remember telling him that what I chiefly knew was that I'd destroy him if I ever saw him 
again. `You see, someone must die every night that I walk, until I've the courage to end 
it,' I told him. `And you're an admirable choice for that victim, a killer as evil as 
myself.'
  "And I left New Orleans the next night because the sorrow wasn't leaving me. And I 
didn't want to think of that old house where Lestat was dying. Or that sharp, modem 
vampire who'd fled me. Or of Armand.
  "I wanted to be where there was nothing familiar to me. And nothing mattered.
  "And that's the end of it. There's nothing else."
  The boy sat mute, staring at the vampire. And the vampire sat collected, his hands 
folded on the table, his narrow, red-rimmed eyes fixed on the turning tapes. His face was 
so gaunt now that the veins of his temples showed as if carved out of stone. And he sat 
so still that only his green eyes evinced life, and that life was a dull fascination with 
the turning of the tapes.
  Then the boy drew back and ran the fingers of his right hand loosely through his hair. 
"No," he said with a short intake of breath. Then he said it again louder, "No!"'
  The vampire didn't appear to bear him. His eyes moved away from the tapes towards the 
window, towards the dark, gray sky.
  "It didn't have to end like that!" said the boy, leaning forward.
  The vampire, who continued to look at the sky, uttered a short, dry laugh.
  "All the things you felt in Paris!" said the boy, his voice increasing in volume. "The 
love of Claudia, the feeling, even the feeling for Lestat! It didn't have to end, not in 
this, not in despair! Because that's what it is, isn't it? Despair!"
  "Stop," said the vampire abruptly, lifting his right hand. His eyes shifted almost 
mechanically to the boy's face. "I tell you and I have told you, that it could not have 
ended any other way."
  "I don't accept it," said the boy, and he folded his arms across his chest, shaking his 
head emphatically. "I can't!" And the emotion seemed to build in him, so that without 
meaning to, he scraped his chair back on the bare boards and rose to pace the floor. But 
then, when he turned and looked at the vampire's face again, the words he was about to 
speak died in his throat. The vampire was merely staring at him, and his face had that 
long drawn expression of both outrage and bitter amusement.
  "Don't you see how you made it sound? It was an adventure like I'll never know in my 
whole life! You talk about passion, you talk about longing! You talk about things that 
millions of us won't ever taste or come to understand. And then you tell me it ends like 
that. I tell you . . ." And he stood over the vampire now, his hands outstretched before 
him. "If you were to give me that power! The power to see and feel and live forever!"
  The vampire's eyes slowly began to widen, his lips parting. "What!" he demanded softly. 
" What!"
  "Give it to me!" said the boy, his right hand tightening in a fist, the fist pounding 
his chest. "Make me a vampire now!" he said as the vampire stared aghast.
  What happened then was swift and confused, but it ended abruptly with the vampire on 
his feet holding the boy by the shoulders, the boy's moist face contorted with fear, the 
vampire glaring at him in rage. "This is what you want?" he whispered, his pale lips 
manifesting only the barest trace of movement. "This . . . after all I've told you . . . 
is what you ask for?"
  A small cry escaped the boy's lips, and he began to tremble all over, the sweat 
breaking out on his forehead and on the skin above his upper lip. His hand reached 
gingerly for the vampire's arm. "You don't know what human life is like!." he said, on 
the edge of breaking into tears. "You've forgotten. You don't even understand the meaning 
of your own story, what it means to a human being like me." And then a choked sob 
interrupted his words, and his fingers clung to the vampire's arm.
  "God," the vampire uttered and, turning away from him, almost pushed the boy 
off-balance against the wall. Ire stood with his back to the boy, staring at the gray 
window.
  "I beg you . . . give it all one more chance. One more chance in me!" said the boy.
  The vampire turned to him, his face as twisted with anger as before. And then, 
gradually, it began to become smooth. The lids came down slowly over his eyes and his 
lips lengthened in a smile. He looked again at the boy. "I've failed," he sighed, smiling 
still. "I have completely failed. . "
  "No . . ." the boy protested.
  "Don't say any more," said the vampire emphatically. "I have but one chance left. Do 
you see the reels? They still turn. I have but one way to show you the meaning of what 
I've said." And then he reached out for the boy so fast that the boy found himself 
grasping for something, pushing against something that was not there, so his hand was 
outstretched still when the vampire had him pressed to his chest, the boy's neck bent 
beneath his lips. "Do you see?" whispered the vampire, and the long, silky lips drew up 
over his teeth and two long fangs came down into the boy's flesh. The boy stuttered, a 
low guttural sound coming out of his throat, his hand struggling to close on something, 
his eyes widening only to become dull and gray as the vampire drank. And the vampire 
meantime looked as tranquil as someone in sleep. His narrow chest heaved so subtly with 
his sigh that he seemed to be rising slowly from the floor and then settling again with 
that same somnambulistic grace. There was a whine coming from the boy, and when the 
vampire let him go he held him out with both hands and looked at the damp white face, the 
limp hands, the eyes half closed.
  The boy was moaning, his lower lip loose and trembling as if in nausea. He moaned again 
louder, and his head fell back and his eyes rolled up into his head. The vampire set him 
down gently in the chair. The boy was straggling to speak, and the tears which sprang now 
to his eyes seemed to come as much from that effort to speak as from anything . else. His 
head fell forward, heavily, drunkenly, and his hand rested on the table. The vampire 
stood looking down at him, and his white skin became a soft luminous pink. It was as if a 
pink light were shining on him and his entire being seemed to give back that light. The 
flesh of his lips was dark, almost rose in color, and the veins of his temples and his 
hands were mere traces on his skin, and his face was youthful and smooth.
  "Will I . . . die?" the boy whispered as he looked up slowly, his mouth wet and slack. 
"Will I die?" he groaned, his lip trembling.
  "I don't know," the vampire said, and he smiled.
  The boy seemed on the verge of saying something more, but the hand that rested on the 
table slid forward on the boards, and his head lay down beside it as he lost 
consciousness.
  When next he opened his eyes, the boy saw the sun. It filled the dirty, undressed 
window and was hot on the side of his face and his hand. For a moment, he lay there, his 
face against the table and then with a great effort, he straightened, took a long deep 
breath and closing his eyes, pressed his hand to that place where the vampire had drawn 
blood. When his other hand accidentally touched a band of metal on the top of the tape 
recorder, he let out a sudden cry because the metal was hot.
  Then he rose, moving clumsily, almost falling, until he rested both his hands on the 
white wash basin. Quickly he turned on the tap, splashed his face with cold water, and 
wiped it with a soiled towel that hung there on a nail. He was breathing regularly now 
and he stood still, looking into the mirror without any support. Then he looked at his