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Daniel came to in a bed of rose-colored sheets and soft towels. He sat up in what turned out to be a luxurious sun lounger, king-sized, memory foam mattress. There were a bunch of pillows around him and a canopy of semi-sheer curtains to his back and sides. The ones before him were pulled back to reveal a spacious beach, not crowded, other canopies scattered a good distance away from one another, tan fit people with affluent mannerisms drinking and laughing. On the horizon, the sea was a brighter blue than the sky.
The sun was an implacable all-pervasive presence somewhere above him. Time stretched like the pulling out of intestines, untwisting three feet of them, five, nine, sixteen, a clown's handkerchief, endless. Daniel couldn't tell how long he's been there. How long he's been conscious.
His head hurt, heavy with the impossible accumulation of seven decades of migraines and hangovers and withdrawals stacked on top of each other and felt all at once. Closing his eyes did fuck all to help. He doubted an Advil would work now.
A mediocre star, his ass.
Daniel dunked his hands into the bucket and splashed his face with molten ice water. His hands were slow to warm up as he held them to his cheeks, his forehead, his eye sockets. Inside the bucket was a glass bottle, 1.5 litters, criminally overpriced. Just non-carbonated water.
Outside of the canopy, there was a disproportionately large wet smear of vomit, from when Daniel had tried to drink a gulp of the water. It was vaguely brown-red in color and smelled like blood and gastric juices. Like human waste.
Daniel had tried to kick some sand over it but it had been beyond scalding - sun-soaked and thus detrimental to the flesh of his foot. It had since healed but the new skin was still tender and pink.
The sun had moved along the dome of the sky and taken the shade with it. The sand before the canopy was now no man land. Daniel had to confine himself only to the mattress.
Sweating profoundly, he got the answer to one question he never got to ask Louis. Barefoot, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mat, he shimmied out of his once-white undershirt. It should be noted that instead of comparing himself to Jesus Christ, Daniel made quick use of the fabric by wiping the thin blood-sweat off his face with it. When he was done, he tossed it in the same direction of his newly pinkish socks.
He was panting like a dog. If he weren't dead already, he'd entertain the idea of a stroke. Either way, he was too hot and too dizzy to keep undressing. Cutting his jeans into shorts was easy enough with his fresh set of French tips. And Daniel managed to pull down the surplus denim down and off his legs with some new-found agility.
He couldn't savor the lack of joint pain because he caught a good-looking young couple eyeing him and laughing. It might have not have been at him but it made him reach for his flannel and put it back on. He left it unbuttoned.
If he wasn't fighting sleep with tooth and nail, fang and claw?, and if said sleep didn't feel as a pending death sentence, he would try his hand at the whole Mind Gift thing and find out what exactly they thought about him. It was probably for the best he didn't.
The serene Dubai beach was his own personal Inferno. Daniel couldn't find it in himself to be surprised. He wondered only if he was strapped in for another rendition of Divisadero Street, if six hours of this torture would be enough. Or if it was the end, more bitter than previously imagined. Drawn out and definitive.
Then, a Virgil. A waiter in his long-sleeved uniform. Making his way through the sand in a pair of loafers and with a menu in hand. Poor thing, Daniel thought and wiped the sweat off his lips. He wondered if his name was Rashid.
Daniel crawled over to kneel at the foot of the bed.
The waiter stopped before the canopy, the sun blaring in his face mercilessly, and honest to God bowed before greeting Daniel in faintly-accented English. Daniel was too zeroed in on the beating of his heart under the shirt, under the waistcoat, to really hear his polite question, but he could easily guess it. His own heartbeat picked up, head spinning with starvation. Impossibly, his dry mouth flooded with saliva. His tongue felt too big for his mouth, and yes, too many teeth in there, too many or too big.
Daniel mumbled something in delirium, Martini, or You'll do, and the waiter leaned in closer to hear him, stepped into the shadow.
Daniel's sharp nails pierced the skin of the man's shoulders as he yanked him onto the mattress. Blood soaked the work shirt. It smelled delicious. The man shouted, Daniel fed.
He did his best not to overthink it. The waiter's brain activity, scratch that, his psyche, or was it his very soul, didn't overwhelm Daniel as the life slipped away from him. As Daniel sucked it out of him.
He was but a young man, ordinary problems, banal regrets, never been in love, hung up on his one that got away, when they were never that serious to begin with, the long shadow of his brother, the resentment towards his mother, the inkling he might be promoted to bar manager...
Daniel opened his eyes. By now, someone had to have noticed, screamed in alarm, and alerted the other beach-goers around them. He saw some turned faces, shocked and terrified at the bloody scene. No sound, though. Like a photo, they were frozen in time with mouths agape.
He listened for the heartbeat of his- of the waiter, cautious of having drunk too much. There was only his own, a hammering drum behind his ribcage.
It took everything out of Daniel to tear his fangs away from the still warm throat. He dropped the body. It groaned in pain as it slumped out of Daniel's lap and fell in the sand. All the onlookers' heads instantly snapped towards the sea. And beautiful as it was, brilliantly blue and still-watered, Daniel quickly scanned the crowd and waited for the other shoe to drop.
He licked his lips clean. Were his circumstances different, he would take the time to pinpoint the taste. It warranted a richer adjective than 'metallic'. As it was, he had more pressing matters. So the blood dripping down his chin wasn't piquant or sweet, it was simply warm and sticky. He felt marginally less hangover, less chewed up and spat out. Almost excited for what was to come.
A gust of wind blew off the clips that held the curtains, causing them to waft around and obscure his view. When they settled, Daniel immediately spotted him. And he knew he'd recognize him just as fast, even if he didn't stand out as much, fully dressed in dark colors and a goddamn wide brim hat, striding towards him. He was distorting the idyllic beach picture with his presence. It was like the atmosphere took a deep breath and held it in. Like something leeched on Daniel's lung and yanked it down to his stomach. Guess the maker-fledgling bond was an abysmal thing when you didn't like each other.
Armand had a sort of gravity. People looked over their shoulders to stare at him as he walked slowly towards Daniel. All these people eventually snapped their heads to look the other way, surely out of their own volition.
Daniel narrowed his eyes to better make out Armand's face. He spared a passing thought about his glasses lying broken somewhere in the penthouse before realizing his eyesight was as good as it's ever been. Better. Another vampire perk he wouldn't get to enjoy.
Armand was at least a mile away, and Daniel could just make out his amber eyes, a twitch of his mouth. And then, as if noticing he was being observed, Armand super-sped the rest of the way. Daniel staggered where he was kneeling and fell away from the edge of the mattress. Between one blink and the next, Armand was right there before Daniel, grabbing the body, dragging it away, howling it over his shoulder. All without sparing a glance at Daniel. The last time he had been this close, Armand had killed him. He had jumped him, he had spoken inside his head, he had drunk him.
Before Daniel could find his voice, Armand was already halfway across the path he had just walked. Running to the water. Dropping the body in it. Turning around. Time must have stopped again because it returned to the beach at the instant Armand looked over his shoulder at Daniel. It was an explosion of mass hysteria. People yelling and sprinting, falling and clinging, looking for children, ditching friends. Their shrieks were over-loud. The panic their frantic minds projected came crashing over Daniel like a tidal wave.
He tried to block it. Struggled to stay afloat. Hummed the Jaws theme to himself. Managed to open his eyes.
It didn't take long for the beach to clear. Nobody stopped their escape to pay any mind to the bloodied old man stuck in a lounger bed under a canopy.
Daniel couldn't find Armand. He shouted. Nothing coherent. A dying animal's howl. Clipped short before it had truly started. He should have been able to keep it going for far longer, not needing air and all. Yet he heaved, his throat scratchy, parched, like he hadn't even drunk yet.
A black smear on the horizon, distinct from the dark spots dotting Daniel vision. Further away enough to appear small. Sucking the scenery in, making it hazy, devouring it. Daniel scoffed, swallowed, and seethed.
Killing me once wasn't enough?
Silence met him. Nothing but the sand rising and falling over itself because of the wind.
His maker was coming for him, unhurried, unbothered. This time, it had to be for him.
Daniel stared him down across the beach. Repeated himself once inside his own head before he remembered that door was sealed for good. He laughed in triumph. It left him giddy. He forced out another round of dry cackles. Cupped his hands around his mouth as a megaphone and yelled at the empty space between them:
"Killing me once wasn't enough?"
Armand didn't manage to hide his reaction. A grimace contorted his face, eyes scrunched, chin tucked, like he was bracing himself for a slap. Like he was ashamed. Daniel would love to slap him, he'd just need to get him under the shade first.
The distance between them seemed to grow greater. Daniel suspected Armand was using one of his many tricks to simulate walking without getting any closer. A Treadmill Gift?
The hours outside were taking their toll on Daniel. He wondered how great the pain of direct sunlight would have to be, if being in the shade at daytime felt worse than anything he had ever experienced or could imagine. He didn't want to entertain the idea, but it seemed only logical Armand would put him through it. A befitting retribution.
It turned out Armand had just been walking with human pace. It became increasingly more apparent the closer he got. A few other things also became apparent. Pink sweat glistened on his forehead. The wind had matted his hair, and was trying to rid him of his hat. It was picking up, making white-crested waves in the distance, stealing abandoned towels and inflatables, roaring in Daniel's ears. He could make out the faint thuds of Armand's heart. Its rhythm trying to stay hidden under the wind, until it was picking up just as well.
These were all useless observations, but Daniel filed them away. It was the most disheveled he had ever seen Armand. Even up in the penthouse, framed by cracks in the wall, when he had been groaning in synch with building, he had looked nearly unscathed.
Armand came to a stop a few feet away from the edge of the shade. He took a breath and opened his mouth. He hesitated on what to say. Daniel gave him a grace period of two seconds to recover and take control of the encounter. He didn't.
"Ma-ma!" Daniel made grabby hands at him. He was going to pretend-cry but just rubbed at his eyes instead, "Aww, unplanned parenthood s'not treating you well, huh? Down with the good 'ol postpartum depresh?"
Armand turned his face away from him and sighed. Good, he shouldn't be able to stand the sight of him. Repulsion, was it? Another two second period passed, only Daniel couldn't figure whose it was, because Armand promptly walked off. His face remained in profile, his shoulders continued the redirection, and with just a few steps he was out of Daniel's sight. Behind the curtain to the right.
Daniel's hand shot up to cover the side of his neck, the other was shaking. He started hyperventilating. It dawned on him, The end was coming. And his famous last words fucking sucked.
"Armand!" he rasped out, looking left and right frenzied.
And he came out. Dragging a giant silvery box behind him, which he deposited as close to the canopy as possible.
A cloud of sand dust enveloped the gift as it settled on the ground.
Daniel let out a long exhale. Closed-eyed and limp-shouldered, and open as he could be, he filled with relief at the sight of the coffin. He was a natural. He should have been made like this ages ago.
He opened his eyes, met a pair of fiery ones. Armand's face was unreadable. A marble statue specked with dirt. Their bond, the vague feeling of magnetism and maelstrom that had intensified but hadn't become any more decipherable, offered no insight into Armand's feelings.
Suddenly, Daniel remembered Paris. Paris from the sessions, Armand's coven, Louis' narration, The Fire Gift. Unease gripped him. He froze even as his every instinct was driving him towards the confines of the coffin and away from the sun's angry teeth.
He hoped his expression didn't betray his fear. Was so very grateful for the severed direct line between his mind and Armand's.
"How much longer do you think you'll manage out here?" Armand finally spoke. His voice was clipped, one hand clutching at the coffin's open lid. Daniel bit his lip and leaned carefully forward to take a peek inside. Plush interior, mint green. Looked damn inviting.
Armand reached out a hand, Daniel resolutely didn't flinch, and drew the pale curtain so it cast a weak shadow over the opening. He said, "I'd be quick if I were you."
"Will you say it? I know you want to." Daniel probed him, a nasty smile stretching on his lips. They felt about to split open. He was still hungry. Armand shook his head with a confused look on his face. "Just say it. So I can suggest missionary instead."
"Get in the coffin, Daniel."
"Eh. Close enough." Daniel shrugged and climbed over swiftly. Armand moved so he was shielding him with his own shadow in addition to the curtain. The sun rays charred some of Daniel's arm hair. He got comfortable, clasped his hands together over his stomach and looked up at Armand through his lashes, "Wait, no. Is my line, 'Yes, Daddy'?"
Armand sighed loudly as he closed the lid. Suddenly speaking was an enormous effort for Daniel. The coffin shook with movement.
He didn't feel like a still-alive corpse rolled in a carpet on its way to a shallow grave in the nearby woods, even as his actual murderer was literally dragging him somewhere. It didn't feel like being carried half-asleep to the car by your dad either, while it was pretty much the vampire equivalent of that. There was comfort, there was jostling, there was the lull of motion, the heaviness of his limbs and eyelids, the quiet and inviting dark.
They had come to a stop. Daniel became aware of it too late for his liking.
Armand's voice came muffled from outside the coffin but close enough to understand. Daniel imagined him perched on it, crossed legged, palms flat on either side of his body, like Alice would sit on her overfull suitcase to zip it up at the end of vacation.
"I'm here, and nothing can hurt you. Rest now."
Armand's voice was to Daniel's losing battle, what vocals were to songs. It immersed him into the abyss of unconsciousness.