"You wouldn't happen to know anything about why the Vampire Queen of New Orleans wants me, Bill, would you?" She searched his face carefully, scientifically, looking for a tell, looking for something that might confirm her suspicions.
"Sookie, if I knew anything I would share it with you. I hope you know that" he was staring intently at his hands in his lap.
"The King of Mississippi found some documents in your possession. Documents recounting my family treeā¦" she let my words fall off, hoping he might fill in the gaping holes, and untangle the web that was circling him in his lies.
"You believe something the King of Mississippi tells you?" he looked at Sookie bitterly, like she had admitted to adultery and slave trading in the same breath.
"Bill, I spoke to my cousin. She said some things that make believe there is more than you are telling." The vampire shifted uneasily. The light from candle on the end table between them jumped across the sharp bones of his face.
When he looked up, his eyes shown painfully into her soul. Rich colored blood began to pool along his tear ducts. "I suppose then I must tell you what I want least for you to know." He paused, tension igniting the room.
"I have known the Queen for some time now. We met under circumstances that were both professional and political. I agreed to work for her, do her biding, find her favor, in legitimate ways, for if you have met the Queen, you would know that most means of finding favor include some very unprofessional maneuvers." He glanced at the attentive blonde across from him. She tried to convey no emotion, but signaled for him to continue, suggesting that she did indeed know what "unprofessional maneuvers" entailed.
"So, for my first "mission," if you will, I was asked to move back to the town of my own human roots and do a bit of digging, researching, sniffing around, of the Stackhouse family" His eyes refused to meet Sookie's as think red rivers forged their way down the geography of his face.
Sookie thought through this narrative. Rationalizing whether this was a good thing, or bad.
"I was curious to meet your grandmother, your brother, and as it turned out, you." Another long pause. "Later, I learned some of why the Queen was curious about you. When I reported back to her your abilities she was enraptured. In her zeal she conveyed to me that she was indeed interested in you for this reason. She did not relay to me what she wished to do with you, and I was concerned that she may not have your personal interest at heart. I thought that if I were to be close to you, I might be able to protect you from her." He now looked up pleading, guilt and sadness marring his features.
Sookie took a moment longer to find her voice. "You never told me." It was not a question but an accusation.
"I didn't want to burden you."
"I trusted you. Our entire relationship was created from a political motivation." This time her voice was both accusatory and hurt.
"No. Sookie, it's not like that at all. The Queen never asked that I involve myself with you, just that I observe you" Blood was now pour down his cheeks and on to the white armchair.
"But it was rewarded. It was an ambitious move. It served you well?"
"It may have been looked upon well, but I swear to you that, that was not my intent in pursuing a relationship with you."
"You have lied to me. You have used me. You have kept truths from me." She looked at him with unwavering strength, "I would like to resend your invitation into my home Bill Compton."
Bill shook his head, weeping loudly and openly, as an unseen force pushed him from his seat and pulled him out her Grandmother's front door.
As the door clicked shut, Sookie's eyes filled and blurred her vision. She felt her breath catch and an uncontrollable wave of wails fell upon her. Slumping into the arm of her chair Sookie sobbed until her eyes had all but swollen shut, her throat was hoarse, and her face was throbbing and flushed. She then stood on unsteady feet, padded into the kitchen, poured herself a tall glass of cool water and sipped it quietly.
There was a soft knock at the door just then, which roused her from her half dead reverie. Stalling just a moment to decide whether or not she should confess to being home, she walked to the door and peered out the door's window. Darkness was all she could see.
Swinging the door ajar carefully she spotted a small package sitting on the porch. An envelope was tied neatly with twine to the box. Opening it, she read in small, neat font:
I feel your pain and bear it unwell. For my sake, if not for your own, accept this gift. If it is unable to cheer you, perhaps I can be of greater service in person?
Eric
