by Anne Rice
Julie and Samir stood in the open doorway.
"What is it!" Julie demanded.
"They're leaving. I'm going after them!" Ramses said.
"No!" Julie cried.
"Julie, she's with Alex Savarell," Ramsey said. "She has ensnared the Earl's son! Both of you, stay with Julie. Take Julie back to the hotel."
He knew it was no good as soon as he had reached the box. They were gone. At least three exits opened on iron stairways down the side of the building. And people were using all of them. He rushed along the mezzanine, scanning those who descended the grand stairway. Not a chance of finding them now. He was at the front doors when Elliott, Samir and Julie came down the stairs. Julie looked like the ghost of herself, clinging to Samir. Elliott was clearly drawing upon the very last of his stamina, and his face had turned a deathly white.
"It's no use," Ramses explained. "They are lost again." "Our only chance then is the ball," Elliott said. "It's a game, don't you see! Alex doesn't understand what's happening. He said he would meet us here, or at the ball."
THEY HAD followed the flow of the guests, streaming out of the Opera House, and walking across the broad square towards the hotel.
There was no doubt in her mind that Ramses was following them. Undoubtedly Lord Rutherford would come in the hope of rescuing his son.
She made no decision as to what she should do. The meeting was inevitable. Words must be spoken; and beyond that? She saw only freedom, but she did not know where she must go or what she must do to be free.
Killing the other, that was not the answer. A great revulsion rose in her against all the lives she'd thoughtlessly taken-even the life of the man who had fired the gun at her, whoever he had been.
Solving the riddle of why Ramses had resurrected her; of how precisely he'd done it-that must be part of what she had to do. But maybe she should run from that and run from him.
She glanced at the motor cars nosing their way up the circular drive before the entrance of Shepheard's. Why couldn't they run away, she and Alex, right now? There was time enough, wasn't there, for her to seek her old teacher, this man who had dominated all of her mortal life, and had now re-created her for reasons she couldn't understand?
And for one second a dreadful foreboding shook her. She clasped Alex's hand all the more tightly. There came his reassuring smile again. She said nothing. Her mind was confusion as they entered the bright hotel lobby and followed the crowds up another grand stairway.
The ballroom opened before them on the second floor, a vast space far larger than the ballroom she had seen last night below. Linen-draped tables lined the walls on either side; and the room itself seemed to go on forever, music surging from an orchestra now hidden by the milling crowd.
Gold draperies hung from the high-paneled ceiling. How these people loved plaster ornament; doors and windows were covered with it, as if with carefully sculpted whipped cream. Couples had already begun to dance to the music. Light appeared to drip from the great tinkling glass fixtures. Young servants moved about offering white wine in exquisite glasses from silver trays.
"How are we going to find them?" Alex said. "Oh, I'm so eager for them to meet you.''
"Are you?" she whispered. "And if they fail to approve your choice, Lord Alex, what will you do?"
"What a strange thing to say," he said with characteristic innocence. "They can't fail. And it doesn't matter finally whether or not they do.''
"I love you, Lord Alex. I didn't think that I would when I first saw you. I thought you were pretty and young and that it would be lovely to have you in my arms. But I love you."
"I know perfectly what you are saying," he whispered, with a strange look in his eyes. "Does that surprise you?" It seemed he wanted desperately to say something else to her but could not find the words. That sadness came; the little shadow of sadness she'd seen in him from the beginning, and for the first time she realized it was something in her which aroused it; it was a response to something he saw in her face.
Someone called his name. His father calling. She knew the voice before she turned to see for herself. "Remember, I love you, Alex," she said again. She had the strangest feeling that she was saying farewell. Too innocent, those were the only words that came clear to her.
Turning, she saw them all moving towards her from the open doors.
"Father, and Ramsey! Ramsey, old man," Alex said, "I'm so glad to see you."
In a dream she watched them, Alex pumping Ramses' hand and Ramses staring at her.
"My darling." Alex's voice sought to reach her. "Let me present my father, and my dearest friends. Why, Your Highness-" He broke off suddenly. And in a low whisper he confided, "I don't even know your real name."
"Yes, you do, my beloved," she said. "I told you when first we met. It's Cleopatra. Your father knows me and so does your good friend Ramsey, as you call him. And I have met your friend Julie Stratford as well."
She fixed her gaze on Lord Rutherford; the music and the noise of the crowd was a roar in her ears.
"Allow me to thank you, Lord Rutherford, for your recent kindness to me. What would I have done without you? And I was so unkind in return.''
The feeling of foreboding grew stronger. She was doomed if she remained in this room. Yet she stood there, her hand trembling as she held on to Alex, who looked from her to his father in complete confusion. "Why, I don't understand; you mean you've met?"
Ramses stepped forward suddenly. He took her arm roughly, and pulled her away from Alex.
"I must speak to you," he said, glaring down at her, "now, alone."
"Ramsey, what in the world are you doing?"
Others had turned to stare at them.
"Alex, stay here!" said his father.
Ramses pulled her farther away. She turned her ankle in the high shoes. "Let me go!" she whispered.
In a blur, she saw pale Julie Stratford turning desperately to the dark-faced Egyptian, and old Lord Rutherford physically restraining his son.
In a rage, she drew back from Ramses, startling him, freeing herself at once. Gasps from all these strange modern people, who looked as they pretended not to look. A hush had fallen around them, though the music roared over it.
"We will speak when I say, my beloved teacher! You interfere just now with my pleasures, just as you always did in the past."
Alex rushed to her side. She slipped her arm around him as once again Ramses advanced on her.
"What in God's name is the matter with you, Ramsey!" Alex protested.
"I tell you now, we are to speak, you and I, alone," Ramses said to her, ignoring her lover.
Her anger went before her words and her words went before her thoughts.
"You think you can force me to do your will! I'll pay you out for what you've done to me! I'll pay you in kind!"
He grabbed her, swinging her away from Alex, whose father moved in again to take his arm. She glanced back to see Alex vanishing as the crowds closed in front of him, Ramses forcing her deeper into the dancers, refusing to let her go, though she struggled, his right hand clutching her left wrist, his left hand locked on her waist.
All about them couples whirled to the deafening music and its deep throbbing rhythmic beat. He forced her into the dance as he towered over her, lifting her off her feet as he turned her about.
"Let go of me!" she hissed. "You think I'm the same mad creature you left in that hovel in old Cairo. You think I am your slave!"
"No, no, I can see you are different," dropping into the old Latin. "But who are you, really?"
"Your magic has restored my mind, my memory. All that I suffered-it is there, and I hate you now more truly than I did before."
How stunned he was; how he suffered. Was she supposed to pity him?
"You have always been magnificent at suffering!" She spat the words at him. "And in your judgments! But I am not your slave or your property. What you have brought back to life would be free to live."
"It is you," he whispered. "Th
e Queen who was wise as well as impulsive? Who loved recklessly but knew always how to conquer and rule?"
"Yes, precisely. The Queen who begged you to share your gift with one mortal man, but you refused her. Selfish, spiteful and petty in the end."
"Oh, no, you know it is not true." Same old charm, same old persuasiveness. And the same fierce and unyielding will. "It would have been a ghastly error!"
"And I? Am I not an error!"
She struggled to free herself. She couldn't. Again he turned her in a great circle to the rhythm of the music, skirts brushing her as others danced around them, oblivious, it seemed, to her struggle.
' 'Last night you told me that when you were dying, you tried to call out to me," he said. "The venom of the snake had paralyzed you. Were you telling me the truth?"
Again she tried to pull loose. "Do not say these things to me!" she said. She jerked her left arm away from him, but he caught it again. Now die others did see what was happening. Heads were turning. A pair of dancers had stopped in alarm.
"Answer me," he demanded. "Did you try to call out to me in those last moments? Is that true?"
"You think that justifies what you have done!" She forced him to a halt. She would not be dragged along by him. "I was afraid. I was at death's door!" she confessed. "It was fear, not love! You think I could ever forgive you for letting Antony die?'
"Oh, it's you," he said softly. They stood motionless together. "It is really you. My Cleopatra, with all your duplicity and passion. It is you."
"Yes, and I speak the truth when I say I hate you," she cried, die tears springing to her eyes. "Ramses the Damned! I curse the day I let the light of the sun into your tomb. When your sweet mortal Julie Stratford is lying dead at your feet as Antony lay dead at mine, you will know the meaning of wisdom, of love, the power of she who always conquers and rules. Your Julie Stratford is mortal. Her neck can be snapped like a river reed."
Did she mean these words? She didn't know. She knew the hatred and all the love that had heated it, made it possible. In a fury she drew back, at last free of him, and turned to flee.
"No, you will not hurt her. You will not hurt Alex, either," he cried out in Latin. "Or anyone else."
She shoved the dancers out of her path. A woman screamed; a man stumbled into his partner. Others struggled to make way for her. She turned and saw him bearing down on her, calling out to her.
"I will put you back into die grave before I will let you do it. Into the darkness."
In terror, she plowed through the crowd before her. The air was rife with screams everywhere. But the door lay ahead, and freedom, and she ran towards it with all her strength.
"Wait, stop, listen to me," Ramses shouted.
Glancing back as she reached the doors, she saw that Alex had ahold of him. "Stop, Ramsey, let her go!" Other men were surrounding Ramses.
She ran on to the top of the stairs. Now it was Alex's voice calling her, begging her to wait, not to be afraid. But Ramses would get free of his captors. They could not hold him, and his threats rang in her ears.
Down the steps she ran, clutching to the railing, badly hampered by the high-heeled shoes.
"Your Highness," Alex shouted.
She rushed through the lobby and out the front doors. A car had just stopped at the foot of the steps. The man and woman were already out of it, the servant holding the door open.
She glanced back. Alex was running down the staircase, and Ramses was right behind him.
"Your Highness! Wait!"
She dashed around the car, and shoved die baffled servant out of her path. She slid behind the wheel and slammed her foot on the pedal. As it raced forward, Alex vaulted over die side door and fell down into the seat beside her. She struggled to control the wheel, barely missing the garden, turning back onto the street that led to the boulevard.
"God in heaven," Alex shouted over the wind. "He's taken the car behind us. He's following us."
She forced the pedal to the floor, turning dangerously to avoid the car directly in front of her, and then racing ahead into the open lane.
"Your Highness, you'll kill us!"
The cold air struck her face as she leaned forward, twisting and turning the wheel to pass the sluggish cars that would not get out of her way. Alex pleaded with her. But she heard only Ramses' voice in her ears: "I will put you back into the grave . . . into the darkness." To get away, she had to get away.
"I won't let him hurt you."
At last the boulevard had given way to the open country road. Nothing in her path now. Yet she kept the pedal jammed to the floor.
Somewhere far out there lay the pyramids, and then the desert, the open desert. But how could she hide there; where would she go?
"Is he still behind us?" she screamed.
"Yes, but I won't let them hurt you, I told you! Listen to me."
"No," she screamed. "Do not try to stop me!" She shoved at him as he went to embrace her. The car twisted, went off the paving. Over the packed sand it plowed, plunging into the blackness, headlamps shining dimly on the open desert. She had lost the road!
Far off to the right she saw a twinkling light moving as if towards her. Then she heard that sound, that awful sound: the scream of the steam locomotive! Ye gods, where was it!
Panic seized her. She could hear the low rumble of the iron wheels!
"Where is it!" she screamed. "Stop, you have to. Don't try to race it!" A glare of lights struck the little mirror above her, blinding her. She threw up her hands for an instant, then grabbed the wheel again. Then she saw the horror of horrors, the great roaring monster that had terrified her more than anything else. The giant black iron locomotive looming down on her right. "The brakes!" Alex cried.
The motor car bumped, rose up in the air and caught at a dead halt. The locomotive passed only a foot in front of her, the huge grinding wheels directly before her eyes.
"We're caught on the tracks, damn it, come on, get out!" Alex cried.
The whistle came again, screaming over the iron rumbling. Another one was coming towards her from the left! She saw its round yellow eye, the beam sweeping over her, its great flaring iron skirt as it thundered down the metal path.
They had her, these things; they had her. How could she escape them? And Ramses was behind her, Ramses was shouting her name. She felt Alex grab her arm and try to pull her out of the seat. The hideous locomotive was on top of her; as it struck the car she screamed.
Her body was thrown upwards. In one glaring moment she felt herself flying, high above the desert, tossed like a doll into the wind. Below the horrid iron monsters traveled past each other, over the endless sands. Then a searing flash of orange fire rose under her; unendurable heat enveloped her with a great deafening sound the like of which she had never before heard.
Ramses was thrown backwards by the explosion. He landed sprawling on the sand. One instant he had seen her body, thrown up and out of the car. The next the car had exploded, and she had been swallowed in midair by a great plume of orange flame. Again the explosion rocked the earth with its force, the fire spewing even higher. And for a moment he could see nothing at all.
As he scrambled to his feet, the great northbound locomotive was trying to stop. Wheezing, grinding still, it lumbered on the burning wreckage of the car shoved to the side, off the track. The southbound train roared on, oblivious, its rattling boxcars adding to the unbearable noise.
He ran towards the burning car. The mangled frame looked like blackened timbers in the rolling, greasy blaze.
He could see no life, no movement, no sign of her! He was about to run into the fire itself when Samir grabbed him. When he heard Julie scream.
In a daze he turned and looked at them. Alex Savarell was struggling to get up, his clothes blackened and smoking. His father stood beside him, a burnt garment hanging from his hand. He would live, the young man. That was clear.
But she! Where was she! Appalled, he stared at the giant trains, the one stopped now, the oth
er fast disappearing; had ever the world known such power? And the explosion; it had been like a volcano.
"Cleopatra!" he cried out. Then he felt himself, for all his immortal strength, slowly crumpling. Julie Stratford held him in her arms.
The dawn came with a fiery glow on the horizon; the sun, caught in a mist, seemed not so much a disk but a great layer of simmering heat. The stars faded slowly.
Once again he walked back and forth over the same stretch of railroad track. Samir watched him patiently. Julie Stratford had gone to sleep in the backseat of the car.
Elliott and his son had returned to the hotel.
Faithful Samir alone stood with him, as once again he examined the burnt mangled car. Horrid the skeleton of the thing. Horrid the bits and pieces of charred leather clinging to the blackened springs.