House of Cards
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that you recognize. They belong to Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball.
A/N: I went with the True Blood plot for this chapter, because that is one of my favourite bits ever.
JudyB: I'm very glad that your friend's okay. And, I know this might sound a bit callous, would you mind asking her if she would mind being interviewed? I'm a journalist in training, and the fact that the evacuations were calm might make for an interesting story. If she doesn't want to be interviewed, I understand.
Chapter 12: Bleeding Eyes
My dreams are filled with Eric. I know they are dreams because a) I'm doing things I would never do in real life, like lie naked in the grass with a friend and b) he's doing things he'd never do, like naked in the grass in the sun. Actually, I think this dream was influenced by that scene in Twilight where Edward's lying next to Bella in that meadow as he sparkles, only Eric's a hundred thousand times better than Edward Cullen and his skin isn't radioactive. "I can't believe I'm doing this," I say to dream Eric as he traces patterns on my bare skin with a long finger. He's writing his name on my breast and somehow, I actually like how possessive he is.
"Why not?" asks Dream!Eric. "You want me, and I want you. There is nothing wrong with having what you want when you don't hurt anyone."
"Because this isn't me," I say, propping myself up on one elbow and letting my tousled hair fall across my chest. Eric mirrors my movement so that he's on eye level with me. His eyes are so blue and deep that I can believe I'm staring into the centre of a nebula. The sun is making his hair look like molten gold. I can stare at him forever. "I'm not in love with you and I don't do this 'friends with benefits' thing."
"Who said we were friends?" asks Dream!Eric as he pulls me towards him for a kiss. His lips sear me to the very core of my being. I rub myself against him. Our bodies mould together perfectly. His hand moves down my body, from my shoulder, down my sides, my hips and my thighs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
And then there's a bunch of voices singing something about 'odorem sanguis'.
My alarm pulls me out of that delicious dream and I find that I'm lying with my nightie bunched up around my hips in a bed which is sadly devoid of any trace of Viking. Wait. I don't want to find Eric in bed beside me. That would just be wrong, wrong, wrong. Even if the view would be spectacular. Gah, I am really in need of sleep. Or maybe just coffee, since I don't really have any time to waste. I head downstairs to the spa and salon to get my hair cut and coloured. My hair's usually wavy, but I've decided to go for straightened layers because that's a big change without me having to cut off most of my crowning glory. Sure, I could probably get extensions, but I don't exactly want to think that I might be wearing the locks of some poor gypsy woman who had to sell her hair to feed her family. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.
"Now why would you want to dye your hair?" asks the hairdresser as she puts foils in my hair. "Your hair is gorgeous. I want it." She's a middle-aged woman with shocking pink hair and seven piercings in each ear. Her name tag says 'Doreen'. It's altogether too plain of a name for someone who looks the way she does.
"I just feel like a change," I say. "Bad relationship and all. I'm ready to make a new start."
"Ah, still can't let go of that vampire?" asks the stylist.
"How do you know?" I ask.
"I may be a busy woman, but I do read those gossip magazines. They said you parted on good terms, though."
"Avoiding the media spotlight," I say. "I don't really want to talk about it."
"Oh, honey, it will get better, I promise." I guess that's why they pay her so much to cut and colour hair. She's got a very soothing presence, Doreen, and she talks whilst she expertly applies some foul smelling chemicals to my hair.
By the time she's done, I'm a brunette and I look…Greek. Well, Italian, at least. I've never been a brunette in my life and it feels weird, especially since guys no longer ogle me as much. It's a welcome change, although I do mourn the loss of my blondeness. Blondes can hide behind the stereotype of dumbness, which is very useful on occasion. I go back upstairs just in time to accept the delivery of the rest of my disguise supplies. There's a pair of unflattering oval tortoiseshell glasses with non-prescription lenses, a couple of knee-length corduroy skirts which make me wince with their ugliness, and two floral blouses, one green and one blue, both with large white flowers. They would work better as curtains for a trailer, to be honest. There's a pair of beige flats to go with all of this. I haven't worn flats since…the last time I went to the gym. I don't look in the mirror. Even Eric at his horniest can't possibly find me attractive when I look like this, I don't think. The vampires have been very thorough, because there's even a cheap white vinyl purse plus a cubic zirconium ring. Ick. Ick. Ick. Ah, the things you do for friends.
I tuck my pepper spray into the cheap purse, along with some cash. My phone goes in my bra. One, Jeri Lou Labouche probably can't afford a Blackberry, and I want my phone on me at all times in case something does happen and I need to call for help. Plus, the phone's a modified taser. I turn off the sound and the vibrate mode first, though. It would be very strange if my breast started vibrating.
No one recognizes me when I get out of the elevator. They think I'm either in the wrong place, or else I'm a very well-disguised 'donor'. My 'fiancé', Hugo Ayers, is waiting for me outside the hotel and even though we've met, he doesn't recognize me until I approach him. "Wow, Jeri Lou," he says. "You really look the part."
"Thanks, I guess," I say. "What's your alias anyway?"
"I guess you can just call me Hugo," he says. "I'm not very good at remembering these things and it's not as if I'm famous."
He drives me in his old blue Ford to the Fellowship of the Sun church. It's a little way out of Dallas, and the building itself doesn't look anything like a church at all. Rather, it reminds me of some big community centre or commune, with one large central building and dozens of smaller buildings scattered all around it. As we draw closer, I realize that those are classrooms. There are colourful childish pictures taped to the wall. One of them shows a stick figure driving a stake through another stick figure with fangs. I feel sick. The kid who drew that couldn't have been older than seven at the time. How can they teach children such hatred? I think of Hunter, who is so trusting and bubbly. To teach little people like him such ugly things is a form of abuse.
Hugo's nervous, which is understandable. This is an undercover job, after all. We park the car in a dusty car park and walk up the steps of the 'church'. There are a lot of people here, all dressed in their most casual clothes and, funnily enough, lugging sleeping bags and pillows and boxes of food and games. There seems to be some sort of event, and people are excited. I hear something about a 'bonfire'.
There is a woman in her mid-thirties to early forties greeting everyone at the door with kind words of welcome and a brilliant perfect smile. She looks altogether too stylish to be here and she sticks out like a rose amongst shrubs. A thorny rose. She's judging each and every single one of the people she's greeting. This one's stupid. That one's a nosy bitch. I recognize her as being Sarah Newlin, wife of Reverend Steve Newlin, who's been in the newspaper more than Jason has, although he's usually there because he wants to be there. His father founded the Fellowship of the Sun church. It used to be called something else, and they were anti-gay and covertly anti-feminist, but ever since the vampires came out of the coffin, they changed their name to the Fellowship of the Sun. The old Reverend Newlin was killed in a car crash last year, along with his —second— wife, who was twenty years younger than him, and their young daughter. He was sixty-six years old.
"Well, hello there," says Sarah Newlin to Hugo and me. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you new here?"
"We just moved here, actually," I say as brightly as I can manage as I hug Hugo's arm, pretending that I actually love him.
"I'm Hugo," says Hugo, sticking out his hand. Sarah shakes it. "Hugo Ayers." What the hell? Why would he use his real name?
"Sarah Newlin," says Sarah. "I'm Reverend Newlin's wife." She shakes my hand in turn, and I notice that her grip is limp and her mind is strangely full of very random thoughts. It's as if she's trying to not think about something. A more skilled telepath would have been able to discover what she's hiding, but I'm nowhere near Barisan's level of expertise. Maybe I could join Hunter's lessons when I go back to New York.
"This is Jeri Lou," says Hugo. "My fiancée."
"Welcome to the Light of Day Institute, Hugo and Jeri Lou," says Sarah brightly. "I'm so glad you've decided to come here."
"We're glad to be here too," I say. "Our other church, the pastor was…you know."
"Was he homosexual?" asks Sarah. "Oh my." She crosses herself.
"No, it's worse," I say. "He's a sympathizer."
Sarah gasps in a melodramatic way. She loathes vampires, and it's personal. 'No, don't think about that,' she's telling herself. That's odd. "Well, I see why you couldn't possibly have stayed, and you made the right decision," she says out loud. "I'm sure you'll meet a lot of like-minded people here. Oh, and there's Steve. Steve! This is Hugo and Jeri Lou. They're new."
Steve Newlin is a relatively attractive looking man in his early to mid-forties. There isn't a single hair out of place and his white suit is meticulous. He even has a yellow handkerchief tucked into the breast pocket of his blazer. He's thinking about how good he looks and how he's going to wow the nation and convert them all to his cause. He's also very excited about something, although he, too, seems to be deliberately not thinking about something. It is most odd.
"Welcome, welcome!" he says as he shakes our hands enthusiastically. "You've made the right choice in coming here."
The Newlins take us on a tour of the church grounds. Steve points out the main buildings and Sarah supplements him. "The main church is used for other activities besides worship," says the Reverend as he shows us the stairs that lead down into the basement. "We host a lot of events."
"We have barbecues, game nights…oh, there's a lock-in tonight," says Sarah.
"I beg your pardon?" I ask.
"A lock-in," says Sarah. "Basically, we have a sleepover in the church, with lots of food and games and movies and Bible readings and a sermon. It's a lot of fun."
"I've never heard of them," I say.
"Oh you poor deprived thing," says Sarah.
"Why don't you come to tonight's one?" asks Steve. "We have spare sleeping bags and pillows, and plenty of food." He's practically gleeful. And wait…is that a large bonfire with someone burning in the middle of it? A vampire? I have to go back. I have to tell Eric.
"Oh, I don't think so," I say. "I have a…" A what? "I have a casserole in the oven, and I have to feed the cat."
"The cat has plenty of dried food and water, honey," says Hugo. "And we can save the casserole for another day. This is a great opportunity to meet new people."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man striding towards us; the same man with the mono-brow I saw in the mind of my would-have-been kidnapper. Oh God…
"Well, it's really nice of you," I say to the Newlins. "I'll just go home and put the casserole in the fridge so it won't spoil, and then we'll come back with our things."
"I don't think so," says Newlin. His demeanour changes immediately and he grabs me by the arm before shoving me down the stairs. I have no time to prepare and I roll down the steps. Painfully, I might add. My cheap glasses break and I land in an undignified heap on the floor next to Hugo, who was also pushed down. I try to clamber back up the stairs. Just because escape was futile with three people blocking one narrow doorway doesn't mean I'm not going to try it. It's still day time, so Eric probably can't sense me. 'Barisan!' I think as hard as I can. Is there such a thing as long distance telepathy?
Steve Newlin is upon me in an instant and he holds me still as Sarah Newlin searches me. She takes my phone from my bra and then crushes it beneath the heel of her shoe. Great. There goes my last chance at contacting the outside world, unless the warlock has developed stalkerish tendencies and followed Eric and me to Dallas. Somehow, I doubt that. "Let's see how your precious vampires will save you now, you evil whore of Satan!" she spits.
"I'm a virgin," I say. "I'm not sure how I can be a virgin whore."
"Get them inside, Gabe," Newlin says to Mono-brow. I try my best to kick him in the balls, but I mis-aim with my flat shoes and hit his knee instead. Newlin yanks my head back by my hair and it fucking hurts. A lady is allowed to curse in drastic situations. I'm sure Gran will forgive me. "You're going to witness the wrath of God tonight, you little slut," he whispers into my ear before he pushes me into a caged off section of the basement, along with Hugo.
"Wait!" he shouts. "What are you doing? I've done everything you told me!" Oh, so now I get it. He's the spy. Really, it hurts to be betrayed no matter by whom. Mainly, I'm just mad at myself for not finding out about his treachery sooner. I mean, I am a telepath. Obviously, I'm not a very good one.
"I don't get it," I say after the Newlins and Mono-brow leave. "Why on earth would you do this? Isabel treats you well. I've seen the way she looks at you. She loves you!"
"That's what she wants me to think!" says Hugo. "I guess you don't get it, do you, you stupid slut. It's what they do. They make you attach yourself to them, so that everything you do is for them. I lost my wife, my job, and I'm happy to do menial kitchen chores so I can be with Isabel! And then she refuses to turn me! Do you think Eric Northman really loves you? He doesn't. Their hearts don't beat. They can't love. They will just use you, and then discard you."
"Okay, just back up here. One, what's going on between Eric and me is none of your business, and two, your obsession with Isabel is your own psychological problem and you should have gotten counselling for sex addiction instead of turning your back on people who've never done anything to hurt you and selling them out!"
"If there's anyone who's turned their back on anyone, then it's you, you little fangbanging whore!" says a new voice. Oh, wonderful. Mono-brow's returned. He unlocks the door of the cage we're in. Hugo rushes at him and tries to get past him, but the brute is strong, and he knocks Hugo into the floor with one right hook. Hugo falls, unconscious. Now it's just him and me, and I know it's not going to be pretty. I scream as he pounces on me and throws me onto my back. His hands are groping my breasts and tearing my blouse open to reveal my —Calvin Klein— underwear. I kick and scream and struggle, but even with Eric's blood in me, Mono-brow is much larger and stronger and he's overpowering me. "Let me show you what a real man's like!" he all but cackles.
"Get the fuck off me!" I aim at his eyes with my fingers, intent on gouging them out, but he grabs my hand before I can get to him and pins it to the floor. His knee forces my thighs open. Oh God, no…
And then he's dangling by the back of his sweatshirt. Holding him up is a beautiful adolescent boy with pale skin and blue tattoos all over his body. The look Celtic, or something like that. "Godric, what are you doing?" Mono-brow wheezes. The neck of his sweatshirt is cutting off his air. "It's me!"
"I am aware," says the young-looking vampire who is probably older than the Roman Empire. And then he snaps Mono-brow's neck, letting him fall to the floor. His eyes are still open in death. I climb shakily to my feet and try to make myself decent; it's a little hard to do when all my buttons are on the floor. At least the hardy corduroy skirt is intact, and so is my underwear. I give up and just tie the ends of my blouse together. Some of my bra is still showing, and my midriff is bare, but at least my blouse isn't flapping open.
"Godric?" I ask. "Are you Godric?"
"You should not have come, human," he says. I take that as a yes.
"Eric asked me to help find you. He's really worried." I step towards him, taking care to stay as far away from the dead body as possible. I mean the truly dead body. "Come on, we have to go before they find out."
Screams from above indicate that it may be a bit too late for a subtle exit. Eric comes zooming through the doorway at vampire speed. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life. It's not rational, but I throw myself at him and he catches me, holding me. "Sookie," I hear him say softly. "Sookie, I am sorry. Are you hurt? Please, tell me."
I shake my head. I was almost hurt in a most brutal way, if not for the interference of his friend. Eric's voice soothes me and I find comfort in his mental silence. "Hugo was a traitor," I whisper.
"He will be punished," says Eric. "I swear it."
"You shouldn't have sent humans after me," says Godric. His voice is soft and like that of a teenaged boy, but it is heavy like that of an old veteran who has seen too much death and destruction. I suppose he is both. "It was foolish."
"I had no other choice," says my Viking. Wait, no. The Viking. Not my Viking. Eric doesn't belong to anyone apart from himself. "The fanatics want to destroy you."
"I know, my child," says Godric. Child. In vampire lexicon, that means Godric made Eric. He's like Eric's dad! No wonder Eric was so worried. "I came to them."
"Why?" demands Eric. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"The endless darkness holds no meaning for me anymore," says Godric.
The sirens sound, and lights flash, alerting the members of the Fellowship to a breach of security. If we do not leave now, then we won't ever be leaving. At least not alive.
"Godric, please," says Eric. Is he…begging? "You cannot think that way."
"You cannot change my mind, Eric," says Godric. "Go now, before it is too late. Save the human, but spill no blood. It is a command. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."
Eric wants to protest, I can tell, but he cannot refuse his maker's command. He bows his head, and with his arm still wrapped around my shoulders, he escorts me out of the basement. I see that he's broken down the locked door; it lies in splinters on the steps. Outside, a couple of men are milling around with stakes in their hands. They are nervous. None of them have actually seen a vampire before, but they are determined to kill the 'enemies of God'. On the speakers, Newlin is announcing that the 'Soldiers of the Sun' —they even have their own private army like the Taliban!— are going to be arriving soon to secure the area and capture the rogue vampire. The doors have been barred. The only way out is to kill those men —because I'm pretty sure that even Eric can't break through solid concrete walls— but Godric commanded Eric not to kill anybody. It is a huge dilemma. Oh, where is that warlock when you most need him? He's most likely still trying to beat the computer at chess.
"Stay here," Eric whispers to me. "Keep out of sight."
"What are you doing?"
"Don't you trust me?"
"You know I do."
He transforms before my very eyes, from a confident vampire prince into…I don't know. Maybe that's what he thinks humans are like. He approaches the men with an exaggerated swagger.
"Hey," he says in a pretty good Canadian accent. "The Reverend told me to guard the door."
"On your own?" asks one of young men there. He must be younger than me. I feel sad for him; he must have known this hatred all his life.
"You think I ain't got it in me, bub?" asks Eric. If the situation wasn't so dire, I would have laughed. If he thinks the Wolverine is a regular human, then he's got another think coming.
"Well, you're big, but we're dealing with a vampire here," says the young man. "They're dangerous."
Eric snorts. "If he comes at me I'll stake 'em. It's simple."
"You don't have a stake," another man points out.
"Yeah, well, I kinda left in a hurry," says Eric. He holds out his hand.
"No way," says the first man. "You can get your own." The other guys are becoming suspicious. I can hear their thoughts. They're wondering why Eric's so pale, and why his hair's so long. One of them sneaks up behind him.
"Eric!" I scream. At the same time, Eric whips around. With one swift movement, he's pushed three of the guys to the floor and then holding the fourth by the throat. The other men flee in fear, realizing that they are no match for a vampire. I run up to Eric.
"Don't kill him, please," I say.
The Viking snarls, but he drops the young man—boy, really, and pushes the door open just a little. I peer around his broad back; there are more armed men with stakes and crude wooden pikes and crossbows and silver chains. These look more professional than the others. I hear people marching through the other doors. We're trapped, unless we find a window. Unfortunately, the only windows are in the sanctuary. I tell him.
The vampire picks me up in his arms as if I weigh like a feather —which I don't because I'm a girl of a healthy size— and zooms to the sanctuary, only to find that the door has been barred, and there are more armed men there, waiting for us. The ring tightens, like the noose around a prisoner's neck just before the hatch is opened. Eric puts me back on my feet. There is no other way around it. There will be a fight, and we're not likely to survive. Those arrows alone would kill us before we can even do anything. Except…
The crowd parts to let Newlin through. "Well, well," he says. "Trying to leave, are we? Unfortunately for you, the only way out leads straight to Hell." Eric is silent. He is analyzing the exits, trying to find a weakness in the ring of men surrounding us. His body is tense, and he's ready to kill, to fight.
Except he's been commanded specifically not to kill.
"Godric got away," I warn Newlin. "He's going to get help."
"Godric doesn't worry me," says the good reverend. "All we need is a vampire for our celebration, and this one right here will do quite nicely."
I see it in his mind. He wants to nail Eric to a wooden cross that's waiting in the sanctuary and then wheel him out to the field so that the rising sun can kill him at dawn. I look desperately at Eric. He's got to have found a way out. He has to. He's Eric Northman. He always finds a way out.
Doesn't he?
"If," begins Eric. "If I give myself up, will you let the girl go?"
"Eric, no!" I hiss. He ignores me.
"I don't have the habit of hurting innocents," says Newlin.
"No," I whisper. "You can't do this." I hold onto Eric's arm, trying to make him see reason. It's not going to work, and at any rate, I don't want him to exchange his life for mine. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.
"I'll be fine, Sookie," he murmurs to me as he gently pries my fingers off his arm. He turns towards Newlin, ready to submit himself to the horrifying fate that awaited him.
I grab him and force him to turn. And when he does, I pull his head down toward mine. Our lips meet and I don't want to let him go, ever. This isn't just a kiss of lust. We put everything that we want to convey, but don't have time to convey, into that one kiss. The desire to live, the wish that we could spend longer with one another, our desperation and our regret for what will never be. It is the only thing we can do. There are too many things that need to be said and just not enough time.
His lips are insistent and hot against mine, despite having no body heat. I cling to him as if he is my only lifeline. I guess that's a pretty accurate statement, considering that we are both about to die. He deliberately bites into his tongue, drawing blood. I understand what he is trying to do. He is giving me his strength in the hopes that it might help me to survive. I suck on his gift greedily. In that instant, as we pour out our emotions into that one point of contact, I find myself suddenly slipping into Eric's mind.
Being a vampire of such great age and experience, I expected to find something unpleasant, but all I hear is his desire to protect me, even now, when such a notion is most likely impossible. A man can have no greater love than to lay down his life for his friends, and Eric is willing to do that for me. It is at that moment that I realize I really do truly love him. I don't know what kind of love I have for him, whether it is platonic or something more, but it is indeed love. And, whether he knows it or not, he loves me too.
He slowly pulls away. I stare up into his eyes, wishing that we had another option. I don't want him to die because of me. I don't want him to die, period. "Be strong," he whispers, and then he turns away from me and slowly approaches Newlin, his head bowed. As soon as he leaves my side, two men seize me and restrain me to stop me from running to him. I feel the desire to cry as he lets them bind him with silver chains. The metal burns his skin and flesh, leaving deep red marks with charred edges. They wrap silver around his wrists, his ankles, his upper arms and his neck. Smoke rises from the wounds. He is in pain. I can see it in the tenseness of his shoulders, but he doesn't utter a sound. He is too proud.
It's like a funeral march, the short walk to the sanctuary, where the cross awaits. Or perhaps it's more like the painful journey to Golgotha. I struggle against my captors, but even with Eric's blood in me, I'm not quite strong enough. I wish I were something more than just a telepathic socialite. I wish I were good enough of a telepath to transmit thoughts into people's minds and thus control them. I wish I were good enough just to contact someone who could help us.
But I'm not good enough.
The sight of the cross makes my breath hitch in my throat. The wood is smooth and polished, and it's mounted on a cart with four large metal and rubber wheels. There is a box full of large silver nails at the foot of the cross. No, no, this cannot be happening.
Eric is chained to the cross first, with silver wrapped around his arms, his neck, his torso and his legs. He is bound so tightly that he cannot move. The chains hold him in place, ready for the next step.
I want to look away, but I can't tear my eyes from the scene. I seem to have lost the ability to speak, or even think. Perhaps my mind simply doesn't want to process what my eyes are seeing. This cannot be happening. It's just a horrible nightmare. I will myself to wake up. It doesn't happen.
"Our bargain?" says Eric in a low voice to Steve Newlin once he's been secured, like an animal waiting for slaughter.
"Apart from the fact that deals with sub-humans don't have to be honoured," says Newlin, "the girl is also not an innocent."
Eric roars in fury. His fangs are out, but he can do nothing. We've both been tricked.
The first strike of the mallet drives the silver nail through flesh and tendon and between the bones of his wrist. The sound echoes through the sanctuary. I scream his name as the spike is hammered into his flesh and the wood. Tears are pouring from my eyes. I can't stand it. Red rivulets trickle down his pale skin before dripping onto the wod below.
Another thwack, another nail, a short cry of pain cut off by sheer will. Eric strains against his bonds. The silver chains cut into him and, along with the two nails, hold him secure. I've never seen him so powerless. I struggle and scream and sob. How can supposedly 'civilized' people do things like this? The worst thing was that most of these people were just ordinary folks. They had families they adored, problems at work, the lot. How did they become this?
They drag me to the cross. I know what they plan to do. They're going to tie me to Eric so that we can both go up in flames together.
The stained glass window at the front of the sanctuary shatters.
