The Tale of the Body Thief tvc-4

by Anne Rice

  "We ourselves are booked out of Grenada in two penthouse suites on the same deck as our mysterious friend. We must board anytime tomorrow before the ship sails at five p.m.

  "The first of our connecting flights leaves New Orleans in three hours. We will need at least one of those hours to obtain a pair of false passports from a gentleman who's been highly recommended for this sort of transaction and is in fact waiting for us now. I have the address here." "Excellent. I've plenty of cash on hand." "Very good. Now, one of our investigators will meet us in Grenada. He's a very cunning individual and I've worked with him for years. He's already booked the third cabin-inside, deck five. And he will manage to smuggle a couple of small but sophisticated firearms into that cabin, as well as the trunk we will need later on."

  "Those weapons will mean nothing to a man walking around in my old body. But of course afterwards... "

  "Precisely," said David. "After the switch, I will need a gun to protect myself against this handsome young body here." He gestured to me. "Now, to continue. My investigator will slip off the ship after he has officially boarded, leaving the cabin and the guns to us. We ourselves will go through the regular boarding process with our new identification. Oh, and I've selected our names already. Afraid I had to do it. I do hope you don't mind. You're an American named Sheridan Blackwood. And I'm a retired English surgeon named Alexander Stoker. It's always best to pose as a doctor on these little missions. You'll see what I mean."

  "I'm thankful you didn't pick H. P. Lovecraft," I said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Do we have to leave now?"

  "Yes, we do. I've already called the taxi. We must get some tropical clothing before we go, or we'll look perfectly ridiculous. There isn't a moment to lose. Now, if you will use those strong young arms of yours to help me with this suitcase, I shall be forever obliged."

  "I'm disappointed."

  "In what?" He stopped, stared at me, and then almost blushed as he had earlier that day. "Lestat, there is no time for that sort of thing."

  "David, assuming we succeed, it may be our last chance."

  "All right," he said, "there is plenty of time to discuss it at the beachside hotel in Grenada tonight. Depending of course on how quick you are with your lessons in astral projection. Now, do please show some youthful vim and vigor of a constructive sort, and help me with this suitcase. I'm a man of seventy-four."

  "Splendid. But I want to know something before we go."

  "What?"

  "Why are you helping me?"

  "Oh, for the love of heaven, you know why."

  "No, I don't."

  He stared at me soberly for a long moment, then said, "I care for you! I don't care what body you're in. It's true. But to be perfectly honest, this ghastly Body Thief, as you call him, frightens me. Yes, frightens me to the marrow of my bones.

  "He's a fool, and he always brings about his own ruin, that's true. But this time I think you're right. He's not at all eager to be apprehended, if in fact he ever was. He's planning on a long run of success, and he may tire of the QE2 very soon. That's why we must act. Now pick up this suitcase. I nearly killed myself hauling it up those stairs."

  I obeyed.

  But I was softened and saddened by his words of feeling, and plunged into a series of fragmentary images of all the little things we might have done in the large soft bed in the other room.

  And what if the Body Thief had jumped ship already? Or been destroyed this very morning-after Marius had looked upon me with such disdain?

  "Then we'll go on to Rio," said David, leading the way to the gate. "We'll be in time for the carnival. Nice vacation for us both."

  "I'll die if I have to live that long!" I said, taking the lead down the stairs. "Trouble with you is you've gotten used to being human because you've done it for so damned long."

  "I was used to it by the time I was two years old," he said dryly.

  "I don't believe you. I've watched two-year-old humans with interest for centuries. They're miserable. They rush about, fall down, and scream almost constantly. They hate being human! They know already that it's some sort of dirty trick."

  He laughed to himself but didn't answer me. He wouldn't look at me either.

  The cab was already waiting for us when we reached the front door.

  TWENTY

  THE plane ride would have been another absolute nightmare, had I not been so tired that I slept. A full twenty-four hours had passed since my last dreamy rest in Gretchen's arms, and indeed I fell so deep into sleep now that when David roused me for the change of planes in Puerto Rico, I scarce knew where we were or what we were doing, and for an odd moment, it felt entirely normal to be lugging about this huge heavy body in a state of confusion and thoughtless obedience to David's commands.

  We did not go outside the terminal for this transfer of planes. And when at last we did land in the small airport in Grenada, I was surprised by the close and delicious Caribbean warmth and the brilliant twilight sky.

  All the world seemed changed by the soft balmy embracing breezes which greeted us. I was glad we had raided the Canal Street shop in New Orleans, for the heavy tweed clothes felt all wrong. As the cab bounced along the narrow uneven road, carrying us to our beachfront hotel, I was transfixed by the lush forest around us, the big red hibiscus blooming beyond little fences, the graceful coconut palms bending over the tiny tumbledown hillside houses, and eager to see, not with this dim frustrating mortal night vision, but in the magical light of the morning sun.

  There had been something absolutely penitential about my undergoing the transformation in the mean cold of Georgetown, no doubt of it at all. Yet when I thought of it-that lovely white snow, and the warmth of Gretchen's little house, I couldn't truly complain. It was only that this Caribbean island seemed the true world, the world for real living; and I marveled, as I always did when in these islands, that they could be so beautiful, so warm, and so very poor.

  Here one saw the poverty everywhere-the haphazard wooden houses on stilts, the pedestrians on the borders of the road, the old rusted automobiles, and the total absence of any evidence of affluence, making of course for a quaintness in the eye of the outsider, but something of a hard existence perhaps for the natives, who had never gathered together enough dollars to leave this place, even perhaps for a single day.

  The evening sky was a deep shining blue, as it is often in this part of the world, as incandescent as it can be over Miami, and the soft white clouds made the same clean and dramatic panorama on the far edge of the gleaming sea. Entrancing, and this is but one tiny part of the great Caribbean. Why do I ever wander in other climes at all?

  The hotel was in fact a dusty neglected little guesthouse of white stucco under a myriad complex of rusted tin roofs. It was known only to a few Britishers, and very quiet, with a rambling wing of rather old-fashioned rooms looking out over the sands of Grand Anse Beach. With profuse apologies for the broken air-conditioning machines, and the crowded quarters-we must share a room with twin beds, I almost burst into laughter, as David looked to heaven as if to say silently that his persecution would never end!-the proprietor demonstrated that the creaky overhead fan created quite a breeze. Old white louvered shutters covered the windows. The furniture was made of white wicker, and the floor was old tile.

  It seemed very charming to me, but mostly on account of the sweet warmth of the air around me, and the bit of jungle creeping down around the structure, with its inevitable snaggle of banana leaf and Queen's Wreath vine. Ah, that vine. A nice rule of thumb might be: Don't ever live in a part of the world which will not support that vine.

  At once we set about to changing clothes. I stripped off the tweeds, and put on the thin cotton pants and shirt I'd bought in New Orleans before we left, along with a pair of white tennis shoes, and deciding against an all-out physical assault upon David, who was changing with his back turned to me, I went out under the graceful arching coconut palms, and made my way down onto the sand.

  The night
was as tranquil and gentle as any night I've ever known. All my love of the Caribbean came back to me-along with painful and blessed memories. But I longed to see this night with my old eyes. I longed to see past the thickening darkness, and the shadows that shrouded the embracing hills. I longed to turn on my preternatural hearing and catch the soft songs of the jungles, to wander with vampiric speed up the mountains of the interior to find the secret little valleys and waterfalls as only the Vampire Lestat could have done.

  I felt a terrible, terrible sadness for all my discoveries. And perhaps it hit me in its fullness for the first time-that all of my dreams of mortal life had been a lie. It wasn't that life wasn't magical; it wasn't that creation was not a miracle; it wasn't that the world was not fundamentally good. It was that I had taken my dark power so for granted that I did not realize the vantage point it had given me. I had failed to assess my gifts. And I wanted them back.

  Yes, I had failed, hadn't I? Mortal life should have been enough!

  I looked up at the heartless little stars, such mean guardians, and I prayed to the dark gods who don't exist to understand.

  I thought of Gretchen. Had she already reached her rain forests, and all the sick ones waiting for the consolations of her touch? I wished I knew where she was.

  Perhaps she was already at work in a jungle dispensary, with gleaming vials of medicine, or trekking to nearby villages, with miracles in a pack on her back. I thought of her quiet happiness when she'd described the mission. The warmth of those embraces came back to me, the drowsy sweetness of it, and the comfort of that small room. I saw the snow falling once more beyond the windows. I saw her large hazel eyes fixed on me, and heard the slow rhythm of her speech.

  Then again I saw the deep blue evening sky above me; I felt the breeze that was moving over me as smoothly as if it were water; and I thought of David, David who was here with me now.

  I was weeping when David touched my arm.

  For a moment, I couldn't make out the features of his face. The beach was dark, and the sound of the surf so enormous that nothing in me seemed to function as it ought to do. Then I realized that of course it was David standing there looking at me, David in a crisp white cotton shirt and wash pants and sandals, managing somehow to look elegant even in this attire-David asking me gently to please come back to the room.

  "Jake's here," he said, "our man from Mexico City. I think you should come inside."

  The ceiling fan was going noisily and cool air moved through the shutters as we came into the shabby little room. A faint clacking noise came from the coconut palms, a sound I rather liked, rising and falling with the breeze.

  Jake was seated on one of the narrow saggy little beds-a tall lanky individual in khaki shorts and a white polo shirt, puffing on an odoriferous little brown cigar. All of his skin was darkly tanned, and he had a shapeless thatch of graying blond hair. His posture was one of complete relaxation, but beneath this facade, he was entirely alert and suspicious, his mouth a perfectly straight line.

  We shook hands as he disguised only a little the fact that he was looking me up and down. Quick, secretive eyes, not unlike David's eyes, though smaller. God only knows what he saw.

  "Well, the guns won't be any problem," he said with an obvious Australian accent. "There are no metal detectors at ports such as this. I'll board at approximately ten a.m., plant your trunk and your guns for you in your cabin on Five Deck, then meet you hi the Cafe Centaur in St. George's. I do hope you know what you're doing, David, bringing firearms aboard the Queen Elizabeth 2."

  "Of course I know what I'm doing," said David very politely, with a tiny playful smile. "Now, what do you have for us on our man?"

  "Ah, yes. Jason Hamilton. Six feet tall, dark tan, longish blond hair, piercing blue eyes. Mysterious fellow. Very British, very polite. Rumors as to his true identity abound. He's an enormous tipper, and a day sleeper, and apparently doesn't bother to leave the ship when she's in port. Indeed he gives over small packages to be mailed to his cabin steward every morning, quite early, before he disappears for the day. Haven't been able to discover the post box but that's a matter of time. He has yet to appear in the Queens Grill for a single meal. It's rumored he's seriously ill. But with what, no one knows. He's the picture of health, which only adds to the mystery. Everyone says so. A powerfully built and graceful fellow with a dazzling wardrobe, it seems. He gambles heavily at the roulette wheel, and dances for hours with the ladies. Seems in fact to like the very old ones. He'd arouse suspicion on that account alone if he weren't so bloody rich himself. Spends a lot of time simply roaming the ship."

  "Excellent. This is just what I wanted to know," said David. "You have our tickets."

  The man gestured to a black leather folder on the wicker dressing table. David checked the contents, then gave him an approving nod.

  "Deaths on the QE2 so far?"

  "Ah, now that's an interesting point. They have had six since they left New York, which is a little more than usual. All very elderly women, and all apparent heart failure. This is the sort of thing you want to know?"

  "Certainly is," said David:

  The "little drink," I thought.

  "Now you ought to have a look at these firearms," said Jake, "and know how to use them." He reached for a worn little duffel bag on the floor, just the sort of beat-up sack of canvas in which one would hide expensive weapons, I presumed. Out came the expensive weapons-one a large Smith & Wesson revolver. The other a small black automatic no bigger than the palm of my hand.

  "Yes, I'm quite familiar with this," David said, taking the big silver gun and making to aim it at the floor. "No problem." He pulled out the clip, then slipped it back in. "Pray I don't have to use it, however. It will make a hell of a noise."

  He then gave it to me.

  "Lestat, get the feel of it," he said. "Of course there's no time to practice. I asked for a hair trigger."

  "And that you have," said Jake, looking at me coldly. "So please watch out."

  "Barbarous little thing," I said. It was very heavy. A nugget of destructiveness. I spun the cylinder. Six bullets. It had a curious smell.

  "Both the guns are thirty-eights," said the man, with a slight note of disdain. "Those are man-stoppers." He showed me a small cardboard box. "You'll have plenty of ammunition available to you for whatever it is that you are going to do on this boat."

  "Don't worry, Jake," said David firmly. "Things will probably go without a hitch. And I thank you for your usual efficiency. Now, go have a pleasant evening on the island. And I shall see you at the Centaur Cafe before noon."

  The fellow gave me a deep suspicious look, then nodded, gathered up the guns and the little box of bullets, put them back in his canvas bag, and offered his hand again to me and then to David, and out he went. I waited until the door had closed.

  "I think he dislikes me," I said. "Blames me for involving you in some sort of sordid crime."

  David gave a short little laugh. "I've been in far more compromising situations than this one," he said. "And if I worried about what our investigators thought of us, I would have retired a long time ago. What do we know now from this information?"

  "Well, he's feeding on the old women. Probably stealing from them also. And he's mailing home what he steals in packages too small to arouse suspicion. What he does with the larger loot we'll never know. Probably throws it into the ocean. I suspect there's more than one post box number. But that's no concern of ours."

  "Correct. Now lock the door. It's time for a little concentrated witchcraft. We'll have a nice supper later on. I have to teach you to veil your thoughts. Jake could read you too easily. And so can I. The Body Thief will pick up your presence when he's still two hundred miles out to sea."

  "Well, I did it through an act of will when I was Lestat," I said. "I haven't the faintest idea how to do it now."

  "Same way. We're going to practice. Until I can't read a single image or random word from you. Then we'll get to the out-of-body travel." He
looked at his watch, which reminded me of James suddenly, in that little kitchen. "Slip that bolt. I don't want any maid blundering in here later on."

  I obeyed. Then I sat on the bed opposite David, who had assumed a very relaxed yet commanding attitude, rolling up the stiff starched cuffs of his shirt, which revealed the dark fleece of his arms. There was also quite a bit of dark hair on his chest, bubbling up through the open collar of the shirt. Only a little gray mixed in with it, like the gray that sparkled here and there in his heavy shaven beard. I found it quite impossible to believe he was a man of seventy-four.

  "Ah, I caught that," he said with a little lift of the eyebrows. "I catch entirely too much. Now. Listen to what I say. You must fix it in your mind that your thoughts remain within you, that you are not attempting to communicate with others-not through facial expression or body language of any sort; that indeed you are impenetrable. Make an image of your sealed mind if you must. Ah, that's good. You've gone blank behind your handsome young face. Even your eyes have changed ever so slightly. Perfect. Now I'm going to try to read you. Keep it up."

  By the end of forty-five minutes, I had learned the trick fairly painlessly, but I could pick up nothing of David's thoughts even when he tried his hardest to project them to me. In this body, I simply did not have the psychic ability which he possessed. But the veiling we had achieved, and this was a crucial step. We would continue to work on all this throughout the night.

  "We're ready to begin on the out-of-body travel," he said.

  "This is going to be hell," I said. "I don't think I can get out of this body. As you can see,

  I just don't have your gifts."

  "Nonsense," he said. He loosened his posture slightly, crossing his ankles and sliding down a bit in the chair. But somehow, no matter what he did, he never lost the attitude of the teacher, the authority, the priest. It was implicit in his small, direct gestures and above all in his voice.