True Blood One Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10

THE NEXT DAY, when I was getting ready for work, I realized I was definitely off vampires for a while. Even Bill. I was ready to remind myself I was a human. The trouble was, I had to notice that I was a changed human. It wasn't anything major. After the first infusion of Bill's blood on the night the Rats had beaten me, I'd felt healed, healthy, stronger. But not markedly different. Maybe more— well, sexier.

After my second draft of Bill's blood, I'd felt really strong, and I'd been braver because I'd had more confidence. I felt more secure in my sexuality and its power. It seemed apparent I was handling my disability with more aplomb and capability. I'd had Long Shadow's blood by accident. The next morning, looking in the mirror, my teeth were whiter and sharper. My hair looked lighter and livelier, and my eyes were brighter. I looked like a poster girl for good hygiene, or some healthy cause like taking vitamins or drinking milk. The savage bite on my
arm (Long Shadow's last bite on this earth, I realized) was not completely healed, but it was well on its way.

Then my purse spilled as I picked it up, and my change rolled under the couch. I held up the end of the couch with one hand while with the other I retrieved the coins. Whoa. I straightened and took a deep breath. At least the sunlight didn't hurt my eyes, and I didn't want to bite everyone I saw. I'd enjoyed my breakfast toast, rather than longing for tomato juice. I wasn't turning into
a vampire. Maybe I was sort of an enhanced human?

Life had sure been simpler when I hadn't dated.

When I got to Merlotte's, everything was ready except for slicing the lemons and limes. We served the fruit both with mixed drinks and with tea, and I got out the cutting board and a sharp knife. Lafayette was tying on his apron as I got the lemons from the big refrigerator.
"You highlighted your hair, Sookie?" I shook my head. Under the enveloping white apron, Lafayette was a symphony of color; he was wearing a fuschia thin-strap tee, dark purple jeans, red thong sandals, and he had sort of raspberry eye shadow on. "It sure looks lighter," he said skeptically, raising his own plucked brows.
"I've been out in the sun a lot," I assured him. Dawn had never gotten along with Lafayette, whether because he was black or because he was gay, I didn't know ... maybe both. Arlene and Charlsie just accepted the cook, but didn't go out of their ways to be friendly. But I'd always kind of liked Lafayette because he conducted what had to be a tough life with verve and grace.

I looked down at the cutting board. All the lemons had been quartered. All the limes had been sliced. My hand was holding the knife, and it was wet with juices. I had done it without knowing it. In about thirty seconds. I closed my eyes. My God. When I opened them, Lafayette was staring from my face to my hands.
"Tell me I didn't just see that, girlfriend," he suggested.
"You didn't," I said. My voice was cool and level, I was surprised to note. "Excuse me, I got to put these away." I put the fruit in separate containers in the big cooler behind the bar where Sam kept the beer. When I shut the door, Sam was standing there, his arms crossed across his chest. He didn't look happy.
"Are you all right?" he asked. His bright blue eyes scanned me up and down. "You do something to your hair?" he said uncertainly. I laughed. I realized that my guard had slid into place easily, that it didn't have to be a painful process.
"Been out in the sun," I said.
"What happened to your arm?" I looked down at my right forearm. I'd covered the bite with a bandage.
"Dog bit me."
"Had it had its shots?"
"Sure."

I looked up at Sam, not too far, and it seemed to me his wiry, curly, red-blond hair snapped with
energy. It seemed to me I could hear his heart beating. I could feel his uncertainly, his desire. My body responded instantly. I focused on his thin lips, and the rich smell of his aftershave filled my lungs. He moved two inches closer. I could feel the breath going in and out of his lungs. I knew his penis was stiffening. Then Charlsie Tooten came in the front door and slammed it behind her. We both took a step away from each other. Thank God for Charlsie, I thought. Plump, dumb, good-natured, and hardworking, Charlsie was a dream employee. Married to Ralph, her high school sweetheart, who worked at one of the chicken processing plants, Charlsie had a girl in the eleventh grade and a married daughter. Charlsie loved to work at the bar so she could get out and see people, and she had a knack for dealing with drunks that got them out the door without a fight
.
"Hi, you two!" she called cheerfully. Her dark brown hair (L'Oreal, Lafayette said) was pulled back dramatically to hang from the crown of her head in a cascade of ringlets. Her blouse was spotless and the pockets of her shorts gaped since the contents were too packed. Charlsie was wearing sheer black support hose and Keds, and her artificial nails were a sort of burgundy red.
"That girl of mine is expecting. Just call me Grandma!" she said, and I could tell Charlsie was 0 happy as a clam. I gave her the expected hug, and Sam patted her on the shoulder. We were both glad to see her.
"When is the baby due?" I asked, and Charlsie was off and running. I didn't have to say anything for the next five minutes. Then Arlene trailed in, makeup inexpertly covering the hickeys on her neck, and she listened to everything all over again. Once my eyes met Sam's, and after a little moment, we looked away simultaneously. Then we began serving the lunchtime crowd, and the incident was over.

Most people didn't drink much at lunchtime, maybe a beer or a glass of wine. A hefty proportion just had iced tea or water. The lunch crowd consisted of people who happened to be close to Merlotte's when the lunch hour came, people who were regulars and thought of it naturally, and the local alcoholics for whom their lunchtime drink was maybe the third or fourth. As I began to take orders, I remembered my brother's plea.

I listened in all day, and it was gruelling. I'd never spent the day listening; I'd never let my guard down for so long. Maybe it wasn't as painful as it had been; maybe I felt cooler about what I was hearing. Sheriff Bud Dearborn was sitting at a table with the mayor, my grandmother's friend Sterling Norris. Mr. Norris patted me on the shoulder, standing up to do so, and I realized it was the first time I'd seen him since Gran's funeral.

"How are you doing, Sookie?" he asked in a sympathetic voice. He was looking poorly, himself.
"Just great, Mr. Norris. Yourself?"
"I'm an old man, Sookie," he said with an uncertain smile. He didn't even wait for me to protest. "These murders are wearing me down. We haven't had a murder in Bon Temps since Darryl Mayhew shot Sue Mayhew. And there wasn't no mystery about that."
'That was ... what? Six years ago?" I asked the sheriff, just to keep standing there. Mr. Norris was
feeling so sad at seeing me because he was thinking my brother was going to be arrested for murder, for killing Maudette Pickens, and the mayor reckoned that meant Jason had most likely also killed Gran. I ducked my head to hide my eyes.
"I guess so. Let's see, I remember we were dressed up for Jean-Anne's dance recital... so that was … Yes, you're right, Sookie, six years ago." The sheriff nodded at me with approval. "Jason been in today?" he asked casually, as if it were a mere afterthought.
"No, haven't seen him," I said. The sheriff told me he wanted iced tea and a hamburger; and he was thinking of the time he'd caught Jason with his Jean-Anne, making out like crazy in the bed of Jason's pickup truck. Oh, Lord. He was thinking Jean-Anne was lucky she hadn't been strangled. And then he had a clear thought that cut me to the quick: Sheriff Dearborn thought, These girls are all bottom-feeders, anyway. I could read his thought in its context because the sheriff happened to be an easy scan. I could feel the nuances of the idea. He was thinking, "Low-skill jobs, no college, screwing vampires ... bottom of the barrel."

Hurt and angry didn't begin to describe how I felt at this assessment.

I went from table to table automatically, fetching drinks and sandwiches and clearing up the remainders, working as hard as I usually did, with that awful smile stretching my face. I talked to twenty people I knew, most of whom had thoughts as innocent as the day is long. Most customers were thinking of work, or tasks they had to get done at home, or some little problem they needed to solve, like getting the Sears repairman to come work on the dishwasher or getting the house clean for weekend company.

Arlene was relieved her period had started. Charlsie was immersed in pink glowing reflections on her shot at immortality, her grandchild. She was praying earnestly
for an easy pregnancy and safe delivery for her daughter. Lafayette was thinking that working with me was getting spooky. Policeman Kevin Pryor was wondering what his partner Kenya was doing on her day off. He himself was helping his mother clean out the tool shed and hating every minute of it.

I heard many comments, both aloud and unspoken, about my hair and complexion and the bandage on my arm. I seemed more desirable to more men, and one woman: Some of the guys who'd gone on the vampire burning expedition were thinking they didn't have a chance with me because of my vampire sympathies, and they were regretting their impulsive act. I marked their identities in my mind. I wasn't going to forget they could have killed my Bill, even though at the moment the rest of the vampire community was low on my list of favorite things.

Andy Bellefleur and his sister, Portia, were having lunch together, something they did at least once every week. Portia was a female version of Andy: medium height, blocky build, determined mouth and jaw. The resemblance between brother and sister favored Andy, not Portia. She was a very competent lawyer, I'd heard. I might have suggested her to Jason when he was thinking he'd need an attorney, if she'd not been female ... and I'd been thinking about Portia's welfare more than Jason's.
Today the lawyer was feeling inwardly depressed because she was educated and made good money, but never had a date. That was her inner preoccupation.

Andy was disgusted with my continued association with Bill Compton, interested in my improved appearance, and curious about how vampires had sex. He also was feeling sorry he was probably going to arrest Jason. He was thinking that the case against Jason was not much stronger than that against several other men, but Jason was the one who looked the most scared, which meant he had something to hide. And there were the videos, which showed Jason having sex— not exactly regular, garden-variety
sex—with Maudette and Dawn.

I stared at Andy while I processed his thoughts, which made him uneasy. Andy really did know what I was capable of. "Sookie, you going to get that beer?" he asked finally, waving a broad hand in the air to make sure he had my attention.
"Sure, Andy," I said absently, and got one out of the cooler. "You need any more tea, Portia?"
"No, thanks, Sookie," Portia said politely, patting her mouth with her paper napkin. Portia was remembering high school, when she would have sold her soul for a date with the gorgeous Jason Stackhouse. She was wondering what Jason was doing now, if he had a thought in his head that would interest her—maybe his body would be worth the sacrifice of intellectual companionship? So Portia hadn't seen the tapes, didn't know of their existence; Andy was being a good cop.

I tried to picture Portia with Jason, and I couldn't help smiling. That would be an experience for both of them. I wished, not for the first time, that I could plant ideas as well as reap them. By the end of my shift, I'd learned—nothing. Except that the videos my brother had so unwisely made featured mild bondage, which caused Andy to think of the ligature marks around the victims' necks.

So, taken as a whole, letting my head open for my brother had been a futile exercise. All I'd heard tended to make me worry more and didn't supply any additional information that might help his cause. A different crowd would come in tonight. I had never come to Merlotte's just for fun. Should I come in tonight? What would Bill do? Did I want to see him? I felt friendless. There was no one I could talk to about Bill, no one who wouldn't be halfway shocked I was seeing him in the first place. How could I tell Arlene I was blue because Bill's vampire buddies were
terrifying and ruthless, that one of them had bitten me the night before, bled into my mouth, been staked on top of me? This was not the kind of problem Arlene was equipped to handle. I couldn't think of anyone who was. I couldn't recall anyone dating a vampire who wasn't an indiscriminate vampire groupie, a fang-banger who would go with just any bloodsucker. By the time I left work, my enhanced physical appearance no longer had the power to make me confident. I felt like a freak.

I puttered around the house, took a short nap, watered Gran's flowers. Toward dusk, I ate something I'd nuked in the microwave. Wavering up until the last moment about going out, I finally put on a red shirt and white slacks and some jewelry and drove back to Merlotte's. It felt very strange entering as a customer. Sam was back behind the bar, and his eyebrows went up as he marked my entrance. Three waitresses I knew by sight were working tonight, and a different cook was grilling hamburgers, I saw through the serving hatch.

Jason was at the bar. For a wonder, the stool next to him was empty, and I eased onto it. He turned to me with his face set for a new woman: mouth loose and smiling, eyes bright and wide. When he saw it was me, his expression underwent a comical change. "What the hell are you doing here, Sookie?" he asked, his voice indignant.
"You'd think you weren't glad to see me," I remarked. When Sam paused in front of me, I asked him for a bourbon and coke, without meeting his eyes. "I did what you told me to do, and so far nothing," I whispered to my brother. "I came in here tonight to try some more people."
"Thanks, Sookie," he said, after a long pause. "I guess I didn't realize what I was asking. Hey, is something different about your hair?"

He even paid for my drink when Sam slid it in front of me.
We didn't seem to have much to talk about, which was actually okay, since I was trying to listen to the other customers. There were a few strangers, and I scanned them first, to see if they were possible suspects. It didn't seem they were, I decided reluctantly. One was thinking hard about how much he missed his wife, and the subtext was that he was faithful to her. One was thinking about it being his first time here, and the drinks were good. Another was just concentrating
on sitting up straight and hoping he could drive back to the motel.

I'd had another drink.

Jason and I had been swapping conjectures about how much the lawyer's fees would be when Gran's estate was settled. He glanced at the doorway and said, "Uh-oh."
"What?" I asked, not turning to see what he was looking at.
"Sis, the boyfriend's here. And he's not alone." My first idea was that Bill had brought one of his fellow vampires with him, which would have been upsetting and unwise. But when I turned, I realized why Jason had sounded so angry. Bill was with a human girl. He had a grip on her arm, she was coming on to him like a whore, and his eyes were scanning the crowd. I decided he was looking for my reaction.

I got off the barstool and decided another thing. I was drunk. I seldom drank at all, and two bourbon and cokes consumed within minutes had made me, if not knee-walking drunk, at least tipsy. Bill's eyes met mine. He hadn't really expected to find me here. I couldn't read his mind as I had Eric' for an awful' moment, but I could read his body language. "Hey, Vampire Bill!" Jason's friend Hoyt called. Bill nodded politely in Hoyt's direction, but began to steer the girl— tiny, dark—in my direction. I had no idea what to do.

"Sis, what's his game?" Jason said. He was working up a head of steam. "That gal's a fang-banger from Monroe. I knew her when she liked humans."

I still had no idea what to do. My hurt was overwhelming, but my pride kept trying to contain it. I had to add a dash of guilt to that emotional stew. I hadn't been where Bill had expected me to be, and I hadn't left him a note. Then again— on the other hand (my fifth or sixth)—I'd had a lot of shocks the night before at the command performance in Shreveport; and only my association with him had obliged me to
go to that shindig. My warring impulses held me still. I wanted to pitch myself on her and beat the shit out of her, but I hadn't been brought up to brawl in barrooms. (I also wanted to beat the shit out of Bill, but I might as well go bang my head on the wall for the all the damage it would do him.) Then, too, I wanted to burst
into tears because my feelings were hurt— but that would be weak. The best option was not to show anything because Jason was ready to launch into Bill, and all it needed was some action from me to squeeze his trigger.

Too much conflict on top of too much alcohol. While I was enumerating all these options, Bill had approached, wending his way through the tables, with the woman in tow. I noticed the room was quieter. Instead of watching, I was being watched. I could feel my eyes well with tears while my hands fisted. Great. The worst of both responses.

"Sookie," Bill said, "this is what Eric dropped off at my doorstep."
I could hardly understand what he was saying.
"So?" I said furiously. I looked right into the girl's eyes. They were big and dark and excited. I kept my own lids wide apart, knowing if I blinked the tears would flow.
"As a reward," Bill said. I couldn't understand how he felt about this.
"Freebeverage?" I said, and couldn't believe how venomous my voice sounded.
Jason put his hand on my shoulder. "Steady, girl," he said, his voice as low and mean as mine. "He ain't worth it."

I didn't know what Bill wasn't worth, but I was about to find out. It was almost exhilarating to have no idea what I was about to do, after a lifetime of control.
Bill was regarding me with sharp attention. Under the florescents over the bar, he looked remarkably white. He hadn't fed from her. And his fangs were retracted.

"Come outside and talk," he said.
"With her?" I was almost growling.
"No," he said. "With me. I have to send her back."

The distaste in his voice influenced me, and I followed Bill outside, keeping my head up and not meeting any eyes. He kept a hold of the girl's arm, and she was practically walking on her toes to keep up. I didn't know Jason was coming with us until I turned to see him behind me as we passed into the parking lot. Outside, people were coming and going, but it was marginally better than the crowded bar.

"Hi," the girl said chattily. "My name's Desiree. I think I've met you before, Jason."
"What are you doing here, Desiree?" Jason asked, his voice quiet. You could almost believe he was calm.
"Eric sent me over here to Bon Temps as a reward for Bill," she said coyly, looking at Bill from the corners of here yes. "But he seems less than thrilled. I don't know why. I'm practically a special vintage."
"Eric?" Jason asked me.
"A vampire from Shreveport. Bar owner. Head honcho."
"He left her on my doorstep," Bill told me. "I didn't ask for her."
"What are you going to do?"
"Send her back," he said impatiently. "You and I have to talk." I gulped. I felt my fingers uncurl.
"She needs a ride back to Monroe?" Jason asked. Bill looked surprised.
"Yes. Are you offering? I need to talk to your sister."
"Sure," Jason said, all geniality. I was instantly suspicious.
"I can't believe you're refusing me," Desiree said, looking up at Bill and pouting. "No one has ever turned me down before."
"Of course I am grateful, and I'm sure you are, as you put it, a special vintage," Bill said politely. "But I have my own wine cellar."

Little Desiree stared at him blankly for a second before comprehension slowly lit her brown eyes. "This woman yours?" she asked, jerking her head at me.

"She is."
Jason shifted nervously at Bill's flat statement. Desiree gave me a good looking over. "She's got funny eyes," she finally pronounced.
"She's my sister," Jason said.
"Oh. I'm sorry. You're much more ... normal." Desiree gave Jason the up-and-down, and seemed more pleased with what she saw. "Hey, what's your last name?"
Jason took her hand and began leading her toward his pickup. "Stackhouse," he was saying, giving her the full eye treatment, as they walked away. "Maybe on the way home, you can tell me a little about what you do ..."

I turned back to Bill, wondering what Jason's motive was for this generous act, and met Bill's gaze. It was like walking into a brick wall.
"So, you want to talk?" I asked harshly.
"Not here. Come home with me."
I scuffed the gravel with my shoe. "Not your house."
"Then yours."
"No."
He raised his arched brows. "Where then?"
Good question.
"My folks' pond." Since Jason was going to be giving Miss Dark and Tiny a ride home, he wouldn't be there.
"I'll follow you," he said briefly, and we parted to go to our respective cars.

The property where I'd spent my first few years was to the west of Bon Temps. I turned down the familiar gravel driveway and parked at the house, a modest ranch that Jason kept up pretty well. Bill emerged from his car as I slid from mine, and I motioned him to follow me. We went around the house and down the slope, following a path set with big paving stones. In a minute we were at the pond, man-made, that my dad had put in our backyard and stocked, anticipating fishing with his son in that
water for years.

There was a kind of patio overlooking the water, and on one of the metal chairs was a folded blanket. Without asking me, Bill picked it up and shook it out, spreading it on the grass downslope from the patio. I sat on it reluctantly, thinking
the blanket wasn't safe for the same reasons meeting him in either home wasn't safe. When I was close to Bill, what I thought about was being even closer to him. I hugged my knees to me and stared off across the water. There was a security light on the other side of the pond, and I could see it reflected in the still water. Bill lay on his back next to me. I could feel his eyes on my face. He laced his fingers together across his ribs, ostentatiously keeping his hands to himself.

"Last night frightened you," he said neutrally.
"Weren't you just a little scared?" I asked, more quietly than I'd thought I would.
"For you. A little for myself."
I wanted to lie on my stomach but worried about getting that close to him. When I saw his skin glow in the moonlight, I yearned to touch him.
"It scared me that Eric can control our lives while we're a couple."
"Do you not want to be a couple anymore?" The pain in my chest was so bad I put my hand over it, pressing the area above my breast.
"Sookie?" He was kneeling by me, an arm around me.
I couldn't answer. I had no breath.
"Do you love me?" he asked.
I nodded.
"Why do you talk of leaving me?"
The pain made its way out through my eyes in the form of tears.
"I'm too scared of the other vampires and the way they are. What will he ask me to do next? He'll try to make me do something else. He'll tell me he'll kill you otherwise. Or he'll threaten Jason. And he can do it."

Bill's voice was as quiet as the sound of a cricket in the grass. A month ago, I might not have been ableto hear it. "Don't cry," he told me. "Sookie, I have to tell you unwelcome facts." The only welcome thing he could have told me at that point was that Eric was dead. "Eric is intrigued by you now. He can tell you have mental powers that most humans don't have, or ignore if they know they possess them. He anticipates your blood is rich and sweet." Bill's voice got hoarse when he said that, and I shivered. "And you're beautiful. You're even more beautiful now. He
doesn't realize you have had our blood three times."
"You know that Long Shadow bled onto me?"
"Yes. I saw."
"Is there anything magic about three times?" He laughed, that low, nimbly, rusty laugh.
"No. But the more vampire blood you drink, the more desirable you become to our kind, and actually, more desirable to anyone. And Desiree thought she was a vintage! I wonder what vampire said that to her."
"One that wanted to get in her pants," I said flatly, and he laughed again. I loved to hear him laugh.
"With all this telling me how lovely I am, are you saying that Eric, like, lusts for me?"
"Yes."
"What's to stop him from taking me? You say he's stronger than you."
"Courtesy and custom, first of all."
I didn't snort, but I came close.
"Don't discount that. We're all observant of custom, we vampires. We have to live together for centuries."
"Anything else?"
"I am not as strong as Eric, but I'm not a new vampire. He might get badly hurt in a fight with me, or I might even win if I got lucky."
"Anything else?"
"Maybe," Bill said carefully, "you yourself."
"How so?"
"If you can be valuable to him otherwise, he may leave you alone if he knows that is your sincere wish."
"But I don't want to be valuable to him! I don't want to ever see him again!"
"You promised Eric you'd help him again," Bill reminded me.
"If he turned the thief over to the police," I said. "And what did Eric do? He staked him!"
"Possibly saving your life in the process."
"Well, I found his thief!"
"Sookie, you don't know much about the world."
I stared at him, surprised. "I guess that's so."
"Things don't turn out... even." Bill stared out into the darkness. "Even I think sometimes I don't know much, anymore."

Another gloomy pause. "I have only once before seen one vampire stake another. Eric
is going beyond the limits of our world."
"So, he's not too likely to take much notice of that custom and courtesy you were bragging about earlier."
"Pam may keep him to the old ways."
"What is she to him?"
"He made her. That is, he made her vampire, centuries ago. She comes back to him from time to time and helps him do whatever he is doing at the moment. Eric's always been something of a rogue, and the older he gets the more willful he gets." Calling Eric willful seemed a huge understatement to me.
"So, have we talked our way around in circles?" I asked.
Bill seemed to be considering. "Yes," he confirmed, a tinge of regret in his voice. "You don't like associating with vampires other than myself, and I have told you we have no choice."
"How about this Desiree thing?"
"He had someone drop her off on my doorstep, hoping I would be pleased he'd sent me a pretty gift. Also, it would test my devotion to you if I drank from her. Perhaps he poisoned her blood somehow, and her blood would have weakened me. Maybe she would just have been a crack in my armor." He shrugged. "Did you think I had a date?"
"Yes." I felt my face harden, thinking about Bill walking in with the girl.
"You weren't at home. I had to come find you." His tone wasn't accusatory, but it wasn't happy, either.
"I was trying to help Jason out by listening. And I was still upset from last night."
"Are we all right now?"
"No, but we're as all right as we can get," I said. "I guess no matter who I cared for, it wouldn't always go smooth. But I hadn't counted on obstacles this drastic. There's no way you can ever outrank Eric, I guess, since age is the criterion?"
"No," said Bill. "Not outrank..." and he suddenly looked thoughtful. "Though there may be something I can do along those lines. I don't want to—it goes against my nature—but we would be more secure." I let him think.
"Yes," he concluded, ending his long brood. He didn't offer to explain, and I didn't ask.

"I love you," he said, as if that was the bottom line to whatever course of action he was considering. His face loomed over me, luminous and beautiful in the half-darkness.
"I feel the same about you," I said, and put my hands against his chest so he wouldn't tempt me. "But we have too much against us right now. If we can pry Eric off our backs, that would help. And another thing, we have to stop this murder
investigation. That would be a second big piece of trouble off our backs. This murderer has the deaths of your friends to answer for, and the deaths of Maudette and Dawn to answer for." I paused, took a deep breath. "And the death of my grandmother." I blinked back tears. I'd gotten adjusted to Gran not being in
the house when I came home, and I was getting used to not talking to her and sharing my day with her, but every now and then I had a stab of grief so acute it robbed me of breath.

"Why do you think the same killer is responsible for the Monroe vampires being burned?"
"I think it was the murderer who planted this idea, this vigilante thing, in the men in the bar that night. I think it was the murderer who went from group to group, egging the guys on. I've lived here all my life, and I've never seen people around here act that way. There's got to be a reason they did this time."
"He agitated them? Fomented the burning?"
"Yes."
"Listening hasn't turned up anything?"
"No," I admitted glumly. "But that's not to say tomorrow will be the same."
"You're an optimist, Sookie."
"Yes, I am. I have to be." I patted his cheek, thinking how my optimism had been justified since he had entered my life.
"You keep on listening, since you think it may be fruitful," he said. "I'll work on something else, for now.
I'll see you tomorrow evening at your place, okay? I may... no, let me explain then."
"All right." I was curious, but Bill obviously wasn't ready to talk.

On my way home, following the taillights of Bill's car as far as my driveway, I thought of how much more frightening the past few weeks would have been if I hadn't had the security of Bill's presence. As I went cautiously down the driveway, I found myself wishing Bill hadn't felt he had to go home to make some necessary phone calls. The few nights we'd spent apart, I wouldn't say I'd been exactly writhing with fear, but I'd been very jumpy and anxious. At the house by myself, I spent lots of time going from locked window to locked door, and I wasn't used to living that way. I felt disheartened at the thought of the night ahead.

Before I got out of my car, I scanned the yard, glad I'd remembered to turn on the security lights before I left for the bar. Nothing was moving. Usually Tina came running when I'd been gone, anxious to get in the house for some cat kibble, but tonight she must be hunting in the woods. I separated my house key from the bunch on my key ring. I dashed from the car to the front door, inserted and twisted the key in record time, and slammed and locked the door behind me. This was no
way to live, I thought, shaking my head in dismay; and just as I completed that idea, something hit the front door with a thud. I shrieked before I could stop myself.

I ran for the portable phone by the couch. I punched in Bill's number as I went around the room pulling down the shades. What if the line was busy? He'd said he was going home to use the phone! But I caught him just as he walked in the door. He sounded breathless as he picked up the receiver.

"Yes?" he said. He always sounded suspicious.
"Bill," I gasped, "there's someone outside!" He crashed the phone down. A vampire of action. He was there in two minutes. Looking out into the yard from a slightly lifted blind, I glimpsed him coming into the yard from the woods, moving with a speed and silence a human could never equal. The relief of seeing him was overwhelming.

For a second I felt ashamed at calling Bill to rescue me: I should have handled the situation myself. Then I thought, Why? When you know a practically invincible being who professes to adore you, someone so hard to kill it's next to impossible, someone preternaturally strong, that's who you're gonna call.

Bill investigated the yard and the woods, moving with a sure, silent grace. Finally he came lightly up the steps. He bent over something on the front porch. The angle was too acute, and I couldn't tell what it was. When he straightened, he had something in his hands, and he looked absolutely ... expressionless.

This was very bad.

I went reluctantly to the front door and unlocked it I pushed out the screen door.

Bill was holding the body of my cat.

"Tina?" I said, hearing my voice quaver and not caring at all. "Is she dead?"
Bill nodded, one little jerk of his head.
"What—how?"
"Strangled, I think."

I could feel my face crumple. Bill had to stand there holding the corpse while I cried my eyes out.

"I never got that live oak," I said, having calmed a little. I didn't sound very steady. "We can put her in that hole." So around to the backyard we went, poor Bill holding Tina, trying to look comfortable about it, and me trying not to dissolve again. Bill knelt and lay the little bundle of black fur at the bottom of my
excavation. I fetched the shovel and began to fill it in, but the sight of the first dirt hitting Tina's fur undid me all over again. Silently, Bill took the shovel from my hands. I turned my back, and he finished the awful job.

"Come inside," he said gently when it was finished.
We went in the house, having to walk around to the front because I hadn't yet unlocked the back. Bill patted me and comforted me, though I knew he hadn't ever been crazy about Tina. "God bless you, Bill," I whispered.
I tightened my arms around him ferociously, in a sudden convulsion of fear that he, too, would be taken from me. When I'd gotten the sobs reduced to hiccups, I looked up, hoping I hadn't made him uncomfortable with my flood of emotion. Bill was furious. He was staring at the wall over my shoulder, and his eyes were glowing. He was the most frightening thing I'd ever seen in my life.

"Did you find anything out in the yard?" I asked.
"No. I found traces of his presence. Some footprints, a lingering scent. Nothing you could bring into court as proof," he went on, reading my mind.
"Would you mind staying here until you have to go to ... get away from the sun?"
"Of course." He stared at me. He'd fully intended to do that whether or not I agreed, I could tell.
"If you still need to make phone calls, just make them here. I don't care." I meant if they were on my phone bill.
"I have a calling card," he said, once again astonishing me. Who would have thought?

I washed my face and took a Tylenol before I put on my nightgown, sadder than I'd been since Gran had been killed, and sadder in different way. The death of a pet is naturally not in the same category as the death of a family member, I chided myself, but it didn't seem to affect my misery. I went through all the reasoning I was capable of and came no closer to any truth except the fact that I'd fed and brushed
and loved Tina for four years, and I would miss her.

Chapter 11

MY NERVES WERE raw the next day. When I got to work and told Arlene what had happened, she gave me a hard hug, and said, "I'd like to kill the bastard that did that to poor Tina!" Somehow, that made me feel a lot better. Charlsie was just as sympathetic, if more concerned with the shock to me rather than the agonized demise of my cat. Sam just looked grim. He thought I should call the sheriff, or
Andy Bellefleur, and tell one of them what had happened. I finally did call Bud Dearborn.

"Usually these things go in cycles," Bud rumbled. "Ain't nobody else reported a pet missing or dead,though. I'm afraid it sounds like some kind a personal thing, Sookie. That vampire friend of yours, he like cats?"
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I was using the phone in Sam's office, and he was sitting behind the desk figuring out his next liquor order.
"Bill was at home when whoever killed Tina threw her on my porch," I said as calmly as I could. "I called him directly afterward, and he answered the phone." Sam looked up quizzically, and I rolled my eyes to let him know my opinion of the sheriff's suspicions.
"And he told you the cat was strangled," Bud went on ponderously.
"Yes."
"Do you have the ligature?"
"No. I didn't even see what it was."
"What did you do with the kitty?"
"We buried her."
"Was that your idea or Mr. Compton's?"
"Mine." What else would we have done with Tina?
"We may come dig your kitty up. If we had had the ligature and the cat, maybe we could see if the method of strangulation matched the method used in killing Dawn and Maudette," Bud explained ponderously.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think about that."
"Well, it don't matter much. Without the ligature."
"Okay, good-bye." I hung up, probably applying a little more pressure than the receiver required. Sam's eyebrows lifted.
"Bud is a jerk," I told him.
"Bud's not a bad policeman," Sam said quietly. "None of us here are used to murders that are this sick."
"You're right," I admitted, after a moment. "I wasn't being fair. He just kept saying 'ligature' like he was proud he'd learned a new word. I'm sorry I got mad at him."
"You don't have to be perfect, Sookie."
"You mean I get to screw up and be less than understanding and forgiving, from time to time? Thanks, boss." I smiled at him, feeling the wry twist to my lips, and got up off the edge of his desk where I'd been propped to make my phone call. I stretched. It wasn't until I saw the way Sam's eyes drank in that stretch that I became self-conscious again. "Back to work!" I said briskly and strode out of the room, trying to make sure there wasn't a hint of sway to my hips.

"Would you keep the kids for a couple of hours this evening?" Arlene asked, a little shyly. I remembered the last time we'd talked about my keeping her kids, and I remembered the offense I'd taken at her reluctance to leave her kids with a vampire. I hadn't been thinking like a mother would think. Now, Arlene was trying to apologize.
"I'd be glad to." I waited to see if Arlene would mention Bill again, but she didn't. "When to when?"
"Well, Rene and I are gonna go to the movies in Monroe," she said. "Say, six-thirty?"
"Sure. Will they have had supper?"
"Oh, yeah, I'll feed 'em. They'll be excited to see their aunt Sookie."
"I look forward to it."
"Thanks," Arlene said. She paused, almost said something else, then appeared to think again. "See you at six-thirty."

I got home about five, most of the way driving against the sun, which was glaring like it was staring me down. I changed to a blue-and-green knit short set, brushed my hair and secured it with a banana clip. I had a sandwich, sitting uneasily by myself at the kitchen table. The house felt big and empty, and I was glad to see Rene drive up with Coby and Lisa.

"Arlene's having trouble with one of her artificial nails," he explained, looking embarrassed at having to relay this feminine problem. "And Coby and Lisa were raring to get over here." I noticed Rene was still in his work clothes— heavy boots, knife, hat, and all. Arlene wasn't going to let him take her anywhere until he showered and changed.

Coby was eight and Lisa was five, and they were hanging all over me like big earrings when Rene bent to kiss them good-bye. His affection for the kids gave Rene a big gold star in my book, and I smiled at him approvingly. I took the kids' hands to lead them back to the kitchen for some ice cream.

"We'll see you about ten-thirty, eleven," he said. "If that's all right." He put his hand on the doorknob.
"Sure," I agreed. I opened my mouth to offer to keep the kids for the night, as I'd done on previous occasions, but then I thought of Tina's limp body. I decided that tonight they'd better not stay. I raced the kids to the kitchen, and a minute or two later I heard Rene's old pickup rattling downthe driveway.
I picked up Lisa. "I can hardly lift you anymore, girl, you're getting so big! And you, Coby, you shaving yet?" We sat at the table for a good thirty minutes while the children ate ice cream and rattled off their list of achievements since we'd last visited.

Then Lisa wanted to read to me, so I got out a coloring book with the color and number words printed inside, and she read those to me with some pride. Coby, of course, had to prove he could read much better, and then they wanted to watch a favorite show. Before I knew it, it was dark.

"My friend is coming over tonight," I told them. "His name is Bill."
"Mama told us you had a special friend," Coby said. "I better like him. He better be nice to you." "Oh, he is," I assured the boy, who had straightened and thrust out his chest, ready to defend me if my special friend wasn't nice enough in Coby's estimation.
"Does he send you flowers?" Lisa asked romantically.
"No, not yet. Maybe you can kind of hint I'd like some?"
"Ooo. Yeah, I can do that."
"Has he asked you to marry him?
"Well, no. But I haven't asked him, either." Naturally, Bill picked that moment to knock.
"I have company," I said, smiling, when I answered the door.
"I can hear," he said. I took his hand and led him into the kitchen.
"Bill, this is Coby and this young woman is Lisa," I said formally.
"Good, I've been wanting to meet you," Bill said, to my surprise. "Lisa and Coby, is it all right with you if I keep company with your aunt Sookie?"
They eyed him thoughtfully. "She isn't really our aunt," Coby said, testing the waters. "She's our mom's good friend."
"Is that right?"
"Yes, and she says you don't send her flowers," Lisa said. For once, her little voice was crystal clear. I was so glad to realize that Lisa had gotten over her little problem with her r's. Really.

Bill looked sideways at me. I shrugged. "Well, they asked me," I said helplessly.
"Hmmm," he said thoughtfully. "I'll have to mend my ways, Lisa. Thank you for pointing that out to me. When is Aunt Sookie's birthday, do you know?" ,
I could feel my face flushing. "Bill," I said sharply. "Cut it out."
"Do you know, Coby?" Bill asked the boy.
Coby shook his head, regretfully. "But I know it's in the summer because the last time Mama took Sookie to lunch in Shreveport for her birthday, it was summertime. We stayed with Rene."
"You're smart to remember that, Coby," Bill told him.
"I'm smarter than that! Guess what I learned in school the other day." And Coby was off and running. Lisa eyed Bill with great attention the whole time Coby spoke, and when Coby was finished, she said,
"You look real white. Bill."
"Yes," he said, "that's my normal complexion." The kids exchanged glances. I could tell they were deciding that "normal complexion" was an illness, and it wouldn't be too polite to ask more questions. Every now and then children show a certain
tactfulness.

Bill, initially a little stiff, began to get more and more flexible as the evening wore on. I was ready to admit I was tired by nine, but he was still going strong with the kids when Arlene and Rene came by to pick them up at eleven. I'd just introduced my friends to Bill, who shook their hands in an absolutely normal way, when another caller arrived. A handsome vampire with thick black hair combed into an improbable wavy style strolled up out of the woods as Arlene was bundling the kids into the truck, and Rene and Bill were chatting. Bill waved a casual hand at the vampire, and he raised one in return, joining Bill and Rene as if he'd been expected.
From the front porch swing, I watched Bill introduce the two, and the vampire and Rene shook hands.

Rene was gaping at the newcomer, and I could tell he felt he'd recognized him. Bill looked meaningfully at Rene and shook his head, and Rene's mouth closed on whatever comment he'd been going to make. The newcomer was husky, taller than Bill, and he wore old jeans and an "I Visited Graceland" T-shirt.

His heavy boots were worn at the heel. He carried a squirt bottle of synthetic blood in one hand and took a swig from time to time. Mr. Social Skills. Maybe I'd been cued by Rene's reaction, but the more I looked at the vampire, the more familiar he
seemed. I tried mentally warming up the skin tone, adding a few lines, making
him stand straighter and investing his face with some liveliness.

Oh my God.

It was the man from Memphis.

Rene turned to go, and Bill began steering the newcomer up to me. From ten feet away, the vampire called, "Hey, Bill tells me someone killed your cat!" He had a heavy Southern accent.

Bill closed his eyes for a second, and I just nodded speechlessly.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. I like cats," the tall vampire and I clearly got the idea he didn't mean he liked to stroke their fur. I hoped the kids weren't picking up on that, but Arlene's horrified face appeared in the truck window. All the good will Bill had established had probably just gone down the drain.

Rene shook his head behind the vampire's back and climbed into the driver's seat, calling a good-bye as he started up the engine. He stuck his head out the window for a long last look at the newcomer. He must have said something to Arlene because she appeared at her window again, staring for all she was worth. I saw her mouth drop open in shock as she looked harder at the creature standing beside Bill. Her head disappeared into the truck, and I heard a screech as the truck pulled away.

"Sookie," Bill said warningly, "this is Bubba."
"Bubba," I repeated, not quite trusting my ears.
"Yep, Bubba," the vampire said cheerfully, goodwill radiating from his fearsome smile. "That's me. Pleased to meetcha."

I shook hands with him, making myself smile back. Good God Almighty, I never thought I'd be shaking hands with Him. But he'd sure changed for the worse.

"Bubba, would you mind waiting here on the porch? Let me explain our arrangement to Sookie."
"That's all right with me," Bubba said casually. He settled on the swing, as happy and brainless as a clam.

We went into the living room, but not before I'd noticed that when Bubba had made his appearance, much of the night noise—bugs, frogs—had simply stopped. "I had hoped to explain this to you before Bubba got here," Bill whispered. "But I couldn't."
I said, "Is that who I think it is?"
"Yes. So now you know at least some of the sighting stories are true. But don't call him by his name. Call him Bubba! Something went wrong when he came over—from human to vampire—maybe it was all the chemicals in his blood."
"But he was really dead, wasn't he?"
"Not... quite. One of us was a morgue attendant and a big fan, and he could detect the tiny spark still left, so he brought him over, in a hurried manner." "Brought him over?"
"Made him vampire," Bill explained. "But that was a mistake. He's never been the same from what my friends tell me. He's as smart as a tree trunk, so to make a living he does odd jobs for the rest of us. We can't have him out in public, you can see that."
I nodded, my mouth hanging open. Of course not. "Geez," I murmured, stunned at the royalty in my yard.
"So remember how stupid he is, and how impulsive ... don't spend time alone with him, and don't ever call him anything but Bubba. Also, he likes pets, as he told you, and a diet of their blood hasn't made him any the more reliable. Now, as to why I brought him here ..."

I stood with my arms across my chest, waiting for Bill's explanation with some interest.

"Sweetheart, I have to go out of town for a while," Bill said.

The unexpectedness of this completely disconcerted me.

"What... why? No, wait. I don't need to know." I waved my hands in front of me, shooing away any implication that Bill was obligated to tell me his business.
"I'll tell you when I get back," he said firmly.
"So where does your friend—Bubba—come in?" Though I had a nasty feeling I already knew.
"Bubba is going to watch you while I'm gone," Bill said stiffly. I raised my eyebrows. "All right. He's not long on..." Bill cast around. "... anything," he finally admitted. "But he's strong, and he'll do what I tell him, and he'll make sure no one breaks into your house."
"He'll stay out in the woods?"
"Oh, yes," Bill said emphatically. "He's not even supposed to come up and speak to you. At dark, he'll just find a place from which he can see the house, and he'll watch all night."

I'd have to remember to close my blinds. The idea of the dim vampire peering in my windows was not edifying.

"You really think this is necessary?" I asked helplessly. "You know, I don't remember you asking me." Bill sort of heaved, his version of taking a deep breath. "Sweetheart," he began in an overly patient voice, "I am trying very hard to get used to the way women want to be treated now. But it isn't natural to me, especially when I fear you are in danger. I'm trying to give myself peace of mind while I'm gone. I wish I didn't have to go, and it isn't what I want to do, but what I have to do, for us."
I eyed him. "I hear you," I said finally. "I'm not crazy about this, but I am afraid at night, and I guess ... well, okay." Frankly, I don't think it mattered a damn whether I consented or not. After all, how could I make Bubba leave if he didn't want to go? Even the law enforcement people in our little town didn't have the
equipment to deal with vampires, and if they were faced with this particular vampire, they'd just stand and gape for long enough for him to tear them apart. I appreciated Bill's concern, and I figured I better have the good grace to thank him. I gave him a little hug.
"Well, if you have to go off, you just be careful while you're gone," I said, trying not to sound forlorn. "Do you have a place to stay?"
"Yes. I'll be in New Orleans. There was a room open at the Blood in the Quarter."
I'd read an article about this hotel, the first in the world that catered exclusively to vampires. It promised complete security, and so far it had delivered. It was right smack dab in the middle of the French Quarter, too. And at dusk it was absolutely surrounded by fang-bangers and tourists waiting for the vampires to come out. I began to feel envious. Trying not to look like a wistful puppy who's being pushed back in the door when its owners leave, I yanked my smile back into place. "Well, you have a good time," I said brightly. "Got your packing done? The drive should take a few hours, and it's already dark."
"The car is ready." I understood for the first time that he had delayed leaving to spend time with me and Arlene's kids. "I had better leave." He hesitated, seemed to be searching for the right words. Then he held out his hands to me. I took them, and he pulled a little, just exerted a tiny pressure. I moved into his embrace. I rubbed my face against his shirt. My arms circled him, pressed him into me.
"I'll miss you," he said. His voice was just a breath in the air, but I heard him. I felt him kiss the top of my head, and then he stepped away from me and out the front door. I heard his voice on the front porch as he gave Bubba some last minute directions, and I heard the squeak of the swing as Bubba got up.

I didn't look out the window until I heard Bill's car going down the driveway. Then I saw Bubba sauntering into the woods. I told myself, as I took my shower, that Bill must trust Bubba since he'd lefthim guarding me. But I still wasn't sure who I was more afraid of: the murderer Bubba was watching for, or Bubba himself.

WORK THE next day, Arlene asked me why the vampire had been at my house. I wasn't surprised that she'd brought it up.
"Well, Bill had to go out of town, and he worries, you know ..." I was hoping to let it drop at that. But Charlsie had drifted up (we weren't at all busy: the Chamber of Commerce was having a lunch and speaker at Fins and Hooves, and the Ladies' Prayers and Potatoes group were topping their baked potatoes at old Mrs. Bellefleur's huge house).
"You mean," Charlsie said with starry eyes, "that your man got you a personal bodyguard?" I nodded reluctantly. You could put it that way. "That's so romantic," Charlsie sighed. You could look at it that way.
"But you should see him," Arlene told Charlsie, having held her tongue as long as she could. "He's exactly like—!"
"Oh, no, not when you talk to him," I interrupted. "He's not at all the same." That was true. "And he really doesn't like it when he hears that name."
"Oh," said Arlene in a hushed voice, as if Bubba could be listening in the broad daylight.
"I do feel safer with Bubba in the woods," I said, which was more or less true.
"Oh, he doesn't stay in the house?" Charlsie asked, clearly a little disappointed.
"God, no!" I said, then mentally apologized to God for taking his name in vain. I was having to do that a lot lately. "No, Bubba stays in the woods at night, watching the house."
"Was that true about the cats?" Arlene looked squeamish.
"He was just joking. Not a great sense of humor, huh?" I was lying through my teeth. I certainly believed Bubba enjoyed a snack of cat blood. Arlene shook her head, unconvinced. It was time to change the subject. "Did you and Rene have fun on
your evening out?" I asked.
"Rene was so good last night, wasn't he?" she said, her cheeks pink. A much-married woman, blushing.
"You tell me." Arlene enjoyed a little ribald teasing.
"Oh, you! What I mean, he was real polite to Bill and even that Bubba."
"Any reason why he wouldn't be?"
"He has kind of a problem with vampires, Sookie." Arlene shook her head. "I know, I do, too," she confessed when I looked at her with raised eyebrows. "But Rene really has some, prejudice. Cindy dated a vampire for a while, and that just made Rene awful upset."
"Cindy okay?" I had a great interest in the health of someone who'd dated a vamp.
"I haven't seen her," Arlene admitted, "but Rene goes to visit every other week or so. She's doing well, she's back on the right track. She has a job in a hospital cafeteria."
Sam, who'd been standing behind the bar loading the refrigerator with bottled blood, said, "Maybe Cindy would like to move back home. Lindsey Krause quit the other shift because she's moving to Little Rock."

That certainly focused our attention. Merlotte's was becoming seriously understaffed. For some reason, low-level service jobs had dropped in popularity in the last couple of months.

"You interviewed anyone else?" Arlene asked. "I'll have to go through the files," Sam said wearily. I knew that Arlene and I were the only barmaids, waitresses, servers, whatever you wanted to call us, that Sam had hung on to for more then two years. No, that wasn't true; there was Susanne Mitchell, on the other shift. Sam spent lots of time hiring and occasionally firing. "Sookie, would you have a look through the file, see if there's anyone there you know has moved, anyone already got a job, anyone you really recommend? That would save me some time."
"Sure," I said. I remembered Arlene doing the same thing a couple of years ago when Dawn had been hired. We had more ties to the community than Sam, who never seemed to join anything. Sam had been in Bon Temps for six years now, and I had never met anyone who seemed to know about Sam's life prior to his buying the bar here. I settled down at Sam's desk with the thick file of applications. After a few minutes, I could tell I was really making a difference. I had three piles: moved, employed elsewhere, good material. Then I added a fourth and fifth stack: a pile for people I couldn't work with because I couldn't stand them, and a pile for the dead. The first form on the fifth pile had been filled out by a girl who'd died in a car accident last Christmas, and I felt sorry for her folks all over again when I saw her name at the top of the form. The other application was headed "Maudette Pickens." Maudette had applied for a job with Sam three months before her death. I guess working at Grabbit Kwik was pretty uninspiring. When I glanced over the filled-in blanks and noticed how poor Maudette's handwriting and spelling had been, it made me feel pitiful all over again. I tried to imagine my brother thinking of having sex with this woman—and filming it—was a worthwhile way to spend his time, and I marvelled at Jason's strange mentality. I hadn't seen him since he'd driven off with Desiree. I hoped he'd gotten home in one piece. That gal was a real handful. I wished he'd settle down with Liz Barrett: she had enough backbone to hold him up, too. Whenever I thought about my brother lately, it was to worry. If only he hadn't known Maudette and Dawn so well! Lots of men knew them both, apparently, both casually and carnally. They'd both been vampire bitten. Dawn had liked rough sex, and I didn't know Maudette's proclivities. Lots of men got gas and coffee at the Grabbit Kwik, and lots of men came in to get a drink here, too. But only my stupid brother had recorded sex with Dawn and Maudette on film.

I stared at the big plastic cup on Sam's desk, which had been full of iced tea. "The Big Kwencher from Grabbit Kwik" was written in neon orange on the side of the green cup. Sam knew them both, too. Dawn had worked for him, Maudette had applied for a job here.

Sam sure didn't like me dating a vampire. Maybe he didn't like anyone dating a vampire. Sam walked in just then, and I jumped like I'd been doing something bad. And I had, in my book. Thinking evil of a friend was a bad thing to do. "Which is the good pile?" he asked, but he gave me a puzzled look. I handed him a short stack of maybe ten applications. "This gal, Amy Burley," I said, indicating the one
on top, "has experience, she's only subbing at the Good Times Bar, and Charlsie used to work with her there. So you could check with Charlsie first."
"Thanks, Sookie. This'll save me some trouble." I nodded curtly in acknowledgment.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "You seem kind of distant today."
I looked at him closely. He looked just like he always did. But his mind was closed to me. How could he do that? The only other mind completely closed to me was Bill's, because of his vampire state. But Sam was sure no vampire.
"Just missing Bill," I said deliberately. Would he lecture me about the evils of dating a vampire?
Sam said, "It's daytime. He couldn't very well be here."
"Of course not," I said stiffly, and was about to add, "He's out of town." Then I asked myself if that was a smart thing to do when I had even a hint of suspicion in my heart about my boss. I left the office so abruptly that Sam stared after me in astonishment.

When I saw Arlene and Sam having a long conversation later that day, their sidelong glances told me clearly that I was the topic. Sam went back to his office looking more worried than ever. But we didn't have any more chitchat the rest of the day.
Going home that evening was hard because I knew I'd be alone until morning. When I'd been alone other evenings, I'd had the reassurance that Bill was just a phone call away. Now he wasn't. I tried to feel good about being guarded once it was dark and Bubba crawled out of whatever hole he'd slept in, but I didn't manage it.

I called Jason, but he wasn't home. I called Merlotte's, thinking he might be there, but Terry Bellefleur answered the phone and said Jason hadn't been in. I wondered what Sam was doing tonight. I wondered why he never seemed to date much. It wasn't for want of offers, I'd been able to observe many times. Dawn had been especially aggressive.

That evening I couldn't think of anything that pleased me. I began wondering if Bubba was the hitman—hitvampire?—Bill had called when he wanted Uncle Bartlett bumped off. I wondered why Bill had chosen such a dim-witted creature to guard me.
Every book I picked up seemed wrong, somehow. Every television show I tried to watch seemed completely ridiculous.

I tried to read my Time and became incensed at the determination to commit suicide that possessed so many nations. I pitched the magazine across the room.My mind scrabbled around like a squirrel trying to get out of a cage. It couldn't light on anything or be comfortable anywhere.

When the phone rang, I jumped a foot. "Hello?" I said harshly.
"Jason's here now," Terry Bellefleur said. "He wants to buy you a drink."

I thought uneasily about going out to the car, now that it was dark; about coming home to an empty house, at least a house I would have to hope was empty. Then I scolded myself because, after all, there would be someone watching the house, someone very strong, if very brainless.

"Okay, I'll be there in a minute," I said. Terry simply hung up. Mr. Chatterbox.
I pulled on a denim skirt and a yellow T-shirt and, looking both ways, crossed the yard to my car. I'd left on every outside light, and I unlocked my car and scooted inside quick as a wink. Once inside the car, I relocked my door. This was sure no way to live.

I AUTOMATICALLY PARKED in the employee lot when I got to Merlotte's. There was a dog
pawing around the Dumpster, and I patted him on the head when I went in. We had to call the pound about once a week to come get some stray or dumped dogs, so many of them pregnant it just made me sick.

Terry was behind the bar. "Hey," I said, looking around. "Where's Jason?" "He ain't here," Terry said. "I haven't seen him this evening. I told you so on the phone."
I gaped at him. "But you called me after that and said he had come in."
"No, I didn't."
We stared at each other. Terry was having one of his bad nights, I could tell. His head was writhing around on the inside with the snakes of his army service and his battle with alcohol and drugs. On the outside, you could see he was flushed and sweating despite the air conditioning, and his movements were jerky and clumsy. Poor Terry.
"You really didn't?" I asked, in as neutral a tone as possible.
"Said so, didn't I?" His voice was belligerent. I hoped none of the bar patrons gave Terry trouble tonight. I backed out with a conciliatory smile.

The dog was still at the back door. He whined when he saw me. "Are you hungry, fella?" I asked. He came right up to me, without the cringing I'd come to expect from
strays. As he moved more into the light, I saw that this dog had been recently abandoned, if his glossy coat was any indicator. He was a collie, at least mostly. I started to step into the kitchen to ask whoever was cooking if they had any scraps for this guy, but then I had a better idea.
"I know bad ol' Bubba is at the house, but maybe you could come in the house with me," I said in that baby voice I use with animals when I think nobody's listening. "Can you pee outside, so we don't make a mess in the house? Hmmm, boy?"
As if he'd understood me, the collie marked the corner of the Dumpster.
"Good fella! Come for a ride?" I opened my car door, hoping he wouldn't get the seats too dirty. The dog hesitated. "Come on, sugar, I'll give you something good to eat when we get to my place, okay?"

Bribery was not necessarily a bad thing. After a couple more looks and a thorough sniffing of my hands, the dog jumped onto the passenger seat and sat looking
out the windshield like he'd committed himself to this adventure.

I told him I appreciated it, and I tickled his ears. We set off, and the dog made it clear he was used to riding. "Now, when we get to the house, buddy," I told the collie firmly, "we're gonna make tracks for the front door, okay? There's an ogre in the woods who'd just love to eat you up."
The dog gave an excited yip.
"Well, he's not gonna get a chance," I soothed him. It sure was nice to have something to talk to. It was even nice he couldn't talk back, at least for the moment. And I didn't have to keep my guard up because he wasn't human. Relaxing. "We're gonna hurry."
"Woof," agreed my companion.
"I got to call you something," I said. "How about... Buffy?"
The dog growled.
"Okay. Rover?"
Whine.
"Don't like that either. Hmmm." We turned into my driveway.
"Maybe you already have a name?" I asked. "Let me check your neck." After I turned off the engine, I ran my fingers through the thick hair. Not even a flea collar. "Someone's been taking bad care of you, sweetie," I said. "But not anymore. I'll be a good mama." With that last inanity, I got my house key ready and opened my door. In a flash, the dog pushed past me and stood in the yard, looking around him
alertly. He sniffed the air, and a growl rose in his throat.
"It's just the good vampire, sugar, the one that's guarding the house. You come on inside." With some constant coaxing, I got the dog to come into the house. I locked the door behind us instantly. The dog padded all around the living room, sniffing and peering. After watching him for a minute to be sure he wasn't going to chew on anything or lift his leg, I went to the kitchen to find something for him to
eat. I filled a big bowl with water. I got another plastic bowl Gran had kept lettuce in, and I put the remains of Tina's cat food and some leftover taco meat in it. I figured if you'd been starving, that would be acceptable. The dog finally worked his way back to the kitchen and headed for the bowls. He sniffed at the food and raised his head to give me a long look.
"I'm sorry. I don't have any dog food. That's the best I could come up with. If you want to stay with me, I'll get some Kibbles 'N Bits." The dog stared at me for a few more seconds, then bent his head to the bowl. He ate a little meat, took a drink, and looked up at me expectantly. "Can I call you Rex?" A little growl. "What about Dean?" I asked. "Dean's a nice name." A pleasant guy who helped me at a
Shreveport bookstore was named Dean. His eyes looked kind of like this collie's, observant and intelligent. And Dean was a little different; I'd never met a dog named Dean. "I'll bet you're smarter than Bubba," I said thoughtfully, and the dog gave his short, sharp bark. "Well, come on, Dean, let's get ready for bed," I said, quite enjoying having something to talk to. The dog padded after me into the bedroom, checking out all the furniture very thoroughly. I pulled off the skirt
and tee, put them away, and stepped out of my panties and unhooked my bra. The dog watched me with great attention while I pulled out a clean nightgown and went into the bathroom to shower. When I stepped out, clean and soothed, Dean was sitting in the doorway, his head cocked to one side.
"That's to get clean, people like to have showers," I told him. "I know dogs don't. I guess it's a human thing." I brushed my teeth and pulled on my nightgown. "You ready for sleep, Dean?"
In answer, he jumped up on the bed, turned in a circle, and lay down.
"Hey! Wait a minute!" I'd certainly talked myself into that one. Gran would have a fit if she could know a dog was on her bed. Gran had believed animals were fine as long as they spent the night outside. Humans inside, animals outside, had been her rule. Well, now I had a vampire outside and a collie on my bed.
I said, "You get down!" and pointed at the rug. The collie, slowly, reluctantly descended from the bed. He eyed me reproachfully as he sat on the rug.
"You stay there," I said sternly and got in the bed. I was very tired, and not nearly so nervous now that the dog was here; though what help I expected him to be in case of an intruder, I didn't know, since he didn't know me well enough to be loyal to me. But I would accept any comfort I could find, and I began to relax into sleep. Just as I was drifting off, I felt the bed indent under the weight of the collie. A narrow tongue gave my cheek a swipe. The dog settled close to me. I turned over and patted him. It was sort of nice having him here.

The next thing I knew, it was dawn. I could hear the birds going to town outside, chirping up a storm, and it felt wonderful to be snuggled in bed. I could feel the warmth of the dog through my nightgown; I must have gotten hot during the night and thrown off the sheet. I drowsily patted the animal's head and began to stroke his fur, my fingers running idly through the thick hair. He wriggled even closer, sniffed my face, put his arm around me.

His arm?

Iwas off the bed and shrieking in one move.

In my bed, Sam propped himself on his elbows, sunny side up, and looked at me with some amusement. "Oh, oh my God! Sam, how'd you get here? What are you doing? Where's Dean?" I covered my face with my hands and turned my back, but I'd certainly seen all there was to see of Sam.
"Woof," said Sam, from a human throat, and the truth stomped over me in combat boots.
I whirled back to face him, so angry I felt like I was going to blow a gasket.
"You watched me undress last night, you ... you ... damn dog!"
"Sookie," he said, persuasively. "Listen to me." Another thought struck me. "Oh, Sam. Bill will kill you."
I sat on the slipper chair in the corner by the bathroom door.
I put my elbows on my knees and hung my head. "Oh, no," I said. "No, no, no."
He was kneeling in front of me. The wirey red-gold hair of his head was duplicated on his chest and trailed in a line down to ... I shut my eyes again.
"Sookie, I was worried when Arlene told me you were going to be alone," Sam began.
"Didn't she tell you about Bubba?"
"Bubba?"
"This vampire Bill left watching the house."
"Oh. Yeah, she said he reminded her of some singer."
"Well, his name is Bubba. He likes to drain animals for fun." I had the satisfaction of seeing (through my fingers) Sam turn pale.
"Well, isn't it lucky you let me in, then," he said finally. Suddenly recalled to his guise of the night before, I said, "What are you, Sam?"
"I'm a shapeshifter. I thought it was time you knew."
"Did you have to do it quite like that?"
"Actually," he said, embarrassed, "I had planned on waking up and getting out before you opened your eyes. I just overslept. Running around on all fours kind of tires you out."
"I thought people just changed into wolves."
"Nope. I can change into anything."
I was so interested I dropped my hands and tried to just stare at his face. "How often?" I asked. "Do you get to pick?"
"I have to at the full moon," he explained. "Other times, I have to will it; it's harder and it takes longer. I turn into whatever animal I saw before I changed. So I keep a dog book open to a picture of a collie on my coffee table. Collies are big, but nonthreatening."
"So, you could be a bird?"
"Yeah, but flying is hard. I'm always scared I'm going to get fried on a power line, or fly into a window."
"Why? Why did you want me to know?"
"You seemed to handle Bill being a vampire really well. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it. So I thought I would see if you could handle my... condition."
"But what you are," I said abruptly, off on a mental tangent, "can't be explained by a virus! I mean, you utterly change!"

He didn't say anything. He just looked at me, the eyes now blue, but just as intelligent and observant.

"Being a shapeshifter is definitely supernatural. If that is, then other things can be. So..." I said, slowly, carefully, "Bill hasn't got a virus at all. Being a vampire, it really can't be explained by an allergy to silver or garlic or sunlight... that's just so much bullshit the vampires are spreading around, propaganda, you might say ... so they can be more easily accepted, as sufferers from a terrible disease. But really they're ... they're really ..."
I dashed into the bathroom and threw up. Luckily, I made it to the toilet.
"Yeah," Sam said from the doorway, his voice sad. "I'm sorry, Sookie. But Bill doesn't just have a virus. He's really, really dead."

I WASHED MY face and brushed my teeth twice. I sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling too tired to go further. Sam sat beside me. He put his arm around me comfortingly, and after a moment I nestled closer, laying my cheek in the hollow of his neck.
"You know, once I was listening to NPR," I said, completely at random. "They were broadcasting a piece about cryogenics, about how lots of people are opting to just freeze their head because it's so much cheaper than getting your whole body frozen." "Ummm?"
"Guess what song they played for the closing?"
"What, Sookie?"
" 'Put Your Head on My Shoulder.' " Sam made a choking noise, then doubled over with laughter.
"Listen, Sam," I said, when he'd calmed down. "I hear what you're telling me, but I have to work this outwith Bill. I love Bill. I am loyal to him. And he isn't here to give his point of view."
"Oh, this isn't about me trying to woo you away from Bill. Though that would be great." And Sam smiled his rare and brilliant smile. He seemed much more relaxed with me now that I knew his secret.
"Then what is it about?"
"This is about keeping you alive until the murderer is caught."
"So that's why you woke up naked in my bed? For my protection?" He had the grace to look ashamed.
"Well, maybe I could have planned it better. But I did think you needed someone with you, since Arlene told me Bill was out of town. I knew you wouldn't let me spend
the night here as a human."
"Will you rest easy now that you know Bubba is watching the house at night?"
"Vampires are strong, and ferocious," Sam conceded. "I guess this Bubba owes Bill something, or he wouldn't be doing him a favor. Vampires aren't big on doing each other favors. They have a lot of structure in their world."

I should have paid more attention to what Sam was saying, but I was thinking I'd better not explain about Bubba's origins.
"If there's you, and Bill, I guess there must be lots of other things outside of nature," I said, realizing what a treasure trove of thought awaited me. Since I'd met Bill, I hadn't felt so much need to hoard neat things up for future contemplation, but it never hurt to be prepared. "You'll have to tell me sometime." Big Foot? The Loch Ness Monster? I'd always believed in the Loch Ness monster.
"Well, I guess I better be getting back home," Sam said. He looked at me hopefully. He was still naked.
"Yes, I think you better. But—oh, dang it—you... oh, hell." I stomped upstairs to look for some clothes.

It seemed to me Jason had a couple of things in an upstairs closet he kept here for some emergency. Sure enough, there was a pair of blue jeans and a work shirt in the first upstairs bedroom. It was already hot up there, under the tin roof, because the upstairs was on a separate thermostat. I came back down, grateful to feel the cool conditioned air.

"Here," I said, handing Sam the clothes. "I hope they fit well enough." He looked as though he wanted to start our conversation back up, but I was too aware now that I was clad in a thin nylon nightgown and he was clad in nothing at all. "On with the clothes," I said firmly. "And you get dressed out in the living room."

I shooed him out and shut the door behind him. I thought it would be insulting to lock the door, so I didn't. I did get dressed in record time, pulling on clean underwear and the denim skirt and yellow shirt I'd had on the night before. I dabbed on my makeup, put on some earrings, and brushed my hair up into a ponytail, putting a yellow scrunchy over the elastic band. My morale rose as I looked in the mirror. My smile turned into a frown when I thought I heard a truck pulling into the front yard.

I came out of the bedroom like I'd been fired from a cannon, hoping like hell Sam was dressed and hiding. He'd done one better. He'd changed back into a dog. The clothes were scattered on the floor, and I swept them up and stuffed them into the closet in the hall.

"Good boy!" I said enthusiastically and scratched behind his ears. Dean responded by sticking his cold black nose up my skirt. "Now you cut that out," I said, and looked through the front window. "It's Andy Bellefleur," I told the dog.
Andy jumped out of his Dodge Ram, stretched for a long second, and headed for my front door. I opened it, Dean by my side.
I eyed Andy quizzically. "You look like you been up all night long, Andy. Can I make you some coffee?" The dog stirred restlessly beside me.
'That would be great," he said. "Can I come in?"
"Sure." I stood aside. Dean growled.
"You got a good guard dog, there. Here, fella. Come here." Andy squatted to hold out a hand to the collie, whom I simply could not think of as Sam. Dean sniffed Andy's hand, but wouldn't give it a lick. Instead, he kept between me and Andy.
"Come on back to the kitchen," I said, and Andy stood and followed me. I had the coffee on in a jiffy and put some bread in the toaster. Assembling the cream and sugar and spoons and mugs took a few more minutes, but then I had to face why Andy was here. His face was drawn; he looked ten years older than I knew him to be. This was no courtesy call.
"Sookie, were you here last night? You didn't work?" "No, I didn't. I was here except for a quick trip in to Merlotte's."
"Was Bill here any of that time?" "No, he's in New Orleans. He's staying in that new hotel in the French Quarter, the one just for vampires."
"You're sure that's where he is."
"Yes." I could feel my face tighten. The bad thing was coming.
"I've been up all night," Andy said.
"Yes."
"I've just come from another crime scene."
"Yes." I went into his mind. "Amy Burley?" I stared at his eyes, trying to make sure. "Amy who worked
at the Good Times Bar?" The name at the top of yesterday's pile of prospective
barmaids, the name I'd left for Sam. I looked down at the dog. He lay on the floor with his muzzle between his paws, looking as sad and stunned as I felt. He whined pathetically.

Andy's brown eyes were boring a hole in me. "How'd you know?"
"Cut the crap, Andy, you know I can read minds. I feel awful. Poor Amy. Was it like the others?"
"Yes," he said. "Yes, it was like the others. But the puncture marks were fresher." I thought of the night Bill and I had had to go to Shreveport to answer Eric's summons. Had Amy given Bill blood that night? I couldn't even count how many days ago that had been, my schedule had been so thrown off by all the strange and terrible events of the past few weeks.

I sat down heavily in a wooden kitchen chair, shaking my head absently for a few minutes, amazed at the turn my life had taken. Amy Burley's life had no more turns to take. I shook the odd spell of apathy off, rose and poured the coffee.

"Bill hasn't been here since night before last," I said.
"And you were here all night?"
"Yes, I was. My dog can tell you," and I smiled down at Dean, who whined at being noticed. He came over to lay his fuzzy head on my knees while I drank my coffee. I smoothed his ears.
"Did you hear from your brother?"
"No, but I got a funny phone call, from someone who said he was at Merlotte's." After the words left my mouth I realized the caller must have been Sam, luring me over to Merlotte's so he could maneuver himself into accompanying me home. Dean yawned, a big jaw-cracking yawn that let us see every one of his white sharp teeth.I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. But now I had to explain the whole thing to Andy, who was slumped only half-awake in my kitchen chair, his plaid shirt wrinkled and blotched with coffee stains, his khakis shapeless through long wear. Andy was longing for bed the way a horse longs for his own stall.

"You need to get some rest," I said gently. There was something sad about Andy Bellefleur, something daunted.
"It's these murders," he said, his voice unsteady from exhaustion.
"These poor women. And they were all the same in so many ways."
"Uneducated, blue-collar women who worked in bars? Didn't mind having a vampire lover from time to time?"
He nodded, his eyes drooping shut.
"Women just like me, in other words."
His eyes opened then. He was aghast at his error. "Sookie..."
"I understand, Andy," I said. "In some respects, we are all alike, and if you accept the attack on my grandmother as intended for me, well, I guess then I'm the only survivor." I wondered who the murderer had left to kill. Was I the only one alive who met his criteria? That was the scariest thought I'd had all day. Andy was practically nodding over his coffee cup. "Why don't you go lie down in the other bedroom?" I suggested quietly. "You have to have some sleep. You're not safe to drive, I wouldn't think."
"That's kind of you," Andy said, his voice dragging. He sounded a little surprised, like kindness wasn't something he expected from me. "But I have to get home, set my alarm. I can sleep for maybe three hours."
"I promise I'll wake you up," I said. I didn't want Andy sleeping in my house, but I didn't want him to have a wreck on die way to his house, either. Old Mrs. Bellefleur would never forgive me, and probably Portia wouldn't either. "You come lie down in this room." I led him to my old bedroom. My single bed was neatly made up. "You just lie down on top of the bed, and I'll set the alarm." I did, while he watched.
"Now, get a little sleep. I have one errand to run, and I'll be right back." Andy didn't offer any more resistance, but sat heavily on the bed even as I shut the door.
The dog had been padding after me while I got Andy situated, and now I said to him, in a quite different tone, "You go get dressed right now!"
Andy stuck his head out the bedroom door. "Sookie, who are you talking to?"
"The dog," I answered instantly. "He always gets his collar, and I put it on every day."
"Why do you ever take it off?"
"It jingles at night, keeps me up. You go to bed, now."
"All right." Looking satisfied at my explanation, Andy
shut the door again. I retrieved Jason's clothes from the closet, put them on the couch in front of the dog, and sat with my back turned. But I realized I could see in the mirror over the mantel.

The air grew hazy around the collie, seemed to hum and vibrate with energy, and then the form began to change within that electric concentration. When the haze cleared, there was Sam kneeling on the floor, buck-naked. Wow, what a bottom. I had to make myself close my eyes, tell myself repeatedly that I had not been unfaithful to Bill. Bill's butt, I told myself staunchly, was every bit as neat.

"I'm ready," Sam's voice said, so close behind me that I jumped. I stood up quickly and turned to face him, and found his face about six inches from mine.
"Sookie," he said hopefully, his hand landing on my shoulder, rubbing and caressing it.
I was angry because half of me wanted to respond. "Listen here, buddy, you could have told me about yourself any time in the past few years. We've known each other what, four years? Or even more! And yet, Sam, despite the fact that I see you almost daily, you wait until Bill is interested in me, before you even..." and unable to think how to finish, I threw my hands up in the air. Sam drew back, which was a
good thing.
"I didn't see what was in front of me until I thought it might be taken away," he said, his voice quiet.
I had nothing to say to that. "Time to go home," I told him. "And we better get you there without anyone seeing you. I mean it."

This was chancy enough without some mischievous person like Rene seeing Sam in my car in the early morning and drawing wrong conclusions. And passing them on to Bill.
So off we went, Sam hunched down in the backseat. I pulled cautiously behind Merlotte's. There was a truck there; black, with pink and aqua flames down the sides. Jason's. "Uh-oh," I said.
"What?" Sam's voice was somewhat muffled by his position.
"Let me go look," I said, beginning to be anxious. Why would Jason park over here in the employees' parking area? And it seemed to me there was a shape in the truck.
I opened my door. I waited for the sound to alert the figure in the truck. I watched for evidence of movement. When nothing happened, I began to walk across the gravel, as frightened as I'd ever been in the light of day.

When I got closer to the window, I could see that the figure inside was Jason. He was slumped behind the wheel. I could see that his shirt was stained, that his chin was resting on his chest, that his hands were limp on the seat on either side of him, that the mark on his handsome face was a long red scratch. I could see a videotape resting on the truck dashboard, unlabelled.

"Sam," I said, hating the fear in my voice. "Please come here."
Quicker than I could believe, Sam was beside me, then teaching past me to unlatch the truck door. Since the truck had apparently been sitting there for several hours—there was dew on its hood—with the windows closed, in the early summer, the smell that rolled out was pretty strong and compounded of at least three elements: blood, sex, and liquor.
"Call the ambulance!" I said urgently as Sam reached in to feel for Jason's pulse.

Sam looked at me doubtfully. "Are you sure you want to do that?" he asked.
"Of course! He's unconscious!"
"Wait, Sookie. Think about this."

And I might have reconsidered it just a minute, but at that moment Arlene pulled up in her beat-up blue Ford, and Sam sighed and went into his trailer to phone. I was so naive. That's what comes of being a law-abiding citizen for nearly every day of my life. I rode with Jason to the tiny local hospital, oblivious to the police looking very carefully at Jason's truck, blind to the squad car following the ambulance, totally trusting when the emergency room doctor sent me home, telling me he'd call me when Jason regained consciousness. The doctor told me, eyeing me
curiously, that Jason was apparently sleeping off the effects of alcohol or drugs.

But Jason had never drunk that much before, and Jason didn't use drugs: our cousin Hadley's descent into the life of the streets had made a profound impression on both of us. I told the doctor all that, and he listened, and he shooed me off.

Not knowing what to think, I went home to find that Andy Bellefleur had been roused by his pager. He'd left me a note telling me that, and nothing else. Later on, I found that he'd actually been in the hospital while I was there, and waited until I was gone out of consideration for me before he'd handcuffed Jason to the bed.

Chapter 12

SAM CAME TO give me the news about eleven o'clock. "They're going to arrest Jason as soon as he comes to, Sookie, which looks like being soon." Sam didn't tell me how he came to know this, and I didn't ask.

I stared at him, tears running down my face. Any other day, I might have thought of how plain I look when I cry, but today was not a day I cared about my outsides. I was all in a knot, frightened for Jason, sad about Amy Burley, full of anger the police were making such a stupid mistake, and underneath it all, missing my Bill.
"They think it looks like Amy Burley put up a fight. They think he got drunk after he killed her."
"Thanks, Sam, for warning me." My voice came from way faraway. "You better go to work, now."

After Sam had seen that I needed to be alone, I called information and got the number of Blood in the Quarter. I punched in the numbers, feeling somehow I was doing a bad thing, but I couldn't think how or why.

"Bloooooood ... in the Quarter," announced a deep voice dramatically. "Your coffin away from home."
Geez. "Good morning. This is Sookie Stackhouse calling from Bon Temps," I said politely. "I need to leave a message for Bill Compton. He's a guest there."
"Fang or human?"
"Ah ... fang." "Just one minute, please."

The deep voice came back on the line after a moment "What is the message, madam?" That gave me pause.

"Please tell Mr. Compton that... my brother has been arrested, and I would appreciate it if he could come home as soon as his business is completed."
"I have that down." The sound of scribbling. "And your name again?"
"Stackhouse. Sookie Stackhouse."
"All right, miss. I'll see to it that he gets your message."
"Thanks."

And that was the only action I could think of to take, until I realized it would be much more practical to call Sid Matt Lancaster. He did his best to sound appalled to hear Jason was going to be arrested, said he'd hurry over to the hospital as soon as he got out of court that afternoon, and that he'd report back to me.

I drove back to the hospital to see if they'd let me sit with Jason until he became conscious. They wouldn't. I wondered if he was already conscious, and they weren't telling me. I saw Andy Bellefleur at the other end of the hall, and he turned and walked the other way. Damn coward.

I went home because I couldn't think of anything to do. I realized it wasn't a workday for me anyway, and that was a good thing, though I didn't really care too much at that point. It occurred to me that I wasn't handling this as well as I ought, that I had been much steadier when Gran had died.

But that had been a finite situation. We would bury Gran, her killer would be arrested, we would go on. If the police seriously believed that Jason had killed Gran in addition to the other women, then the world was such a bad and chancy place that I wanted no part of it. But I realized, as I sat and looked in front of me that long, long afternoon, that it was naivete like that that had led to Jason's arrest. If I'd just gotten him into Sam's trailer and cleaned him up, hidden the film
until I found out what it contained, above all not called the ambulance ... that had been what Sam had been thinking when he'd looked at me so doubtfully. However, Arlene's arrival had kind of wiped out my options.

I thought the phone would start ringing as soon as people heard. But no one called.
They didn't know what to say. Sid Matt Lancaster came about four-thirty.
Without any preliminary, he told me, "They've arrested him. For first-degree murder."
I closed my eyes. When I opened them, Sid was regarding me with a shrewd expression on his mild face. His conservative black-framed glasses magnified his muddy brown eyes, and his jowls and sharp nose made him look a little like a bloodhound.
"What does he say?" I asked.
"He says that he was with Amy last night." I sighed. "He says they went to bed together, that he had been with Amy before. He says he hadn't seen Amy in a
long time, that the last time they were together Amy was acting jealous about the other women he was seeing, really angry. So he was surprised when she approached him last night in Good Times. Jason says Amy acted funny all night, like she had an agenda he didn't know about. He remembers having sex with her, he remembers them lying in bed having a drink afterward, then he remembers nothing until he woke
up in the hospital."
"He was set up," I said firmly, thinking I sounded exactly like a bad made-for-TV movie.
"Of course." Sid Mail's eyes were as steady and assured as if he'd been at Amy Burley's place last night. Hell, maybe he had.
"Listen, Sid Matt." I leaned forward and made him meet my eyes. "Even if I could somehow believe that Jason had killed Amy, and Dawn, and Maudette, I could never believe he would raise his finger to hurt my grandmother."
"All right, then." Sid Matt prepared to meet my thoughts, fair and square, his entire body proclaimed it. "Miss Sookie, let's just assume for a minute that Jason did have some kind of involvement in those deaths. Perhaps, the police might think, your friend Bill Compton killed your grandmother since she was keeping you two
apart."
I tried to give the appearance of considering this piece of idiocy. "Well, Sid Matt, my grandmother liked Bill, and she was pleased I was seeing him." Until he put his game face back on, I saw stark disbelief in the lawyer's eyes. He wouldn't be at all
happy if bis daughter was seeing a vampire. He couldn't imagine a responsible parent being anything but appalled. And he couldn't imagine trying to convince a jury that my grandmother had been pleased I was dating a guy who wasn't even alive, and furthermore was over a hundred years older than me. Those were Sid Mart's thoughts. "Have you met Bill?" I asked. He was taken aback.
"No," he admitted. "You know, Miss Sookie, I'm not for this vampire stuff. I think
it's taking a chink out of a wall we should keep built up, a wall between us and the so-called virus-infected. I think God intended that wall to be there, and I for one will hold up my section."
"The problem with that, Sid Matt, is that I personally was created straddling that wall." After a lifetime of keeping my mouth shut about my "gift," I found that if it would help Jason, I'd shake it in anybody's face.
"Well," Sid Matt said bravely, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his sharp nose, "I am sure the Good Lord gave you this problem I've heard about for a reason. You have to learn how to use it for his glory."
No one had ever quite put it that way. That was an idea to chew over when I had time.
"I've made us stray from the subject, I'm afraid, and I know your time is valuable." I gathered my thoughts. "I want Jason out on bail. There is nothing but circumstantial evidence tying him to Amy's murder, am I right?"
"He's admitted to being with the victim right before the murder, and the videotape, one of the cops hinted to me pretty strongly, shows your brother having sex with the victim. The time and date on the film indicate it was made in the hours before her death, if not minutes."
Damn Jason's peculiar bedroom preferences. "Jason doesn't drink much at all. He smelled of liquor in the truck. I think it was just spilled over him. I think a test will prove that. Maybe Amy gave him some narcotic in (he drink she fixed him."
"Why would she do that?"
"Because, like so many women, she was mad at Jason because she wanted him so much. My brother is able to date almost anyone he wants. No, I'm using that euphemism." Sid Matt looked surprised I knew the word.
"He could go to bed with almost anyone he wanted. A dream life, most guys would think." Weariness descended on me like fog. "Now there he sits in the jail."
"You think another man did this to him? Framed him for this murder?"
"Yes, I do." I leaned forward, trying to persuade this skeptical
lawyer by the force of my own belief. "Someone envious of him. Someone who knows his schedule, who kills these women when Jason's off work. Someone who knows Jason had had sex with these gals. Someone who knows he likes to make
tapes."
"Could be almost anyone," Jason's lawyer said practically.
"Yep," I said sadly. "Even if Jason was nice enough to keep quiet about exactly who he'd been with, all anyone'd have to do is see who he left a bar with at closing time. Just being observant, maybe having asked about the tapes on a visit to his house ..." My brother might be somewhat immoral, but I didn't think he'd show those videos to anyone else. He might tell another man that he liked to make the videos,
though. "So this man, whoever he is, made some kind of deal with Amy, knowing she was mad at Jason. Maybe he told her he was going to play a practical joke on Jason or something."
"Your brother's never been arrested before," Sid Matt observed.
"No." Though it had been a near thing, a couple of times, to hear Jason tell it. "No record, upstanding member of the community, steady job. There may be a chance I can get him out on bail. But if he runs, you'll lose everything."

It truly had never occurred to me that Jason might skip bail. I didn't know anything about arranging for bail, and I didn't know what I'd have to do, but I wanted Jason out of that jail. Somehow, staying in jail until the legal processes had been gone through before the trial... somehow, that would make him look guiltier.

"You find out about it and let me know what I have to do," I said. "In the meantime, can I go see him?"
"He'd rather you didn't," Sid Matt said. That hurt dreadfully.
"Why?" I asked, trying really hard not to tear up again.
"He's ashamed," said the lawyer. The thought of Jason feeling shame was fascinating. "So," I said, trying to move along, suddenly tired of this unsatisfactory meeting. "You'll call me when I can actually do something?"

Sid Matt nodded, his jowls trembling slightly with the movement. I made him uneasy. He sure was glad to be leaving me. The lawyer drove off in his pickup, clapping a cowboy hat on his head when he was still in sight. When it was full dark, I went out to check on Bubba. He was sitting under a pin oak, bottles of blood lined up beside him, empties on one side, fulls on the other.

I had a flashlight, and though I knew Bubba was there, it was still a shock to see him in the beam of light. I shook my head. Something really had gone wrong when Bubba "came over," no doubt about it. I was sincerely glad I couldn't read Bubba's thoughts. His eyes were crazy as hell.

"Hey, sugar," he said, his Southern accent as thick as syrup. "How you doing? You come to keep me company?"
"I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable," I said.
"Well, I could think of places I'd be more comfortable, but since you're Bill's girl, I ain't about to talk about them."
"Good," I said firmly.
"Any cats around here? I'm getting mighty tired of this bottled stuff."
"No cats. I'm sure Bill will be back soon, and then you can go home." I started back toward the house, not feeling comfortable enough in Bubba's presence to prolong the conversation, if you could call it that. I wondered what thoughts Bubba had during his long watchful nights; I wondered if he remembered his past.
"What about that dog?" he called after me.
"He went home," I called back over my shoulder.
"Too bad," Bubba said to himself, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

I got ready for bed. I watched television. I ate some ice cream, and I even chopped up a Heath Bar for a topping. None of my usual comfort things seemed to work tonight. My brother was in jail, my boyfriend was in New Orleans, my grandmother was dead, and someone had murdered my cat. I felt lonely and sorry for myself all the way around. Sometimes you just have to roll in it.

Bill didn't return my call. That added fuel to the flame of my misery. He'd probably found some accommodating whore in New Orleans, or some fang-banger, like the ones who hung around Blood in the Quarter every night, hoping for a vampire "date."
If I were a drinking woman, I would have gotten drunk. If I'd been a casual woman, I would have called lovely JB du Rone and had sex with him. But I'm not anything so dramatic or drastic, so I just ate ice cream and watched old movies on TV. By an eerie coincidence,Blue Hawaii was on. I finally went to bed about midnight.

A shriek outside my bedroom window woke me up. I sat up straight in bed. I heard thumps, and thuds, and finally a voice I was sure was Bubba's shouting, "Come back here, sucker!" When I hadn't heard anything in a couple of minutes, I pulled on a bathrobe and went to the front door.

The yard, lit by the security light, was empty. Then I glimpsed movement to the left, and when I stuck my head out the door, I saw Bubba, trudging back to his hideout. "What happened?" I called softly. Bubba changed direction and slouched over to the porch.
"Sure enough, some sum bitch, scuse me, was sneaking around the house," Bubba said. His brown eyes were glowing, and he looked more like his former self. "I heard him minutes before he got here, and I thought I'd catch ahold of him. But he cut through the woods to the road, and he had a truck parked there."
"Did you get a look?"
"Not enough of one to describe him," Bubba said shamefacedly.
"He was driving a pickup, but I couldn't even tell what color it was. Dark."
"You saved me, though," I said, hoping my very real gratitude showed in my voice. I felt a swell of love for Bill, who had arranged my protection. Even Bubba looked better than he had before. "Thanks, Bubba."
"Aw, think nothing of it," he said graciously, and for that moment he stood up straight, kind of tossed his head back, had that sleepy smile on his face... it was him, and I'd opened my mouth to say his name, when Bill's warning came back to shut my mouth.

JASON made bail the next day.

It cost a fortune. I signed what Sid Matt told me to, though mostly the collateral was Jason's house and truck and his fishing boat. If Jason had ever been arrested before, even for jaywalking, I don't think he would have been permitted to post bond.
I was standing on the courthouse steps wearing my horrible, sober, navy blue suit in the heat of the late morning. Sweat trickled down my face and ran between my lips in that nasty way that makes you want to go jump in the shower. Jason stopped in front of me. I hadn't been sure he would speak. His face was years older. Real trouble had come to sit on his shoulder, real trouble that would not go away or ease up,
like grief did.

"I can't talk to you about this," he said, so softly I could barely hear him. "You know it wasn't me. I've never been violent beyond a fight or two in a parking lot over some woman."

I touched his shoulder, let my hand drop when he didn't respond. "I never thought it was you. I never will. I'm sorry I was fool enough to call 911 yesterday. If I'd realized that wasn't your blood, I'd have taken you into Sam's trailer and cleaned you up and burned the tape. I was just so scared that was your blood." And I felt my eyes fill. This was no time to cry, though, and I tightened up all over, feeling my
face tense. Jason's mind was a mess, like a mental pigsty. In it bubbled an unhealthy brew compounded of regrets, shame at his sexual habits being made public, guilt that he didn't feel worse about Amy being killed, horror that anyone in the town would think he'd killed his own grandmother while lying in wait for his sister.
"We'll get through this," I said helplessly.
"We'll get through this," he repeated, trying to make his voice sound strong and assured. But I thought it would be awhile, a long while, before Jason's assurance, that golden certainty that had made him irresistible, returned to his posture and his face and his speech.

Maybe it never would.

We parted there, at the courthouse. We had nothing more to say.

I sat in the bar all day, looking at the men who came in, reading their minds. Not one of them was thinking of how he'd killed four women and gotten away with it so far. At lunchtime Hoyt and Rene walked in the door and walked back out when they saw me sitting. Too embarrassing for them, I guess.

Finally, Sam made me leave. He said I was so creepy that I was driving away any customers who might give me useful information. I trudged out the door and into the glaring sun. It was about to set. I thought about Bubba, about Bill, about all those creatures that were coming out of their deep sleep to walk the surface of the earth.

I stopped at the Grabbit Kwik to buy some milk for my morning cereal. The new clerk was a kid with pimples and a huge Adam's apple, who stared at me eagerly as if he was trying to make a print in his head of how I looked, the sister of a murderer. I could tell he could hardly wait for me to leave the store so he could use the phone to call his girlfriend. He was wishing he could see the puncture marks on my neck.

He was wondering if there was any way he could find out how vampires did it.

This was the kind of trash I had to listen to, day in, day out. No matter how hard I concentrated on something else, no matter how high I kept my guard, how broad I kept my smile, it seeped through. I reached home just when it was getting dark. After putting away the milk and taking off my suit, I put on a pair of shorts and a black Garth Brooks T-shirt and tried to think of some goal for the evening. I couldn't settle down enough to read; and I needed to go to the library and change my books anyway, which would be a real ordeal under the circumstances.

Nothing on TV was good, at least tonight. I thought I might watch Braveheart again: Mel Gibson in a kilt is always a mood raiser. But it was just too bloody for my frame of mind. I couldn't bear for that gal get her throat cut again, even though I knew when to cover my eyes.

I'd gone into the bathroom to wash off my sweaty makeup when, over the sound of the running water, I thought I heard a yowl outside.
I turned the faucets off. I stood still, almost feeling my antenna twitch, I was listening so intently. What... =? Water from my wet face trickled onto my T-shirt. No sound. No sound at all. I crept toward the front door because it was closest to Bubba's watch point in the woods. I opened the door a little. I yelled, "Bubba?" No answer. I tried again.

It seemed to me even the locusts and toads were holding their breaths. The night was so silent it might hold anything. Something was prowling out there, in the darkness.
I tried to think, but my heart was hammering so hard it interfered with the process. Call the police, first. I found that was not an option. The phone was dead. So I could either wait in this house for trouble to come to me, or I could go out into the woods. That was a tough one. I bit into my lower lip while I went around the house turning out the lamps, trying to map out a course of action. The house provided some protection: locks, walls, nooks, and crannies.

But I knew any really determined person could get in, and then I would be trapped.
Okay. How could I get outside without being seen? I turned off the outside lights, for a start. The back door was closer to the woods, so that was the better choice. I knew the woods pretty well. I should be able to hide in them until daylight. I could go over to Bill's house, maybe; surely his phone was working, and I had a key.

Or I could try to get to my car and start it. But that pinned me down to a particular place for particular seconds. No, the woods seemed the better choice to me. In one of my pockets I tucked Bill's key and a pocketknife of my grandfather's that Gran had kept in the living-room table drawer, handy for opening packages. I tucked a tiny flashlight in the other pocket. Gran kept an old rifle in the coat closet by the front door. It had been my dad's when he was little, and she mostly had used it for shooting snakes; well, I had me a snake to shoot. I hated the damn rifle, hated the thought of using it, but now seemed to be the time. It wasn't there.

I could hardly believe my senses. I felt all through the closet.

He'd been in my house! But it hadn't been broken into. Someone I'd invited in. Who'd been here? I tried to list them all as I went to the back door, my sneakers
relied so they wouldn't have any spare shoelaces to step on. I skinned my hair into a ponytail sloppily, almost one handed, so it wouldn't get in my face, and twisted a rubber band around it. But all the time I thought about the stolen rifle. Who'd been in my house? Bill, Jason, Arlene, Rene, the kids, Andy Bellefleur, Sam, Sid Matt; I was sure I'd left them all alone for a minute or two, perhaps long enough to stick the rifle outside to retrieve later.

Then I remembered the day of the funeral. Almost everyone I knew had been in and out of the house when Gran had died, and I couldn't remember if I'd seen the rifle since then. But it would have been hard to have casually strolled out of the crowded, busy house with a rifle. And if it had vanished then, I thought I would have noticed its absence by now. In fact, I was almost sure I would have.

I had to shove that aside now and concentrate on outwitting whatever was out there in the dark. I opened the back door. I duck walked out, keeping as low as I could, and gently eased the door nearly shut behind me. Rather than use the steps, I straightened one leg and tapped the ground while squatting on the porch; I shifted my weight to it, pulled the other leg behind me. I crouched again. This was a lot
like playing hide and seek with Jason in the woods when we were kids.

I prayed I was not playing hide and seek with Jason again. I used the tub full of flowers that Gran had planted as cover first, then I crept to her car, my second goal. I looked up in the sky. The moon was new, and since the night was clear the stars were out. The air was heavy with humidity, and it was still hot. My arms were slick with sweat in minutes. Next step, from the car to the mimosa tree. I wasn't as quiet this time. I tripped over a stump and hit the ground hard. I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from crying out. Pain shot through my leg and hip, and I knew the edges of the ragged stump had scraped my thigh pretty severely. Why hadn't I come out and sawed that stump off clean? Gran had asked Jason to do it, but he'd never found the time. I heard, sensed, movement.

Throwing caution to the winds, I leaped up and dashed for the trees. Someone crashed through the edge of the woods to my right and headed for me. But I knew where I
was going, and in a vault that amazed me, I'd seized the low branch of our favorite childhood climbing tree and pulled myself up. If I lived until the next day, I'd have severely strained muscles, but it would be worth it. I balanced on the branch, trying to keep my breathing quiet, when I wanted to pant and groan like a dog dreaming.

I wished this were a dream. Yet here I undeniably was, Sookie Stackhouse, waitress and mind reader, sitting on a branch in the woods in the dead of night, armed with nothing more than a pocket knife. Movement below me; a man glided through the woods. He had a length of cord hanging from one wrist.

Oh, Jesus. Though the moon was almost full, his head stayed stubbornly in the shadow of the tree, and I couldn't tell who it was. He passed underneath without seeing me.
When he was out of sight, I breathed again. As quietly as I could, I scrambled down. I began working my way through the woods to the road. It would take awhile, but if I could get to the road maybe I could flag someone down. Then I thought of how seldom the road got traveled; it might be better to work my way across the cemetery to Bill's house. I thought of the cemetery at night, of the murderer looking for
me, and I shivered all over. Being even more scared was pointless. I had to concentrate on the here and now. I watched every foot placement, moving slowly. A fall would be noisy in this undergrowth, and he'd be on me in a minute. I found the dead cat about ten yards south east of my perching tree. The cat's throat was a gaping wound. I couldn't even tell what color its fur had been in the bleaching effect of the moonlight, but the dark splotches around the little corpse were surely blood. After five more feet of stealthy movement, I found Bubba. He was unconscious or dead. With a vampire it was hard to tell the difference. But with no stake through his heart, and his head still on, I could hope he was only unconscious.

Someone had brought Bubba a drugged cat, I figured. Someone who had known Bubba was guarding me and had heard of Bubba's penchant for draining cats. I heard a crackle behind me. The snap of a twig. I glided into the shadow of the nearest large tree. I was mad, mad and scared, and I wondered if I would die this night.

I might not have the rifle, but I had a built-in tool. I closed my eyes and reached out with my mind. Dark tangle, red, black. Hate. I flinched. But this was necessary, this was my only protection. I let down every shred of defense. Into my head poured images that made me sick, made me terrified. Dawn, asking someone to punch her, then finding out that he'd got one of her hose in his hand, was stretching it between his fingers, preparing to tighten it around her neck. A flash of Maudette, naked and begging. A woman I'd never seen, her bare back to me, bruises and welts covering it. Then my grandmother—my grandmother—in our familiar kitchen, angry and fighting for her life. I was paralyzed by the shock of it, the horror of it. Whose thoughts were these? I had an image of Arlene's kids, playing on my living room floor; I saw myself, and I didn't look like the person I saw in my own mirror. I had huge holes in my neck, and I was lewd; I had a knowing leer on my face, and I patted
the inside of my thigh suggestively.

I was in the mind of Rene Lenier. This was how Rene saw me. Rene was mad. Now I knew why I'd never been able to read his thoughts explicitly; he kept them in a secret hole, a place in his mind he kept hidden and separate from his conscious self.
He was seeing an outline behind a tree now and wondering if it looked like the outline of a woman. He was seeing me.

I bolted and ran west toward the cemetery. I couldn't listen to his head anymore, because my own head was focused so fixedly on running, dodging the obstacles of trees, bushes, fallen limbs, a little gully where rain had collected. My strong legs pumped, my arms swung, and my breath sounded like the wheezing of a bagpipe. I broke from the woods and was in the cemetery. The oldest portion of the graveyard was farther north toward Bill's house, and it had the best places of concealment. I bounded over headstones, the modern kind, set almost flush with the ground, no good for hiding. I leaped over Gran's grave, the earth still raw, no stone yet. Her killer followed me. I turned to look, to see how close he was, like a fool, and in the moonlight I saw Rene's rough head of hair clearly as he gained on me. I ran down into the gentle bowl the cemetery formed, then began sprinting up the other side.

When I thought there were enough large headstones and statues between me and Rene, I dodged behind a tall granite column topped with a cross. I remained standing, flattening myself against the cold hardness of the stone. I clamped a hand across my own mouth to silence my sobbing effort to get air in my lungs. I made myself calm enough to try to listen to Rene; but his thoughts were not even coherent enough to decipher, except the rage he felt. Then a clear concept presented itself. "Your sister," I yelled. "Is Cindy still alive, Rene?"
"Bitch!" he screamed, and I knew in that second that the first woman to die had been Rene's sister, the one who liked vampires, the one he was supposedly still visiting from time to time, according to Arlene. Rene had killed Cindy, his waitress
sister, while she was still wearing her pink-and-white hospital cafeteria uniform. He'd strangled her with her apron strings. And he'd had sex with her, after she
was dead. She'd sunk so low, she wouldn't mind her own brother, he'd thought, as much as he was capable of thinking. Anyone who'd let a vampire do that deserved to die. And he'd hidden her body from shame. The others weren't his flesh and blood; it had been all right to let them lie.

I'd gotten sucked down into Rene's sick interior like a twig dragged down by a whirlpool, and it made me stagger. When I came back into my own head, he was on me. He hit me in the face as hard as he could, and he expected me to go down. The blow broke my nose and hurt so bad I almost blanked out, but I didn't collapse. I hit him back. My lack of experience made my blow ineffectual. I just thumped him in the ribs, and he grunted, but in the next instant he retaliated.

His fist broke my collarbone. But I didn't fall.

He hadn't known how strong I was. In the moonlight, his face was shocked when I fought back, and I thanked the vampire blood I'd taken. I thought of my brave grandmother, and I launched myself at him,
grabbing him by the ears and attempting to hit his head against the granite column. His hands shot up to grip my forearms, and he tried to pull me away so I'd loose my grip. Finally he succeeded, but I could tell from his eyes he was surprised and more on guard. I tried to knee him, but he anticipated me, twisting just far enough away to dodge me. While I was off-balance, he pushed, and I hit the ground with a
teeth-chattering thud. Then he was straddling me. But he'd dropped the cord inour struggle, and while he held my neck with one hand,he was groping with the other for his method of choice. My right arm was pinned, but my left was free, and I struck and clawed at him. He had to ignore this, had to look for the strangling cord
because that was part of his ritual. My scrabbling hand encountered a familiar shape.
Rene, in his work clothes, was still wearing his knife on his belt. I yanked the snap open and pulled the knife from its sheath, and while he was still thinking, "I should have taken that off," I sank the knife into the soft flesh of his waist, angling up. And I pulled it out.

He screamed, then.

He staggered to his feet, twisting his upper torso sideways, trying with both hands to stanch the blood that was pouring from the wound. I scuttered backward, getting up, trying to put distance between myself and man who was a monster just as surely as Bill was.

Rene screamed. "Aw, Jesus, woman! What you done to me? Oh, God, it hurts!"
That was rich. He was scared now, frightened of discovery, of an end to his games, of an end to his vengeance. "Girls like you deserve to die," he snarled. "I can feel you in my head, you freak!"
"Who's the freak around here?" I hissed. "Die, you bastard."

I didn't know I had it in me. I stood by the headstone in a crouch, the bloody knife still clutched in my hand, waiting for him to charge me again. He staggered in circles, and I watched, my face stony. I closed my mind to him, to his feeling his death crawl up behind him. I stood ready to knife him a second time when he fell to the ground. When I was sure he couldn't move, I went to Bill's house, but I didn't run. I told myself it was because I couldn't: but I'm not sure. I kept seeing my grandmother, encapsuled in Rene's memory forever, fighting for her life in her own house.

I fished Bill's key out of my pocket, almost amazed it was still there. I turned it somehow, staggered into the big living room, felt for the phone. My fingers touched the buttons, managed to figure out which was the nine and where the one was. I pushed the numbers hard enough to make them beep, and then, without warning, I checked out of consciousness.

I KNEW I was in the hospital: I was surrounded by the clean smell of hospital sheets.
The next thing I knew was that I hurt all over. And someone was in the room with me. I opened my eyes, not without effort. Andy Bellefleur. His square face was even more fatigued than the last time I'd seen him.

"Can you hear me?" he said.
I nodded, just a tiny movement, but even that sent a wave of pain through my head.
"We got him," he said, and then he proceeded to tell me a lot more, but I fell back asleep.

It was daylight when I woke again, and this time, I seemed to be much more alert.
Someone in the room.
"Who's here?" I said, and my voice came out in a painful rasp. Kevin rose from the chair in the corner, rolling a crossword puzzle magazine and sticking it into his
uniform pocket.
"Where's Kenya?" I whispered.
He grinned at me unexpectedly. "She was here for a couple of hours," he explained. "She'll be back soon. I spelled her for lunch."
His thin face and body formed one lean line of approval. "You are one tough lady," he told me.
"I don't feel tough," I managed.
"You got hurt," he told me as if I didn't know that.
"Rene."
"We found him out in the cemetery," Kevin assured me. "You stuck him pretty good. But he was still conscious, and he told us he'd been trying to kill you."
"Good."
"He was real sorry he hadn't finished the job. I can't believe he spilled the beans like that, but he was some kind of hurting and he was some kind of scared, by the time we got to him. He told us the whole thing was your fault because you wouldn't just lie down to die like the others. He said it must run in your
genes, because your grandmother ..." Here Kevin stopped short, aware that he was on upsetting ground.
"She fought, too," I whispered.
Kenya came in then, massive, impassive, and holding a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee.
"She's awake," Kevin said, beaming at his partner.
"Good." Kenya sounded less overjoyed about it. "She say what happened? Maybe we should call Andy."
"Yeah, that's what he said to do. But he's just been asleep four hours."
"The man said call."
Kevin shrugged, went to the phone at the side of the bed. I eased off into a doze as I heard him speaking, but I could hear him murmur with Kenya as they waited. He was talking about his hunting dogs. Kenya, I guess, was listening. Andy came in, I could feel his thoughts, the pattern of his brain. His solid presence came to roost by my
bed. I opened my eyes as he was bending to look at me. We exchanged a long stare.
Two pair of feet in regulation shoes moved out into the hall.
"He's still alive," Andy said abruptly. "And he won't stop talking."
I made the briefest motion of my head, indicating a nod, I hoped.
"He says this goes back to his sister, who was seeing a vampire. She evidently got so low on blood that Rene thought she'd turn into a vamp herself if he didn't stop her. He gave her an ultimatum, one evening in her apartment. She talked back, said she wouldn't give up her lover. She was tying her apron around her, getting ready to go to work as they were arguing. He yanked it off her, strangled her... did other stuff." Andy looked a little sick.
"I know," I whispered.
"It seems to me," Andy began again, "that somehow he decided he'd feel justified in doing that horrible thing if he convinced himself that everyone in his sister's situation deserved to die. In fact, the murders here are very similar to two in Shreveport that haven't been solved up until now, and we're expecting Rene to touch on those while he's rambling along. If he makes it."

I could feel my lips pressing together in horrified sympathy for those other poor women.

"Can you tell me what happened to you?" Andy asked quietly. "Go slow, take your time, and keep your voice down to a whisper. Your throat is badly bruised."
I had figured that out for myself, thanks very much. I murmured my account of the evening, and I didn't leave anything out. Andy had switched on a little tape recorder after asking me if that was all right. He placed it on the pillow close to my mouth when I indicated the device was okay with me, so he'd have the whole story.
"Mr. Compton still out of town?" he asked me, after I'd finished.
"New Orleans," I whispered, barely able to speak.
"We'll look in Rene's house for the rifle, now that we know it's yours. It'll be a nice piece of corroborative evidence."

Then a gleaming young woman in white came into the room, looked at my face, and told Andy he'd have to come back some other time. He nodded at me, gave me an awkward pat on the hand, and left. He gave the doctor a backward glance of admiration. She was sure worth admiring, but she was also wearing a wedding ring, so Andy was once again too late.

She thought he seemed too serious and grim. I didn't want to hear this. But I didn't have enough energy to keep everyone out of my head.

"Miss Stackhouse, how are you feeling?" the young woman asked a little too loudly. She was brunette and lean, with wide brown eyes and a full mouth.
"Like hell," I whispered.
"I can imagine," she said, nodding repeatedly while looking me over. I somehow didn't think she could. I was willing to bet she'd never been beaten up by a multiple murderer in a graveyard. "You just lost your grandmother, too, didn't you?" she asked sympathetically. I nodded, just a fraction of an inch.
"My husband died about six months ago," she said. "I know about grief. It's tough being brave, isn't it?"

Well, well, well. I let my expression ask a question.

"He had cancer," she explained. I tried to look my condolences without moving anything, which was nearly impossible.
"Well," she said, standing upright, returning to her brisk manner, "Miss Stackhouse, you're sure gonna live. You have a broken collarbone, and two broken ribs, and a broken nose."

Shepherd of Judea! No wonder I felt bad.

"Your face and neck are severely bruised. Of course, you could tell your throat was hurt."
I was trying to imagine what I looked like. Good thing I didn't have a mirror handy.
"And you have lots of relatively minor bruises and cuts on your legs and arms." She smiled. "Your stomach is fine, and your feet!"

Hohoho. Very funny.

"I have prescribed pain medication for you, so when you start feeling bad, just ring for the nurse." A visitor stuck his head in the door behind her. She turned, blocking my view, and said, "Hello?"
"This Sookie's room?"
"Yes, I was just finishing her examination. You can come in." The doctor (whose name was Sonntag, by her nameplate) looked questioningly at me to get my permission, and I managed a tiny "Sure." JB du Rone drifted to my bedside, looking as lovely as the cover model on a romance novel. His tawny hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights, his eyes were just the same color, and his sleeveless shirt showed muscle definition that might have been chiseled with a—well, with a chisel. He was looking down at me, and Dr. Sonntag was drinking him in.
"Hey, Sookie, you feelin' all right?" he asked. He lay a finger gently on my cheek. He kissed an unbruised spot on my forehead.
"Thanks," I whispered. "I'll be okay. Meet my doctor." JB turned his wide eyes on Dr. Sonntag, who practically tripped over her own feet to introduce herself. "Doctors weren't this pretty when I was getting my shots," JB said sincerely and simply.
"You haven't been to a doctor since you were a kid?" Dr. Sonntag said, amazed.
"I never get sick." He beamed at her. "Strong as an ox." And the brain of one. But Dr. Sonntag probably had smarts enough for two. She couldn't think of any reason for lingering, though she cast a wistful glance over her shoulder as she left.
JB bent down to me and said earnestly, "Can I bring you anything, Sookie? Nabs or something?"
The thought of trying to eat crackers made tears come to my eyes. "No thanks," I breathed. "The doctor's a widow." You could change subjects on JB without him wondering why.
"Wow," he said, impressed. "She's smart and single." I wiggled my eyebrows in a significant way. "You think I oughtta ask her out?" JB looked as thoughtful as it was possible for him to be. "That might be a good idea," He smiled down at me. "Long as you won't date me, Sookie. You're always number one to me. You just crook your little finger, and I'll come running."

What a sweet guy. I didn't believe in his devotion for a minute, but I did believe he knew how to make a woman feel good, even if she was as sure as I was that I looked breathtakingly bad. I felt pretty bad, too. Where were those pain pills? I tried to smile at JB.
"You're hurting," he said. "I'll send the nurse down here." Oh, good. The reach to the little button had seemed longer and longer as I tried to get my arm to move.
He kissed me again as he left and said, "I'll go track that doctor of yours down, Sookie. I better ask her some more questions about your recovery." After the nurse injected some stuff into my IV drip, I was just looking forward to feeling no pain when the door opened again.

My brother came in. He stood by my bed for a long time, staring at my face. He said finally, heavily, "I talked to the doctor for a minute before she left for the cafeteria with JB. She told me what-all was wrong with you." He walked away from me, took a turn around the room, came back. More staring.
"You look like hell."
"Thanks," I whispered.
"Oh, yeah, your throat. I forgot." He started to pat me, thought the better of it.
"Listen, Sis, I gotta say thank you, but it's got me down that you stood in for me when it came time to fight."

If I could have, I'd have kicked him. Stood in for him, hell.

"I owe you big, Sis. I was so dumb, thinking Rene was a good friend." Betrayed. He felt betrayed. Then Arlene came in, to make things just peachy keen. She was a mess. Her hair was in a red tangle, she had no makeup, and her clothes were chosen at
random. I'd never seen Arlene without her hair curled and her makeup loud and bright.
She looked down at me—boy, would I be glad when I could stand up again—and for a second her face was hard as granite, but when she really took in my face, she began to crumble.

"I was so mad at you, I didn't believe it, but now that I'm seeing you and what he did... oh, Sookie, can you ever forgive me?" Geez, I wanted her out of here. I tried to telegraph this to Jason, and for once I got through, because he
put an arm around her shoulders and led her out. Arlene was sobbing before she reached the door. "I didn't know..." she said, barely coherent. "I just didn't know!"
"Hell, neither did I," Jason said heavily.

I took a nap after trying to ingest some delicious green gelatin.
My big excitement of the afternoon was walking to the bathroom, more or less by myself. I sat in the chair for ten minutes, after which I was more than ready to get back in bed. I looked in the mirror concealed in the rolling table and was very sorry I had.

I was running a little temperature, just enough to make me shivery and tender-skinned. My face was blue and gray and my nose was swollen double. My right eye was puffy and almost closed. I shuddered, and even that hurt. My legs... oh, hell, I didn't even want to check. I lay back very carefully and wanted this day to be over. Probably four days from now I'd feel just great. Work! When could I go back to work?
A little knock at the door distracted me. Another damn visitor. Well, this was someone I didn't know. An older lady with blue hair and red-framed glasses wheeled in a cart. She was wearing the yellow smock the hospital volunteers called Sunshine Ladies had to don when they were working.

The cart was covered with flowers for the patients in this wing.

"I'm delivering you a load of best wishes!" the lady said cheerfully. I smiled, but the effect must have been ghastly because her own cheer wavered a little, "These are for you," she said, lifting a potted plant decorated
with a red ribbon. "Here's the card, honey. Let's see, these are for you, too..." This was an arrangement of cut flowers, featuring pink rosebuds and pink carnations and white baby's breath. She plucked the card from that bowl, too. Surveying the cart, she said, "Now, aren't you the lucky one! Here are some more for you!!" The focus of the third floral tribute was a bizarre red flower I'd never seen before, surrounded by a host of other, more familiar blooms. I looked at this one doubtfully. The Sunshine Lady dutifully presented me with the card from the plastic prongs.

After she'd smiled her way out of the room, I opened the little envelopes. It was easier to move when I was in a better mood, I noticed wryly.
The potted plant was from Sam and "all your coworkers at Merlotte's" read the card, but it was written in Sam's handwriting.

I touched the glossy leaves and wondered where I'd put it when I took it home.
The cut flowers were from SidMatt Lancaster and Elva Deene Lancaster—pooey. The arrangement centered with the peculiar red blossom (I decided that somehow the flower looked almost obscene, like a lady's private part) was definitely the most interesting of the three. I opened the card with some curiosity. It bore only a signature, "Eric."

That was all I needed. How the hell had he heard I was in the hospital? Why hadn't I heard from Bill? After some delicious red gelatin for supper, I focused on the television for a couple of hours, since I hadn't anything to read, even if my eyes had been up to it. My bruises grew more charming every hour, and I felt weary to my bones, despite the fact that I'd only walked once to the bathroom and twice around my room. I switched off the television and turned onto my side. I fell asleep, and in my dreams the pain from my body seeped in and made me have nightmares.

I ran in my dreams, ran through the cemetery, afraid for my life, falling over stones, into open graves, encountering all the people I knew who lay there: my father and mother, my grandmother, Maudette Pickens, Dawn Green, even a childhood
friend who'd been killed in a hunting accident. I was looking for a particular headstone; if I found it, I was home free. They would all go back into their graves and leave me alone. I ran from this one to that one, putting my hand on each one, hoping it would be the right stone. I whimpered.

"Sweetheart, you're safe," came a familiar cool voice.
"Bill," I muttered. I turned to face a stone I hadn't yet touched. When I lay my fingers on it, they traced the letters "William Thomas Compton." As if I'd been dashed with cold water, my eyes flew open, I drew in a breath to scream, and my throat gave a great throb of pain. I choked on the extra air, and the pain of the coughing, which pretty much hurt every single thing I'd broken, completed my awakening. A hand slipped under my cheek, the cool fingers feeling wonderfully
good against my hot skin. I tried not to whimper, but a little noise made its way through my teeth.
"Turn to the light, darling," Bill said, his voice very light and casual. I've been sleeping with my back to the light the nurse had left on, the one in the bathroom. Now I rolled obediently to my back and looked up at my vampire. Bill hissed.
"I'll kill him," he said, with a simple certainty that chilled me to the bone. There was enough tension in the room to send a fleet of the nervous running for their tranquilizers.
"Hi, Bill," I croaked. "Glad to see you, too. Where you been so long? Thanks for returning all my calls."
That brought him up short. He blinked. I could feel him making an effort to calm himself. "Sookie," he said. "I didn't call because I wanted to tell you in person what has happened." I couldn't read the expression on his face. If I'd had to take a shot, I would've said he looked proud of himself. He paused, scanned all visible portions of me.
"This doesn't hurt," I croaked obligingly, extending my hand to him. He kissed that, lingered over it in a way that sent a faint tingle through my body. Believe me, a faint tingle was more than I'd thought I was capable of.
"Tell me what has been done to you," he commanded.
"Then lean down so I can whisper. This really hurts." He pulled a chair close to the bed, lowered the bed rail, and lay his chin on his folded arms. His face was maybe four inches from mine.
"Your nose is broken," he observed. I rolled my eyes. "Glad you spotted that," I whispered. "I'll tell the doctor when she comes in." His gaze narrowed. "Stop trying to deflect me."
"Okay. Nose broken, two ribs, a collarbone." But Bill wanted to examine me all over, and he pulled the sheet down. My mortification was complete. Of course, I was wearing an awful hospital gown, in itself a downer, and I hadn't bathed properly, and my face was several different shades, and my hair hadn't been brushed.
"I want to take you home," he announced, after he'd run his hands all over and minutely examined each scrape and cut. The Vampire Physician. I motioned with my hand to make him bend down. "No," I breathed. I pointed to the drip bag. He eyed
it with some suspicion, but of course he had to know what one was.
"I can take it out," he said.
I shook my head vehemently.
"You don't want me to take care of you?"
I puffed out my breath in exasperation, which hurt like hell. I made a writing motion with my hand, and Bill searched the drawers until he found a notepad. Oddly
enough, he had a pen. I wrote, "They'll let me out of the hospital tomorrow if my fever doesn't go high."
"Who'll take you home?" he asked. He was standing by the bed again, and looking down at me with stern disapproval, like a teacher whose best pupil happens to be chronically tardy.
"I'll get them to call Jason, or Charlsie Tooten," I wrote. If things had been different, I would have written Arlene's name automatically.
"I'll be there at dark," he said. I looked up into his pale face, the clear whites of his eyes almost shining in the gloomy room.
"I'll heal you," he offered. "Let me give you some blood." I remembered the way my hair had lightened, remembered that I was almost twice as strong as I'd ever
been. I shook my head. "Why not?" he said, as if he'd offered me a drink of water when I was thirsty and I'd said no. I thought maybe I'd hurt his feelings. I took his hand and guided it to my mouth. I kissed the palm gently. I held the hand to my better cheek.
"People notice I am changing," I wrote, after a moment. "I notice I am changing."
He bowed his head for a moment, and then looked at me sadly.
"You know what happened?" I wrote.
"Bubba told me part of it," he said, and his face grew scary as he mentioned the half-witted vampire.
"Sam told me the rest, and I went to the police department and read the police reports."
"Andy let you do that?" I scribbled.
"No one knew I was there," he said carelessly.
I tried to imagine that, and it gave me the creeps. I gave him a disapproving look.
"Tell me what happened in New Orleans," I wrote. I was beginning to feel sleepy again.
"You will have to know a little about us," he said hesitantly.
"Woo woo, secret vampire stuff!!" I croaked. It was his turn to give me disapproving.
"We're a little organized," he told me. "I was trying to think of ways to keep us safe from Eric." Involuntarily, I looked at the red flower arrangement.
"I knew if I were an official, like Eric, it would be much more difficult for him to interfere with my private life." I looked encouraging, or at least I tried to. "So I attended the regional meeting, and though I have never been involved in our politics, I ran for an office. And, through some concentrated lobbying, I won!"

This was absolutely amazing. Bill was aunion rep! I wondered about the concentrated lobbying, too. Did that mean Bill had killed all the opposition? Or that he'd bought the voters a bottle of A positive apiece?
"What is your job?" I wrote slowly, imagining Bill sitting in a meeting. I tried to look proud, which seemed to be what Bill was looking for.
"I'm the Fifth Area investigator," he said. "I'll tell you what that means when you're home. I don't want to wear you out."
I nodded, beaming at him. I sure hoped he didn't take it into his head to ask me who all the flowers were from. I wondered if I had to write Eric a thank-you note. I wondered why my mind was going off on all these tangents. Must be the pain medication. I gestured to Bill to draw close. He did, his face resting on the bed next to mine.
"Don't kill Rene," I whispered. He looked cold, colder, coldest.
"I may have already done the job. He's in intensive care. But even if he lives, there's been enough murder. Let the law do it. I don't want any more witch hunts coming after you. I want us to have peace."

It was becoming very difficult to talk. I took his hand in both of mine, held it again to my least-bruised cheek. Suddenly, how much I had missed him became a solid lump lodged in my chest, and I held out my arms. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, and leaning toward me, he carefully, carefully, slid his arms under me and pulled me up to him, a fraction of an inch at a time, to give me time to tell him if it hurt.
"I won't kill him," Bill said finally, into my ear.
"Sweetheart," I breathed, knowing his sharp hearing could pick it up. "I missed you." I heard his quick sigh, and his arms tightened a little, his hands began their gentle stroking down my back.
"I wonder how quickly you can heal," he said, "without my help?"
"Oh, I'll try to hurry," I whispered. "I'll bet I surprise the doctor as it is."

A collie trotted down the corridor, looked in the open door, said, "Rowwf," and trotted away. Astonished, Bill turned to glance out into the corridor. Oh, yeah, it was the full moon, tonight—I could see it out of the window. I could see something
else, too. A white face appeared out of the blackness and floated between me and the moon. It was a handsome face, framed by long golden hair. Eric the Vampire grinned at me and gradually disappeared from my view. He was flying.

"Soon we'll be back to normal," Bill said, laying me down gently so he could switch out the light in the bathroom. He glowed in the dark.
"Right," I whispered. "Yeah. Back to normal."

The End