Chapter 1
“I’M THE VAMPIRE ARMAND AND MY DADDY VAMPIRE GROOMED ME INTO A LITTLE BITCH!”
These are, without a doubt, the single most eviscerating fourteen words anyone has ever spoken to me—in any language!
Far more hurtful than being called a boring beige pillow! Even more hurtful than hearing that name being said over and over and over again, until it was pounding in my brain like a hammer and indelibly imprinted on my synapses!
Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat…
He who I’ve loved beyond all measure! For whom I would have gladly sacrificed my own immortality, had he only loved me in return!
Once upon a time, he did love me. But then… he left me! With only the theater, the coven, a trunkful of gold, and a broken heart!
But why did he leave? What made him change?
I have never known the answer! Because he never told me!
And then along came another for me to love, one hundred fifty years later. Louis de Pointe du Lac, who had attempted to murder Lestat in cold blood, and claimed to still carry him in his heart!
Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat. Lestat…
He was something we had in common, Louis and I.
And we bonded over him.
I suppose.
Even in his absence, Lestat created a tangible wall between Louis and myself! He became the photographs on the walls, the piano player at the restaurant, the ghost who accompanied us on our walks through Paris, and ultimately, the incubus that slithered between us in bed!
Lestat... Lestat… Lestat…
He has wounded me!
I hate him!
And yet, I love him!
Still!
With all my heart and my soul!
And I will throughout eternity!
But it wasn’t Lestat who uttered that hateful phrase!
It was Louis!
My beautiful Louis, begotten by Lestat, who surely must have wept as he made him!
My Louis still… now and forever… for he was with me forty-seven years longer than he ever was with Lestat!
And we would still be together now, had it not been for Daniel Malloy!
Molloy is my fledgling, but that is another story, for another time and place. Suffice it to say that in 1973, Louis met him at Polynesian Mary’s—a bar frequented by “our kind” (and by that I don’t mean vampires) in San Francisco.
Malloy wanted to interview him, so Louis took him to one of the apartments we owned. There, he offered Molloy an assortment of drugs, and proceeded to divulge not only his entire life history, but much of Lestat’s as well!
Lestat… Lestat… the Puce… Lestat… Lestat...
His brother threw himself off the roof… His sister buried him alive… his daughter was his sister was his throw pillow… when he wouldn’t look at him kindly…
Lestat… Lestat… Lestat…
I listened to all of the tapes. Twice. Ten hours of whiny, existential drivel.
Finally, Louis fed off of Malloy. Knowing full well the effect the drugs in Molloy’s system would have on him, having done this many times with others!
Needless to say, the results were disastrous! Or they could have been, if I had not come, as always, to the rescue, with mop and mindlessness to clean up the mess he made!
It was a common occurrence. Aligned with Ursa Major. Louis’ tri-annual “fuck off and find me,” with apologies to follow.
I wanted to kill Molloy. End him–along with any possibility of this treacherous work ever coming to fruition–once and for all!
But… Louis would not let me!
He said he needed Malloy to live, as a testament to the longevity of our relationship.
It was not a request, but an order.
So, I spared him. Doing as he asked, as always. Which has proven time and time again to be a mistake!
What followed was a… most unpleasant weekend, which I thought we had left in the past. But last June—forty-nine years later—Louis contacted Malloy, without consulting me, proposing they “revisit” the ghastly project: a project that I was dead set against from the very beginning!
Because Malloy is a reporter; therefore, by definition, the enemy! A threat to us all—mortal and immortal alike—for he stops at nothing, even going as far as to destroy the lives of others, to further his own mercenary agenda!
I feel qualified to say this, because Malloy has effectively destroyed my own life! And Louis's, by extension, for I fear that he now is in very grave danger!
Malloy–never content with the information we offered him–kept right on digging, and digging, and digging… deeper and deeper and deeper, until he finally located—and then detonated—the hidden bomb that effectively obliterated our sacred love, our seventy-seven-year relationship, which was forty-seven years longer than his relationship with Lestat!
And then Louis, in an act of pure vengeance, threw me against a concrete wall; threatening to kill me if I so much as laid a finger on Malloy!
Then, without further ado, he climbed into his airplane and flew directly to New Orleans, running straight into the open, caring, awaiting arms of his belovéd Lestat!
Lestat… Lestat… Lestat…
The events that followed led to my being held–against my will and at the insistence of Marius (my maker and my master)--by Dr. Fareed Bhansali at his hospital in Dubai; the city in which my belovéd and I have resided for many years. It was Dr. Bhansali who suggested I keep a journal of my thoughts and feelings, in hopes that it would give me some “insight.”
Insight into what, I do not know. For as I see it, I have done nothing wrong.
Of course I was reluctant to undergo such a task. Because of the Great Laws—Laws that Louis, his precious Lestat, and the Puce showed absolutely no respect for!
However, as the good doctor pointed out, I am not technically breaking any laws if I am simply stating the fact that I am a vampire and telling my own personal story–so long as I leave the history of our creation out of it.
Not that any mortal is likely to believe it either way.
And so, having said this, I am the Vampire Armand. The love of Louis de Pointe du Lac’s life, whether he realizes it or not.
And this is my story!
***************
I doubt anyone will ever read my account of these events; except perhaps Dr. Bhansali and the therapist he assigns to my case. This will happen only if I am required to submit them, for the sake of my “treatment,” or for any other pertinent reason. Even so, I shall not bore the good doctor, his assistant, or you, dear reader, by retelling the stories you have no doubt already heard.
Stories, long forgotten, about a boy named Arun—who was sold by his parents, when only a boy, to a ship captain. Who, in turn, sold him to a brothel, where he was subjected to every sort of abuse imaginable.
Arun, who was eventually rescued by his maker, Marius de Romanus, when he was fifteen. Well cared for–adored even–and given everything money could buy!
Marius, who renamed the boy Amadeo—beloved of God—was reluctant to share with him the dark gift; turning him only when he was much older, and only then to prevent his death.
Amadeo was separated from his belovéd Marius when a Roman coven set fire to both Marius and the studio. They kidnapped Amadeo, renamed him Armand, and taught him that the mission of “our kind” is to serve God, through Satan, through the coven leader.
Then they sent me to Paris, to reign over the coven abandoned by Magnus; a foul alchemist who, as an old man, captured the vampire Benedict, forcing him to turn him.
Magnus, who later begat Lestat.
Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat, Lestat…
I shall not retell these stories because I am certain that by now, most of you have read Malloy’s fascinating account of my life! Of all our lives! Or that you soon will, because I have no doubt that his gratuitous book will go to the press, despite Louis setting fire to Malloy’s computer.
I am also certain that Mr. Malloy will give an account, as presented by Louis, of the trial that destroyed Louis’ and my relationship–a relationship I tried very hard to rebuild. How Louis ultimately punished Lestat by kissing me in his presence, promising me we would spend the rest of our lives together—a promise he shattered due to a… technical error on my part.
But was it truly a great, deplorable sin...an unforgivable sin that I had committed? Because whatever I may have done, I did it either to preserve Louis’ happiness or to preserve our relationship—a relationship that had endured forty-seven years longer than the one he shared with Lestat!
And how was that relationship any different, or any better, than the one he shared with me?
Did I lie to Louis?
Of course I did! But so did his belovéd Lestat!
Was I abusive to Louis?
Absolutely not! Even when he charged at me in his unbridled rage, I never once laid a hand on him in anger!
And if I lied to him by keeping certain books beyond his reach, intermingling the photographs he took in France with a few by Fred Stein, removing pages from the Puce’s diary, editing his memory, or any of the other things of which Malloy accuses me... it was all done for Louis’ own good.
Because it was my job to preserve Louis’ happiness.
Even when he could not.
Yet, when Lestat drops him from seven thousand feet in the air…?
He writes a song, which his mistress sings as it is pressed into vinyl, and then sends it–special delivery–to Louis as an apology present…
And Louis forgives him everything!!!
Yet I keep a few... inconsequential... little secrets from him, mostly out of concern for his happiness, safety, and mental well-being, and he has forever condemned me to the very life of loneliness that our kind dreads above hell itself!
And to those of you who sit in judgement of me for withholding this information from my belovéd; ask yourself: Would I have done any differently, if I thought that the one person who meant everything to me might end himself horribly? Or worse yet, walk out of my life, never again to return?
So yes. I confess that I sometimes did conceal things from Louis. As—and only as—a means of preserving our relationship as well as his mental health and happiness.
Because Louis needed—and still needs—protection from himself. Whether he realizes it or not.
So does Lestat, for that matter. Though he will never admit this to anyone, much less himself!
If and when you read Malloy’s book, you will learn what Louis is capable of when he gets depressed and wants to end himself.
Or when his mind is focused on revenge.
When these things happen, Louis becomes dangerous; to himself, and everyone around him!
I have no doubt that Malloy will find—and publish—the photographs of Alderman Fenwick hanging lifelessly, still bleeding, on a Church Gate in New Orleans!
I am also sure that the abomination he publishes will include the story about how Louis burned the Theatre des Vampires to the ground, not content until he had taunted and brutally murdered Santiago and everyone else in the process!
And how, after we had a minor quarrel, he bolted up the stairs to the roof of our San Francisco apartment and into the sun, for the sole purpose of ending his life! Making a grand spectacle of the event, and therefore putting not only himself, but me and every mortal in the neighborhood–every vampire in the world, including his belovéd Lestat–in danger with his blatant display of histrionics!
So yes, I have been forced to keep a few minor little secrets from Louis.
And yes, I punished him—and rightfully so—by allowing him writhe in his pain as a consequence for his actions.
Had I not done so, I would be spending the next thousand years on suicide watch, because he most certainly would have made another attempt, and possibly succeeded! And I, having willingly sacrificed everything and everyone I have ever loved to be with him, would have ended up alone!
Yet despite the simple measures I put into place, Louis discovered, through working with Malloy, one small faux pas, one little occurrence over the years that I had successfully concealed from him; had only concealed from him to ensure the success of our relationship.
And when through Malloy (and those traitors Sam and Rashid), Louis discovered this... inconsequential detail, he threw away, with both hands, the beautiful thing that had been our love! Running back to Lestat, but not because they loved each other deeply and profoundly—a delusion that many of you wallow in luxuriously!
No! The only reason he went back to Lestat was to hurt me! Humiliate me! Gravely! Deeply! And profoundly!
And... he has succeeded.
But as Lestat himself had said to Louis, we will see how long it holds...
I also wish to clarify that I did not commit the act in question because I wanted to. I simply had no choice. The pressure from Santiago—from the entire coven—was palpable!
Had I not complied, they would have killed all four of us! And I had no way of knowing how long Louis’ love for me might endure, for we had only been together a few short years, and I had been with the coven for almost two centuries!
So yes, I put the wants and needs of the coven over Louis’s. And then I rescued him knowing full well what he planned to do, and I didn’t stop him from doing it.
I could have, but I didn’t.
For they had all turned in on themselves. That was the one thing the Puce stated correctly.
And sadly… he has never forgiven me, despite my deep love for him. That much became apparent, thanks to Malloy!
Suffice to say that upon losing my belovéd Louis, my heart was broken, is still broken, and will always be broken, permanently and irrevocably, for in many ways I have never recovered, nor will I recover, from the way life has conspired and transpired against me.
I would crawl an inch forward in my belovéd’s eyes, every decade or so perhaps, only to be pushed further and further back, because in the end, I think he saw me only as a reminder of the worst... of everything.
I take comfort in the fact that Lestat does not truly love him— can never truly love him! I know for a fact because Lestat lacks the capacity to love anybody, despite what you may have heard! Also, I might add, I am qualified to make that statement, because I have known him far longer than anyone else has, including my belovéd Louis or my belovéd Marius!
And I have definitely known him longer than any of you simpering, giggling teenyboppers who have plastered his pictures all over your bedroom walls, burning incense and candles before them, revering him as if he were God; something he is definitely not!
A practice I find heretical, sacrilegious, and appalling.
For he has chosen a life of decadence and revelry over the one I offered him of humility and contrition–the life he should have chosen, for the good of mankind as well as his own castigation–but refused.
________________________
There’ve been good times
There’ve been bad times
I’ve had my share of hard times, too
But I lost my faith in the world
Honey, when I lost you.
Remember the good times we’ve had together
Don’t you want them back again
Though these hard times are bugging me now
Honey, now it’s a sin.
There’s gotta be trust in this world
Or it won’t get very far
Well, trust in someone
Or there’s gonna be war
~Good Times, Bad Times, by The Rolling Stones.