Chet Williamson - Reign

The thought gave him pause, and he began to think about the other changes in his personality that had occurred over the past few months and years. He had heard people remark that he seemed more thoughtful and considerate, but he had attributed this to Robin's influence and to aging. But what, he thought, if it was due to something else?

What if it was due to his creation of the Emperor? What if this histrion, as it termed itself, had drawn from him those very emotions with which he had created it on stage and created the legend of Dennis Hamilton in his life – imperiousness, superiority, pride, a quick temper, and, yes, ruthlessness? He breathed a prayer of thanks that such a creation was incapable of interfering physically in his world.

And then another thought possessed him. If his theory was true, should he not, instead of fearing what he had made, be grateful to it? Might it not have, after all, drained him of his emotional poisons, making him truly a kinder and better person?

Dennis didn't know. He was certain of only one thing – that he had somehow created this creature, but whether he was cast in the role of Frankenstein or God he could not tell.

He remembered then what the thing had said about Sid, and knew that he had to talk to him about this immediately. The need for the presence of another human being – real, not ethereal – became the most important thing in the world to Dennis Hamilton, and, instead of calling Sid, he decided to go to his suite. Sid would know what to do. What the Emperor had said was true in one regard – he would indeed be a lesser man without Sid.

Sid Harper had knocked off early that night. He had driven Mack Redcay to the airport, served Dennis dinner, and was now lying in bed with Donna Franklin.

It was the first time they had made love in many weeks, weeks that had been filled with the activity of Robin's death and funeral, with everyone working at a feverish pace to try and banish the memories of tragedy, with Sid's departure to New York with Dennis and John, with work and worry and depression. Finally, when Sid had returned from the city, Donna had started her period. Her fastidious outward manner extended into her sex life only in one regard, and that was an absolute refusal to sleep with Sid when she was anything less than pristine. He had long accepted this condition, just as she had accepted the fact that Sid might be called from her side at any minute at the whim of Dennis Hamilton.

They had been interrupted during sex before, but the events of the past few months had made Donna even more high-strung than she usually was, and Sid was well aware that his lover's nerves were on a knife's edge. He had done all he could to calm her that evening, given her wine, held her tenderly, talked for a long time before taking her into the bedroom. But even with the preamble of concern, he still felt the tension, not only deep inside her, but also just beneath the surface, like a volcano about to explode. So when Sid's doorbell rang, she had stiffened beneath him and barked, " Jesus," in a way that made his penis shrivel instantly.

"I won't answer it," he said, caressing her hair.

"Sid?" He heard Dennis's voice, followed by more knocking.

"Oh shit," he murmured.

"Your master's voice," Donna said, rolling away from him.

"I'm sorry."

"Sure, you're sorry." Her voice was bitter.

"Look, I'll see what he wants, be right back."

She said something into the pillow that he didn't hear. The knocking came from the door again, and he rolled out of bed, threw on a bathrobe, and paced to the front door.

"Sid," Dennis said when he opened it. "You're in bed."

He managed a weak smile. "Not any more. What's up, Dennis?"

Dennis looked reluctant. "I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you about something. Um, alone. You… is Donna here?"

Sid nodded. "In the bedroom. I'll come over." He called toward the hall. "I'll be back in a bit."

"God damn it!" Donna cried from the bedroom. Sid turned to see if Dennis had heard, knowing full well that he had to, and saw that someone else was privy to her outburst as well. John Steinberg, his round face dour, was standing behind Dennis in the doorway.

"Is anything wrong?" he said.

"No, John," Sid replied. "Nothing is wrong."

Steinberg looked at him for a moment as though he didn't believe him, then gave a sharp nod, and proceeded down the hall on his way to his suite.

"I'm sorry," Dennis said. "I don't want to upset Donna."

Sid shrugged. "She's already upset. Let's go."

In Dennis's suite, Sid listened while Dennis told him about the confusion over Terri's accusations, of the conversation with Ann, and finally, of the return of the Emperor, and his admission of his verbal seduction of the girl. As Sid sat there, a great sorrow filled him. He could not help but feel that his friend was mad.

But when Dennis had finished his story, Sid sat for a moment, then nodded his head in sympathy. "This… thing sounds like nothing but trouble, Dennis," he said, trying to sound sincere. "I think you should try and get rid of it. As quickly as possible. Maybe I could help you."

Dennis frowned. "I don't know, Sid. It doesn't seem as if its intentions are bad. It acts the way it does because… well, because it knows no other way. It has the emotions that I gave it – the egoistic, childish ones. I can't really blame it for how it thinks. It's a child, a newborn, really. It's got… so much more to learn."

Dear God, Sid thought, he really has gone off the edge. "But, Dennis, you can't know what it intends. It could be bad – very bad. Maybe there's some way we could, I don't know, exorcise it or something. We could talk to a minister, or maybe… (Here goes, he thought)… a psychiatrist?"

Dennis looked at him for a long time, his eyes heavy-lidded and weary. "You still don't believe me."

"Dennis, I didn't say that, of course I believe you."

"This isn't something a psychiatrist can deal with, Sid. I honestly don't believe this is anything that anyone has ever had to deal with before."

Unique, Sid thought. I'd expect nothing less of Dennis Hamilton. "What'll we do then?"

"For now, nothing. I just had to talk about it, tell someone, and I knew I could trust you – if not to believe me, then at least not to tell anyone else. I don't want this… creation to be discovered, studied, examined, at least not yet. It trusts me, Sid, and I have to confess I feel… protective toward it. It is, after all, my child, for want of a better word. And in a weird way I actually feel a little proud of it." He paused, then chuckled. "With the small amount of pride it's left me."

Sid thought for a moment. "Then you think that this explains the recent changes in your personality. This histrion, as you call it, took the emotions of the Emperor away from you."

"Yes. And it could explain why my last performances, for the most part, weren't nearly as powerful as before."

"It makes… an odd kind of sense," Sid said, nodding. "But do you want to give those things up?"

"Maybe it's done me more good than harm. It's made me a kinder person. Hopefully a better one." He grinned. "When's the last time I barked ‘ scheiskopf ’ to you?"

"Well, yeah, I haven't missed that," Sid admitted.

"See, there's good in everything. Even…”

Sid stepped into the pause. "An emotional vampire?"

Dennis sobered immediately. "I wouldn't put it like that."

"No. I guess not. I'm sorry, Dennis, I didn't mean to be flip." He stood up. "Okay then, you don't want to do anything about this, talk to anyone else, right?"

"No." Dennis sat there looking at the carpet. He seemed, Sid thought, to have been drained of feeling, and he thought that his vampiric description of what was eating Dennis (from within only, he had no doubt) was apt.