Anything I write or say in this story is for fictional purposes only, and is not intended to malign any religion, ethnic group, club, organization, company, or individual, or anyone or thing, especially those with the ability and desire to fight back or bite me. This story may inadvertently and occasionally become obscene, prurient, useless, hate-filled, poisonous, pornographic, frivolous, empty, rotten, bad, disgusting, hostile, repulsive, virulent, infectious… I cannot in any way condone, endorse or take responsibility for such content, it is probably due to a complete lack of coffee, sleep and sex.
While the storyline and what streams over the next few months are mostly mine - I owe the characters and the basis to which I am writing to Charlaine Harris, and I do not make any money or gain anything from doing this except the fantasizing as I wait impatiently for the next book to come out.
Chapter Two
I was falling, floating and drifting all at the same time. I was surrounded by light, but I couldn't see anything. I heard vague noises, voices perhaps, heard my name being called, but I couldn't tell by who. I could feel soft touching on my body, but I couldn't tell just where. Bill, Bill, Bill - but that couldn't be right, he didn't want me anymore. He left me alone in the dark, he left me to be with another woman. My heart ached, and I cried inside my void, cried for love lost and love that never was to begin with. I cried and screamed and carried on like a child. Wondering if I would ever feel like I was alive – I felt so alone – so dead. I doubted that my feelings would ever return to me, physically I would be locked in the silent abyss. My heart felt so alive in my chest, in its cauldron of pain, boiling over with what I had dealt with. Despite what I knew that my physical body was going through, I knew, I knew that that my heart was bleeding for the loss of him, of his love – of what I knew what the only true thing I'd ever feel. Everything else would be jaded from then on and would be forever.
Then cold hands were touching me, like a cold washcloth your mother put on you when you had a fever, except that is wasn't wet. Touching me, patting my arms, rubbing my legs, cradling my body. Voices began to seep through the cavity that was my own – voices that I could hear in my head – not with my ears... More pain, more insecurity the feelings, so intensely secret – no one knew I could hear them. I knew this now, because the vampires were around me, cradling me in their den of inequity. I could hear Bill, once silent to me... He was thinking that he would meet the sun if I was dead. He was feeling guilt about my injuries, he was feeling remorse as he looked upon my body, so still under him. I could see his thoughts, I could see what he saw, as he looked at me, as he blamed himself for the trouble that had befallen me. I could see the replay again and again in his mind, as he came upon me being bitten and drained by my yet unknown offender, the one who had bitten me, the one who had dragged me screaming from my car.
I heard another – the powerful feelings reaching through my blankness, but not Bill... I felt his love, his love? What was that, I reached for it with my mind, and I felt a passion for me, a pity for me for he knew what I was feeling, he knew, he saw – he lived it. He loved me, he didn't know why – but he felt it – and he was bewildered by the feeling, he was taken aback by its passion, who, I didn't know – I tried to get hold of what, of who he was. It was fleeting to me, but vaguely familiar at the same time, my dreams of him came together in me in my soul. Who, who, who could it be? I whimpered – the first sound I had made in hours – and the room grew silent. The thoughts grew silent – and I realised for the first time that I was hearing their thoughts for the first time, with my head as well as my ears. I could hear with my head, I could hear with my ears, I could feel with my body – and I could speak. For the first time in hours, I opened my eyes, to find out if I could see as well.
