Chapter Text
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.”
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