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Claudia was sitting on the piano’s lid with her eyes closed, her head swaying to the rhythm of Opus Clavicembalisticum before it abruptly stopped. It had been exactly one month since Lestat started his journey to learn how to execute the piece perfectly and until now he had been doing a poor job. It wasn't that he didn't know how to play or that he lacked the ability needed for such a high level piece, it was just that Lestat had been a shell of his former self for years now and Claudia had the chance to watch it from the best seat. His eyes lacked that glow that they once had and seemed dull now, his face, although still beautiful, was thin and always carried a tired expression and he had lost weight due the change in diet.
What a pity. The undefeatable Lestat De Lioncourt, defeated.
It had been fun, really fun, to mess with Lestat during the first years. Seeing him crying at her feet and saying sorry over and over again to a ghost that he thought to be a hallucination, felt like vindication for all he made her suffer during years and for some time she felt fulfilled, it was good. It didn't last for long though, it stopped being fun really quick.
She was dead.
There was no coming back from this, she knew. It was over. Lestat also knew that, he probably noticed way before she did. No amount of haunting or terrorizing would change that, so Claudia just…stayed there with him. She had nowhere else to go anyways.
Seeing Louis was out of question, she did take a peek at what he was up to once and felt disappointment swallow her whole being. Egypt, Greece, Italy… Louis was living his life just fine with Armand. What was there to haunt? Was it worth it even? No, not at all. There he was without the burden of her as he so much wished, free from the responsibility. Claudia didn't want to bother him. So it wasn't hard to decide who she would turn to.
Her estranged father, the one that never once left her head even when she got rid of him.
Lestat had been her malediction for years. His words cast such a strong curse on her that in every wrong turn or dead end that she came to encounter during her eternal life, she couldn't help but hear it like a death sentence upon her head, always threatening to befall at any second. Claudia lost count of how many times she thought “He was right.” and how many more times she brushed the thought away with a “He won't control my life, not anymore.”
In the end, he had been correct. Not in everything. Not about her. She persisted, she didn't break. Sadly, the vampires out there were indeed vicious as he had told her. It didn't stop Claudia from finding love though, it didn't stop her from living even when it had been so hard that giving up seemed easier.
All this to say, so Lestat it was. The one she would spend the rest of her days haunting.
It didn't take long for the sick lion to notice that his cub was truly there. Not in the flesh, but in a spiritual manifestation that was quite inexplicable. She still remembers his first question, eyes full of bloody tears. She never saw him crying before. It became frequent with her presence though. And she wondered if he was always like that and she didn't pay enough attention.
“Why are you there?”
Why indeed. She had no idea. It felt useless after all, but there she was anyway.
It was awful, the way he knew her like the back of his hand. She didn't even say anything, but somehow he understood. Lestat understood something about her that Claudia herself hadn't come to understand yet and wouldn't have the chance to since she was gone for good.
After that, Claudia settled for company. Lestat was still in mourning, by the simple act of staying with him, she was already delivering punishment and he knew that too. Although he said it would never be enough and it truly felt like it wasn't. All the time.
He always knew way too much. It pissed her off.
So the time passed slowly. Nights turned to months and then years in that shack in New Orleans. It had been roughly six years since her death; it surprised Claudia how much Lestat was hurt by her loss. She always thought he'd be happy to be freed from her.
The sickening part was how the routine settled for them. Claudia was always there, all the time, except for when one of Lestat's fledgling came to give him the bag of rats for the week. Lestat played the piano, talked to her and sat staring at the distance for hours before committing to the coffin.
Today, he was playing the piano again and failing miserably at his task to learn a new piece. She was still humming when his hands hit the instrument with brute force. It would certainly break one day.
“Why did you stop? You haven't even missed five notes yet.” She said with a sarcastic tone. He hadn't played for even a whole hour and she can't deny that the sound of the piano is one of her favorites, she misses playing it. “Is frustration getting the best of the great Lestat?”
“It would appear so.” He absentmindedly answered. Looking at the keys sunk by his fists as if he wasn't the one that hit them. As if his frustration, his rage, was a separate being taking control over him.
Claudia despises that side of him, that disgusting shell of a monster. It wasn't her Lestat. It wasn't the one who taught her how to hunt and be most ferocious as a child. It also wasn't the one that years later would cause fear on her. It wasn't anything she had seen before.
“You're pathetic, Lestat. Do you know that? Are you even aware?”
He finally looked at her. A laugh erupting out of nowhere. It got bigger and bigger. He was obviously aware.
“Oh, but yes, I am pathetic, my Belladonna.” He got up from the seat and started to pace around the house without a certain direction in mind like a mad man. “Look what I did to our family and look where I ended up for that.”
“You say the word 'family' as if it really meant something to you, Lestat. We both know it didn't.” She hopped off the piano and went to sit on the lonely chair that faced the covered windows. A haunting idea, to trust that the wood planks would be enough to keep the sun from entering. Claudia decided she hated it. “Let's not pretend now. It is Louis that you regret hurting. I was merely something you had to endure during your time with him.”
Lestat stops. He stays still for some time, as if the words had formed a string that got wrapped around his body preventing him from moving for a second. He turned, slowly looking at her with a hurt expression, she's taken aback. It feels real.
It's awful because every time it feels real, Claudia thinks she hit a nerve, and then it feels like the complete opposite right after. It backfires. She knows it will backfire now, for example.
Lestat walks towards her rather quickly, it's a second before he's sitting in front of the chair by her feet and suddenly Claudia is fourteen again and that's her dad, crouching in front of the sofa to give her a new doll, and she loves it because it's the first one she ever had in her life. Now the string is wrapped around her instead of him.
It shouldn't be like this.
“I can see why you would think that, Claudia, for I have failed time and time again, but you must understand one thing.”
She feels like a kid again. She's about to hear one of his secrets. He's running his hands through her face with fondness and she almost asks “What thing?”, like a stupid little girl. But she holds her tongue and instead looks at him waiting for the rest of the phrase. She's not a little girl anymore, haven't been one for years now.
“I was wrong. I was wrong about you. About our family. Claudia, you're free to call me a liar, but I did love you in a way I thought I wasn't capable of.”
She wants to believe, she desperately wants to. Claudia never wanted to forgive Lestat. For her, their relationship was forever a tainted photograph, impossible to save, but one you don't want to throw away. Louis had many of those types of photographs in their apartment in Paris, he used to say they were still special in some inexplicable way. That's how it feels.
It feels like her father tainted what they had with hatred and she has no other option besides keeping it that way, it's all she has left of it. She still recalls the memories and the good moments they shared, but she can't stop resentment from seeping through them. He started it and she took the torch from his hand with grace.
She had to be tough and strong and have an unshakable determination all the time. But how many times did she wonder if it could have been different? She's lost count of how many times she put the pen on her diary with the intention of pouring her complicated feelings towards Lestat on the page. She's lost count of how many times she stopped herself from doing so. She locked away those feelings, those memories, deep inside her heart.
Claudia had so many things she wanted to say and never did. She wanted to scream at Louis sometimes. Tell him that she missed Lestat too, tell him that Lestat was her father after all. She had to kill him to save them. Lestat gave her no choice. And they should be together in all this, she didn't let her feelings get in the way, so why did Louis?
“And you say that now? Couldn't say it before? Had to wait until I died?” Claudia can't stop the trembling in her voice. It feels foreign, when was the last time she felt like crying? “I hate you so much. It's so unfair. You know you were wrong, I know too.”
“Yes, I was wrong. I know that.” There is the blood tears again. “I drove you to the edge. I made you run away.”
It doesn't feel like a resolution, not at all. It feels like an unfunny joke. No punchline. She doesn't feel better, he doesn't either.
But it doesn't matter. Not anymore. Claudia feels like talking. She wants her father more now than she did while she burned. And he's right here, but it's not enough. So she pours out her feelings, things she kept secret even from her diary, things she planned to tell Madeleine some years down the line. She doesn't even know where to start.
“I became an actress. I was pretty good, you know.” She doesn't look to see his reaction, but hears a faint sound of agreement. “But it sucked. They made me play a little girl. Can you imagine? My talent being wasted in some stupid play making fun of me?”
Lestat wiped his tears, but he didn't stop crying. He sat a bit more straight, as if to hear better.
“Tell me more, Ma petite.”
“It was because of you. The plays and the movies, your stories about loving the theater, it made me want to try. And they said I was a natural.” The next part felt too personal. It felt too much of an admission, but she said anyways. “I often thought what would you think if you saw me there. On stage. Would you be proud? Would you mock me?”
Claudia was afraid Lestat would mistake her. Think that she deep down lived for his approval. She didn't. But it was something that the kid from back then yearned for. There wasn't much she could do about it. She felt like that kid now.
“I would be extremely proud, but distressed by how those uncivilized vampires were treating you. You're a gem, Ma petite! You learned from the best and deserved the best role too!”
She couldn't help but laugh. There he was, her Lestat. The one from her childhood memories.
“That's why I dropped it!” She got serious again and so did Lestat. “My memories of New Orleans, the good years, I didn't want them to get tainted by it. I had so little.”
“I understand the feeling.”
Somehow, she knew it was the truth. Lestat always understood her. Far too much for her liking. They were birds of a feather. It was hard to admit while alive, but in death some things get easier.
“And Armand…He sucked.” Lestat burst a loud laugh at that. “You think so too, don't you? So pretentious! Always with that stupid ‘Yes, Maitre.’ and ‘No, Maitre.’, a pain in the ass.”
“He's a gremlin, always plotting, all the time.”
Claudia wanted to talk about Madeleine. She wanted Lestat to know how she found love. How it felt to be loved by someone unconditionally. Like a kid that somehow accomplishes something her parents consider impossible and comes running to tell with a smile that says “Look, dad, I made it.”, something like that. Lestat had already said he was wrong, but it was for her own satisfaction. And she knew he would listen.
“I met someone…Her name was Madeleine. We were lovers. She…She deeply understood me and we were building a life together. We were traveling around Europe, didn't settle anywhere, we wanted to explore the world together. She was a dressmaker, a wonderful one. Made all my clothes since we got together.” Claudia waited for an answer, but it didn't come. Lestat was quiet, listening attentively with a little smile on his face. A proud one. “She loved me a lot. I knew that.”
“You found someone who loved you despite everything. Just the way you wanted. I'm not surprised, Claudia, if there's someone who fights and gets what it wants, it's you.”
And so they talked more, for hours. Lestat didn't leave the ground. They both knew, once he got up the spell around that moment would fade. The little bubble, that fantasy of happiness would vanish as if it never existed. So they stayed. Claudia told him everything, from her travels through Europe to the arrival in France. How she and Louis didn't seem to be able to find a middle-ground and how sometimes she would just close her eyes and think “Well, Lestat would support me on this one, I think.” before shutting down completely the thought like it burned.
As the time passed, there was only one more thing she wanted to tell him. One that would for sure burst that bubble of comfort and understanding that they reached.
"You were right,” She says without much elaboration, as if Lestat would be able to understand what she means with only just that and he does. Isn't it tragic? To understand your father only after your own parting? To reach an agreement when it's only too late? To tell him about your life, who you loved, only when it ended? “They did shred me to strips.”
The moment is gone. Just like that. A somber air takes hold of the shack and Claudia noticed it was dark, very dark. She suddenly felt like crying again.
“It's not fair. I wanted to live. I wanted to travel with Madeline around the world. I wanted to receive a letter from Louis saying he dumped Armand. Hell, I wanted to go back to New Orleans after years and maybe… maybe find you… See if you regretted everything you did. If you had regretted I would…I don't know…” She chokes. The bloody tears are streaming down her face. “I had so much to do. I was going to live! Everyone thought I couldn't do it, but I did!”
It's hard to describe Lestat's face with any word other than pure and desperate sorrow. He lets Claudia talk, there's nothing he can say to make it better now. All the words he could've said were left unsaid years and years ago when he made their warm home turn cold.
“Yes, you were right, they were awful. All awful. The despair of the old world. The cruelty of the new world. I couldn't find anywhere in the world for me. It didn't matter where I looked, I was a failure, a mistake. But I did it! I didn't need them. I found someone, I was about to…to be happy! And they took it from me.”
There's no comforting words to be said. Claudia is dead. Again, that's a fact. It won't change.
“You were supposed to be there for me. I was your daughter. I wanted you there, why didn't you do something?”
“I couldn't, I couldn't move. If I could I-”
“I'm not talking about that! I'm talking about before! I'm talking about when Charlie died. I'm talking about when I left. I'm talking about when I came back. Why didn't you do something? Why weren't you my father then?”
And Lestat had no words to say. He had no answers. What would be a good answer to that? Blame it on his father's temper? Blame it on his fears? There wasn't any good answer. Claudia is dead. Lestat destroyed their home because of his own insecurities, his fears, his past. There was no excuse to be given.
“I'm sorry.” It felt useless. But for some reason, Claudia cried more after hearing that. It wasn't because she felt satisfied. It was a cry of utter desolation. That's all. There's nothing more that can be said and nothing will fix his mistakes.
Claudia cries louder and louder until his ears hurt. After some time, she vanishes. As if she was never there. Lestat then gets up. He sits on the chair she was in and looks to the window. He stays there for hours and hours, a vacant look on his face. Gets up. Goes to coffin.
No resolution or comfort comes to him. Tomorrow he will wake up, her lovely ghost will be back and their macabre routine will keep flowing. The cycle will repeat itself until the end of Lestat's immortal life or until he goes completely crazy with guilt.
In some years, he will break his piano in a rage fit. Guilt and reclusion getting to him. He will lose Louis for once and for all. His ghost won't come. Lestat thinks he doesn't deserve the dignity of a visit from him. But he has Claudia and a never ending lifetime of penitence to pay for.
What a lovely ending.