Usual disclaimer applies to this, complete work of my imagination, all TB characters (and partial use of season 3 plotline) are the ideas and properties of Charlaine Harris and not me. All original characters not to the original storyline are of my creation, and all the rest of it...enjoy
Please note - some things will be slightly different to the story/parts of season 3 I'm including into it, such as time of year, and the fact I've made Pam's character a hell of a lot more human in nature too. These are just my own interpretations, so stick with me lol, everything is done as it is for a purpose
Chapter One.
Eric's POV.
'Eric, my precious child,
As you read this you will now be dealing with the fact I am no more, I do hope the loss you feel is not too great, you know in some small way I shall always be with you. Now, down to some business that must be attended to; I have fired Claudine on your behalf; do not reinstate her under your employment. And do not, I repeat DO NOT, fire her replacement or let her leave under any circumstances. Those are orders I command you to obey, even in my true death. I cannot be more explicit, or more firm, when I tell you her replacement will do the job just fine. She is beyond perfect for you Eric, take that however you will, but heed it too. Your new bookkeeper is more valuable to you than you can realize right now. Heed my words'.
'You leave me after a thousand years, and all I get is a cryptic note about a new fucking bookkeeper? Godric, you are absolutely astounding' I whisper to myself, frowning down at the letter my maker posted to me, that I found amongst the rest of the mail in the office of my bar, Fangtasia. I did wonder why Claudine wasn't down here looking over the books when I arrived. Normally she'd just be finishing up, efficient as she is. Or rather was, since Godric took it upon himself to fire her for me, for a reason that I confess to be a complete mystery to me. And now I cannot even broach the subject with him, sit down and ask him why he felt it so important to do the hiring and the firing of my staff for me, since just three mornings ago he decided to see his last sunrise, and burn away in front of it. I pleaded with him not to, tried to make him see how much I still needed him as his progeny, but alas my words were to no avail, his mind was made up. 2,000 plus years was enough for him it would seem, and the very thought of an existence without my beloved maker drove me to the same decision as he, to burn by his side in the dawn light. If only he hadn't have commanded me to leave, to let him see his last sunrise without me there with him. It comforts me only slightly that he did have company, he didn't go totally alone. Sookie Stackhouse stayed with him, perhaps the one human (of sorts, she's not completely human) I can stomach to have in my company for more time than it would take me to fuck or kill her. The two things all humans are ever good for if you ask me. It still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, my maker's affection for them.
But back to my pondering, why on earth did he fire Claudine? Perhaps the most reliable person I've ever met with figures, who looked after my business so well? Kept all my affairs in order and did it quickly and efficiently? What fault could he have possibly found with her? Normally anyone else pushing their nose into my business affairs would receive the kind of treatment that would make them wish they'd never been born, but Godric is (was) my maker after all, and a huge exception to that. Which is why, no matter the reason, I must trust him on this, and assume the reason behind Claudine's dismissal was one he felt important enough for him to relieve her of her position here, and replace her with some complete unknown who I must not fire or let leave, whatever the circumstance. I suppose I must also trust him with that too, that whatever reasons he may have had for this cryptic behaviour, they are all in my best interests. As my maker all he's ever wanted for me is the best, so through confusion and unanswered questions, I must accept it.
'Where's Claudine? I brought these down for her to sort out into some kind of legible order. Fucking Kerstin couldn't organise credit card payments by date order if it killed her, hell I've threatened her with that enough by now too' Pam says as she comes into my office, without knocking. Even though as my own progeny she's been with me for over a hundred years now, I still command the same level of respect.
'Firstly Pam, you know better than not to knock upon my office door by now. Secondly, if anyone is going to hand out threats over a human's mortality it's me, not you. And thirdly, Claudine won't be coming back, she's been fired' I reply as I sit behind my desk, opening the draw and sliding Godric's note inside.
'Am I allowed to ask why you fired her?' she asks, sarcasm dripping from her voice that only amuses me.
'Yes you are, but I was not the one to fire her. Godric did, so good luck to you if you want to enquire with him as to why' I reply, with more sarcasm than she could ever muster as I stand before moving rapidly out of my office and downstairs, through the small darkened secret staircase and back down to the darkened confines of my underground home below the bar, a huge open plan apartment that never sees daylight thanks to the fact its sub terrain. If it hadn't have been I'd have probably given it the same treatment as I did the bar, huge blackout blinds I had installed when I moved here, that will now have risen to let in the night. They'll close again just before dawn, and protect me, Pam and our vampire patrons from the dawn. I arrived home from Dallas just forty eight hours ago, and once I was inside the safety of the club and it's blinded windows and had gotten out of the coffin I travelled in on the plane, I stood in front of those blinds and watched them descend until nothing but black bathed the room, standing just a foot from them, with my finger extended towards the retractor button to the side, weighing up the options on offer to me. Stay, or follow my maker. The pain of losing him was the closest thing that had brought me back to feeling human for the first time in a thousand years, and I didn't care for it at all. Not one ounce.
And so I stepped back from the blinds and banished those thoughts that had not left me since I left Dallas, and deduced that my own suicide would be a total act of cowardice, and that I am strong enough to stand alone without Godric. But it doesn't mean I want to of course, and that is still what bothers me now, bothers me so much I cannot sleep, and will no doubt spend many more consecutive days awake suffering the bleeds instead of resting, with the demise of my maker firmly upon my mind. You can't just cast away the last one thousand years, and everything you shared with the vampire who became a father to you in just the blink of an eye, or the splash of a bloody tear. I will miss him greatly, this much is very true. I shall miss his guidance, company, and wisdom. But most of all I shall miss the simple things...like being able to ask him why he fired my bookkeeper...no matter what I profess I think it's going to bother me for a while yet.
Tyra's POV.
'Hey Sam, here ya go. Last month's lot done and dusted' I say to Sam Merlotte, as I sit on a high stool at the bar of his establishment I do the books for.
'Thanks Tyra' he says, shyly and quickly as usual as he takes the box file off the bar from where I slid it to him, and hurries off, waitress Sookie moving in to pass me a menu with her usual cheery smile firmly in place. We've known each other since school (I was two years above her class) but only really talked on a casual, friendly basis since I started doing the books for Merlotte's a year ago, about the time she began dating local vampire Bill Compton.
'Is he always gonna act like that?' I ask her, jerking my thumb in the direction Sam just did about 30mph in.
'He still maintains that for some reason you make him feel nervous, I don't know what it is, maybe it's a crush and he just don't wanna tell nobody. That's what Lafayette has always said anyways' she replies, before adding 'you look tired doll, all work and no play huh?'
'That sums it up nicely Miss Stackhouse, I'm so busy right now I'm barely managing five hours sleep of sleep a night. This face, this face here is down to Christian Dior, not me' I reply, pointing at my immaculate face (because it can't be anything but right now, I'm so tired I look more dead than her other half right now underneath it) and then rest my head down on the bar, making pretend and loud snoring noises while she just laughs and shakes her head warmly.
'Oh you silly thing, you do make me giggle. So, what are you having other than a coffee sweetie?' she asks me, as I peruse the menu briefly and then decide on my usual.
'Grilled cheese and turkey sandwich with coleslaw and home fries please Sookie' I reply, watching her scribble down the order.
'Coming right up' she replies with a smile, dotting her pad with the pencil she holds and turning to sashay over to the kitchen, passing Lafayette the order, who waves to me and shouts 'hey ice princess' in his usual slow, deliberate drawl.
'Hey big poppa' I reply, waving back and smiling. Ice princess, he makes me laugh. He calls me that because I have blue eyes and very pale blonde hair, and says I look 'like you live in a glacier' as he puts it. I guess I do stick out a little around here. I think most Swedish people do in the Deep South, even though I've lived here since I was four. My accent still lingers just a little too, especially since English wasn't my first language. But, Bon Temps has been home for longer than Sweden was, and it's familiar and lovely and just what I stated it to be; home. A place I cannot wait to drag my weary ass back to later after I've eaten, but in the building sense rather than the place. The one bedroom house out in the woods (in very close proximity to Lafayette's place too, just across the road down by the lake) I was able to buy after setting up my own accounts firm, just me as a one woman operation working out of a small office at home, or at clients' premises, whichever is most convenient for them. Most don't trust enough for that, to just take their books and banking information and leave their premises, well, my vampire customers seem to be a little more like that at the moment, since most of them are under examination by the IRS. In fact, the undead make up two thirds of my business right now because of that. And tomorrow I take on another one, starting my first day of taking up the reins of the bookwork for a vampire bar in nearby Shreveport. A vampire named Eric Northman owns the place, but it was 'an associate' of his with a strangely familiar voice who contacted me about the position and between us we arranged for me to start tomorrow, when he called and enquired as to if I was 'happy to deal with vampires as clients' just over a fortnight ago.
'One grilled cheese and turkey, enjoy darlin' Sookie says to me as she places my order down on the table, and then refills my coffee from the almost empty pot in her hand before bustling away with a smile once more and leaving me to happily dig in to the first meal I've eaten since my bran flakes and fruit at 7am. Yeah I know, I work too damn hard and don't take enough time for myself, story of my life really. It's something my adoptive mother and father instilled in me from an early age, the value of a hard day's work and I've never forgotten it. So much so my hard day's work often leads into the night, but not tonight, oh no! Tonight I'm going to go from here and drive my overtired, overworked ass right on home and throw it right into a tub of hot water. And speaking of my parents, when I do finally arrive back at my humble abode just over forty five minutes later, I find a box waiting for me on the porch.
'I did hope I might have caught you at home, I'm starting to forget what you look like these days! Pop your head around our door to remind your mother and I what our only child looks like, and enjoy these, fresh from the patch.
Daddy xxx'
I smile fondly and with sad humour as I read my fathers' note to me, feeling a little guilty that I haven't been to see him and mom in two weeks now. When my own mother died I really fell on my feet when I was placed into their care as a scared six year old child, still wondering when she was going to see her mother again, not quite understanding what it meant when the foster family who cared for me in the weeks following her murder told me 'your mommy died, it means you can't see her again'. They have loved me and raised me as theirs without question, to them I'm the only daughter they'll ever know, but also they perfectly understood that they weren't the only parents I had known. That's the reason they didn't get angry or upset when a few years later I decided not to take their family name of Jameson, and wanted to stick with my mother's ancient family name, Boden. I'm still very much loyal to my Swedish heritage in that respect, and I love my mom and dad even more for respecting that, respecting that I wanted to carry my family name still, and not let this particular line of the Boden clan die out. We're of a very old Swedish lineage apparently. I sadly never knew my real father, who died in a boating accident just eight weeks before I was born, and my biological mother I only knew for six years, until she was murdered by an assailant who was never caught. Nor does anyone know why my mother was targeted exactly; they just broke into our home, broke her neck and left her there for dead on the floor of the kitchen.
It took me a long, long time to get over her murder, no child should ever have to go through that, losing their parents at such a tender age (hell, I was -1 when I lost my father). But the loving care of Joyce and Albert Jameson guaranteed I turned out a good kid after such a sad start in life, and they shaped me into the person I know would make my real mother and father very proud. But anyway enough of this sad talk, conversing about my parents' demise has never made me feel particularly comfortable as I'm sure you can imagine. After putting the box of vegetables in the kitchen and pouring myself a large glass of red wine, I drop my bag and jacket down on the couch, pulling out my cell and switching it off, and then casting it back down on top of the pile and heading off into the bathroom. My tub calls me.
And into the hot water I sink so happily just over ten minutes later, the sounds of black metal band Emperor filtering through my stereo speakers after I hooked up my I-pod while the bath water ran. Some think I'm strange for finding such raw and dark music soothing; but I always find and love beauty in chaos. And their music is quite chaotic I suppose you could say, like a lot of my other musical preferences too. I like aggression; I find something about it desirable. I'm strange like that I guess. Lying back in the hot water as the music continues to drift in through the open bathroom door and into my ears, pushing all the dollar signs and numbers out, I feel myself begin to really unwind, so much so that decide to set my glass down carefully on the side of the tub, just in case I do fall asleep. Red wine is a bitch to get out of cream coloured carpet. As predicted, just a few more gulps of my wine and a couple more songs later and I drift off to sleep, my heavy eyelids no longer able to prop themselves open and drifting shut, not to open again for an hour when I wake to find myself lying in a very, very cold bath full of water, and diving out at speed to wrap myself in towels to warm up again. After draining and then cleaning the bath tub I pick up my glass and take it out with me, placing it into the sink and picking up a clean large tumbler to fill with water that I take to bed with me once I've double checked all the windows and doors are locked, and padded through to my bedroom to remove the wet towels from my body and hair, hang them on the radiator to dry and then sort out coming my long hair back and braiding it, moisturising my face and hopping into bed. I've always slept naked, I hate the confines of clothes when I'm in bed, and just use extra blankets to keep out the cold. Especially being a single girl right now and not having a nice warm body there to keep me warm too.
'I promise I'll sleep until at least nine in the morning, I know what you're thinking, and you're right I do work too hard. But that new client I'm doing the books for has instructed I arrive after sun down, so I don't have to be there until 5pm either. I'll actually do a little relaxing tomorrow, promise you I will, because wherever you are, I know you still worry, I can feel it somehow' I say out loud as I talk to the photograph of my beautiful mother, pride of place on my nightstand in a beautiful ornate gold frame. I always talk to her, usually at the start and end of each day, something my adoptive mom encouraged me to do from an early age. She and dad explained death so wonderfully to me, with so much more detail than the foster parents I stayed with did, and with much more concern for my emotions too.
'You see, when someone dies, we firmly believe their soul still floats around those who they loved but had to leave, and daddy and I both believe she watches over you pumpkin, she's still with you, you just can't see her is all. And we know you miss her, but listen to this. We know she misses you too, so talk to her, let her hear your voice, then you both won't be so lonely anymore will you? Not that daddy or I will ever let you get lonely precious, we'll always be here for you'.
I remember that speech like it was spoken to me yesterday, as I sat on the edge of my new bed in my new home, feeling so alone still, clutching the very picture that rests in front of me right now in my hands too. I still feel incredibly lucky to have two mothers, one who watches over me in the land of the living, and the other from the realm of the dead.
'Goodnight mom, love you' I tell the one who's no longer there, and make a mental note to give the one who is a call tomorrow and arrange to go and see her. And with that, quick is the rate that I fall back into dreamland, having no idea whatsoever that when I open my eyes again tomorrow, I will open them to the day that will begin the course of events to change my life forever...
'Shit, shit, SHIT! STUPID SECOND HAND!' I scream with annoyance as I run across my house the next day at 4.20pm and fling my useless broken watch down on the couch, forty minutes before I have to be in Shreveport to start work with my new client. I've been out enjoying a nice long afternoon jog, and now unless I move at the speed my new client possesses (vampires move faster than our eyes can detect of course) I'm going to be running very late to get there for 5pm as instructed, since my watch decided to break down on me at 3.30pm, only realizing the time when I looked up at my old mantle clock as I came into the house. And so thanking my lucky stars I already did my hair this morning (washed, conditioned and straightened) all I have to do is give it a good brush once I've untied it after the shower I plan to be in and out of within two minutes, dry, dress and collect my stuff before I'm out the door. I'll do my makeup when I hit the inevitable traffic leading into Shreveport. I don't wear much anyway so mascara, eyeshadow and eyeliner can all be added to my face as various stops in tailbacks or traffic lights when they turn red, which I manage to do and finish with a small twist of blush to my pale cheeks as my Sat Nav system directs me to the road the bar leads off, being able to see Fangtasia come into sight as I round the corner and slow down to pull into the parking lot. I know, Shreveport isn't a million miles away from Bon Temps, but I'm useless with maps, utterly useless. I need a voice telling me 'turn left, take the next exit on the right, stay in the middle lane' etc, etc.
Opening my car door I pull my long wool coat around me more to keep out the January cold, walking over to the main doors through the newly cast down darkness as quickly as I can even though I'm actually a little bit early, and knocking them once I get there. The club itself is huge, a big corrugated iron building that stretches at least forty feet back from its much narrower frontage, which looks a lot less ugly than the iron what with its plush padded leather door. The neon sign is a little cheesy though.
'We don't open for another hour, unless you're our new bookkeeper?' A vampire woman who is immaculately dressed in leather pants and a long sleeve tight pink sweater with perfect makeup says to me once she's pulled the heavy door open.
Yes, Tyra Boden, pleased to meet you' I say, offering my hand that she looks at for a few moments before deciding to shake, giving me a thin smile.
'Pamela Swynford De Beaufort, but you can call me Pam. Follow me please, and I must say those pumps are to die for. If I wasn't dead already' she says, suddenly looking down at my feet and then back up at me with another quick flicker of a smile. Vampires aren't overly friendly, but then they're not as aggressive or sullen as many people would have you think. And this one certainly has a good eye for shoes if nothing else.
'Thank you' I reply, walking along behind her as she leads me through the club and over to a black painted door, opening it to reveal an office within.
'Okay, so basically Eric likes his affairs kept in meticulous order so requires his bookkeeper here for two days a week to deal with all the accounts, make sure everything is as I just stated; meticulous. He's very, very fussy with his finances and his business, so just be warned there. Right, well there's the computer as you can see, feel free to use it of course and the box file on the desk of the last two weeks books, and I took the liberty of at least trying to organise the last fourteen days of credit card payment receipts into some sort of logical order, since one of our bar tenders just cannot get her brain in gear for long enough to do it correctly. But I have to confess I've had more pressing demands on my time, so they're all there in the box next to the books. Enjoy' she says before giving me that same kind of half smile, and turning on her heel to leave, throwing 'Eric will be awake in the next hour, so he'll come and introduce himself then' before the door swings shut behind her, and I sit down and open the box containing the many, many credit card slips, figuring I should begin this arduous task of arranging them into date order as soon as I can. Honestly, how difficult is it to lay down all the receipts in one of the bill holders in the register on top of each other so they are all in order and then staple them together at the end of each night? Very difficult going on the disgust in Pam's voice as she spoke of the girl who'd messed them up is anything to go by.
And so I sit in the quiet office and begin reading through the printed dates on the slips and arranging little piles in front of me, until I have fourteen all down in order and can staple them together, and then tally them into the spreadsheet I have opened on the computer, hooking up my external hard drive so I can keep a record of Fangtasia's accounts for myself too. It's always safer to back up than risk your client losing all of your files if their machine suffers a blip. I learned at the hard way as a rookie bookkeeper many years ago, which got me fired from my first job and gave me the determination I needed never to make that mistake again, and also decide to go it alone and start up my own business. And so after entering all the figures I need to begin the sums to balance it up I then open the box file and begin to pull out all the invoices and enter those in date order too, the numbers all now starting to add up nicely as I go through each figure, invoice, register balance and credit card receipt, working away quickly and efficiently as I feel everything starting to make sense. I like that about my work, when the numbers all add up. It's when they don't add up that the problems begin.
'You must be Tyra, Eric Northman' I suddenly hear, my head snapping up and my eyes fixing on my new boss...who happens to be the most beautiful thing I've ever cast my eye over, and makes my breath catch in my throat like it's been gripped by an iron fist. Forget numbers that wont tally, I think this is when the problems are going to begin...