House Marcel

"Ever been here before?" Marcel asked as the car glided through the dark night, quiet jazz playing over the radio. As he spoke, his fingers kept time with the music, playing along where they rested on his knee. "To New Orleans?"

"No," Tyler answered. He was trying to look unbothered. Predators liked their prey weak, and if Tyler showed the slightest indication of being so, Marcel would pounce on him. However helpful he thought Tyler could be, he wouldn't hesitate to use him, wield him like a weapon and toss him away once he served his purpose if he thought Tyler would let him. He could do it regardless, but at least this way he knew Tyler wasn't just going to watch it happen.

"Better late than never," Marcel said. He glanced to the two other vampires who were staring passively out the windows. "I didn't introduce my friends. Duke," he said motioning to the vampire with the many chains, "and Ronan." The second was quiet while Duke raised a hand in a short wave, his thin lips curved upward into a smirk.

"My brothers," Marcel added.

Tyler turned his gaze back to the tinted windows to watch New Orleans pass by as the car made a turn, bumping over the streetcar tracks. They were going into a neighborhood Tyler had never been in before. He hadn't explored much of the city since he'd been there, just the basics. Every time he thought he might get out and see it, he thought he may be making himself too comfortable. If he made New Orleans home, it was like giving up on ever going back to Mystic Falls.

The houses they passed had to be old, all in a variety of colors with iron gates that separated them from the sidewalks. Statues sat on the porches, guarding the front doors with their stony visages. There were balconies on most with railings made of the same wrought iron. Most of the windows in them were dark, and the streets were still. The car drove through them with controlled ease, slinking down the street in no real hurry. Wherever they were going, they could take their time getting there, though Tyler suspected they were nearing their destination.

"The Garden District," Marcel explained.

They were going to a house. Tyler was proven right when the car rolled to a stop.

"This house," Marcel said, nodding to the structure the car was now parked in front of, "was built just for me. I compelled a bunch of former slave owners to handle the cost of the construction." Again with that grin. Tyler almost found himself returning it, but he stopped just as the thought crossed his mind. "They did a good job, don't you think? It's still standing after all this time. Just as beautiful as when I first saw it."

It was beautiful. Two floors, possibly three if the window at the house's apex belonged to an attic. Like the others there was a wrought iron balcony on the upper floor to overlook the street, held in place by columns whose cream color matched that of the rest of the house. There was a set of twin staircases leading up to the porch and a pair of doors flanked by statues. Dragons, from the look of them with their mouths open and revealing carefully carved stone fangs. Duke opened the car door, and he and Ronan climbed out. Marcel motioned for Tyler to go next, and he obliged.

"You live here?" Tyler asked as Marcel led them up the staircase on the left where they had to cut through the front yard which was bordered by boxwood hedges and an iron fence.

"Sometimes," Marcel replied. "Not at the moment, however. You'll have your privacy."

Privacy. A concrete concept made fluid by Marcel's suggestion of it. No matter what he said, Tyler knew the last thing he'd have here was privacy. There would certainly be the illusion of it, but the reality would be impossible to grasp.

Marcel unlocked the door with an ancient looking key, one he dropped into Tyler's hand before leading him inside where the house opened up into a magnificent foyer lit by a crystal chandelier. A staircase covered in deep red carpet led up to the second floor.

"You're welcome to come and go as you please," Marcel said. "Though I don't suggest going far. The closer to the house you are, the safer you'll be. Got it?"

"Got it," Tyler assured him though he wondered how that proximity equaled safety thing worked.

Marcel gave Tyler the tour while Duke and Ronan lingered near the front door. He showed him the parlor where the walls were painted a deep red and all the furniture was the same dark wood. The bedroom that would be Tyler's (one of three bedrooms in the house) hosted a four poster bed with fresh sheets, all black. The window was curtained, the chest of drawers polished, end tables held up lamps with fringed shades, and the floor was adorned with a thick navy blue carpet that muffled their footsteps completely.

On the bed sat Tyler's duffel bag.

"I took the liberty of picking up your things," Marcel said. "Don't worry. Everything's in there."

How long had Marcel known he was in town? And how long had he been following him?

"Thanks," Tyler said shortly. Not that he had anything in the bag really, just some clothes, a few toiletries, his old cell phone and its charger. Nothing significant really, unless Marcel had decided to hack his voicemail.

"The house is all yours," Marcel said, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture. Would he ever stop smiling? "Make yourself at home."

Tyler heard a slight rustle above his head, coming from the attic.

"The attic?" he asked, dropping his gaze back to Marcel who'd heard the same disturbance but looked up as if it was nothing unusual.

"Is prohibited," he said. His smile didn't waver.

"I thought the house was all mine," Tyler said, leaning against one of the bed's posts.

"Then imagine the attic isn't part of the house," Marcel suggested. "Any doors you're not supposed to open, you won't be able to open so save yourself some trouble and don't work too hard on them." He nodded his head to the side in a gesture for Tyler to follow him. He did, allowing Marcel to lead him back downstairs to a bar in the corner of the living room filled with antique furniture, made with the kind of very old wood that looked like it may disintegrate on contact.

Instead of withdrawing alcohol, Marcel pulled out a bottle of blood to pour into two glasses. Some spilled on the bar's counter, and Marcel wiped it up with his index finger and sucked it into his mouth, making an appreciative humming sound.

"The kitchen is well-stocked," Marcel said, passing Tyler his glass. "You definitely won't starve. Now," he said, flinging himself down on the sofa, propping his feet up on the arm of the chair, unworried about the age of all these things, "let's talk about Klaus."

Tyler sat awkwardly on the chair across from him, not drinking the glass of blood Marcel offered him. "What about him?"

"What did he do to you?" Marcel asked.

"You don't know?"

"I know what Klaus told me," he said, "but I don't trust his version of events. I know he put you through some real hell, but I need to know your side." He set his glass on the floor, folded his hands on top of his stomach and looked at Tyler expectantly. "So talk."

Tyler put the blood down but he obliged. He told Marcel everything, from start to finish. About being turned into a hybrid, the sire bond, breaking the bond, discovering a pack, losing that pack, losing his mother. He refrained from telling Marcel anything about Caroline or Klaus' obsession with her. If Marcel thought he could get to Klaus through her, he wouldn't hesitate.

When he was finished, Marcel stared at him for a while without speaking. When he finally did, he picked up his blood again and drained the glass. "Interesting," he said, as he stood up. "Well, goodnight." He started walking, and Tyler stood to follow.

"Something happened to me," he said, before Marcel could get too far. Duke and Ronan hadn't left their spots by the door. Tyler could hear the car still idling outside. "I'm missing time. A pretty big chunk of it actually. From tonight."

Marcel arched an eyebrow, intrigued by this newfound development. His shiny new toy, possibly defective? "Go on."

"I went to a club," Tyler explained. "Turbulence. The last thing I remember is sitting down and then...nothing. It's blank. You know anything about that?"

He didn't expect anything from Marcel except a smile. And that was exactly what he got. Tyler was almost proud of himself for learning so fast. "Can't say I do," Marcel said. "Get some rest, Tyler." He got halfway to the door and turned back around. "I don't recommend having friends over."

"Won't be a problem," Tyler said. "I don't have any."

Four months ago

The fax machine whirred and spit as the pages were sent through, signed and initialed, to the lawyer back in Virginia. All the necessary paperwork to make the Lockwood mansion the Donovan mansion and instructions to mail two letters to Matt. One for him and another for Caroline.

The Copy Corral seemed like as good a spot as any to do the work. It was in a small town in North Carolina where Tyler had taken a bus specifically for this purpose. If Klaus attempted to find out where he was, he may find out, but Copy Corral was a long way from where he'd really be - though Tyler hadn't pinpointed exactly where that place would be just yet.

He couldn't go back to Mystic Falls though his entire being screamed for him to do so. Jeremy was dead, and Caroline was leaving him message after message, none of which he could return.

He reminded himself he couldn't do anything for Jeremy now, and Caroline had other people to help her through this. It wouldn't help anyone - especially not him and Caroline - if he went back to Mystic Falls and died there. He couldn't go back. And not going back made him wonder why he was keeping the house.

"Are you sure you want to do this, son?" Alfred Mamet, attorney-at-law and his dad's old college buddy who Tyler recalled having thinning hair and bad breath, had asked when Tyler called him from a payphone asking him to draw up the paperwork.

Tyler had said yes with no hesitation. All his hesitation had been done already. He'd gone back and forth on the bus ride here, wondering if this was really what he wanted. Giving up the house meant giving up what was left of the Lockwood name, giving up what was left of Carol Lockwood and her troubled, hybrid son. What would be left was someone else, something else, a new Tyler Lockwood.

But it wasn't like he was using the house, and he may never see it again. Caroline would be able to go there whenever she wanted. She could even take her mom there with her. They'd be safe from Klaus that way. Matt could use it, too, and finally give up on paying the many bills he was handling at his place. The keeping of the mansion would be handled automatically, the utility companies they used dipping right into his mom's old accounts, which were very, very hefty. Tyler had considered cleaning those out, too. It was his right now that his mom was gone, but he couldn't bring himself to take her money. He had plenty of his own, and it seemed like some kind of betrayal, to take what was hers because she couldn't lay claim to it anymore.

So Tyler waited until the fax confirmation came through before he snatched up the pages and shredded them. Then he exited Copy Corral and bent his steps toward the bus station where he examined the list of departures. Fort Worth, Texas. Washington, D.C. New Orleans, Louisiana. Jacksonville, Florida.

He'd never been to New Orleans before. He'd never been to any of those other places either, but he always heard good things about New Orleans. If he tried hard enough, maybe he could disappear there. It was big enough that there had to be some vampires, enough to make his feeding less noticeable.

On the bus, Tyler sat in the back. He pretended to be listening to his iPod, but it had died weeks ago. He kept going back and forth with buying a charger for it. If this traveling thing was going to become custom, he should at least be able to do it to a soundtrack. If he ended up sticking around in New Orleans, maybe he'd buy a new one, maybe look into getting a job somewhere, one that would pay cash and wouldn't require any information being shared on his part.

There was a vampire sitting in the seat in front of him, talking on her cell phone. She was thin with light brown skin and with a mane of hair streaked with gold. He could smell it on her, what she was, not to mention the scent of her last meal.

"I'm on my way back now," she said. "Marcel's having some trouble with the witches."

"What kind of trouble?" the woman on the other end asked.

"The usual," the vampire answered. "Revolution, shit like that. Nothing that's gonna go anywhere. I'm only going back to see the fireworks. You know how Marcel gets when the witches question his authority."

Marcel. Who was Marcel? Curiosity tugged at him. After a few more seconds, the vampire hung up and started shifting through her bag, withdrawing an MP3 player and headphones.

For a moment, Tyler thought about not asking her. He didn't know what the etiquette was for meeting random supernaturals out and about. When he met Hayley, she took control of their budding friendship - and look how that had turned out.

Before he lost his nerve, Tyler tapped the vampire on her shoulder. When she turned, she raised her eyebrows at him. She'd been distracted before, but she knew what he was now. Maybe she couldn't place it exactly but she could tell he wasn't human, and there was enough vampire in him for her to sense it.

"Um," Tyler began, "I overheard what you were talking about and I..."

She blinked.

"I was wondering who Marcel is."

The vampire snorted. "The King," she answered.

"King of what?"

"The French Quarter," she went on. "Well, that was all he had at first. Now he's got the whole city. All of New Orleans." He could tell he was supposed to be impressed so he hoped his face reflected that.

"And he's a vampire?".

She nodded. "You're going to New Orleans and you don't know about Marcel?" She said like he was five years old and stupid. Compared to her, maybe he was.

"Whatever," she said, "you'll know all about him eventually." She gave him the once over and must have decided he was satisfactory because she extended a hand to him. Her nails were painted a neon yellow. "I'm Lydia."

Present Day

I don't have any.

Had truer words ever been spoken?

All his friends were back in Mystic Falls, forgetting about him as they began their college years. Lydia had been a friendly prospect at one point before she'd disappeared, off to do bigger and better things that didn't involve the random kid she'd scrounged up on a bus.

The house itself was nice. Tyler didn't leave, not even to go out onto the front porch, not willing to take the risk. The possibility of running into Klaus on the street was too much. Instead, lingered by the attic door. No amount of wriggling the knob coerced it into opening, and he wasn't about to try it more forcefully than that. It would be hard to hide any damage from Marcel, and Tyler was in no position to be a bad guest.

He did listen at the door. He thought he could make out a steady thrumming sound, muffled like it was underwater or something. He sat there and wondered what - or who - was up there. And what exactly they were doing. Was it an animal? A prisoner? Another ally for Marcel, though obviously not one as cooperative as Tyler? If they couldn't come down, and no one went up, how did it - or he or she - sustain itself? How long had it been there? Why was it there? And why had Marcel put Tyler in a house with it without bothering to tell him what it was or what purpose it served?

Eventually Tyler gave up on that and went looking for food. In the kitchen he discovered what Marcel meant by "well-stocked". Blood bags on blood bags on blood bags, ones of every blood type. A little AB positive in the morning, some O-negative at night. A well-balanced diet. He drank until he was full, sitting down at the long dining room table where he stared at the head of the table where no one sat. He pictured people sitting there, and they took on the faces of his parents - his father, too - and Mason and even Jules. Caroline was there, sitting at Kim's side. He pictured them all eating together, and then he got up and left because the image and the impossibility of it began to annoy him.

Night came and went. Tyler considered watching some television. He hadn't in so long, unwilling to shell out the cash necessary to put one in his old place as finding a job had proved harder than he'd thought. Luxuries weren't something he could afford anymore. His funds, though large, were limited, and he needed to be sure he'd have enough in case of an emergency. But his attempts to watch television were futile. He was more tired than he'd realized.

Laying in bed and waiting for sleep to take him, Tyler considered skipping ahead on his routine of checking his messages. Maybe Caroline had called to tell him what Whitmore was like? He didn't let himself check. Better to wait.

The second day of Tyler's stay, Marcel arrived, this time alone.

"There's nothing in this world more important than family, Tyler," Marcel said, leading Tyler through the courtyard. It was well maintained. Colorful splashes of flowers sprouted from the ground, and from lush, green bushes. The pathway was made of dark grey cobblestones and shielded from the hot sun by lines of thin-trunked trees on either side.

"I don't have any family," Tyler told him. "Not anymore." He remembered the table and the false picture of people he knew gathered around to eat with him, and he got agitated all over again. As Marcel walked ahead of him, he wondered what on him was spelled to keep him from burning.

"You could," Marcel said, turning around. Tyler stopped short where he was walking, feeling as though he was going to wilt underneath Marcel's stare. "I didn't have a family either once. They all died on the plantation. Then I made my own family, got myself a house. I'm living the American dream." He laughed up to the sky, tilting his head back to see the reaching leaves and branches that touched one another above him.

Tyler narrowed his eyes questioningly. He was going to help Marcel. They'd already established that, so why did it feel like Marcel was still giving him the sales pitch?

"I take care of people who take care of me," Marcel said, looking back to Tyler. "I take care of my family."

And one day, Tyler, he could practically hear Marcel adding, that could be you. Play your cards right and see where it gets you.

"If I asked you what was in the attic," Tyler said, looking back to the house where they'd left the doors wide open, "would you tell me?"

Marcel cocked his head to the side and flashed a smile. No.

On the third day, Tyler received no visitors. The sounds from the attic stopped for hours before beginning again, and Tyler only tugged on the door's knob once before calling it quits. He napped for a couple hours after drinking his lunch. When he awoke he tried to make sense of his lost time. There was some paper in a desk in the living room, alongside a grand piano. Once he found a pen he scribbled out what he remembered of the other night. Leaving his apartment, walking toward Turbulence, compelling himself entry (he didn't have enough funds to go paying the cover charge and he always made up for it by paying in full for his drink) and sitting down.

After that he lost it. No matter how hard he tried to figure it out, nothing came to him except a bright pink dress, short and tight though the body to whom it clung was unidentifiable. The green eyes he pictured were disembodied and floating.

You're alive. Over and over again. You're alive. You're alive. You're alive.

Tyler made a list of all the people he'd known who were dead. He began with his great grandmother Leanne Lockwood who died when he was five and stopped when he hit Sarah. The memory of killing her was one he didn't feel like revisiting.

Too many dead people. None of them alive.

In the middle of the night, Tyler heard more sounds from the attic. Something moving across the floor. He got off the couch where he'd fallen asleep in front of a black-and-white movie. Grabbing the remote, he muted the television to hear. There were footsteps moving east to west. Tyler followed them toward the far window overlooking the courtyard, heard more rustling.

The sounds stopped. Tyler stood there for a while longer, hoping they'd start up again. They never did.

Tyler sighed as he looked out over the courtyard, watching the breeze as it caressed the leaves and branches, stirring them just slightly. A spider traversed the window sill without acknowledging his presence though it did pause when he tapped a finger against the glass. Then it resumed its journey and disappeared from sight.

A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye made him turn his gaze to the left end of the courtyard. He tensed. Anyone skulking through the garden at this time of night probably wasn't a friend.

He thought he saw a figure, willowy and feminine, wearing a skirt that swished against the cobblestones and was lifted by the wind just like the leaves.

But he'd only imagined it because one blink later there was nothing but the swaying tree branches. His deeper look, going to the double doors that led outside and pulling them open, yielded nothing unusual.

Shaking his head at his own gullibility, he went back to the couch.

Thanks for reading. And thank you to all of you who have left your very nice reviews. I really appreciate them.