Louis' Reporter

Chapter One

I was the one who made him interview me. I wanted to expose my sins, relieve my guilt and fear after all of these years. It was supposed to be my goodbye to the world. I had planned to lock myself away and hopefully shrivel up and finally leave this horrid place. I had been here too long, seen too many bad things. Done too many bad things for me to continue living in the modern world.
If Lestat were there he would have laughed at me, saying that I was being too cynical and thinking too much. He probably would have put his lips to my neck and smiled at the shiver that would go down my spine at the brush of his cold teeth to my skin.
But he wasn't there. He had left me years ago. Spiriting away to France, probably to turn more idiotic young men like myself into blood thirsty monsters. Or, if you went by his words, "higher levels of being". He always was a narcissist, talking of being a god and living forever, how I just didn't appreciate the gift he gave me.
This wasn't a gift. This was hell. This was revenge that was being carried out by an old god for something i had done in a past life. He was a fool for believing otherwise.
The only reason I had chosen this young man was because he was the first person I saw.
I was desperate to get my story out and finally end my existence. I was tired. So, so tired.
When I stopped him and asked if he was a reporter it was just a bonus that he said yes. I would have made him listen to my story one way or another. I told him that I had very important news for him that he needed to write down immediately. He believed me, to my surprise, and followed me into an abandoned building I had already picked out.
Once he had organized all of his papers and set up a light I began. I told him about me being turned, about my family, and Claudia. Of Santiago and Armand, and everybody in between. And never once did he flinch. He just sat there, and copied it all down. Like an obedient school boy taking down notes.
It was almost endearing how he never faltered when I was speaking. I had fully expected him to call me a madman, a lunatic, a crazy old bat who needed to get his head fixed. Instead, he watched me with his quiet demeanor and dark eyes and only asked questions when I paused for him to do so.
When I was finished he nodded to me and packed up his things almost silently. He turned to the door and regarded me in the faint light streaming out from the window.
"I don't think my company will publish this story."
I hadn't noticed how throaty his voice was when I was recanting my desolate past, too caught up in my own misery to appreciate the way his hair fell over his eyes, the way his nose had a little bit of a curve in the middle like it had been broken before, how his lips-
"But, that's never stopped me before. I'll find a way."
I snapped my eyes back to his, grateful for the interruption of my musings. What was I thinking? What was he thinking? He was still going to go the extra mile? Why on earth would he do that for me? I'm a stranger! A stranger who just told him that the supernatural existed and that I'm hundred of years old, he must believe me to be insane! But instead he simply nodded at me and left the room, closing the door behind him without a word.
I looked to the lone piece of paper he left on the table, ripped off from one of his note sheets, it read: "Daniel Molloy, NOLA News" followed by his phone number. I stared down at it, chewing my bottom lip before stuffing it into my pocket. Daniel was strange. Strangely kind, strangely unshakable, strangely handsome- I ignored the last thought. Whoever this reporter man was, I wanted to know more about him. And with that, my new obsession began.