"But it was to bring them into my unnatural world that I uttered these words. The goal was not merely to save, but to make of them what I was-a unique and terrible being. It was to confer upon them the very individuality I cherished. We shall live, even in this state called living death, we shall love, we shall feel, we shall defy those who would judge us and destroy us. That was my transcendence. And self-sacrifice and redemption had no part in it."
Oh, how frustrating it was that I could not communicate it to her, I could not make her believe it in literal terms. "Don't you see, I survived all that has happened to me because I am who I am. My strength, my will, my refusal to give up-those are the only components of my heart and soul which I can truly identify. This ego, if you wish to call it that, is my strength. I am the Vampire Lestat, and nothing . .. not even this mortal body ... is going to defeat me."
I was amazed to see her nod, to see her totally accepting expression.
"And if you came with me," she said gently, "the Vampire Lestat would perish-wouldn't he?-in his own redemption."
"Yes, he would. He would die slowly and horribly among the small and thankless tasks, caring for the never-ending hordes of the nameless, the faceless, the eternally needy."
I felt so sad suddenly that I couldn't continue. I was tired in an awful mortal way, the mind having worked its chemistry upon this body. I thought of my dream and of my speech to Claudia, and now I had told it again to Gretchen, and I knew myself as never before.
I drew up my knees and rested my arms on them, and I put my forehead on my arms. "I can't do it," I said under my breath. "I can't bury myself alive in such a life as you have. And I don't want to, that's the awful part. I don't want to do it! I don't believe it would save my soul. I don't believe it would matter."
I felt her hands on my arms. She was stroking my hair again, drawing it back from my forehead.
"I understand you," she said, "even though you're wrong."
I gave a little laugh as I looked up at her. I took a napkin from our little picnic and I wiped my nose and my eyes.
"But I haven't shaken your faith, have I?"
"No," she said. And this time her smile was different, more warm and more truly radiant. "You've confirmed it," she said in a whisper. "How very strange you are, and how miraculous that you came to me. I can almost believe your way is right for you. Who else could be you? No one."
I sat back, and drank a little sip of wine. It was now warm from the fire, but still it tasted good, sending a ripple of pleasure through my sluggish limbs. I drank some more of it. I set down the glass and looked at her.
"I want to ask you a question," I said. "Answer me from your heart. If I win my battle-if I regain my body-do you want me to come to you? Do you want me to show you that I've been telling the truth? Think carefully before you answer.
"I want to do it. I really do. But I'm not sure that it's the best thing for you. Yours is almost a perfect life. Our little carnal episode couldn't possibly turn you away from it. I was right- wasn't I?-hi what I said before. You know now that erotic pleasure really isn't important to you, and you're going to return to your work hi the jungle very soon, if not immediately."
"That's true," she said. "But there's something else you should know, also. There was a moment this morning when I thought I could throw away everything-just to be with you."
"No, not you, Gretchen."
"Yes, me. I could feel it sweeping me away, the way the music once did. And if you were to say 'Come with me,' even now, I might go. If this world of yours really existed . . ."
She broke off with another little shrug, tossing her hair a little and then smoothing it back behind her shoulder. "The meaning of chastity is not to fall in love," she said, her focus sharpening as she looked at me. "I could fall in love with you. I know I could."
She broke off, and then said in a low, troubled voice, "You could become my god. I know that's true."
This frightened me, yet I felt at once a shameless pleasure and satisfaction, a sad pride. I tried not to yield to the feeling of slow physical excitement. After all, she didn't know what she was saying. She couldn't know. But there was something powerfully convincing in her voice and in her manner.
"I'm going back," she said in the same voice, full of certitude and humility. "I'll probably leave within a matter of days. But yes, if you win this battle, if you recover your old form-for the love of God, come to me. I want to ... I want to know!"
I didn't reply. I was too confused. Then I spoke the confusion.
"You know, in a horrible way, when I do come to you and reveal my true self, you may be disappointed."
"How could that be?"
"You think me a sublime human being for the spiritual content of all I've said to you. You see me as some sort of blessed lunatic spilling truth with error the way a mystic might. But I'm not human. And when you know it, maybe you'll hate it."
"No, I could never hate you. And to know that all you've said is true? That would be ... a miracle."
"Perhaps, Gretchen. Perhaps. But remember what I said. We are a vision without revelation. We are a miracle without meaning. Do you really want that cross along with so many others?"
She didn't answer. She was weighing my words. I could not imagine what they meant to her. I reached for her hand, and she let me take it, folding her fingers gently around mine, her eyes still constant as she looked at me.
"There is no God, is there, Gretchen?"
"No, there isn't," she whispered.
I wanted to laugh and to weep. I sat back, laughing softly to myself and looking at her, at the calm, statuesque manner in winch she sat there, the light of the fire caught in her hazel eyes.
"You don't know what you've done for me," she said. "You don't know how much it has meant. I am ready-ready to go back now."
I nodded.
"Then it won't matter, will it, my beautiful one, if we get into that bed together again. For surely we should do it."
"Yes, we should do that, I think," she answered.
It was almost dark when I left her quietly to take the phone by f its long cord into the little bath and call my New York agent. "| Once again, the number rang and rang. I was just about to give - up, and turn again to my man in Paris, when a voice came on f* the line, and slowly let me know in halting awkward terms that % my New York representative was indeed no longer alive. He had died by violence several nights ago hi his office high above Madison Avenue. Robbery had now been affirmed as the motive for the attack; his computer and all his files had been stolen. I was so stunned that I could make no answer to the helpful voice on the phone. At last I managed to collect myself sufficiently to put a few questions.
On Wednesday night, about eight o'clock, the crime had occurred. No, no one knew the extent of damage done by the theft of the files. Yes, unfortunately the poor man had suffered.
"Awful, awful situation," said the voice. "If you were in New York, you couldn't avoid knowing about it Every paper in town had the story. They were calling it a vampire killing. The man's body was entirely drained of blood."
I hung up the phone, and for a long moment sat there in rigid if silence. Then I rang Paris. My man there answered after only J|: a small delay.
Thank God I had called, said my man. But please, I must identify myself. No, the code words weren't enough. What about conversations which had taken place between us in the past? Ah, yes, yes, that was it. Talk, talk, he said. I at once poured out a litany of secrets known only to me and this man, and I could hear his great relief as he at last unburdened him-