the waste bin and then back at Dale. He raised an eyebrow and waited for Dale’s response.

Understanding that he wasn’t going to be chained to the bed and that he would be able to escape if he wanted, Dale nodded his head. He believed that Louis would keep his word and let him go if he wanted to. Besides which, he felt far too drowsy to want to move anywhere.

“I’ll wait. Maybe a sandwich and a bottle of water?”

Louis grinned at him.

“Sure. What filling?”

“Cheese or ham. Nothing too – “

“Over the top?” suggested Louis casting an eye on the pizza box.

“Please.”

Dale was too sleepy to wonder why he didn’t flinch when Louis kissed him on the cheek before slipping out of the room. He just let his eyes close as he held the pillow close.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Tim and Helen were sat on the floor around her coffee table, drinking whisky and comparing theories. A number of half empty takeaway cartons had been pushed to one side so they could look at the photos Tim had printed earlier that day. Sprawled out across the glass top were images of the broken door amidst shards of glass scattered on the floor, Dale’s bedroom with clothes strewn across almost every surface and the message left behind, hastily written in toothpaste on the inside of the bathtub.

Tim had made several copies of the photos of the enigmatic message and they were taking it in turns to draw lines over the squiggles of toothpaste in an effort to make words that made sense.

There was also a photocopy of the letter Dale had written to Helen.

“What about this?” suggested Tim, lightly tracing over the shapes he could make out. “We’re agreed that the top line says ‘help’ and ‘kidnapped’, but then nothing underneath seems to make sense, unless it’s a name. A name starting with an L.”

“That’s possible,” agreed Helen. “Unfortunately that’s the bit that’s most indecipherable. Looked like he was running out of time when he got that far.” She sighed and took a deep breath, trying to focus. “Right then, what names start with an L -  Lionel? Lonnie? Lennie? Larry?”

“It’s short – I’d say five or six letters max.” Brushing the curls back from his face, Tim squinted at the images. He’d been looking at them for so long, they seemed to be moving around like striped worms. No doubt the whisky wasn’t helping his focus, but Helen had insisted. “L then an O I reckon. Logan maybe?”

“No loops,” said Helen as she pointed at the shape of the word. “I can’t think of many names that could go there at all. ”What about Louie or Lorne?”

“No idea… write them down.” Tim watched as Helen picked up her notebook and added the possible names to their list of ideas.

“What about the next bit, the surname, does that say Dupint or Dupont?” Tim was desperate to work out the riddle of the squiggles and was beginning to think he was imagining words. “I guess dotting i’s would’ve been tricky using a tube of toothpaste.”

Helen came to sit behind him and leaned over to see what he was looking at.

“And at the end there’s a short word, Lak?” she reached down to trace the letters with a manicured fingernail. “Maybe he was going to write the word lake and ran out of toothpaste?”

“Maybe that part’s a place name,” said Tim, feeling Helen’s breath on the back of his neck and her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t mind. It was something they both needed and could only receive from each other. Sympathy and support.

Helen took a drink of whisky and then shook her head.

“it doesn’t make sense. How would Dale know the name of the person who took him or where he was taking him?”

“Perhaps the kidnapper told him. Hang on, the letter Dale wrote, he said something about mistaken identity. If the guy who took him thought he was someone he knew, he might have said something.”

Helen pulled over one of the copies they’d made of Dale’s note.

“Yes! That’s it. He could have said who he was and then perhaps, you know ‘I’m taking you to whatever Lake… that’s possible!”

“Shit. We need a map!” Tim scrambled to his feet. “I’ll fetch mine from the car.”

“A hotel near a lake maybe?” suggested Helen.

“No,” Tim shook his head as something dawned on him. “No! He’s still in the city – has to be. The kidnapper drove Dale’s car to the News at Six studios, dropped off the letter and then he must have walked back to wherever he’s keeping Dale! It has to be in walking distance.”

“Of course,” Helen ran her hands through her hair and bit her lip. “It’s got to be hotel in Melbourne. I’ll look through the yellow pages and start writing a list.”

“Helen!” exclaimed Tim. “There are dozens of hotels – ”

“Yes, but not all of them have their own stationery,” said Helen starting to flick through the pages of the thick business directory. “Only the more exclusive hotels or those belonging to chains.”

“What are you planning to do, drive around each and every one of them?” Tim could see from the fire in Helen’s eyes that he was right and that she was raring to go.

“If I have to, that’s exactly what I’m going to do!” she shouted. “Dale is out there, dammit! He says the kidnapper hasn’t hurt him yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t! Are you with me or not, Tim? Because I’m doing this with or without you-”

Seeing that Helen was on the verge of another meltdown, tears tumbling over her eyelashes, leaving trails down her cheeks, Tim instinctively reached out and hugged her tightly. Her tears of despair were frightening him. He was also scared for Dale.

“Neither of us is fit to drive right now. We’ll have to wait until first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll call in sick and we can split up to get around as many as possible then. Alright?”

Helen snuffled against his chest and nodded.  

“What we can do before then is figure out all the possible names for the kidnapper. That might help the search.” Tim kissed Helen’s head without thinking and was surprised when she didn’t pull away.

“Yes. He wrote that message for a reason – we need to figure out what he was telling us. Poor Dale, he must have been terrified.”

Gently disentangling herself from Tim’s arms, Helen poured herself another drink. She offered Tim a top up.

“I’m already over the limit,” he said, reluctantly putting a hand over the top of his glass to stop Helen automatically adding more.

“Stay over,” said Helen quickly. “I mean, there’s a spare room and … and I don’t want to be alone.”

Tim smiled. He knew what she meant. He didn’t want to be alone either.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis was pleased to find that the room wasn’t empty when he returned. Gentle snoring alerted him to the fact that its occupant was fast asleep. He set down the keys for the hire car he’d collected from the airport quietly so not to wake his exhausted lover.

He sat down on the sofa by the window and opened the bag of shopping he’d picked up. He’d bought a cheese and ham sandwich and a packet of cookies for human consumption and a paperback book for himself. He settled down to read and was half way through when he heard a disturbance in the corridor outside.

“Room service!” A deep, gruff voice called out from the corridor outside the room. “Clean towels, sheets, pillows! Toilet paper!”

The sound of wheels squeaking as the trolley was being pushed past their door woke up Dale, who had sat up.

“What’s going – ”

“Hush!” whispered Louis, holding his hand up. “I put the ‘do not disturb’ sign up and the chain’s on the door.”

He moved in front of the bed, shielding the occupant from any potential intruder. It then struck him that it was late at night. Housekeeping didn’t call by rooms in the middle of the night.

Suddenly the door burst open. The chain was wrenched loose and a housekeeping trolley was shoved into the room.

Strutting in, hips tilted forward and blond hair cascading in waves over the tops of his shoulders, the uninvited guest making an entrance was instantly recognisable.

“G’day, cobber!” Effecting an Australian accent and smiling like only a shark could smile, Lestat peered to see who Louis was hiding with his body. He waved at Dale. “Hello there. I take it I need no introduction?”

“What the …?” Louis was speechless.

Lestat was waving a finger in the direction of Dale, who was gaping at him.

“Hmmm… I can see a vague resemblance.”

Stepping between Dale and the man he’d mistaken him for, Louis felt the blood draining from his head. Then, to compound matters, the hamper of crumpled sheets attached to the trolley started to shake. The lid flew open and a head of dark curls emerged.

Fuck.

“Surprise!”

If Lestat had made a dramatic entrance, his companion was intent on something even more theatrical. Unfolding his long limbs, he defied gravity and ascended into the air, elevating out of the laundry hamper.

“Good evening, Louis. Did you miss me?”

 

~~~~~~~~

Notes:

Sorry for delay in posting ... life's been very stressful and I was distracted by writing my Valentine Challenge fic (complete modern au with a happy ending if anyone's interested).

Feedback and comments would help enormously in motivating me to write faster ... I know where this is going and the ride is about to get wilder.

Chapter 11

 

 

Dale watched on in horror as the man that bore a passing resemblance to Tim, but without a moustache, rose up from a  crumpled sheet like a genie from a bottle. He rubbed his eyes and pinched his own arm, thinking it was either a hallucination or a bad dream. Discovering that he was awake, he started to scramble out of the bed, only to be pushed back by Louis, who was shaking his head in warning.

“Stay there!” yelled Louis. “I won’t let them near you!”

“Really, Armand? Why don’t you do a backward somersault while you are in the air, if you are so keen on performing circus tricks?” The blond sneered at the antics of his companion, apparently unimpressed. “Is that the only reason you agreed to hide in there?”

With a wry smile, the man who was apparently called Armand landed gracefully on his feet and brushed a tiny shred of lint from his shoulder.

“Not at all, Lestat. Although bellowing is much more your style, subtlety having passed you by.”

“What the hell are you two doin’ here?” demanded Louis, furiously. Dale was taken aback by just how angry he was – gone was the soft-spoken kindly soul who had been able to understand him at a level few, if any, ever had. In his place stood a bristling, tense, pillar of rage.

“Well, one thing neither of us is doing, is kidnapping mortals,” replied Lestat, nonchalantly as he shut the door, pausing briefly to inspect the leather coat hanging on the hook. “That is unless you have relapsed, Armand?”

“Of course not – I only pursue those who desire my attention.”

“Armand?” asked Louis, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Is that true?”

“I cannot be held to blame if I am extremely desirable,” came Armand’s answer, although he was looking at Lestat and not Louis. “It takes a particularly obstinate individual to resist my charms.”

Lestat snorted in response, although there was a tension between the two that reminded Dale of the air before an electrical storm. He was intrigued to notice Louis sighing as if the sexual tension between the two interlopers irritated him rather than triggered any form of jealousy.

“Cut it out, Armand and answer my question – what are you both doin’ here?”

Dumbfounded, Dale idly wondered if all of Louis’ associates- because it was obvious he did know them - were as handsome as these two men. Taking advantage of the fact that their attention was on each other and not on him, Dale observed each in turn. The blond had the chiselled jaw and sharp cheekbones of the classically handsome, complemented by soft, golden hair that curled around his face and onto the collar of his black jacket. Dale’s eyes were drawn downwards, following the cut of the jacket, which was tailored to cinch at the waist, emphasising the narrowing from broad shoulders to slim waist and trim hips. The man’s whole body exuded a sense of superiority and an arrogant self-awareness. The real Lestat had the looks and demeanour of a movie star or a fashion model.

How the hell had Louis mistaken him for that?

Dale watched, transfixed, as Lestat smirked to himself. It was as if he’d heard what Dale was thinking. He then wandered over to the sofa and picked up the discarded carrier bag. Peering inside he pulled out a packet of sandwiches triumphantly.

“Voila! Mais Louis you have not only acquired a pet, you have also been feeding him.” There was an accent to his voice that Dale couldn’t quite discern, maybe French or Italian, he couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was, he was able to take an innocuous statement and make it sound as threatening as anything uttered by the mafia bosses in The Godfather.

“How adorable.” Lestat tilted his head to one side and pouted.

Again, there was something in his voice that made Dale feel uncomfortable. That and the fact Dale was sitting in bed wearing nothing more than a t-shirt, underwear and socks. His semi-dressed situation became more of an issue when he felt the mattress dip slightly. Dale was startled to see that the other man, Armand, had sat down on the end of the bed. He hadn’t seen him move. He then reached out a hand and grasped hold of Dale’s foot that was still under the sheet. Without looking at Dale, he spoke to Louis.

“We are here, Louis, to extract you from a situation that you have created. Unfortunately, neither of us was keeping a close enough eye on your exploits. We had assumed that you were lying low, as were we all until your actions became front page news and caught the attention of that terminally inquisitive agency in London.”

“Loathe as I am to admit, I have to agree with my cherubic nemesis.” Lestat looked genuinely annoyed at having to agree with Armand. “For some reason, that escapes me, this mortal is one that was missed immediately and you have attracted a great deal of publicity. You should be thanking us for making such a long journey on your behalf.”

“Thank you?” spluttered Louis. “I was doin’ fine until you barged in on me! I thought we all agreed that I’d see you on my terms, not yours – or yours, Armand.”

This seemed to infuriate Lestat, who got to his feet and was in Louis’ face, shouting and spitting.

“Would you rather we left you to make your situation even worse? Damn it, Louis, would you prefer we abandoned you to be held accountable for your misdemeanours by others who do not love you as we do?”

Louis responded by shoving Lestat away from him and glaring so fiercely that Dale half expected the blond to go up in flames.

“Louis, calm down,” beseeched Armand, who was not as animated as Lestat, despite the creepiness with which he moved so stealthily. “I can appreciate that this mortal is very tempting, so soft and …”

Dale could have sworn Armand actually licked his lips as he reached along to clasp his calf. He pulled his leg up, out of reach and felt the hand on it tighten briefly before letting go.

“Keep your hands off him!” growled Louis, slapping Armand’s hand away from its intended pursuit.

Armand laughed softly and shook his head as if highly amused.

“Louis, you do realise that we are going to have to either eat him or turn him at some point, don’t you?”

“No one’s eatin’ him or turnin’ him!” snapped Louis, pointing at Armand and then at Lestat, who was idly exploring the miscellaneous items on the tea tray. Louis stepped closer to Dale, as if to fend off any potential attack.

“It would be a dreadful shame to kill him if we didn’t do one or the other, don’t you think, Armand?” Lestat posed the question as if discussing whether or not to eat the complementary packet of biscuits that he was opening only to crumble between his fingers.

“I would have to agree with you,” drawled Armand, who was prowling around the bed, trailing his long fingers across the covers, like the most elegant of predators sizing up his prey. “Especially having travelled all this way, the least Louis can do is to show us some hospitality.”

Dale found himself unable to take his eyes away from Armand as he slowly got closer to him. He was exquisitely beautiful, with radiant brown skin and almost black, silky curls artfully arranged on his head. Dale’s eyes were drawn to his mouth as he smiled slowly, supple lips curling gently upwards. He’d noticed that, unlike Lestat, Armand spoke with a sophisticated English accent, as if he had been sent to a private school there at some time. He was also more refined in appearance than Lestat, was slimmer of build, less muscular. There was a stillness to him, even when he walked it appeared that it was the room that was moving and not him.

It had occurred to Dale previously that Louis was cat-like and he was now aware of something feline about each of the three men, beyond the predatory behaviour.  If Louis was a panther, it occurred to him that Lestat was a lion and this Armand was a leopard.

It then sunk in what Armand had said – that they would have to eat him or turn him.

“Is it possible to discuss another option? Perhaps one where I just go home?” asked Dale, his voice trembling with anxiety. Louis turned around and squeezed his arm in what he assumed was an attempt to reassure him.

“Don’t listen to them, Dale. I’m not gonna let either of them hurt you. Trust me.”

From behind Louis, the other two started to converge on him. That was when he looked at their eyes properly for the first time. Despite the bright overhead lights, their pupils were all dilating – even Louis’ as he turned to confront the other two. Their lips were drawing back over their teeth. Teeth that glistened as they opened their mouths wide, exposing long and sharply pointed canines.

Fuck.

They were all fucking vampires.

With that revelation finally hitting Dale, the hissing began. Louis hissed at Armand, who raised his hands, flexing his fingers like claws and hissed back. That only served to provoke Lestat into hissing at Armand. Before long, Dale couldn’t keep track of who was hissing at whom, but instinct had him scramble out of the bed, grab the glass of water from the nightstand and throw it at them. There was enough to splash all three of them and bring a stop to the hissing before it turned into caterwauling.

“What the hell?” shouted Lestat, wet strands of hair dangling across his eyes.

“It’s what mum did when cats were at it on the front lawn,” said Dale, swallowing hard as he backed away. “She said she didn’t care if they were about to fight or have sex, but they weren’t doing it in her – oh … ”

Dale realised that three pairs of unearthly eyes were fixed on him. It was disconcerting enough when it was just Louis. But three sets – Louis’ emerald eyes, accompanied by a pair that were glacial blue and a set that gleamed like polished amber - were totally unnerving. The three vampires were astonishingly beautiful, but he was beginning to get a sense that they were far more dangerous than he could possible imagine.

“Um … those people you said you had to protect me from?” asked Dale as it occurred to him that Louis’ warnings hadn’t just been an excuse to whisk him away from all he knew. He took another step back and bumped into a chair. “Are these … are they them?”

Just as he was convinced that his time was finally up, loud guffaws of laughter erupted from Lestat’s large, yet sensuous mouth. Sidling up towards Dale, he gestured extravagantly with one hand in a particularly European manner.

“He really is quite priceless, Louis.” Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Lestat pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and proceeded to address Dale directly. “Oh mon petit, while it is true that there are few quite as devastatingly devious as dear Armand, I am afraid that Louis’ only means of protecting you from him would be to plead on your behalf. However, he has a talent for getting what he wants, so you may yet be spared.”

Dale watched, mesmerised as Lestat placed a cigarette between his lips and then lit it using a match from the book of matches in the ashtray he had placed on the bed. Lestat lazily inhaled and then breathed out a puff of smoke.

“Well, what is it to be, Louis? If you ask me nicely I’ll take him under my wing,” said Armand, dabbing droplets of water from his face with one of the clean towels from the cart they’d appropriated. “With a bit of work, I can have him look even more like your maker–”

“Don’t you dare!” growled Louis. “He ain’t a fuckin’ toy!”

Evidently undeterred, Armand threw the towel into the laundry hamper and then sat back down on the bed, pouting as he stretched his arms out on either side and smiling enigmatically at Dale.

“I mean it, Armand. You can’t go ’round treating every human I get to know like your own personal plaything!”

His forehead scrunched up in confusion, Dale watched the increasingly odd interactions. Had Louis done this before? Another human?

Chuckling to himself, Lestat blew smoke rings in the air and leaned back. Propping himself up with one hand, he allowed his fingers to stray close to where Armand’s hand was resting. Dale couldn’t help noticing that just as Armand seemed to inch his fingers towards the pale hand of Lestat, it was withdrawn slowly. He was confused. If Lestat was Louis’ lover, why was he flirting with Armand? Was that why Louis was angry with him?

Edging ever further away from the bed, Dale looked around the room trying to figure out where he’d left his trousers. He didn’t feel at all safe half naked with a room full of vampires. He had too much flesh exposed. He had images rushing through his mind of being upended and having the three of them snacking on his legs. As he turned around again, he saw to his horror, that Lestat had silently got up and was inches from his face. And he was sniffing him.

“What is with you people and the sniffing?” moaned Dale, ducking his head down to smell his t-shirt. He’d put it on clean and used deodorant, but was beginning to feel self-conscious. “I’m starting to get a complex.”

“Hmmm…” muttered Lestat, as he wandered back towards Louis, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him in close. He then sniffed Louis’ clothes. “Not a toy? Not to be used as a plaything? Then perhaps you could explain to me, mon cher Louis, why you reek of him? What have you been doing with this dear mortal boy?”

Louis’ mouth fell open at which point Lestat grasped the back of his neck and kissed him. Not the soft tender kisses that Dale had received from Louis, but a bruising kiss as Lestat’s tongue plunged between Louis open lips. Apparently Lestat was also able to go without air for a while as the kiss went on, each man grasping at the other as if some primal force was pulling them into one another. Dale couldn’t look away, however much he felt he should.

Eventually, as they broke apart, Lestat scowled at Louis apparently disappointed with him.

“Oh Louis – the taste on your lips?” Lestat looked feral for a moment, his eyes narrowing and his lips pressing close together, disdainfully. “What was that you said about no eating? Hmm? Is that because you’ve already had a taste?”

“It ain’t what you think…” said Louis, defensively.

“I know what I taste and its source had two legs and not four!” snarled Lestat. “What was that phrase you once used? Ah yes, it seems you gave the mortal ‘some face.’ C'est ce que tu as fait?”

Louis looked across to Dale, his face a picture of remorse.

“I am so sorry. I owe you an apology.” Louis looked on the verge of tears, his eyes were rimmed with red. “I really thought – ”

“What the hell made you think I was… hi…him?” stammered Dale, flabbergasted that he could possibly be mistaken for the outrageous individual, who had possessively slung an arm around Louis’ neck.

“I know – isn’t that amusing?” Lestat smiled indulgently at Louis. His face then morphed into a sarcastic grimace. “How could anyone possibly confuse you for a famous rock star?”

“Famous? What are you talking about?” demanded Dale, frowning. Although he could imagine Lestat on stage, revelling in the adoration of fans, he had no idea who he was, beyond the man that Louis had mistaken him for. He gave an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, but French bands don’t get any air time in Australia. So, unless you were an act on Eurovision- ”

Dale stopped talking as it looked as if Lestat was about to erupt. It didn’t help that Armand was watching on in amusement, his lips twitching as if he was struggling not to laugh. Dale wondered what he’d said that had managed to cause so much offence.

“The Vampire Lestat is a world-famous band from New Orleans, not France!” spat Lestat. Dale was pleased to note that Louis had wrapped an arm around Lestat’s waist, the fingers of one hand splayed across a taut abdomen, restraining his lover. “Well, that was until I was forced to disband the group following the-”

“Carnage?” interrupted Armand, mischievously. He sat up and raised an elegant eyebrow. “Slaughter?”

“That was you?” asked Dale, appalled. “In San Francisco? That was real? The news agencies we relied on all dismissed that as a publicity stunt.”

“It was!” said Louis, shaking his head at Dale. “Don’t listen to Armand – he don’t know what he’s talking about.”

Dale watched on as a silent argument seemed to be raging between Louis and Armand. The longer it went on the more annoyed Lestat was becoming. So much so, that Louis had to turn around and mumble something to him in an effort to appease him. Unfortunately that gave Armand the opportunity for one more dig.

“Rumour has it that your mummy had to come and pick you up.” The smug expression on Armand’s face was enough to have Lestat lunge towards him, only to be pulled back by Louis.

“Putain de merde! Perhaps I should tell her what you called her!” snapped Lestat. “She would eviscerate you!”

“I’m not scared of your mother, Lestat.”

“You should be, Armand,” muttered Louis.

Dale felt a burgeoning headache coming on again. For bloodthirsty vampires, the three men spent an awful lot of time bitching at one another, either that or flirting. He picked up the empty glass and slammed it down on the nightstand. It shattered into pieces, but he had got their attention.

“Will you all shut up, or just kill me now and spare me having to listen to any more bickering!”

“Dale?” asked Louis, looking concerned. “You OK?”

“No, I’m not fucking OK. I’ve not been OK since you knocked my door down- ”

“Louis? Not the doors again?” muttered Lestat.

“Shut up!” yelled Dale, pointing at the lascivious blond and then at the door to their room, which was splintered, even though it had been pushed back into the doorway. “I can see where he picked up the habit.”

Lestat had the grace to hold his peace and keep quiet. Although Dale thought that had a lot to do with whatever Louis was doing with his hand that had disappeared out of sight under the back of Lestat’s stylish jacket.

“To be honest, I’m almost past caring what the fuck happens to me. I feel like I’ve got in the middle of a marital dispute and I can’t figure out who’s married to whom! In fact I am surprised the noise you’ve been making hasn’t had the other people on this floor bashing at - ”

“There aren’t any others,” said Louis. “I paid for all the rooms on this floor.”

“Whatever made you do that?” asked Armand.

“I thought I’d found Lestat, and I kinda figured we might make some noise…” Louis’ complexion pinked up as he looked embarrassed. In response, Lestat grinned like a fool and turned to hug Louis tightly.

“Excellent,” exclaimed Dale, flinging his hands up in a gesture of mock excitement. “That means there are plenty of other rooms for the three of you to use. So, why don’t you take your reunion bitch fest or orgy, or whatever it is when vampires have a party, elsewhere and leave me alone. Chain me to the bed if you have to, just let me have some fucking peace and quiet!”

“Louis, it occurs to me that he sounds more like you than he does me,” whispered Lestat.

“He makes a good point,” said Louis. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m famished – can we call room service?” suggested Armand.

“It’s a budget airport hotel, there ain’t no room service,” replied Louis, sounding irritated. “Didn’t you eat before you got here?”

“We did,” said Lestat. “But Armand was in such a hurry to see you that he didn’t finish his.”

“Never mind, perhaps I’ll stay here and watch over… what’s his name?” Armand cast an eye in Dale’s direction and licked his lips.

“No!” shouted Louis.

“Non!”

“His name’s Dale – as you well know, and you’re the last person I’d leave watching a mortal,” said Louis. “You’re coming with us.”

“Louis,” whined Lestat.

“I don’t trust him, Lestat – it’s either that or we all stay in here.”

“No!” stated Dale, adamantly. “I promise I won’t leave – lock me in, Louis, if you want to. But do not expect me to spend any more time in the same room as your boyfriends!”

“Boyfriends?” blurted out Louis. “They’re not …”

“Spare me, please. I may be naïve and inexperienced, but those two have been undressing you with their eyes since they crashed through the door. What’s more, you’ve noticed and done the same in return. All the time you three have been yelling at each other, you’ve …well… don’t make me say it.”

Dale had lowered his gaze down to an area just below Louis’ belt and then looked across at the same place on Armand and then at Lestat, both of whom were wearing very tight jeans. Blushing furiously, he pointed at the door.

“For fuck’s sake, get a room. Any room. Just not this room!”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Notes:

There may be typos ... I'll sort them out later ... posting while I can.

And, yes, the chapter count has increased. Theatrical vampires apparently don't like limitations ...

Chapter 12

Notes:

The final part of this chapter may require having a glass of water to hand.

 

 

After dispatching Armand and Lestat to find a suitable room, having promised he would join them, Louis stayed behind to speak to Dale. He wanted to make sure he was alright, that he would stay where he was and, more importantly, he needed to apologise. What he didn’t need was an audience – either in the room or in his head, in fact a running commentary from Armand was the last thing he needed.

Blocking out Armand, Louis gave up on the idea of locking the door and just hoped that finding a room to satisfy their requirements would keep the two vampires busy while he spoke with Dale in private.

It was as if he was seeing Dale for the first time. The mortal was standing in the same place he’d been standing moments earlier, hands at his side, in his white t-shirt and boxer shorts, about as vulnerable as possible and yet he’d taken on two extremely powerful vampires as well as himself. Louis suppressed the urge to laugh at the preposterous events of the past hour. Looking fondly at the mortal he’d taken captive, Louis considered how he had grown to resemble Lestat even more as he had become more indignant, so like Lestat at his most belligerent. Having the two of them in the same room had highlighted both their similarities and differences. It hadn’t helped that while Dale was dressed in white, Lestat was wearing an all-black ensemble.

It occurred to Louis that if he could meld the two men together, they’d be perfect in every way – passionate and gentle, fiery yet vulnerable. He sighed wistfully, acknowledging to himself that, for all his many faults, Lestat was his soulmate for want of a better word. Not only that, but he did possess all those traits, it was just that when they had been together, Louis hadn’t always paid close enough attention to the softer side of his lover. Damn, he’d missed Lestat more than he thought he would..

“They’re gone for now, you can relax,” he said. “Sit down before you fall over. It’s alright. Those two suck all the energy out of a room when they’re like that, you’re allowed to feel as weak as limp noodle now.”

With a grateful smile, Dale sunk down on the edge of the bed, looking as drained as Louis assumed he was feeling. It didn’t surprise him, after all, Armand and Lestat were a lot individually, together they were an impending storm of catastrophic potential.

Crouching down in front of Dale, Louis loosely clasped his hands together, in a conscious effort to keep them to himself. Despite all the excuses he made in his head, it didn’t alter the fact that he’d got way too familiar with a complete stranger, whose consent had been dubious at best. What had he been thinking? It was Lestat’s fault! No … not this time. Seems he couldn’t really hold Lestat responsible this time.

“Dale, I really am truly sorry for everything I’ve put you through-”

“But you’re not letting me go are you?” challenged Dale perceptively, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t – not yet,” admitted Louis. It was a fucked-up situation, but it would only be made worse if he didn’t act responsibly. He owed it to Dale to make sure he was safe and would not face any unwarranted consequences as a result of his own misguided actions.

“Why not?” asked Dale, bluntly. “It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone I was kidnapped by a vampire, is it? They’d lock me up if I did. I’d lose all credibility as a news reporter. Helen would write me off as a serial liar and cheat.”

Louis winced, empathising with Dale’s pessimistic outlook. He had to admit that all his worst fears had a strong possibility of becoming reality. He didn’t want to wreck Dale’s life.

“I’ll figure out something – don’t worry. I’m not gonna let you lose everything you’ve worked for because I thought you were someone else.” Louis desperately wanted to give Dale a hug, but held back. He needed to make it right first. “But for now, I need to find out why those two gremlins showed up and persuade them to either help or go back to wherever the hell they came from. Then, I swear to you, I’ll make sure you get back to the people you love.”

“People?” queried Dale, looking puzzled.

“The woman, Helen, obviously, and that guy – Tim.” Louis saw Dale start to protest and held a hand up to silence him. “No point tryin’ to hide it from me, even if you’re still denyin’ it to yourself. I saw what was in your mind. They love you, no question about it. And you? You’re more than just attracted to both of them.”

Louis shrugged as if the solution was obvious. Dale smiled sadly and then looked towards the door.

“What about you and those two? Is it more than just physical?” asked Dale, waving a hand in the direction of the continued bickering they could both hear echoing down the corridor. Apparently there was a problem with the décor in one of the rooms that offended Armand, although Lestat thought it was inoffensive.

“You don’t really think that do you?” asked Louis, a sceptical expression on his face. He could tell that Dale was trying to rationalise his feelings by relegating his connection to the camera guy as just a physical impulse that he could control if he tried harder.

“I don’t know,” admitted Dale. “When you thought I was Lestat, you behaved as if there was some sort of great romance between the two of you. But, now I’ve met him, he seems like an arrogant, vain arsehole and, to be honest, I can’t see how anyone could love him.”

Louis found himself grinning and nodding his head.

“He can be a brat, that’s true, especially in front of other people. But, when it’s just me and him … “ Louis shrugged. “What we have … it’s a lot and it ain’t perfect. I guess it works best when we don’t see each other for a while. When I’m with him, there are times when I just want to kill him or tell him to go and never come back, and then … when he’s gone, I just don’t feel whole no more.”

Dale ducked his head down and Louis could hear that he was contemplating his own situation.

“What about the other guy then? Armand? How does he fit in?”

How indeed?

“Armand?” Louis wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. “He’s the love of my life,” he replied drolly.

“Bullshit!” blurted out Dale, shaking his head. “Stop taking the piss. He’s not the one you were losing your mind over for the past few days! If anything you were blaming him for turning Lestat into me!”

“It’s complicated,” sighed Louis. “I wasn’t worried about him because I knew where he was and we’d agreed to go our own ways for a while.” Seeing the doubtful look on Dale’s face, Louis elaborated. “Armand was there for me when I was in a very bad place and I know he always will be there for me. He loves me and I love him.”

“What about Lestat then?” Dale’s face was scrunched up in confusion. “I don’t understand. After all you’ve told me about him and now you say this other guy is the love of your life. What the hell is Lestat to you?”

“Lestat is my life,” said Louis simply. It had taken him decades to come to terms with what Lestat meant to him. He’d spent too long overthinking it, complicating it. But it all came down to the fact that he couldn’t live if there was no Lestat. “He is my everything. Without him …” Louis hesitated as it struck him what it would have meant if Dale had been Lestat and had decided he never wanted to see Louis again. “I don’t think I’d wanna go on living if I thought I’d never get to spend another night with him.”

Seeing Dale looking pensive tempted Louis to peer into his thoughts quickly. He saw that Dale was thinking of the dark-haired woman again, and also the curly-haired guy. Louis smiled to himself. He may have taken things too far with Dale, but his intentions had been mostly honourable. If he had enabled Dale to contemplate the notion of pursuing a loving relationship with both of these people who meant so much to him, then Louis had done less harm than good.

Standing up, Louis glanced at the cuffs in the bin and then at the bed.

“I don’t wanna cuff you to the bed again, Dale. But I’d like you to stay here until I can come up with a way to fix the mess I got you in. A way that don’t end up with you gettin’ sacked, dumped, ridiculed or locked up in an asylum.”

Phrased like that, he could see that Dale had no choice but to consider his suggestion.

“And you won’t let your boyfriends eat me?” asked Dale, anxiously rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw.

“I’ll keep ’em distracted.” Thoughts of how to keep Lestat and Armand suitably distracted brought back to mind the way Lestat’s tongue had tangled with his. And then he recalled having wrapped his tongue around Dale’s cock. He grimaced at the memory and hoped he’d not make things even more awkward by apologising, but felt the need to. His eyes were drawn towards Dale’s crotch and he felt mortified. “And about earlier … I feel awful. I can’t say how sorry I am -”

Dale blushed and seeing the direction of Louis’ gaze, he looked down into his lap.

“Um … thank you. But … you did ask if it was what I wanted … and … I… I suppose I did. I knew you’d stop if I wanted you to … and I didn’t. I didn’t want you to stop.” Dale was looking more embarrassed by the minute, but Louis appreciated him overcoming his own discomfort in an effort to reassure him. Finally, Dale looked up to meet Louis’ eyes. He swallowed awkwardly and then nodded his head. “It was … it was nice.”

“Nice?” Louis almost felt affronted. “Just nice?”

“Very nice,” said Dale, his cheeks glowing.

“Thank God for that, at least I got one thing right.” Louis laughed softly and fondly ruffled Dale’s hair. “I guess I’d better go and make sure those two idiots haven’t killed each other or anyone else. They’re being suspiciously quiet.” Louis was genuinely concerned at how little noise he could hear outside his room. He opened his mind so he could locate Armand and was given an image of him flicking through the channels on the TV in the room opposite. Apparently he was trying to find a programme would cause maximum annoyance to Lestat.

Sighing to himself, Louis checked the time and found there were still two hours to go before sunrise.

“Will you have enough to eat?” He pointed at the carrier bag that Lestat had dropped to the floor. “I got you a sandwich and some other-”

“I’ll manage. To be honest, I think I’ll just curl up and sleep...” Dale yawned and toppled onto one side, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He pulled his feet up onto the bed and dragged a pillow under his head. “For some reason I’m suddenly feeling extraordinarily tired.”

Startled by how quickly Dale seemed to be succumbing to sleep, Louis got a clear message in his head.

‘Stop wasting time. Let the mortal sleep. We need to talk.’

‘Did you do that?’ demanded Louis, draping a blanket over Dale to keep him warm.

‘Do what? Hurry up Louis, I am waiting.’

Affectionately kissing Dale on the head, Louis turned off the lights and sighed.

He would fix the situation. But first he needed to find out what Armand and Lestat had in mind, because he suspected it would be outrageously unacceptable.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Lestat was wandering around the parking lot, looking for the nondescript vehicle they had hired. He was irritated. Very irritated.

Once he’d found a room that Armand had deemed acceptable, Armand had announced that he was going to speak to Louis on his own. When Lestat had demanded to know why, Armand vaguely referred to defamatory broadcasts concerning thought manipulation and the conduct of prohibited experiments.

How the fuck could it be defamatory if every vampire on the planet knew what the angelic-looking gremlin got up to in his spare time?

Despite his reservations about leaving Louis alone with Armand, Lestat had agreed. It was preferable to hanging around while they shouted at each other telepathically, with Armand blocking him from listening in. The fact that Armand could hear Louis’ thoughts only served to annoy him further.  

Lestat had conceded to giving Armand a maximum of fifteen minutes with Louis while he fetched their luggage from the hire car. He had a feeling he would require fresh clothing after what he had in mind for the remainder of the night. Fortunately, while waiting for the Qantas flight from LA, they’d each bought suitcases and clothing – partly out of boredom and partly to put together outfits to impress Louis, although neither of them would admit that to the other openly.

When Lestat finally located the car, he caught sight of someone with dark curly hair walking towards a different vehicle in the distance.

What the fuck?

“Armand!” yelled Lestat, wondering if Louis had refused to speak to him. “You’re going the wrong way.”

The figure ignored him. Damn him. Typical childish, petty behaviour. He was fully aware that his serene exterior hid a seething mass of resentment and desire for vengeance. The more Armand pretended he didn’t care about Lestat, the more it turned him on.

Damn the bastard.

“Won’t he talk to you? Is that it?” he shouted. If Armand was stooping to pettiness he’d expect nothing less in return from Lestat. “Or couldn’t you trust me not to accidentally lose your case with all those pretty clothes?”

Still, the man kept walking. Lestat was infuriated. He sped across the darkened car park and grabbed him around the waist. The man lashed out trying, ineffectively, to elbow Lestat in the gut. This required Lestat to hold onto him even more tightly, capturing one of those delicate hands in his to keep it from clawing his throat open.

“What is this, some pathetic attempt to make me tackle you to the ground?” Tugging the squirming body flush to his chest, an arm around his taut abdomen, Lestat whispered in his ear. “You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

It was only as he spun the man around to face him that Lestat saw, to his horror, that it was not Armand. The dark curls matched. But Armand did not have a moustache. It was a human. Not much more than a boy really.

“Ah, you are not who I thought you were, my apologies,” said Lestat, loosening his hold. The boy was exceptionally pretty and he forgave himself for mistaking him for Armand.

He would have walked away, but the man grabbed hold of him by the shoulders and shook him. Lestat was shocked to see recognition in the unfamiliar dark brown eyes.

“Dale? Dale! What the fuck’s going on, mate? Helen’s going out of her mind – she’s worried sick!” The man then looked puzzled as he studied his face and clothes. “What the hell’s happened to you?”

For a fleeting moment, he was tempted to flirt, but then it struck him that this man was referring to the mortal Louis had abducted. Armand had picked up a copy of the newspaper at the airport and had suggested Lestat leave his hair loose in case anyone mistake him for the missing mortal. “Ah, Mister Dale Jennings, oui? The poor soul I saw on the front page of the newspaper? As you can tell, I am not-”

But before Lestat had the chance to say another word, the impertinent boy had grabbed a handful of his hair and was tugging on it.

“What’s with the wig and why are you talking like that?” His face fell as Lestat yelped and wrapped a hand around his wrist. “Shit. It’s not a wig. I’m sorry, mate. You looked just like … but obviously you’re not.”

“Non. I am not, unfortunately.” Lestat held onto the boy’s hand as he considered his options. Sadly he had business to attend to before he could partake of any pleasure. He weighed up the pros and cons of persuading the boy to get into the back of the hire car with him and then he saw Louis’ disapproving face. He hated that face. He lifted the boy’s hand to his lips, kissed it gently and sighed. “I rather think I might have enjoyed having you pull my hair under different circumstances.”

“You mistook me for someone as well? Armand? I hope you find him.”

Lestat could hear the boy’s thoughts and beneath the worry for his friend, he sensed that he was tempted to flirt back. However alluring the boy was, he had no intention of leaving Armand alone with Louis any longer than absolutely necessary.

“Yes, I did think you were someone I know and now I really must go to find where he has got to.”

With a bow, Lestat backed away, turning to head towards the hire car.

He could feel the eyes of the young man on him as he walked away. Again, he picked up on the thoughts that if he were not desperately seeking his missing friend he would have let himself be seduced by Lestat. With a self-satisfied smirk, Lestat spared him one last smile over his shoulder. From a distance, the boy reminded him of his beloved Nicki. He had the same sad, dark eyes.  

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time Lestat returned to the hotel and was opening the door to the room that Armand had finally deemed suitable, he could hear raised voices. He was perversely delighted at the possibility that they were arguing.

Using the housekeeper’s key, he let himself in and set down the cases. His appearance only caused the other two to pause briefly before continuing their heated discussion. He was surprised that they continued it audibly, having suspected they would resort to hiding their words from him.

“This always happens, Louis,” stated Armand, admonishing Louis as if he were a child. Lestat raised an eyebrow as he sensed Louis bristling with suppressed rage. “You need me to keep you from acting out.”

Lestat winced on hearing Armand using his patronising voice. He knew that was a bad decision and was even more pleased to note that Armand had continued, oblivious to the effect his imperious behaviour was having.

“I don’t need no one telling me how to act or react!” Louis jabbed his finger at Armand angrily.

Lestat was delighted to see it Louis’ incandescent rage being directed at someone else other than him. He leant back against the wall and clasped his hands in front of his hips, observing the row as if he were an impartial spectator. He watched as Louis paced up and down, while Armand remained standing like a statue by the window, directing that eerie amber gaze at Louis.

“You have acted like a child and your actions are affecting others,” stated Armand, his voice dripping with scorn. “You have been broadcasting allegations and disinformation concerning my actions for the past few days, Louis. Your accusations have been very hurtful.”

“What accusations are these?” asked Lestat, as if completely unaware of the complaints Armand had bombarded him with during their interminably long flight across the Pacific Ocean. “I appear to be missing some details.”

Armand pressed his soft lips together and moved his eyes to fix Lestat with a laser like glare. Lestat smiled back, enjoying himself far more than he expected he would.

“That I had brainwashed you and turned you into a mortal,” replied Armand, disdainfully. “Out of jealousy apparently. Which is, of course, absurd.”

Lestat chuckled to himself at the thought. He then pushed away from the wall and reached out to grasp Louis by the arm.

“Mon cher – why did you not just come to find me?”

“Because you’d gone off the radar!” yelled Louis. “No one heard of you or from you for almost a year.”

“You didn’t ask me,” said Armand, sounding insulted. 

“I had no reason to think you’d tell me even if you did know,” spat Louis. “You’ve got form for that, haven’t you? Lettin’ me think he was dead that time!”

Armand's attempts to appear remorseful were spoilt by the smirk he was failing to hide.

“Louis - had you been missing me?” asked Lestat. The thought that Louis had wanted to find him warmed his heart.

“Fuck knows why, but yeah.” Louis shrugged as it was no big deal. “Yeah, I missed you. What of it?”

Armand snorted indelicately, indicating his opinion without saying anything. Lestat chose to ignore him as Louis’ actions meant far more to him.

“You missed me and that led you to latching onto that poor Australian boy, all because he looks vaguely similar to me?” Lestat couldn’t stop grinning. “Mon cher, how did you find him here of all places?”

“I’d been to Europe, looking for you,” admitted Louis, reluctantly. “I was waiting for a flight when I saw a news report that he was presenting and- ”

“Mon dieu – you travelled half way around the world because you thought he was me?” Louis rarely, if ever, put it in words, but Louis’ impetuous, reckless behaviour told Lestat that he still loved him. Lestat clapped his hands together, unable to conceal the joy bubbling up in his chest at the mere thought of Louis making such a journey just to find him.

“Yeah. I guess that explains why I’m here.” Louis shrugged as he fixed Lestat in his gaze. “And Armand has explained why he came after me. I’m sorry Armand, but you gotta admit my suspicions were valid. It is the sort of thing you would do.”

“Perhaps. But next time you think I have been, to quote you, ‘fucking with Lestat’s head’ – make it a private accusation. Besides which, his head is somewhere I have no desire to spend time inside.”

“Unlike my pants,” muttered Lestat, earning himself glares from both Louis and Armand.

“Like I said,” continued Louis, sharply. “I get why Armand came to kick my ass, but that don’t explain why you came with him. Why are you here, Lestat?”

Lestat frowned, annoyed that Louis thought he had been the one to tag along with Armand, whereas it had been the other way around. Although Armand’s ability to locate Louis had proved useful.

“I’m here because I care about you a great deal, Louis and I was worried about you.” Lestat cupped Louis’ head in one hand, letting his sharp nails slide through Louis’ soft curls. “I feared you would do something as foolish as I might have done in your place.”

“Really?” Louis tilted his chin upwards, challenging Lestat. “What would you have done?”

“If I thought for one minute that you had been stripped of everything that made you as beautiful as you are…” Lestat punctuated his statement with kisses to Louis’ brow, eyelids, nose and lips. “Then I would have gone to the ends of this earth and beyond to bring you back.”

“I am still here,” piped up Armand, who had sat down on the sofa. He had one leg crossed over the other and was narrowing his eyes at them. Lestat did not need to be able to read his thoughts to feel the waves of envy emanating from Armand crashing over them.

“Armand would have helped me, of course. His ability to hear your thoughts has been most helpful.”

Louis softened and let Lestat pull in him in for a kiss that was gentler than the one he’d given him earlier, but no less passionate.

Discussion held at bay, they explored each other’s mouths slowly, while hands roamed under shirts and into pants.

“As I said, I am still here,” repeated Armand, his voice hitching slightly, telling Lestat all he needed to know.

Although Lestat could have invited Armand to join in then, making him wait was so much more enticing a prospect. He was about to say something, only for Louis to get there first.

“There are plenty of other rooms,” growled Louis, unbuttoning Lestat’s shirt and pulling it out of his trousers. “If you don't wanna watch, you can go brood somewhere else.”

“I chose this one. And it was you, Louis, who said we should all share the same room.”

Glancing across at Armand, Lestat could see that he’d popped open the top few buttons of his dark blue shirt, revealing a smooth expanse of chest. With a sly grin, Lestat noticed that in response to his attention, Armand flexed his pecs to emphasise a sinful cleavage, the crease begging to be licked.  

“Well, Louis? I suppose you should make amends for accusing him of something of which he was innocent. For a change.” Lestat kissed Louis’ neck. “And I owe him for finding you – I could not have located you without his assistance. He has also promised to help deal with your little problem.”

“Dale?” asked Louis, nervously. “I don’t want either of you harming him in any way, is that understood?”

“Of course! Of course- ” Lestat pulled away a little, caught in the glare of Louis’ narrowed eyes.

“Don’t do that!” snapped Louis, tugging Lestat back by his lapels. “The more you agree, the less believable you get.”

Lestat had to smile. He had come to realise that Louis had always seen through his deceptions.

“And as for you,” Louis switched his focus to Armand. “Stop blocking me – you do that and It only makes me worry about what you’re thinking.”

“Louis – trust me, you do not want to know what is going through my mind at this moment,” drawled Armand. “I can assure you that it has nothing to do with your pet human.”

“Liar,” coughed Lestat. He then tutted as he smiled benevolently at the other vampire. “That is depraved, Armand, even for you!”

Armand shook his head and smiled slowly.

“You call me depraved? I heard your thoughts as you were tempted to screw a stranger in the carpark because he looked like me.”

“Lestat!” snarled Louis.

“I may have been briefly tempted, I cannot help it." Lestat shrugged insouciantly. “As you are in a bookshop, or Armand in a store with electrical appliances. But it’s just window shopping and I don’t always – what?”

Louis mouth had fallen open and he looked furious. Lestat genuinely could not think what he had said that had angered him.

“I can’t believe you’re equating fuckin’ around with retail therapy!” yelled Louis.

“I didn’t! I haven’t!” protested Lestat, keeping hold of Louis, who was pulling away from him. “In all that time you were with him, did you expect me to remain celibate for decades upon decades!”

“Decades?” scoffed Armand, who appeared to have undone another two buttons and unbuckled his belt. “I doubt that you are capable of celibacy for more than a week.” 

“I have a healthy libido because I feed properly, unlike – ”

Before he could dig himself an even deeper hole than the one Armand had excavated for him, Lestat found himself slammed against the wall by Louis.

“Don’t go there, Les!” growled Louis, grasping Lestat’s hands above his head. “I’ve fed well enough to keep you satisfied enough so you don’t need to fuck strangers.”

Thrusting his tongue into Lestat’s mouth, Louis prevented him spoiling the moment with any other stupid comment. Lestat was grateful for that, as Louis pressed against him, from lip to hip, a continuous line of contact.

‘Join us.’

He felt the movement of air as Armand swooped in behind Louis, eager to accept the invitation he had been awaiting for so many years.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was not long after he’d felt Armand at his back that Louis found himself stripped naked and sandwiched between two similarly naked vampires on the king-sized bed. Despite all the guilt and worries plaguing him, he had missed his lovers. He had sometimes wondered what it would be like to be in bed with both of them and it seemed they were very keen on fulfilling his wildest of fantasies.

“Bon, now you can start to make up for all the inconvenience you have caused us, saint Louis.”

Lestat was behind him and nuzzling his throat, as he pressed into him from behind. Armand had ducked down to take one nipple into his mouth while rubbing the other between finger and thumb until the sensations were bordering on painful.

He was beginning to understand why Lestat got so annoyed at not being party to thought conversations, as it was obvious that Lestat was communicating with Armand on what to do. Being at the mercy of the two of them, working him between them, was causing his mind to retreat as his body surrendered to anything and everything they wanted to do with him.

As their bodies writhed around him, fluidly, two pairs of hands caressing, stroking, teasing every inch of his skin, lips and tongues followed, in worship, reminding him of what it felt like to be the object of adoration. Only he’d never experienced it at the hands of two powerful, loving vampires at the same time.

Hands settled around his hips, Lestat’s pulling him back as he thrust inside, and Armand’s on his arse cheeks, holding them apart as Lestat entered him. As if that weren’t enough, Armand’s lips were sealed around his own cock. He would have screamed if it were not for Armand’s length pressed against the roof of his mouth. Digging his fingers into Armand’s buttocks, he opened his throat and shouted out soundlessly. Surrounded by them, penetrated by them, it was too much.

Too much.

Way too much.

Coming down from an orgasm that seemed to block out the whole world around him, Louis felt trickles of blood either side of his throat. Of course. He opened his eyes to see the ceiling. The bed was empty. Where? Oh!

Following the sounds, Louis leaned over the edge of the bed and grinned like a fool.

Lestat was lying sprawled on his back on the floor, his legs dangling over pale brown shoulders as Armand pounded into him. Lestat was clawing at Armand's smooth back, leaving rivulets of blood trickling down his ribcage. Tears were running down Armand’s face as he ducked down to press kisses against the bruises on Lestat’s chest. Eventually, their mouths connected, biting becoming kissing as they made violent love to one another.

Of course, the two of them would fuck as if they were killing each other.  

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Notes:

Comments to encourage me gratefully received ... having a bit of a difficult time at the moment and writing this when I can.

Chapter 13

Notes:

This chapter focuses on Tim and Helen sharing their findings and Lestat finding out what Louis shared with Dale.

It's shorter than intended - the last part I wrote for this chapter will now be posted as Chapter 14 very soon.

 

The alarm went off at 4:30am. It was still dark outside. There was a fully dressed man sleeping on top of the duvet.  A sob caught in her throat. It brought to mind the night Dale had done just that, knowing instinctively that she needed the company, but not the intimacy. But it wasn’t Dale. In the dark, she could see from the mop of dark curls that the head on the pillow belonged to Tim. He’d been woken by the radio blaring out at the same time. As their bleary eyes met, it was apparent that he was as much a morning person as she was. That was the reason Dale had been alone in his apartment when he’d been kidnapped, he had an early morning start and hadn’t wanted to disturb her. Hugging the pillow tight, she shut her eyes and thought of the mornings when she had woken up in the arms of the most puppy-like, adorable human being she’d ever met.

“We’ll find him.” Tim’s assertion was reinforced with a tentative one-armed hug that Helen gratefully accepted. Being comforted helped enormously, especially from someone who really did understand what she was going through.

Tim discreetly slipped out of the bedroom, allowing her to grab a quick shower and get dressed for the day. He then persuaded her to have some toast and vegemite for breakfast, telling her she couldn’t go out on an empty stomach. He’d also made the coffee, stronger than she would normally have taken it, but the jolt of caffeine was definitely required. Peering over Tim’s street map, she wrote out two separate lists of motels and hotels from the ones they’d agreed could be within walking distance of the News at Six car park that belonged to chains. Although she would have liked the company, Helen had to accept Tim’s suggestion that splitting the list meant they’d get through them faster. On the back of Tim’s list she wrote a list of questions he should ask.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

An early start had the advantage that the staff on reception were less busy, with fewer guests checking out before breakfast apart from those needing an early start to check in for flights. Helen managed to get through four on her list before she had to give up and go to work.

At each hotel, the staff on reception duty had recognised Helen immediately and been only too willing to talk to her. It was a mixed blessing that they were all eager to discuss Dale’s mysterious disappearance. She’d had to grit her teeth while listening to a variety of bizarre theories from alien abduction to it all being a publicity stunt by the network. However,  none of the hotels she’d checked had any guests under the name of Louis or Lewis, or any of the permutations of surnames she had conjured up from Depont to Dupoint. The photos that Tim had printed of Dale and also the stranger that had dropped off his car had also drawn a blank, with no guests matching the descriptions of either. As agreed, she’d left behind her card and a copy of Dale’s photo asking them to keep them behind the desk and to contact her if they saw him.   

Taking one more look at one of the official photos of Dale, hair smoothly brushed away from his face, smart suit and neat tie, Helen sighed and tucked it into her shoulder bag. She’d parked at the front of the building, in one of the visitor spaces that staff weren’t meant to use, but she’d wanted to avoid having to see the burnt asphalt from where Dale’s car had been set on fire. Helen slammed her car door shut with more force than necessary. She desperately wanted to tell Lindsay that she needed time off, but realised that it was up to her to insist on there being a segment on Dale in each broadcast, to maintain his profile in the public eye, albeit in a way far different to what she had once intended. Slipping on a pair of shades to hide the fact that her mascara needed repairing yet again, Helen lifted her head and straightened her back, letting her shoulder pads give the impression she was more formidable than she felt.  

Despite Helen’s intentions to enter her office unbothered, Dennis shouted at her as soon as he caught sight of her. He wanted her to work with Noeleen on a story about French nuclear tests at Mururoa atoll in the Southern Pacific Ocean. She was grateful when Noeleen put a head around her office door to tell her that she’d already gone through the files on Dale’s desk to find the research he’d done for the Chernobyl story. Any respite was short lived and she was soon pulled into the maelstrom of production meetings, editing decisions, script writing, make up, hair and presenting. Her head was forcing her to focus on the mechanics of news updates and special bulletins, while her heart was aching.

She saw Tim briefly when he came up to collect Rob before heading out to do a live link with interviews on the other side of the city. He had mouthed the word ‘later’ at her, a look of urgency in his eyes.

By mutual agreement they figured that anything they’d have to discuss needed to be out of the office. The pub would be full of people they knew from work and their meeting for a drink was likely to add even more grist to the rumour mills. In the end they arranged to meet in a small wine bar not far that was mostly frequented by office workers taking advantage of happy hour prices for cocktails.

As she entered the smoky haze she was glad to see that Tim had grabbed a booth. There was a half empty bottle of beer in front of him and a glass of wine waiting for her.

“What have you got?” she asked as soon as she sat down. She took a gulp of the chilled white wine and found herself tapping the glass with her fingernails as she waited for Tim to look around first before replying.

Tim then leaned close and whispered:

“I think I’ve found the place. The All Seasons Motel.”

“What? They’ve got a guest that matches one of the names?” hissed Helen.

Tim shook his head.

“No. But they had this American guy turn up with a bundle of cash, asking for at least six rooms, all next to one another and preferably at the far end of a floor.”

“What?” Helen stared at Tim, her forehead creasing in a frown. “That’s odd, but why do you think- ”

“Hold up, that’s not all. The girl on the desk was on duty when he checked in – she said this guy was really weird, wearing shades even though it was night time when he was checking in. She said he looked like a movie star, that’s why she paid extra attention in case she could sell her story to the papers.”

“So you got a description,” prompted Helen, pulling out her notebook.

“Apart from having a really nice smile she couldn’t say much about his face. But she said his skin was darker than mine and he was taller than me. Also – get this – he was wearing a long, black, leather coat.”

“Fuck! That’s him!” Helen gasped and grabbed hold of Tim’s hand. “He must have signed the register – did you get a name?”

Tim nodded his head and grinned.

“Yes – he signed in as L. D. Lioncourt.”

Helen wrote down the names of the motel and the strange American in her notebook.

“That’s an odd name, you sure about that?”

“Defo. I asked to see the register myself and there it was. I mean it might not be his real name, but that’s how the guy signed himself.”

“What about a home address?” pressed Helen. “They’d have asked him to provide one surely?”

“Somewhere in New Orleans, but the street name was unreadable.” Tim took a sip of his beer. “But the description matches that of the guy that was in Dale’s car. And what’s with all the rooms?”

Their faces fell at the same time. Thoughts of serial killers came to mind, but neither dared tempt fate by saying it out loud.

Helen wanted to go straight to the All Seasons and knock on the door of every room until she found Dale, but knew that if they had any concrete evidence they’d have to take it to the police and let them conduct a proper search. But surely he had to be in one of the rooms that this Mr Lioncourt had paid for?

“Didn’t this Mr Lioncourt say why he needed so many rooms?” asked Helen.

“Something about a basketball team he managed whose passport applications had been delayed but were due to fly in sometime this week.”

“I suppose that’s plausible,” replied Helen, frowning. It would be embarrassing to storm into a hotel and start hammering on the doors of a college basketball team. She could just imagine the reaction from Lindsay if that was made public knowledge. “It could be a coincidence.”

Feeling a little crestfallen, Helen raised her wine glass and was about to take another drink when she saw Tim’s eyes twinkling. It looked as if he was bursting to tell her something else, so she leaned closer.

“What is it? Spit it out!”

Without thinking, Helen grabbed hold of Tim’s hands in both of hers and leaned forward. She had that same sensation she got when she was carrying out an exclusive interview and sensed that moment when a previously undisclosed, vital piece of information was on the verge of being revealed. Her heart was pounding as she held on tight to Tim, who had become her anchor since Dale had gone missing. Ironically the one person she could trust with her feelings and who was a determined to find Dale as she was.

Tim swallowed nervously and then leaned closer, a stray curl falling over one eye.

“I was also thinking it was just a weird coincidence, that’s until what happened after I left the All Seasons.  I was walking back to my car when I heard some guy on the other side of the car park yelling out Armon or something like that. He had a foreign accent, so I figured he was a tourist and  ignored him, figuring he’d either just flown in or he was drunk. Next thing I know it, out of nowhere, I’ve been grabbed hold of from behind. I was scared shitless, my arms were pinned to by side – this guy was fucking strong. Last time I was tackled like that was fucking Rob demonstrating a tackle. Thought he was going to break my ribs. Anyway I kicked and yelled, and he let me go. Turns out it was the foreign guy. He apologised and said he thought I was this Armon guy he was looking for.”

“Right,” said Helen, nodding her head, encouraging Tim to get his story out, even though she couldn’t work out what this could have to do with Dale’s abduction. Unless it was someone trying to kidnap Tim. “And-?”

“I spun round fast and thought fuck – it’s Dale!” hissed Tim.

“What? You saw Dale?” demanded Helen, her eyes welling up with tears. She squeezed Tim’s hands tightly.

A number of heads turned and the conversation at surrounding tables hushed for a moment.

“No!” said Tim loudly, shaking his head. He then waited for the chatter in the bar to resume before continuing more quietly. “It wasn’t Dale, but that bastard’s face was almost identical. Same chin, same mouth, right down to his little scar – ”

“You spend a lot of time studying my boyfriend’s face?” asked Helen, wryly.

“In my defence, it is my job!” countered Tim, with a sweet smile that touched Helen’s heart. A few days beforehand she’d have slapped him if he’d said those words with that expression on his face. “I get paid to look down a lens at that jawline!”

“Are you sure it wasn’t Dale?” asked Helen, leaning on her elbows while still clasping Tim’s hands in both of hers.

“Positive. For a start this guy’s hair was a lot longer and lighter than Dale’s. And, before you ask, no it wasn’t a wig.” Tim winced. “Yeah, I found that out after giving it a tug.”

“You pulled the hair of a guy who’d almost crushed you in his arms?” asked Helen. “He could’ve been a killer for all you knew!”

“Trust me, the way he grabbed hold of me, I don’t think his intentions were murderous,” said Tim, biting his lip.

“So, he looked like Dale, but with long hair,” mused Helen. “And you’re certain he wasn’t Dale?”

“I’m sure. The fact that he started flirting with me was the final proof.” Tim’s cheeks started to pink up. “Well, to be honest, it was the way he was flirting. Nothing coy or bashful about it, full on, shameless flirting.”

“Flirting?” Helen raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Outrageously – he would’ve propositioned me there and then if he’d not been looking for this mate of his.  Anyway, he said something about mistaken identity and then it clicked.” Tim pulled his hands free from Helen’s vice like grip and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and took out a carefully folded piece of paper. It was a copy of Dale’s note. “Look, here and then again here – ‘mistaken identity’. Dale was telling you he’d been mistaken for someone else. That someone has to be the guy I saw in the carpark!”

Helen nodded as all the pieces started to come together. Tim had made a breakthrough by pure chance. If it had been her that had checked that hotel, she would never have been accosted by the stranger who mistook Tim for another man.

“And this guy’s staying at the All Seasons?” asked Helen anxiously.

“When I got back to my car, I saw him get two cases out of the back of a Merc. He then walked back towards the hotel. I got the reg number.” Tim turned over the note to reveal a hastily scrawled car registration number. “It’s a rental from Hertz.”

Helen grinned and lunged across the table to grab Tim’s face in her hands. Startling both of them, she gave him a thank you kiss on the lips. She ignored the wolf whistles from the neighbouring table. She couldn’t care less. She finally had a reason to hope.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis woke feeling restless.

His head had definitely been on Lestat’s chest when he had settled down to sleep. Lestat had taken up position in the centre of the bed, with Louis and Armand on either side, his arms curled around them, holding them close.

But Louis had woken to find a pillow where the smooth chest of his lover had been and an empty space in the bed.

“What the fuck?”

Opening his eyes, he saw Armand’s iridescent amber eyes studying him.

“He wakes before the sun sets – I thought you knew that.”

“Yeah, of course I know, but I kinda thought he’d still be here.” Louis frowned. He’d expected to find himself surrounded by Lestat on waking and was disappointed that he wasn’t. Armand’s hand on his side, drawing him closer, indicated that he was prepared to take advantage of Lestat’s absence. Any other time, Louis would have welcomed the offer, but he was worried. “Where’d he go? Has he gone again?”

Louis was genuinely concerned that Lestat had left not only the room, but the country. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he had disappeared into the dusk. Armand’s soft chuckle against his cheek reminded him that he could hear his thoughts and fears.

“Stop fretting.” Armand kissed Louis on the lips, letting his mouth linger there as he spoke softly. “He’ll be back soon. He’s not gone far.”

“Where is he?” Louis was still feeling a sense of unease, despite the calming thoughts bombarding him from Armand.

“He’s just talking to your pet.” Armand shrugged slightly, as if there was nothing to worry about. No doubt he thought that he was being reassuring, whereas his words struck horror in Louis’ gut.

“Shit!”

Before Louis could leap from the bed, he was held back by Armand.

“Stay here. He’s not going to do anything to upset you.” Running his fingers slowly up and down Louis’ spine, Armand managed to calm him down. “That’s better. If he hears your heart racing he will get jealous. Gently does it, Louis. I won’t let him eat your pet mortal.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I really do not see the likeness, mon ami. Do you?” asked Lestat, gesturing from himself to the quite ordinary looking human.

“Perhaps it’s because we’re used to seeing ourselves in a mirror and not as others see us?” suggested Dale, failing in his attempts not to stare.

Lestat smiled as the young Australian buttoned up the striped shirt he’d handed to him. Having startled the boy when he had entered the room, catching him sitting up in bed, reading the paperback left behind by Louis, Lestat had taken pity on his request to get dressed. Although Lestat would happily conduct conversations in any state of dress or undress, he sensed the discomfort emanating from this Dale Jennings, so had been happy to pass him the bag of clothes he’d pointed to.

The corduroy trousers he was holding felt very soft. They looked unremarkable, but he could appreciate the texture would feel good if encasing a firm thigh.

“Did Louis assist you in choosing this clothing?” He wondered if Louis had been thinking of both aesthetics and touch when he’d got the boy to pack clothes. He didn’t even need to look inside the boy’s head to know he was right. “These are colours I recall him being particularly fond of.”

“Um …yes. He had quite strong opinions on what I should I wear and what needed to be thrown out.”

A vision of a ripped pair of trousers and a hideous shirt being tossed aside amused Lestat. He shook his head at the thought of Louis selecting outfits for his abductee, all the while convinced that he was Lestat in human form.

Despite his assertion that they were not as alike as Louis would claim, Lestat found himself reluctant to peer too deeply inside the boy’s thoughts. It was enough to know that Louis had performed fellatio on this mortal without finding out what else he’d done while thinking Dale was him.

Realising that he was tilting his head and staring at the boy’s crotch, his tongue protruding slightly from between his lips, Lestat thrust the pair of trousers at Dale, whose eyes had widened in trepidation.

“Striped shirt, stripey trousers. Louis was always keen on stripes – I think perhaps they recall to him the ordered lines of words upon a page.” Lestat sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed one leg over the other. He picked up the paperback book as a distraction, as Dale tried to pull the trousers on as quickly as humanly possible without tripping over. “I imagine my Saint Louis would find comfort from that.”

“Ah, that explains why he took the Bram Stoker from my bookcase. He sat down on the floor to read as I was … getting dressed,” said Dale.

The hesitation clued Lestat into something and a skim revealed a recollection of Louis not letting him out of his sight as he changed out of his nightwear. He was unable to imagine what it would be like to be so anxious while dressing or undressing in front of others, but he had always been proud of his body, whereas Dale was not. Lestat frowned and then, out of curiosity, tried to narrow down on Dale’s thoughts.

The book in Louis’ hands had been Dracula. How apt!

Lestat laughed out loud and then stopped abruptly having seen a sequence of images tumbling freely from Dale’s mind.  Louis had demonstrated his gifts to the mortal. Apparently he’d been trying to trigger memories, in the belief that he was talking to Lestat. Louis had shown his fangs, had set fire to bits of cardboard and moved items with the power of his mind.

“Putain de merde.”

“What?” asked Dale, sitting on the chair as he put on a pair of socks.

Lestat smiled and hoped it wasn’t too frightening.

“Nothing – I just need to get back to Louis soon.” The moment he thought of Louis, he directed his sense of hearing to the room across the narrow corridor. Two heart beats. Slightly elevated. About to engage in a familiar dance. Lestat swore again. Not only were they both awake, they were both aroused.

Meanwhile, the revelations from Dale’s erratic mind had altered things immeasurably. Louis had told him too much.

Lestat felt a mixture of sadness and pity as he felt a wave of anticipation from Dale. He believed that he was going to be allowed to go home.

The young man chuckled nervously as he tucked in his shirt and fastened the buckle of his belt. Lestat could see why Louis had developed a fondness for the poor, inept mortal.

Perhaps he would ask Armand to break the bad news to Louis. That would kill two birds with one stone if he was lucky as Louis would then pull away from the seductive imp.

“Is it cold out? Will I need to wear a coat?” Dale was muttering to himself, while thinking of his girlfriend. “Helen bought it for me. She’s not going to believe what I’ve seen.”

It was as Lestat was thinking it was a shame that Dale Jennings would be meeting his death that day and not enjoying a reunion with his loved one that he caught sight of another image.

There was broken glass everywhere and it was dark. Dale was kissing someone. A young man who happened to be the very same handsome young man he’d mistaken for Armand the previous night. Tim. The man’s name was Tim. And he had the key to finding the kidnapped mortal. They couldn’t let that happen.

He would have to tell Louis and Armand.

“Well, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” asked Dale, eagerly. “You said you needed some information from me.”

“Not to worry, mon ami,” murmured Lestat. “I know all I need to.”

Clapping his hands, Lestat stooped to pick up the bag containing various snacks, he added the paperback book that Louis had been reading and handed it over to Dale.

“Stay here, read the book. I cannot attest to the quality of either the novel or the items of food, but do not wander off. I’ll be back with Louis and get him to explain what needs to happen next.”

“Oh.” Dale took the bag from Lestat, looking baffled. “But I thought…”

Lestat put a finger to the boy’s lips and then gave him an awkward hug. The mortal’s body was softer than that of a vampire, and so much warmer. For a fleeting moment he wondered what it would feel like to lie with a body like his but made of living flesh. The shoulders felt so familiar, as did the arms. But before his hands could stray any further, Lestat disengaged and took a step away from temptation. Louis would not forgive him for decades and apart from anything else, Armand would know all the details first hand. Damn, it occurred to him that his devious companion would be able to tell that the thought had crossed his mind. Slowly sliding a hand through floppy hair, he settled for a gentle kiss to a sweat-damp brow.  

Such a shame.

But he could think of no other solution.

Louis would not be happy, but he had brought it upon himself. 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

Next - Lestat returns to the room he was sharing with Armand and Louis to discover why their hearts had started dancing ... what will he do???

Chapter 14 focuses purely on vampire concerns and can be skipped for those more interested in The Newsreader elements of the story.

Chapter 14

Summary:

What Lestat finds on his return to the room he spent the day sleeping in with Louis and Armand.

This chapter will focus on the (explicit) interactions between three vampires.

Back to Dale, Helen and Tim in Chapter 15.

Notes:

While the vampires were sleeping, I tried to edit their work - there are a few significant changes to the original to make it clearer what's happening.

 

“Mon dieu!” Lestat proceeded to swear under his breath as he unlocked the door. The loud moaning emanating from behind the door was accompanied by the knocking of a headboard against the wall. He recognised the particular utterances that Louis made when he was being fucked and, despite knowing that his fledgling had been in a long standing relationship with Armand, he was not happy hearing his nemesis pulling those sounds out of his lover.

On entering the room, the sounds came to an abrupt halt. Of course they were still in the bed. The heavy breathing that replaced the sounds of lovemaking seemed unnecessarily laboured. Lestat was vexed, but unsurprised to find Armand wrapped around Louis tighter than ivy on a tree trunk. Looking over his shoulder, to greet Lestat with a smirk, Armand released his grip on one of Louis’ thighs. As one leg slipped free and fell to the side, Lestat could see from the undulations of Armand’s slim hips that the imp was buried deep inside Louis. He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent a jealous outburst as Louis arched upwards, muttering words of encouragement. He thought he’d heard Louis call Armand ‘baby’. Forcing a smile, he resisted the urge to haul Armand off of Louis and throw him out of the window. 

“You started without me,” said Lestat, impassively as he started to unbutton his black, silk shirt. “What have I done to deserve such disrespect?”

“You only have yourself to blame – choosing to leave the room before we were all awake,” said Armand, casually stroking a sharp clavicle and then letting his fingers stray downwards, along Louis’ sternum until they spread out over his taut abdomen. All the while Armand stared at Lestat, assiduously studying the way his jealous eyes followed the movement of his hand. “But I would be amenable to sharing.”

“Share with me what is mine?” scoffed Lestat, lips twisted with scorn.

“Ain’t no one sharing me like I’m a pizza to tear pieces off!” Louis slapped Armand’s hand away from his stomach. Having got his attention it seemed that a terse instruction was sent directly into Armand’s head, who sheepishly pulled out of Louis and sat back on his heels. Lestat watched intently as Louis then pushed himself up to glare at both of them. He was apparently not in the mood to agree to any arrangements being made in the heads of the older vampires.

Lestat froze midway through undressing, the zip on his jeans halfway down, leaving him uncomfortably aware of his state of arousal. Something had made Louis angry for some reason unfathomable to Lestat. He was grateful to see a similar level of confusion on Armand’s face. That appeased Lestat to some extent in that it was not something conspired between the two of them against him.

Just as Lestat was wondering if Armand had any further insight into what was going on in Louis’ head, he realised that any attempt to find out had been unceremoniously shut down.  

“Don’t even try to get in my head! Fuck you, Armand!” As Louis jabbed a finger into Armand’s smooth chest, Lestat experienced a vicarious thrill of satisfaction. “I shoulda known your suggestion to get me to unwind was just a ploy to distract me. You don’t change!”

Armand tutted loudly as he planted a hand on Louis’ chest and leaned in to cup Louis’ chin in a graceful hand to get his full attention.

“For the record, if my intention had been to distract you I would have given you a book to read,” said Armand, narrowing his eyes at Louis. Lestat grunted in sympathy even as Louis continued to frown at Armand.

“Don’t lie to me and say you never use seduction to hide what you’re up to!” It disappointed Lestat to find he wasn’t exempt from Louis’ vitriol, as he directed it at him next. “That goes for you too! Always assuming your dick can make me forget what I’m thinking!”

While Lestat struggled not to shrug his shoulders and say something inane, Armand snickered to himself. Snapping his attention onto his tormentor, Lestat was unable to glare at him effectively as Armand’s eyes were lingering on the place where Lestat’s jeans gaped open to reveal a smattering of bronze curls. With a choice of hiding or flaunting, Lestat chose the latter leaned back just enough to allow his bulging erection to push the zip down a fraction of an inch further.

“Louis, I am insulted,” he said, hands on hips, shirtless and indignant. “I learnt early on in our relationship that when you’re in one of your moods, not even my considerable considerables are sufficient to maintain your attention.”

Confronted with the two vampires vying for his attention, Louis swallowed hard, but held onto his rage despite the way Armand slowly rolled his hips between his legs, making it clear that he was growing impatient. Lestat didn’t know whether to be impressed or frustrated at Louis’ strength of will. However, he could see cracks appearing and knew that it would be worth it for that point when Louis’ anger collapsed into want. Make up sex with Louis had been the best he’d ever had.

Doing his best to ignore Armand, who wasn’t moving off him, Louis leaned to one side and pointed towards the door in the most accusatory manner he could manage.

“Just tell me, Lestat, and don’t even think of lying, what the fuck have you done to Dale?”

Lestat rolled his eyes and forced himself to be as calm as possible, despite the lack of trust rolling off Louis in waves.

“I have done nothing to your pet, other than help him choose a suitable outfit to wear. If you would care to check, you will find him drinking an insipid cup of coffee and reading a trashy novel.”

Waving a hand with an exaggerated flourish, Lestat stood to one side as if to make way for Louis. The fact that Louis was immobilised by Armand sitting astride his legs was irrelevant. If Louis wanted Armand to move, he would.

Louis looked from Lestat to Armand and back again, his expression softening slightly.

Armand shook his head very slightly and sighed.

“He is not lying, Louis, reach out with your mind and you will find that he is being quite truthful.”

“Your lack of trust in me is becoming very tedious, Louis.” Lestat was almost tempted to get dressed and go hunting. He was beginning to consider the option of finding someone to eat preferable to navigating Louis’ petulant mood swings. “Perhaps I should leave- ”

“No, don’t go!” implored Louis as Lestat picked up the shirt he’d flung onto a chair. “Look I’m sorry I assumed the worst, but you gotta admit, that’s usually the best way ’round with you guys.”

“I shall concede that your policy has some merit.” With a wry smile, Lestat threw the shirt to one side. “But on this occasion, your suspicions are without warrant.”

Lestat caught Armand’s eye and sent a silent message: The mortal knows too much and will need to be silenced. There are only two options.

“I’ve left your pet unmolested and told him that you’ll talk with him later.”

Armand arched an eyebrow inquisitively. Is that because he will refuse to speak to you?

Both of us with all probability – as your special gift may be required if we are to avoid a more terminal solution.

Are you still denying me the opportunity to have my own Lestat-toy? asked Armand as he tilted his head. 

Louis has formed an attachment – he would forgive neither of us if the boy was killed or turned.

“Hey, you two talkin’ to each other?” demanded Louis, scowling. “That kinda makes me suspicious again.”

“Just plotting what to do with you, mon cher,” purred Lestat, brushing the knuckles of his hand against the underside of Louis’ foot that was hanging over the edge of the bed.

“Talking of which – can we continue now?” asked Armand. “If that is agreeable to you?”

After looking from one of his lovers to the other and evidently sensing nothing other than desire, Louis nodded his head and let Armand push him back down onto the pillows.

“If I said no, I guess you two would just fuck each other wouldn’t you?” Louis waved a hand from one to the other, noting the way they smiled at each other.

“Well, if you aren’t in the mood…” Lestat pouted as he let his jeans fall down over his bare feet. “It would be a shame to waste what’s on offer.”

“Oh no you don’t,” growled Louis, grabbing hold of Armand’s arm. “You two ain’t leaving me out this time.”

“We shall endeavour to make you feel involved.” Lestat paused for a moment as he felt the attention of both Louis and Armand directed towards him as he stood there, resplendently naked.

“I am surprised that you were not tempted to play with Louis’ pet,” said Armand smiling slyly at Lestat who had started to strut towards them.

“I couldn’t,” snapped Lestat, wrongfooted. “It would have been wrong. After all he does bear a certain similarity to me. Even getting into his head made my mind feel nauseous.”

“Really, I would have thought you would be eager to get into any part of a mortal that looked like yourself,” Armand gently slid back into Louis, while keeping his eyes fixed on Lestat’s cock which twitched in sympathy.

“Armand – stop... winding... him... up!” Louis bit out the words, gasping as Armand tucked a hand under one of his knees, pulling his leg up. “Don’t want that ... that image... in my head.”

“Which image?” asked Armand, insouciantly. “Oh yes, I see it now – Lestat ecstatically buggering himself!”

Lestat snorted derisively at Armand. 

“Don’t be so vulgar! That is very distasteful.” Having had a glimpse inside Dale’s head, Lestat was feeling aggrieved at being distrusted with the human, especially considering what Louis had done with him. With a reproachful wave of his hand in Louis’ direction he put his feelings into words. “No, I just talked to him. It was the precious Saint Louis, with his sanctimonious attitude, always looking down on me – it was Louis who both fucked him and ate him! I tasted him on your tongue, mon cher, so do not deny it!”

“Fuck you!” grunted Louis, biting his lip in response to something Armand was doing with the hand Leatat couldn’t see. “You got a nerve... after all you got up to – ”

Lestat chuckled to himself, grateful for whatever it was that Armand had done that caused Louis to groan loudly, before he got a chance to recite his litany of grievances against Lestat. He shrugged and tilted his head so that he could get a better view of what Armand was doing. It occurred to him that they really were quite beautiful, naked, glistening with blood sweat and connected so intimately. He was feeling much less jealous, knowing that he would soon be joining them.

“Besides which you both know that I am not so attracted to men with fair hair.” 

“Ah yes… apologies,” muttered Armand. Leaning back, his lithe brown limbs nestled between Louis’ muscular thighs, he shook his head to draw attention to the cascade of silky black curls that he knew Lestat desperately wanted to get his hands on. “It is a well-known fact that brunettes have always been your preference. Which brings me back to our current situation. Are you going to do something with us, Lestat, or just stand there and talk while I remind your fledgling what it is like to be treated with the reverence he deserves.”

Rising to the challenge, Lestat growled at Armand and advanced menacingly. Cherubic looking he may be, but Lestat was not going to let him have Louis all to himself. Moving swiftly he was on the end of the bed before either occupant realised, inching smoothly forward on all fours like a cat stalking its prey.

“Having wasted time on the pointless exercise of convincing the two of you of my innocence, I have no choice now but to fuck you both at the same time.”

Lestat grasped hold of Armand around the waist and pressed him forward until his face was nestled next to Louis’ on the pillows.

“I believe this is what you desire, cheri, waving that pretty arse of yours around.” Kissing and then biting into one buttock and then the next, Lestat felt the shudder generated as he scarped his fangs across the firm flesh. “Was it feeling neglected?”

With his hands on Armand’s hips, Lestat shot forwards and leaning over his shoulder, thrust his tongue into Louis’s gaping mouth. Responding fiercely, Louis cupped his head, fingers tangling in Lestat’s hair, deepening the kiss and biting onto Lestat’s tongue as it pressed against his.  Breaking away, Lestat let their bloodied drool trail over Armand’s shoulder pressed between them.  Keeping his eyes fixed on Louis’ face, Lestat swiftly prepared Armand, making use of the supplies left scattered on the nightstand. The touch of his fingers triggered the breaking down of walls erected to protect Armand’s thoughts, revealing nothing but desire. Decades of want that had accumulated, layers of rejection casting a bitter edge to the depth of emotions stirring with Armand. To allay any fear of being denied what he desired, Lestat peppered kisses on his back, laving the ridges of his spine with his tongue to sweeten the sharpness of fingers opening him up for more.

While Armand trembled, pinned between the two he desired most, Louis sighed with pleasure. Lestat could see, reflected in Louis eyes, two sets of eyes fixed on him, side by side, ice blue and fiery amber. Louis was surrendering to them both, wanting them to do with him whatever they wished. Any concerns that Lestat harboured concerning Louis’ needs were dismissed by the smile that reached from the corners of his lips to his eyes. The joy on his face confirming that Louis felt their love for him as well as their carnal desire.

Taking the arching of Louis’ body as a signal, Lestat eased himself into Armand, sensing the moment all three felt intimately connected, one to the other. As his lovers both gasped, momentarily losing control over their limbs, Lestat took over, his arms around Armand, pulling back and pushing forward, moving him in and out of Louis body in time with his own thrusts. He watched as Louis’ eyes rolled back, no doubt feeling Armand’s sensations in addition to his own as Lestat made love to them both.

Making love to Louis with Armand’s cock, even as his own was thrusting in and out of Armand’s eager body, he wanted to be in their heads as well as their bodies. Opening his mind to Armand’s he was overwhelmed with the wonder of penetrating and being penetrated. Surrounded, sweaty flesh slapping, slipping, pressing around and within. Armand was surrendering to the outpouring of love he had not been expecting.

Lestat’s skin tingled as if every nerve ending was being stimulated at once, which he strongly suspected was the case. Grasping at the two bodies that writhed beneath him, he served them both, holding back until they ascended the height of intensity before letting himself be dragged along with them and over the edge.

Increasing his pace in response to the moans escaping from between Louis’ lips, Lestat licked a stripe along Armand’s neck, letting him know exactly what he was about to do. A spike of desire shot through all three of them as Lestat slowly sunk his teeth into the throbbing vein. He savoured the sweet blood as he lapped it up, letting it coat his tongue, sweet and thick as honey. It burned his throat as he swallowed, welling up like a furnace in his stomach before searing its way through his own arteries as it circulated around his body. Lestat closed his eyes, tasting history – a dark and bloody history, illuminated by flames of destruction and the familiar chill of loneliness. Climbing out of the past, he felt a wave of warmth from Armand, who shared what it felt like to be surrounded by Lestat and Louis, their love for each other, and for him, swaddling them all in a blanket of hazy comfort.

The sensations Lestat felt reverberating between their three bodies, hearts beating erratically as their bodies merged into one became too much. Feeling as if he was being consumed by a white heat, brighter than the hateful sun, the sounds of their galloping hearts became deafening, eclipsing the sound of Louis shouting for more and the feral growls from Armand, who was beyond articulate speech of any kind. A buzzing filled his ears, like a thousand bees.

“Lestat…” gasped Louis. “Hey…”

Opening his eyes, Lestat realised that he was on his back, his mouth wide open, blood spilling across his chin. Louis was hovering above him, concern in his eyes.

“You OK there?” Louis was brushing hair from his face, kissing him gently as if trying to revive him. “I think you passed out there.”

He felt drunk on lust, his head full of memories that weren’t his and feelings that were. He reached out to run his bloodied fingertips over Louis’ full mouth and smiled.

Turning his head to one side, he saw Armand, looking more like a fallen angel than ever. He was sprawled out on the bed, scratches on his skin healing, even though the trickles of blood showed where four hands with sharp nails had held onto him at the height of their combined ecstasies.

Louis rubbed his fingers across Lestat’s throat and it was only then that he recalled the moment Louis’ teeth had broken the skin. Of course. And the puncture wounds on the side of Louis’ neck could only have been made by Armand.

I send my love out to you and you return it to me.

A closed circuit of love. Smiling drowsily, Lestat cast his eyes at the crumpled sheets surrounding them. They were slashed and smeared with so much blood that it looked like the scene of slaughter and not one of pure, unadulterated desire.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Notes:

Yes, the total chapter count has increased, thanks to 3 vampires insisting on their interlude requiring more than a paragraph.

Next chapter will feature their discussion on what to do about Dale, and also Helen deciding to visit the All Seasons Hotel, with cameraman, to seek an interview with a certain Mr L. Lioncourt.

Chapter 15

Summary:

Time for talking ... and planning.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to our gallant vampires, they have underestimated the determination of those who love Dale Jennings.

 

Chapter 15

 

Lying on his side, cradled in Lestat’s arms, Louis felt his lover suddenly flinch. He opened his eyes and was about to turn around to see what was wrong when he caught sight of the smug expression on Armand’s face peering at him from the pillow in front of him. From behind him, he felt Lestat withdraw his hand from his waist, and as he twisted around he saw that Lestat was rubbing his ribcage, looking puzzled and upset. Wanting to know what Armand had done, Louis rolled over and grabbed the hand he was surreptitiously trying to slip under the pillow, out of sight. The smear of fresh blood on the tip of Armand’s index finger was enough to tell him that the other vampire had poked Lestat in the ribs with enough force to break the skin.

“What the hell was that for?” demanded Louis. As far as he could tell, Lestat had not done anything to deserve an unprovoked attack. Unless he’d said something to Armand without speaking out loud. “Something I’m missing? He say something I couldn’t hear?”

“I said nothing!” protested Lestat. “Armand, there really is no need to stab me to get my attention. Is there something you wish to say to me? Maybe ‘thank you for giving me what I always wanted’?”

If Lestat had used that tone of voice on Louis, he’d have kicked him across the room, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful that Lestat had retaliated with words and not fists.

“On the contrary, it is you who should be thanking me,” came Armand’s haughty response. “You should also be aware that I only permitted you to take control because you resisted the temptation to fornicate with the boy in the carpark. You know, that boy you mistook for me.”

Louis sat up, not wanting to be lying flat on his back between two vampires whose temporary truce seemed close to an end. Lestat took the hint and followed suit, shuffling around until he was sitting on top of the sheets, one leg folded under the other.

“Ah yes – that boy.” Lestat grimaced, pulling his lips tightly over his teeth as if he’d tasted something unpleasant.

“Lestat?” demanded Louis, immediately suspicious.

“I swear to you I did nothing untoward with that human either!” Lestat shook his head in disbelief. “However … there is something I forgot to mention about him.”

“What?” Louis glared at Lestat. “You withholdin’ again?”

“Please, Louis, it is not I, but you who have crossed boundaries!” moaned Lestat, affronted at the accusation he could see in Louis’ narrowed eyes. “It did not seem relevant earlier, but I have since been made aware of information I did not have access to before. I would have discussed this as soon as I returned from speaking with your kidnap victim, however I was distracted on account of that gremlin taking advantage of you while I was out of the room!”

Placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder possessively, Lestat leaned around to point a finger at Armand, who was still lounging on his side, watching avidly. From the tight grip of his fingers around Louis’ collar bone, Lestat was not holding back and Louis could appreciate why he would feel resentful. After all, Armand had been relishing the moment of tension between him and Lestat. But, Louis was sympathetic to Lestat’s position – his reasoning was sound and he could hardly blame Lestat for being side-tracked on finding Armand making love to him. He’d have had the same reaction himself if he’d been the one talking to Dale and had then walked in on the two of them.

“I guess that wasn’t your fault.” Louis cupped the back of Lestat’s head and kissed him softly, letting him know he was sorry for his accusation. “So, what is it you’ve gotta tell us?”

“There was one thing, one tiny thing, that I dismissed as being unimportant. As I told you, I did mistake the boy for that demonic cherub – however, he was also under the impression I was someone he knew.” Lestat then chuckled to himself and tapped Louis on the nose. “Do you remember when we recited Shakespeare for Claudia? That play with everyone pretending to be someone else? It was like that. Quite the comedy of– ”

“Lestat!” growled Louis, grabbing hold of the finger. He didn’t know what to do with the mixed feelings of warmth that Lestat recalled that time with Claudia so fondly and the sharp recurrence of grief whenever he thought of their daughter. “If you’ve got a point to make, I suggest you do so before I shake it outta you!”

Lestat looked suitably chastised, ducking his head and sighing softly, indicating that he was sorry that he’d brought up a painful reminder of what Louis had lost, but wasn’t going to say so out loud, not in front of Armand. Understanding what was going through Lestat’s mind even if he couldn’t read his thoughts, Louis squeezed his shoulder and prompted him to continue.

“So this kid thought you were someone else? Anyone in particular?” Louis had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Yes, he thought I was your pet mortal. I didn’t think much of it at the time … after all, Mister Dale Jennings’ photograph is on the front page of the newspapers- ”

“Thanks for remindin’ me,” grumbled Louis. He’d seen the papers in the store where he’d picked up the sandwich for Dale earlier. “So why bring it up now, if it wasn’t worth mentionin’ earlier?”

“Oh, Lestat – what have you done?” Armand bounced up, smiled gleefully. He knelt forward and tapped a finger on Lestat’s head. “Blocking me is pointless while you wear guilt like a cloak. Despite what some may think, remorse and regret adorn you like no other vampire, apart from maybe Louis.”

Louis scowled at Armand – true, Lestat was guilty of much and he was usually contrite in the face of being found out. But he wasn’t alone in that. They all bore the scars of lying and being lied to.

“Perhaps that is because I have not had as much practice as you have at hiding the truth!” retorted Lestat, his voice sharp. “And I only ever lied to protect those I loved-”

“Yourself especially,” added Armand, blowing a kiss at Lestat. “I could taste it in your blood, which never lies.”

“At this moment one of my greatest regrets is ever letting you drink from me!” shouted Lestat. “You are one thousand-fold more insufferable than you were before!”

Louis took hold of Lestat’s hand that was waving threateningly in Armand’s direction. Holding it in both of his, he glared at Armand.

“He has a point. And, for the record, I’ve heard what you’ve been thinking when you’re not guarding your thoughts so tightly. I know exactly how you feel about Lestat, so quit being an asshole for now, or I’ll tell him all about your fantasies!”

Armand looked both castigated and slightly panicked. Louis didn’t miss the way his throat clenched as he swallowed down the rising trepidation.

“A force of habit, I am afraid, Lestat,” said Armand, shrugging in a vague semblance of an apology. “We have been at each other’s throats for so long metaphorically, I am having difficulty coming to terms with the fact we have consensually taken a drink of each other’s blood. I have been disrespectful and for that I ask your forgiveness.”

Louis was shocked. He had been bluffing to some extent, he’d only seen glimpses of Armand’s longing for Lestat on the rare occasions when he’d lowered the guard on his thoughts. What he’d come to realise was that there was a lot more to their history than he had ever suspected, stretching back in time long before he’d ever met Lestat. He followed Armand’s eyes to look around at Lestat. The way Lestat was holding his breath, pulling in his abdominal muscles and puffing out his chest, it was clear that he was either going to laugh or scream.

So he was relieved when Lestat reached out to take Armand’s hand.

“We have been rivals for so long, we have both forgotten how much we need each other, mon cher.”

Armand pulled Lestat’s hand up to his lips and kissed it, not taking his eyes from Lestat’s.

“A ceasefire then, while we work together to solve Louis’ problems?” suggested Armand.

Louis had hoped for more than a temporary reconciliation, but it was better than having to referee every encounter between the two of them. He wondered, idly, when they’d get around to realising how much they had in common and the potential that could be realised if they joined forces instead of wasting energy hating each other.

“Bien sur, I am willing to entertain a rapprochement for the sake of Louis,” conceded Lestat, making sure that both Louis and Armand understood that was his primary reason for being agreeable. “After all I think it will take our combined efforts to untangle the mess he has got himself into.”

Louis resolved to contain his irritation at Lestat’s allegation that the problems were all of his own making, when he felt it could have all been avoided if Lestat had not gone off the radar yet again. He decided that he would bring that up on another occasion.

“Now you two have kissed and made up, let’s get back to what Lestat was trying to tell us. Lestat?”

“It was when I was talking with your pet- ”

“He has a name,” snapped Louis. “He ain’t the meat – so don’t give me shit for calling him by his given name.”

“Dale.” Lestat said, rolling his eyes. “I was talking to Dale and at one point in our conversation his mind focused on two people. A woman and a young man. And that was the moment when I knew that the young man for whom he cares is the very same boy that I encountered last night.”

“Dark hair and a moustache?” asked Louis urgently, recalling the image he’d seen in Dale’s mind.

“Um … yes,” admitted Lestat. “Curly hair. Very handsome.”

“Tim!” blurted out Louis, horrified. He grabbed hold of Lestat by the arms. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him!”

“No, of course not, mon cher. He went on his way, perfectly intact and unharmed.”

 “Good.” Louis rubbed his face, thankful that Lestat had not harmed Dale’s Tim. “He works with Dale and Dale’s in love with him, but hasn’t figured that out yet.”

Armand cleared his throat to get Louis’ attention.

“I am rather surprised that Lestat let him go at all. After all, he would have watched him return to the hotel.” Armand sounded concerned. He narrowed his eyes at Lestat. “Why? When you realised that he was looking for the mortal Louis kidnapped- why did you let him walk away?”

“Ah – so previously you patronised me for not fucking him and now you are aggrieved that I did not kill him?” Lestat’s indignation was understandable.

“I, for one, am grateful you did neither,” said Louis, squeezing Lestat’s arm while shooting a glare at Armand. “What’s your problem, Armand? It’s a good thing, ain’t it, that Lestat didn’t fuck or murder a mortal on his way to get your bags?”

With a barely perceptible tilt of his head, Armand frowned as if he was trying to explain the simplest of concepts to students lacking in aptitude.

“You say you are grateful, Louis, but I suspect you will come to regret Lestat’s uncharacteristic display of mercy regarding this Tim.”

“Why?” asked Louis, bristling at the underlying menace he could hear in Armand’s voice. He’d heard it before and it never boded well.

“He saw Lestat close enough to mistake him for Jennings. He probably saw which car Lestat went to and saw him return here. He may even have followed him back. Even a mortal with limited cognitive skills would be able to make the link. I suspect he will be back. He may bring others – perhaps law enforcement officers.” Armand didn’t blink once as he flicked his attention from Louis to Lestat.

“Putain du merde,” muttered Lestat.

“Shit,” said Louis, less elegantly. “That was over twelve hours ago! We’ve been wasting time sleeping or fucking, while … oh shit!”

“Precisely!” snapped Armand, getting up suddenly and opening his case. While he pulled out clothing, he pointed at Louis and Lestat who were sitting stupefied. “Which means we need to consider with some urgency what is to be done with Lestat’s doppelganger before one of us is taken into custody and locked in a cell as the sun comes -”

Stop! Don’t say it! Please - !

Louis’ agonised plea had Armand stop mid-sentence. Lestat had taken him into his arms to provide the comfort he hadn’t realised he needed. The mental image of vampires locked away at the mercy of the sun’s rays never failed to trigger the flood of grief that he kept dammed up inside his heart.

“I am sorry,” whispered Armand, making sure they both heard him.

“Apology not accepted,” barked Lestat, holding Louis’ head to his chest.

Although he appreciated Lestat leaping to his defence, Louis was able to detect the genuine remorse in Armand’s thoughts that accompanied his words. He patted Lestat’s arm and as he took the prompt and loosened his grip, Louis leaned up to kiss him.

“Thank you, mon cher, but he is sorry and I’m prepared to accept his apology.” Louis looked into Lestat’s stormy eyes, searching for a chink in his defensive armour that he was using to protect Louis. “And he’s right, we need to act fast.”

“All right. For Louis, I retract my refusal to accept your apology – grudgingly,” said Lestat, not hiding his reluctance.

“We need to get dressed,” said Louis, grimacing at the state they were all in. “Much as I appreciate the view, I doubt the Australian police force will take kindly to any explanations delivered by three naked men, smeared with blood and other bodily fluids.”

“Showers first?” suggested Lestat. “Is there room for all – ”

Before Lestat could put into words what he was wondering, Louis clamped a hand to his mouth and shook his head.

“No! And even if there was, it ain’t happenin’! We’ll be faster showering one at a time. I know exactly what you’re both like!”

Armand shrugged and appeared to be commiserating with Lestat over their mind link.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis considered it a major achievement that all three of them had managed to get showered and dressed within half an hour. He had taken the last shower and had been unimpressed to find that there were only damp towels left for him to use when he had got out.

Pushing his way past Lestat, who was using the hair dryer to blow dry his hair, he then had to manhandle Armand away from the mirror where he was holding up one black shirt after another. They all looked the same to Louis, but to spare himself from being asked his opinion, he just pointed to the one in Armand’s right hand.

“The one you’re wearing is fine.” Unable to make himself heard above the sound of the hotel hair dryer, Louis sent a thought to Armand.

‘You look gorgeous in the one you’ve got on. Now why don’t you make yourself useful and go fetch some clean sheets from the laundry cart in the other room?’

As soon as Armand left the room, Louis started to pull the bloodied sheets from the bed. The combination of unmistakable semen stains and streaks of dark red blood looked horrific once he’d put the lights on. Who knew that three vampires having sex could make that much mess?

Inspecting the pillows for tears, he sorted them into two piles – destroyed and survived.

“Why are you doing that?” asked Lestat as he finished blow drying his hair.

“I’m hiding these in case we get a knock at the door.” Louis raised his eyebrows as he bundled up the soiled sheets. “Some attitudes don’t change, Lestat, vampire or not,  I don’t rate the chances of a black guy if the cops come through that door and see me standing in the middle of what looks like a fuckin’ crime scene!”

“Of course.” Lestat had the decency to look apologetic. “Where did you send the imp?”

“To Dale’s room to fetch clean sheets from the housekeeping cart you stole.”

“You’re happy to let him visit Mister Jennings unchaperoned?” Lestat looked surprised. “It would seem risky, trusting Armand alone with a defenceless mortal, not unless you are prepared to find him drained and dismembered.”

Louis swatted at Lestat’s arm as he sauntered past, swaying his hips from side to side provocatively.

“He swore he wouldn’t do anythin’ without talking to me first.”

“Far be it for me to question your faith in Armand. I mean you were together with him for – ”

“Stop that.” Louis pointed a finger at Lestat, cutting him off before he got in his stride. “You’re fishing for me to say I love you more and you don’t need to do that.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” pouted Lestat. “Has it not occurred to you that I am insecure?”

Louis shook his head and shoved Lestat against the back of the door. Before Lestat had chance to protest, he slid a hand around his neck, grasping a handful of soft, freshly washed, damp hair and kissed Lestat roughly. Withdrawing slowly, pulling on Lestat’s lower lip with his teeth, Louis smiled.

“That help boost your confidence?” he asked.

“You have messed up my hair. You always do that,” replied Lestat, a broad smile teasing his generous mouth, reddened from Louis’ attentions. “Talking of which, did you hear Armand thinking that Dale could pass for me if his hair was longer? Of course it would have to be much lighter – I mean his hair is nothing like mine!”

“Damn it, Lestat – I was totally convinced he was you!” Louis let go of Lestat and walked back towards the piles of pillows he’d assembled.

“I still fail to understand why - he resembles me only vaguely in terms of facial features, otherwise he is nothing like me!” Turning around to see what Lestat was doing, Louis wasn’t surprised to see him standing in front of the mirror, tidying up his hair and tucking a stray curl behind an ear.

“You gotta be kidding, right? Anyway he’s similar in more ways than just looks.” Louis frowned. “He threw a glass of water at three hissing vampires, claws and fangs readied to tear into each other. And that don’t remind you of no one? You tellin’ me you can’t recall doin’ anythin’ that reckless?”

“Ah, I see what you are trying to say,” replied Lestat. “I must admit it was quite admirable for such a weak human to act so audaciously. He was very brave, like me -”

“And ridiculously foolish,” added Armand with a smirk, silently entering the room, his arms piled high with clean bed linen. Louis wondered if he had any concept of how many sheets were needed for one bed. He’d been gone a long time and Louis was suspicious. He reached out, trying to hear what Dale was thinking, but it wasn’t possible through the walls and with other mortals talking in the rooms above and below.

“You didn’t …?” Louis’ question was left hanging. He didn’t dare put into words what he hoped Armand had not done.

“I just smiled at him,” said Armand, demonstrating what he assumed was a friendly smile, failing to realise how sinister he actually appeared.

“Shit,” muttered Louis, a frown creasing his forehead as he took the sheets from Armand. “You do know that’s not reassuring, don’t you?

Lestat just shook his head at Armand.

“It never ceases to amaze me why so many believe you to be so harmless. That halo of curls and those great big soulful eyes seem to mesmerise everyone who has ever had the misfortune of making your acquaintance.”

“Do I mesmerise you, Lestat?” asked Armand. “I can if you want.”

“Stop flirting – both of you!” snapped Louis as he tucked the clean sheet over the mattress, hoping the stains didn’t show through. “I think I preferred it when you hated the sight of each other than the two of you tryin’ to get in each other’s pants.”

Louis went rigid as he suddenly felt two pairs of hands on his ass.

“Would you prefer if we both tried to get in yours, cheri?” asked Lestat, feigning innocence.

Swatting two pairs of wandering hands from his body, Louis growled in warning. He saw, yet again, the signs that Armand and Lestat were talking to each other in their heads. Feeling left out of a conversation that evidently involved him, he realised how it must have been for Lestat, all those times when he’d have known Louis and Claudia were talking about him under his nose. Plotting. Making plans to murder him.

The tunnel his thoughts had spiralled down closed in around him and Louis spun around, grabbed hold of Lestat by the wrist and dragged him close enough to hug.

Lestat was taken aback, but returned the embrace.

“Je suis désolé,” murmured Lestat, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s not you – not exactly,” said Louis. “Just memories sneaking up on me.”

Armand had sat down on the small armchair and was observing them with increasing curiosity.

“While I was gone, did either of you discuss options for the mortal, or were you too busy making love to one another?”

“We did not discuss anything of any import in your absence,” replied Lestat, sitting down on the sofa by the window. “Although they are quite limited.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Louis, anxiously directing his question at both Lestat and Armand.

“The quickest and simplest solution would be to kill him and leave immediately,” stated Armand, dispassionately. “It would then appear that his mysterious kidnapper murdered him. We can be in my private jet –”

“No!” yelled Louis, advancing on Armand, his fists clenched. “That’s off the table. No one’s killing Dale.”

Sighing in resignation, Lestat walked over and pulled Louis back to sit beside him.

“Well done, why not start with the most terminal of solutions first. Do not worry, cheri, I can see that you have developed feelings for him,” Lestat stroked Louis face, blatantly trying to impress upon Louis that he was more compassionate than Armand. “Is that because he looks like me?”

“If anything, it’s in spite of looking like you!” confessed Louis. “He’s just a good guy, sweet, loving, caring, kind …”

“Ah, everything I am not and that you are. You have more in common with him than I do, it seems.” Lestat spoke softly, although the rigidity of the muscles in his jaw showed that he was gritting his teeth.

“You have other qualities, Lestat,” said Louis, clasping his hand as he held it in his lap. He wished Lestat would accept that he would always come first in his affections. “There’s no need to be jealous of a mortal.”

A disgruntled sound reminded both Louis and Lestat that Armand was still in the room.

“Well then, if killing’s off the table. And I assume that includes turning him,” said Armand, trying, and failing, not to sound disappointed. “I would suggest the use of the Mind Gift to remove all trace of us from his memories and replace them with something more mundane, such as a mugging.”

“That would be a suitable solution and should not offend Louis’ sensibilities,” agreed Lestat, looking grateful to Armand for being the one to suggest it, although it had probably already crossed his mind. Louis assumed they’d discussed it beforehand. Lestat then waved his hand around as if shooing away a fly. “We can then leave him somewhere to be found and taken back to his family.”

“He’s not a stray puppy!” blurted out Louis. However, the moment he said that it occurred to him that Dale Jennings was the most puppy-like mortal he had ever met. From the smile on Armand’s face, he had heard that thought.

“Perhaps a blow to the head to account for your pet’s amnesia?” suggested Armand. “It would fit with a mugging.”

“No! Knowing you, a blow to the head could decapitate him!”

“Louis, Louis, think about it,” urged Lestat. “Armand has come up with a solution to our problem that avoids killing young Dale. You could do it if you think we cannot control our own strength. A tiny knock to the skull? Sufficient to leave a bump and a bruise. He will be discovered with no recollection of the past few days – ”

“Oh shit.” Louis felt himself go pale and not just because he’d gone without feeding. “There’s a slight problem with that plan. He wrote a note to say he’d been kidnapped and I delivered it-”

“Putain du merde! You did what?”

“He was worried his friends and his mom would think he’d been murdered, so I let him write a note and I left it where his girlfriend would get it.”

Armand was gaping. Armand never gaped. He looked horrified.

“Are you seriously telling us that you allowed your kidnap victim to write a letter home to let them know he had been abducted. Did you let him give them a description of you? An address maybe?” His voice dripping with sarcasm, Armand glared at Louis as if he was an imbecile. “Have you no idea what you have done?”

Moving preternaturally fast, Armand was at the window, peering through a gap in the curtains as if expecting to find them surrounded.

“I checked it first – there was nothing there about me, just that I’d treated him well and fed him.”

Louis felt it before he saw it, the moment that Armand’s eyes moved before he turned his head. The amber irises shrinking as his pupils dilated.

“You told him you thought he was Lestat didn’t you? You referred to the pesky brat by name!”

“Yeah, and I kinda told him my name as well,” admitted Louis, cringing as it occurred to him what he had done. “Fuck’s sake – I thought he was Lestat! It’s not like I set out to kidnap a mortal, I ain’t got experience of doing shit like that – ”

‘San Francisco?’

Armand tossed the name of the city into Louis’ mind like a hand grenade.

“Fuck you,” muttered Louis, biting his lip. ‘Least I didn’t stalk the guy all over the savage garden, driving him insane!’

From the expression on Lestat’s face, the one that looked as if he was chewing wasps, he could tell they were arguing silently.

“Great. Forget the mugging scenario, Armand,” said Lestat, throwing his hands up as he barely contained his contempt. “His friends all know he was kidnapped. Perhaps you could have him believe that his abductor discovered he was not the world-famous musician, Lestat, but just a humble newsreader. His opportunistic kidnapper, who pretended he was the infamous Louis de Pointe du Lac from that dreadful book, gave up on the idea of demanding a ransom, so knocked him on the head and made his escape.”

“That has merit.” Armand rubbed his forehead and squinted at Lestat. “Although it does involve you-”

Lestat shrugged and then plastered on an insincere smile.

“Anything for Louis,” he muttered. “And it does appear that this time he definitely owes me something in return.”

Louis held his face in his hands, unable to come up with any reason for objecting to their plan.

“You can’t just leave him unconscious in that room, anything could happen to him.”

“What if we took him to a hospital?” came Armand’s weary response. He evidently didn’t see the problems that Louis was imagining as being insurmountable. “I’ll leave him in the care of the emergency department. Lestat cannot be seen for obvious reasons, but I can pretend I’m a tourist from Eastern Europe and speak very little English. I’ll disappear before they can ask any questions.”

Louis nodded his head as he considered the suggestion.

“Louis, mon cher, his picture is in the newspapers and on the television. He will be recognised. And safe.”

“Yeah – I guess that’s better than any alternative I can think of.  But this only happens if he’s willing to go ahead with it. If he don’t, you mustn’t do it to him – that understood, Armand? Lestat?”

Lestat smiled and it looked as though he was about to say ‘of course’. He stopped, apparently recalling what Louis had said earlier about agreements given too readily.

Louis suspected that Lestat didn’t agree at all and regardless of what he or Dale decided, it was going to happen. He reluctantly accepted that having a mortal on the loose, with knowledge of vampires and a face like Lestat’s was a disaster waiting to happen. As Louis looked up, he caught Armand looking into Lestat’s eyes. The barely perceptible nods exchanged confirmed that they were going to go ahead with their plan regardless of his wishes.

He was about to object when Armand spoke up.

“When Dale Jennings is found, injured, with scrambled, incoherent memories of what has happened to him in the past few days it will gain the attention of the Talamasca, who are monitoring the situation, but they will not interfere. They will put it down as an aborted attempt by a vampire to turn a mortal.”

“What about Dale?” asked Louis. “Will he be alright?”

Lestat took Louis’ hand and sighed gently.

“There is not much we can do – it will be up to those mortals who care for him to ensure he recovers from this unfortunate situation. Meanwhile, I shall make my location known to the vampire community, preferably on another continent, Europe maybe. That should ensure no other vampires mistake the poor boy for me. That should keep him safe from our kind.”

“Thank you,” said Louis, grateful to Lestat for his thoughtfulness. He turned to Armand who had stood up and was looking anxious to get things over and done with quickly. “Is it alright if I go speak to him first?”

“Yes, Louis. Keep the explanation vague and reassuring-” Armand clamped his lips shut as he saw Louis’ pupils dilate dangerously. Bowing his head in apology, he held up his hand. “You must speak to Mister Jennings and try to make sure he is relaxed. You can trust me to do what is in his best interests.”

Lestat had got to his feet as well and was assembling their bags.

“I’ll take these to the car ready for us to depart as soon as possible. We can drive to the airport via the hospital so that Armand can drop him off safely.” As he stopped to pick up the car keys, Lestat turned to Louis. “Say your goodbyes while he still knows who you are.”

Leaning forward, Lestat kissed Louis gently on the lips.

“Thanks, Lestat. I appreciate that.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Carrying all three bags towards the car, Lestat noticed the police car parked near the front of the hotel. He singled out the thoughts of the policeman leaning against the side of the vehicle, drinking coffee from a plastic cup.

Damn Helen bloody Norville. Who the fuck does she think she is telling us what to fucking do? Bloody know-it-all uppity bitch. Her and that poncy camera guy think they’re fucking detectives. Wait till the boss hears about this in the morning. Fuck this, I need a piss...

Lestat pulled up the collar of the long leather coat he had repossessed. He sent out a message to Armand to hurry up, only to find he was too busy to engage with Lestat. Not for the first time did he regret not being able to speak to Louis in the same way he could to vampires who were not his fledglings. It was imperative that they made their escape as soon as possible.

Distracted by the thoughts of the vulgar police officer and impatient to get through to Armand, Lestat let his attention slip. As he put the key in the lock to the hire car, he was ambushed. Springing up, as if from nowhere, a woman and a man appeared on either side of him. A camera lens was zooming in on his face.

“Mister Lioncourt?" asked a strikingly attractive woman. "I wonder if you’ve got time to give me an interview for News at Six?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Notes:

Have spent most of the week's writing time trying to fix my pc as I accidentally let OneDrive back up everything on the pc - or try to - which brought it grinding to a halt as I fought to get it to find my Outlook files.

Then found it was infected with PUPs and other stuff... because something was switching off Malwarebytes and Windows Defender...

Nearly had to resort to pen and paper...

I suspect this chapter is crap, and would appreciate any reassurance that it isn't. If anyone spots typos etc, please let me know - I wanted to post it before the vampires do any more talking...

Chapter 16

 

Two hours earlier in Helen Norville’s office

“You sure you don’t want me to get Ross in on this?” asked Tim, watching Helen familiarise herself with the settings on the kit Tim had brought up from the radio car.

“Definitely. There would be too much to explain and we don’t have the time to get him on board.”

Elbows on desk, Helen rested her chin on her hands, fingers interlocked as if in prayer. She took a deep breath as she tried to come to grips with her reasons for only trusting Tim. She had been struggling to rationalise her feelings. She loved Dale, despite all the issues they both had regarding trust and honesty. She had gradually come to terms with his tearful confessions and understood that however much he tried to devote himself to her, however much he tried to hide those parts of him he said he wished didn’t exist, he couldn’t rid himself of the feelings he had for Tim. She’d hated Tim, loathed him for being in Dale’s life at all, reminding her man of what he kept denying himself. But since Dale had gone missing, it had been Tim’s love of Dale that had grounded her, propped her up and kept her from chasing oblivion courtesy of a handful of Valium and a bottle of whisky.

Looking across at Tim’s soulful eyes, it came to her that although Dale had felt torn between them, it had taken his absence for them to reach out to comfort each other. When they’d hugged each other, it had seemed as if Dale was there between them, not trapped, but bringing them all together.

With a wistful smile, Helen reached across the desk to grasp Tim’s hand.

“Just us. And it doesn’t matter if I screw up the sound anyway, as long as I look as if I know what I’m doing. It’s going to be mostly for show, so we can convince whoever’s on the desk that we’re there legitimately.”

“Won’t they wonder why you’re covering a sports story instead of Rob?” asked Tim, still holding Helen’s hand, gently rubbing a thumb over her knuckles.

“There is no sports story,” said Helen. “I checked with Rob. There aren’t any tournaments involving out of state junior teams, and nothing on the books about a team from the US visiting Melbourne. So we can assume it’s all a front. But the hotel staff won’t know that. I’m going to approach it from a human-interest angle. You know the kind of thing, I’ll say that I want to talk to Lioncourt about how this group of kids is going to spend their time in Melbourne, what are they most looking forward to.”

Helen had already thought through the story she’d give the hotel staff in order to get access to the rooms occupied by the mysterious Mr Lioncourt.

“Fair enough.” Tim shrugged as he let go of her hand and picked up the sound equipment from the desk. Standing up, he slung the strap over his shoulder, frowning slightly. “So I guess you had no joy finding out if there is some guy called Lioncourt involved with basketball, not if it’s all bullshit. I bet that’s not even his name.”

“I dunno, I’d have thought he’d have to present ID when registering at the hotel, so unless he’s using forged papers, the name Lioncourt must be legit.” Helen stood up to brush her hair one last time. She figured that it was going to be important to make the right impression the minute they walked into that hotel lobby if they were going to carry off their bluff. “I forgot to tell you that Noeleen overheard me talking to Rob. She said the name Lioncourt rang a bell, something to do with music. Dennis called her away, so she couldn’t say anything more, but she promised me she’d get back to me after tonight’s bulletin.”

Opening the door, Helen sighed. Most of the lights were out and there was no one left in the open office area.

“Looks like she forgot. Everyone’s gone home,” said Tim, holding out Helen’s coat for her to put on.  

“Yeah. Never mind, it was probably a wild goose chase.” Helen slid her arms in the sleeves and then followed Tim out of her office. With her hand on the door knob, she turned to take one more look at the bouquet of plastic flowers from Darwin, that she’d moved from the shelf to her desk. A reminder of the sweetest gesture from that adorable man.

A clattering of feet on the corridor heralded the arrival of someone and as Helen tried to see who it was, Noeleen nearly ran straight into her.  

“Sorry… sorry… I’m not too late am I?” Noeleen’s cheeks were pink and she was puffing, out of breath from running up the stairs. For some reason she was clutching a vinyl album in her hand. “Are you still trying to find someone called Lioncourt?”

“You got someone?” asked Tim, his forehead scrunched up as he stared at the album she was grasping. It looked like a heavy metal album, not something they’d associate with Noeleen at all.

Triumphantly, Noeleen held up the record for them to see. Emblazoned on the front was the name of the band – ‘The Vampire Lestat.’ In shades of white, black and red, there were images of castle towers, shadowy figures and, in the centre, glossy red lips, opening to reveal a pair of gleaming white fangs, dripping with blood.

“I didn’t know you were into … whatever genre that is,” said Helen. Although she was puzzled, she’d worked with Noeleen long enough to appreciate her research skills and figured that there was a reason for her bringing it to her attention.

“I’m not. But my sister’s ex-boyfriend was. The lead singer’s called Lestat de Lioncourt. The band split up after an outbreak of mass hysteria at their first live gig in San Francisco a few years ago. There were all sorts of rumours flying around about fans bursting into flames and leaving piles of ashes- but that got explained away as bad trips from dodgy ketamine. What did happen was that after all the band members were whisked away for their own safety Lestat de Lioncourt disappeared.”

“What? Do they think he was responsible?” asked Helen, her hackles rising.

“Possibly, but from what I gather there’s all sorts of rumour and gossip about the guy. Some of his fans reckon he’s a reincarnation of Jim Morrison of The Doors – but that only started when a stalker sold a photo to a magazine of him at Morrison’s grave in Paris. Oh, he’s French by the way.”

“French?” murmured Tim, his eyes narrowing.

Resolving to ask Tim why that was important later, Helen could see that having run out of breath, Noeleen was looked wide-eyed at her as if seeking approval.

“How did you find out all this I can’t remember it ever making it onto the news?” asked Helen, frowning as she took the album from Noeleen. The stories sounded bizarre, but then again they were dealing with the strange situation of Dale having been snatched from his bed and his car burnt out in the workplace car park.

“My sister told me, she was filling me in with the background. That’s why I was late getting back. She said her ex told her the whole San Francisco event was covered up by the FBI,” said Noeleen. “It was her ex who gave her this bootleg copy of the album as well as a paperback version of the book this guy wrote. Lestat claims he was born in 1760.”

Tim snorted derisively as he took the record from Helen.

“Never heard of them,” muttered Tim, as he flipped the sleeve over, checking for band notes. On the back of the cover there was a photo of the band. The lead singer was posing in the centre, hands on hips that were thrusting forwards. He was wearing a loose white shirt, open to the navel and black leather pants that hung obscenely low on his hips and looked as if they’d been painted on him, accentuating every curve and bulge. “Bloody hell – would you look at him!“

Helen put a hand on his shoulder and leaned closer.

“Well, he’s very impressive- ”

“The face, Helen, look at the face!” Tim jabbed a finger at the man’s head. His hair was long, wavy  and blonde. Apart from that, he looked just like Dale.

“Fuck!” Helen swallowed hard. She had never, ever, imagined Dale as a rock star, but it looked like the sluttiest version ever of her boyfriend.

“What is it?” asked Noeleen, leaning forward to see what they were looking at so intently. “Yeah, he’s pretty hot. I reckon he’s the only reason my sister didn’t throw it out.”

“That’s the guy!” hissed Tim. “The one I saw-”

“Which guy? You’ve seen him? Oh my God, Lestat is here in Melbourne!” squealed Noeleen excitedly as she grabbed the album back from Tim and examined the photo of the band more closely. “Please, let me be there when you interview him – you are going to interview him, aren’t you, Helen? I can get this autographed maybe and then it would be worth a fortune!”

“Um, I’ll put it this way, he is definitely someone I’d like to get my hands on,” replied Helen, clenching her teeth and glaring at Tim for his indiscretion.

“Hang on, is he the Lioncourt you were looking for?” Noeleen hadn’t missed the sudden tension that had developed between Tim and Helen.

“Yes,” admitted Tim, sheepishly.

“No!” countered Helen quickly. “What I mean is, he’s not the Lioncourt I thought we’d found, but I would very much like to get him in front of a camera.”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up as he looked at Helen. She glared back, hoping he got the message.

“Thanks, Noeleen, now you should be getting home.” Helen smiled at Noeleen as she ushered her towards the stairs. “I’ll let you know if we manage to pin him down.”

Waiting until Noeleen was safely on her way, Tim spun around.

“It’s that guy I saw in the car park. What’s more the band notes say that they’re all from New Orleans- the address on the hotel register,” said Tim, urgently. Running a hand through his dark curls, he sighed, sounding frustrated. “But the guy who set fire to Dale’s car had short dark hair. Do you think Lioncourt’s collaborating with him? Or maybe the other guy is working for him?”

“Maybe, I mean Dale only mentioned one kidnapper in his note,” said Helen, trying to figure out what was going on. “But there’s no way it’s a coincidence that this guy looks just like Dale.”

“We should call the police,” said Tim, shaking his head. “At least have them on standby in case it gets nasty, now we know there are at least two guys involved. Even if you just say you think you’ve got a lead on the whereabouts of Dale and you suspect his kidnappers are dangerous.”

“The police aren’t taking it seriously, Tim,” replied Helen, exasperated. “I told you what they said when I called today about updates. There’s still no ransom note or any demands made – so they’re still not convinced it’s a kidnapping.”

“But what about the note you got from Dale? His car set on fire?” demanded Tim, outraged. “The CCTV showing it wasn’t him that left it there?”

Helen bit her lip, swallowed hard and then nodded her head on the direction of Lindsay’s office.

“Lindsay summoned me into his office today. He made it clear that the CEO is worried about bad publicity putting off sponsors. He wants to play it down and what’s more he plays golf with the police commissioner.” Gripping the edge of the desk she was leaning against, Helen grimaced as she recalled Lindsay’s actual words. “Lindsay told me that if I kept pushing for coverage, I’d be the one to take the fall if it all turns out to be nothing more than a disgruntled employee faking his own kidnapping or having a breakdown. Then he informed me that the only reason he’s not begged Geoff to return is that he’d cost the station ten times as much as he can get away with paying Dale.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Tim set down the equipment he was carrying and gave Helen a hug. She wrapped her arms around him, her head close enough to his for her to smell his aftershave. Different to Dale, but comforting nonetheless. “Those heartless fucking bastards.”

“If it wasn’t for the fact I can make sure Dale’s disappearance is mentioned on each news update, I’d have walked out by now,” said Helen, sniffing. “But we’re all he’s got right now and I’m not letting him down.”

“What about DI Jones?” asked Tim, stroking her back gently. “She seemed quite sympathetic. Is it worth getting in touch with her? I mean, we’ve got a definite lead now – one specific location.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Helen loosened her hold around Tim and straightened up. Putting on her determined face, she nodded her head. “Even though the police aren’t actively searching for Dale, I can call Jones and ask if she can arrange for a couple of police officers to be around in case we run into trouble tonight.”

“Go on then, I’ll wait here.” Tim smiled, knowing she’d want to check her eye make up once more before leaving the office.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Helen offered Tim a watery, wobbly smile before heading back into her office to make the call.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

While pondering what had prompted him to give Helen Norville a comforting hug, Tim heard something fall to the ground near the entrance to the open office area. It was Noeleen, standing in the shadows by the double door.

“Hear much?” he asked, not surprised to see her there. She had a nose for stories waiting to be uncovered and she’d obviously figured out that Helen and Tim weren’t hanging around the office to talk about sound recording.  

“Enough. So, how long have you and Helen been such good mates?” asked Noeleen, absently twirling a strand of hair around her fingers. “She’s been giving you daggers for weeks now, even though I don’t know what you did to offend her. Dennis told me she’d been demanding to have any camera crew assigned apart for yours. And now she’s literally crying on your shoulder. What’s going on?”

“Um…” started Tim, floundering to explain something he couldn’t understand himself. “It’s just since Dale went missing. I’ve been working with her to … um… you know… I took some photos for her at Dale’s flat… and I was on the scene when his car was set on fire … and … well, Dale’s a mate and I’m worried about him.”

“Yeah,” said Noeleen, raising an eyebrow and smiling mischievously. “A mate? Sure thing. You don’t fool me, Tim Ahern - I’ve seen the way you look at him. It reminds me of how I used to watch Rob.”

Before Tim could think of a suitable response, Helen came rushing out of her office.

“Right – Jones is having a patrol car meet us there. Let’s go!” She then saw Noeleen standing there. “Noeleen?”

“Forgot to ask if Tim wanted to hang onto the record. Just in case he saw Lestat again and could ask for him to sign it,” said Noeleen, her face even pinker than it had been earlier. She put the record in Tim’s hands, winked at him subtly and then turned to go. “See you guys in the morning.”

“Tim?” Helen frowned at him as he clutched the record.

“Yeah – let’s go.”

As if things couldn’t get worse, Tim knew Noeleen would say something to Rob. By morning, everyone in the office would be talking about him and Helen.

Fucking brilliant. If they did find Dale, he was going to hate him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The hotel manager refused point blank to let Helen and Tim past the front desk.

“Mister Lioncourt stipulated that he was not to be disturbed and that privacy was essential for the duration of his stay.”

He was one of those officious jobsworth types, bristling with indignation and a false sense of his own importance. Red-faced, shorter than Helen, but considerably wider, he was not budging. She was tempted to yell at him that this Mister Lioncourt was holding her boyfriend against his will, that he could be a people smuggler or murderer. But that would have blown their cover story of wanting to interview the manager of an American junior basketball team.

Telling Tim to stay put, Helen stormed out of the lobby to speak to the police officers in the patrol car she’d been pleased to see outside. However, they were unwilling to help, they just shrugged and said there was nothing they could do without a warrant.

She returned to where Tim was waiting in the reception area. Taking a deep breath she approached the manager with a smile.

“Is there nothing I can give you to persuade you?” she asked, wondering how much cash she had in her purse. “Come on, this exclusive interview could be really good publicity for your hotel after all – I mean, it’s not every day a reclusive rock star chooses to stay at an All Seasons Hotel, is it? I’ll make sure to mention your name- ”

If possible, the manager went even more red in the face as he held up both hands in protest.

“No, madam, that would be bad publicity. If we can’t guarantee privacy for passing celebrities, I’d probably end up losing guests and my job! Now, I’ve asked you once and I’m not asking again- Miss Norville, please, I respect you as a reporter, but will you please leave the premises now. I don’t want my guests bothered.”

“Can you tell me if he’s in his room right now?” asked Helen. “Do you have objection to me waiting here? Then, if Mister Lioncourt does come out it will be up to him whether or not he allows us to interview him, right?”

“Don’t waste your time,” sighed the manager, steering Helen towards the door. “As far as I can tell, he’s been using the guest entrance by the car park out back. It’s got a keypad that only guests have the code for. So there’s no point you, or your cameraman, hanging around in the lobby or out front. Now, will you just go, before I ask that policeman out there to arrest you for trying to harass our guests?”

Helen was about to snap, but Tim tugged on her sleeve to get her attention.

“Come on, Helen,” he whispered. “That was a tip off.”

Nodding her head sharply, Helen bit her lip and then turned on her heel.

“Thank you for your assistance,” she said as she passed the manager who was holding the door open and gesturing for them to leave.

As they headed back towards the News At Six radio car, Tim suddenly stopped and called out to Helen.

“What is it?” she asked, looking around and not seeing anyone. She wandered back to where Tim was standing so that she could see what it was that he was staring at.

As she approached Tim, he pointed at a black Mercedes not far from where they’d parked earlier.

“That’s his car. It’s not moved – he’s gotta still be in there!”

“Do you think he’ll come back to it if he’s not used it since you saw him last night?” asked Helen, dubiously. “We could be sat here all night-”

“What else have we got to do? This is our biggest lead – I know you think Dale’s in there. And if he is, we owe it to him to hang around for a few hours!” argued Tim, swinging around and pointing at the hotel. “Checking out the rooms is a bust if we can’t get past the lobby, but we can at least try and ambush that Lioncourt guy if he comes back to his car.”

“Okay,” replied Helen, slowly nodding her head, as she accepted Tim’s proposition. She’d not be able to sleep if she just went back to her house, not knowing that they could have done something to find Dale. “Let’s stake out his car. As you say, we’ve got nothing to lose.”

“What about the coppers?” asked Tim.

“They were about to head off, but I heard the hotel manager moaning to them about some thefts and wanting to report it to them while they’re here.”

“Thefts?”

“Housekeeping trolley and a set of keys.” Helen laughed briefly, considering the irony of the police being more prepared to deal with a missing pile of sheets than a missing news reporter.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

While they kept watch from the radio car, the interior light switched off, Tim brought Helen up to speed with everything he’d been able to glean from the notes on the album sleeve.

“Sounds like a nutter to me,” said Tim. “He actually claims that he’s a fucking vampire. Never does interviews in sunlight and says he sleeps in a coffin. I’m glad I’d not seen that before bumping into him last night!”

“Is it possible the kidnapper was after him and snatched Dale by mistake?” suggested Helen, accepting a mint from the packet that Tim had found in the glove box. “Perhaps someone got wind that he was going to be in Melbourne, they saw Dale and grabbed him instead?”

Tim shook his head.

“If he’d been grabbed on the street, maybe, but from his apartment? In the middle of the night?” replied Tim, not hiding his scepticism. “I reckon Dale’s got caught up in some fucked up shit. If he’s- ”   

“Shh!” hissed Helen, ducking her head down low. “Is that him?”

A man had appeared from the back of the hotel. He was tall, wearing a long leather coat and carrying several items of luggage. What really stood out was his hair, a golden halo under the harsh glare of the lights near the security barrier of the car park.

“Looks like he’s checking out,” whispered Tim, slowly opening the car door. Keeping his head down he picked up the camera that he’d tucked into the footwell.

Helen sneaked out of the car just as stealthily. They pushed the doors inwards within shutting them properly, understanding the importance of making as little noise as possible. While Helen made her made to the driver’s side of the Mercedes, she saw that Tim was working his way between the parked cars to come around to the passenger side. They crouched down in the shadows, keeping out of sight until their prey got closer.

Helen froze when she saw Lioncourt stop and spin around as if about to run back to the hotel. She heard him swear to himself in French before continuing to head for the Mercedes. Exhaling gently, Helen waited until he’d got the key in the lock to the boot before springing to her feet. Tim took her cue and hoisted the camera onto his shoulder and ran around to cut the guy off from behind.

“Mister Lioncourt?" asked Helen. "I wonder if you’ve got time to give me an interview for News at Six?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Lestat hesitated briefly, wondering whether to bluff or bluster. Setting down the bags and cases, he smiled at the woman who was waving a microphone in his direction.

“I am sorry, you appear to have me at a disadvantage– would you care to introduce yourself, madam?”

“Helen Norville, from News at Six.”

Lestat grit his teeth. Of course it was. Dale’s female lover. Peering from behind the camera lens was the boy, Tim. He should have killed him. Lestat kept a smile fixed on his face, despite the temptation to snarl an obscenity, freeze time and disappear before their eyes.

“Enchantée,” he said, dipping his head in a genteel bow, before turning to acknowledge Tim’s presence. “And I do believe I encountered your charming colleague the other night. Mais, je suis désolé - any interviews I give must be arranged through my manager, Monsieur Roget. He insists on dealing with all media relations on my behalf.”

“You are Lestat de Lioncourt then, of the band The Vampire Lestat?” asked Helen Norville, waving a copy of the band’s album in his face.

Putain d'enfer!

Lestat sent a rapid thought to Armand.

‘Do not come to the car. Get out as soon as you can. I shall meet you both on your jet.’

He was relieved to get a prompt reply.

‘Trouble?’

Rolling his eyes, Lestat just let Armand see what he was seeing.

The damn gremlin actually laughed at him. He hated Armand.

“I’m sorry, Mister Lioncourt, did you hear my question?” asked the woman, who was staring at him. There was something fierce in her eyes that seemed to suggest she was not going to be easily dissuaded. “The concert at San Francisco – are the rumours true? Was there a government cover up? Are you in a witness protection scheme?”

“You must understand that I am unable to address any rumours concerning that unfortunate event.” Lestat pressed his lips together, fighting the urge to scream. “I apologise if I seem uncooperative, but I am suffering with jet lag and I have to be on yet another flight this evening.” Lestat opened the boot of the hire car and hoisted the bags inside. Slamming the tailgate down with a little more force than necessary, he turned to face his inquisitor with what he hoped was a winning smile. “It was my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam Norville, and I promise that if I am ever in your country again, I shall have Roget contact you regarding an exclusive interview.”

Glaring at the curly head behind the camera, Lestat focused on the equipment until he heard the crackle inside signifying an electrical overload.

“Fuck!” yelled the cute boy and for a brief moment, Lestat admired the way his mouth formed the curse word. If only.

“Oh dear, is there a problem with your equipment, mon ami?” asked Lestat, head tilted to one side, he feigned concern despite being relieved. “Has it malfunctioned?”

“Bloody camera’s blown a fuse. Sorry, Helen.”

“Ah what a shame. It appears that an interview is no longer possible.” Lestat shrugged and started to walk around the woman, only for her to block his way, thrusting that damn microphone in his face.

“Not so fast, Mister Lioncourt.” It briefly occurred to Lestat that he could just pick her up and fling her across the car park but he decided against that as it would attract the attention of the otherwise bored policeman who was walking up and down the pathway that ran around the outside of the hotel. “Perhaps you could answer just one question for me?”

Lestat took a step back and leant against the car. He crossed his legs at the ankle and held his hands together in front of his hips. He needed to buy time for Armand and Louis to complete whatever it was they were doing with Dale, as the plan had changed and it was no longer possible for them to bring him out to the car. Armand had let him know they were going to leave Dale in the hotel room. Sighing in resignation, Lestat waved a hand magnanimously at the woman.

“Ask your question, but make sure it is a good one,” he said obligingly.

He could hear their hearts beating fast, but had so far not been able to filter out their thoughts which were clamouring away in a tangled mess of fear, anger, curiosity and desperation. They were thinking about Dale, both of them. They suspected Lestat’s involvement in the abduction of their friend but were otherwise lacking in proof.

“What have you done with Dale Jennings?”  

“The missing boy? Whose picture is in the newspaper?”

“Boy?” asked Norville, a sharp edge to her voice. “He’s about your age, not much younger.”

Lestat laughed. He doubled over with laughter. He guffawed. His ribs were beginning to ache from laughing so much.

He should not. He really ought to control this urge he suffered from.

Raising his head slightly, he felt the sting on his cheek, snapping his head around.

Ouch!

Shocked, he turned his head to see the face of an angry woman. A furious woman. A woman who would make an exceptionally powerful vampire.

With her eyes blazing so fiercely, he wondered what colour they would be if she were turned. Amethyst, he thought.

He could see why Dale was in love with her.

Lestat grinned like a fool. How could he not admire such a lioness of a woman. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 17

 

Louis was sitting on the edge of the bed, clasping Dale’s hands in his. He was relieved to have found Dale sitting cross-legged on top of the crumpled sheets, flicking through the trashy novel he’d been reading earlier. It was one thing hearing Lestat and Armand swear that they’d not done anything to harm the guy and another to find out they hadn’t kept anything from him.

From the way Dale’s eyes kept moving to a point behind him, he realised that Armand was managing to unsettle Dale. Twisting around to see what he was doing, he understood that it was what he wasn’t doing that was so unnerving. Louis had got used to Armand’s stillness, the way he would just stand quietly, observing in that detached way of his. Wondering how Dale perceived Armand, he wasn’t surprised that the prime image in his mind was one of a strange child at school who spent hours watching bugs crawling across the hot tarmac of the school yard before suddenly pouncing to pull off a leg or a wing. The fact that Louis knew for a fact that Dale’s perception was remarkably accurate prompted him to give Armand a job to do. He passed him the empty plastic bag and tasked him with collecting anything from the room that would trigger memories for Dale.

Louis winced when Armand held the handcuffs up on the end of one finger and raised an eyebrow.

‘We could have used these on Lestat.’

“If you’ve taken a liking to those, they’re yours,” said Louis, grimacing as Armand tucked them inside a jacket pocket. “Everything else goes in the trash and we’ll dump it later. Just leave the bag of Dale’s clothes. Please.”

‘And will you please try to stop scaring him!’

With a long-suffering expression, Armand complied with Louis’ request and set about removing all trace of any other occupant having been in the room.

“So, Dale, it’s like this,” started Louis, returning his attentions to Dale. “It’s all my fault. I got you into this mess. Because of me, there’s people out there thinking you’re fakin’ it, that you’re hidin’ out somewhere. Because of that, your career will be over if you suddenly reappear with no proof you were ever kidnapped. If you start talking about vampires, chances are you’ll be sectioned-”

“They will think you set your own car on fire outside your place of work as a protest,” added Armand from where he was standing at the window, looking down towards the drop off area outside the hotel.

“You set my car on fire?” asked Dale, looking horrified. “But … all my favourite mix tapes were in the glove box!”

Louis shook his head wearily, not wanting to mention all the other clutter that had been conveniently combustible. It then occurred to him that he sympathised with Dale, having been more worried about losing books than the place he’d been living in when it had gone up in flames. But, to give him his due, Lestat had replaced every single one of them, mostly with first editions and a few signed by the author.

‘I wonder if you will always let him buy your forgiveness?’

‘Not now, Armand!’

“You can make more tapes and I’ll find a way for you to get compensation for your automobile.”

That was something he’d ask Lestat to help sort out. Buying cars as gifts was something he excelled at.

‘You’re starting to sound like him, you know.’

‘And you’re starting to sound jealous. Who of though? Him or me?’

A chair went flying as Armand moved it aside to pick up a receipt that Louis had dropped.

“Dated and time stamped.” Armand held up the scrap of paper between thumb and forefinger, his disappointment showing. “Imagine if there was a camera in this store. You have been very careless, Louis.”

‘I blame your maker in never having instilled the art of stealth into you when you were a fresh fledgling. Remember when I first found you stumbling around Paris?’

Louis glared at Armand, who just shook his head and, after dropping the receipt into the bag, transferred his attentions to the burnt remains of a pizza box.

‘Don’t you dare mention Paris to me.’

“What does he mean by ‘careless’?” asked Dale. “Oh my God, you’re cleaning the room for a reason, aren’t you? You’re going to kill me? I thought you said-”

Responding to the galloping heart beat from Dale, Louis leaned in close, wrapped an arm around Dale’s shoulders and placed a hand against his chest, above his heart.

“No! No one’s killing you, Dale. I swore to you they wouldn’t and I promise you that I only want what’s best for you. Please, you’ve gotta trust me.”

“I… I trust you.” Dale pressed his lips together, looking anxiously at Armand. His eyes were wet with unshed tears – fear gathering in his face, as his anticipation of imminent death loomed over of him. “It’s just … what you said. If … what if I promise never to say anything about what’s happened to me?”

Louis tucked a finger under Dale’s chin, tilting up his face so he could look him in the eye.

“It don’t matter if you say anything or not, Dale, there are some folk who can fish inside your head and find out what you’ve seen and heard.” Louis could only imagine what would happen if the Talamasca decided to interview Dale. Or worse, some acolytes of the rogue vampires who bore grudges against both him and Lestat. “Believe me, Dale, for the sake of your future safety, it’s best you don’t remember me or anything that happened since I took you from your home.”

A shy smile graced Dale’s lips as he looked bashfully at Louis.

“I don’t think I can forget that – you’ve made quite an impression on me.” Dale then blushed as he looked at Louis’ mouth. “Unforgettable really.”

“I’ll remember for both of us,” replied Louis, with fondness. “To keep you safe my friend Armand is going to make you forget.”

“I’m not sure about that,” said Dale, grimacing. “Sounds like therapy I tried for … well, it never worked.”

Louis delved behind the spoken words and discovered an unpleasant memory of a session with a child psychiatrist whose aim had been to have Dale realise his feelings for boys were all linked to the trauma of losing his father and being neglected by his mother. He’d been told those immoral feelings would go away when he found the right girl.

“Trust me, he’ll just tweak your memories so you don’t remember any of us, or anything about vampires. He’ll fill in the gaps with a plausible story of what happened to you -  a bit like hypnosis. No one’s gonna think you’re crazy or anything except the victim of a bungled attempt to kidnap a famous rockstar.”

Armand suddenly laughed out loud. Louis turned to see what he’d found to generate that level of amusement. Generally, it was the discomfort of others that had Armand audibly express his delight.

‘Armand?’

‘Our darling brat has just been ambushed by the mortal’s wife and boyfriend.’

“What?” blurted Louis, unthinking.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dale, automatically looking around the room for possible dangers. The irony being that he’d already faced the greatest danger he’d probably ever encounter.

“Nothin’ for you to worry about,” assured Louis, gently patting Dale’s back, trying to mask his own agitation. He wondered what Lestat had done now.

‘What the fuck’s going on?’

‘He was too busy asking what you were doing to realise the humans were waiting for him. The female called him Mister Lioncourt!’

‘How the hell do they know his name?’ Louis was starting to panic.

‘Apparently you used his name when you signed the hotel register.’

‘Shit – I forgot about that.’ So, it wasn’t Lestat’s fault, it was his. ‘Shit.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be very forgiving, as always.’ Somehow, Armand managed to convey a sneer in his thoughts. ‘However, time is slipping away, say what you must, but we need to act soon.’

Biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, Louis tried to calm himself. He could hear Dale’s breathing coming faster, he was obviously getting more worried. Louis’ attempts to reassure him had only succeeded in scaring him further.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to do get this done sooner than we thought. Good news is you’ll be back with Helen and Tim before you know it.”

Louis took a good look at Dale, his floppy hair, stubbled chin and glistening eyes. He couldn’t help thinking, yet again, that Lestat may have looked like that had his life taken a different turn. But no, he’d found out enough about Lestat’s life from before he’d been turned to know he was destined to fight for what he wanted and to endure hardships otherwise. Reaching out to ruffle Dale’s hair, as silky soft as Lestat’s, he smiled wistfully. He could have grown to love this sweet man. He wanted to make sure he had love in his life. Love he wasn’t ashamed of.

‘Armand? When you change his memories, can you dial up his belief that he’s loved?’

‘Why?’

‘Parting gift – after all I put him through, he deserves to be able to accept love.’

‘Lestat was correct – you are a sentimental fool, Louis.’

‘You’ll do it? For me?’

‘I’m not him – but you know I’ll do anything for you. Damn you.’

“Move aside, Louis,” said Armand out loud, as he came to take Louis’ place on the edge of the bed.

As Louis moved around to sit behind Dale, bracing him against his chest, he could sense the spike of panic surging in Dale’s head.

Louis curled forward, cupping Dale’s head in one hand, so he could kiss him gently on the lips, a chaste kiss farewell.

“I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Dale.” Louis slid an arm around Dale’s waist, anchoring him in place as Armand placed a hand on his knee and stared into his eyes. Feeling the wetness of a tear trickled down his cheek, Louis kissed Dale’s head. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

“Helen!” shouted Tim, rushing forward to put himself between her and Lioncourt.

Holding up her hand to signify she was in no immediate danger, Helen trod on something and looked down to see that she’d dropped the microphone. Tim was grimacing at the sight of the microphone broken beyond repair.

“No need to fear for Mademoiselle Norville’s safety,” said Lioncourt, rubbing his cheek. “She is not the first and won’t be the last who has wanted to slap me, but she is one of the few who had the nerve to do so. Please accept my apologies, my dear, I am prone to irrational outbursts of laughter. It has got me into all manner of trouble with those I hold dear.”

Bristling with anger, even though her hand hurt from where she’d made contact with the hardest jawline she’d ever encountered, Helen was unimpressed with what she perceived to be bullshit. She moved Tim to one side, wanting to get closer to Lioncourt. The fact that he hadn’t struck back emboldened her. Close up, he didn’t look as similar to Dale as she’d thought from the photo. His expressions and body language were on a different planet to those of Dale. There was an arrogance to his expression and a curl to his lip that she’d never seen on Dale’s face. Lioncourt’s eyes were different as well, colder, more like the Arctic Ocean than the warm seas she associated with the eyes of the man she loved. There was a sharpness to his movements, in the way he gesticulated with his manicured hands, to the graceful posturing of his limbs, it seemed as if every movement was choreographed; whereas although Dale was clumsy at times, he always exuded gentleness and generosity. No, this man, this Lestat de Lioncourt, whoever he was, was nothing like the man she loved. But if he was hiding anything that would help her find Dale, she was going to find out.

“I don’t care who you are or what issues you have when it comes to inappropriate reactions, I have good reason to believe you’re implicated with the illegal abduction and imprisonment of a colleague of ours,” snarled Helen, leaning in close so she barely had to raise her voice to be heard. “I happen to think you know exactly where he is, in one of those rooms you’re booked into. When we find him, there’s going to be an arrest warrant in your name, famous rock star or not.”

“Really, madam,” said Lioncourt, his voice clipped and his pupils dilating, making his eyes appear inky black. “You can believe and think all you wish, but I can tell you that I had absolutely nothing to do with the disappearance of your Mister Jennings. I was not even in the country when he went missing.”

From the anger in his eyes, Helen almost found herself believing him.

“Really? Then how come there are several rooms in that hotel booked under your name?”

Lioncourt snorted indelicately and seemed to disappear inside his own head for a while, before returning his focus to Helen.

“I did ask my representative to arrange for overnight accommodation in a location where the press were unlikely to discover my presence. He apparently thought a low budget hotel would fit those requirements.” Lioncourt seemed genuinely unhappy at being forced to stay in a basic motel. “It seems that, by complete chance, you have encountered me while seeking your missing colleague. It is a remarkable coincidence, is it not?”

“And it’s just a coincidence that you look a bit like Dale?” piped up Tim, who’d been hovering to one side, anxious to intercede if Helen looked as if she was in trouble.

“Do I?” asked Lioncourt, raising his eyebrows and pouting in as un-Dale like manner as possible. “You would not believe how many sightings there have been of me around the planet. My fans can be quite… um… what is the word?”

“Fanatical?” prompted Tim.

“Bien sûr – of course, of course. Fanatical. Would you believe that there are those who claim I am the very devil himself and would have me exorcised.” Lioncourt was waving his hands around, somehow having made the conversation all about him. “You may have seen the unofficial merchandise they produce – the dolls? Non? They should be exorcised. Or put on a bonfire and burnt. Putain du merde, do I look like a blonde Tom Cruise?”

“If you don’t stop talking about yourself and start answering my questions, I am going to slap you again!” threatened Helen. She then took stock of what he had said that was relevant. “So you’re saying your agent or whoever, booked rooms for you and your entourage – ”

“Just a small entourage,” said Lioncourt, frowning as he inadvertently looked past Helen’s shoulder towards the All Seasons.

“Why did you need so many rooms then?” asked Tim.

“So I could choose which one suited me best and to ensure my privacy, which you have now successfully invaded!” snapped Lioncourt, tossing his hair back out of his face.  

Sensing the increasing irritation, Helen felt that if she kept pressing, she could get the answers she was seeking. Every now and then she spotted Lioncourt looking upwards and to the right. She’d read a study that suggested that signified that the person speaking was making up their responses, formulating mistruths. Or was that when they looked to the left? She couldn’t remember. Biting her lip, she waved her hand in front of Lioncourt’s eyes to get his attention.

“Alright then, let’s say I believe your story about being out of the country at the time and that it wasn’t you personally who booked rooms at the All Seasons.” Helen’s instincts suggested that much was true. “But, essentially, you are admitting that the guy who came here, on your behalf, to pay for your accommodation, in cash, works for you – is that right?”

“If you are asking if I know him, I am wondering that myself. I shall certainly not be trusting him to arrange accommodation for me in the future. It would appear that he has no appreciation of my very particular requirements.” Lestat scrunched up his face, evidently displeased with the room he had stayed in. “All I can say, is that I leave the arrangements to my manager, who contacts someone locally to make bookings that cannot be traced back to me. This appears to have fallen through on this occasion.”

Helen nodded and made understanding noises, not just because she thought his explanation made sense, but because experience proved that interviewees gave away more when they were less defensive.

“Well, perhaps if you could give us that guy’s name, that could give us a lead. Or maybe your manager could provide contact details?”

Lioncourt put his hand in a pocket and pulled out a business card that he pressed into Helen’s hand. As he closed her fingers over it, she was surprised at how cool his own hand was. He looked at her, his eyes seeking hers as he spoke softly.

“Mon Dieu, do you think it possible this individual intended to kidnap me and hold me here?” asked Lioncourt, his mouth gaping open as if horrified at the prospect. “I wonder if, horror of horrors, he made a terrible mistake and took your Mister Jennings, thinking he was me!”

Lioncourt was looking from Helen to Tim, seeking their input.

“Is that what you think?” asked Helen, narrowing her eyes as she tried to work out if he was reacting spontaneously or acting.

Holding his chin and rubbing a finger over his pouting lips, Lioncourt then frowned and shook his head.

“Mais, c'est impossible. I read in the paper that Mister Jennings had been taken from his apartment – why would anyone think I would be there?”

“That’s what I said!” blurted out Tim. “If it’s mistaken identity, why go to Dale’s flat in the middle of the night?”

“Tim!” snapped Helen. However, he’d not given away anything that hadn’t been in the news updates on TV or in the press. “That’s not the point-”

“Ah, but Mademoiselle Norville, that is very much the point.”

Lioncourt leaned back on his car again and pinched the skin between his eyes as if fighting off a headache. He then nodded his head as if agreeing with himself.

“You know what I think may have happened?”

“I’m all ears,” replied Helen, biting back on the sarcasm. She was ready to bring a stiletto heel down on Lioncourt’s instep and then knee him in the balls if he pissed her off any more than he already had done. She was familiar with being told what to think by alpha men and there was something about Lioncourt that screamed ‘alpha male’ and ‘manipulative’.

“It is terrible and quite preposterous, but I cannot think of anything else. The man responsible has to be found and held to account for his actions. It’s the only scenario that makes any sense whatsoever.”

“Spit it out then, mate and let us decide how ridiculous this theory of yours is.” Tim was standing close, a comforting presence at Helen's side. She hadn’t failed to see that he was fighting his attraction to the alluringly handsome rock star.

“This representative, sent to book rooms on my behalf, he must be one of those deranged fanatics. He must have seen Mister Jennings on the television and thought that he was me… “ Lioncourt held up a finger, the glossy nail polish catching the light. “Mais oui, I am sorry to say that this is what these people do … I wonder, is the address of Mister Jennings readily accessible?”

“Um … I don’t suppose you’d know if he’s in the phone book do you, Helen?” asked Tim.

Helen was about to shake her head. She had made sure her number was ex-directory and hoped that Dale had as well. But then she recalled their conversation about Adam. Dale had told her about the phone message he had received from Adam and how it had affected him.

“Shit, he is. That’s how Adam got hold of his number,” answered Helen.

Lioncourt's eyes widened and he held up a finger as if she had stumbled on a vital fact. 

“Of course! That would be how this person knew where to find Mister Jennings. He must have broken into his home and taken your friend, thinking he was me. And … maybe you are right and he is keeping him here." Lioncourt shuddered dramatically. "But surely, if he had seen me, he would realise his grievous error and let him go?”

Helen squinted at Lioncourt, suddenly having an overwhelming urge to go along with whatever he suggested, despite her gut instinct telling her he knew a lot more than he was admitting.

“If I may?” asked Lioncourt, his face a picture of sincerity, his arms opening to encompass them both in an embrace. “I am so sorry to hear what seems to have happened to your dearest of friends. However, I hope you can now appreciate that if his disappearance had anything to do with me, it is because, I too, have been made a victim of this tragic misunderstanding by an individual who needs help.”

As his strong arms pulled them close, Helen felt a drowsiness taking hold of her. She grabbed hold of Tim’s hand, desperately seeking an anchor as she felt waves of sensations crashing over her head. For one brief moment she felt a cool mouth press a kiss to her lips and then opening her eyes and turning to the left, she saw Lioncourt kissing Tim as well. As he withdrew there was a smile on his lips and as he started to smile, she could have sworn she saw the points of his canine teeth descending slightly. She shook her head and then saw that he was unlocking the car door, while she was standing to one side, one arm draped over Tim’s shoulder and his arm around her waist.

“I do hope you find your loved one safely.”

“But what about you?” asked Helen, noticing that her voice sounded slurred.

“I was never here.”

With that, he blew them each a kiss, slipped into the hire car, reversed out of his parking space and was gone.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Lestat breezed onto the plane, stashed the items of luggage he was carrying into the overhead storage bins and then settled down in the seat next to Louis. He was pleasantly surprised that Louis was not sitting next to Armand. In fact there seemed to be a certain amount of coolness between them. Even better.

“Louis,” he said in greeting. Not getting an immediate response, he shrugged and adjusted the back of the cushioned seat so that it was at the same angle as Louis’ seat. “Bonne soir, Louis.”

“Lestat,” came Louis’ short reply.

Ah – so it was not just Armand who was in the dog house.

“Did you manage to convince them? Did they actually believe you?” asked Armand, leaning forward from where he was sitting on the other side of the aisle.

“What happened?” Louis nudged Lestat in the ribs with the point of his elbow. “Armand wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”

Lestat frowned and glanced across to Armand, wanting a clue as to how to proceed without suffering any further attacks on his person.

‘Yes, what did happen that has upset our dear Louis?’

‘Guess.’ Armand raised one elegant eyebrow and smirked just enough to irritate Lestat.

“Ah, cheri, you know Armand, he probably wanted me to explain it to you myself,” murmured Lestat. “I can tell by the fact that you’re here, on the plane, that you know there was a change of plan, due to an unfortunate encounter outside the hotel. For the sake of brevity, in short, your mortal pet’s wife confronted me and asked me what I had done with her husband.”

“They ain’t married,” stated Louis.

“Neither are you two,” said Armand, waving a hand in their direction. “But that has never stopped you from behaving as if you are.”

“And what does that make you?” asked Lestat, snidely, slicing a fingernail through the air. “My husband’s bit on the side? His mistress maybe?”

“His lover,” said Armand, dragging out the word ‘lover’ slowly to ensure maximum effect. “And confidante, someone he can trust when he’s unable to cope with his cheating, conniving brute of a spouse.”

“Excuse me?” Lestat was outraged. He turned around to shake Louis’ arm. “Louis! Are you going to let him speak of me like that?”

“He ain’t wrong,” said Louis with a shrug. “I know y’all have made efforts to change for the better. You too Armand – so no need to look so damn smug. But that don’t mean you both ain’t still capable of actin' like conniving, deceitful assholes. So I suggest you both call it quits before I say something you’ll both regret.”

Lestat grunted, folded his arms over his chest and refused to speak again until the plane had taken off. A sidelong glance at Armand was enough to see that he was also feeling insulted - he was fidgeting with his Walkman, checking the batteries, removing one CD and replacing it with another. Lestat could tell from that alone how agitated his fellow vampire was feeling.

'He uses words as weapons, mon ami, with as much alacrity as we use the Dark Gifts bestowed upon us.'

'I know - almost as harshly as he uses silence.'

Sighing together, they both looked across at Louis, who had found a book to read. Of course he had. Shutting them both out effectively. 

The window shutters were already closed so no sunlight could enter the cabin, but as they were heading west, they were flying into the night and not towards the dawn. It had been agreed that they should go via Europe on their return trip. A visit to London was in order to ensure all was settled, that Louis would face no recriminations and that Dale Jennings would be ring-marked as off limits.

Once the jet reached its cruising altitude, a flight attendant came through from the kitchen to the rear of Armand’s private jet. She took their orders for snacks and returned with warmed up pouches of blood.

After his AB positive had been poured into a cut glass tumbler and the quietly efficient flight attendant returned to her domain, Lestat took a long drink and then turned to Armand.

“What did you do with Mister Jennings?”

“I had him believe the same story we agreed on. I changed the appearance of Louis and his associates in his memories and removed all trace of anything associated with vampires.”

“Good. And the …” Lestat mimed a knock on the head.

Armand’s eyes narrowed and he directed his response directly to Lestat.

‘Louis wanted me to stop at a pay phone to call for an ambulance!’

‘Merde!’

‘Naturally I rejected that idea. I told him we had to leave a tangible reason for the unconscious state of his pet – there was only a small amount of blood, and scalps bleed a lot. And it would have raised more questions if there had been a call alerting the emergency services because-’

‘Your voice would have been recorded. Someone would recognise it from all those video recordings –’

‘You know about them?’

‘I’ve got copies of them. There are a few I have watched several times.’

Lestat couldn’t contain his laughter, he had rarely seen Armand’s face contorted with so many emotions in such a short space of time, from incensed to mortified, via murderous.

“I know you’re talking to each other,” grumbled Louis, as he took hold of Lestat’s hand and pressed it to his own chest. “I owe you an apology Lestat – long time coming, but you were right. It’s both rude and disrespectful to carry out a conversation like that. Come on, let me in on the joke. I thought he was just mocking me for being worried about Dale.”

“Not quite. As for the reason for his mortification – remind me to show you my video library sometime. You’ll never look at any surface of any of his homes the same ever again.”

“I think I’ll make sure I forget. Meanwhile, I had good cause to worry about Dale – messin’ with his memories is one thing, but smacking him over the head with a glass tumbler?”

“You said not to use my fist!” moaned Armand. “We agreed that any memory loss or confusion could be attributed to a blow to the head, did we not?”

“Yes,” agreed Lestat. “It would not do for certain agencies to suspect anything other than the actions of a panicked mortal kidnapper.”

“He had quite a deep laceration. He was bleeding!” protested Louis. “It was all I could do to keep Armand from lapping it up!”

“Really, Louis. You know how much I abhor waste.” Armand shrugged slightly as he brushed an invisible shred of lint from his sleeve. “Anyway, it was small bump and a tiny scratch. He may have a small scar afterwards, but that will just give him character.”

“And make him more easily distinguishable from me,” added Lestat, appreciating the added benefits. He turned to see if Louis was in any way reassured. “I have every confidence that your Mister Jennings will be well looked after, Louis. I am sure he will have been found by his friends, who will be by his side now. They will make sure he receives medical assistance, if indeed it is required.”

“That’s what Armand said. He said it was best to leave him in the hotel. Not sure I approve of his idea of leaving the ‘please clean this room’ notice on the door.”

“Not at all,” said Lestat, soothingly. “In fact, it was very thoughtful of the imp to leave a sign to help the mortals locate their mate.”

‘I would have done the same.’

‘I know.’

“Did you do as I suggested and drop the master key in the carpark?” asked Armand.

“Yes, of course. I also made sure their recordings have been mysteriously damaged.”

Armand sighed and narrowed his eyes at Lestat.

“I must admit to being disappointed that there is not any footage of the moment they confronted you, Lestat. I would have enjoyed seeing that.”

“Me too,” admitted Louis, letting himself smile.

“Never mind,” smirked Armand, sharing a mental image of that moment with Louis and Lestat, showing the reflection of Lestat’s face in the camera lens.

“Very funny,” said Louis. “But despite your distraction, I haven’t forgotten what I was talking about. Dale – you sure he’s gonna be okay?”

“Louis?” Lestat slid a hand around Louis’ neck and began to massage the tension in his tendons. “Dale will be fine. I am sure of it.”

“Exactly and he will soon be on his way to hospital if he is not already there.” Armand shrugged as if he really could not grasp the reason for Louis’ annoyance.

“Unless he was more badly damaged than you implied?” asked Lestat, looking at Armand with narrowed eyes. He knew from personal experience, just how strong Armand was, at odds with his slight frame. “I do hope you did not get carried away and imagined it was my head you were hitting.”

Louis made an angry grunting sound that caught Lestat’s attention.

“What is it, Louis?” he wrapped an arm around Louis’ shoulders and looked at him with concern.

“I swear if he don’t recover overnight, I’m sending one of you back to Australia to fix him.”

“Ooops,” murmured Lestat, raising his eyebrows at Armand, who was nonchalantly lowering the back of his seat until he was almost horizontal.

“He’ll be perfectly alright,” said Armand, as if he’d already said the same thing at least a dozen times. “Louis is worrying too much.”

“On the night I was made, I saw Lestat put a fist through a priest’s head,” snarled Louis. “So forgive me if I get nervous when either of you two talk about knocking a mortal on the head!”

From the way Armand’s eyes widened in admiration tinged with a hint of revulsion, Louis’ thoughts had been picked up in glorious detail.

‘For shame, Lestat, such brutal treatment of a man of the cloth.’

‘I have issues with religion, as you well know.’

“I am sure that Armand was as gentle as he could be. Weren’t you, Armand?” asked Lestat, ascerbically.

“Yes – I am capable of restraint, unlike some. Also, I knew it would upset Louis if I were to act with savagery.”

“Hmphh!” snorted Louis, his arms folded over his chest. “I know you don’t need to act like a brute to cause harm, Armand. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking, spending time in the company of either of you.”

“Mon cher? Come now – you cannot sulk with us all the way to London, surely?”

‘You know he could.’ Armand smiled to himself as he unfolded a soft woollen blanket and threw it over his legs, before pulling it up under his chin.  

“What about Helen and Tim?” asked Louis, suddenly eyeing Lestat with suspicion. “You didn’t hurt them, did you?”

“Dale’s wife and boyfriend?” asked Lestat, with a smile. “I kissed them farewell once I had convinced them that I was innocent and that the disappearance of their loved one was probably the work of a demented fan of mine, whose adoration led him to kidnap an innocent man he thought resembled me.”

“You mind gifted them, didn’t you?” said Louis, sighing with resignation.

“Only a little. I am not as proficient as that imp you spend too much time with, as you should know from personal experience. I can hypnotise for brief periods of time and command mortals to do my bidding. I am able to distort memories, although, unlike Armand, I can neither erase nor replace them.” Lestat looked at Armand bitterly. He was pleased to see that he looked almost contrite.

“Come now, Louis, you know that it will defeat the object of trying to protect Dale Jennings from other vampires if I was to be implicated in his kidnapping.”

“He’s right,” mumbled Armand, from under the blanket.

“What’s with you two?” demanded Louis. “I swear I’ve heard you agree with each other more times this evening than in the past decade.  And that’s just what you’re saying out loud. Should I be worried?”

“What can I say, Louis? You bring out the best in us.” Lestat rolled onto his side to face Louis and kissed him gently on the lips. “See what you have achieved. All you ever had to do was initiate a near disastrous vampire-mortal incident for the two of us to join forces and rush across the ocean to save you from your own actions.”

“That’s very condescending, even for you, Lestat,” said Armand shaking his head in mock disapproval.

“I agree, Armand, but you’re no better,” grumbled Louis. “Is it ‘cos you’re both older than me, or is it a European thing?”

‘Well?’

‘Both?’

‘Do not confirm his suspicions.’

‘I think his experiences with old, European vampires has already achieved that.’

“You’re doing it again. Stop! Anyway, if we’re talking about Dale, I hold Lestat partly responsible,” muttered Louis, even as Lestat draped a single blanket over both of them. “If he kept in touch better, I’d have known it wasn’t him.”

“Nonsense! You could have asked Armand any time where I was. I swear he is tracking my every movement. However, it does bring to mind a question I have, just why did you choose to sign the hotel register as L. Lioncourt?” demanded Lestat. “That made things very difficult for me.”

“Because he’s your husband,” whispered Armand.

“Not helpin’ Armand!” Louis leaned over Lestat to shake his head at Armand, before snuggling closer to Lestat. “If you must know, I signed in with your name because I was convinced Dale was you and, if you must know, I was pissed at you.”

“Well that explains the poor choice of hotel. But why? What had I done?” asked Lestat, baffled.

“You weren’t where I thought you’d be and … fuck it… I was missing you.”

“You missed me?” Lestat smiled, rarely having heard Louis be so forthcoming. “Really?”

“Yeah. It seemed like we’d only just got back together and then you’d gone again.”

Gently draping a hand around Louis’ waist, Lestat pulled him closer and kissed him slowly, savouring the taste and feel of Louis.

“Why don’t you close your eyes, mon cher, like mortals do. Try to sleep maybe.” Lestat tucked the blanket around the shoulder further from him. He kissed Louis’ forehead. “Your body clock will thank you later.”

Cuddling up to Lestat under the blanket, Louis let Lestat slide a hand under the waistband of his jeans, popping open the button, ostensibly to gain access to bare skin. Pulling him closer, Lestat opened his mouth to Louis, enjoying the lazy kisses as they took it in turns to tease each other.

“I’m still here, you know,” said Armand.

“We are pretending you are not – so please oblige us by being quiet,” came Lestat’s curt reply. “And keep out of our heads.”

“It’s my plane,” grumbled Armand.

‘Your turn later.’

‘I’ll come and share your blanket when Louis is sleeping, mon ami.’

Smiling to himself, Armand slipped the headset of his Walkman over his ears and let the sounds of the Pet Shop Boys’ playing West End Girls mask the sounds from the other two passengers on his plane. If the sound leaked out to irritate Lestat who claimed electronic music was an abomination, all the better.

He was on a promise.

Two promises.

And he would make sure to collect.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 18

Notes:

This chapter is dedicated to @suikamelon6 whose Dale and Lestat memes made me smile and whose encouragement helped to keep me going, and also to @CherryStainedMarquess and @HANNlBRAT who had faith in my abilities when I didn't - thank you!

 

Shoving his camera into Helen’s arms, Tim sprinted after the Mercedes, waving his arms and shouting frantically.

“Come back! What d’you mean by not being here?” he yelled. However, it was inevitable that he was unable to catch up with the vehicle as it sped out onto the slip road, heading for the airport. “Bastard!”

Helen was standing in the middle of the empty space left behind by the man who’d had the audacity to kiss them both before disappearing. She could smell the bloody man’s cologne in her hair and would have slapped him again if he hadn’t made such a supernaturally speedy getaway. Fuming with indignation, she sympathised with Tim.

“Tell the cop he assaulted us!” she called out to Tim, pointing in the direction of the police car that was still parked in the dropping-off bay. “You’ve got his reg number. Report him!”

Tim nodded his head and ran across the car park towards the front of the hotel. Hands on hips, Helen looked around the deserted parking space. It was not completely empty. Her eyes were drawn to a key fob sitting next to the record she didn’t recall letting go of. She picked up both, slipped the key into her pocket without thinking and then focused on the record given to them by Noeleen.

Trying to recall the conversation they’d had with Lestat, she struggled to remember the details. She wished she’d made notes once they realised they wouldn’t be able to make any other record of the impromptu interview. Turning the record over in her hands, she wondered if looking at the photograph on the sleeve would help to determine if it had even been him, the enigmatic lead singer of the notorious Vampire Lestat band. To her surprise there was an autograph, in ink that had smudged, scrawled across the photo. It had not been there before. In a flamboyant script, the letters curling around each other, the name ‘Lestat’ was written, accompanied by a string of kisses and a couple of random hearts. How the hell had he done that without her seeing him do it?

Helen pushed back her coat sleeve to check her watch, feeling that she’d lost several minutes if not more. She distinctly recalled being embraced, a deceptively strong arm pulling her close and then the strange experience of being kissed by a mouth that seemed both cool and warm, firm yet soft. She absently brushed her fingertips across her lips as she huffed to herself, deciding that the invasion of her personal space had been beyond inappropriate. And not just hers. Lioncourt had kissed Tim as well. With tongue! After that, a blank, and the next thing she knew was the sight of bright red tail lights heading for the exit barrier.

Rubbing her forehead as if she could dislodge the recalcitrant memories, Helen looked up as she heard Tim running back towards her, waving his arms and shouting. It looked as though he’d been trying, unsuccessfully to get her attention.

“Come quickly!” called out Tim, urgently.

“Have they put out a call to have him stopped?” she asked as Tim got closer.

Leaning over, Tim braced his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.

“Sorry, no,” apologised Tim. “Cops says there’s no compelling reason to pursue Lioncourt or request for him to be stopped. As far as he’s concerned the bloke’s not committed any crimes. Says if we were offended, we should have just hit him, and then he’d have turned a blind eye if Lioncourt had complained. Otherwise, we missed our chance.”

“Did you tell him he kissed you?” asked Helen, out of curiosity.

Even in the poorly lit area of the car park where they were standing, Helen could see that Tim was blushing furiously.

“No! I just said he’d tried it on with you.”

“Did he – ”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Fine,” said Helen, picking up on Tim’s discomfort and not wanting to make him feel any more awkward. She held up the Vampire Lestat album and stabbed a finger at the pouting face of Lestat de Lioncourt. “Anyway, I’m sure he’s involved in whatever’s happened to Dale. He does look a bit like Dale and it’s too much of a coincidence, all those clues leading us here and him having obviously spent the night in the All Seasons.”

“Yeah – but I wouldn’t mind betting he’ll be out of the country before we can find any solid links between him and Dale’s abduction.”

Tim squeezed Helen’s shoulder.

“What about his theory? Bullshit or plausible?”

“To be honest, it suppose it is feasible that it could’ve been some unhinged fan that kidnapped Dale having convinced themselves he was Lioncourt in disguise.” She shrugged. Having read about the antics of some obsessive fans of rock stars, it wasn’t beyond the realms of probability. “Still doesn’t mean I believe he’s entirely innocent or that he doesn’t know who is holding Dale.”

Helen screwed up her eyes and pressed a hand to her head. There had been something about Lioncourt that made her skin crawl. Partly because he gave the impression of a hard-edged Dale Jennings possessed by the spirit of Pepe le Pew.

“Helen?” Tim shook her gently as he peered into her face, looking concerned. “You too? Feel like you’ve got a massive hangover and can’t remember what you did, but have a suspicion it wasn’t all good?”

She just nodded. It was not quite like that for her, but her scrambled thoughts were reminiscent of how she’d felt after sessions in the mental institution she’d been sent to when she was younger.

“Just take a deep breath and put that bastard out of your mind for now.” From the way his jaw was clenched, it was evident that Tim was also troubled by their encounter with Dale’s not quite doppelganger. “As I was trying to say, you’ve gotta come with me. The cops have found something.”

“What?” Helen suddenly snapped to attention. “Why didn’t you say straightaway? What have they got?”

“Not sure, but the one that went to get a statement from the manager about some stolen items – well he came out and got on the radio while I was trying to get the other one to have Lioncourt’s car stopped.” Tim looked uneasy and took hold of Helen’s hands in his before continuing. “He called for back-up and an ambo. He then ducked into the car before giving reasons for his request, but I swear I heard him say something about blood.”

Helen felt her knees buckle and gripped hold of Tim’s hands for support.

“Did he say anything about a body?” she held her hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, have they found a body?”

“No!” Tim shook his head quickly. “All I heard was the word ‘blood’.”

Tim wrapped his arms around Helen and let her hang onto him as tightly as she needed.

“Come on, Hels, we need to stay strong for Dale.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Louis curled up like a cat, his legs on the seat next to Armand and his head nestled in the older vampire’s lap. Just before he completely closed his eyes, he saw Armand wiping his hands clean on a pristine white paper napkin. The tell-tale streaks of blood brought something to mind even as he felt himself drifting off to sleep. Blood. He could still taste it on his lips. Lestat’s as well as Armand’s. A heady mixture, thick and sweet like honey. Licking the corner of his mouth he tasted Armand – a stray droplet clinging to his mouth characteristically both salty and sweet, with a lingering hint of pineapple. Using a corner of the napkin, still in his hand, Armand dabbed at Louis’ mouth. It then came to him. Louis knew exactly what he was reminded of.

“Armand?”

“Louis?”

He felt Armand shift around slightly as he threw the screwed up napkin across the aisle. A disgruntled yelp indicated that he’d been aiming to hit Lestat.

“I’m beginning to see why you annoy him as much as he irritates you,” said Louis, sighing. “Meanwhile, I was wonderin’ if you picked up the soiled bedding from our room, like I asked. Did you?”

“Yes,” purred Armand, gently massaging Louis’ head with the pads of his fingers. “Of course I did.”

“I guess it was with the rest of the trash that you said you’d get rid of.” Louis closed his eyes and exhaled softly, his breath warm on Armand’s thigh. “Hate to think what the staff at the hotel would think if they found it.”

Armand’s hands stilled briefly before resuming their tender ministrations.

“The trash?” asked Armand, sounding momentarily confused. “Oh yes, I gave that to the ground crew to dispose of when we arrived at the hangar.”

“That’s good.” Louis yawned. “I guess it’ll all get incinerated.”

With his eyes shut, Louis didn’t notice the way Armand bit his lower lip or the way Lestat turned around to peer at Armand from under a pale blue blanket.

He definitely didn’t hear Lestat direct a silent question at Armand, or Armand’s reply that he had indeed put the soiled sheets in a trash bag. A bag that he had then put on the housekeeping trolley which he’d left in the hotel corridor at Louis’ request. He assumed that was what he was meant to do with the dirty sheets.

As Louis rubbed his head against Armand’s tummy, Lestat shrugged and then stretched out like a cat, before curling up on his side again.

‘What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.’

A few seconds Lestat received a sharp reply, ringing in his head.

‘He always finds out.’

‘Putain de merde.’

‘We’re fucked, aren’t we?’

‘You are. If you are nice to me I shall help keep him distracted.’

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Having gathered herself together, Helen picked up Tim’s camera and passed it to him.

“Let’s try to give them the impression we know more than we do and they’re on camera.”

“It’s not working-”

“They don’t know that.”

Taking the camera, Tim accompanied Helen in striding purposefully towards the hotel entrance.

As expected, their entry to the hotel was barred. The solitary policeman standing guard was not very forthcoming at all, staying tight-lipped in spite of Helen’s incessant questioning.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “We know that there’s been blood found. How much blood? Is it recent? ”

She was grateful to Tim for hoisting his camera onto his shoulder, even though she knew it wasn’t capable of recording anything.

“For the last bloody time, put the camera down and move away. I’m not at liberty to say anything.”

Helen would have continued to badger the man, if it hadn’t been for Tim coughing conspicuously and shifting his eyes to the left as if there was something he wanted her to see. At her nod in acknowledgement, Tim lowered his camera and took a few steps back.

“Alright, got you, mate,” said Tim. “We’ll just hang around then until someone can make a statement. That OK?”

“It’s your time you’re wasting, but as long as you’re out of sight, I don’t give a damn what you do.”

Tim then turned and headed around the side of the building, away from the main entrance. He beckoned Helen to follow him.

Helen would have been annoyed at being pulled away from someone she was intent on getting answers from, but she’d come to trust Tim’s instincts. As they walked along the footpath around the perimeter of the hotel, she could see the glowing end of a lit cigarette first and then made out the outline of a stocky figure leaning against the wall next to a fire exit.

“It’s the manager, I heard the door open and saw him stumble out,” whispered Tim. “Looked like he’d had a shock. His hands were shaking so much he dropped the first ciggie in a puddle.”

Helen nodded, taking in the information she needed. Despite the man’s lack of co-operation earlier and his attitude towards her, she realised that he must have witnessed whatever it was that had the police call for reinforcements. She needed to adopt a sympathetic tone to get him to talk. The right approach would have him spill everything.

“What’s his name again?” she hissed at Tim.

“Robinson – remember he made a thing about not winding him up about Neighbours and Lassiter’s Hotel?”

Approaching quietly, she called out softly:

“Excuse me, Mister Robinson? Are you alright, sir?”

“What do you want?” came the unpromising response.

“I can see you’ve had a bit of a shock. Can you tell me what’s going on?” asked Helen. “What have you seen?”

“Nosy fucking reporters – always trying to dig the dirt, aren’t you?” grumbled Robinson as he sneered at Helen.

It was an effort, but biting the inside of her cheek, Helen forced herself to keep her voice calm and friendly.

“Not at all.” She held up her hands in a placating gesture. “I promise we’ll make sure you come across as a responsible, concerned professional whose primary concerns are for his guests’ safety and security.”

Robinson shuffled away from the wall and peered down the side of the building towards the police car.

“Bastards could’ve parked out of sight, like I asked.” Taking a long drag on his cigarette, Robinson shook his head. “No, can’t be arsed. I suppose it’s not as if those fucking cops are going to keep it under wraps. Bet they’ll be gossiping about this as soon as they’re in their cosy canteen.”

The bitterness in the Robinson’s voice indicated to Helen that he was just waiting for an opening to share what he’d seen.

“Keeping what under wraps? If there’s something you think the public should know, you should tell us,” prompted Helen.

“I’m not sure if I should.” The manager dropped the smouldering stub to the ground and rubbed it out with his heel. He then fumbled with the packet and was about to light another one when Tim fished a flask from his camera bag and held it out to Robinson.

“Here, mate, you look like you could do with this.” Tim handed over the hip flask.

Helen nodded in approval, acknowledging that a nip of whisky had remarkable abilities when it came to loosening tongues. She watched as Robinson unscrewed the top with shaking fingers and then took a large swig.

“All I was doing was my job. Trying to get them to take a statement from me about the thefts – I mean they were already here. Needed to file a report to put in the insurance claim, you see.”

“Of course, that sounds perfectly reasonable,” said Helen, encouragingly. “So what happened?”

“I was showing him where the housekeeping closet had been broken into. Whoever did that had just wrenched the bloody door open, ripping out the bloody lock – that’s not an inside job, whatever he tried to tell me.”

Helen exchanged a quick look with Tim. They both recalled the state of Dale’s front door and had come to the same conclusion. It had to be the same gang involved.

“Go on.” Helen cursed herself for not pursuing what she had written off as an inconsequential petty crime not worth bothering about. If she had gone back in and asked the manager about the thefts, she might have been able to persuade him to be more co-operative. She might even have managed to tag along with them and seen for herself what had shocked him.

“I was explaining about the cart and the keys that went missing when he taps me on the shoulder and points down the corridor behind me. Says ‘is that your missing trolley, sir’ – sarcastic fucker. It was just sitting there, outside one of the rooms. I swear it wasn’t there before!”

“So someone put it there?” asked Helen, frowning.

“Too right they did and what’s more they left a bag of bloody sheets in it. And when I say bloody, I mean covered in actual blood.”

“Blood?” repeated Helen, grateful for Tim’s hand on her arm, steadying her.

“Yeah. On bed sheets that some bastard had stuffed inside a bin bag. I’d just gone to find out what was in the bag, saw the blood and must’ve yelled out. Next thing I know the cop snatches it off me and tips it out on the carpet.”

Helen found herself leaning in, observing the way the man’s blotchy red cheeks were wobbling as he spoke. It was obviously not any sort of blood staining that might be expected.

“What was in the bag?” she asked. There was a cold knot in her stomach as the fear started to build again.

“Just the sheets, but they were cut to shreds. It looked like claw marks or a knife used over and over again. That and blood.”

Robinson wrapped his arms around his chest. He was shaking like a leaf and looked on the verge of throwing up. Helen took a step back and waited for him to continue.

“So, either someone’s been fucking murdered or there’s been some sort of illegal animal fights going on in my fucking hotel, on my fucking watch! Maybe satanic fucking rituals for all I fucking know.” Robinson was tugging at what was left of his hair, his eyes widening as he shared all his fears. He then laughed in the way a person does when confronted with something so inexplicable that they start to become hysterical. “Explains why the bastards broke into the housekeeping closet – tried to clean up after I guess. You use bleach to get rid of blood stains? Don’t you?”

“Why ask me?” demanded Helen, momentarily affronted that he directed that question at her.

“You’re a woman, isn’t it the sort of thing women are meant to know?”

Helen bit her tongue. The retort that sprung to mind would not help get any further information from this throwback to the days when women stayed at home, kept house and cooked dinner for the men.

“Not all women, Mister Robinson.” Pressing on with what she really needed to know she asked a more specific question. “So, was it animal or human blood? Did the police officer say?”

“No – he looked sick if you must know. I mean those fucking sheets were shredded, Miss Norville. Looked like something out of one of those horror movies, you know … where something looks normal and then at night it grows claws and rips people to pieces.”

“Are you talking about werewolves?” asked Tim, incredulously.

“You can mock all you like, mate, but you didn’t see those fucking sheets!”

Helen caught Tim’s eye and shook her head. She was starting to despair of getting anything more of sense from the hotel manager.

Tim passed the whisky back to the man and whispered to him.

“What did the cop reckon it was? He must’ve said something. We won’t let on we heard it from you.”

Taking a swig from the flask and then wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, the man leaned towards Tim. Helen was annoyed, but not surprised, that he was more willing to divulge details to the male camera operator than the female reporter, but they needed answers.

“When he saw it, he said he’d seen damage like that from Tassie devils.” Flexing his fingers into claws, the man snarled in an awful imitation of a Tasmanian devil. “Says there’s always someone trying to smuggle wildlife out to private zoos and that anyone getting into a fight with a devil bear is asking to get ripped to shreds.”

“So that’s what they suspect?” asked Helen, sceptically.

“Oh my God, I think I’m going – ”

Realising that Robinson was about to vomit, Helen and Tim rapidly retreated, just in time. Propping himself up with one arm pressed against the wall, the beleaguered hotel manager threw up on the pavement.

“My fucking career is over,” he moaned , before bending over and heaving violently.

Without wasting any more time, Helen grabbed hold of Tim by the arm and dragged him back towards the front of the hotel.

“So, what do you think? Tassie devil or sadistic murderer?” Helen was trying to push images of Dale being murdered from her mind to no avail. All she could see was his face pleading for mercy, his eyes brimming over with tears. She shuddered and hung onto Tim to keep herself from fainting.

“It has to have something to do with Dale’s abduction,” admitted Tim, his voice strained, suggesting his thoughts were no more reassuring.

“Look, the other cop’s outside now as well!” Helen pointed frantically. “I’m going to try again.”

Before Tim could stop her, Helen ran towards the police officers who were talking anxiously to each other. There was an air of indecision about them. But, she knew exactly what they had to do.

“Why aren’t you in there searching rooms?” she demanded. “Dale Jennings could be in there, dead or dying while you’re waiting for back up!”

Moistening his dry lips with the tip of his tongue, Tim seemed to realise she wasn’t going to get anywhere by haranguing the police on her own and decided to weigh in on her behalf.

“Look, mate, there’s no time to explain it all – but we’ve got a lot of circumstantial evidence that indicates Dale Jennings was brought to this hotel.” Tim pointed at the hotel doors. “If he’s injured or dies while you two are hanging around at front, waiting for back up, you’re gonna be the two most hated cops in the state. It’ll be on News at Six that you refused to look for him, despite the request of Helen Norville. You know who she is, right? You’ve seen in the papers that her and Dale are an item? The Golden Couple of News?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck who she is – ”

“You might when your faces are on screen telling her you refuse to look for Dale Jennings!” Tim raised the video camera to his shoulder and hoped they wouldn’t notice the lights weren’t coming on. “It’ll be on all the front pages, too – imagine the headlines: ‘Cops to blame for tragic loss of beloved newsreader’s partner’.”

“Put that fucking thing down, mate,” growled the irate police officer, putting a hand over the lens, apparently unaware of the lens cap still in place.

Helen stepped forward again, having picked up on Tim’s strategy. Although she wasn’t happy at not being taken as seriously as her male colleague, she could tell that Tim knew she’d go along with his ploy.

“He’s right. If Dale is in there, this is going to be breaking news. How you two are portrayed in those reports is going to depend on what you do now. I can promise you that if you are the ones to find him alive, you’ll be all over the news as the men who rescued him. But if he suffers as a result of you kicking your heels and not doing your jobs, I’ll make sure that gets all the attention it deserves.”

With shoulders back and chin sticking out, Helen was aware of the fact that she looked belligerent, but didn’t care. Not if it got results. She held her hand up to signal Tim to be ready as the police officers withdrew to discuss their options. Watching them nod their heads and draw their weapons, she was optimistic.

“Right, we’ll go in and check. But I swear if either of you pair follow us, I’ll arrest you for interfering with a police investigation. Got it?”

“Whatever you say,” agreed Tim, reaching out to hook a hand around Helen’s elbow to keep her from rushing in after them.

 

~~~~~

 

Helen dry swallowed another Valium while Tim ran back to the radio car, saying he was going to try to find a spare battery for the camera. He’d begged her not to do anything rash in his absence. So she’d stayed put and only had one pill and not two. Although neither of them could hide their fears for Dale, they agreed that whatever happened they would do their best to get it on camera, because that’s what Dale deserved. Justice.

Feeling no less anxious, Helen looked up at the sound of Tim jogging back towards her. A relieved smile on his face indicated that he’d been successful in his mission to get the camera operating again. That and the fact he was glad she was still there.

Resisting every urge to rush in and demand to know what was happening, Helen let Tim hold her against his side as they both waited by the patrol car. She wanted to run into the hotel and find out for herself if Dale was inside and what state he was in. But it was fear that kept her frozen to the spot. She was suddenly afraid to discover the truth. While she’d not known where Dale was, she had hope to cling onto, but all of a sudden it had narrowed down to a matter of what condition he was in. Alive or dead. Injured or not. Severely hurt or not.

There was still no sign of the policemen who’d gone back into the hotel when another police car appeared, its blue lights flashing as its occupants got out and erected a barrier to keep out the public. Although they were pushed further back, Tim was able to capture it all on camera. They decided it would be easier to add commentary later. Helen’s mouth was dry and her voice hoarse from worry.

None of the newcomers were prepared to speak to Helen or give her a statement, but the grim faces of the police officers walking in and out of the hotel did not bode well.

It was the arrival of the ambulance that had her heart thundering, despite the drugs that were meant to keep her calm. As the crew of paramedics rushed past them, Helen felt Tim reach out and clasp her hand. Swallowing the bile that was rising up her throat, Helen squared her shoulders and tossed her hair back over her shoulders. She was damned if she was not going to cover Dale’s rescue in person, or lead the calls for his murderer to be hunted down and brought to justice if her worst fears were realised.

“Ready?” mouthed Tim, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. Catching the brief nod of her head, he released her hand and switched the camera back from standby mode to recording. Although the handheld microphone was damaged beyond use, the mic on the camera was functional if not perfect and the sound could be edited once they got the tape to Murray.

“Reporting from the All Seasons Motel in Melbourne, this is Helen Norville. Police are on the scene responding to a disturbing discovery by the manager of the hotel. As you can see, there is an ambulance on sight. And… oh my God …”

Helen stopped talking as Tim smoothly swept the camera away from her to capture the moment the ambulance crew pushed a gurney through the lobby and out into the night. Strapped securely in place was Dale. Swaddled in blankets, his face was deathly pale. There was a bandage around his head and the tubes of the oxygen canula across his cheeks indicated he was breathing, therefore alive.

With her hand to her mouth, Helen watched as Dale’s eyes flickered open. He looked around, blinking rapidly trying to take in his surroundings. Then his eyes met hers and he smiled. A weak, wonky smile, but a smile. She felt her heart leap in her chest - he was going to be alright. He then looked to her side and kept smiling. He was happy to see Tim with her. She rushed forwards, only to be blocked by a policewoman who gently held her back.

“Let them get him to hospital, miss.”

Tears running down her cheeks, Helen couldn’t take her eyes off Dale’s face until the doors of the ambulance were shut. Even then she kept staring at the emergency vehicle as it sped off, sirens blaring and blue lights piercing the darkness.

Turning back towards the camera, she quickly wiped her face on her sleeve and schooled her expression into something more professional. The one thing she couldn’t control was the grin on her face.

“I can report that Dale Jennings has been found. I repeat, Dale Jennings, who we just saw being taken away in an ambulance is no longer missing.”  

Tim switched off the camera, lowered it to the ground and then they fell into each other’s arms. Helen flung her arms around Tim and clutched him tightly, digging her nails into his back to confirm it was not a dream, but reality. In turn, Tim cradled her head to his shoulder, stroking her hair as he held onto her just as securely. They had been each other’s anchors and had weathered the storm together. It was an embrace that could have become even more intense were it not for the fact that the area was buzzing with police activity.

It was only after Helen had got the name of the hospital from one of the policemen that they returned to their car.

As Tim put the key in the ignition, Helen leaned over and, placing a hand on either side of his head, she kissed him.

“We’ve got him back.”

Joyously, with lips wet with tears, they celebrated the fact that the man they both loved had been rescued.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Notes:

Sorry for delay in update.

Suffered severe writers' block for this chapter - and then everything I wrote seemed awful. Hopefully, anyone still following this story isn't too disappointed by this offering!

Chapter 19

 

Without doubt, the rigid plastic seats in hospital waiting rooms were specifically designed to prevent anyone wanting to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. But there was no way Helen was budging until she’d seen Dale in person.

She’d been fortunate to have been brought through to a waiting area beyond the Emergency Department reception, but had lost track of time, her watch having stopped and there being no windows in the corridor she was sitting in. Fighting a wave of claustrophobia, she leaned forward and tried to focus on her breathing. In through the nose… out through the mouth.

She was beyond exhausted, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see were his eyes. Glacier cold, blue-grey, piercing in their intensity. Then, they would fade to a softer blue, a kinder gaze, before the gradually disappearing behind a well of tears that brimmed over to spill down blush-pink cheeks. Each time, she had reached out, wanting to comfort, only to find her hands grasping at air.

In her lap sat her notebook, open at a page where she had scribbled down the sequence of events that had led to Dale’s discovery. There were some gaps in the timeline, notably coinciding with the time they’d confronted Lioncourt. The page was littered with question marks and notes to ‘ask Tim.’ It was puzzling her why she couldn’t recall anything in much detail other than his attempts to flirt with both of them. Shaking her head, she underlined the name Lestat de Lioncourt several times with her biro.

However, all things considered, she still had enough to produce a concise report to deliver on air. Thinking of the studio was making her feel anxious, she was tapping her fingernails on the arm of the chair. She didn’t want to leave the hospital without seeing Dale, but she was determined to be the one on the desk for the first news update bulletin. Even if Lindsay and Dennis didn’t insist on that, it was her story and Dale was her man.

But she had to concede that she wasn’t the only one who had strong feelings for Dale. She’d hated that Tim had kissed Dale, precipitating their break up and had resented him for then looking wistfully at Dale whenever he thought no one was looking. But since Dale’s abduction, it had been Tim’s sympathy and understanding that had kept her from falling apart. Not once patronising or mocking her, he’d been her rock – because he also loved Dale. Their joint endeavours to find Dale had brought them together in ways that she’d never expected. And neither had Tim.

She’d fucking kissed him.

She had kissed Tim.

Why the hell had she done that?

He had kissed back. Then he’d apologised – why? His hands had been shaking as he’d switched the ignition on and put the car in gear.

What the hell had been going through his head?

When she had tried to discuss what had happened between them, he’d quicky interrupted to say he’d take her straight to the hospital and then go onto the studio. Without looking her in the eye, he’d rambled on about checking the sound quality on the tape and talking to Murray about enhancing the audio in the editing suite. Tech speak thrown up as a shield to avoid discussing the kiss.

Helen had wanted to let him know that she wasn’t upset, that he’d done nothing wrong. But any further attempt to reassure him was scuppered by the police refusing to let them leave the scene without providing statements. At her wits’ end, she’d flung the door open and got out to confront the policeman blocking their way. She was outraged that, having ignored her pleas earlier that evening, the police were suddenly keen on interviewing them. All she’d wanted to do was to get to the hospital.

It was fortunate that Tim intervened before she got herself arrested and that they were in the News at Six radio car. He’d explained that it was imperative that they got the story of Dale’s rescue – thanks to the actions of the Melbourne Police Department - back to the studio ready for the morning bulletin. It would have stuck in her throat to have said that, but it had the desired effect. After accepting Tim’s promise that they’d  be prepared to give full statements, either at the studio or the police station later the next day, they were waved through the barrier.

As the barrier was raised, Helen had wound down the window to advise the police officer to chase up Lioncourt. She told them that it was his theory that Dale had been kidnapped by an unhinged fan of his who had mistaken Dale for the infamous, retired rock star. When the copper had asked ‘Who? Never heard of him!,’ she’d just smiled and patted Tim on the thigh, telling him to drive on.

Fucking Lestat de fucking Lioncourt.

Helen hoped they caught the blond bastard. The thought of him being taken into custody gave her a sense of satisfaction. She only wished she could witness the moment that arrogant smirk was wiped off his ridiculously handsome face. Bastard.

The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that he had to be involved in one way or another. He was far too complacent for someone whose doppelganger had been snatched from their home in the middle of the night. If anything he seemed irritated by it and not in the least bit concerned for his own safety. Something didn’t add up. That chisel-jawed, soft-lipped, charming lothario was hiding something. The bastard knew far more than he had let on.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Louis? Loooouis…” crooned a familiar voice. “Louis, mon cher, we are in Singapore.”

Opening his eyes, Louis saw Lestat crouching down next to him, hair brushed and no longer tangled from where he had sunk his fingers into those long strands to hold his head just where he wanted it. There was a fond look in Lestat’s eyes as he gently stroked Louis’ cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Singapore?” asked Louis, confused. “Thought we were headed for London.”

“Oui, mon cher, but Armand’s little jet plane is in need of refuelling.”

‘Rude!’

Louis looked up to see Armand soundlessly approaching Lestat. The only detectable sign of irritation was the slightest narrowing of his eyes.

“It was that, or open the door, kick Lestat out and get him to push us all the way there,” stated Armand as if it had been a viable option. Louis shuddered, recalling that Armand was just as willing to act on impulse as Lestat.

Lestat placed a possessive hand on Louis’ knee and then slowly turned his head to respond to Armand.

“You know that I would rather just use the Cloud Gift to get to London than push this lump of metal.” Lestat paused before Armand told him that he could do just that. With an appeasing flourish of his free hand, Lestat sighed and conceded that there were benefits to be had from travelling more conventionally. “However, I do appreciate not having to carry my cases and I realise that there are advantages when it comes to comfort-”

“Indeed,” replied Armand, arching an eyebrow. “But take heed, if you continue to bitch about the size of my private jet I shall arrange for you and your luggage to be transferred to a 747. There should be room onboard for your ego alongside the hundreds of sweaty mortals and their screaming offspring. And the delights of screwing while contorted in a tiny bathroom reeking of urine and vomit.”

Scowling at Armand, Lestat gracefully rose to his feet. Taking hold of the lapels to Armand’s jacket he ran his hands along the fabric, letting his thumbs stray across the expanse of exposed chest.

“Hmmm… as always you paint such a vivid picture of torture, mon ami. Of course I am infinitely grateful to you for giving us a ride on your adorable little jet.” Lestat leaned in to kiss Armand on each cheek and then on his lips. “Even if it does lack the enduring power of something with a larger engine capacity.”

The insincerity dripping from every word was giving Louis a headache already exacerbated by just listening to the two of them bickering.

‘Don’t react!’ Louis pushed the thought to Armand, not wanting them to continue the spat over the size of the plane, which was heading towards an argument about dick size.

“OK, I get it, we’ve stopped to refuel.” Louis pinched the skin at the bridge of his nose. “Just why did you wake me up? What time of day is it anyway – is it still night, or is it morning? I feel so damn tired.”

“It is the middle of the night here.” Lestat tilted his head to one side as he pouted at Louis. “You would maintain better awareness of the sun’s position in the sky if you ate properly you know.”

“That’s bullshit!” Louis shook his head at Lestat. “Stop making shit up. Armand- tell me he’s lyin.’”

Armand just shrugged non-committedly.

“It is undeniable that you would have more energy if your diet was more human and less flea-ridden stray.”

“I’d have more energy if you two weren’t wantin’ to fuck every half hour!” retorted Louis. His irritability only further heightened by the fact that both Lestat and Armand were stifling laughter.

He saw from the moment their eyes eventually met that Lestat and Armand were having a silent conversation - probably about their appetites, for both blood and sex. He dreaded to think what they were saying to each other. He just wished they’d fuck each other and leave him to sleep, instead of pretending they were only pleasuring each other to pacify Louis.

“Back to my question – night or day?”

“It is night time here in Singapore – but the streets are very much awake,” answered Armand, a predatory gleam in his eye. “It is after all the month of Ramadan and from iftar to suhoor, there will be many citizens of Singapore thronging the night markets in the Kampong Glam district.”

“Armand has promised me some flavours I have yet to experience. We thought we could tempt you to join us.” Lestat couldn’t hide the excitement on his face and was virtually rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “We are about to disembark to find something to eat– ”

“You mean someone, don’t  you?” Louis winced. He hated the idea of some poor mortal about to die because certain vampires were in the mood for a fresh kill. “More likely several someones knowing you two.”

“We have healthy appetites, Louis!” exclaimed Lestat, his mouth gaping as if horrified at the notion of being criticised for being a serial killer.

“Healthy? For whom?” Louis’ eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “If you’re that hungry, why don’t you just drink some more packets of blood? I’m sure there’s plenty in the fridge.”

Lestat wrinkled his nose, his upper lip curling in disdain and Armand followed suit. Louis rubbed his face, wondering why it had taken him so long to realise there were far more similarities between them than there were differences.

“Excuse me – are you suggesting we feed on bagged blood when there’s fresh meat out there?” asked Lestat incredulously, frowning at Louis. “Why would we choose to feed on soulless, processed blood when there is a teeming population in the city of Singapore upon which to dine?” 

“Because it would mean fewer needless deaths!” Louis shook his head and turned to Armand. He was disappointed, but not surprised, to see he was on Lestat’s side of this particular argument. “You feel the same as him, don’t you? Don’t it occur to you that someone might miss the people you kill?”

“It’s a port, Louis,” stated Armand. He shrugged and then expanded on his answer, no doubt having caught the blank look on Louis’ face. “When sailors or dock workers go missing it’s always assumed they got drunk, fell in the sea and drowned. Which in the case of many, is exactly what happened. We merely add a stage to that sequence of events in which their deaths serve a purpose.”

“Except those people fastin’ during the day and eatin’ at night, they ain’t gonna be drunk, are they?” challenged Louis, jabbing an accusatory finger at Armand. “And you know that!”

“Pedantry does not suit you, Louis.” Armand tutted. “Well, are you going to join us or not?”

Smiling sweetly, Louis called his bluff by taking his hand and placing it in Lestat’s. For good measure, he pressed their hands together firmly.

“Oh no – I couldn’t. After all, I’d hate to be a third wheel on your dinner date, mes chers.”

Louis was not sure who seemed the most appalled at his mischievous suggestion and the two older vampires pulled apart too quickly for him to see who let go of whose hand first.

“Louis!” snapped Armand, his eyes laser bright as they fixed on Louis. “Do not be ridiculous.”

“It is not a date,” stated Lestat, flipping his hair back over his shoulders. “I have never had the slightest interest in being wined or dined by this imp.”

“Keep telling yourself that and you may even come to believe it, mon cher,” murmured Louis, a sparkle in his eyes as he watched two men he loved pretend to hate each other.

Looking from one to the other, Louis noticed for the first time that they had both changed clothes at some point and didn’t appear to be aware of the fact that they’d selected complementary outfits. Lestat looked sharp in a black suit with dark grey shirt and black tie shot through with thin silver threads, while Armand managed to look sleekly elegant in a grey suit and open-necked black shirt, the buttons undone half way down to the waist. They couldn’t be more in sync if they tried. He really hoped they would stick to the waterfront and not venture into any clubs.

“Well, don’t go seducing every pretty boy and girl in town,” said Louis, waving a finger at them. “I’ll smell it on you if you do, and then neither of you will be getting any for the foreseeable.”

“Louis, you wound me!” said Lestat, doe-eyed and almost believably upset. “Do you really think I would- ”

“Yes, dammit!” snapped Louis, trying not to recall the number of times he’d smelt sex on Lestat’s hands, lips and cock when he’d attempted to crawl into his coffin on returning to Rue Royale not long before dawn. “You got previous on that score!”

Watching as Armand smirked to himself, Louis turned his attention to him next.

“And that includes you! Don’t think I forgot both of you got that voyeur kink going and I don’t like it. So no bringing anyone back with you for an orgy.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to keep each other from molesting the locals,” said Armand, sighing softly.

Armand turned to look at Lestat. Louis did not fail to see the lascivious looks exchanged, or the way Armand’s eyes followed the line of Lestat’s black suit jacket that was moulded to his figure from shoulders to waist.

“Are you sure you don’t want to … come with us?” asked Lestat, sidling up to Louis to trail a finger down his arm. “I am sure we can find you plenty of nice fat rats.”

Louis could tell by the way Lestat enunciated ‘nice,’ ‘fat’ and ‘rats’ that he was not endorsing them as a substitute for human blood at all, but was further insulting his dietary choices.

“I’ll stay here, thank you. But if you do see any really succulent looking rodents, I won’t say no to take-out.”

“No! Absolutely not,” protested Armand. “There will be no live vermin on my plane. If you want to dine on four-legged creatures, my love, you will do so al fresco.”

Louis grunted indignantly. However, he would be more than satisfied to drink a bag of warmed blood. It had just been too tempting to torment Armand with the idea of rodents on the loose in his pristine plane.

“Huh! If I asked either of you to bring me back a human to feed on, you would!”

Two sets of eyes bored into his skull.

“Of course, cheri,” responded Lestat wearily. “I would be only too happy to bring back a savoury mortal for you to feed on. You’ve been skipping meals again, do not think I have not noticed. It’s one of the reasons you are sleeping so much.”

“I loathe having to agree with him,” added Armand, leaning forward to place a hand on Lestat’s shoulder. “But he is correct, Louis.”

And there it was, the point where the two of them agreed with each other. Again. Louis’ temple throbbed. It was bad enough when they bickered, but much worse when they were ganging up on him together.

“Go on! Go and feed if that’s what the two of you feel you must do,” grumbled Louis. “I’d say not to get into any trouble, but I guess that’s a stupid request. And don’t get in any fights – with humans or each other!”

“Oui, Papa!” sang Lestat as he ducked down to steal a sloppy kiss before spinning lightly on his toes and exiting the plane.

Armand shook his head as he cupped Louis jaw and kissed him softly on the lips.

“I promise I’ll try to resist the temptation to get into a fight with him. I may not succeed, but I’ll do my best to keep him on a tight rein.”

“That sounds kinda like a fantasy you’re having there,” observed Louis, grasping the lapels of the grey jacket and pulling him in closer. “Just don’t get caught, whatever you two get up to.”

Armand pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket – the ones he had picked up from Louis’ hotel room. He waved them in the air, before slipping them out of sight, winked at Louis and then disappeared to follow Lestat.

Louis was beginning to wonder if he’d have been better off staying in Australia to face the music from both human and vampire authorities on his own. He didn’t waste too much time speculating how things may have turned out though. He knew without doubt that it would’ve been easier and less stressful. But it would have been a lot less fun.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Notes:

Added one more chapter to allow me to break up the last couple of chapters into smaller chunks, taking less time to edit and check before posting. Still struggling to find motivation to write, especially in this fandom at the time of posting this note.

I will add that there are some incredible stories for IWTV (2022) and the Vampire Chronicles here on AO3, both new and old, written by a wide range of writers, appealing to all types of genre, yet only a few seem to be getting the attention of the fandom at present and I think that's sad. It's also very discouraging for some writers, many of whom feel anxious about sharing their writing at the best of times.

For my recommendations of other IWTV fics to read - do check out my bookmarks (over 50 for IWTV 2022), as I do bookmark all those fics I intend to keep going back to read.

Chapter 20

 

Chapter 20

Helen gingerly picked up the plastic cup of coffee. She’d left it to cool down after scalding her fingertips as it spilt over the rim and then forgot about it until it was tepid. The insipid brown liquid tasted awful, but she convinced herself that the caffeine and sugar would hopefully keep her awake and give her energy.

She wondered whether or not Tim was going to come to the hospital. He’d not said anything to that effect when he’d pulled up outside the hospital.  Perhaps he’d decided to stay put at the studio until Dennis or Murray got in? She should have told him to just drop off the tape with a note and then get back to the hospital. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t be welcome? The more she thought about it the more Helen realised that Tim might his presence no longer wanted now Dale had been found. Was it the kiss? Was that the reason that Tim was staying away?

Thinking about the studio made her feel queasy. She knew that Dennis and Lindsay would demand that she be in front of camera to provide the update on Dale first thing in the morning. It was wishful thinking to imagine they would be satisfied using the footage Tim had got at the hotel without her presenting it. Bastards would want to exploit her relationship to Dale to pull in more viewers.

Rubbing her eyes, she saw smudges of mascara on her fingertips. Sighing she pulled her make up mirror out of her shoulder bag to check the damage. Her eyes had bags under them that would take all Cheryl’s skill disguise to with concealer and the whites were definitely looking slightly bloodshot. At least she could summon up a smile, even though she did feel like crying, but for a change it was due to relief and not fear.

She had been avidly watching the double doors that stood between her and Dale since she’d been ushered into the waiting area. Every time she saw them move the slightest amount, her heart was in her mouth, and she was ready to leap to her feet.

It was therefore inevitable that she had been in the toilet, splashing her face with cold water when the nurse had come looking for her. She returned to her seat just as the weary looking nurse called out one more time:

“Miss Helen Norville?”

“That’s her,” said an elderly man from a gurney that had appeared since Helen had been out of the waiting room. He was pointing at her. “Seen her on the news with Geoff – he’s my favourite, mind. But …”

Anything else he chose to say went sailing over Helen’s head as she dashed forward to speak to the nurse.

“Sorry, I had to go for a wee. Has anything happened? Can I see him? Is he alright?”

“Come this way, miss and the doctor will explain everything.”

Not getting answers would not normally stop Helen in her tracks, but the lack of sleep, coupled with extreme anxiety just flooded her brain with even more questions.

She followed the nurse blindly, barely noticing the police officer posted outside the door to one of the rooms.

“Miss Norville?” A middle-aged woman with dark frizzy hair, streaked with silver threads, approached her, holding out a hand. “My name is Doctor Beauchamp and I’ve been treating Mister Jennings. First things first, he is conscious and he has been asking for you.”

Sighing with relief, Helen grasped the other woman’s hand in both of hers.

“Thank god for that.”

“Now, I would have called for you sooner, but the police wanted to question him first before he was allowed any visitors.”

“What?” demanded Helen, swinging from relieved to outraged. “They’ve been interrogating him already?”

“No. Trust me, I wouldn’t have allowed that. I insisted on staying in the room to monitor my patient. I’d have called a halt to any questioning that was causing him undue distress.”

“Thank you.” Helen could see a kindred spirit in the doctor. “Can you tell me what they were asking him?”

“Didn’t matter in the end, he couldn’t give them any answers - the blow he received to the head seems to have given him short term amnesia. He knows who he is, what he does for a living, but the past week is a blank.”

“Amnesia?” asked Helen, worried.

“From the concussion probably, although I’m not ruling out other causes until we get his blood tests back from the path lab.”

“You think he was drugged?” whispered Helen.

“Not necessarily.” Beauchamp held up a hand to halt any speculation from Helen. “We just need to rule that out before making a decision on whether to admit him or discharge him.”

“Of course.”

“Before you get your hopes up, I shan’t discharge him unless I can be assured that there would be someone with him at all times for the next twenty four hours.”

“I see.” Helen frowned. “Why? Are there other injuries?”

The doctor calmly took her by the arm and got her to sit down before continuing.

“Because of the amnesia, Mister Jennings is confused and rather distressed. I’m also concerned that his blood pressure and heart rate spiked when the police went in to speak to him. Can I ask you if he’s been in any trouble with the police?”

Helen shook her head vehemently.

“No! Never, he’s … oh.” It hit her. Adam. The reasons Dale had given her for his reaction to Adam being brought into the News At Six studios. Bit by bit, she had eventually found out more details and been horrified to hear how he’d been treated. “When he was a teenager, there was an incident. He’d not done anything wrong, but police were involved and I know that the experience still preys on his mind.”

Helen rubbed a hand over her face, recalling the look of shame on Dale’s crumpled face as he’d told her what had happened. She’d kissed away his tears and done her best to reassure him that it had not been his fault. He’d been a vulnerable teenager, just as she had been, and the knowledge that they had both suffered traumatic experiences that haunted them to that day had brought them closer together.

Dr Beauchamp nodded in understanding.

“Don’t worry – I put an end to their questioning as soon as it became obvious they were trying to imply he was pretending he couldn’t remember what had happened.”

“What?” Helen was aghast. “Do they think he hit himself over the head as well?”

“No. I made it clear that the angle precluded any possibility of the head wound being self-inflicted.”

Helen sighed, grateful that the doctor had scotched that particular line of inquiry. She then massaged her temples. Her head was aching again.

“Tension?” asked Beauchamp, sympathetically. “I could give you something for that, but my personal  recommendation would be chamomile tea and sleep.”

Helen smiled back and shook her head.

“For now, paracetamol are going to have to suffice. I saw the policeman there – are they finished with him, or are they coming back to continue questioning him?”

“He’s there for security, to make sure no one goes in or out of Dale’s room without being checked first. No more questioning today. I made sure the police understood that if anything does come back to him, it will only do so if he’s in a calm environment and that being pestered by them would be more likely to inhibit the return of any memories.”

Tapping a broken fingernail on the plastic arm of the chair, Helen was fighting her anxiety to see Dale with the need to get answers to the questions that were plaguing her.

“The blood that found – was that from Dale? Was he hurt badly?”

Beauchamp shook her head and frowned.

“Someone came from forensics to collect samples from Dale, fingernail scrapings, a blood sample and photos of his head injury. But apart from that, there were no other injuries to be found. Not so much as a bruise or a scratch. Whoever kidnapped him didn’t harm him beyond the head injury that was recent, still bleeding.”

Helen frowned as she took in the facts. No physical harm had been inflicted until that evening. It couldn’t be a coincidence. His kidnappers had panicked – because they saw the police, or knew that she was onto them. Was Lestat a decoy to keep her distracted while the others escaped detection? How could they have known that the blow to the head would give Dale amnesia? She still believed Lestat was behind all that had happened to Dale. Perhaps it had been him who’d hit Dale. She’d make him pay for that.

Taking a deep breath and setting aside the way a certain blond wouldn’t stay out of her head for long, Helen stood up and pointed at the guarded room.

“Can I see him now?”

“Yes, although I would strongly advise against asking any leading questions.”

“Of course.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Louis raised an eyebrow as he watched Lestat and Armand saunter onto the plane as if they had just been out to innocently take the air.

Even if he hadn’t heard enough from the link that Armand had left open to know exactly what they’d been getting up to, he wouldn’t believe either or them were capable of behaving innocently, either separately or together.  

As they approached him, it was evident that they fed well just from the colour of their skin – Lestat’s cheeks glowed almost rosily and Armand’s face and chest had taken on a warm, rich brown hue devoid of the greyish tint visible when he hadn’t eaten enough. Their eyes were gleaming like ice and fire, their colours so vivid in the grey toned interior of the passenger cabin. But it was their attempts to keep from grinning like idiots that had him suspect them of even more depravity than usual.

“How was your date?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Not a date, mon cher.”

Louis slowly shook his head and pointed a finger at Lestat which he then drew in a line towards Armand.

“Really? You two come strolling in close to dawn, in that dishevelled state, and tell me it weren’t no date?”

“Dishevelled? Moi?” Lestat looked flabbergasted that Louis would use that word to describe him.

“Yes dammit! You left here with a tie on – where the hell is it?”

Rather than look in any way abashed, Lestat covered his mouth with his hand and appeared to be biting into the fleshy part of his thumb. Armand turned around and started folding a blanket that he’d picked up from the floor. Louis sat up and took a better look at both of them.

“How come you’re wearing each other’s jackets?” Narrowing his eyes, Louis snatched the blanket from Armand’s hands and pointed at his legs. “Armand, your knees are wet.”

“Wet?” repeated Armand, ducking his head down to inspect the damp patches on the front of his grey trousers.

“Oh yes- so they are, mon ami!” exclaimed Lestat, a smile splitting his face, as he giggled.

“For fuck’s sake – have you two been drinking drunks?” demanded Louis.

“I am insulted, Louis.” Armand fixed Louis with a fierce glare. “As you know I abstain from alcohol and do my best to avoid feeding on- ”

“Bullshit!” snapped Louis. “That weren’t possible in Paris, not unless you ate rats!”

“Oh Louis, everyone in France drinks wine, it is safer than the water,” said Lestat, leaning against the back of the chair in front of Louis. “However, I swear to you that we didn’t drunk no drinks.”

“Sure – ‘you drunk no drinks’? C’mere, let me have a sniff of your breath.”

Lestat swung himself into Louis’ lap, draped his arms around his neck and leaned in, his mouth gaping open, tongue lolling obscenely.

Louis ignored the overt attempt to distract him, grabbed a handful of thick blond hair and smelt Lestat’s breath. Blood. Armand. And cannabis.

“Fuck,” Louis rubbed his face with barely concealed exasperation. “You fed on a tourist high as a kite and then had sex in an alleyway.”

“You discerned all that from my breath? Very impressive.” Lestat didn’t bother denying anything, he just kissed Louis on the lips. “Were you spying on us? Like some sort of … what was that word again? Oh yes … a creeper! Did you follow us like some kind of creeper?”

Armand was biting his lower lip, trying desperately not to smile. The consequence was a small trickle of blood that run onto his chin. Louis quickly wrapped his hands around Lestat’s waist, lifted him up and deposited him on the seat next to the one he was sitting on. He then leapt to his feet and took hold of Armand by the shoulders. Swiping his tongue over Armand’s chin, he gathered up a drop of blood, enough to taste the truth.

“No need to follow you anywhere. You bring all the evidence with you. Armand, you taste of dope – like his breath,” stated Louis, jabbing a finger towards Lestat, who had sprawled out across two seats. “You still got handcuffs dangling from your wrist and Armand’s been kneeling in a puddle. I don’t even wanna know what you all did with the tie.”

Lestat burst out laughing again and couldn’t help staring at Armand’s groin. Louis saw that there was an odd bulge there, not the smooth ridge of an aroused prick, but something bunched up.

“For fuck’s sake! You gotta be kidding me!” Pushing Armand away from him, Louis shook his head, picked up his book and walked down the aisle towards another pair of seats. “It’s nearly sunrise, I’m going sleep down here. On my own. I don’t wanna talk to either of you until we get to Dubai. Understood?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tim almost fled the ward when he saw the policeman outside the door to the room he’d been directed to. Even though he was on the list of approved visitors, probably thanks to Helen, he was still doubting the wisdom of turning up at the hospital. The young copper checked his ID and then stood aside. With his hand on the door handle, Tim peered through the glass panel in the door. Helen was sitting next to Dale, holding his hand. He was torn between going in and running for the hills.

He was still reeling from the fact that Helen had kissed him and that he’d kissed her back. He wasn’t interested in women. Never had been. If anyone ever challenged him on his collection of photos of her with Dale, he’d have told them it was purely professional, studying the images to work out the best angles. That was all. Besides, it had been one of those ‘heat of the moment’ events. They’d both been so thrilled to see Dale they’d kissed each other without there being anything in it beyond happiness at knowing Dale was alive.

He’d apologised. Even though she’d been the one to instigate it. Shit. It had been awkward enough when he’d kissed Dale. But now he’d have to hand in his notice. He couldn’t work with the two of them now. Partly because it would be weird. And partly as he was confused. They’d found Dale. So why did it feel like he’d lost him? Why? Because Helen had decided to forgive him everything – she would do anything to have him back. If he walked away now, she could reclaim Dale fully.

Was he even awake?

Pressing his face up against the window, Tim was unable to back away when Helen saw him. She waved and beckoned him to join her. He opened the door and walked in.

“Come on, Tim. I wondered where you’d got to.”

“Is he alright?” whispered Tim, looking at the various wires and cannulas connecting Dale to a bewildering array of medical monitors and equipment.

Helen smiled and indicated that Tim should take the chair on the opposite side of the bed.

“He’s concussed and dehydrated,” replied Helen, keeping her voice quiet. “They’re got him on fluids and given him some pain meds. But apart from the bump on the head he’s uninjured.”

Tim sighed in relief as he sunk down into the chair and pulled it closer to the bed.

“Why’s he unconscious?” Tim frowned. “I thought he was coming ‘round a bit when they put him in the ambo.”

“Bloody police questioned him earlier and wore him out it.” Helen gently brushed a loose strand of hair from Dale’s face, taking care not to wake him. “He can’t remember anything that happened to him – doctor said it’s amnesia from the blow to his head, but she’s sure he’ll be fine once he’s home.”

Tim planted his elbows on the edge of the firm mattress and held his clasped hands to his mouth. He knew it probably gave the impression that he was praying, but that was preferable to the reality, that he was struggling to keep his hands from reaching out to check Dale was really there.

“It’s real,” whispered Helen, as if reading his mind. “And it’s thanks to you. If you’d not persisted, we’d never have gone back to the All Seasons. Thank you for everything.”

“Everything?” he asked, a crease on his forehead showing his confusion.

“For being there for me. For finding him.” She then met Tim’s eyes and mouthed one more reason she was grateful to him: ‘For loving him.’

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Helen swallowed down a sob that was making her chest ache. It didn’t hurt as much as she would have thought it should. But acknowledging to herself that it had been Tim’s love of Dale that had him go above and beyond was a big step. Another step was admitting her own growing feelings for Tim. He was a good man. Whether he was capable to reciprocating anything other than platonic feelings towards her was irrelevant. It occurred to her that she hadn’t initially been physically attracted to Dale, lusting for handsome men had just left her heartbroken in the past when their true characters emerged. No, she had grown to love Dale because of how he had treated her, with respect, support and kindness. Much the same as how Tim had been with her since Dale had gone missing. Both Dale and Tim were the sort of guys who seemed to be prepared to give love with no expectations of getting anything in return.

“Thank you, for letting me be here,” said Tim, unwittingly making her smile.

“Where else do you think I’d want you to be?” Tim had been with her every step of the way to finding Dale. She would not deny him the place he’d earned at Dale’s side as he recovered from whatever he’d been through since being abducted. 

Tim smiled in return and then started to run his hands over the crisp white sheets, smoothing the non-existent creases. “I called Val -  Dale’s mum. Let her know he’s been found, is in hospital and seems to be okay.”

“Please tell me she’s still in Bendigo and not on her way to Melbourne.” Helen didn’t want to share Dale with his mother. Tim was another matter. But selfishly, she didn’t want Val Jennings fussing over Dale.

“She wanted to come straight here, but I persuaded her to wait until he was back home. Told her we’d take good care of him in the meantime and keep her updated.”

“We?” asked Helen, eyebrows raised.

“Oh. Sorry!” Tim looked horrified. “I meant you of course. Just – ”

“No. Don’t apologise.” Helen reached across Dale’s legs to still Tim’s hand. “I like the sound of that.”

“Sounds good to me, too,” mumbled Dale.

Tim and Helen turned their heads sharply to look at Dale.

Moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, he looked from one to the other, his eyes half-lidded and drowsy-looking.

“Sorry, did I say that out loud?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Helen took Dale’s hand while not releasing her hold on Tim. Stroking a thumb over his knuckles, she leant closer and smiled at him.

“Yes you did. Is that what you’d like, Dale?” she asked. “For both of us to look after you?”

The pink flush on his cheeks stood out against the pristine white bandage around his head.

For a moment, Helen thought he was going to get flustered, but instead he held out his free hand for Tim to hold and smiled at him. With a bashful look on his face, he nodded and then winced as it evidently made his head hurt.

Helen caught Tim’s grin that lasted a moment before being replaced by a doubtful expression.

“Hey mate, are you sure you mean that or was that bash on the head worse than the doc said?”

Dale rolled his head over to look at Helen.

“Kiss me?”

Leaning forward, Helen fulfilled Dale’s request, softly kissing him on the mouth.

“There’ll be plenty of time for that when I get you home,” she said, slowly stroking the side of his face.

“Home? Please take me home.” Cautiously turning his head to look at Tim, Dale reached out to take his hand. “I’ve missed you. Both of you.”

Not missing the tear that slid down Tim’s face, Helen knew the moment had arrived. It was her decision to make. She loved Dale and he loved her. But Tim also loved him, and his feelings would be reciprocated if she let Dale know that she was happy for that to happen.

“The doctor says she’s prepared to discharge you this afternoon. I need to go and see to a few things first. I think it would be best if you came back to my place. Is that alright?”

“Yes,” agreed Dale, smiling at her. “Very.”

“What if Tim came to stay as well? Would you like that?”

Dale frowned and squeezed her hand and then looked at Tim. She could see the quandary he appeared to be trying to navigate from the way his mouth trembled and his eyes started to glisten.

“If having Tim stay makes you happy,” she said, holding up her hand that was still clasping Tim’s so that Dale could see it. “That would make me happy too.”

“Really?” asked Dale, as if not believing his ears. “I’m not imagining this am I?”

“No, my love, you’re not dreaming this. I mean it.”

“Helen, you don’t have to do this –” started Tim, anxiously looking from Dale to Helen and back.

“I know I don’t. But I know it tears Dale apart inside, denying the love he truly wants and I love him too much to watch that happen. I nearly lost him, Tim. You brought him back, the least I can do is share him with someone else who loves him. Do you want to come stay with me while Dale recovers?”

“Just until he’s better?” asked Tim, looking a little crestfallen.

“Let’s see what we all want when we’re all in the right frame of mind to make those sort of decisions.”

“Agreed,” said Tim, gratefully. “What about you, Dale-?”

A gentle snore indicated that Dale had succumbed to sleep once more. He looked just as he had when Helen had first walked into his hospital room, except that this time he was smiling. Looking at their hands, linking them each to one another, Helen thought it might just work.

 

~~~~~~~~~

Despite much cajoling and promises to behave themselves, Louis steadfastly refused to accompany Lestat and Armand when they ventured out to feed after landing in Dubai. Armand even tried to tempt him by saying there was a frigate docked at the Jebel Ali naval port and that Lestat had informed him that Louis was partial to a man in uniform.

That had earnt Lestat a threatening glare. He couldn’t believe that he still held that against him.

Louis had only just opened a bag of blood when he was hit by a blast of heat entering the cabin announcing the return of his companions not long after they had set off. He wondered if they’d come back to try one more time to entice him to join them. But apparently not.

Lestat was striding down the aisle towards him, his face a picture of fury, pupils blown and jaw clenched. Armand was walking behind him, shaking his head.

‘He’s not happy.’

“Louis?” he growled. “Qu'est-ce que c'est?”

Lestat thrust a newspaper into Louis’ face. Taking it from him, he scanned the front page of the Gulf News looking to see what had infuriated Lestat. Then he saw it in a box at the bottom as if added later on, an old photo of Lestat at a press conference from his days as a rockstar.

“What?” Louis squinted to read the accompanying article and his face dropped.

“Apparently an international arrest warrant has been issued,” snarled Lestat, snatching the paper from Louis to read from it out loud. “The artist known as Lestat de Lioncourt is wanted by authorities in Australia concerning the abduction and attempted murder of newsreader Dale Jennings.”

“Shit,” said Louis, looking to Armand for assistance if Lestat became violent. 

‘Help!’

Armand was standing behind Lestat, a serene look on his face and his hands clasped over his stomach.

‘On this occasion, I believe he is justified in his anger. But rest assured, I shall not let him kill you.’

Leaning over Lestat’s shoulder, Armand looked from the paper to Louis’ face.

“Oh dear, it would appear that despite all our attempts to keep your activities under the radar, we have failed-”

“Yeah, well perhaps if you two hadn’t turned up uninvited and made a bad situation a thousand times worse-”

“Putain d'enfer!” interjected Lestat, furiously. “Why do you always make everything about you, Louis? What about me? In exchange for coming to your assistance, I have a price on my head!”

“I didn’t ask for your damn assistance, Lestat!” shouted Louis, springing up from his seat to have it out with Lestat face to face. “I’d have handled it – damn it, I was doing well on my own without you in my life!” 

Armand failed to smother a disdainful grunt.

“This is not amusing, imp,” said Lestat, struggling to keep from breaking something. Instead he gesticulated wildly as he spelt out his grievances. “As for you, mon cher Louis, you used my name to book rooms in a hotel to take a man you kidnapped because he looked like me and you claim to be over me?” Angrily flipping his hair back from his face, Lestat bit his lip as he continued to glare at Louis. “Who are you seeking to deceive this time, Louis?”

“When he puts it like that, it does make you sound like one of his obsessive fans,” observed Armand, resting one hand on Lestat’s shoulder, while surreptitiously curling an arm around his waist.

‘What the hell you playing at?’

 ‘I am preparing to restrain him if required. You should be grateful.’

“He has a point, Louis, much as it pains me to admit.” Armand shrugged, but did tighten his grip on Lestat to prevent him from lunging at Louis.

“Why… you… How dare you?” Fuming with indignation, Louis jabbed a finger in Lestat’s chest. “After all the shit that went down after San Francisco, you dragged me off to London and left me there!”

“That was after two weeks of taking you to every museum and art gallery you wanted to see!” protested Lestat. “You were too busy exploring the vaults of the British Library every night, from dusk to dawn, to even notice I’d gone!”

‘Really, Louis?’ asked Armand.

‘I lost track of time – that’s all.’

Armand tutted and raised an eyebrow.

‘He sulked because he wasn’t getting my undivided attention!’

‘Of course he did, Louis, what did you expect?’

Huffing to himself, Louis took a step back held his hands up in supplication.

“Hey, I just assumed you were still exploring the backstreets of Soho when I got back-”

“I left one of those sticky notes on your coffin lid!”

“What? All that said was ‘remember to turn the heating off before you leave’!”

“And I signed it – avec tout mon amour, Lestat.”

“OK – that too. But, you didn’t leave me a contact number, not like you did with - ”

“Is this about David Talbot, again?” demanded Lestat.

“You gave him your attorney’s number. Told him you could be reached through him. Never thought to give me the same damn courtesy!” Louis had grabbed hold of the collar of Lestat’s jacket and was spitting in his face.

“You could have found me if you’d really wanted to!” yelled Lestat, clenching his fists.

Armand quickly moved between them, slamming a hand against each of their chests, pushing them apart forcefully.

“I hate to interrupt. After all, this is immensely entertaining.” Armand held up his hands warning them not to test his patience. “However, we have a slot booked for take-off and the next stop is Heathrow. To ensure Lestat is not deported on arrival I shall make sure the car is ready to collect us from the hangar.”

“Merci, mon ami,” said Lestat, retreating back to the seat he’d occupied earlier, taking the paper with him. Without looking at Louis, he sat down and held the paper in front of his face.

Seconds later, the centre of the paper started to smoulder and blacken, before suddenly igniting.

“Putain de merde! Louis! You could have set me on fire!”

“I swear I shall never travel with children again,” grumbled Armand, striding towards Lestat with a jug of water from the kitchen. Without pausing, he flung the contents over Lestat, quenching the flames that had taken hold of the paper and the cuffs of his shirt.

Louis slumped down in his seat and grunted. He did feel a touch of remorse at nearly burning his maker. But a quick glance showed that water was dripping from Lestat’s face and Armand was standing in front of him, an empty jug in his hand and a grin on his face.

“You’re welcome,” said Armand as he smirked at Lestat.

What surprised Louis more was the sight of Armand dabbing Lestat’s face with a napkin and then sitting next to him.

‘Hey – I thought you were going to sit with me on this leg!’

‘Out of the two of you, he’s the one I shall need to keep in order if he loses his temper. Just don’t set anything else on fire.’

“Armand – would you please send out a message to Marius to let him know that I am not the miscreant on this occasion?” asked Lestat out loud, apparently aware that they were talking telepathically. “I’ve had to block all communications.”

“Are you receiving harassment?” asked Armand, disingenuously.

The glare that Lestat directed at Armand said enough.

‘Oh, shit. That’s bad isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Louis, you know it is.’

“I may need to stay in your London apartment until my name is cleared.”

“Of course.”

Louis sighed heavily. There were plenty of times when Lestat would have deserved being locked up, but this wasn’t one of them. Louis didn’t know how the hell he was going to fix things with Lestat. He could only hope that he wouldn’t get hauled away by the police when they landed. Were there even extradition treaties for vampires?

‘No, there aren’t. But if the Elders thought for one moment that Lestat was guilty, they would have him collected, nailed in a coffin and delivered back to Australia before you could confess that you were the culprit.’

‘Fuck.’

 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

 

 

Chapter 21

Summary:

Dale's homecoming goes well.

The vampires have more drama to deal with in the aftermath of events in Australia that are chasing them across the globe. One of the them takes flight to escape - much to the dismay of the others.

 

In the end, it was Tim who collected Dale and drove him over to Helen’s house. As expected, she was called on to present the report into what was known about Dale’s kidnapping and rescue. Lindsay was beside himself with excitement at the exclusive coverage, although Helen had no doubts he’d have been just as thrilled if Dale had been murdered when it came to viewing figures. Either way, when she got the call from the hospital, she’d been unable to collect Dale herself. Tim was the only other person she trusted. When Dennis had tried to prevent Tim leaving early, Helen had made it clear that it was either Tim or her.

It all sunk in the moment she pulled up outside her house and seen Tim’s scruffy car in her drive. Dale was home. In her home. With the man who’d kissed him. The man she’d kissed as well.

Torn between waltzing into her home as if it was perfectly normal to greet her recently- kidnapped boyfriend and the man who loved him, or driving to the nearest bar and getting totally hammered, Helen wavered. Taking a deep breath, she pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car.

Peering into the living area, she smiled. Dale was there, a bandage around his head. He was sitting on the sofa, his feet up on a footstool. The TV was on, thankfully tuned to Neighbours and not the news channel. Meanwhile, Tim was in the kitchen. Cooking!

“I said to get takeout!” called Helen, despite being impressed with the aroma wafting through her home.

“You said to get Dale whatever he wanted to eat and he said stir fry.” Tim wiped his hands on an apron that Helen forgot she owned and looked apologetic. “I grabbed some sesame seed oil and spices from my place on the way here, then nipped out to get some fresh shrimp and veggies once Dale was settled.”

“He’s not meant to be left on his own!” shouted Helen. “Goodness knows what could have happened –”

“He is still here,” said Dale from the sofa, raising his hand. “Tim locked the front door after him and wasn’t out for more than twenty minutes tops.”

“Dale darling,” Helen rushed over to sit on the sofa next to him. “You’re not well and the doctor said-”

“She said that apart from a headache, I would be fine,” said Dale, taking Helen’s hand. “She gave Tim a list of symptoms to watch out for.”

“It’s on the coffee table,” said Tim, pointing with the knife he was using to finely slice a red pepper. “No alcohol, or loud noises.”

“Oh – sorry, love.” Helen winced as it occurred to her that shouting at Tim hadn’t been a good idea. “What about the blood tests?”

“All clean,” replied Dale, shrugging. “No sign of any drugs – they thought maybe I’d been injected with something as they found two small puncture marks on my neck.”

“Where?” asked Helen, looking at Dale with concern. Tim had come out of the kitchen to join her.

“Just there on the left hand side,” said Tim. “I’ve already said it looks like he’s been nibbled on by a vampire.”

Dale laughed nervously, running his fingertips over the slightly raised bumps on his neck.

“Probably mosquito bites,” he said, frowning.

“I’ll get some antihistamine cream to put on those if you like,” said Helen, brushing his hair behind his ear to get a better look. “At least they don’t look as if they’ve got infected. I’ll kiss them better.”

Helen leant forward to brush her lips over the tiny red marks. She felt Dale tense up as she did so, but thought it was maybe because Tim was there, and he felt awkward.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We’re good, me and Tim. No need to fret.”

Gently cupping his face in her hands, Helen leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, relaxing as his lips parted and he wrapped a hand around her neck to pull her in closer.

He was finally home.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

After dinner, Tim rinsed off the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher, leaving Helen to snuggle up with Dale on the sofa.

“He’s fallen asleep,” she whispered as Tim walked through with a bag of trash to put out. “Can you help me put him to bed?”

“Sure,” whispered Tim, in reply. “I’ll get rid of this first.”

On return, Tim helped get Dale to the bedroom and assisted Helen in getting him undressed down to his white t-shirt and boxers. They worked together well, but avoided making eye contact with each other. They were just helping an exhausted Dale get ready for bed. They were not stripping off the man they both had feelings for that extended way beyond platonic.

Helen pulled back the duvet as Tim lifted Dale’s legs and got him settled. He stood back as Helen tucked him in, and then started to retreat slowly towards the door.

“I’d best be off now, I guess,” said Tim, awkwardly wiping the palms of his hands on his thighs. Helen could see that he was looking at Dale’s mouth and knew precisely what he wanted to do. How did she tell him that she didn’t mind?

Fortunately for Helen, Dale solved the problem for her. Rolling over, his eyes fluttered open and seeing Tim, he looked confused.

“Tim? Where are you going?” he asked, sleepily.

“Home,” answered Tim.

“Stay. I want you to stay.” Dale frowned as if he couldn’t understand why Tim was about to leave. “It’s bedtime. Too late to go out now.”

Tim moved closer to the bed and crouched down to speak to Dale.

“I’ve gotta go now, mate. I can drop by and catch you tomorrow if Helen doesn’t mind.”

Dale reached out and clutched hold of Tim’s hand.

“I thought … please stay.”

“I’m sorry,” said Tim, looking up at Helen. “I should’ve gone earlier.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“Nothing to apologise for. Dale wants you here. So do I.”

“Why? I can’t …” Tim bit his lip and squirmed a little. Standing up, he held his hands out and swallowed hard. “I’m not … look, you’re a really attractive woman, Helen, but … I … it’s not ...”

As Tim floundered struggling to find the words to explain he was not sexually attracted to any women, including Helen, the woman in question walked around the end of the bed and took him in her arms.

“I know. And it’s alright. But I love Dale and so do you.” Helen stroked Tim’s back soothingly. “And I kinda figure he loves us both-”

“That’s right,” mumbled Dale, reaching out to wrap a hand around Tim’s thigh. “Love you …”

Separating enough to look down at the adorable face looking at each of them in turn, his eyes pleading with them to join him, they both relaxed and smiled at Dale and then at each other.

Helen reached down to ruffle Dale’s hair, taking care not to press on the bandage.

“Come on, Tim, after all this one’s not up to anything other than sleep.” Helen kept hold of Tim’s hand. “I think we’ll all fit.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” asked Tim, his mouth gaping open.

“It’s what I had in mind back at the hospital. We can sleep either side of Dale, keep him safe and comforted. I guess he might have nightmares, so having him between us will make him feel secure.”

“OK,” agreed Tim, licking his lips as his mouth felt dry and instantly hoping Helen hadn’t misconstrued the reason. He got down on his knees so he could look Dale in the eyes. “Is that what you want, mate? Helen and me, in bed with you?”

Dale went pink and his mouth curled up into a wonky smile. He nodded his head.

“Yeah… I’d like that.”

It was initially awkward, negotiating who used the bathroom first and just how much clothing it would be acceptable for platonic friends to shed before getting in the same bed, but they figured it out fairly quickly. Tim told Helen that he usually slept naked and seen her expression before she’d had chance to mask her initial reaction. Deciding that a bare minimum of boxers would be suitable, that’s all that Tim was wearing as he slid into the bed alongside Dale, who was still awake enough to smile.

Helen then got in behind Dale and wrapped her arms around his chest. This caused Dale to sigh softly. Despite his attempts to keep to the edge of the mattress, Tim couldn’t help from grinning as he felt Dale’s arm snake around his waist to pull him closer.

Lying there, in each other’s arms, it felt natural, peaceful and safe. Dale’s little sounds of contentment were all Helen and Tim needed to convince them that it had been the right thing to do.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Armand arranged for them to land at Stansted airport to the north-east of London to avoid the paparazzi that camped out at Heathrow on the off chance of catching a celebrity wandering out of the arrivals lounge, bleary-eyed and vulnerable. From Stansted they were whisked away in the car that Armand had pick them up. Lestat had opted to sit in the front, to the surprise of both Armand and Louis. Initially, Louis thought that Lestat was going to be petty and sit there, flirting with the handsome Asian guy right in front of his eyes, just out of spite. But he was taken aback when Lestat made a point of ignoring the young man. He wasn’t speaking at all and wasn’t even checking out the guy, instead his hands were in his lap and his eyes were fixed on the taillights of the vehicles in front as they headed down the M11 towards London. A quick look at Armand indicated that he was just as mystified.

“What’s goin’ on with him now?” whispered Louis. “And why does the driver look terrified even though Lestat’s not said a word to him?”

Armand narrowed his eyes and gazed at the back of the driver’s head. Louis could tell that he was fishing around in the man’s head to find out why he was acting spooked.

“Oh. Oh dear.”

“What?”

“He’s seen Lestat’s picture in the papers and the stories. He’s convinced there’s a serial killer sitting next to him. He’s even wondering if he should call the police.” Armand paused as Louis elbowed him and tried to shut him up. He pointed at the dividing screen. “It’s alright, he can’t hear us – that screen is one hundred percent soundproof. I have an intercom if I need to communicate with the driver.”

“I take it he don’t know he’s got three killers in his car?” asked Louis, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I pay well for my employees not to ask questions and to mind their own business.” Armand frowned as he seemed genuinely disturbed by the thoughts he was discovering. “But he’s read something about Lestat that has him afraid for his life.”

“In the mood he’s in I’m not surprised,” grumbled Louis. “He’s had a face like he’s gonna murder someone ever since we landed.”

“Hmmm. I suspect Lestat knows why the boy is frightened and is trying not to scare him any more than he already is – although I am not sure if it would be worse if he did actually try charming dear Asif.” Armand turned his attention to Lestat and shook his head slowly. “No. Nothing. He’s blocking me completely. Someone’s got through to him and I’m not sure I want to know what they’ve told him.”

“I guess he’s not gonna talk to us about it?” Louis was staring at the back of Lestat’s head.  

“Evidently not.” Armand shrugged and then plucked the copy of the Evening Standard from the magazine rack in the back of the car and started urgently flipping through the pages. “Ah. I see what’s happened. Fuck.”

Louis knew from the expletive and the way Armand froze in his seat that whatever it was, it was bad.

“How bad is it?”

“Do you want to read for yourself?” Armand shifted slightly so that he could show Louis what he was reading.

“I dunno – do I?” Louis

Armand held out the paper to Louis, nervously biting on his lower lip.

“Bear in mind, that journalists are prone to speculative, sensationalist reporting – they use deliberately provocative phrasing to sell - ”

“Not helping,” stated Louis, even more worried by Armand’s attempt to mitigate what he was about to read. “Give it to me.”

Louis gasped as he saw the headline.

‘International rockstar Lestat accused of murder and satanic rituals!’

 “What the fuck- ?”

“Louis! It’s the British press. They become rabid at the mere mention of celebrities, sex or blood – ”

“What blood?” demanded Louis. “There weren’t no blood. We cleaned up after- ”

“Oh,” murmured Armand, as if surprised. As Louis started to skim read the article, he pressed his lips together and reached out as if considering taking the paper away from Louis before he had chance to read it all.

“It says here there are arrest warrants issued for kidnapping, attempted homicide and – animal sacrifice?”

“Ah. That would explain some of the incensed messages demanding that Lestat be held account for his actions.”

Louis turned to stare at Armand.

“And he would have heard that?”

“Yes. Probably. I imagine that’s why he shut down all communication links.”

“No wonder he’s pissed!” exclaimed Louis, running a hand through his hair. “But where the fuck did this bullshit about blood at the crime scene come from?”

“Um…”

Louis was too busy scanning the article to notice Armand bite his lip and cringe. He then reached a paragraph that made him feel sick to his stomach.

‘Police investigating the crime scene at the All Seasons Hotel were horrified to discover blood stained sheets, ripped apart by claws. Forensic analysis indicates the blood was from a number of different blood groups, meaning several individuals were involved. Their bodies have yet to be found, although a search is being conducted on the hotel grounds. An informant from the forensics lab who wishes to remain anonymous told us that blood of other animals was present, sparking fears of satanic rituals. Has this bastard been sacrificing Aussies’ beloved koalas??

Meanwhile the hotel manager has confirmed to us that rooms used for these horrific crimes had been  booked in the name of Lestat de Lioncourt, retired rockstar and recluse. There are also reports that Lestat (see picture on the right) was seen departing the hotel by a News at Six team who were investigating the abduction of their colleague Dale Jennings.’

Grabbing hold of Armand by the arm, he jabbed a finger at the paragraph.

“You told me you’d got rid of those fuckin’ sheets!”

“I did – I put them in a large refuse sack.”

“Where did you leave it?”

Armand sighed and looked out of the car window, feigning interest in a Ferrari that was zipping past them.

“Armand – answer me. Where did you leave the sheets?”

“On the laundry cart,” confessed Armand.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Louis slammed a fist against the door panel, causing the limo to swerve into another lane briefly. In front, they saw Lestat turn his head slightly and then change his mind. “If I were Lestat, I’d never talk to either of us again. Ever!”

“It will all blow over-”

“Like fuck it will. You need to fix this!” Louis jabbed a finger into the cleft between Armand’s pecs that he was flaunting in his open-necked shirt. “You’re going to make this go away! Get onto whoever you know and bury this. I don’t say this often, but Lestat is acting calmer than I would if I were in his position.”

“Fuck,” swore Armand, realisation hitting him. “I admitted to him that I was lying to you about the sheets.”

“Good. If that means he hates you as much as he hates me right now, I’m glad.”

Louis turned his head and focused on the road signs, counting down the junction numbers as they got closer to London. The sooner he was able to get Lestat to listen the better. If there was one thing more dangerous than an unhinged manic Lestat, it was the sullen, brooding, silent vampire that was sitting there in front of him, stewing in resentment and self-pity.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

It was just as they were approaching Oxford Street that Lestat asked the driver to pull over to drop him off. As requested, Asif turned off into a side street, drove up onto the kerb and put on the hazard warning lights.

Realising what was going on, Armand quickly got out of the car and grabbed hold of Lestat as soon as he put foot on the pavement.

“I thought you were coming back to my apartment to stay awhile.” Armand spoke so softly that Louis could only just discern what he was saying. “Come on Lestat, we can sort this out together-”

“You and Louis can do what the hell you want,” growled Lestat, shaking off Armand’s hand. His pupils were fully dilated and his jaw was tightly clenched. “I am going to find someone to eat and then get as far away from you as I can before sunrise. I shall then dig a hole and throw myself into it before Marius and his acolytes turn up to mete out their own wretched punishments!”

Louis had got out of the other side of the car and was standing to one side, ready to intervene if necessary to keep his lovers from actually injuring each other. He was shocked to witness how distraught Lestat was, his face was distorted with all the emotion he was trying to contain. The small trickle of red from the corner of his eye gave away the emotional pain he was failing to conceal. Although Louis knew they were unlikely to persuade him otherwise, he had to try to keep Lestat from leaving them.

“Please, Lestat, stay. We’ll figure something out.” Louis reached out, but on seeing Lestat flinch, took a step back. “I am so damn sorry about all of this – I never imagined it would blow up like it has. What can I do? I’ll do whatever you ask to make it better.”

Lestat’s face crumpled as if on the cusp of either laughing or weeping, but he did neither. He just sighed wearily and looked at Louis.

“What can you do? What can Saint Louis do to atone for the legions of self-righteous, judgemental … those who will descend on me and condemn me for …” Lestat faltered and then gently laid a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Just promise me that if you cannot find any trace of me for the next century or so, do not assume that I have been turned into a mortal, amnesiac, Australian version of myself.”

With an ironic twist of his lips and mirthless laugh, Lestat shook his head and started to walk away.

Louis wanted to reach out, but Lestat was stepping back, away from him. His lips were pressed hard together, making his face look mean. But Louis could see the heartbreak in his eyes. Lestat was hurting. He was being vilified by his own kind and faced persecution by both vampires and mortals, for both non-existent crimes and others for which he was innocent.

“Les-” he started, not wanting to let Lestat walk away in that state of mind.

“Non! I know I am not perfect and that I have been guilty of breaking rules- but not this time!” shouted Lestat, causing a few passers-by to turn their heads and stare. One of them pointed at him and held up a newspaper with Lestat’s face on the front page. Louis feared for their throats and shouted at them.

“Fuck off! It’s not him! Go the fuck away and mind your own fucking business!”

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Armand grabbed Lestat around the waist and manhandled him into the back of the car. He shouted at Louis to get in the opposite side and then snapped an instruction at Asif before getting in and sitting on the other side of Lestat.

“Lestat! You must stop this nonsense!” shouted Armand, furiously. “I am sorry for my part in this debacle and for that I shall make amends.”

“You? You are sorry?” sneered Lestat. “I never thought I would hear those words from your deceitful lips!”

“We’re both sorry, Lestat. Let us make it up to you.” Louis clutched hold of Lestat’s thigh. “Please?”

“What? You think that sex in the back of a car could even scrape the surface of what is required to have me forget this- ”

“No! Of course not!” yelled Louis, flinging his hands up in despair. “Why do you always assume I want to fuck?”

Armand glared at him.

“To give the brat some credit, it is how we’ve resolved most issues since coming to find you.”

Pulling free of Armand’s grip, Lestat folded his arms over his chest and sat tight-lipped, refusing to respond to Armand’s deliberate use of the word ‘brat’ to irritate him. However, the tense atmosphere did not last for long. At the next red light, Lestat sprung forward, threw open the door and ran. By the time Armand and Louis had got out of the car, he’d disappeared.

“Fuck.” Armand slammed his hand against the side panel of the limo, leaving a conspicuous dent. He then indicated that Louis should get back in the car. “I need to go and make a few phone calls. Stay in the car, Louis. Do not even think of trying to find him. You won’t.”

Sitting in the back of a limo parked in a bus lane, Louis watched on as Armand casually walked up to a glass door, set back between two store fronts. It looked as if he was unlocking the door, but Louis knew he was breaking in, probably to make use of a telephone. What the fuck was wrong with using a payphone?

 Louis put his head in his hands. Why the hell did he think it was more fun hanging out with Lestat and Armand, when between them they were making him wish he were dead. Permanently.

He just hoped that Dale was having a better day than he was.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dale woke up to find himself sandwiched between two bodies, a firm, yet lithe body in front of him, whose face was nestled in his chest. Soft stubble brushed across his throat, making him feel incredibly turned on. Behind him, he could feel the familiar sensation of Helen’s breasts pressed against his shoulder blades, her arms around his chest.

As his mind drifted in that realm between wakefulness and sleep, Dale tried to hold onto the shreds of the erotic dreams he’d been having. In the past such dreams would have had him waking with a wet patch in his boxers and an overwhelming feeling of guilt. But not that day. No, it almost felt as if he was still in that fantasy, his bottom pressed into Helen’s welcoming lap, warm breath on his chest and on his back. A murmuring sound reverberated as the breaths were replaced with lips and kisses.

He was being surrounded by caresses as hands started to wander over the bare skin of his arms and legs, pulling him around and over, so he was facing Helen. Dipping his head down he slid a hand under the vest top that she was wearing and then pulled it up so he could suckle on one pert nipple, while rolling the other between finger and thumb. He chuckled to himself as she lifted a leg over his hip and pulled him closer, sliding her hand down the back of his boxers to cup hold of a buttock and squeeze. Then he gasped as another hand slipped under the waistband at the front and began to fondle him, gradually taking hold of his growing arousal with a singular intention, sliding long fingers up and down his length, rubbing a thumb across the tip.

“Do you want this?” came Helen’s breathy voice in his ear.

“What is this?” he asked, anxiously, moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue. His mouth was dry.

“Whatever you want,” came a deeper voice from behind him, as the back of his t-shirt was lifted and his lower back peppered with kisses.

“Nothing more and nothing less,” came Helen’s reassurances, as she kissed him on the mouth, as if sealing a promise.

“Oh God …” he was panting and unable to articulate how he was feeling. Where were the words when he needed them most?

“Dale, sweetheart,  you need to tell us what you want.” Helen was smiling beatifically at him, although it was evident from what her hands were doing that her intentions were purely sinful. “We’ll be gentle with you, if that’s what you want.”

“I … oh God …” He screwed up his eyes and internally begged them to read his mind to spare him the embarrassment of stuttering or speaking utter nonsense.

The bed shook as the other two occupants started laughing.

“Let’s make it easy for you.” Helen leaned over his shoulder and muttered something to Tim that he couldn’t work out. Nodding her head, she ran the edge of her tongue around the shell of his ear and then whispered: “Just say yes if you’d like both of us to make love to you.”

“Yes. Yes … fuck yes…”

Scrambling to get rid of the clothes they’d kept on overnight, it dawned on Dale that it was really happening and not a dream. In his dreams, he never got a foot stuck in his underwear in his rush to get them off. It was Tim that pulled them over his ankles and as he emerged from under the duvet, Dale could appreciate just how beautiful he was – perfect in every way. His eyes followed the line of dark hair that led down from Tim’s chest, all the way across his taut abdomen to an erect cock that was gorgeously proportioned, neither too thick nor too long. He blushed when he saw that Tim was checking him out as well.

“Oh my God…”

He turned his head, worried for a moment until he saw Helen’s face. She was smiling at him. Reaching out either side, he skimmed his fingertips over each of them, contrasting the soft with the hard, letting one hand slide between warm thighs to stroke a finger through the warm, wet folds, while his other hand encountered flat, muscular planes and the feel of velvety soft skin over a rock hard cock. He wanted both. A voice inside his head told him he could have both.

“Helen – are you sure about this?” he gasped. “I don’t want to lose you- ”

“Yes, my love. You’re not losing me – not now,” purred Helen, squeezing his wrist between her thighs, trapping his hand where it was. “I want you to feel how much you’re loved.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

Notes:

This was meant to be the last chapter, but the vampires wanted more drama (don't they always) - so there's one more chapter after this and then an epilogue.

Chapter 22

Notes:

What the vampires did next ...

 

When Armand returned to the limo, Asif was leaning against the side of the car, smoking a cigarette. He was pleased that the young man remembered his dislike of the smell of smoke in his limousine. Although he found the smell offensive, he liked the taste of it in another’s mouth, and, if it wasn’t for the fact that it could cause trouble for Asif if seen kissing his boss in public, he would have kissed him before getting back in the car. It might have taken the edge off the tension he felt thrumming through his body.

Instead, he took hold of Asif’s hand and gently rubbed his thumb over the supple fingers as he gave him instructions for their onward journey. He instructed him to take a circuitous route, via Soho, Covent Garden, along the Strand, and then around Aldwych before crossing the river via Waterloo Bridge to the South Bank. Before releasing Asif’s hand, he brought it to his mouth to press a kiss to his wrist and whispered a promise to let him drive them out of town at the weekend. He deserved to give himself a treat if the fruits of his labours paid off. Damn, he deserved a treat just for making contact with Marius on Lestat’s behalf.

“You done flirtin’ with the staff?” asked Louis, grumpily as soon as Armand sat next to him.

“I only take what’s freely offered,” he replied, testily. He heard Louis loud and clear thinking that he was as bad as Lestat. “You should try it sometime. Might curb your criminal tendencies to breaking and entering other people’s property.”

“Fuck you,” came Louis’ succinct response. Armand hated it when he found himself sympathising with the blonde menace, but he could understand why he found Louis so frustrating in his adherence to mortal morals.

Sparing himself the bother of lengthy explanations, he projected into Louis’ mind images of theatre facades and then stage doors, off the main thoroughfare, where people were gathering in the dim light, waiting with theatre programmes clutched in their hands, hoping for autographs.

“It’s where I would go to eat if I were Lestat,” he muttered and then signalled for Louis not to talk. “Nostalgia - he’s more sentimental than you’d think.”

Ignoring the questions Louis was bombarding him with – about Lestat and the theatre – Armand turned to look out of the window. He blocked Louis, needing to focus on the myriad of voices clamouring away on the city streets. He usually kept his mind shut around humans, unless seeking out the thoughts of one in particular, but on this occasion he needed to cast his net wide, hoping to catch a glimpse of Lestat in the minds of his victims. Despite the brat’s bravado, Armand knew he’d need to feed well before using his cloud gift to cross an ocean.

Singling out promising thoughts of late-night revellers, Armand listened for calls of distress and although he detected some, there were none that he could attribute to Lestat or any other vampire.

No one seemed to have set eyes or ears on a distinctive blonde Frenchman either. He reached out to the handful of vampires he knew that resided all year in London, but they were all in their own boroughs, keeping to the boundaries agreed upon. Although none had news of Lestat in London, they had all heard what he was accused of doing in Australia and, on finding that he was in their city, were eager to seek him out and turn him over to the relevant authorities. Some of the younger vampires were especially vindictive in their assertions that he deserved to be punished for bringing unwelcome attention once more to vampires around the world.

Infuriated, Armand pulled rank and instructed them to disregard any such rumours. He broadcast a statement to the effect that Lestat should not be approached, but any sightings should be reported to him directly. He added that he knew the full story and that he would deal personally with any who disobeyed his instructions. Fortunately his name and reputation still carried a lot of weight in Europe.

It was almost five o’clock in the morning when Armand conceded that Lestat was not to be found. If he’d wanted to be discovered, he’d have let Armand know where to find him. Meanwhile, his futile search had left Armand feeling hungry and irritable. It took a great deal of energy to search the minds of hundreds of mortals, let alone broadcasting to the entire vampire community of central London.

Glancing to his right, he could see that Louis was still sitting tight-lipped, arms crossed over his chest  and seething with anger. He took that as a good indication that he wasn’t going to be persuaded to join him on a hunt. So, with a brief comment about getting something to eat, he had Asif pull over opposite Waterloo Station so that he could slip out to find someone suitable to feed on. It didn’t take him long to find an inebriated football fan who had missed the last train home and offered little resistance beyond verbal insults concerning Armand’s parentage and race. It gave him pleasure knowing that his face would be the last one that the beetroot-faced, middle-aged, racist thug ever saw as he tore into his throat. It was as Armand was draining him of his blood that he discovered the man’s team had lost and that he was intending to take out his frustration on his wife when he did get home. Good. It always tasted better when the victim deserved to die.

As he slid into the backseat next to Louis, he considered telling Louis that his feeding spree had possibly saved the life of an innocent, but decided not to. After all, Louis was more concerned about Lestat than who Armand chose to eat. Sighing to himself as he dabbed his lips on a dark red handkerchief, Armand came to the conclusion that Lestat was probably chasing the sunrise across the Atlantic. Fuck.

Before getting to the converted warehouse where his penthouse apartment was located, Armand asked Asif to stop at the newsagents shop next to a tube station. He tasked him with purchasing copies of the latest editions of all the morning’s newspapers. While Asif was out of the vehicle, Armand pulled his sleeve back, nicked a vein with a sharp fang and held out his wrist to Louis.

“Drink. I do not have the patience to deal with your fussy eating habits tonight.”

Armand was appalled to notice that Louis had not fed since the stopover in Singapore and his cheeks were looking pinched and grey. He was relieved not to encounter any opposition but did catch the belligerent glare in Louis’ eyes when he pulled his arm away from the mouth clamped tightly to his bleeding wrist. He could see from Louis’ expression that he’d caught a glimpse of his thoughts and been surprised to see that he wasn’t the only one worrying about Lestat.

“Do not judge me, child. His welfare matters to me. Live with it.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

On entering Armand’s apartment, Louis followed him towards the dining area, where Armand laid out the newspapers on the sleek, mahogany dining table. He arranged them in order from tabloid to broadsheet, then according to publishing house. Louis saw the way he smoothed the paper and lined up the edges to be parallel. Looking around the apartment he could see that nothing was out of place and he realised that even if Armand lived there full time, it would look just the same.

He had been surprised to see concern in Armand’s blood when he’d fed from him. He’d assumed Armand was angry with Lestat’s temper tantrum and wanted to find him to continue their fight from earlier. It hadn’t occurred to him that Armand would be worrying about Lestat. But he saw it – an undercurrent of anxiety and a need to find Lestat to protect him. He had also heard the message Armand had broadcast to all vampires awake and able to detect it. He’d meant to thank him for calling off those whose intentions could have brought Lestat to harm. 

Keeping his hands to his sides, Louis gazed at the headlines. Some were just tedious stories about local elections and sporting events, but his eyes were drawn to the splashy news stories on both The Sun and The Times announcing exclusive stories on the ‘framing’ of ‘innocent’ retired rockstar, Lestat de Lioncourt. Both quoted statements from insiders within the music business. A quick glance at the other papers showed breaking news about Lestat in both the Daily Mirror and The Guardian, although in the latter, Lestat’s name had been misspelt as Latest de Lioncurt. Shaking his head, Louis picked up The Times.

“It says here that it was all a publicity stunt, meant to look like evidence of blood thirsty vampires invading Australia,” he read, scanning ahead to get a gist of what was written. “According to this it was all an elaborate hoax arranged by his record label, linked to a forthcoming release of a remastered CD box set of unreleased material by The Vampire Lestat. That’s bullshit – ain’t it?”

Looking over the top of the paper, Louis checked Armand who hadn’t picked up any of the papers. However, he had that quasi-angelic look on his face that made him look as if he had worked a miracle and was proud of it.

“This is your work, ain’t it?” All he got in response was the slightest hint of a one-armed shrug. He sometimes wondered if it was age that allowed Armand to hide his reactions with such ease, or whether he’d been like that as a young mortal as well.

Sighing heavily, Louis returned to reading the article.

“This quote says that Lestat was tricked into going to Melbourne on the pretext of giving an interview to the local news station, having been told that it would be the first step in breaking into the Australian market. What the fuck?” Louis paused to glare at Armand before continuing to read. “Meanwhile, an informant who wishes to remain anonymous has stated that Dale Jennings was kidnapped by a … a delusional fan of Lestat’s who had been served with a restraining order! What the fuck is this shit, Armand?”

“Wrap the lie with an element of truth and it becomes easier to swallow,” said Armand, maintaining his superior stance.  

“If anyone was ever gonna be slapped with a restraining order, it was him!” yelled Louis, poking a finger at the large photo of Lestat on the front page of The Sun. “Not me!”

“Says the man who abducted an innocent mortal, in the belief he was Lestat,” said Armand, brushing off Louis’ outraged protest. “And please, he’s not here, so you can stop pretending you actually wanted him out of your life. If you recall, when we first met, you were moping with longing for him despite having slit his throat and tossed him out with the trash. It was most tiresome.”

Louis shook his head and pulled out one of the chairs arranged symmetrically around the table. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Armand as he accidentally pushed another chair out of alignment. As he sat down, he was almost tempted to put his feet up on the table just to see the expression on Armand’s face.

“Yeah, well. He has that effect on people, don’t he? Has us all worrying about him while he’s off having yet another fucking adventure.”

“Agreed. However, those adventures leave him wounded, even though you cannot see the damage incurred.”

Louis looked up sharply, feeling Armand’s amber eyes boring into his skull. He recognised the love there that the older vampire went to great efforts to disguise. He envied Armand in being able to share thoughts with Lestat, the only time he was able to see into Lestat’s mind being when they were in the throes of passion. That had his mind wandering and not wanting to dwell on the last time he made love to Lestat, Louis returned to the matter at hand, and held up the newspaper, grimacing.

“Do I wanna know how you managed this?” asked Louis, one eyebrow raised. “Who’d you threaten to kill?”

“Suffice it to say that I know where the bodies are buried,” said Armand, a sly smile gracing his lips. “As well as the closets in which to find the skeletons that many rich, powerful men would do anything to keep from being discovered.”

“The Sun and The Times – shit! Murdoch?” But Louis wasn’t really surprised that Armand had been able to exert his influence on the notorious media mogul. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Naturally, the exclusive stories will also appear in the American and Australian publications owned by News Corporation.”

Louis picked up The Sun and opened it up to where the main story was to be found, on the same page as the ubiquitous photo of a scantily dressed model. The photo of Lestat was placed in such a way that he appeared to be leering at the woman’s prodigiously large breasts.  

“Exclusive: Lestat nowhere near Oz when Helen Norville’s boy toy lover was snatched from their Melbourne love nest. New York journo confirms he was interviewing retired vampire Lestat when Jennings went missing. Daniel Mol – fuck! Tell me you didn’t rope him in on this?”

“Of course I did. Despite how things turned out between us, he has a soft spot for you. I was able to sway him by virtue of the figure he could charge for his exclusive story- ”

“But it isn’t true! Molloy never spoke to Lestat, and I don’t believe he’ll put his name to a heap of lies, not even for you!”

“I was able to … persuade him.” Armand had that look in his eyes, a smug look, that Louis knew only too well.

“Fuck it. You mind gifted him over the damn phone, didn’t you?”

“I may have promised to arrange for him to meet Lestat for a proper interview – that way it is not entirely untruthful. And I can assure you that Lestat was tucked up in his coffin, in America, when you decided to abduct his doppelganger.”

Louis narrowed his eyes at Armand as he started to put two and two together.

“Do I even wanna know how you know exactly where he was?”

Armand raised an eyebrow and smiled.

“I wasn’t in there with him if that’s what you are thinking. All you need to know is that I have ways of knowing where you all are.”

“Now you’re scaring me. Mind you, it’s not like your stalker credentials are a secret.” Setting down the newspaper, Louis frowned and pointed at Armand. “If that’s the case, why weren’t you able to find him tonight?”

“Simple,” said Armand, shrugging as he straightened the papers that Louis had looked through. “He’s capable of going off radar when he does not want to be found.”

Nodding his head as he considered the implications, Louis came to a decision. There was nothing more to be done with the sun about to rise, but he wanted to set the ball rolling.

“I need a ticket to New Orleans for tomorrow night.”

“I can arrange for my – ”

“No need.” Louis did not want to travel on Armand’s plane. A direct flight from Heathrow would get him there faster. “I just need you to get one of your staff to buy me a ticket so I don’t waste time after sunset.”

“You are assuming that will be where he has gone?” asked Armand, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I just hope he’s still above ground by the time I get there.” Louis didn’t want to entertain the notion that Lestat could have somehow got there already and be six feet under.

“He will be.”

“How d’you know? You heard from him?” demanded Louis, suspicious that Armand might know more than he was telling him.

“Only since we arrived at the apartment. I directed a message to him, to let him know that we were staying in London for the day.”

“Did he respond?” asked Louis, anxiously. “What did he say?”

Armand held up a hand to cut Louis off.

“Nothing in words. But for a brief moment he let down the shutters. I could sense emotions but nothing else. It was dark.”

Louis raised his eyebrows, pleading with Armand to tell him more. He just hoped it wasn’t as bad as he feared.

“What emotions? Is he still angry?”

Armand shook his head sadly and sighed.

“Loneliness,” admitted Armand, pressing his lips together, as if annoyed to have let the word escape.

“Fuck.” Louis squeezed his eyes shut. In his desperation to find Lestat, Louis’ impulsiveness had driven him further away than ever before. The one thing Lestat feared was loneliness. And the ironic thing was that he was running towards it to escape the consequences of Louis’ actions.

Louis got up abruptly from the chair he’d been sitting in, the chair legs scraped across the polished wooden floorboards. But he didn’t care. He was more tired than he could recall ever feeling. A combination of jet lag, lack of blood and a sickening amount of worry had left him feeling mentally and emotionally drained.

“I need to sleep. Tomorrow I’m going after him.”

“Of course. Will you share a coffin with me today?” asked Armand, his plea soft and enticing.

For a brief moment, Louis considered the invitation. Sure he’d like to go to sleep wrapped in Armand’s arms, his head on his chest, feeling safe and cared for. But the fact that wherever Lestat was, he was alone and hurting, settled Louis’ mind.

“No. Not tonight.” He walked across to Armand and pulled him in for a kiss, letting him know that he was no longer angry with him. Lestat was not the only one not to like going to sleep angry.

Gritting his teeth, Louis headed for one of the interior guest rooms – lightproof, brick-walled compartments that Armand had specially designed. The living area wrapped around the sleeping quarters, furnished with sofas and seating areas that looked out over the river towards the City of London.

He paused to take in the sight of the dome of Saint Paul’s Cathedral illuminated against the night sky that was beginning to become light. He thought of his brother and how he’d taken to lighting votive candles in churches he thought Paul would have liked to have visited. However there was no time to do that on this occasion. He would not be doing any sightseeing or paying visits to his favourite places until he had made his peace with Lestat.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

By the time Louis arrived on Rue Royale, it was late. There were no lights visible in 1132. No smoke from the chimneys and no sign of habitation. He cursed himself for checking the dilapidated ruin in the Garden District first. There had been no sign of any disturbance in the grounds around there and nothing to be seen apart from a sleek ginger cat stalking something in the long grass.

Was he too late?

If Lestat had carried out his threat and dug himself a hole in the ground he didn’t know what he’d do.

The screen door squealed as he opened it making him wonder if that would cause Lestat to flee if he was there. The front door was unlocked and as Louis entered the hallway he immediately sensed that he wasn’t alone. Straining his ears to pick up the slightest of sounds, he picked up the scratching sound of a rat in the walls, probably a descendant of one of the many he’d lost track of in the days when he let them run loose to Lestat’s disgust. Straining his ears, he heard a barely perceptible muffled ‘thud’. After focusing on that sound and screening out all other sounds, he eventually heard another. A slow, mournful heartbeat. One he recognised instantly.

“Lestat! I know you’re here.”

Nothing.

Sighing heavily, Louis walked up the stairs, noting that the banister had been repaired. He followed the sound of the heartbeat. As he reached the top of the stairs he heard it skip a beat before seeming to speed up a little.

“Mon cher?” he called out. “Where are you?”

Pushing open the door of what had once been their bedroom, he looked through towards the secret room where their coffins had been hidden. It was empty. A layer of dust coated the mirror above the fireplace. No sign of a fire having been lit there for a very long time – there was a smattering of soot on the pale grey ashes in the hearth. Turning to leave, he caught sight of a hunched figure sitting at the end of the bed. Lestat.

Wearing nothing but a dressing gown, loosely tied around his waist, Lestat didn’t move a muscle. To one side of him there was a small case, partly filled with some items of clothing and a selection of  trinkets and ornaments that had been locked away in the safe. Items that would be of monetary value. With a shock he understood what that signified – Lestat was going to take that with him, so that when he woke he would have the means to support himself. He was preparing for a long hibernation.

“Lestat? There’s no need to do this! Your name’s been cleared – it’s all been settled. No one’s gonna lock you up for kidnapping or anything else. Charges have all been dropped.” He found himself trying to say as much as possible as fast as he could for fear of Lestat rushing off without hearing him out. “Armand has sorted it all out – ”

“Armand. Why?” Lestat’s voice was bitter and sounded hoarse as if he’d been screaming. Or crying. In the soft streetlight filtering through the curtains, Louis could see dark tracks on Lestat’s pale cheeks that confirmed that he’d been weeping.

“I guess he felt bad about the sheets,” suggested Louis, taking Lestat literally until it dawned on him that he was no longer bothered about the bloody sheets. “This ain’t about the blood on the sheets is it?”

Lestat slowly turned his head and looked at Louis. His eyes were dull and barely reflected any of the iridescent colours Louis loved to see in them, the bright blue and violet visible when Lestat was bursting with energy. He looked despondent and deflated.

“Non. And if you do not know what it is about, I am not going to tell you.”

Louis decided that words alone weren’t going to get through to Lestat. He recalled the time when he had been the one closed off and refusing to accept Lestat’s attempts to bring him out of his depression. He thought back to what he wanted from Lestat then and acted on it. He knelt down in front of Lestat, placed a hand on each knee and looked up at Lestat.

“I screwed up far worse than Armand. I’d have turned Dale if y’all hadn’t turned up when you did.”

Louis paused as he saw Lestat duck his head down, chin on chest, unsuccessfully trying to hide the fresh tears that were starting to fall.

“You loved him.”

“Yeah,” admitted Louis, knowing there was no time for hiding. Armand had told him that his only chance with Lestat was to be brutally honest, however much it hurt either of them. “I was starting to fall in love with him-”

“I know,” said Lestat, quietly. “I saw what Armand picked up from your thoughts. You thought Dale Jennings was the better version of me, more human- ”

“I did wish you were more like him –”

“Of course – a copy of me with none of my undesirable personality defects.” Louis hated hearing Lestat so self-deprecating, but couldn’t deny that’s how he had felt at the time. “Even if Armand hadn’t made sure I saw what was on your mind, I could tell you loved the boy. You have a look in your eye, Louis, when you are falling in love. I saw that. Added to which, you were so defensive and protective of him. In a way you never were with me- ”

“He was mortal, he was in danger!” protested Louis, despite sensing a cold knot in his gut on noting that Lestat had hit a nerve. “Besides -  you never needed defending or protecting!”

As soon as the words were out, Louis realised he’d made an error of judgement. Lestat got up from the bed and moved away from him. He spun around and pointed at Louis, his hand shaking as he did so.

“No? Never? Not even when I called out for you after being poisoned?” yelled Lestat.

“That’s not – ” started Louis, giving up as he couldn’t think of a way to complete his sentence without further aggravating Lestat.

“Oh no, instead of trying to protect me, you slit my throat on her orders,” whispered Lestat, his lips curling scornfully.

Louis shut his eyes as the memories of that night came flooding in. All that blood. All Lestat’s blood pouring over his hand placed over Lestat’s heart as he sliced into his throat. Yes, Claudia had been screaming inside his head to do it, to finish Lestat. But he chose to do it. Even though he couldn’t even bring himself to watch as he did it. He’d looked up, pleading with a God who’d deserted him and whom Lestat didn’t believe in, to forgive him.

Getting slowly to his feet, he walked towards Lestat.

“It was just as much my decision. I genuinely believed it was the only way to be true to myself.”

Lestat just shook his head sorrowfully.

“And the one thing you spared me from? The flames?” Lestat burst out laughing. But there was no joy in that sound, it was harsh and hateful. “On Armand’s plane, you attempted to set fire to me! Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”

Louis felt his heart miss a beat. Shit. He had used the fire gift out of anger and if it hadn’t been for Armand’s quick actions, Lestat could have caught fire, with nowhere to run to escape. In his mind’s eye he could see the paper falling into Lestat’s lap and his clothing start to burn. Fuck. He could have killed Lestat.

“I never meant to hurt you…”

“Would you have cared if you had?” asked Lestat, bitterly. “From your actions, it is clear that I am not enough for you. I will never be perfect.”

That again. Still haunting them after more than forty years. Louis grabbed hold of Lestat’s hands and held them to his lips.

“It took me a while, but if there’s one thing I figured out from this whole fucking mess is that I don’t need perfection.” Louis felt Lestat try to pull away, but he held onto him firmly. “What I need is you.”

“Vraiment? Are you sure? Not Armand? Or Mister Jennings?” asked Lestat. “You know where to find young Dale, you could still go back and take him. Maybe his friend as well, the one that looked like Armand. You could start from scratch, with two fledglings all your own!”

“Now you’re being ridiculous!” shouted Louis. He was having trouble seeing clearly as Lestat’s face became blurry.

“Just a word of advice, mon cher, never, ever tell them you can’t hear their thoughts.”

“Lestat… I don’t-”

“In fact, if I were to go to ground, no one would even realise –”

“Shut the fuck up!” shouted Louis, tears streaming down his face. “You ain’t digging a hole and burying yourself! I swear, if you try, I’m gonna get a shovel and dig myself a hole next to you! I don’t want Dale, or Armand or anyone else anywhere near as much as I need you. I’m not me without you – I do stupid shit!”

Lestat sobbed and then wrapped an arm around Louis’ shoulders, pulling him to his chest.

“Ah Louis – you are still so young and have so much to learn and I have let you down abysmally.”

“Then make up for it,” he begged. “Isn’t it time you trusted me enough to tell me about yourself – ”

“It’s all in the book.”

“No – I want the truth. All of it. The parts you left out. I want to understand you.”

“I’m a lot – ”

“Sure, and you’re not perfect. But who the fuck is?”

“Mister Dale Jennings?”

“He’s only just got ‘round to admitting he likes men and women!”

“Ah well-” shrugged Lestat. “I’m sure you’d cope-”

“Don’t you get it? I once said you using the word ‘fledgling’ was no better than calling me a slave. That was wrong. I knew that weren’t on your mind, even if I couldn’t read it. Sure, you treated me and Claudia like possessions, or seemed to. It was only later, after I met Armand ironically, that I realised you were trying to protect us, in that half-assed way of yours that made us feel trapped. You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Lestat – arrogant, self-centred and totally lacking in self-restraint- ”

“At last, here we go,” scoffed Lestat. “The truth, what you really feel about me-”

“Sure, you do own me. You own my heart and whatever’s left of my soul. But it works two ways- I own you. You fucked around, no point denying that, but you’re mine. I get jealous because I hate to think of you touching anyone but me. I can’t see inside your head, but when you make love to me, when we share blood, then I see what you feel and I know that you’d do anything for me. No one loves me as much as you do – and I know that now. You just gotta believe it’s the same for you. Nobody can love you like I do. Don’t you dare leave me. Not again.”

By the time Louis stopped speaking they were both crying. Blood tears ran around the edges of their noses and onto their lips.

After an infinitesimal amount of time, those lips came crashing together as Lestat pulled Louis towards him and then toppled them both onto the bed.

Clawing at each other’s clothing, they tore anything that wouldn’t come away without resistance. Lestat straddled Louis’ body, a knee either side of his hips, and kissed him from his throat down his sternum, across his taut abdomen and down, following the trail of hair, to his cock, filling as their bodies rubbed against one another.

“C’mere,” demanded Louis, hauling Lestat up so he could see his face. With a hand clasping a handful of tangled blonde hair, Louis pulled him down, wanting to feel his perfect body pressing against him. The thought that he had come so close to losing Lestat, with all his flaws and imperfections, made Louis shudder.

“Are you alright, cheri?” asked Lestat, cradling Louis’ head in one hand.

“Never better.”

As they made love in the place that had seen their best and worst moments, they came together, stronger than ever.

Louis knew in his heart that they’d argue again. But they’d always come back to each other. Of that he was certain.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 23

Summary:

The epilogue.

Everyone lives happily and lustily ever after ...

Or do they??

 

Epilogue

 

Five days later

The bed had been through several changes of sheets, yet still looked wrecked. There wasn’t a surface in the whole room that didn’t look as if a hurricane had blown through. Apart from brief sorties into the city to feed, they had not left the bedroom since Louis had found Lestat and pulled him back from the brink of disappearing again.

Louis smiled as he carded his fingers through the long, blonde hair, trying to tease out the tangles he’d created by grabbing hold of it as they’d made love earlier that night.

“I hate to think what sleeping in the dirt would do to this,” he murmured.

“Well, for that reason alone, I am glad you persuaded me not to go to ground,” replied Lestat, turning his head to kiss the inside of Louis’ wrist, gently sucking where the veins ran close to the surface.

“I don’t think I coulda done it if Armand hadn’t called in a few favours and cleared your name. Despite what he says, he does love you. You know that don’t you?”

Lestat grunted and nodded his head.

“He both despises me and desires my affection – currently the latter overrides the former.”

“I don’t get why you two don’t just admit what you feel for each other.”

“What? And spoil a game we’ve been playing for centuries?” scoffed Lestat.

“You love him – I know you do.”

“Not as much as I shall always love you, mon cher.” Lestat rolled onto his back and pulled Louis on top of him. Clutching his head he kissed him fervently, letting Louis plunder his mouth as he lay beneath him, surrendering to whatever Louis wanted to do with him. Breaking away he smiled as he looked into Louis’ eyes. “Never as much.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way,” said Louis. “We should go back and see Armand soon though. Let him know he’s officially forgiven for his carelessness.”

“I suppose I should express my gratitude to that imp in person,” said Lestat, leisurely drawing circles with his fingertips across Louis’ back.

“He’d like that,” murmured Louis, ducking his head down and to tease a nipple. Using his tongue and teeth he was pleased to feel it stiffen between his lips. “We should go together.”

Lestat’s chest heaved as he suppressed a bout of laughter.

“Oh yes, I think you also owe him a debt of gratitude.” Lestat’s hands had migrated down Louis’ back and were now teasing his buttocks, a stray finger sliding down in the traces of lube from earlier.

“Agreed,” moaned Louis, as he felt a finger probing at his entrance.

“When I called him yesterday, to see if he was still in London, he said he’d be there a while as something had come up that needed his attention there.” Lestat pulled Louis up so that he could suck at his throat.

“Yeah, Asif’s cock I expect. I suspect he’s fucking his driver.” Arching his back, Louis barely got the words out as Lestat arranged him so that he was sitting astride his hips. Lestat’s hand on his waist being the only thing keeping Louis from collapsing forward.

“Of course he is. He has exquisite taste. Think of all the trouble he has gone to in order to fuck both of us,” Lestat chuckled to himself.

“Let’s go visit him soon, then,” said Louis, his head thrown back.

“Soon, but for, now, mon cher, I want you to concentrate on me fucking you.”

Lifting Louis up and then lowering him down onto his cock, Lestat thrust up into Louis, blotting out all other thoughts.

 

~~~~~~

 

Dale was standing in his kitchen, hands on hips, staring at a Tupperware box as Helen and Tim arrived. He turned his head and smiled at them. It was to be their first night together again after his mother had been staying with him for three days, helping to set the flat to rights. She had tidied, hoovered, washed and ironed his clothes, even his boxer shorts, and cooked meals to put in the freezer. He loved his mum, but wanted to spend time with his … he wasn’t sure what to call them… lovers? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Partners? His Helen and his Tim.

“Dale? Everything alright?” asked Helen, setting down her bag and wrapping her arms around him from behind. “Did your mum get back to Bendigo alright?”

“Yes. She called to let me know she’d got home in one piece.” Dale was relieved. He loved Val Jennings very much, but her presence had put the brakes on any discussion about what the three of them were going to do next. How they were going to negotiate the new dynamic in their relationship. “She offered to come back next week, but I told her not to. I said that I’d probably be back at work by then.”

“Hmm – I think you need to take more time off,” grumbled Helen, kissing the back of his head. She sounded worried. He didn’t like worrying Helen, she’d been through enough when he’d gone missing.

Dale understood her concerns, he wasn’t fully recovered, but he desperately needed to return to normality. He’d even welcome having Lindsay yell at him for being an idiot, Dennis patronising him or even Rob teasing him. He just wanted to focus on becoming known for his news reading and not for having been kidnapped as a consequence of a publicity stunt that had backfired.

The fact that the police still hadn’t made any arrests made him nervous, but he tried to hide that from both Helen and Tim. He had been of no help to them at all, unable to give a description of the man or men – or women for that matter – who had broken into his flat and held him captive in a motel room. It was all a blank. The holes in his memories scared him and for that reason, amongst others, he was grateful that Helen and Tim insisted he didn’t sleep alone. There was something niggling away at the back of his mind, something had happened to him and he wanted to know what. He needed to know if he was in any danger, or if there was any threat to those he loved. However, as soon as those anxieties started to bubble up, he heard a soothing voice in his head telling him that he was protected and that no one would trouble him ever again.

“Earth to Dale,” said Tim, waving a hand in front of Dale’s face, snapping him from his trance. They had got used to him drifting off occasionally and were so patient with him that it almost hurt. “So there’s no chance of your mum bursting out of the bathroom and catching one of us with our hands in your pants?”

Dale giggled, unable to stop from laughing, his shoulders shook as he felt his cheeks becoming warm and pink. At the time it had been a relief that it was Helen who had been caught mid-grope. He was mortified, but Helen had just nonchalantly pulled her hand out from under his waistband and grinned at his mum before asking is anyone wanted a drink.

“No, she’s definitely gone home,” he said while still chuckling at the memory. “But feel free to check behind the sofa and under the bed to make sure.”

“Good, that means I can do this properly.” Helen spun Dale around and kissed him, one hand in his hair, one sliding down to grasp his bottom, as she devoured his mouth in a way she wouldn’t dare in front of his mother.

“My turn?” asked Tim, as Helen grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him towards them.

“Seeing as you’ve had to play at being concerned work colleague all week, with zero physical contact, it seems only fair.” Helen moved behind Dale and wrapped her arms around his tummy as Tim cupped his face in his hands and kissed him. She liked watching them kiss. As they gasped into each other’s mouths, she slipped a hand inside Dale’s pants and encouraged the burgeoning arousal.

“Oh God, I missed this,” said Dale, smiling as they separated slightly. Surrounded on either side by the people he loved, he was happy. Part of him wondered if it was just a dream and that he’d wake up, handcuffed to a bed in a motel somewhere.

“Pinch me,” he said, causing Tim to frown. “I need to make sure this is real.”

“How about we take this to bed and convince you it’s not your imagination?” suggested Helen, already taking him by the hand and tugging him the direction of the bedroom.

“Yes,” replied Dale, reaching out to grasp hold of Tim’s arm. “Although if it’s not a dream, I think it might be time I invested in a bigger bed.”

 

~~~~~~~

 

Later that evening, roused by rumbling tummies, they threw on shirts and t-shirts as well as underwear, just in case the neighbours came around to complain about the noise. Gathering in the kitchen they set about finding what Val Jennings had left for Dale to eat.

“I don’t imagine Val cooked all this food to cater for post sex appetites,” said Helen, laughing to her herself as she inspected the containers in the fridge.

“They are rather large portions,” commented Dale, scratching his head. He guessed that Val had planned there to be enough for him and Helen.

Tim pointed at the box that Dale had been staring at when they’d arrived there earlier.

“What’s in there? Shouldn’t it be in the fridge as well?”

“No room,” replied Dale. “It’s a cake. Mum seemed to be working on the assumption that I was starved for a month and has made enough food to feed me for twice that long. You two are going to have to help me.”

“Suits me,” said Helen, selecting the beef casserole.

“What sort of cake?” asked Tim. Dale smiled at him, revelling in the knowledge that Tim had a sweet tooth. Every new discovery about the gorgeous man filled him with joy and he felt liberated in the feeling that he could express that openly between the three of them.

“Chocolate. She always made me chocolate cake when she wanted to make me feel better.”

“My favourite,” said Tim enthusiastically.

Dale smiled at the ecstatic look on Tim’s face. He stored that information away for future reference.

“It’s big enough to feed everyone in the news office,” said Dale. “Maybe you could take it in tomorrow?”

“After we’ve had some first, yes?” checked Tim.

“Of course.” Dale put an arm around his shoulders and hugged Tim close. He smiled into the kiss he got in response as Tim slid an arm around his waist.

Helen looked at them with affection as she opened the container she’d selected and put it in the microwave to heat up.

“That’s a nice idea. Speaking of the office, Jean gave me more mail to deliver to you. It’s in my bag.”

Picking her bag up off the floor from where she’d dropped it earlier, Helen pulled out a bundle of letters and a small package. The latter appeared to have been sent by courier by the looks of the labels plastered all over it.

“Looks like more letters and cards from your adoring fans to join those,” said Helen, pointing at the shelves of his living room that were bedecked with greeting cards that had been sent to him via the station.

“What’s the package?” asked Tim, frowning as he took it from Helen. He looked at the sender’s details and showed them to Dale. “You know this guy?”

“No,” replied Dale, looking puzzled. “But the address is for a publishing house, perhaps a journalist.”

“Not another one wanting an exclusive interview,” moaned Helen. She had stepped in on his behalf to send reporters from newspapers and other channels packing. “That one’s from the states, for goodness sake!”

Dale just shrugged and started to slowly peel off the tape.

“Feels like books,” he said, frowning and feeling even more confused. “Maybe they got the wrong person? Who is that does the book review segment once a month? Maybe it’s meant for them.”

From the way Helen was biting her lip, she wasn’t convinced.

There were two books, one was a paperback and the other a hardback. He looked at the titles: ‘Interview with the vampire’ and ‘The Vampire Lestat’.

Before he could say a word, Helen had stormed over and snatched them from his hands.

“Fuck – that’s a sick joke,” she growled. “Someone needs to report the bastard who sent them.”

Before Dale could say another word, she had tossed both books into the rubbish bin.

Shaking his head, Dale turned to see Tim examining the labels on what was left of the packaging.

“Probably a fake name and address. No way of knowing if this guy even exists.” With a grimace, Tim looked up at Dale and, hesitantly added: “I mean, it could even be the bastard- ”

Helen had clapped a hand to Tim’s mouth, but it was too late. The suggestion was out there. Perhaps it was the guy who’d kidnapped him who was taunting him.

“Well if it is, he’s not in Melbourne anymore, so that’s a good thing, yes?” asked Dale, seeking their reassurances. “But why those books?”

Helen looked at him with pity, as if afraid he was going to break.

“Helen, tell me. I’m not going to have a breakdown, we’ve established that. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I know you are, love.” Helen forced herself to smile. “I just don’t want you dealing with shit you don’t have to.”

“Why those particular books?” he asked again, pointing at the bin.

Taking his hand, Helen led him to the dining table and prompted him to sit down. Tim followed and sat on his other side.

“Remember what we talked about before?” Helen had got used to his memory failing repeatedly whenever she tried to discuss with him what he’d been through. She tried to lay out what they had found out to see if it would trigger any memories. However, all it seemed to do was make those missing days even more elusive. “Whoever kidnapped you thought you were the rock singer, Lestat de Lioncourt. Apparently, it’s not his real name at all – he just named himself and his band after a character in those books.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tim, a hand gently squeezing Dale’s shoulder. “According to what I read on the album cover, one of the band had been reading the book and that’s how they chose the name of the band when he joined as lead singer. They were originally called Satan’s Night Out – that was a better name if you ask me.”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Later that evening, after licking chocolate frosting off each other’s lips and various other places, Dale took the remains of the chocolate cake back into the kitchen. While he was there he decided to retrieve the books from the bin. It didn’t seem right, throwing away brand new books. He could take them to the charity shop. Perhaps he’d read them first. After all he was still off work and they’d give him something new to read.

A quick look inside the fly cover revealed that the hardback had only been published last year. Flicking through the book, he caught sight of a bright yellow post-it note stuck to a calling card. The same name as on the packaging was on the card, along with a New York address and phone number.

Scrawled on the post-it, in bold print, was a note addressed to him.

‘Dale – you don’t know me. I read in the papers that you can’t remember a thing. But I bet you’ve got a small scar on your neck you never had before. Read these books and then, if you still want answers, call me.’

It was signed: Daniel (aka ‘the boy’).

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Is this the end?

 

Or just the beginning?

Notes:

Thank you to all those whose comments have inspired me to keep going with this until the very end.

I am grateful to those who understand why fic writers need validation and the knowledge that their hours and hours of hard work are appreciated.

I hope you've enjoyed this mad fiction as much as I have - it came to me as a waking thought on new year's day 2023 and has taken almost 6 months to complete.

I won't have time to write any more for a month or so (work as a Senior examiner in the UK takes precedence in the summer months) and whether or not I post any more IWTV fics (or Newsreader ones for that matter) depends on feeling confident enough to do so.

Much love to all those whose support has buoyed me up this year - thank you !

Chapter 24: Sequel! Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Summary:

The sequel is now being posted!
Chapter 1 below

Follow the next in series link or this link for more Once Bitten Twice Shy

 

New York (1986) / San Francisco (past)

 

“You caught that fuckin’ mouse yet?” demanded Daniel Molloy, as he entered his East Village apartment.  

A large black cat looked up at him with derision and then returned to where it was sitting on the window ledge over the radiator.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then. Well don’t expect any treats if you don’t catch the fucker!”

Setting down his lox and cream cheese bagel on the scratched pine table that served as dining table, desk and ironing board, he poured himself a cup of coffee that had not long finished brewing.

The radiator under the window gurgled ominously, but at least the heating was working. He could have afforded a more upmarket apartment in Upper East Side, but he liked the local vibe, the clubs and the fact it was grittier than the areas that were being transformed into family-friendly neighbourhoods. Besides, he even had a nice view, looking out over Tompkins Square Park.

Clearing a space so he could open up the paper, he took a gulp of his coffee and started flicking through the pages. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cat leap up onto the table and start creeping towards the bag containing his breakfast.

“Don’t even think about it! Go eat the damn kibbles!”

As he shooed it off the table, it hissed at him. “You don’t even live here, so don’t give me that attitude!”

Taking a bite out of his bagel, he started to flick through the pages of the New York Times. He’d been avidly following the story of the kidnapped newsreader in Australia. He was always on the lookout for crumbs of stories worthy of further digging, whether they concerned celebrities or politicians. It was his bread and butter, earning money from features on the rich, famous or notorious.

Although the newsreader wasn’t a celebrity himself, the latest headlines concerning his abduction featured an infamous rockstar, whose notoriety had made him front page news in the tabloids for a while. A rockstar whose antics made Ozzy Osbourne look tame.

Lestat de fuckin’ Lioncourt.

Wiping the grease off his fingers, he grabbed a pair of scissors and cut out the latest article to add to the folder of cuttings he’d been collecting since the story had first broken in the US. What had initially caught his eye had been the blurry CCTV image of a tall guy, wearing a long leather coat, walking away from a burning car that made his brain itch. The figure looked familiar – although he had no idea why that would be the case – he’d never been out of the States, never mind to Australia.

However, it was when the kidnapping got linked to Lestat de Lioncourt, that the whole case got a damn sight more intriguing. It was getting in his head - triggering long lost fragments of memories of a weird encounter he’d had in 1973.

 

---

 

Daniel Molloy couldn’t recall exactly what had gone down in San Francisco, apart from leaving Polynesian Mary’s with a really hot guy who said his name was Louis. Out of his league – totally, but he’d agreed to give him an ‘interview’ and even invited Daniel back to his place on Divisadero Street. At the time, he didn’t give a damn what kind of ‘interview’ it was, he would have followed that man anywhere.

Whatever drugs he’d indulged in after the cocaine and ludes he’d been plied with, which alone would have his moods swinging like a damn yoyo, his head had been fucked up so bad he couldn’t remember much up to the point he was staggered out into broad daylight. Sunlight so bright it made his eyes hurt. He’d have fallen down the steep steps down to the street if he’d not been sandwiched between Louis and another guy who’d turned up – a pal of his by the name of Armand. They’d got his arms slung over their shoulders as they carried him down the steps, his feet had barely touched the concrete until he got to the sidewalk.

What he did recall with vivid clarity was Armand grabbing hold of his throbbing head between both of his hands, his fingers cool against his cheeks, and telling him that he’d had a bad trip, but he wasn’t to worry, he just needed to go home and rest. He kept saying that  - ‘rest’. He’d tried to twist around to say something to Louis, but the guy had his hood up and a scarf wrapped around most of his face. When Daniel asked if he was OK, Armand just shook his head telling him Louis was in a bad way as well.

Somehow or other he’d ended up in the back of a cab and the driver knew where to go, even though he didn’t recall telling him the address. Taking a right down Post Street, he saw the Winterland Arena and frowned.

“Hey, has the Poco gig been cancelled or what?” He was sure he’d seen the posters up there only the other day. He was hoping to hang out at the bar and see who turned up. Rumour was that Graham Nash was going to turn up and he’d been hoping to get an interview with him.

“Where you been, pal?” scoffed the driver. “That was last Saturday!”

“Um – what day is it today?” he’d asked.

The driver snorted and tossed him a copy of the Chronicle, muttering about ‘doped up draft-dodging students needing to get a real job’. Any other time he’d have corrected him by pointing out there hadn’t been a draft call since the end of ’72. However, he kept his mouth shut, not wanting to get kicked out as he didn’t trust he could walk far without falling flat on his face.

The date on the paper was September 9th. He’d been out of it for four days.

Four whole fucking days.

When he’d got back to his digs he went straight to the bathroom and checked himself in the mirror. He looked like a damn zombie – eyes like piss holes in the snow, there were a couple of nasty looking scabs on his neck and his shirt collar was stiff with dried blood.

Searching his messenger bag, to make sure he’d not been robbed, he was relieved to find his cassette recorder intact, although the batteries had been removed. His notepad had a whole load of pages torn out and there were no tapes to be found, apart from one, unopened Scotch C60 cassette. The rest of the ten pack was missing.

The following day, he’d gone back to Polynesian Mary’s and asked if the barman had seen Louis. He needed those tapes. Getting no joy at the bar, he’d wandered up and down Divisadero Street to see if he could remember where Louis’s apartment had been. At a loss, he’d rang the doorbells of dozens of apartments, but no one knew who he was talking about. Then again, if he’d been dealing, his neighbours wouldn’t want to admit to knowing him.

Two months later, he got a job with the San Francisco Chronicle and even though he never set eyes on Louis again, he kept imagining he saw Armand lurking in the shadows at clubs and bars where he hung out. One time he definitely did see him, was in the doorway to the men’s room of The Matrix club on Fillmore Street. Pissed at being stalked, he asked him what the fuck he was doing, only for the guy to smirk and offer to buy him a drink.

At the bar, Armand had told him he was glad to see he hadn’t suffered any permanent harm as a result of a bad batch of acid that Louis had shared with him. He then handed him the business card for a company he said he was setting up in New York. Told him to get in touch as there would always be an opening there for a ‘bright young reporter’. He then scribbled an outrageously high figure on the back that he promised would be the minimum he’d get paid for any articles he produced.

 

---

 

Four years later, Daniel Molloy moved to New York, after being fired from both the San Francisco Chronicle and the LA Times, the lure of working freelance for a company that would pay his moving expenses was too much to resist. He’d been surprised that the secretary at Catalina Imprints knew who he was and told him her boss would be very pleased to know he was going to accept the offer.

Since Daniel had signed up with the company based in an imposing building called Trinity House, he’d been commissioned with several lucrative contracts a year and seen his work published in reputable newspapers and magazines in the US and in Europe.

As a consequence, he could afford to rent a two bedroom apartment with its own bathroom. Not only that, but he had enough time to pursue his own pet projects, including pulling together notes for ‘Hate and Ashbury’, which was going to be an account of the history of the Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco, its counterculture, and the so-called Summer of Love. 

It was in the early 1980s when Daniel came across the book. He’d visited one of his favourite second-hand book shops to buy something lightweight to read on the flight from New York to California to attend an uncle’s funeral. There was something about the title that called out to him, even though it wasn’t a genre he usually read. When he started reading it on the plane, he felt a sickening sense of déjà vu.

The main character was a vampire, whose name was exactly the same as that he’d committed to memory on seeing Louis de Pointe du Lac flash his Amex card at Polynesian Mary’s. Back then, only flash bastards paid for drinks with plastic, that’s why it had made such an impression on Daniel – the guy was showing off his wealth. However, the description of the protagonist in the book was as far from his vague memory of that Louis as possible – a white plantation owner, with all the features of a romantic poet on the verge of dying from consumption, compared to a charming, handsome, black guy. The irony nearly had him choke on the nuts he’d been eating. The only thing they had in common was that both men came from Louisianian Creole families.  

How did he know that about Louis?

Somewhere over the American Mid-West, he dozed off and had the weirdest dream of the Louis he’d met at Polynesian Mary’s telling him he was a vampire and flashing his fangs. Waking with a start, he then recalled interviewing the guy and being desperate to capture every single word, not that he could remember anything he actually said. Leafing his way through the pages of the paperback, he picked out sentences where ‘the boy’ acted just like he did when onto a story – frantically flipping over tapes, ripping the wrappers of new tapes, letting a cigarette burn all the way down to ash without realising until his fingers got burnt, wiping sweat off his brow with a handkerchief. He got out a pen and started circling every reference to ‘the boy’, including every time the character said ‘and then what?’, folding over the corners of each relevant page. The woman sat next to him looked alarmed at how intensely he was scribbling in the book, but he didn’t care less.

The book read as if all the background shit that ended up in the background of his recordings had been incorporated into the story.  What he didn’t know was whether or not the rest of the story was what he’d actually heard – as his own memory was still a blank. Apart from Louis smiling at him and saying: “I’m a vampire!”

There was only one conclusion he could come to - some bastard had got hold of his tapes, and then used them to write this book.

By the time he skim-read to the end of the book, he knew without doubt that ‘the boy’ had to be him. The clincher was the way the character in the book identified Louis’s accent in the bar – the same damn place he’d met Louis. It was a come-on line of his. He used to practise it on taxi drivers, barbers and shopkeepers and then use what he’d learnt to hit on strangers.

As for that part near the end, where the vampire bit ‘the boy’ – if that didn’t explain the damn scars on his neck, what did?

Something had happened to him in San Francisco, and not just a spectacularly bad trip. The interview he’d recorded had somehow ended up in a novel. He had no proof, so couldn’t sue, but he was pissed that whoever had written the damn book had the audacity to insert him into the narrative. All he had to back up any allegations he chose to make was that he’d been in San Francisco in 1973 and left that very same gay bar in the company of some dude called Louis.

 

---

 

Then, in 1985, a second book was published centred on Louis’s maker, boyfriend and general pain in the ass from the first book. Same author, but totally different tone to the first,  the conceit being that The Vampire Lestat was narrated by the eponymous character himself. The whole tone couldn’t be more different. Daniel diligently carried out some research of his own. There had been a rock band, originating from New Orleans, that had taken their name from one of the characters in the original vampire novel. He guessed that the writer had incorporated that detail into their second book, writing the vampire as a modern day rockstar reflecting on his fucked up life.

What really got the investigative journalist in him excited was finding out the reason the actual, real life band had split up. He’d seen the headlines in the trashy papers at the drugstore, but never bothered following up on them until he made the connection between what happened to him and Lestat de Lioncourt. It couldn’t be a coincidence that it happened in San Francisco – a mass hysteria event at the band’s sell out concert at the Cow Palace. What was really odd was that the lead singer kept the name, despite the bad press, with articles in the music papers suggesting he was working on a solo project in preparation for a relaunch of his career.

Then, a year after the book had been published, another scandal emerged implicating Lestat de Lioncourt, this time in Australia. It was in all the papers – lurid accounts of an abduction, animal sacrifice and suspected murder. Daniel was fascinated enough to get hold of all the papers reporting on the story.  It had started with reports that an Aussie newsreader from a TV station had been kidnapped and then, once he was found in a motel near the airport, the official statement from Lestat’s agents declared that Jennings had been kidnapped by some deranged fans who’d mistaken him for the French rockstar. Looking at the photos, Daniel could see the similarity. If he squinted and drew long hair on the news guy.

He was ready to dismiss the conspiracy theories, siding with speculation that it had all been a publicity stunt by the rockstar that had got totally out of hand. That was until he saw the photos of Jennings on the gurney, being whisked past the press on his way into hospital. There were marks on the side of his neck, like puncture marks, two of them, directly over the jugular vein, in exactly the same place as the scars he still had. Two trickles of blood were visible.

Daniel had got hold of the transcripts of all the news coverage he could find about the kidnapping. Every single report stated that Jennings had no memories of what happened to him. Most of the analysis put that down to the blow he’d received to the back of his head.

Sure.

Just like Daniel had assumed the fuzzy memories he had were down to a four-day bender and drug-induced black-outs.

If he’d not been suspicious before, he was even more on edge after getting a phone call from Armand, less than twenty-four hours after Jennings had been found in that motel. What he wanted Daniel to do was unethical and could have ruined his reputation as a journalist with integrity. But somehow or other, that smooth-tongued bastard convinced him to provide an alibi for Lioncourt.

The lure had been a promise of an exclusive interview with Lestat de Lioncourt, maybe even in his private home. All he had to say was that he’d been interviewing the rockstar when Jennings had been taken from his Melbourne home. Armand offered compensation in terms of a generous advance fee for the article he was going to submit following the interview.

Scruples be damned.

No one had managed to interview Lioncourt, or whatever the guy’s real name was. There was a story there to be told … he’d seen articles in the gutter press about people being set on fire at the Cow Palace concert, heads exploding and Lestat leaving with some guy on the back of his Harley-Davison. These rumours were quashed in more erudite papers, mostly on account of the sources being students stoned out of their skulls. But Daniel’s journalistic instincts told him there was no smoke without fire. He’d been in touch with ex-colleagues who were still working at the San Francisco Chronicle and the LA Times and asked them to send him whatever they could find in the archives. He needed names of people who were there and were still lucid enough to answer a few questions over the phone.

There’d been a cover up for sure and it could be the making of him if he was the one to expose the truth – because it sure as hell had to involve the authorities, so there must have been somebody getting backhanders to shut down the real story. Meanwhile, he sensed there was definitely something shady about Lioncourt, not least of all his links to the kidnapping of Jennings in Melbourne.

It occurred to him that perhaps Lioncourt had something to do with what happened to him as well as Jennings. He had to speak to the Aussie guy – as far as he knew, he’d not given an interview to anyone else. Maybe, between them they could help each other remember what had happened to them?

Deciding to sound the guy out, Daniel sent copies of ‘Interview with the vampire’ and ‘The vampire Lestat’ to Dale Jennings via the News at Six studio in Melbourne. He used labels from his publishers to make the package look legit, but didn’t put his name on the outside. . However, he did slip a personal business card inside one of the books. There was no way of telling if the guy would ever bother getting back to him, but he was Jennings he’d want to grab hold of the chance to work with another journalist to lift the lid on whatever shit had gone down with them both.

 

---

 

Melbourne 1986

 

[Previously in ‘One of our reporters is missing’]

 

“What’s the package?” asked Tim, frowning as he took it from Helen. He looked at the sender’s details and showed them to Dale. “You know who it’s from?”

“No,” replied Dale, looking puzzled. “But the address is for a publishing house in New York, perhaps a journalist.”

The package contained two books, one was a paperback and the other a hardback, with the titles: ‘Interview with the vampire’ and ‘The Vampire Lestat’.

Before he could say a word, Helen had stormed over and snatched them from his hands.

“Fuck – that’s a sick joke,” she growled. “Someone needs to report the bastard who sent them.”

Before Dale could say another word, she had tossed both books into the rubbish bin.

“Why those particular books?” asked Dale, pointing at the bin.

Taking his hand, Helen led him to the dining table and prompted him to sit down. Tim followed and sat on his other side.

“Remember what we talked about before?” Helen had got used to his memory failing repeatedly whenever she tried to discuss with him what he’d been through. “Whoever kidnapped you thought you were the rock singer, Lestat de Lioncourt. Apparently, it’s not his real name – he just named himself and his band after a character in those books.”

“Yeah,” agreed Tim, a hand gently squeezing Dale’s shoulder. “According to what I read on the album cover, one of the band members had been reading the book and that’s how they chose the name of the band when he joined as lead singer. They were originally called Satan’s Night Out – that was a better name if you ask me.”

Later that evening, Dale decided to retrieve the books from the bin. It didn’t seem right, throwing away brand new books. He could take them to the charity shop. Perhaps he’d read them first. After all he was still off work and they’d give him something new to read.

Flicking through the paperback, he caught sight of a bright yellow sticky note stuck to a calling card. The same name as on the packaging was on the card, along with a New York address and phone number.

The note read:

‘Dale – you don’t know me. I read in the papers that you can’t remember a thing. But I bet you’ve got a small scar on your neck you never had before. Read these books and then, if you still want answers, call me’

It was signed:  Daniel Molloy (aka ‘the boy’)’

 

---

 

A month had passed since he’d been discharged from hospital, and Dale was still recuperating. Lindsay made it clear he wasn’t taking any chances putting ‘flaky Dale’ on camera, so he spent most days twiddling his thumbs at Helen’s place. Both Helen and Tim were out working during the week, while all Dale could do was read. Having exhausted the collection that Helen had he got a taxi back to his flat, with the intention of collecting some more books to read and doing some laundry for himself. Pottering around in his old flat, with the stereo blasting out in the background was therapeutic.

After reheating one of the meals his mum had put in the freezer for him, Dale called Helen’s office number and told her he was going to stay at his flat overnight. He’d been feeling guilty about waking up her and Tim in the middle of the night, calling out in his sleep.

Not long after leaving the message, Helen rang him back, concerned that surely his nightmares would be worse in the actual place where he was abducted. However, he managed to persuade her that it was just for one night and that perhaps he could confront his fears better if he wasn’t worrying about waking her up.

Deciding to have an early night, he made himself a mug of Milo with hot milk and was about to finish reading a library book that was long overdue when he remembered the books he’d got out of the waste bin and hidden in his underwear drawer.

Checking the order in which the books should be read, he took the paperback copy of Interview with the Vampire to bed with him. As he turned the pages, he felt something stirring – memories maybe. It wasn’t just that the names seemed familiar to him – after all Tim and Helen had explained to him that the rockstar going by the name Lestat de Lioncourt was the person he’d been mistaken for when he’d been kidnapped. Lestat and Armand were odd names, but he felt as if he knew them as well. Reading the book, he could hear the name Louis de Pointe du Lac spoken with a sultry southern drawl. In the book, Louis was a plantation owner- and that just did not fit with the image conjured up in Dale’s mind when he pictured the character. What did strike him as he read the book was that Louis had been through a major bust-up with Lestat – and that definitely rang a bell.

He stayed up all night, not even the warm, milky Milo made him sleepy as he read the book from cover to cover. Come morning, he started to read the next one. He definitely felt as if he knew those people – well, three of them. It wasn’t just because of the vivid writing, because, apart from Lestat, whose character leapt out of the pages at him, the characters he saw in his head didn’t match their book descriptions. Louis was all wrong, far from being pale as milk, he saw him as bronzed and radiant, and as for Armand, again, the book conflicted with the image he had in his head when he closed his eyes. He was tall, not short, older and not red-haired. All three prowled his mind like felines, searching for prey – and he felt sure he had narrowly escaped being on the menu.

Taking hold of the card he’d been using as a bookmark, he called Noelene asking if she could see what she could find out about Daniel Molloy – basically, was he really a journalist and writer, working for or associated with the publishing company Catalina Imprints?

She called back within the hour to let him know she’d made a call to the company in New York and had discovered that Daniel Molloy did work for them freelance – writing articles for various newspapers and magazines. He’d also written a book as an investigative journalist on the environmental crisis of acid rain called ‘Under the burning sky’.

Deciding there was nothing to lose, Dale checked the time zone differences and after working out it would be late afternoon in New York, he called the number on the business card. If Helen knew what he was doing, she’d be furious with him, but it was a potential lead he couldn’t ignore.

A gruff voice grunted at him from the other end, the sound of someone who was a chain smoker. “Molloy here, what can I do for you?”

“Mister Molloy? Um … this is Dale Jennings,” he paused and waited a moment. “You sent me some books.”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. “Sure… I was starting to think you were never gonna call me. Jeez … give me a second …” There was the sound of furniture being shifted and a match being struck. “Hey,  I’m so glad you got in touch. Tell me - did you read them? The books?”

“Yes. Well, I read the first one and just started the other. I –“

“Don’t say anything else!” snapped Molloy. “Can’t guarantee my phone’s not bugged. Or yours for that matter.”

“Who would bug… oh of course, you can’t say, in case they are …” Dale rubbed his face and wondered if the guy was just another conspiracy theorist, like Tim had suggested when he’d first received the mysterious package. “It’s all true, isn’t it?”

“Kinda … I think … well, put it this way, I’m damn sure there’s a factual basis for what’s in the books. However, there are parts which… you’re gonna think I’m crazy… but in places I get a feeling it’s not accurate… deliberately.”

“Such as?” asked Dale, nervously running his fingers through his hair. He’d got the same feeling, but for all he knew the guy on the other end of the line was wearing a hat made of kitchen foil.

“Without giving away specifics, there’s an adolescent redhead in the books that really bugs me...”

Dale nodded eagerly. “Oh my God … yes! Should be older, dark curly hair and- ”

“Yeah! And the main guy in the first book? Wrong colour…”

“Lou- ”

“Stop there! Don’t say anything else – but you and me? We need to talk about this in person, face to face.”

“What?” blurted out Dale. “I’m on indefinite leave from work… I can’t afford to fly half way around the world- ”

“Listen up, I’m gonna be calling in a favour to get an interview with a certain blond rockstar, as described in the book you’re reading. Why don’t you come over and interview him with me?”

Dale licked his lips, keen to say yes, yet anticipating the reaction from Helen and Tim if he flew off to the States on a hunch. “I’m tempted, but I just don’t have the funds and News at Six aren’t going to pick up the tab- ”

“I’ll buy the tickets for you – you can pick them up at the airport when you check in.”

Dale’s heart was racing. He needed answers and this seemed like an unexpected opportunity to get them. Surely Helen wouldn’t object to him following up on this… Then it occurred to him that maybe she’d be happier if he didn’t go alone. After all, Tim was no longer working for News at Six and was about to finish on the documentary he’d been filming.

“Can I bring a cameraman with me? Someone to record the interview maybe, or at least take pictures. Do you think that would be acceptable?”

He heard Molloy exhale and then tap his fingers. “You got someone you trust? I mean… I don’t know how this is gonna go down. And we really need to talk first.”

“There is someone I know… he’s a … he’s a close friend. He was instrumental in discovering where I was being held…” Dale paused as it occurred to him that if anything, Tim knew more about what happened to him than he did. He was certain both Tim and Helen were keeping details from him. “He knows as much, if not more than I do.”

“Sure, if you can vouch for the guy. Why not? Give me his name and I’ll get tickets in both your names. I’ve got a spare room if you don’t mind sharing – ”

Dale felt himself blushing as he quickly assured Molloy that wasn’t going to be an issue. “No, we don’t mind sharing.”

“Ah … that kinda close friend, huh? Cool with me.”

“It’s not…” Dale felt flustered, on the verge of saying it wasn’t what it was. “We can find a hotel if that would be more convenient…”

“No sweat, man. Really. Why don’t you call me back when you know when you can get here and I’ll sort out flight arrangements.”

Chewing his lip, Dale nodded, it was all happening so fast, but having something to do was what he needed. “I need to discuss it first with … Tim of course and … another friend… but I’m in. There are questions I need answers to.”

“Me too, buddy.”

When he put down the receiver, Dale felt simultaneously relieved and terrified.

What the hell was he getting himself into?

 

---

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Never get involved in the affairs of humans