Junkyard Justice
I
The male vampire stood in the desolate junkyard, the place deserted except for the other vampires who had brought him here this evening for final justice. He was surrounded by unfeeling creatures of his own kind, creatures who took delight in the unfolding events of their dirty and littered surroundings. The Magister sat on a make-shift throne, balanced high upon a heap of broken wood and twisted metal — a way to remain 'above' the crowd, even if his seat was no more than an old rusty chair abandoned for the junk pile. He was imposing and authoritative, trained during the Spanish Inquisition; his decisions brooked no room for disagreement, and his word was final. Always.
"William Compton, you have broken an ancient and fundamental law by staking a higher life form. You value human life above life of your own kind," the Magister sneered from upon his corroded perch. Hisses and growls erupted from the gathered assembly. "You have been sentenced to final death by this Vampire Court, with punishment to be carried out by Eric Northman."
The harsh verdict stunned the doomed vampire. But there was no time to resist or petition the injustice of it. The Tribunal Court had delivered a just ruling in its eyes: a death by staking as recompense for a death by staking. Of course the unexpected twist, which the Magister declared 'creative and fitting,' involved using a vampire not of the Court to carry out the sentence. Since the victim, a vampire bartender, had been both a subject and employee of the Sheriff of Area Five, it was within the Sheriff's rights to exact payment himself. The tall, blond Sheriff shrewdly kept his face expressionless in response to the Magister's judgment, but inwardly, he couldn't have been more pleased by this surprising turn of events. He had been offered a perfect opportunity to eliminate a major obstacle in the way of the ultimate prize he sought: the human girl.
Sentencing was over; the execution would now play out. The Magister's two deputies advanced upon the condemned man after a nod from their superior. One of them, a burly dark-haired bouncer-type, wore gloves to protect himself from the silver chains he held. The other deputy, equally large and intimidating, carried a large black velvet box, a beautifully elaborate item quite incongruous with the dismal, seedy surroundings of the junkyard. With lightning speed, deputy #1 chained the defendant's arms to his chest, weakening the prisoner before he could even consider fleeing. Escape would be a fruitless effort, anyway, given the sheer number of vamps surrounding him; their strength and speed were far superior to his this evening. In particular, the Sheriff was a former Viking with remarkably potent battle skills, unmatched by any of the other vampires present, the Magister included.
Compton was pushed roughly to the littered ground in an undignified heap and forced on his back; the silver effectively weakened and restrained him, burning him in the process. As if to rid himself of any connection to the accused, the first deputy removed his unneeded gloves and threw them among the nearby littered waste. The once-proud defendant was disheartened to be spending his last moments on earth shackled and powerless, surrounded by dirt and discards, yet another victim of vampire politics.
The Sheriff was called over to assume his role in the proceedings. Deputy #2 handed him the velvet box, and in understood agreement, the lid was opened to reveal a large, polished ceremonial stake, complete with matching mallet. Wasting no time, the contents were removed and the three vampires moved in more closely, one standing behind and one forward, as the Sheriff knelt closer to his victim.
The doomed vampire closed his eyes, in order to fix his last thoughts on the human who was ultimately responsible for the situation he now faced. He had saved her life, and he would do it all over again, if given the chance. In the short time they had been together, she had stirred memories and feelings within him not felt in over a century — she had brought back some of his humanity, even if his possession of a soul remained questionable.
Time was running out for him: there was great irony in that fact. A vampire has nothing but time when faced with immortality. Perhaps he deserved to finally die, as did all vampires — for cheating death the first time around, for committing brutal crimes to satisfy his bloody nature. Tonight he would finally pay the price for those dark deeds, yet what he wouldn't give to feel the human girl in his arms one last time. If only he could see his Sookie again, once more, and return to her as he promised. Then he could go to his fate in peace.
The silver chains continued to burn the exposed flesh on his arms, immobilizing him except for his legs. For some reason, those limbs remained unrestrained, and he tried to reason if somehow he could use that to his advantage. If he raised his legs at just the right moment, could he kick away an assailant and raise himself to a sitting position? But then what? He was surrounded by vampires, and he still had to free himself from the silver if he was to have any chance of escape. He needed an ally, just one vampire who could help release him and fight off the deputies long enough for him to flee. Then he could make it back to Bon Temps before sunrise and see her once more to say goodbye.
As these thoughts flashed into the doomed vampire's brain, the Sheriff looked to the Magister for final direction.
II
When Compton felt the first poke of the stake's point stabbing into his chest, he opened his eyes. The Sheriff's cold steel-blue eyes sparkled with victory as he leaned over his charge. The unlucky vampire below him could feel a sharp pain as the stake was further wedged into position, the mallet raised high as it awaited its descent. Compton's eyes closed involuntarily in preparation for the final blow, but then opened again. What he saw this time astonished him: with a sly grin, the Sheriff winked at him. A conspiratorial wink, giving him hope that a plan was about to unfold.
Instantly, the Sheriff removed the stake and swung around behind him to thrust it into the chest of the unsuspecting deputy. In a flash, he retrieved one of the discarded gloves from the ground, using it to grab the silver chains and free the vampire prisoner from his restraints. By now the other deputy realized the danger and lunged for Compton, who was still recovering from the effects of the silver. Using the strength in his legs, he kicked the deputy hard, knocking his attacker backwards. The Sheriff joined the scuffle, twisting the neck of the deputy until he was sure his opponent was dead. Finally dead.
Surprisingly, the surrounding crowd stood motionless, unsure of what to do. The loud bellow from the Magister echoed throughout the junkyard, urging a few bystanders into action. The Sheriff swiftly retrieved a dagger from his waist and took down the first approaching enemy, affording Compton the opportunity to stand and prepare for battle as well.
"Go!" Northman ordered. "Go to her!"
The vampire wasted no time obeying his sheriff, glancing back long enough to see the crowd moving in while his rescuer reached again for the stake. Compton found it odd and surprising that Eric Northman would defend him at all, but there was no time left to ponder the actions which had freed him tonight. He knew, however, that he would never truly be free; he was a marked vampire now, and the Magister would have assassins on his trail as soon as possible. Northman's sacrifice tonight was noble, and the fugitive planned on taking advantage of the little time he had left.
He ran at vampire speed through the nearby neighborhoods, unsure of his exact location but somehow sensing the way back home. Very few hours remained before sunrise, and it was critical that he reach Sookie before daylight. His heightened senses could detect no followers while he continued navigating his surroundings on autopilot.
Then time seemed to stop — it was as if he was moving through a vacuum, and he lost all sense of time and space. When he suddenly found himself in the familiar cemetery between his own house and hers, he slowed down to regain his strength. He was so close, so close, but the first signs of dawn were rapidly approaching.
He was in acute pain now, his arms still burning from the discarded silver, his chest still throbbing from the removed stake's point. Just a little further to reach her, to see her once more. He stumbled through the graveyard, finally recognizing her porch in the shadows of the early sun's rays. And then she was standing there waiting for him, sweet and inviting, her wide smile lighting up her face. So beautiful! He moved forward to reach for her with extended arms. But as he grasped her outstretched hand, he felt a piercing, stunning blow to his chest. A crashing, thunderous roar overtook his senses at the same time a shocking white light blinded him to all awareness. Then all fell silent and dark.
William Compton was finally dead, his chained body disintegrating under the blunt force of a hammered wooden stake. As a vampire sheriff leaned over the ashy remains and reached for a black velvet box, the evening crowd dispersed from a bleak and dirty junkyard.
Final justice had been served.
A/N: I cannot take any credit for this clever plot device, one which may be familiar to many readers from their days in high school English class. Ambrose Bierce's classic short story, "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," expertly used this technique to detail the final moments of a Confederate sympathizer about to be hanged by Union soldiers. As the noose tightens, the prisoner imagines his daring escape and return home to his wife —all in a flash of thought — only to be brought back to strangling reality when the bridge's floorboards fall away beneath him. Dark? Yes. Memorable? Most definitely!