AN: If you've made it this far, then you were able to tolerate my poorly written description and clicked on my story anyway. Yay for both of us, right? I've been a rabid reader of FF for years and often it's the "hook" of the description that has grabbed me and introduced me to all the wonderfully gifted and talented authors inside. Hopefully, in spite of my woefully limited description, you'll stick with me. I've been a casual writer for many years and this story has been nagging at my brain for months. I hope you enjoy and constructive criticism is welcome. Your thoughts will help me decide whether to continue.
Additional small disclaimer: totally un-beta'd. All mistakes belong to OurLadyofBonbons. Unfortunately, the characters therein do not. They belong to Charlaine Harris_ Our Lady of Viking Glory (although she egregiously misuses him from time to time)
Chapter 1
Did I know you?
They found the gun right where Gran said it would be.
The old Benelli was thrown haphazardly from the small farmhouse porch where it had been fired and landed in the midst of Adele Stackhouse's prized azealas. The farmhouse had been in our family for generations; its once sunny painted sides faded to the pale yellows of early morning, its whitewashed shutters and trim remained as bright and pristine as the day they were originally hung. A bucket of whitewash paint was cheap enough for this generation of Stackhouse's to incur. Gran had always taken such pride in her home and the welcome open door it offered to anyone looking to spend a few hours in quiet company or to simply gossip like old hens around the kitchen table. I remembered when we had last painted, Jason and I. It was nearing Gran's birthday and even though she always insisted that we not make a fuss, it was easy to see the pride and joy in her eyes as she showcased our meager offers to those few guests we received. I had taken her to one of her favorite lunch spots in Monroe for the day with a quick stop at the public library to stall for time so Jason and Hoyt Fortenberry could finish the work. But, like all the other "surprises" we had planned for Gran, she somehow always knew.
"Let's not tarry too long at lunch dear, I want to hurry home this afternoon.", her voice was full of classic Adele Stackhouse mischief. There was a smile behind every word. Once again, there would be no surprising her.
"Gran, what's your big hurry? It's a beautiful day, what could be better than spending it together? Out enjoying a big lunch and finding new stories to read?" I smiled my brightest smile at her hoping against hope that she bought it. I had always been an avid reader, another of the many gifts from Gran. She told me that there was knowledge in books and that in the pages of fiction were always a little bit of truth.
"People write about what they know", she would say, "even the fantastical, even the most crazy, silly thing, there's a person in there trying to tell their own story, Sookie". Gran would mostly pick books about far away imaginary lands; books about dragons and elfs or mysterious rings and creatures out to protect them. I found myself drawn to Sweet Valley High. Those twins always had the best stories. Living high school through them was always so much easier than as "Crazy Sookie". Thanks to my gift, I knew I would never have normal worries, so theirs was a nice skin to slip into. Jessica and Elizabeth never had to "hear" what boys thought about them, or that teachers thought they might be mentally retarded, or that their brother could really do something with his life if he didn't have her tying him down.
After collecting our books we headed home to Hummingbird Lane where I'd hoped that Jason and Hoyt had finished their not so secret, secret surprise for Gran's birthday. As we made our way up the bumpy gravel driveway, I could see both boys sitting on the porch. Shirtless and sweating in the summer sun, their hair damp and messy, sticking to their foreheads. Just in time, I thought. Gran's smile widened and brightened rivaling the light of the freshly painted shutters and wood porch. She was bounding out of the car towards them before I had the car stopped.
"OH, my boys, my sweet, sweet boys", she said while pulling them both into a hug, "What fine young men to do this for me, oh I love you both so, so much", she said releasing them both with kisses to their sweaty cheeks.
That was Gran.
The woman that gave Jason and I a home, a safe haven after our parents were killed. The woman who sang us to sleep at night when we missed them ignoring her own tears for her lost son. The woman who taught us to be polite and strong and brave, who fed us, clothed us and loved us as fiercely as a mama bear loves her cubs. She had done all this with never an expectation of getting anything in return. Being selfish was never even on the radar for a woman like her. So these small tokens from us, genuinely blessed her. That night she sat on her stool in the kitchen on the phone telling everyone about the great birthday surpise she had recieved. Jason stood off to the side finishing off one of Gran's homemade buttermilk biscuits, listening intently with his own smile hiding just below the surface of his handsome face. You would've thought he'd slain a dragon from one of Gran's fantasy books the way she went on. Our gifts, efforts and deeds were worth a kings ransom in her eyes. He winked at me and I laughed and shook my head. Our love for this woman was immeasurable.
Among her many treasures was the birdhouse that Jason had made in 10th grade woodshop class. It had earned a place of honor on the outer rail of the wooden porch. Gran and I would spend many a morning listening to the songs of birds flittering in and out. We would laugh at each other and try to mimic the birds with our own whistles. I had painted it for him, the same colors as our home, pale yellow walls and white shutters. In place of the gray slate roof of our real home, I had chosen a light blue to match the sky. Looking at it now, half broken against the porch and spattered with red dots that from a distance could've been mistaken for painted lady bugs, filled me with unbridled sorrow. The red mingling with the mornings cold dew gave off an irradescent sheen as if it were filled with glitter. I turned my face away. I couldn't, wouldn't look at it. Instead I turned my eyes to the flower beds that lined the house. These too were once Gran's pride and joy. I thought of the countless hours she'd spent tending to the prized bushes; her trusty iron trowel in hand whistling songs of happiness and giving life lessons disguised as gardening tips. I closed my eyes and imagined them in full bloom; delicate explosions of pinks and purples. The fragrant blooms scented the summer night air and more memories washed over me. I could see my brother and I chasing fireflies around the yard. Gran always called them "Fairy lights". She said that if we ever wandered too far from home that the Fairy lights would lead us back. And so we weaved in and out of Gran's flower beds as the smells of summer permeated through us, in our hair, our clothes, sunlight and sunscreen, the aromatic night air and the sacchrine sweet smell of sweaty children. I always imagined it smelled like magic. Summer, innocence, safety, home. Nothing else need exist in our tiny corner of the world, nothing else mattered.
But as dawn began to break cold on that February morning, those imagined blooms were gone. In their place, brown skeletal branches scratched against the peeling paint of the house. The Benelli lay exposed; its wood grain handle imprinting in the muddy mulch and its steel barrell gathering frost. Half frozen condensation dripped like tears off the trusty gun, unlike my own tears which whether frozen behind my eyes or my mind was still too in shock to release them, had refused to come. Even though winter in Lousiana is mild, that morning chilled me to my bones. I blew out a breath and watched it steam in front of me and swirl away toward the heavens carrying unwhispered prayers of "please let this not be real, let this all be a bad dream".
Sheriff Bud Dearborn's gentle steps through the crisp grass reminded me solemnly that it wasn't either of those things. His approach could have as well been those of a giant stomping through a tiny village, the grass crunching beneath his feet mimicking the sound of glass breaking in compared to the silence that surrounded us. Bud had been a friend to the Stackhouse's for as long as I could remember. He was old for as long as I could remember. But truth be told he was roughly the same age as Gran and I could tell with my "other ears", that he was struggling to find the words to say to me. It was just as well, I don't imagine I would've had anything to say in return. Instead, I pulled my worn plaid house coat tighter around my waist and hugged myself for warmth, for strength. My eyes soon fixed on the grisly scene ahead of me; searching the wooded backdrop for the Fairy lights of my childhood to lead me back to the home I once knew. With my regular ears I could faintly hear the keening wails of Adele Stackhouse from inside the kitchen. The rest was blessed silence.
The signs had been there, for anyone willing to see. But there is a certain denial that comes from having to accept that the people you love are no longer quite the people you love. It started small, about two years ago. Gran would misplace things. Occasionally I would find the keys to the car in the refrigerator or she would turn the house upside down looking for her reading glasses only to pass a mirror and find them sitting on top of her lovely white hair. She would laugh her musical laugh which lit up her whole face and added a twinkle to her eyes and say to me, "Oh, Sookie be thankful for your youth, one day you won't be able to find your nose on your own face." Months later I would find her in the living room, her hand on the door knob and a look of genuine concern on her beautiful wrinkled face.
"Gran, is everything ok?", I asked cautiously. She paused and looked thoughtfully at me and again at the door knob before smiling nervously.
"Mmmhmm, yes dear, I just can't seem to remember if I'm coming or going. Perhaps it's best if I just go lie down awhile".
The last six months had showm a real decline in Gran's well being. I remembered the call as if it were yesterday. I was working the lunch shift at Merlotte's. Aside from the Renard Parish Road crew, which was comprised almost entirely of boys I had grown up with and included my brother Jason, the bar was almost empty. As most days, Layfayette had music blasting from the kitchen and was singing along to "Dontcha wish your girlfriend was hot like me", making up his own vulgar and nasty lyrics to boot. I took the boys' order to the window and thrust it annoyed towards the flamboyant short order cook.
"You know, Layfayette, Sam's not gonna like it if you keep singing those nasty songs where everyone can hear. This is a family place." I'd said with just a little too much righteous dignation. I instantly felt bad. I smiled my best real smile to let him know I was teasing.
"Sookie, my lil cookie," he began with his exaggerated southern drawl, "Sam in his office doing God knows what, and besides, how d' you think a family get started?" He scrunched up his face and began thrusting his hips and grunting. I gasped and covered my eyes embarrassed.
"Lafayette, STOP!", I begged through the giggles.
"Sookie, who gonna see me?", he asked waving his spatula around the room, " Ain't nobody up in here 'cept your fine ass brother and the Lord God knows he already hit e'erything in Bon Temps...twice".
I couldn't argue with that. Jason did have quite the reputation as a ladies man. I figured it was probably just fine that I was a 25 year old virgin who had only ever been to second base with JB Durone before his thoughts about "finishing" before third brought that to a screeching halt. My brother was having enough relations for three men and probably relations with those three men's wives or girlfriends if the rumors were true. Layfayette snapped me out of my moment of self pity.
"Now, Sook, whatchu need is a big, strong man to do you right and 'fore you know it, you be shakin' that tight ass and singing with me. Trust it girl, sometimes when you ain't lookin' I sees the way boss man lookin' at you," he leered at me. I was shocked at the revelation. Sam Merlotte was my friend,my boss. Although he was handsome in his own shaggy way, I never looked at Sam that way.
"Sam?", I questioned in disbelief.
"Sookie!,", I heard my name called from behind the bar. Lafayette could only raise his eyebrows and pucker his glossed lips as if to say, "told ya". I turned to see Sam raking his hands through his reddish brown mop of hair. I said a quick silent prayer that my embarrassment over my conversation with Lafayette didn't show. The closer he got, the less I worried about me and the more I began to worry about him. Sam looked distraught, scared. He rushed over to me, placing his strong hands on my arms and steading me for the upcoming blow. This was going to be bad. I could never"read" Sam, his thoughts were always fuzzy to me and at that point, I didn't think I'd want to. Sam's thoughts came to me as colors and this was a loud grey/green. It felt like fear, sickness, caution.
"Sookie, it's Adele. Something's wrong. I just got a call from Patrice Lefevre over at the Monroe library. Your Gran is there and well, 'chere, she's making quite a scene. She won't let anyone near her, screaming and hollering about your grandaddy. It sounds real bad, chere." he shook his head slowly, staring into my eyes with a sorrow I'd never seen from him before. " Patrice called an ambulance and they're on the way to help."
In the time it took me to absorb what I'd heard, Jason rushed up behind me.
"Sis, get in the truck we're going" and before I could speak, tell Sam thank you or remember my own name, we were out the door and headed towards Monroe and our Gran. We made the whole trip in silence. It didn't occur to me to peek in Jason's head to see what he was thinking. I could tell from his clenched jaw, his deep exasperated sighs and the way he would angrily wipe at the tears forming in his eyes that he was thinking the same thing I was; our Gran was leaving us. In her place would be a ghost of the lady we loved so fiercely who, as Dr. Burke had told us at her last visit, may forget when to go to the bathroom, forget who we are, forget who she is, forget to eat, forget even how to swallow. He suggested we think about putting her in an old folks home eventually. He said that the stuggle to care for someone with Gran's problem was too overwhelming for two young people just starting their lives. He didn't know that we owed our very lives to the woman sitting outside the door making confused pleasant small-talk with his receptionist.
As the tears came hot and salty from my eyes, Jason reached over and grabbed my hand tightly in his, "We'll get through this, Sis. This thing and the next thing and the next thing after that.", he brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed it quickly. " Gran's not going anywhere. We're all we've got left." In that moment I wanted nothing more than to believe him. I needed to believe him. And so I did.
That day with Gran had indeed been the worst of it. My heart broke into a million tiny pieces and as I took in the damage that she had done. Books were strewn all over the floor, tables and globes knocked over. Patrice Lefevre was being seen to by the paramedic for a cut on her cheek where a particularly heavy book had been thrown at her. Jason stayed with her, trying to piece together what had happened. I could hear the pity in Patrice's mind, "Poor Ms. Stackhouse finally gone 'round the bend". I approached Gran softly. She lay back on the ambulance cot breathing oxygen through a mask. The paramedic with her told me he'd given her a shot of medication to help calm her. As I looked into her eyes I could see the glazed, far away look that was the cost of being calm.
"Gran?," I whispered to her, "It's Sookie, you're going to be ok, you're going to be ok. You're safe now."
She turned her head slowly towards the sound of my voice looking through me not at me, " Sookie?, what an unusual name. Tell me girl, did I know you? Oh you're such a pretty thing, I'm sure you were there in the woods too..." her voice trailed off as she looked around. Her thoughts kept coming at me, louder than her voice and I could feel undertones of sadness, confusion and fear, such overwhelming fear.
She didn't know me. She didn't recognize me. As I knelt on the floor, I gave in to the sadness that wracked me and felt its full weight drag my shoulders down as I sobbed.
"What's wrong dear?" Gran asked in response to my tears, " are you hurt? Did they hurt you too? Oh, my this will not do..." she continued uninterrupted in her disoirented banter until Jason came and knelt with me, wrapping a consoling arm around my shoulders.
"YOU GET AWAY FROM HER!", Gran screamed, shocking both Jason and I back to the grim reality of the situation. "If your brother were here, he'd KILL you where you stand..."
Before the shock could register and before she could continue growling at my brother, the paramedic at her side raised another needle full of sedative and plunged it into her arm. She fell mercifully silent within minutes and soon we heard the peaceful snores of sleep.
We brought her home from the hospital two nights later against the better judgement of Dr. Burke. Things fell into an uneasy peace around the Stackhouse home. We were always on guard and Jason and I made an unofficial pact that Gran would never be left alone. It seemed like that burden was shifted to me after a few weeks. Jason had become the absentee guardian. I worried that Gran's violent outburst at the library was the cause.
"Jas, you ok? You know that Gran was not in her right mind when she yelled at you. She didn't know us for a minute, she was scared is all." I pleaded with him over dinner. We each sat with a full plate of fried ham and potatoes untouched in front of us. Neither of us had much of an appetite these days. I'd begun to notice that my once snug shorts were now a little looser around the waist and my usually bright eyes were now rimmed in the black bags of sleepless nights. Jason seemed to wear his battle scars with much less effort. Some mornings I'd swear he was glowing. His eyes were bright and shiny, he never lacked for energy or strength. I knew that he left us every night at sundown for the last month, maybe he went home and went straight to sleep. It's amazing what a few hours of uninterrupted sleep can do for a body, or so I've heard.
"Yes, Sook, I'm ok. I know that wasn't my fault, hell it's not her fault. It's just..." he dropped off.
"Just what, Jas?" I prodded.
"It's just that things don't make any sense Sookie. Look, I know how Doc Burke says this Old Timers disease works, but with Gran...it's like she's looking for something, searching for something. Like...like she's got something to do that's real important or say that's real important."
I nodded my head in agreement. Gran's confusion had taken on a need and a life of it's own. There was an urgency to it. Every evening when I had taken her the fresh squeezed lemonade that had recently become the only thing she would drink, she'd ask me if I'd seen her letters. Over and over the letters. On Jason's lemonade trips, he too had been questioned about the letters. At night I'd hear her in her room talking to herself in that same urgent tone. Other nights she would sing and laugh to herself and still other nights there were heated arguments with herself. Jason had looked for these "letters of Gran's .He'd spent days tracking years old attic dust through the house and opening old family bibles until he eventually gave up the hunt. Or he found something else to capture his imagination. I was in the process of mentally shrugging my shoulders when Jason spoke,
" I'm not going to be around the next few nights", he said suddenly. The look and disappointment on my face must've spurred him into finishing that thought because before I could protest he continued, "I've got a friend who..specializes in things with folks' memories. I'm thinking maybe she could help Gran remember what it is she's looking for."
A woman? Typical Jason Stackouse. I didn't even have the strength to be disappointment or disgusted. And I also couldn't do the Boot Scootin' Boogie all over his efforts if he was genuinely trying to help.
"Sure, Jason, that sounds great", I managed with a sympathetic smile, "We'll see you in a few days, I love you."
"Love you too, Sook. Kiss Gran goodnight for me..."
The resuming broken glass under Sheriff's Dearborn's feet as he shuffled closer to me, brought me back to the here and now. Once again, I didn't need him to tell me what would happen next. I had seen the blue van meander it's way up the crooked drive and watched in silence as Mike Spencer and his newest assistant climbed out of the back pulling with them a white gurney covered by a thick black bag. Mike's assistant was an unually loud broadcaster and his thoughts rolled off him like waves shocking the prisitine silence like a lightening strike.
"Poor sonofabitch", he thought, "I figured this tom cat would meet the end of a loaded barrel one day. I figured it would be on account of a jealous husband, not his own Gran. Lord, that poor old woman, I bet she don't even know what she did. Oh, there's that hot piece of ass Sookie, I wonder if she'll need some consoling after all this is done.".
In the back of my mind a felt a tingle, a small nudge that reminded me of a butterfly swarming a flower. Drifting just close enough to touch, but not enough to disturb and felt my attention drawn to the source. A spot in the woods just past Mike's van. Someone was there watching, but no one was there watching. A soft black vaccuum that was a welcome respite from the assistants vile thoughts.
As quick as it came, it was gone. And I stood there alone; frozen to the same February earth and watched them carefully load my brother's body into that black bag.
All chapters come with a free song to set the mood...this Chapter- "Did I know you?" by Cynthia Scott