Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Sookie Stackhouse Universe. All characters mentioned in the books belong to Charlaine Harris.(Revised)

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Chapter 4

The tears were unexpected. He hadn't thought he would break down so easily. This was the first time since the week of her death that he'd let it all out. The loss was still fresh in his mind. They'd had their disagreements. The day before she died he stomped out of the apartment because they couldn't agree on a curfew. He slept over at a friend's house. It wasn't until the morning, when he came back to apologize, that he learned of the tragedy which had befallen his mother.

Bo stepped out of the shower quietly. His eyes were still red, but he didn't care. Life had to go on. His mother was dead. He was alive.

It was rough the first few days. Hours passed by almost endlessly and the paperwork was terrible. Homicide was by no means new to the New York City Police Department, but the lack of evidence did cause some buzz. He first met his uncle over the phone, an experience that was awkward to say the least. The man was suspicious about the entire thing in the beginning, but who wouldn't be? A mysterious nephew who suddenly pops up nearly twenty years after his sister's disappearance? It sounded like a plot to some cheesy daytime soap.

Even now Bo wasn't entirely sure of what to think of his Uncle. The man was nice, if a little forgetful. Bo pondered why his mother wouldn't even tell him about her part of the family, much less his father's. What was there to hide? Sure, Bo had his abnormalities. Everyone did these days though. Bo racked his head for answers that would never come. Honestly, Bo never knew what his mother was thinking. She had been a mystery to him his entire life.

His stomach growled. Picking up his phone from beside the bed, he located a nearby pizza joint and ordered a pepperoni. They said it could take at least half an hour to reach his address. He sighed. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a white wife beater, he assembled a quick snack in the meantime.

He checked the mirror in the living room. His hair was still wet. His bangs were nearly on a level with his eyes. His last haircut had been in June. Bo searched for some scissors in one of the moving boxes. His hand went to his chin. He wouldn't need to shave for another week. Facial hair had yet to make much of an appearance to his disappointment. He'd gotten a few hairs here and there, but he hadn't grown much more than peach fuzz. He had a nice face, he believed, good cheekbones and a strong jaw. Sadly his baby face prevented him from being considered as anything other than the cute little brother type by most girls. It irked him.

As a guy who had never even had his first kiss, his self-esteem was less than stellar. Closer to shot to hell in his opinion.

Bo heard a sound from outside. It had been soft, but loud enough for his ears to catch. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. No one was around for miles and the pizza wasn't due for another 20 minutes. Bo broke out into a cold sweat. He could feel his heart pumping erratically inside his ribcage. He'd been jumpy since he'd left New York. It was his first time outside of the state. Bo picked up a softball bat he discovered earlier that day near the entrance. Gripping it in his right hand, he stepped out onto the porch and into the night air.

"Alright, come on out! I know you're out there!" He shouted, a tinge of fear in his voice.

Silence met his ears before he heard the footsteps. A man stepped out from the darkness. He was about as tall as Bo, though more filled out. He had dark hair and eyes, which only made his paleness even more pronounced. His features were unreadable. He was wearing a light-colored sweater vest, a pair of khakis, and loafers. There was an oddness about him Bo couldn't put his finger on. An odor quite unlike those of the townspeople or any other person he'd encountered filled his nostrils.

"You are Bernard, I presume?" The man's voice was cool, like an autumn breeze.

"Usually people introduce themselves before snooping into someone's yard at night." Bo said defiantly, though his voice came out weaker than he'd hoped.

"Excuse my behavior then." The man climbed the steps of the porch slowly, as if not to scare him. "My name is Bill Compton. I was a friend of your mother's."

"Bill? The Vampire?" Bo's eyes narrowed. What business did he have with him?

"I take it you have heard of me?"

The young man scrutinized him. "Uncle Jason said you and mom dated."

"Indeed we did." He replied, his expression softening for a moment. "We kept in contact even after she left. She asked me to watch over you in case anything happened to her."

"I don't need a babysitter." Bo responded with irritation. "I'm an adult. I can do things just fine by myself." He started to retreat back inside, his hand reaching for the doorknob. He didn't want to get involved with the undead. They gave him the willies.

"She told me a lot about you." The vampire said, his fingers drumming along the rail. "Have you fed yet?"

Bo stilled. His eyes dilated. He swerved his head back to the man. "What do you know?"

"Many things. I know about the dentist appointments for one. It was I who helped her find one. I also know about your hospital records, how your arm healed in only three days after they cast it. I know you are weakened by prolonged sun exposure and get severe rashes from silver. And the feeding... well, who do you think covered up that incident in middle school?"

Bo's breath hitched. "You've known about me all this time? Why didn't we ever meet? Why did mom never tell me about you?"

The vampire's lips drew into a thin line. "We agreed it was best to keep you in the dark for as long as possible. We didn't want... others to find out about you."

"Others? What others?" Bo said, his voice cracking slightly.

"That's a subject for another day." He responded. "Now, will you invite me inside?"

"I don't know." Bo admitted. His facial features were guarded, but anxiety was evident in his eyes. "I really don't know anything about you. Why should I trust you?"

"Because Bernard," The older man began. "There are those out there, right now, who mean to harm you. Like the people who killed your mother. There are things I need to discuss with you, in a more... private place, you understand?" He had reached the last step of the porch, nearly at eye level with Bo.

Bo mulled it over. This man didn't seem too dangerous. And he was a friend of mom's. Surely that meant something. Finally, he relented. "Okay. You can come in. But don't do anything funny. Got it?" He pointed at the bat, emphasizing his point.

"Yes, of course." Mr. Compton gave him a nearly invisible smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Bernard Stackhouse."

"Bo." He said, turning the handle of the door. "Just Bo."