From the Waist Down
Chapter 10
With a towel wrapped snuggly around my chest, I stepped into the bathroom that adjoined Eric's bedroom. Yellow light played on the pretty ivory tiles, giving the room a golden hue. The sound of running water echoed in my ears, pushing out every other thought. If only I could figure out how to concentrate this way all the time. I couldn't think about anything else, nothing but the violently rushing water. Sam Merlotte stood on four legs beside me, his hot fur pressed comfortingly against my knee. Like Eric, Sam had remained close when I needed him, always in a form that was innocent and affectionate, non-judgmental and compassionate. I couldn't find it in my soul to cast him away when I was angry or sad or pent up with frenzied nightmares. He remained with me when Eric could not, and because I was not ready to be alone, their partnership of protection was welcome.
The bedroom door opened quietly and I turned to see him standing there. I didn't question the blood on his hands, his arms, his shirt. Some part of me knew that whatever he'd been doing, it had been for my protection. I didn't want to know the details. Sam stepped out of the way as if moved by instinct, reflex. Eric took his place. He bent down, loose hair falling around his face, and lightly kissed my forehead. I froze in place, though I couldn't say why. The kiss wasn't comforting, wasn't enjoyed or even desired. He might have sighed, might have shown me his frustration or impatience, but he did neither.
The water smelled like lavender and chamomile.
Relax, his body seemed to say to me. I hadn't felt the bond in two days, but it wasn't the bond I was feeling. He seemed to be speaking into my soul, massaging my broken heart. Relax. I'm here.
He shut the door and took the towel as it fell from my skin.
Dried rose petals and sprigs of lavender floated on the surface of the water. I slid in one bruised leg and then the other. I sank beneath the stillness like a river stone. Tired of fighting, tired of bravery, I wept. And I wasn't alone. Eric knelt beside the tub, and his bloody arms embraced me. I huddled in the dark folds of his shirt. I stained the cloth with my fear and my hatred and my deep sense of loss. It's okay to hide. I will protect you.
The smell of herbs made me heavy, and my eyes began to droop. I'd been sleeping forever, but for one moment, this moment, I wasn't afraid to sleep. I was safe here. I could finally relax.
The demon was dead. I could finally heal.
***
"Will you take me home?" Sookie whispered groggily when I finally retrieved her from the warm water. Chamomile-scented droplets tapped the floor tiles when they fell. Every sound drummed my ears, an unsteady heartbeat.
"Sookie," I frowned as I wrapped her up in a white towel. "I can't stay with you there."
"I need to go home. I need to be with Amelia. I need to talk to Gran." She closed her eyes as the last words passed from her lips. She spoke to the gravestone as if it were a living person. She paused a moment and looked up at me with glittering blue eyes, solid with sleepy but no less convicted determination. "I need to get on with my life."
"I'll take you," I agreed, reluctantly. She closed her eyes then, drifting at once into the meditative state she'd assumed in the bath. On the mattress, between layers of blankets and sheets, she passed from meditation into deep sleep.
Sam hopped up onto the bed and curled up at her feet. I took my own place beside her, an arm wrapped tenderly around her waist, my cheek pillowed by her tangled golden curls. Madden was dead, his body reduced to sticky red muck, a fossilized heart, and a disembodied head, but it wasn't the man that endangered her. It was her memory, the physical and emotional pain that would pull at her soul. Nothing I could do would protect her from it.
Nothing but my presence could reassure her.
***
So this was what a vampire heart looked like: a frozen stone, an organ fossilized and petrified by time. Victor Madden wasn't even that old, as far as I knew. He'd lived long enough to fuck up his entire existence, to go out with a bang and a scream but have no real lasting impact. Well, at least no lasting impact that anyone with half a brain would ever discuss. I rolled the rock over and over in the palm of my hand. It was icy cold, but bereft of all the essence usually found in a stone.
I dropped it through the eye socket of the cleaned skull and closed the lid of the box. It would go out with the morning mail and land on the desk of Felipe de Castro. I tried to imagine his face, his shock, his anger. I opened the box again and dropped a small folded note inside.
Perfect.