Chapter 2

I awoke in a big bed, tucked in up to my chin under a down duvet and soft sheets. A lamp on the nightstand was on, dimly. A little silver clock next to the lamp told me that it was half past four. Pale blue silk curtains covered the windows, but some light seeped through. So, 4:30 in the afternoon, then. The events of last night rushed back in my mind: the dark basement, Russell, Eric's bite… Panic hit me when I realized that I didn't know if Eric had survived, or Russell, or neither of them. And I had no idea where I was, which seemed to happen to me more and more often.

Anxiously, I took stock. I was wearing the same underwear as yesterday. There was no sign of my clothes, but a long pink silk robe (with matching feathery trim, yikes) was draped across the foot of the bed. I moved my arms and legs a little and felt no injury or even stiffness. I discovered one small bandage on my inner elbow. It covered a barely-there puncture, from a needle, not a fang, and I frowned.

I couldn't hear any sounds except the quiet tick of the clock. I smelled sour, rank. A desperate need to pee got me out of bed, hurrying across thick wool carpeting to an adjoining bathroom.

I used the facilities with a sigh of relief, and eyed the walk-in shower with longing. It would have to wait. Two bottles of water were near the sink, with a crystal tumbler. I didn't bother with the glass, but drank half a bottle quickly, and felt a little less parched. Back in the bedroom, I spied a phone on a little desk and next to it, a note on a sheet of heavy paper.

"Sookie," it read,

"If you wake before dark, ask Bobby for anything you need. Dial him at star-2.

E."

My body relaxed considerably. Eric was alive, and well enough to write a note. I wondered if he lived here, or if this was some kind of safe house like I'd read about in paperback thrillers. The bedroom felt impersonal, though tasteful, and expensively furnished. A peek outside the bedroom door gave me a view of a dark, wide hall, with nearby stairs going down into semi-darkness.

I cautiously opened one of the curtains a few inches, and viewed a lush lawn in warm, dappled afternoon light. Pretty shrubs edged the lawn with a tall stone fence behind them, and trees beyond that. The fall leaves were just starting to turn. It was the picture of peacefulness.

Reassured that my life wasn't in immediate danger, I went directly back to the bathroom and turned on the shower. It was well-stocked with soaps and shampoos. In the top drawer of the vanity, I found a half-dozen new toothbrushes, a choice of toothpastes, a wooden comb, and a few pink plastic razors. The second drawer revealed many little boxes of Chanel cosmetics, all unopened. Pam, I mused. She must have had fun at the department store.

A stack of towels sat on the edge of the bathtub, with a fancy little shopping bag on the floor nearby. Poking aside the pink tissue paper in the bag, I discovered a black lace camisole and matching panties, some kind of boy-short/thong hybrid. I'd never worn black underwear or anything this sheer, but it would have to do.

The shower felt fantastic, but I cleaned up as quickly as I could and dried off. Standing in my new underwear, I looked in the mirror above the sink. Eric's bite mark at my neck was very faint, just two pale pink dots and the slightest blush of a blue bruise. I brushed my teeth and got the tangles out of my wet hair. It could dry on its own, since I wasn't about to fuss with a hair dryer now.

Back in the bedroom, the closet and dresser turned out to be empty, so I reluctantly put on the robe, tied it firmly around my waist, and caught my reflection in a tall mirror. I looked like a frothy pink bird, with the robe's enormous, lavish feather trim at the collar and cuffs. If I had to defend myself against an attacker, my only hope would be that they'd keel over laughing at the sight of me.

My stomach growled, and I realized that I needed food. I debated searching for a kitchen, but I remembered Eric's note, and picked up the phone instead.

"Miss Stackhouse?" Bobby Burnham answered on the first ring.

"Bobby? Hi, yes, it's Sookie," I said quickly. "Ah, I hate to bother to you, but I was getting sort of hungry… and was wondering if there's any food here?" (Wherever the hell I am, I thought.)

"I'll bring somethin' up." The phone clicked; he'd hung up. I'd never met Bobby, but I knew from Bill that he was Eric's day guy, the one who ran daytime errands like picking up dry cleaning. He also handled security while Eric slept. Bobby hadn't sounded especially friendly, but if Eric trusted him with his life, I could probably trust Bobby to bring me a sandwich.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Bobby stood there with a tray. He was almost as tall as Eric, and bulky in the way that former football players can get when they stop doing all that running but keep eating. His brown hair was shorn with a buzz cut. I ushered him in, and gave his mind a little scan as he put the tray down on the desk.

… like drag queen Big Bird… fucking ridiculous… don't laugh don't laugh

I gave Bobby my sweetest smile. "Thanks for the food, Bobby." He was making a bee line for the door, avoiding eye contact.

"Sure thing," he said quickly.

"Is everything okay, with Eric and… everything…?" I asked, just as he was about to get the door closed.

Bobby looked at me like I was especially dim (I'm used to that) and cleared his throat. His mind was full of fear of Eric.

"You'd best talk with Eric about all that," Bobby said cautiously. He gave me a little nod and hurried off.

I sighed, and sat down to eat. My dinner of roasted chicken, some greens, and buttery little potatoes was surprisingly delicious. Bobby had also brought me a glass of white wine, but I let myself drink only half of it. I had a feeling that I'd still need my wits about me tonight.

It was almost six o'clock, and still light out. The warm shower and the wine had soothed me, and the soft bed beckoned. I dozed, but must have slept harder than I thought, because when I woke the tray was gone and another note with the now-familiar big scrawl was on the bed:

"Sookie,

I am downstairs.

E."

I wanted to see him, and yet, I hesitated. Eric always brought me more trouble, and he often scared me, but I felt drawn to him. It was maddening. I tried to imagine what Gran would say. I think she'd be just as flummoxed as I was, but I was sure she'd tell me to face the problem straight on. I knew I agreed with her.

I got up and combed my hair again. I did give in to the frivolity of the lipsticks, and found a nice pale shade in the second box I opened. The first one I'd opened was a color of red-magenta that I could imagine only Pam wearing.

Then I tied the robe a little tighter, and went to him.