to confront this person," she wrote to me. "I'm sure, from all that Aaron's told me, that justice has been done."
Less than two weeks later, Aaron advised me by letter that the murderer of Cold Sandra and Honey had died by his own hand.
I called Aaron at once:
"Have you told Merrick?" I asked.
After a long pause, Aaron said, quite calmly:
"I suspect that Merrick knows."
"Why on earth do you say that?" I asked immediately. I was always too impatient with Aaron's reticence. However, this time he was not to keep me in the dark.
"The spirit who haunted this fellow," said Aaron, "was a tall woman with brown hair and green eyes. Now that does not square with our pictures of Cold Sandra or Honey in the Sunshine, does it?"
I answered no, that it did not.
"Well, he's dead now, poor fool," said Aaron. "And maybe Merrick can continue her work in peace."
That is exactly what Merrick did: continue her work in peace.
And now:
Now, after all these years, I have come back to her, asking her to raise the soul of the Dead Child Claudia for Louis, and for me.
I have asked her in so many words to use her magic, which might surely mean using the mask, which I know to be in her possession at Oak Haven, as it had always been, the mask which could let her see spirits between life and death.
I have done that, I who know what she has suffered, and what a good and happy person she could be, and is.
Chapter 16
16
IT WAS AN HOUR before dawn when I finished the story.
Louis had listened all of this time in silence, never bringing a question, never making a distraction, but merely absorbing my words.
Out of respect for me, he remained silent, but I could see a flood of emotion in his face. His darkgreen eyes made me think of Merrick's, and for one moment I felt such a desire for her, such a horror of what I'd done, that I couldn't speak.
Finally Louis explained the very perceptions and sensations that were overwhelming me as I thought about all I'd said.
"I never realized how much you loved this woman," he said. "I never realized how very different you are from me."
"I love her, yes, and perhaps I myself didn't realize how much until I told you the history. I made myself see it. I made myself remember. I made myself experience my union with her again. But when you speak of you and me being different, you must tell me what you mean."
"You're wise," he said, "Wise in ways that only an elderly human being can be. You experienced old age in a way that none of the rest of us has ever known. Not even the great mother, Maharet, knew infirmity before she was made a vampire centuries ago. Certainly, Lestat has never grasped it, in spite of all his injuries. And I? I've been too young for too long."
"Don't condemn yourself for it. Do you think human beings are meant to know the bitterness and loneliness I knew in my last mortal years? I don't think so. Like all creatures, we're made to live until our prime. All the rest is spiritual and physical disaster. Of that I'm convinced."
"I can't agree with you," he said modestly. "What tribe on earth has not had elders? How much of our art and our knowledge comes from those who've lived into old age? You sound like Lestat when you say such things, speaking of his Savage Garden. The world has never seemed a hopelessly savage place to me."
I smiled.
"You believe so many things," I said. "One has only to press you to discover them, yet you deny the value of everything you've learned, in your constant melancholy. You do, you know."
He nodded. "I can't make sense of things, David," he said.
"Maybe we're not meant to, any of us, whether we're old or very young."
"Possibly so," he said. "But what's very important now is that we both make a solemn vow. We will not injure this vital and unique woman. Her strength won't blind us. We will feed her curiosity and be just to her, and protective of her, but we will not bring her any harm."
I nodded. I knew his meaning quite plainly. Oh, how I knew it.
"Would that I could say," he whispered, "that we would withdraw our request. Would that I could endure without Merrick's magic. Would that I could leave this world without ever seeing