Dead to the World

15

Jason was able to stand on his own long enough to take a shower, which he said was the best one he'd taken in his life. When he was clean and smelled like every scented thing in my bathroom, and he was modestly draped with a big towel, I went all over him with Neosporin. I used up a whole tube on the bites. They seemed to be healing clean already, but I could not stop myself from trying to think of things to do for him. He'd had hot chocolate, and he'd eaten some hot oatmeal (which I thought was an odd choice, but he said all Felton had brought him to eat had been barely cooked meat), and he'd put on the sleeping pants I'd bought for Eric (too big, but the drawstring waist helped), and he'd put on a baggy old T-shirt I'd gotten when I'd done the Walk for Life two years before. He kept touching the material as if he was delighted to be dressed.

He seemed to want to be warm and to sleep, more than anything. I put him in my old room. With a sad glance at the closet, which Eric had left all askew, I told my brother good night. He asked me to turn the hall light on and leave the door cracked a little. It cost Jason to ask that, so I didn't say a word. I just did as he'd requested.

Sam was sitting in the kitchen, drinking a cup of hot tea. He looked up from watching the steam of it and smiled at me. "How is he?"

I sank down into my usual spot. "He's better than I thought he would be," I said. "Considering he spent the whole time in the shed with no heat and being bitten every day."

"I wonder how long Felton would have kept him?"

"Until the full moon, I guess. Then Felton would've found out if he'd succeeded or not." I felt a little sick.

"I checked your calendar. He's got a couple of weeks."

"Good. Give Jason time to get his strength back before he has something else to face." I rested my head in my hands for a minute. "I have to call the police."

"To let them know to stop searching?"

"Yep."

"Have you made up your mind what to say? Did Jason mention any ideas?"

"Maybe that the male relatives of some girl had kidnapped him?" Actually, that was sort of true.

"The cops would want to know where he'd been held. If he'd gotten away on his own, they'd want to know how, and they'd be sure he'd have more information for them."

I wondered if I had enough brainpower left to think. I stared blankly at the table: the familiar napkin holder that my grandmother had bought at a craft fair, and the sugar bowl, and the salt- and pepper-shakers shaped like a rooster and a hen. I noticed something had been tucked under the saltshaker.

It was a check for $50,000, signed by Eric Northman. Eric had not only paid me, he had given me the biggest tip of my career.

"Oh," I said, very gently. "Oh, boy." I looked at it for a minute more, to make sure I was reading it correctly. I passed it across the table to Sam.

"Wow. Payment for keeping Eric?" Sam looked up at me, and I nodded. "What will you do with it?"

"Put it through the bank, first thing tomorrow morning."

He smiled. "I guess I was thinking longer term than that."

"Just relax. It'll just relax me to have it. To know that . . ." To my embarrassment, here came tears. Again. Damn. "So I won't have to worry all the time."

"Things have been tight recently, I take it." I nodded, and Sam's mouth compressed. "You . . ." he began, and then couldn't finish his sentence.

"Thanks, but I can't do that to people," I said firmly. "Gran always said that was the surest way to end a friendship."

"You could sell this land, buy a house in town, have neighbors," Sam suggested, as if he'd been dying to say that for months.

"Move out of this house?" Some member of my family had lived in this house continuously for over a hundred and fifty years. Of course, that didn't make it sacred or anything, and the house had been added to and modernized many times. I thought of living in a small modern house with level floors and up-to-date bathrooms and a convenient kitchen with lots of plugs. No exposed water heater. Lots of blown-in insulation in the attic. A carport!

Dazzled at the vision, I swallowed. "I'll consider it," I said, feeling greatly daring to even entertain the idea. "But I can't think of anything much right now. Just getting through tomorrow will be hard enough."

I thought of the police man-hours that had been put into searching for Jason. Suddenly I was so tired, I just couldn't make an attempt to fashion a story for the law.

"You need to go to bed," Sam said astutely.

I could only nod. "Thank you, Sam. Thank you so much." We stood and I gave him a hug. It turned into a longer hug than I'd planned, because hugging him was unexpectedly restful and comfortable. "Good night," I said. "Please drive careful going back." I thought briefly of offering him one of the beds upstairs, but I kept that floor shut off and it would be awfully cold up there; and I'd have to go up and make the bed. He'd be more comfortable making the short drive home, even in the snow.

"I will," he said, and released me. "Call me in the morning."

"Thanks again."

"Enough thank-yous," he said. Eric had put a couple of nails in the front door to hold it shut, until I could get a dead bolt put on. I locked the back door behind Sam, and I barely managed to brush my teeth and change into a nightgown before I crawled in my bed.

The first thing I did the next morning was check on my brother. Jason was still deeply asleep, and in the light of day, I could clearly see the effects of his imprisonment. His face had a coating of stubble. Even in his sleep, he looked older. There were bruises here and there, and that was just on his face and arms. His eyes opened as I sat by the bed, looking at him. Without moving, he rolled his eyes around, taking in the room. They stopped when they came to my face.

"I didn't dream it," he said. His voice was hoarse. "You and Sam came and got me. They let me go. The panther let me go."

"Yes."

"So what's been happening while I was gone?" he asked next. "Wait, can I go to the bathroom and get a cup of coffee before you tell me?"

I liked his asking instead of telling (a Jason trait, telling), and I was glad to tell him yes and even volunteer to get the coffee. Jason seemed happy enough to crawl back in bed with the mug of coffee and sugar, and prop himself up on the pillows while we talked.

I told him about Catfish's phone call, our to-and-fro with the police, the search of the yard and my conscription of his Benelli shotgun, which he immediately demanded to see.

"You fired it!" he said indignantly, after checking it over.

I just stared at him.

He flinched first. "I guess it worked like a shotgun is 'spose to," he said slowly. "Since you're sitting here looking pretty much okay."

"Thanks, and don't ask me again," I said.

He nodded.

"Now we have to think of a story for the police."

"I guess we can't just tell them the truth."

"Sure, Jason, let's tell them that the village of Hotshot is full of were-panthers, and that since you slept with one, her boyfriend wanted to make you a were-panther, too, so she wouldn't prefer you over him. That's why he changed into a panther and bit you every day."

There was a long pause.

"I can just see Andy Bellefleur's face," Jason said in a subdued kind of way. "He still can't get over me being innocent of murdering those girls last year. He'd love to get me committed as being delusional. Catfish would have to fire me, and I don't think I'd like it at the mental hospital."

"Well, your dating opportunities would sure be limited."

"Crystal—God, that girl! You warned me. But I was so bowled over by her. And she turns out to be a . . . you know."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Jason, she's a shape-shifter. Don't go on like she's the creature from the Black Lagoon, or Freddy Krueger, or something."

"Sook, you know a lot of stuff we don't know, don't you? I'm getting that picture."

"Yes, I guess so."

"Besides vampires."

"Right."

"There's lots else."

"I tried to tell you."

"I believed what you said, but I just didn't get it. Some people I know—I mean besides Crystal—they're not always people, huh?"

"That's right."

"Like how many?"

I counted up the two-natured I'd seen in the bar: Sam, Alcide, that little were-fox who'd been standing Jason and Hoyt drinks a couple of weeks ago . . . "At least three," I said.

"How do you know all this?"

I just stared at him.

"Right," he said, after a long moment. "I don't want to know."

"And now, you," I said gently.

"Are you sure?"

"No, and we won't be sure for a couple of weeks," I said. "But Calvin'll help you if you need it."

"I won't take help from them!" Jason's eyes were blazing, and he looked positively feverish.

"You don't have a choice," I said, trying not to snap. "And Calvin didn't know you were there. He's an okay guy. But it's not even time to talk about it yet. We have to figure out what to tell the police right now."

For at least an hour we went over and over our stories, trying to find threads of truth to help us stitch together a fabrication.

Finally, I called the police station. The day-shift dispatcher was tired of hearing my voice, but she was still trying to be nice. "Sookie, like I told you yesterday, hon, we'll call you when we find out something about Jason," she said, trying to suppress the note of exasperation beneath her soothing tone.

"I've got him," I said.

"You—WHAT?" The shriek came over loud and clear. Even Jason winced.

"I've got him."

"I'll send someone right over."

"Good," I said, though I didn't mean it.

I had the foresight to get the nails out of the front door before the police got there. I didn't want them asking what had happened to it. Jason had looked at me oddly when I got out the hammer, but he didn't say a word.

"Where's your car?" Andy Bellefleur asked first thing.

"It's at Merlotte's."

"Why?"

"Can I just tell you and Alcee, together, one time?" Alcee Beck was coming up the front steps. He and Andy came in the house together, and at the sight of Jason lying wrapped up on my couch, they both stopped dead in their tracks. I knew then that they'd never expected to see Jason alive again.

"Glad to see you safe and sound, man," Andy said, and shook Jason's hand. Alcee Beck followed on his heels. They sat down, Andy in Gran's recliner and Alcee in the armchair I usually took, and I perched on the couch beside Jason's feet. "We're glad you're in the land of the living, Jason, but we need to know where you've been and what happened to you."

"I have no idea," Jason said.

And he stuck to it for hours.

There had been no believable story Jason could tell that could account for everything: his absence, his poor physical condition, the bite marks, his sudden reappearance. The only possible line he could take was to say the last thing he remembered, he'd heard a funny noise outside while he was entertaining Crystal, and when he'd gone to investigate, he'd been hit on the head. He didn't remember anything until somehow he'd felt himself pushed from a vehicle to land in my yard the night before. I'd found him there when Sam brought me home from work. I'd ridden home with Sam because I was scared to drive in the snow.

Of course, we'd cleared this with Sam ahead of time, and he'd agreed, reluctantly, that it was the best we could come up with. I knew Sam didn't like to lie, and I didn't either, but we had to keep that particular can of worms closed.

The beauty of this story was its simplicity. As long as Jason could resist the temptation to embroider, he'd be safe. I'd known that would be hard for Jason; he loved to talk, and he loved to talk big. But as long as I was sitting there, reminding him of the consequences, my brother managed to restrain himself. I had to get up to get him another cup of coffee—the lawmen didn't want any more—and as I was coming back in the living room, Jason was saying he thought he remembered a cold dark room. I gave him a very plain look, and he said, "But you know, my head is so confused, that may just be something I dreamed."

Andy looked from Jason to me, clearly getting angrier and angrier. "I just can't understand you two," he said. His voice was almost a growl. "Sookie, I know you worried about him. I'm not making that up, am I?"

"No, I am so glad to have him back." I patted my brother's foot under the blanket.

"And you, you didn't want to be wherever you were, right? You missed work, you cost the parish thousands of dollars from our budget to search for you, and you disrupted the lives of hundreds of people. And you're sitting here lying to us!" Andy's voice was almost a shout as he finished. "Now, the same night you show up, this missing vampire on all the posters called the police in Shreveport to say he's recovering from memory loss, too! And there's a strange fire in Shreveport with all kinds of bodies recovered! And you're trying to tell me there's no connection!"

Jason and I gaped at each other. Actually, there was no connection between Jason and Eric. It just hadn't occurred to me how strange that would look.

"What vampire?" Jason asked. It was so good, I almost believed him myself.

"Let's leave, Alcee," Andy said. He slapped his notebook shut. He put his pen back in his shirt pocket with such an emphatic thrust that I was surprised he had a pocket left. "This bastard won't even tell us the truth."

"Don't you think I'd tell you if I could?" Jason said. "Don't you think I'd like to lay hands on whoever did this to me?" He sounded absolutely, one hundred percent sincere, because he was. The two detectives were shaken in their disbelief, especially Alcee Beck. But they still left unhappy with the two of us. I felt sorry for it, but there was nothing I could do.

Later that day, Arlene picked me up so I could fetch my car from Merlotte's. She was happy to see Jason, and she gave him a big hug. "You had your sister some kind of worried, you rascal," she said, with mock ferocity. "Don't you ever scare Sookie like that again."

"I'll do my best," Jason said, with a good approximation of his old roguish smile. "She's been a good sister to me."

"Now, that's God's truth," I said, a little sourly. "When I bring my car back, I think I might just run you home, big brother."

Jason looked scared for a minute. Being alone had never been his favorite thing, and after hours by himself in the cold of the shed, it might be even harder.

"I bet girls all over Bon Temps are making food to bring to your place now that they heard you're back," Arlene said, and Jason brightened perceptibly. "'Specially since I've been telling everyone what an invalid you are."

"Thanks, Arlene," Jason said, looking much more like himself.

I echoed that on the way into town. "I really appreciate you cheering him up. I don't know what all he went through, but he's going to have a rough time getting over it, I think."

"Honey, you don't need to worry about Jason. He's the original survivor. I don't know why he didn't try out for the show."

We laughed all the way into town at the idea of staging a Survivor episode in Bon Temps.

"What with the razorbacks in the woods, and that panther print, they might have an exciting time of it if we had Survivor: Bon Temps," Arlene said. "Tack and me would just sit back and laugh at them."

That gave me a nice opening to tease her about Tack, which she enjoyed, and altogether she cheered up me just as much as Jason. Arlene was good about stuff like that. I had a brief conversation with Sam in the storeroom of Merlotte's, and he told me Andy and Alcee had already been by to see if his story meshed with mine.

He hushed me before I could thank him again.

I took Jason home, though he hinted broadly he'd like to stay with me one more night. I took the Benelli with us, and I told him to clean it that evening. He promised he would, and when he looked at me, I could tell he wanted to ask me again why I'd had to use it. But he didn't. Jason had learned some things in the past few days, himself.

I was working the late shift again, so I would have a little time on my hands when I got home before I had to go in to work. The prospect felt good. I didn't see any running men on my way back to my house, and no one phoned or popped in with a crisis for a whole two hours. I was able to change the sheets on both beds, wash them, and sweep the kitchen and straighten up the closet concealing the hidey-hole, before the knock came at the front door.

I knew who it would be. It was full dark outside, and sure enough, Eric stood on my front porch.

He looked down at me with no very happy face. "I find myself troubled," he said without preamble.

"Then I've got to drop everything so I can help you out," I said, going instantly on the offensive.

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'll be polite and ask if I can come in." I hadn't rescinded his invitation, but he didn't want to just stroll into my house. Tactful.

"Yes, you can." I stepped back.

"Hallow is dead, having been forced to counter the curse on me, obviously."

"Pam did a good job."

He nodded. "It was Hallow or me," he said. "I like me better."

"Why'd she pick Shreveport?"

"Her parents were jailed in Shreveport. They were witches, too, but they also ran confidence games of some kind, using their craft to make their victims more convinced of their sincerity. In Shreveport, their luck ran out. The supernatural community refused to make any effort to get the older Stonebrooks out of jail. The woman ran afoul of a voodoo priestess while she was incarcerated, and the man ran afoul of a knife in some bathroom brawl."

"Pretty good reason to have it in for the supernaturals of Shreveport."

"They say I was here for several nights." Eric had decided to change the subject.

"Yes," I said. I tried to look agreeably interested in what he had to say.

"And in that time, we never . . . ?"

I didn't pretend to misunderstand him.

"Eric, does that seem likely?" I asked.

He hadn't sat down, and he moved closer to me, as if looking at me hard would reveal the truth. It would have been easy to take a step, be even closer.

"I just don't know," he said. "And it's making me a little aggravated."

I smiled. "Are you enjoying being back at work?"

"Yes. But Pam ran everything well during my absence. I'm sending lots of flowers to the hospital. Belinda, and a wolf named Maria-Comet or something."

"Maria-Star Cooper. You didn't send any to me," I pointed out tartly.

"No, but I left you something more meaningful under the saltshaker," he said, with much the same edge. "You'll have to pay taxes on it. If I know you, you'll give your brother some of it. I hear you got him back."

"I did," I said briefly. I knew I was getting closer to bursting out with something, and I knew he should leave soon. I'd given Jason such good advice about being quiet, but it was hard to follow it myself. "And your point is?"

"It won't last for long."

I don't think Eric realized how much money fifty thousand dollars was, by my standards. "What's your point? I can tell you have one, but I don't have an idea what it might be."

"Was there a reason I found brain tissue on my coat sleeve?"

I felt all the blood drain from my face, the way it does when you're on the edge of passing out. The next thing I knew, I was on the couch and Eric was beside me.

"I think there are some things you're not telling me, Sookie, my dear," he said. His voice was gentler, though.

The temptation was almost overwhelming.

But I thought of the power Eric would have over me, even more power than he had now; he would know I had slept with him, and he would know that I had killed a woman and he was the only one who'd witnessed it. He would know that not only did he owe me his life (most likely), I certainly owed him mine.

"I liked you a lot better when you didn't remember who you were," I said, and with that truth forefront in my mind, I knew I had to keep quiet.

"Harsh words," he said, and I almost believed he was really hurt.

Luckily for me, someone else came to my door. The knock was loud and peremptory, and I felt a jolt of alarm.

The caller was Amanda, the insulting redheaded female Were from Shreveport. "I'm on official business today," she said, "so I'll be polite."

That would be a nice change.

She nodded to Eric and said, "Glad to have you back in your right mind, vampire," in a completely unconcerned tone. I could see that the Weres and vampires of Shreveport had reverted to their old relationship.

"And good to see you, too, Amanda." I said.

"Sure," she said, but hardly as if she cared. "Miss Stackhouse, we're making inquiries for the shifters of Jackson."

Oh, no. "Really? Won't you please sit down? Eric was just leaving."

"No, I'd love to stay and hear Amanda's questions," Eric said, beaming.

Amanda looked at me, eyebrows raised.

There wasn't a hell of a lot I could do about it.

"Oh, by all means, stay," I said. "Please sit down, both of you. I'm sorry, but I don't have a lot of time before I'm due at work."

"Then I'll get right to the point," Amanda said. "Two nights ago, the woman that Alcide abjured—the shifter from Jackson, the one with the weird haircut?"

I nodded, to show I was on the same page. Eric looked pleasantly blank. He wouldn't in a minute.

"Debbie," the Were recalled. "Debbie Pelt."

Eric's eyes widened. Now, that name he did know. He began to smile.

"Alcide abjured her?" he said.

"You were sitting right there," snapped Amanda. "Oh, wait, I forgot. That was while you were under a curse."

She enjoyed the hell out of saying that.

"Anyway, Debbie didn't make it back to Jackson. Her family is worried about her, especially since they heard that Alcide abjured her, and they're afraid something might have happened to her."

"Why do you think she would have said anything to me?"

Amanda made a face. "Well, actually, I think she would rather have eaten glass than talked to you again. But we're obliged to check with everyone who was there."

So this was just routine. I wasn't being singled out. I could feel myself relax. Unfortunately, so could Eric. I'd had his blood; he could tell things about me. He got up and wandered back to the kitchen. I wondered what he was doing.

"I haven't seen her since that night," I said, which was true, since I didn't specify what time. "I have no idea where she is now." That was even truer.

Amanda told me, "No one admits to having seen Debbie after she left the area of the battle. She drove off in her own car."

Eric strolled back into the living room. I glanced at him, worried about what he was up to.

"Has her car been seen?" Eric asked.

He didn't know he'd been the one who'd hidden it.

"No, neither hide nor hair," Amanda said, which was a strange image to use for a car. "I'm sure she just ran off somewhere to get over her rage and humiliation. Being abjured; that's pretty awful. It's been years since I've heard the words said."

"Her family doesn't think that's the case? That's she's gone somewhere to, ah, think things over?"

"They're afraid she's done something to herself." Amanda snorted. We exchanged glances, showing we agreed perfectly about the likelihood of Debbie committing suicide. "She wouldn't do anything that convenient," Amanda said, since she had the nerve to say it out loud and I didn't.

"How's Alcide taking this?" I asked anxiously.

"He can hardly join in the search," she pointed out, "since he's the one who abjured her. He acts like he doesn't care, but I notice the colonel calls him to let him know what's happening. Which, so far, is nothing." Amanda heaved herself to her feet, and I got up to walk her to the door. "This sure has been a bad season for people going missing," she said. "But I hear through the grapevine that you got your brother back, and Eric's returned to his normal self, looks like." She cast him a glance to make sure he knew how little she liked that normal self. "Now Debbie has gone missing, but maybe she'll turn up, too. Sorry I had to bother you."

"That's all right. Good luck," I said, which was meaningless under the circumstances. The door closed behind her, and I wished desperately that I could just walk out and get in my car and drive to work.

I made myself turn around. Eric was standing.

"You're going?" I said, unable to keep from sounding startled and relieved.

"Yes, you said you had to get to work," he said blandly.

"I do."

"I suggest you wear that jacket, the one that's too light for the weather," he said. "Since your coat is still in bad shape."

I'd run it through the washer on cold water wash, but I guess I hadn't checked it well enough to be sure everything had come off. That's where he'd been, searching for my coat. He'd found it on its hanger on the back porch, and examined it.

"In fact," Eric said, as he went to the front door, "I'd throw it away entirely. Maybe burn it."

He left, closing the door behind him very quietly.

I knew, as sure as I knew my name, that tomorrow he would send me another coat, in a big fancy box, with a big bow on it. It would be the right size, it would be a top brand, and it would be warm.

It was cranberry red, with a removable liner, a detachable hood, and tortoiseshell buttons.