Chapter 6: Sookie's POV—This chapter takes place approximately two years prior to the starting point of Eric's search (so, approximately 3 years after Nevada takeover).
A/N: I'm afraid this chapter may raise more questions than it answers. But, I think it will be an interesting segue into Sookie's part of the story. Sorry, this is how she decided to speak with me, and she's the heroine, so I kinda listen to her. Hope you enjoy reading it s much as I enjoyed writing it.
Disclaimer: Sole copyright belongs to Charlaine Harris. I'm just having a little fun with the intriguing characters she has created.
Sookie never realized how many different colors the human race had created until she picked up her latest color wheel from Home Paints. The saleslady assisting her had filled Sookie's head with so many different colors and schemes—monochromatic, analogous, complementary, split complementary, and tetradic—that her head was swimming. Actually, it sort of ached.
She had driven to the Home Paints store in Gulfport, Mississippi, with the intention of buying some shade of yellow paint. She thought yellow the perfect color for the spare room she was painting. She thought for sure that she would waltz in through the store's front doors, pick up the perfect can of paint and waltz right back through the doors in under half an hour.
Sookie could not have underestimated the process of buying paint any more than she had. By the time she was pulling her silver Honda into the parking lot of her condo building, two hours had passed. She had her paint cans, though; at least she could say that much.
She wrestled the cans of paint out of her car, into the condo elevator, and out onto the landing of the fifth floor. The bookish looking man in the elevator gave her a curious glance before averting his eyes as he watched her struggle with the paint cans. She quickly threw up her shields. She had no desire to know what this man was thinking about her.
Sookie considered herself a strong and sturdy girl, but these cans of paint were heavy! She tried to walk another few steps with the three paint cans, but was soon panting. She set one down, pulled out her keys, and carried the other two in the direction of her condo.
It was still a strange experience for her to live in a building inhabited by so many other people. She had grown up in semi-isolated single-family dwellings in middle-of-nowhere Bon Temps Louisiana. Gulfport wasn't a huge city, and it was still in the South, so geographically it was somewhat familiar to her. Everyday living was still as different from her time in Bon Temps as it could be.
She supposed it would take time to adjust to this new place. She'd only lived in Gulfport and this condo for about three months. She knew it was normal to feel alone, out-of-place, and apprehensive about being in a new place.
Until three or so years ago she'd only toyed with the idea of moving out of her Gran's house. She'd even had the opportunity once, when someone had set the old place on fire. It had been nice to have a smaller, modern and compact home. But she'd quickly forgotten the idea when the new kitchen allowed her to enjoy her family homestead even more than she had before.
She hadn't really considered the idea of moving again, let alone into a big condo building with so many other brains buzzing away around her. But that was a long time ago, and a lot of things had happened in the intervening years. Her world had opened up pretty quick, and she had opened up with it.
When the weres outed themselves, and war broke out among the supes, her position was more precarious than ever. Those she loved left her no choice but to hide. She was a soft spot for so many powerful supes that there was no hope of them keeping her safe as they had in the years before the Nevada takeover and were revelation. She had no choice but to leave the only place she'd ever called home.
At first she went somewhere she thought no one would dream of looking for her. The strangest thing about that period of time was the not knowing. She knew only what little she could glean from supes that she met, and reading between the lines in the local and national newspapers. She knew many were dead, among them Russell Edgington, the late King of Mississippi.
Sookie's gut told her that all she cared for were safe and sound. It made sense to her that they would be. They had all seemed so powerful and scary. No matter how she'd felt the need to protect them, she knew that they were always protecting her when she was not looking. It was this confidence in their strength and abilities that told her most, if not all, of those she had once called her friends and family were still alive.
Well, that and the fact that an entirely new hierarchy had been created when "the good guys" won the war.
The whole thing was very complicated, and she was no longer involved in the supe world, so she didn't know the details. All she knew was that there was some council of supernaturals that had replaced the old system of Kings and Queens. All supe factions had a representative, or liaison to this Council. Oh, and she knew that the AVL no longer existed, and that somehow this new council operated parallel to the human system of government.
To Sookie, it was just more complex supernatural bullshit. She was certain that behind whatever friendly façade the supernatural community had erected, there was ever more sinister behavior going on behind the scenes.
Okay, so sometimes she missed it . . . especially when she was stuck here in her Yuppie suburban lifestyle. She couldn't think about that, though. Her life had just become even more complicated than before, and she still had a room to paint. In order to do that she had to get her paint cans into her condo. That was turning out to be more of a struggle than she had bargained for. Beads of sweat were starting to break out around the edge of her hairline.
"Do you need some help there hon?" One of Sookie's neighbors had opened the door to their condo and stepped out into the hall. Sookie recognized this neighbor from their brief conversations on the elevator. Her name was Maura, and she had dark brown hair, pale skin and large very dark brown eyes. Sookie thought she looked like a real-life Snow White.
Maura was not a loud broadcaster, but Sookie had heard enough to know that she suffered from low self-esteem. She was also extremely self-conscious about the paleness of her skin. She was eager to make new friends, and thought that Sookie looked the right age and personality.
Sookie was grateful for the help. "Yes! Thank you so much. I really appreciate it. They're so heavy, you know?"
Maura laughed. "Oh, tell me about it! I just repainted the main living area of my condo a few months ago. Lugging these things around is no fun at all!"
Sookie set down the cans of paint she was carrying long enough to place her key in the lock on her door. She turned the lock, giving the door a little nudge with her hip—sometimes it stuck—and pushed in. Maura followed closely behind, trying to look discreet as she scoped out Sookie's condo.
"Your place is super cute!" She said as she took in Sookie's tidy apartment furnished with cool colors and modern décor—the opposite of anything she would typically buy for herself. All of her furniture was modern and sleek. Her couch was a large, leather and cream-colored. Her walls were decorated with stylish, but impersonal art deco prints. Flanking her couch were two espresso colored bookshelves covered with her favorite novels—the only thing she carried with her from her old life. Everything about her apartment reflected this: It was all classy but impersonal, and distinctly not Sookie-like.
"Thanks," Sookie smiled as she put down the can of paint. Her shields were working in full force, so she couldn't tell whether Maura was sincere in her compliment, but the girl was nodding approvingly. "Honestly, you're my first visitor."
Maura whirled around to face her, momentarily taking her eyes off of Sookie's displayed prints. "Really? But you've lived here for a while, right?"
Sookie blushed and knew that her Gran would have scolded her for her lack of hospitality and Southern graciousness, but she had her reasons. And they were good ones. "Well, I'm sort of shy." She lied as her awkward smile spread across her face.
"Aw, honey, I'm not insulting you, it's just a little strange, that's all." Maura gave her a sympathetic smile, and Sookie allowed her shields to drop.
Poor girl. All alone with no friends. She's clearly not from around here or she'd have visitors. I wonder if it'd be impolite to ask. Well, I oughtta get to know her better before I go diggin' around in her personal affairs. No personal photos or knick-knacks . . . how strange. Bet she has some dark secret past or something. My mama always used to say it was the quiet, polite ones you had to watch out for . . . .
She was relieved to find that Maura's thoughts were fairly innocent. Sookie had never been one to need, or even want a lot of friends, but being alone in yet another new place came with its share of loneliness. Even someone as independent and hard-hearted as Sookie Stackhouse was not immune to loneliness.
"Would you like some iced tea, lemonade, or something else to drink?" Sookie asked, remembering her manners.
"Thanks, but maybe another time. I was actually on my way out. You know how it is on Sunday, or as I like to call it . . . chore day." Maura stuck out her tongue a bit, and made an unpleasant face. Well, as unpleasant a face as someone like Maura could possibly make.
Sookie thought that in terms of style Maura reminded her a lot of her old friend Amelia. She was probably in her mid-thirties and had a sporty, "soccer mom" look to her. She was energetic, trim, and fresh-faced. She was wearing white Capri pants, white flip-flops with beading on the thongs, and a light blue and white-striped polo shirt. She was pretty and well put-together. She was someone Sookie thought she could possibly be friends with.
"Oh yes, another time, definitely. I guess it's better anyhow. I really should get ready to go to work." It was Sookie's turn to make a face.
"Oh, where do you work?" Sookie could sense Maura's curiosity heighten.
Maura was definitely a gossip. She was a sweet and harmless, but definitely a gossip. Maura was thinking that it had been a long time since she had met someone new because her husband was a drag who did not like to socialize. She was thinking that Sookie would be the perfect person to bring to her book club and introduce to her few female friends. She wondered whether they would find her new friend as mysterious as she did.
"Oh, I work as a cocktail waitress at a restaurant in The Gulf casino a few nights a week, and as a librarian at the local library a few days a week."
"How interesting!" Maura's eyes lit up. She was intrigued by what she perceived as a striking contradictionbetween the types of jobs that Sookie worked. She also thought it was so lucky that her neighbor was fairly young and pretty. She thought Sookie would make an excellent club-hopping partner . . . if only she could trick her husband into letting her out.
Sookie couldn't imagine needing to "trick" a husband or boyfriend into letting her do something. If any man tried to control her like Maura's husband seemed to . . . well, let's just say that relationship wouldn't last long.
As for Maura's husband, Sookie had seen him only once or twice in the elevator. His name was Rick, and he was some type of doctor who worked odd hours. He was also very handsome, but also very rigid and intimidating.
In her head she laughed at her current situation. She was living in a condominium with doctors for neighbors. No one from Bon Temps would ever believe it. Hell, she almost didn't believe it herself. But that was the entire idea, wasn't it? She was supposed to make it impossible for anyone to find her were they to look—even those friendly to her.
Sookie had no doubt that she was safe here. No one who knew anything about her, or took the time to do a little background research on her, would believe she was living in such a nice place. She had never had money and had never been one to accept money or gifts.
Those aspects of her personality had changed in the course of twenty-four hours. It was the strangest twenty-four hours of her life. She still avoided thinking about it.
"Well, it's not that interesting, really." Sookie set the paint cans down on the floor of her kitchen.
If Sookie really loved anything about her condo, it was her kitchen. Its previous owner had clearly been a chef or someone who enjoyed cooking and wanted the props to do it. The stove and refrigerator were top of the line. Every appliance was sleek and top of the line. Her refrigerator was stainless steel and large with numerous compartments and shelving that made organizing food incredibly simple. Her favorite features, however, were the spacious granite countertops and deep farm-style sink.
Yes, this was a luxurious place where no one would ever expect to find Sookie, the "poor country cousin." Not even Eric, who knew her so well, would expect to look for her in a place like this.
"Well sure it is, honey," Maura said. "I mean, a librarian who works in a casino . . . and as a cocktail waitress! That's just too funny for words."
Sookie thought she could see the irony in the idea of a librarian working as a cocktail waitress—the epitome of non-intellectual jobs—but since she'd been a barmaid her whole life, she didn't think anything of it. "Well, I guess you could say that I like to keep things interesting."
"I guess so."
The conversation was beginning to die down as Sookie and Maura realized they needed to go their separate ways. But, both were extremely lonely and enjoying the conversation. Sookie was surprised to find herself so receptive to human interaction. She found her neighbor slightly nosy and a bit on the ditzy side. She was also reticent to share anything that could lead to disclosure of her true identity. But, she couldn't seem to bring herself to ask the woman to leave.
"Well, I guess I had better be going now," Maura interjected into the silence. "I don't want to be out too late, you know!"
"I don't blame you. It's nice to get home from running errands and have some time to yourself to relax." Sookie agreed. "Here, let me show you out."
"Oh, don't even bother honey. I'll let myself out. You need to get ready for work." Maura moved to turn toward the door. Sookie could hear the question forming in the woman's head and the embarrassment associated with it before Maura had decided she was going to ask it. Sookie was glad that she heard this broadcast. It gave her a chance to prepare herself.
"You know," Maura drawled apologetically, "I'm such an idiot. I know I know your name, but I'm so bad with them . . . ." Sookie fought to contain her giggles as she watched the red flush of embarrassment fill Maura's cheeks.
"Oh, no problem. I'm Sarah Anderson."
"Okay. Let me use that in a sentence so I'll remember it next time: It's a pleasure to meet you Sarah Anderson. You have a really cute apartment and an unusual life." She held out her hand.
Sookie took the extended hand, and shook. "It's nice to really meet you, Maura . . . um . . . I guess I forgot yours too!"
"Engle. It's Maura Engle."
"Great! Nice to meet you."
Sookie stared after Maura as she left through the door of Sookie's apartment, a bubble of friendly, curious vivaciousness. Sookie wondered whether or not this was a friendship she could afford to keep. As much as she really wanted a friend in this new place, she was concerned that such a curious (borderline nosy) person would take great pains to find out the secret of Sookie's past. She wondered if she would be able to keep important details from slipping out when she grew comfortable in regular conversation with the woman.
. . . .
"Sarah! Sarah! Can you clear that table for me?"
Sookie went about her business clearing her own table as if no one was talking to her. In fact, she thought no one was talking to her.
"Sarah honey! Hello-o-o-o-o! Do we need to pitch in and buy you a hearin' aide or sumthin'?" Darla was yelling right in her ear, jerking her to attention.
"Oh gosh, Darla! I'm so sorry. I was off in my own world." Sookie covered this lie with her nervous smile.
Darla gave her funny look and walked away. Sookie strained her mind to keep her shields in place. She'd gotten really good at doing that over the last few years. She hardly heard anyone anymore . . . unless she wanted to, and unless they were a very, very strong broadcaster.
She pushed that thought right out of her mind. The strongest broadcaster she knew was her old roommate, Amelia. It had been three years since she'd spoken to Amelia . . . or anyone from Bon Temps. This thought caused a knot to form in the center of her chest.
Get it together, Sook. You know you're not allowed to think about this stuff! This is what leads to lapses. Lapses are what lead to sloppiness. Sloppiness can lead to exposure. Pull yourself together!
Sookie shook her head and moved to clear the open table Darla had indicated. It was a Sunday night, but the casino restaurant was doing a brisk business. Sookie had always liked a lot of work. It helped take her mind off the things she didn't want to think about . . . usually.
She supposed it wasn't busy enough to help take her mind off of her conversation with Maura, and the feelings it had stirred up within her. She hadn't felt such intense loneliness and frustration since her first weeks alone and away from Bon Temps. It had been tough to move past those feelings, and make the transition to her new situation. But, in her opinion, the trauma of moving so far from home was far outweighed by the other tragedies she had experienced, and the risks she would have incurred had she chosen to remain.
As soon as the images filtered into her head, she pushed them aside. She was a tough girl. She was a Stackhouse. She was her Gran's girl, and she had the ferocity of fae blood coursing through her veins.
In the past, her supernatural nature was a source of confusion and strife for her. In her new life, it was a saving grace. It was a cold comfort she could lean on when the unpleasantness of her new life threatened to consume her fighting spirit.
This was one of those times. She imagined the ferocity of Claudine in battle and the fear and awe her grandfather's very presence instilled within her. She imagined that she too possessed this awe-inspiring strength and toughness. It would help her keep her mind on the present . . . the need to be Sarah Anderson, and everything that she entailed.
. . . .
It was a good night for Sookie. She made more in one night at the casino restaurant than she would have in several days working at Merlotte's back in Bon Temps. Gulfport was no teeming metropolis, and the customers at The Gulf Casino's upscale restaurant Renaud'swere not usually millionaires. But Sookie noticed that when ordinary people spent money in casinos, they meant business. The most ordinary of folksflung one hundred dollar bills as if their wallets had been touched by Midas himself.
She pulled off her uniform of fitted black pants and a white collared shirt and threw them into the hamper. What a liberating feeling, she thought. Being free of the uniform that belonged not to her but to Sarah Anderson was like being freed from a cage.
She could still smell the residual food odors that accompanied restaurant work. It was time for a bath and satchel. She tossed a tropical rainforest-scented satchel into the hamper on top of her clothing and flung open the doors to her linen closet.
She bent down to pull her soft, white terry cloth robe from the lowest shelf and her eyes caught a glimpse of something shimmering. The bottle was sitting in its usual spot toward the front right side of the second shelf from the floor of her closet.
She knelt so that the bottle was at eye level. She stared at the crystal bottle and its lavender liquid contents with curiosity. It had been a gift from her cousin Claudine the week before she left her home for good.
She and Claudine had been sitting side-by-side at one of numerous conferences they'd had with Niall, Eric, Bill, Pam, and Amelia. The others all argued vehemently over each possible option available to ensure Sookie's fate. Everyone had their own idea about how to keep her safe. Of course, each thought their own idea superior to all others.
Voices were raised and fangs were exposed. It was the perfect opportunity for Claudine to tug at Sookie's hand and signal to her to duck quietly out of Eric's great room and into one of his studies.
After the ebbs and crescendos of argument, the silence of the study was deafening. Claudine settled her tall, curvaceous body on the edge of a mahogany desk. Wow, Sookie had thought to herself, Eric's furniture is so beautiful . . . and expensive . . . of course. A pang of sadness hit her as she thought this. She hadn't known at the time, but this was to be the last time she'd ever look at Eric's furniture . . . or even set foot in his home for that matter.
For a moment Claudine just looked at Sookie, as if taking her in. "It's the strangest feeling," she said finally. "I've known you for only a tiny fraction of my life, but you're family and I feel like I've known you forever."
"I know. Maybe I could change my mind, and decide not to go."
"You know that is impossible. And, Niall was serious about using magic."
Sookie sighed. "I know. I'm not going to change my mind. It's just . . . well, this is the only home and life I've ever known. I don't know if I can do this alone."
"Well kid, you don't really have a choice. Besides, you're tough. You're stubborn. You're a survivor. You're going to be fine. Besides, I have a little present for you."
"A present? I seriously hope you didn't spend any money on me. You know I won't accept it Claudine! That was the deal. I said 'no presents!'"
"It's not that kind of present," Claudine rolled her eyes. "Take this, and use it when you need to remember . . . but not for sorrow." Claudine whispered to her as she placed the delicately carved decanter into Sookie's hands.
"I don't understand." She had turned the bottle over in her hand. A faint glow emanated from the pale purple liquid as it sloshed back and forth in the bottle.
"Think of it as aromatherapy with a kick!" Claudine exclaimed. Her large eyes were bright and her voice bubbled with enthusiasm. "I only wish I could be there when you use it. It will be amazing!"
"How do I use it?" Sookie asked. She was a little suspicious. It wasn't that she distrusted Claudine or her intentions. She just had no desire to imbibe any magical fairy potion. She had enough problems without the possibility of having an unpredictable reaction to a fae concoction with no fae in the vicinity to help her. "And what is it, really?"
"Well, it's a fairy thing." She explained with a tone that said it should have been obvious. "You put a drop . . . a very small drop . . . in a nice warm bath."
"Riiiight," Sookie responded. "I sorta got that it was a 'fairy thing.' I guess what I'm asking is . . . what does it do?"
"Oh, now I understand what you mean!" Claudine said brightly. "Well, what it does depends on what you want it to do."
Sookie could feel her temper starting to flare. Clearly Claudine was reluctant to give her details about the mysterious gift, but she was determined to have them. "What's the big secret, Claudine? Why won't you just tell me what the stuff does? I won't use it if I have no idea what it does."
"Gosh Sookie, you're a pain in my ass! Here I am giving you a gift fit for a fairy king, and you're asking me a bunch of questions." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Here goes. The gift itself is the liquid called Ambrosia. It was used by the Greek Gods." She said that last bit with as much fanfare as someone saying they fed it to their dogs on a daily basis.
"Basically," she continued, "it is a potion that soothes and relaxes the mind. It allows you to see things you wouldn't ordinarily see. How it works depends on what you feel you need to see. For example, if you're homesick just pour a drop into the warm bath water and imagine home."
Over three years had passed since that night in Eric's study. Sookie had never used the Ambrosia, though. She'd held the bottle, stared at it, removed the cap, and held it over her tub. One time about a year or so after her escape from Bon Temps she had held the bottle over the water so long that the smallest of drops escaped into the warm bath water below.
The smell had been heavenly. It was a combination of gardenias and an early summer night. The fragrance had tugged at her consciousness, practically willing her into the comfort of the water. She'd disrobed completely, and had submerged two toes. Finally, she grew afraid, took step back, inhaled, and released the drain. She had watched the fragrant lavender-tinged water swirl as it seeped down into the drain.
It had been a hard thing for her to do. She'd wanted to use the potion so bad at that time. It was a low, dark day. She had been living in a place so far from home and so foreign to her. Every single day was a struggle. She longed to go back to Bon Temps. She longed to go home.
She felt certain that somehow Claudine's precious gift could transport her there. Not physically, of course, but in her own mind in a manner that would make her feel as if she were actually there. It had only been her memory of Claudine's words . . . "but not for sorrow" that had stayed her curiosity.
Her instincts told her that a dark mood could yield dark memories. More bad memories were something she did not need.
To Sookie, that night was a lifetime ago. She had put several years and hundreds of miles between her present self and that lost, darker Sookie. It's so tempting to try it now, she thought as she rolled the tear-shaped bottle between her fingers, still standing in front of her closet. There's no better time. My life will never be easy. It will never be simple. Part of me will always be alone and lonely.
All these things she knew . . . had always known. The only difference was that she could now handle them with a grace and gentle optimism she'd never had before. She'd been so far removed from the bubble of her world for so long that she'd grown to fit her surroundings, rather than expecting things to happen the other way around.
She stood up with the bottle still in her hand and walked toward the almost-filled bathtub. Her bathroom was getting warmer, and the mirror was filling up with steam. She felt enveloped in warmth and safety. She inhaled deeply, and slid her terry bath robe over her bare shoulders.
This was always her favorite part of the day—the time of day where she could strip off the mask of her assumed identity, and the costume of her everyday life. It was exhausting being someone else all the time. In the quiet peacefulness of her bathroom with its cool blue walls and beach-styled watercolors, she was herself again. She could be nude—literally and figuratively—with abandon and without fear.
She allowed the briny water—what was it about tap water near the ocean that made it seem a bit brackish?—to fill the large claw-footed tub to a few inches from the edge. She cranked the old fashioned "spicket"-styled faucet until the water trickled to a slow drip, cracked the bath bomb Amelia gave her as a "good bye" gift into small pieces and dropped them into the water, spreading the layer of oily scent across the top of the water.
She slipped out of her robe and into the hot water. She leaned her head back against the soft, foamy bath pillow, enjoying the hot sting as her skin adapted to the water's temperature. There was something enticing about the pleasure and pain that came with the adjustment. It brought a small smile to the corners of her mouth.
For a few moments she lay still; just breathing in the aroma of the bath bomb. The slow drip of the leaky faucet into the tub water was constant and mesmerizing. Her thoughts were slow and her eyelids heavy. She could feel the tightness of her sore muscles fading away. The heavy weight that had burdened her chest began to melt away as if the bath were melting a restrictive frost encasing that had encumbered her soul.
Yes, she thought, this must be Heaven. Next time I'll try the fairy juice. That ought to be something. It was her last thought before the comfort of sleep took her. Well, it was the second to last thought, at least. If she were truly honest with herself, her last waking thought was always the same: a pair of familiar and achingly beautiful blue eyes. Her memory was getting hazy and it was getting harder to remember the full face, but her memory of his eyes never faded. Next time she would definitely use the fairy juice. There were a few things she would like to remember . . . .
TBC . . . .