Chapter 1: Bon Temps
SOOKIE WATCHED THE SKY bring new life to the dark and empty graveyard as the sun rose in the east. The damp chill of morning brought her numb mind slowly back to reality. One world had again been traded for another and there was no going back. Her only choice was to move forward. Robotically, she lifted herself off the bench with quaking hands and took a few hesitant steps toward home. She felt empty, soulless, dead inside, and she questioned whether there was any point in continuing on. In that moment, her life seemed more like a bad joke than a meaningful pursuit.
The familiar sight of Gran's headstone brought her back to herself for a moment and, as she passed by, she kissed her palm and laid her hand upon the chill, wet earth. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she sat silently contemplating how much she missed her grandmother. After some time passed, her muscles began to cramp and ache, reminding her that it was time to move on. She rose as if pulled up by invisible strings and her feet, one in front of the other, found the familiar path back home.
But the home she remembered was not the same one that awaited her. The house had fallen into a state of such complete disrepair that it was only a husk, a hollow remnant of the place she had loved so much. Empty liquor bottles and other garbage were strewn about the yard. The dead-eyed windows were boarded with wooden x's, and police tape clung loosely, sagging and broken in places, to the porch and front door. "Ohmigod! What happened here?" she whispered quietly, but the rustling of the trees as a slight breeze moved them was the only answer. As she walked up the steps, she saw a black high heel lying forgotten on the porch. Who could forget their shoe and never return for it? she wondered absently, doubting that the owner of the shoe would have any sort of Cinderella story to tell. The air was heavy and still, full of cast off memories, ill-fated decisions, and lost chances.
On the front door, a notice had been posted:
NOTICE:
This property has been condemned
by order of the Renard Parish Sheriff's
Department. All trespassers will be
prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Eyes struck unseeing by virtue of witnessing too much tragedy read the notice. Just another irredeemable loss. Sookie felt the weight of it all, knowing that she had been the one to invite tragedy in and offer it a drink. I'm so sorry, she thought, over and over, a silent, unanswered prayer for absolution. But she knew that she would never forgive herself. Even if everything could be forgotten by those she loved, she would never feel worthy of it. It was the Hour of Lead, made worse by the fact that she could not even pinpoint when exactly she had taken her first faltering steps down this crooked road of ever-mounting damage.
Sookie pushed the door open and it scraped against the broken glass littering the threshold. As she stepped inside, carefully trying to avoid the shards of glass in the dim light, her senses were newly assailed by the mixed smells of old vomit and urine. She raised her hand to cover her nose and mouth as she gagged and swallowed hard against the bile that rose in her throat. There was hardly an inch of space that had not been touched by filth or violence. Smashed furniture, shattered collectibles, and obscene words, WHORE, VAMPER SLUT, WITCH, spelled out in fluorescent-colored graffiti on the walls met her sorrowful gaze. How could anyone do such a thing? she wondered. Her grandmother had been a pillar of the community and she herself, despite the special gift that set her so incongruously apart, had always tried to do right by the town.
It was hard to accept that her family home had been destroyed not by a few rogue individuals, but by many people who meant to leave no part of her family's legacy intact. She checked drawers and cabinets for valuables, hoping that something would be left, but anything of value had long since been stolen. There's nothing left, Sookie's unbelieving mind went over the words again and again, trying to force some level of acceptance as she climbed the stairs to her room. The room looked more or less the same as she had left it, she noted with a dubious sense of relief. Apparently, no one had thought it necessary to try and visit further ruin upon a room that was already trashed after her bloody battle with Debbie. Her brown eyes lingered a moment on the dressing table with its smashed mirror. Seven years bad luck. A chill ran down her spine as she tried not to think of what more could befall her. Instead, she lay down upon the bed, pulled the comforter over her head, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
Sookie tossed and turned in her sleep, haunted by images of running hard, lungs burning, bare feet cut and bleeding, through the dark woods at night. She knew that she could not keep the pace forever and that eventually she would be run to earth, captured, devoured alive. The howling of the wolves followed her, relentless, never getting closer or farther away. Her limbs were getting heavy and she stumbled, falling heavily, slashing a long tear through the blue cotton of her dress, as the incessant rhythm engulfed all her senses. A sharp terror, deep and instinctual, passed over her as she struggled to lift herself off the ground with dirty, torn hands. But she could not move; her body was unresponsive, as if bound by an invisible rope. The howling got louder; the wolves were closing in. Then, from somewhere deep within, came a voice strong enough to penetrate her fear, "Wake up! Wake up now!"
Suddenly, Sookie awoke, bolting upright in bed and gasping for breath. It took a moment for reality to seep in and calm her. Listening hard for howling, for the sounds of danger, she could hear nothing but silence punctuated by the sounds of the woods. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel safe like she had when she was growing up, falling back amongst the blankets, wondering what Gran would cook for breakfast, and looking forward to another warm day of nothing extraordinary. But the fading light outside was that of another day ending, not beginning.
Sookie rolled over onto her stomach and put her hands over her eyes, trying to shut out reality. She pulled her knees to her chest and cradled herself, aching for comfort, yearning for strong arms to hold her, and a soothing voice to tell her that it would all be OK. Even though he had betrayed her trust, Sookie knew that she wanted Bill. Suddenly, she felt an intense sorrow for having banished him from her home. She knew she wanted to apologize, to forget the past, and start over fresh. Will he forgive me? Will he protect me again? She had no idea, but she knew she had to try. He promised he would always love me. That one thought gave her the will to crawl out from under the covers and leave the protective confines of the bed. Her desire to see him propelled her as she made her way out of the room and through the shattered wreckage of her childhood home.
On her way out the front door, she noticed what looked like a playing card lying forgotten under an empty beer bottle. She stooped down to move the bottle aside and pick up the card. Turning it over, she immediately recognized that it was a tarot card and a chill ran up her back as she took in the image. It was the Ten of Swords. A disturbing and gory image of a man lying on a stone altar, ten daggers driven into his chest, arms, and legs. His face was obscured, but she almost could almost hear a groan of agony in the sudden gust of wind that came and blew the card free from her loose grip. She watched the wind gently whip the card about until it disappeared over the side of the porch. Spooky! she thought, frowning, as another unsettling chill swept over her, causing her to shiver in the hot, humid air. Glad to be rid of the offensive image, she wiped her hands on her dress, and continued on her way. She did not pause to shut the door or cast a single look back.
A storm threatened in the steel gray skies above as Sookie walked the familiar path through the cemetery. Thunder rolled ominously in the darkening skies as the storm advanced and she picked up speed until she was running as fast as she could to the old Compton estate. Little rocks jabbed at the bottoms of her bare feet as every leafy branch or hanging limb she passed seemed to stretch out like long-fingered hands, catching and snagging on her dress, and scratching her skin. But she did not care about anything but getting to him. In her haste, she almost did not notice the FOR SALE sign staked in the overgrown yard.
"Bill! Bill!" Sookie shouted as she burst in through the front door. The last rays of twilight faded to black as she stood in the foyer, waiting, but only silence met her. Shocked and uncertain, she began to explore the house, calling his name, but to no avail. The house was bare. It looked as if it had been hastily cleaned at some point, although a new, even layer of dust had accumulated in the intervening span of time. Sookie shivered as she realized that the house was vacant and probably had been for a while.
Slowly, she patrolled the house, looking for clues to unlock this new mystery. There was no furniture left, upstairs or down. Even the old portraits had been removed. Sookie could see their outlines on the walls where the wallpaper had faded around them. She had little doubt that Nancy, the owner of the local antiques store, Now and Then, had been eager to help collect and sell all of Bill's things. All that was left were the light fixtures and the large blue rug that occupied the entranceway. Sookie was surprised that the rug had not been gathered for a price. But, upon further inspection, she saw that it was smeared with old bloodstains and had been so thoroughly trampled by dusty, booted feet that there could be no hope of removing the grime from the weave.
Wandering back into the living room, she looked closer at the damage to the walls and ceiling. It looks like someone swung a piano around trying to knock the house down from the inside. Sookie smiled at the absurdity of the thought and the mental image that accompanied it, but she felt sure that the gaping holes in the wall and the missing plaster from the ceiling were clues to knowing what had happened to Bill. Where could he be? She knew that the house was Bill's since before the Civil War and that he would never willingly give it up. "Why hasn't he come for me?" she wondered aloud, trying to quell the rising panic that threatened to shake her sanity apart. Maybe there had been a fight between Bill and some other vampire, but she didn't want to think too much about what that might mean. "Bill! BILL!" she called with a renewed sense of urgency. She raced through the house looking for something, anything to unlock this new mystery.
Confused and despairing thoughts beat at her hastily erected wall of denial as each empty room and closet seemed to confirm her worst fears. As she was upstairs inspecting Bill's empty sleeping hole, squatting down low to duck her head inside, she heard a familiar voice bellow her name from below. "Erik?" she exclaimed, astonished, the floor cover slipping through her fingers to slam home with a loud bang. Jumping to her feet, she ran in the direction of his voice, and almost collided with him on the stairs. Before she had time to think or question, he swept her off her feet, holding her close to his body, sinewy and cold as stone. "Sookie, I thought I had lost you! Where have you been?" his voice was ragged, unbelieving, as he clutched her to him so tightly she had trouble catching her breath.
In that moment, all thoughts of Bill were forgotten. She drank in the sight and the feel of him, blissfully content within the safety of his embrace, as he carried her down the stairs to the landing. Nothing had changed with him. He still wore only black and moved with the sleek, smooth grace of a great cat. Erik gazed at her as if she were a mirage that might disappear if he looked away. He set her back down, still holding her near, his hand open on the small of her back. All the doubts, fears, and anger she had felt were gone. She knew that she was loved, that she would be protected. There was hope after all.
Erik lifted her chin with his index finger and kissed her, deeply and passionately, as he buried his hands in her hair. Sookie responded hungrily and flung her arms around his neck. She felt her knees threaten to give way beneath her, but she didn't care, nothing mattered. He crushed her to him and she could feel the hard muscles of his body through the thin fabric of her dress. Her hands ran up and down his back, his arms, grabbing handfuls of the soft cotton of his shirt, nearly drunk on the pleasure of the moment. It was then that she felt his fangs unsheathe and lightly scrape her lower lip.
As he broke from kissing her mouth, she remembered his question, and wanted to answer, but she was dizzy from the soft feel of his lips moving down her neck, the sharp, hard points of his fangs ready to pierce her flesh. She melted against him, arching her back and lengthening her neck, ready and willing to succumb to whatever came next. But then she opened her eyes, saw the old, faded wallpaper, felt the rough pile of the dirty carpet under her feet, and it all came rushing back.
What am I doing? This is wrong. Not here. Not in Bill's house, she thought, pushing back against him with her small hands. His arms loosened around her, his hands resting lightly on her hips, as he looked at her quizzically. "What's wrong?" he asked, frowning his disappointment, his eyes the cold color of a winter ocean, all whitecaps and wind.
"Where's Bill?" Sookie asked quietly, her eyes lowered. It wasn't really the question she wanted to ask because she was not at all sure that she was ready to hear the answer. But it was the only coherent thought that occurred to her in her scrambled state. Later, she could tell him about where she'd been and the heartache she felt at the thought of that lost world. Then, she could find the right words, or maybe she'd get lucky and he would forget all about it.
Erik's arms fell to his sides and his frown deepened; he would have to wait longer than he wanted. "Sookie, Bill is dead," he replied, calmly, evenly. "Dead! What do you mean he's dead?" she exclaimed as the blood drained from her face, leaving her ashen and pale. Competing waves of anger and grief seemed ready to tear her apart. She balled up her fists and struck out at what was closest. "You bastard! You killed him! I know you did," the words came out in hiccups and sobs as she futilely pummeled his chest.
He took the beating, allowing her an outlet for her misplaced fury, her strikes fazing him little more than mosquito bites. "I hate you," she cried, collapsing against him, her body racked with quaking sobs. It was not just Bill, she knew, but once the tears came, they would not stop until she had spent them all. Erik was patient. He had no idea where she'd been or why she was back, but he had no intention of letting her go again. He ran his fingers through the smooth waves of her golden hair and lovingly down her back. "I did not kill him, Sookie. He challenged the Queen and she killed him," he murmured softly, his lips brushing her cheek as he spoke. The last thing he wanted was for this reunion to be sullied with bad memories of his old enemy.
Tears fell down her cheeks, but her sobs had begun to subside. Her body was flushed and intoxicatingly warm under his hands. In that moment, he was grateful that his heart no longer beat, so he would not have to endure it breaking anew. "You know, Sookie, you've been gone for so long. I know all of this has come as a shock and you are hurting, but it's been done for a long time." She looked at him suspiciously, not sure that she liked what she was hearing, but she was listening. "None of this matters anymore. Let's just get out of here. We can go anywhere you want and I promise, in time, you'll forget all these bad memories." Erik wished he could glamour her; life would be so much easier if he didn't have to reason his way through everything with her. "How long have I been gone?" she asked. It was the only thing she could think to say in response.
Erik was stunned; it had not occurred to him that she would not know. But before he could answer, another, terrifyingly familiar voice chimed in, "About six months, give or take." In unison, they turned towards the sound to see Russell Edgington standing in the open doorway. "Surprise!" he said as a broad, ironic grin broke over his face. Their mouths fell open; it could not be, but yet he was there. The last time Sookie had seen Russell, he more closely resembled a piece of charcoal than a king. Now he stood casually in the doorway of Bill's former home, calmly watching them, elegantly attired in a dark charcoal pinstripe suit and a violet shirt he kept open at the collar, his large manicured hands hidden by dark leather gloves. No scars of any kind were visible to betray the torment he had endured at Erik's hands. The air seemed heavy, leaden, like trying to breathe underwater. Time lay dormant in the liminal span between the crossroads and the next path taken.
Then, Russell broke the silence, looking pointedly at Erik. "Hand over the girl and I promise to give you a quick, merciful end," he said in a voice that was all cold steel. "Fuck you! I'll die before I give her to you" Erik responded, baring his fangs. He pushed Sookie away from him so hard that she stumbled, falling to her hands and knees on the trampled, musty blue rug. In the span of a heartbeat, Russell secured Erik by wrapping a silver chain around his neck.
The flurry of motion was over before Sookie had a chance to lift her head and see Erik rush at Russell. It was brave, but suicidal. Erik did not land a single blow before he was on his knees, powerless, as the chain burned into his neck, sending tiny wisps of smoke into the still air around him. "Let him go, you monster," Sookie shouted, terrified, not knowing what else to do. Russell pulled Erik across the short distance from the door to the staircase and lashed the chains around the newel post.
Erik groaned against his bonds, struggling mightily, but only succeeded in cutting the burns deeper and grating the old paint from the hard wood. Blood ran in thin lines from his nose, ears, and icy blue eyes. He looked to Sookie like he had been slashed by a madman and, for a moment, she wondered if she hadn't fallen into a scene from some awful horror movie. Wake up! she screamed inwardly, but it didn't matter. She knew she would never forget the way Russell stood above his captured foe, proud, triumphant. The scene was a visceral image burned into her memory, not some surreal nightmare she would awake from to find safety. Without Erik, she would have no one and that scared her worst of all.
"Not going to happen," Russell purred in his smoky Southern drawl. "I've waited too long for this moment. Neither of you is going to escape me again, I promise you," he said it with a wink that made her insides quake like someone had just walked over her grave. "I killed you. Why aren't you dead?" Erik croaked, his eyes burning with hatred. Russell fixed his attention back on Erik and stepped down to the landing. "You certainly had your chance to kill me, but you blew it, didn't you? You thought it would be more fun to torture me and hope I died in that concrete cell, you fucking fool. In all honesty, to successfully kill me, you would have to be a much more methodical and meticulous creature, not so angry, hotheaded, and impetuous. Not that it will matter much longer for you, but when taking on such a large challenge, it is important to make sure all the loose ends are tied up or else, well, you pretty much end up just like you are." Russell smiled big again; in victory, he was the picture of wicked glee. "How did you do it?" Erik knew he was going to die, but before he did, he wanted to hear exactly how it was that he had had the world in his hands and lost it.
Despite the close heat, cold sweat dampened Sookie's hairline, covering her skin in a fine sheen, and the air around her was heady with the dank smell of fear. She sat unmoving, transfixed, the dirty rug leaving gray-brown smudges on her strong, tan legs. She had no choice but to watch in horror as her fate was decided. Russell thought for a moment before answering, deciding how much to share. "It really wasn't all that difficult. You didn't kill my only progeny when you staked Talbot, just my favorite one."
Mentioning Talbot's name clouded his features with remembered grief. The broad smile changed to a pensive frown and his foot shot out to catch Erik in the ribs with a hard, sharp kick. Erik coughed, groaning in agony as he sagged further back against his bonds. "Anyway, perhaps you were wondering how I found you and Sookie. It was child's play, really. In fact, it is a bit amazing to me that a vampire as old as you had no idea that he was being watched for so long. You didn't know, did you? Maybe something inside you wanted to be caught. I've seen it before," he said, chuckling.
Erik's hands shot out from where they rested at his sides, trying to reach for Russell's throat, but his grasp fell short by mere inches. Russell took a quick step back, momentarily surprised. In a flash of movement, he grabbed Erik's wrists in his gloved hand and secured them with silver handcuffs. The handcuffs steamed, burning his wrists raw. Erik moaned, sad and defeated, in the wake of additional torment.
"I thought those might end up coming in handy," Russell quipped. "Anyway, I believe you have something of mine…" He reached his hand below the collar of Erik's shirt and grabbed hold of a finely worked gold chain. Swiftly, he yanked the chain hard and Erik felt the delicate metal break from around his neck. As Russell held it up, Sookie could see a single long fang dangling from betwixt the ends of the broken chain. That must be the fang Erik took off of him at Fangtasia, Sookie thought, marveling at how distant the memory seemed.
Russell deposited the chain in the pocket of his suit jacket and he knelt down on the warped, dusty hardwoods, leaving Sookie in possession of the carpet. She was acutely aware of him as he watched her, the devious cast of his eyes telegraphing an unknown, wicked intent. He seemed unhurried, calm, as if he did not want to scare her any more than she already was. "Why are you here?" she asked, her voice shaky. She was not entirely sure that she wanted to hear the answer. He regarded her as a cat regards a mouse, enjoying the fact that she was cornered and terrified. "I'm here for you, sweetheart. I have big plans in mind. Why else?" his words were honeyed, measured, patient.
"I will never be yours. And I will never help you with your fucking plans!" she hissed through gritted teeth. Russell's attention had momentarily shifted back to Erik, who had renewed his futile struggles against the bonds that held him. The sharp movements only caused the silver to dig deeper into his flesh. But to Erik, it was better to try and fight then to sit back quietly, resigned to the latest hand fate had dealt him. Seeming satisfied that the chains would hold, Russell shrugged, "Willing or unwilling, it makes no difference to me, but things will go easier for you if you cooperate." He winked at her then, smiling just like the scoundrel he was: happy to get away with whatever he could.
Sookie thought her head might explode. How could he say something so utterly vile and offensive in such an offhand way? Fear was replaced with anger, and anger, not having any useful outlet, made her say something stupid. As she parted her chapped, pink lips to speak, she knew it was a mistake, but the impulse would not be denied. "I will die! If you harm Erik or lay a finger on me, I swear I will kill myself. You and your plans can go straight back to whatever hell you came from!"
Russell fidgeted and shifted his weight to the other knee; he was growing tired of this game. "Don't trifle with me, Miss Stackhouse. I'm not in the mood for it. So let me make myself perfectly clear, if you take such an action to deprive me of what I want then, I swear to you, I will make it my mission to hunt down and kill everyone you have ever known or cared about. Bon Temps will become my exclusive hunting ground. Do you understand?" He articulated the last few words slowly, as if he were talking to a dim, willful child.
Sookie hated the way he talked to her. Of course, I understand. I'm not stupid, she thought. But she held her tongue, and nodded slowly, refusing to meet his eyes. Rocking back on her heels, she folded her legs to her chest and hung her head. She looked absently at her dirty hands, gray with dirt and dust. The front of her dress was likewise streaked with grime. It was as if the old Compton house, filthy from neglect and disuse in the wake of bloody misfortune, had left its mark on her.
"You're mad!" Erik croaked in a pained voice, raw and hoarse. But Russell was through listening to him. "Maybe," he replied, his attention focused solely on Sookie. In that moment, Erik hung his head, utterly defeated. He had blinded himself, been reckless at a crucial time, and now he was powerless to stop the scene about to unfold before him. It was his final punishment; one last hellish torment before it was all over.
Russell reached out and wrapped his hand around Sookie's ankle, intending to pull her closer to him. His touch awoke some primal instinct within her, slamming her dazed mind back into reality. All of a sudden, the nightmare was no longer playing out before her like some twisted, surreal movie. She kicked his forearm hard with her other foot and Russell, surprised more than hurt, momentarily dropped his hold.
In an instant, she was on her feet and ready to run for the open doors. But she barely had time to breathe in that direction before Russell was upon her. Seizing her hands, he held them firmly against his chest with one gloved hand. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he hissed, his grip like iron. "My wolves would rip you apart for sport. And while that might be fun to watch, I have a more important purpose for you to serve." Sookie blanched, which dulled her normal tanned glow, and she wondered inwardly if there ever was a more evil being created than Russell Edgington.
She stepped back as he pushed her struggling form back down to the scant pile of the aged, filthy carpet, its flower design almost imperceptible through thick layers of dust. As first one knee hit the ground and then the other, her brown doe eyes grew wide with fear. "Dear God, no! Stop! Erik, help me!" she half-cried and half-screamed. Erik simply slumped, abject and powerless, against his bonds. He stared stonily ahead, fixated on the white double doors before him, unwilling to see Russell force Sookie to the ground, laying himself full length upon her, securing her writhing figure with the weight of his body. One hand clamped down over her mouth, the close smell of the leather bringing her near to vomiting, as he pinned her wrists to the floor above her head with the other hand.
"I told you I'd never think of anything else ever again," he whispered into her ear before his lips trailed lower to lightly kiss her neck where the softly throbbing vein betrayed her quickened heartbeat. Her eyes opened wide in horror; the round, dark orbs ringed entirely in white and framed by long lashes. God have mercy, she prayed, bracing herself for the worst.
His body was strong, heavy, and cold as stone. Her stomach churned with fear and apprehension. She felt his fangs unsheathe and graze her tender skin like twin blades, but the bite did not come. Instead, he drew back, uncovering her mouth as he did. Sookie spit, coughed, and hiccupped, practically gagging on the fresh air. She squirmed and bucked to free herself from his looming form, but he pushed her hard back to the floor, his hand open on her abdomen, fingers splayed between her breasts where the soft, blue cotton of her dress pulled tight.
"Please don't," she wept, tears springing unbidden to her eyes, streaking parallel lines down her temples. Russell ignored her plea, having heard about all he wanted to from either one of them. He released his grip on her wrists and his hand slid down the curves of her body to grab at the hem of her dress. A deep blush showed beneath her tanned skin as he roughly pushed the skirt up her thighs and over her hips, exposing her shell-pink underwear.
His hands, though tempered by the warm friction of the leather, pressed cold and hard against her skin as he bunched the fabric in uncomfortable folds under her waist. In the next moment, Sookie felt him re-adjust his weight, pushing her legs apart with his knee. Time moved in achingly slow increments while her senses, heightened by fear, were agonizingly aware of every move he made, every breath that passed as he made ready to take what he wanted. And all of it in front of Erik, even if he pretends not to see, she thought mournfully.
Her mind struggled to grapple with the overwhelming feelings of humiliation and shame. She wished she could lift up out of her body, watch the scene unfold from a safe vantage, and deal with the damage later. But it was not to be. Suddenly, she felt his mouth on the smooth skin of her inner thigh, wet and seductive, right before his fangs sank deep into her flesh. She cried out in pain, again renewing her futile efforts to snake away from his hold. He held her leg tightly; his fingers pressing so hard into the long, flat muscle that bruises sprang up, purple and yellow, like ugly flowers to remember an awful day. Still, he drank, deeper and deeper, holding her immobile.
I wonder if this is it. I never got the chance to tell Erik I love him. Her thoughts echoed dimly through the dark corridors of her fading consciousness. But, in that moment, she felt intensely sorry for the lost chance to live a new life, to start over, and make everything right that she had done wrong. As the sweet oblivion of unending sleep beckoned, she winced involuntarily as Russell retracted his fangs and her flesh clung slightly to the sharp points, blood pooling and spilling from the twin punctures.
Russell stood, dabbing the blood away from his mouth with a handkerchief. He seemed entirely satisfied as he regarded Erik once more. "To the victor go the spoils," he taunted, his hazel eyes twinkling merrily, full of new life. Even though Russell was close by, his voice seemed distant as if she was hearing him from the other side of a long, blind tunnel. She didn't hear Erik respond, and her thoughts sluggishly crept toward wondering if he had. "Well, before we say goodbye, you and I have a score to settle…" Despite her best efforts to listen, Russell's words trailed off, and then everything went black.
