Memory #1 - Trivial Negative - James' proposal.

[hellraiser]

Earned Day 240
Form: Tea cookies! THERE ARE FOUR OF THEM.
Shareable: 3/4
Shared with: N/A
Taken: Yes


THE next night, I went at once to Jackson Square. The terrible norther had finally come down into New
Orleans, bringing with it a freezing wind. This sort of thing can happen at any time during the winter months,
though some years it happens not at all. I'd stopped at my rooftop flat to put on a heavy wool overcoat,
delighted as before that I had such feeling now in my newly bronzed skin.
A few tourists braved the weather to visit the cafes and bakeries still open near the cathedral; and the
evening traffic was noisy and hurried. The greasy old Cafe du Monde was crowded behind its closed doors. I
saw him immediately. What luck.
They had chained the gates of the square, as they always did now at sunset, a dreadful annoyance, and he
was outside, facing the cathedral, looking anxiously about.
I had a moment to study him before he realized I was there. He was a little taller than I am, six feet two, I
figured, and he was extremely well built, as I'd seen before. I'd been right about the age. The body couldn't
have been more than twenty-five years old. He was clad in very expensive clothes-a fur-lined raincoat, very
well tailored, and a thick scarlet cashmere scarf. When he saw me, a spasm passed through him, of pure
anxiety and mad delight. That awful glittering smile came over him and vainly trying to conceal his panic, he
fixed his eyes upon me as I made a slow, humanlike approach.
"Ah, but you do look like an angel, Monsieur de Lioncourt," he whispered breathlessly, "and how splendid
your darkened skin. What a lovely enhancement. Forgive me for not saying so before."
"So you're here, Mr. James," I said, raising my eyebrows. "What's the proposition? I don't like you. Talk fast."
"Don't be so rude, Monsieur de Lioncourt," he said. "It would be a dreadful mistake to offend me, really it
would." Yes, a voice exactly like David's voice. Same generation, most likely. And something of India in it, no
doubt.
"You're quite right on that," he said. "I spent many years in India too. And a little time in Australia and Africa
as well."
"Ah, so you can read my thoughts very easily," I said.
"No, not as easily as you might think, and now probably not at all."
"I'm going to kill you," I said, "if you don't tell me how you've managed to follow me and what you want,"
"You know what I want," he said, laughing mirthlessly and anxiously under his breath, his eyes fixing on me
and then veering away. "I told you through the stories, but I can't talk here in the freezing cold. This is worse
than Georgetown, which is where I live, by the way. I was hoping to escape this sort of weather. And why
ever did you drag me to London and Paris at this time of year?" More dry anxious spasms of laughter.
Obviously he couldn't stare at me for more than a minute before glancing away as if I were a blinding light.
"It was bitter cold in London. I hate cold. This is the tropics, is it not? Ah, you with your sentimental dreams
of winter snow."
This last remark stunned me before I could conceal it. I was enraged for one silent instant, and then I
regained my control.
"Come, the cafe," I said, pointing to the old French Market at the other side of the square. I hurried ahead
along the pavement. I was too confused and excited to risk another word.
The cafe was extremely noisy but warm. I led the way to a table in the farthest corner from the door, ordered
the famous cafe au lait for both of us, and sat there in rigid silence, faintly distracted by the stickiness of the
little table, and grimly fascinated by him, as he shivered, unwound his red scarf anxiously, then put it on
again, and finally pulled off his fine leather gloves, and stuffed them in his pockets, and then took them out
again, and put on one of them, and laid the other one on the table and then snatched it up again, and put it
on as well.
There was something positively horrible about him, about the way this alluringly splendid body was pumped
up with his devious, jittery spirit, and cynical fits of laughter. Yet I couldn't take my eyes off him. In some
devilish way I enjoyed watching him. And I think he knew it.
There was a provocative intelligence lurking behind this flawless, beautiful face. He made me realize how
intolerant I had become of anyone truly young.
Suddenly the coffee was set down before us, and I wrapped my naked hands around the warm cup. I let the
steam rise in my face. He watched this, with his large clear brown eyes, as if he were the one who was
fascinated, and now he tried to hold my gaze steadily and calmly, which he found very hard. Delicious
mouth, pretty eyelashes, perfect teeth.
"What the hell's the matter with you?" I asked.
"You know. You've figured it out. I'm not fond of this body, Monsieur de Lioncourt. A body thief has his little
difficulties, you know."
"Is that what you are?"
"Yes, a body thief of the first rank. But then you knew that when you agreed to see me, did you not? You
must forgive me my occasional clumsiness, I have been for most of my life a lean if not emaciated man.
Never in such good health." He gave a sigh, the youthful face for a moment sad.
"But those chapters are closed now," he said with sudden discomfort. "Let me come to the point
immediately, out of respect for your enormous preternatural intellect and vast experience-"
"Don't mock me, you little pissant!" I said under my breath. **You play with me, I'll tear you apart slowly. I
told you I don't like you. Even your little title for yourself I don't like."
That shut him up. He canned down altogether. Perhaps he lost his temper, or was frozen with terror. I think it
was simply that he stopped being so fearful and became coldly angry instead.
"All right," he said softly, and soberly, without all the frenzy. "I want to trade bodies with you. I want yours for
a week. I'll see to it that you have this body. It's young, it's in perfect health. You like the look of it, obviously.
I shall show you various certificates of health if you wish. The body was quite thoroughly tested and
examined right before I took possession of it. Or stole it. It's quite strong; you can see that. Obviously, it's
strong, quite remarkably strong-"
"How can you do it?"
"We do it together, Monsieur de Lioncourt," he said very politely, his tone becoming more civil and courteous
with each sentence he spoke. "There can be no question of body theft when I'm dealing with a creature such
as you."
"But you've tried, haven't you?"
He studied me for a moment, clearly unsure as to how he should answer. "Well, you can't blame me for that
now, can you?" he said imploringly. "Any more than I can blame you for drinking blood." He smiled as he
said the word "blood." "But really I was simply trying to get your attention, which isn't an easy thing to do."
He seemed thoughtful, utterly sincere. "Besides, cooperation is always involved on some level, no matter
how submerged that level may be."
"Yes," I said, "but what are the actual mechanics, if that isn't too crude a word. How do we cooperate with
each other! Be specific with me. I don't believe this can be done."
"Oh, come now, of course you do," he suggested gently, as if he were a patient teacher. It seemed almost
an impersonation of David, without David's vigor. "How else would I have managed to take ownership of this
body?" He made a little illustrative gesture as he continued. "We will meet at an appropriate place. Then we
will rise out of our bodies, which you know very well how to do and have so eloquently described in your
writing, and then we will take possession of each other's bodies. There's nothing to it really, except complete
courage and an act of will." He lifted the cup, his hand trembling violently, and he drank a mouthful of the hot
coffee. "For you, the test will be the courage, nothing more."
"What will keep me anchored in the new body?"
"There'll be no one in there, Monsieur de Lioncourt, to push you out. This is entirely different from
possession, you understand. Oh, possession is a battle. When you enter into this body, there will be not the
slightest resistance from it. You can remain until you choose to disengage."
"It's too puzzling!" I said, with obvious annoyance. "I know reams have been written on these questions, but
something doesn't quite .. ."
"Let me try to put it in perspective," he said, voice hushed and almost exquisitely accommodating. "We're
dealing here with science, but it is science which has not yet been fully codified by scientific minds. What we
have are the memoirs of poets and occult adventurers, quite incapable of anatomizing what takes place."
"Exactly. As you pointed out, I've done it myself, traveled out of the body. Yet I don't know what takes place.
Why doesn't the body die when one leaves it? I don't understand." "The soul has more than one part, as
does the brain. Surely you know that a child can be born without a cerebellum, yet the body can live if it has
what is called the brain stem." "Dreadful thought."
"Happens all the time, I assure you. Victims of accidents in which the brain is damaged irretrievably can still
breathe and . even yawn in their slumber, as the lower brain carries on." "And you can possess such
bodies?" "Oh, no, I need a healthy brain in order to take full possession, absolutely must have all those cells
in good working order and able to lock into the invading mind Mark my words, Monsieur de Lioncourt. Brain
is not mind. But again, we are not talking of possession, but of something infinitely finer than that. Allow me
to continue, please." "Go ahead."
"As I was saying, the soul has more than one part, in the same manner as the brain. The larger part of itidentity,
personality, consciousness, if you will-this is what springs loose and travels; but a small residual
soul remains. It keeps the vacant body animate, so to speak, for otherwise vacancy would mean death, of
course."
"I see. The residual soul animates the brain stem; that is what you mean."
"Yes. When you rise out of your body, you will leave a residual soul there. And when you come into this
body, you will find the residual soul there as well. It's the very same residual soul I found when I took
possession. And that soul will lock with any higher soul eagerly and automatically; it wants to embrace that
higher soul. Without it, it feels incomplete." "And when death occurs both souls leave?" "Precisely. Both
souls go together, the residual soul and the larger soul, in a violent evacuation, and then the body is a mere
lifeless shell and begins its decay." He waited, observing me with the same seemingly sincere patience, and
then he said:
The tale of the Body Thief
"Believe me, the force of actual death is much stronger. There's no danger at all in what we propose to do."
"But if this little residual soul is so damned receptive, why can't I, with all my power, jolt some little mortal
soul right out of its skin, and move in?"
"Because the larger soul would try to reclaim its body, Monsieur de Lioncourt, even if there were no
understanding of the process, it would try again and again. Souls do not want to be without a body. And
even though the residual soul welcomes the invader, something in it always recognizes the particular soul of
which it was once a part. It will choose that soul if there is a battle. And even a bewildered soul can make a
powerful attempt to reclaim its mortal frame."
I said nothing, but much as I suspected him, indeed reminded myself to be on guard, I found a continuity in
all he said.
"Possession is always a bloody struggle," he reiterated. "Look what happens with evil spirits, ghosts, that
sort of thing. They're always driven out eventually, even if the victor never knows what took place. When the
priest comes with his incense and his holy-water mumbo jumbo, he is calling on that residual soul to oust the
intruder and draw the old soul back in."
"But with the cooperative switch, both souls have new bodies."
"Precisely. Believe me, if you think you can hop into a human body without my assistance, well, give it a try,
and you'll see what I mean. You'll never really experience the five senses of a mortal as long as the battle's
raging inside."
His manner became even more careful, confidential. "Look at this body again, Monsieur de Lioncourt," he
said with beguiling softness. "It can be yours, absolutely and truly yours." His pause seemed as precise
suddenly as ms words. "It was a year ago you first saw it in Venice. It's been host to an intruder without
interruption for all of that time. It will play host to you."
"Where did you get it?"
"Stole it, I told you," he said. "The former owner is dead."
"You have to be more specific."
"Oh, must I, really? I do so hate to incriminate myself."
"I'm not a mortal officer of the law, Mr. James. I'm a vampire. Speak in words I can understand."
He gave a soft, faintly ironic laugh. "The body was carefully chosen," he said. "The former owner had no
mind left. Oh, there was nothing organically wrong with him, absolutely nothing. As I told you, he'd been
quite thoroughly tested. He'd become a great quiet laboratory animal of sorts. He never moved. Never
spoke. His reason had been hopelessly shattered, no matter how the healthy cells of the brain continued to
pop and crackle along, as they are wont to do. I accomplished the switch in stages. Jolting him out of his
body was simple. It was luring him down into my old body and leaving him there which took the skill."
"Where is your old body now?"
"Monsieur de Lioncourt, there is simply no way that the old soul will ever come knocking; that I guarantee."
"I want to see a picture of your old body."
"Whatever for?"
"Because it will tell me things about you, more perhaps than you yourself are telling me. I demand it. I won't
proceed without it."
"You won't?" He retained the polite smile. "What if I get up and leave here?"
"I'll kill your splendid new body as soon as you try. No one in this cafe will even notice. They'll think you're
drunk and that you've tumbled into my arms. I do that sort of thing all the time."
He fell silent, but I could see that he was calculating fiercely, and then I realized how much he was savoring
all this, that he had been all along. He was like a great actor, deeply immersed in the most challenging part
of his career.
He smiled at me, with startling seductiveness, and then, carefully removing his right glove, he drew a little
item out of his pocket and put it in my hand. An old photograph of a gaunt man with thick white wavy hair. I
judged him to be perhaps fifty. He wore some sort of white uniform with a little black bow tie.
He was a very nice looking man, actually, much more delicate in appearance than David, but he had the
same sort of British elegance about him, and his smile was not unpleasant. He was leaning on the railing of
what might have been the deck of a ship. Yes, it was a ship.

"You knew I'd ask for this, didn't you?"
"Sooner or later," he said.
"When was this taken?"
" That's of no importance. Why on earth do you want to know?" He betrayed just a little annoyance, but then
he covered it at once. "It was ten years ago," he said with a slight sinking of the voice. "Will it do?"
"And so that makes you .. . what? Mid-sixties, perhaps?"
"I'll settle for that," he said with a very broad and intimate smile.
"How did you learn all this? Why haven't others perfected this trick?"
He looked me up and down and a little coldly, and I thought his composure might snap. Then he retreated
into his polite manner again. "Many people have done it," he said, his voice assuming a tone of special
confidence. "Your friend David Talbot could have told you that. He didn't want to. He lies, like all those
wizards in the Talamasca. They're religious. They think they can control people; they use their knowledge for
control."
"How do you know about them?"
"I was a member of their order," he said, his eyes brightening playfully, as he smiled again. "They kicked me
out of it. They accused me of using my powers for gain. What else is there, Monsieur de Lioncourt? What do
you use your powers for, if not for gain?"
So, Louis had been right. I didn't speak. I tried to scan him but it was useless. Instead, I received a strong
sense of his physical presence, of the heat emanating from him, of the hot fount of his blood. Succulent, that
was the word for this body, no matter what one thought of his soul. I disliked the feeling because it made me
want to kill him now.
"I found out about you through the Talamasca," he said, assuming the same confidential tone as before. "Of
course I was familiar with your little fictions. I read all that sort of thing. That's why I used those short stories
to communicate with you. But it was in the archives of the Talamasca that I discovered that your fictions
weren't fictions at all."
I was silently enraged that Louis had figured it right.
"All right," I said. "I understand all this about the divided brain and the divided soul, but what if you don't want
to give my body back to me after we've made this little switch, and I'm not strong enough to reclaim it; what's
to keep you from making off with my body for good?"
He was quite still for a moment, and then said with slow measured words: "A very large bribe."
"Ah."
"Ten million dollars in a bank account waiting for me when I repossess this body." He reached into his coat
pocket again and drew out a small plastic card with a thumbnail picture of his new face on it. There was also
a clear fingerprint, and his name, Raglan James, and a Washington address.
"You can arrange it, surely. A fortune that can only be claimed by the man with this face and this fingerprint?
You don't think I'd forfeit a fortune of that size, do you? Besides, I don't want your body forever. You don't
even want it forever, do you? You've been far too eloquent on the subject of your agonies, your angst, your
extended and noisy descent into hell, etcetera. No. I only want your body for a little while. There are many
bodies out there, waiting for me to take possession of them, many kinds of adventure." I studied the little
card. "Ten million," I said. "That's quite a price." "It's nothing to you and you know it. You have billions
squirreled away in international banks under all your colorful aliases. A creature with your formidable powers
can acquire all the riches of the world. It's only the tawdry vampires of second-rate motion pictures who
tramp through eternity living hand to mouth, as we both know."
He blotted his lips fastidiously with a linen handkerchief, then drank a gulp of his coffee.
"I was powerfully intrigued," he said, "by your descriptions of the vampire Armand in The Queen of the
Damned-how he used his precious powers to acquire wealth, and built his great enterprise, the Night Island,
such a lovely name. It rather took my breath away." He smiled, and then went on, the voice amiable and
smooth as before. "It wasn't very difficult for me to document and annotate your assertions, you realize,
though as we both know, your mysterious comrade has long ago abandoned the Night Island, and has
vanished from the realm of computer records-at least as far as I can ascertain." I didn't say anything.
"Besides, for what I offer, ten million is a bargain. Who else has made you such an offer? There isn't anyone
else-at the moment, that is-who can or will."
"And suppose / don't want to switch back at the end of the week?" I asked. "Suppose I want to be human
forever." "That's perfectly fine with me," he said graciously. "I can get rid of your body anytime I want. There
are lots of others who'll take it off my hands." He gave me a respectful and admiring smile.
"What are you going to do with my body?"
"Enjoy it. Enjoy the strength, the power! I've had everything the human body has to offer-youth, beauty,
resilience. I've even been in the body of a woman, you know. And by the way, I don't recommend that at all.
Now I want what you have to offer." He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. "If there were any corporeal
angels hanging about, well, I might approach one of them."
"The Talamasca has no record of angels?"
He hesitated, then gave a small contained laugh. "Angels are pure spirit, Monsieur de Lioncourt," he said.
"We are talking bodies, no? I am addicted to the pleasures of the flesh. And vampires are fleshly monsters,
are they not? They thrive on blood." Again, a light came into his eyes when he said the word "blood."
"What's your game?" I asked. "I mean really. What's your passion? It can't be the money. What's the money
for? What will you buy with it? Experiences you haven't had?"
"Yes, I would say that's it. Experiences I haven't had. I'm obviously a sensualist, for want of a better word,
but if you must know the truth-and I don't see why there should be any lies between us-I'm a thief in every
respect. I don't enjoy something unless I bargain for it, trick someone out of it, or steal it. It's my way of
making something out of nothing, you might say, which makes me like God!"
He stopped as if he were so impressed with what he had just said that he had to catch his breath. His eyes
were dancing, and then he looked down at the half-empty coffee cup and gave a long secretive private
smile.
"You do follow my drift, don't you?" he asked. "I stole these clothes," he said. "Everything in my house in
Georgetown is stolen-every piece of furniture, every painting, every little object d'art. Even the house itself is
stolen, or shall we say, it was signed over to me amid a morass of false impressions and false hopes. I
believe they call it swindling? All the same thing." He smiled proudly again, and with such seeming depth of
feeling that I was amazed. "All the money I possess is stolen. So is the car I drive in Georgetown. So are the
airline tickets I used to chase you around the world."
I didn't respond. How strange he was, I thought, intrigued by him and yet still repelled by him, for all his
graciousness and seeming honesty. It was an act, but what a nearly perfect act. And then the bewitching
face, which seemed with every new revelation to be more mobile and expressive and pliant. I roused myself.
There was more I had to know.
"How did you accomplish that, following me about? How did you know where I was?"
"Two ways, to be perfectly frank with you. The first is obvious. I can leave my body for short periods, and
during those periods I can search for you over vast distances. But I don't like that sort of bodiless travel at
all. And of course you are not easy to find. You cloak yourself for long periods; then you blaze away in
careless visibility; and of course you move about with no discernible pattern. Often by the time I'd located
you, and brought my body to the location, you were gone.
"Then there's another way, almost as magical-computer systems. You use many aliases. I've been able to
discover four of them. I'm often not quick enough to catch up with you through the computer. But I can study
your tracks. And when you double back again, I know where to close in."
I said nothing, merely marveling again at how much he was enjoying all of this.
"I like your taste in cities," he said. "I like your taste in hotels-the Hassler in Rome, the Ritz in Paris, the
Stanhope in New York. And of course the Park Central in Miami, lovely little hotel. Oh, don't get so
suspicious. There's nothing to chasing people through computer systems. There's nothing to bribing clerks
to show you a credit card receipt, or bullying bank employees to reveal things they've been told not to reveal.
Tricks usually handle it perfectly well. You don't have to be a preternatural killer to do it. No, not at all."
"You steal through the computer systems?"
"When I can," he said with a little twist to his mouth. "I steal in any fashion. Nothing's beneath my dignity. But
I'm not capable of stealing ten million dollars through any means. If I were, I wouldn't be here, now, would I?
I'm not that clever. I've been caught twice. I've been in prison. That's where I perfected the means of
traveling out of body, since there wasn't any other way." He made a weary bitter sarcastic smile.
"Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because your friend David Talbot is going to tell you. And because I think we should understand each
other. I'm weary of taking risks. This is the big score, your body-and ten million dollars when I give it up."
"What is it with you?" I asked. "This all sounds so petty, so mundane."
"Ten million is mundane?"
"Yes. You've swapped an old body for a new one. You're young again! And the next step, if I consent, will be
my body, my powers. But it's the money that matters to you. It's really just the money and nothing else."
"It's both!" he said sourly and defiantly. "They're very similar." With conscious effort he regained his
composure. "You don't realize it because you acquired your wealth and your power simultaneously," he said.
"Immortality and a great casket full of gold and jewels. Wasn't that the story? You walked out of Magnus's
tower an immortal with a king's ransom. Or is the story a lie? You're real enough, that's plain. But I don't
know about all those things you wrote. But you ought to understand what I'm saying. You're a thief yourself."
I felt an immediate flush of anger. Suddenly he was more consummately distasteful than he'd been in that
anxious jittering state when we first sat down.
"I'm not a thief," I said quietly.
"Yes, you are," he answered with amazing sympathy. "You always steal from your victims. You know you
do."
"No, I never do unless... I have to."
"Have it your way. I think you're a thief." He leant forward, eyes glittering again, as the soothing measured
words continued: "You steal the blood you drink, you can't argue with that."
"What actually happened with you and the Talamasca?" I asked.
"I told you," he said. "The Talamasca threw me out. I was accused of using my gifts to gain information for
personal use. I was accused of deception. And of stealing, of course. They were very foolish and
shortsighted, your friends in the Talamasca. They underestimated me completely. They should have valued
me. They should have studied me. They should have begged me to teach them the things I know.
"Instead they gave me the boot. Six months' severance. A pittance. And they refused my last request for
first-class passage to America on the Queen Elizabeth 2. It would have been so simple for them to grant my
wish. They owed me that much, after the things I'd revealed to them. They should have done it." He sighed,
and glanced at me, and then at his coffee. "Little things like that matter in this world. They matter very
much."
I didn't reply. I looked down at the picture again, at the figure on the deck of the ship, but I'm not sure he
took notice of it. He was staring off into the noisy glare of the cafe, eyes dancing over walls and ceiling and
occasional tourists and taking note of none.
"I tried to bargain with them," he said, voice soft and measured as before. "If they wanted a few items
returned or a few questions answered-you know. But they wouldn't hear of it, not them! And money means
nothing to them, no more than it means to you. They were too mean-spirited to even consider it. They gave
me a tourist-class plane ticket, and a check for six months' pay. Six months' pay! Oh, I am so very weary of
all the little ups and downs!"
"What made you think you could outwit them?"
"I did outwit them," he said, eyes flashing with a little smile. "They're not very careful with their inventories.
They have no idea really how many of their little treasures I managed to appropriate. They'll never guess. Of
course you were the real theft-the secret that you existed. Ah, discovering that little vault full of relics was
such a stroke of good luck. Understand, I didn't take anything of your old possessions-rotted frock coats
from your very closets in New Orleans, parchments with your fancy signature, why, there was even a locket
with a painted miniature of that accursed little child-"
"Watch your tongue," I whispered.
He went quiet. "I'm sorry. I meant no offense, truly."
"What locket?" I asked, Could he hear the sudden racing of my heart? I tried to still it, to keep the warmth
from rising again in my face.
How meek he looked as he answered. "A gold locket on a chain, little oval miniature inside. Oh, I didn't steal
it. I swear to you. I left it there. Ask your friend Talbot. It's still in the vault."
I waited, commanding my heart to be still, and banishing all images of that locket from my mind. Then: "The
point is, the Talamasca caught you and they put you out."
"You don't have to continue insulting me," he said humbly.
"It's entirely possible for us to make our little bargain without any unpleasantness. I'm very sorry that I
mentioned this locket, I didn't-"
"I want to think over your proposition," I said.
"That might be a mistake."
"Why?"
"Give it a chance! Act quickly. Act now. And remember, please, if you harm me, you'll throw away this
opportunity forever. I'm the only key to this experience; use me or you'll never know what it's like to be a
human being again." He drew close to me, so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. "You'll never know
what it's like to walk in the sunlight, to enjoy a full meal of real food, to make love to a woman or a man."
"I want you to leave here now. Get out of this city and never come back. I'll come to you at this address in
Georgetown when I'm ready. And it won't be for a week this switch. Not the first time at any rate. It will be . .

"May I suggest two days?"
I didn't answer.
"What if we start with one day?" he asked. "If you like it, then we can arrange for a longer time?"
"One day," I said, my voice sounding very strange to me. "One period of twenty-four hours ... for the first
time."
"One day and two nights," he said quietly. "Let me suggest this coming Wednesday, as soon after sunset as
you like. We shall make the second switch early on Friday, before dawn."
I didn't reply.
"You have this evening and tomorrow evening to make your preparations," he said coaxingly. "After the
switch you will have all of Wednesday night and the full day Thursday. Of course you'll have Thursday night
as well up until... shall we say, two hours before Friday's sunrise? That ought to be comfortable enough."
He studied me keenly, then became more anxious: "Oh, and bring one of your passports with you. I don't
care which one. But I want a passport, and a bit of credit plastic, and money in my pockets over and above
the ten million. You understand?"
I didn't say anything.
"You know this will work."
Again, I didn't answer.
"Believe me, all I've told you is true. Ask Talbot. I wasn't born this handsome individual you see before you.
And this body is waiting right now this very minute for you."
I was quiet.
"Come to me Wednesday," he said. "You'll be very glad that you did." He paused, and then his manner
became even softer. "Look, I... feel that I know you," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know what
you want! It's dreadful to want something and not to have it. Ah, but then to know that it's within your grasp."
I looked up slowly into his eyes. The handsome face was tranquil, devoid of any stamp of expression, and
the eyes seemed rather miraculous in their fragility and their precision. The skin itself seemed supple and as
if it would feel like satin to my touch. And then came the voice again, in a seductive half whisper, the words
touched with sadness.
"This is something only you and I can do," he said. "In a way, it is a miracle which only you and I can
understand."
The face appeared monstrous suddenly in its tranquil beauty; even the voice seemed monstrous in its lovely
timbre and eloquence, so expressive of empathy and even affection, perhaps even love.
I had the urge to grab the creature by the throat; I had the urge to shake it until it lost its composure and its
semblance of deep feeling, but I would not have dreamed of doing so really. I was mesmerized by the eyes
and the voice. I was allowing myself to be mesmerized, the way I had allowed those earlier physical
sensations of assault to sweep over me. And it occurred to me that I allowed this simply because this being
seemed so very fragile and foolish and I was sure of my own strength.
But that was a He. I wanted to do this thing! I wanted to make this switch.
Only after a long while, he broke away, and let his gaze move over the cafe. Was he biding his time? What
went on inside his clever conniving, and thoroughly concealed soul! A being who could steal bodies! Who
could live inside another's flesh.
Slowly, he took a pen from his pocket, tore loose one of the paper napkins, and wrote down the name and
address of a bank. He gave this to me and I took it and slipped it into my pocket. I didn't speak.
"Before we switch, I'll give you my passport," he said, studying me with every word. "The one with the
correct face on it, of course. I'll leave you comfortable in my house. I assume you'll have money in your
pockets. You always do. You'll find it quite cozy, my house. You'll like Georgetown." His words were like soft
fingers tapping the back of my hand, annoying yet vaguely thrilling. "It's quite a civilized place, an old place.
Of course it is snowing there. You realize it. It's very cold. If you really don't want to do it in a cold climate-"
"I don't mind about the snow," I said under my breath.
"Yes, of course. Well, I'll be sure to leave you quite a few winter garments," he said in the same conciliatory
manner.
"None of those details matter," I said. What a fool he was to think that they did. I could feel my heart skipping
beats.
"Oh, I don't know about that," he said. "When you're human you might find that a lot of things matter."
To you, perhaps, I thought. All that matters to me is to be in that body, and to be alive. In my mind's eye, I
saw the snow of that last winter in the Auvergne. I saw the sun spilling down on the mountains... I saw the
little priest from the village church, shivering in the great hall as he complained to me about the wolves
coming down into the village at night. Of course I would hunt down the wolves. It was my duty.
I didn't care whether he'd read these thoughts or not.
"Ah, but don't you want to taste good food? Don't you want to drink good wine? What about a woman, or a
man, for that matter? You'll need money and pleasant accommodations, of course."
I didn't reply. I saw the sun on the snow. I let my eyes move slowly to his face. I thought how curiously
graceful he seemed in this new mode of persuasiveness, how very like David, indeed.
He was about to go on with his talk of luxuries when I gestured for silence.
"All right," I said. "I think you'll see me on Wednesday. Shall we say an hour after dark? Oh, and I must warn
you. This fortune often million dollars. It will only be available to you for two hours on Friday morning. You'll
have to appear in person to claim it." And here I touched his shoulder lightly. "This person, of course."
"Of course. I'm looking forward to it."
"And you'll need a code word to complete the transaction. And you'll only learn the code word from me when
you return my body as agreed."
"No. No code words. The transfer of funds must be complete and irrevocable before the bank closes on
Wednesday afternoon. All I have to do the following Friday is appear before the representative, allow him to
take my fingerprint if you insist upon it, and then he will sign the money over to me."
I was quiet, thinking it over.
"After all, my handsome friend," he said, "what if you don't like your day as a human being? What if you don't
feel you've gotten your money's worth?" •
"I'll get my money's worth," I whispered, more to myself than to him.
"No," he said patiently but insistently. "No code words."
I studied him. He smiled at me, and he appeared almost innocent and truly young. Good Lord, it must have
meant something to him, this youthful vigor. How could it not have dazzled him, at least for a while? In the
beginning, perhaps, he must have thought he'd attained everything that he could ever want.
"Not by a long shot!" he said suddenly, as if he couldn't stop the words from slipping out of his mouth.
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Let me tell you a little secret about youth," he said with sudden coldness. "Bernard Shaw said it was wasted
on the young, you remember that clever overrated little remark?"
"Yes."
"Well, it isn't. The young know how difficult and truly dreadful youth can be. Their youth is wasted on
everyone else, that's the horror. The young have no authority, no respect."
"You're mad," I said. "I don't think you use what you steal very well. How could you not thrill to the sheer
stamina? Glory in the beauty you see reflected in the eyes of those who look at you everywhere you go?"
He shook his head. "That's for you to enjoy," he said. "The body's young the way you've always been young.
You will thrill to the stamina of it, as you say. You will glory in all those loving looks." He broke off. He took
the final sip of his coffee and stared into the cup,
"No code words," he said politely.
"Very well."
"Ah, good," he said with a full warm smile of amazing brightness. "Remember I offered you a week for this
sum," he said. "It's your decision to take one full day. Perhaps after you've had a taste you'll want a much
longer time."
"Perhaps so," I said. Again, I was distracted by the sight of him, by the sight of the large warm hand which
he covered now with the glove.
"And another switch will cost you another handsome sum," he said merrily, all smiles now, as he arranged
his scarf within his lapels.
"Yes, of course."
"Money really doesn't mean anything to you, does it?" he asked, thoughtfully.
"Nothing at all." How tragic for you, I thought, that it means so much.
"Well, perhaps I should take my leave now, and allow you to make your preparations. I shall see you
Wednesday as planned."
"Don't try to run out on me," I said in a low voice, leaning forward slightly, and then lifting my hand and
touching his face.
The gesture clearly startled him; he became motionless, like an animal in the wood who suddenly sensed
danger where there had been none before. But his expression remained calm, and I let my fingers rest
against his smoothly shaven skin.
Then I moved them down slowly, feeling the firmness of his jawbone, and then I placed my hand on his
neck. Here, too, the razor had passed, leaving its faint dark shadow; the skin was firm, surprisingly
muscular, and a clean, youthful scent rose from it as I saw the sweat break out on his forehead, as I saw his
lips move in a surprisingly graceful smile.
"Surely you enjoyed being young just a little," I said under my breath.
He smiled, as if he knew just how radiant and seductive the smile could be.
"I dream the dreams of the young," he said. "And they are always dreams of being older, and richer, and
wiser, and stronger, don't you think?"

I gave a little laugh.
"I'll be there Wednesday night," he said with the same silver-tongued sincerity. "You can be certain of it.
Come. It will happen, I promise you." He leant forward and whispered. "You will be inside this body!" And
once again, he smiled in the most charming and ingratiating fashion. "You'll see."
"I want you to leave New Orleans now."
"Ah, yes, immediately," he said. And without another word, he stood up, moving back away from me, and
then tried to conceal his sudden fear. "I have my ticket already," he said. "I don't like your filthy little
Caribbean backwater." He made a little self-deprecating laugh, an almost pretty laugh. Then he went on as if
he were a wise teacher scolding a student. "We'll talk more when you come to Georgetown. And don't try to
spy on me in the meantime. I'll know it if you do. I'm too good at picking up that sort of thing. Even the
Talamasca was amazed at my powers. They should have kept me in the fold! They should have studied
me!" He broke off.
"I'll spy on you anyway," I said, echoing his low key and careful tone. "I don't really care whether or not you
know."
He laughed again, in a low, subdued, and slightly smoldering fashion, and then gave me a little nod and
rushed towards the door. He was once again the awkward, ungainly being, full of crazed excitement. And
how tragic it seemed, for surely that body could move like a panther with another soul inside.
I caught him on the sidewalk, startling him, indeed scaring him half out of his powerful little psychic mind. We
were almost eye-to-eye.
"What do you want to do with my body?" I asked. "I mean, besides flee from the sun every morning as if you
were a nocturnal insect or a giant slug?"
"What do you think?" he said, once again playing the charming English gentleman with utter sincerity. "I
want to drink blood." His eyes grew very wide, and he leaned closer. "I want to take life when I drink it.
That's the point, isn't it? It's not merely the blood you steal from them, it's their lives. I've never stolen
anything that valuable from anyone." He gave me a knowing smile. "The body, yes, but not the blood and
the life."
I let him go, backing away from him as sharply as he'd backed away from me only a moment before. My
heart was pounding, and I could feel a tremor passing through me as I stared at him, at his handsome and
seemingly innocent face.
He continued to smile. "You are a thief par excellence," he said. "Every breath you take is stolen! Oh, yes, I
must have your body. I must experience this. To invade the vampire files of the Talamasca was a triumph,
but to possess your body, and to steal blood whilst in it! Ah, that is beyond all my finest accomplishments!
You are the ultimate thief."
"Get away from me," I whispered.
"Oh, come now, don't be so fastidious," he said. "You hate it when other people do it to you. You're quite
privileged, Lestat de Lioncourt. You've found what Diogenes was searching for. An honest man!" Another
broad smile, and then a low volley of simmering laughter, as if he couldn't contain it any longer. "I shall see
you Wednesday. And you must come early. I want as much of the night as I can have."
He turned and hurried into the street, waving frantically for a taxi, and then bolting against the traffic to force
his way into a cab which had just come to a stop, quite obviously, for someone else. A little argument
ensued, but he won out immediately, slamming the door in the other fellow's face as the cab sped off. I saw
him wink at me through the dirty window, and wave. And then he and his taxi were gone.
I was sick with confusion. I stood there unable to move. The night for all its coldness was busy and full of the
mingled voices of the passing tourists, of cars slowing as they passed the square. Without intent, without
words, I tried to see it as it might be in the sunshine; I tried to imagine the heavens over this spot that
shocking vague blue.
Then slowly I turned up the collar of my coat.
I walked for hours. I kept hearing that beautiful cultured voice in my ears.
It's not merely the blood you steal from them, it's their lives. I've never stolen anything that valuable from
anyone. The body, yes, but not the blood and the life.
I couldn't have faced Louis. I couldn't bear the thought of talking to David. And if Marius learned of this, I was
finished before I'd begun. Who knew what Marius would do to me for even entertaining such an idea? And
yet Marius, with all his vast experience, would know if this was truth or fancy! Ye gods, had Marius never
wanted to do it himself?
At last, I went back to my apartment, and turned out the lights and sat sprawled on the soft velvet sofa,
before the darkened glass wall, peering out at the city below.
Remember, please, if you harm me, you'll throw away this opportunity forever... Use me or you 'II never
know what it's like to be a human being again . . . You'll never know what it's like to walk in the sunlight, to
enjoy a full meal of real food, to make love to a woman or a man.
I thought about the power of rising out of one's material form. I didn't like this power, and it did not happen to
me spontaneously, this astral projection, as it was called, this spirit traveling. Indeed, I had used it so few
times I could have counted them on one hand.
And in all my suffering in the Gobi, I had not tried to leave my material form, nor had I been propelled out of
it, nor had I even thought of such a possibility.
Indeed, the idea of being disconnected from my body-of floating about, earthbound, and unable to find a
door to heaven or hell-was absolutely terrifying to me. And that such a traveling, disembodied soul could not
pass through the gates of death at will had been plain to me the very first time I'd ever experimented with
this little trick. But to go into the body of a mortal! To anchor there, to walk, to feel, to see, as a mortal, ah, I
could not contain my excitement. It was becoming pure pain.
After the switch you will have all of Wednesday night and the full day Thursday. The full day Thursday, the
full day ...
Finally, sometime before morning, I called my agent in New York. This man had no knowledge of my Paris
agent at all. He knew me under two names only. And I had not used either of these in many a moon. It was
very unlikely Raglan James had any knowledge of these identities and their various resources. It seemed
the simplest route to pursue.
"I have some work for you, very complicated work. And it must be done immediately."
"Yes, sir, always, sir."
"All right, this is the name and address of a bank in the District of Columbia. I want you to write it down . . ."

Learned
--Recognition of New Orleans in present day.
--Oh hey, that's the body I was in in my first memory. But the soul inhabiting it now is not me--his name is Raglan James.
--"Monsieur", he calls me. I might be French.
--This must be before we switched bodies; he's from the same generation as my friend David.
--OH GOD I HATE EVERYTHING ABOUT HIM UGGGGHHHHH. He's just awful. And he can read minds.
--Recognition of how body theft works.
--Oh, I'm a vampire. That does explain the detachment. And the weird timeline feels! And also why I feel so odd in a human body...
--The Talamasca is some kind of hidden organization which my friend David belongs to. And James used to work for them. I wrote stories that intrigued him, which at first he thought were fiction, and then realized they were not.
--Louis (still no facial recognition) had warned me about all of this and I'm a little annoyed he was right.
--In my stories (one of which was called 'The Queen of the Damned'), I wrote about someone called Armand, a vampire, who created a coven called the Night Island.
--James wants 10 million for this. Such a human, really.
--When I came upon immortality, I also came upon great wealth--or so James claims.
--Magnus...?
--FUCK YOU I'M NOT A THIEF
--The Talamasca has a vault with a bunch of my old possessions, including a locket with a picture of a child that James calls "accursed"--which hits a painful, painful trigger for me and I very nearly kill him right there.
--As much as I despise him, this creature, I can't help but admit how much I want to make the switch. I want to be human again.
--As an immortal, I don't need to eat or drink and apparently sex doesn't happen... or at least not in the way humans do it. (This explains why I didn't say yes to Nahadoth right away)
--STOP INSULTING NEW ORLEANS YOU LITTLE SHIT
--AND STOP FUCKING SAYING I'M A THIEF JUST BECAUSE I'M A VAMPIRE
--HISSSSS HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
--Oh, and there it is. 'Lestat de Lioncourt'.
--But is it true? That I steal lives along with blood?
--All my fellow vampires--that must be Louis and Marius--would surely scoff if I told them about this.
--Shit, am I really considering this? I am.
--This is a TERRIBLE DECISION


Memory Effects
+ 1000 Casual threats of violence
+ 500 General annoyance
+ 1000 >E at petty thievery
+ 500 Anger and frustration
+ 100 Shame