So how is Pam doing, Red?
Horribly. -(This apology is for any and all gramatical errors, spelling mistakes, and/or crappiness that my sleep deprived, insominac eyes failed to catch while writing this. To this I say... my bad) Enjoy.
Pam moaned and shifted on the twin sized bed. She weakly attempted to pull her hands up to her throbbing temples, but her arms got caught halfway there. She glanced over toward her wrists and saw a bluish rope tying her down. At another glance, she realized that the rope was smeared in the creamy, blue substance that had been used against her last night. She sighed in defeat and exhaustion before glancing around a spinning room.
What time was it anyway? It tasted like daylight. Her body ached like it was daylight. She grunted in frustration—wishing she was in her cozy coffin in Fangtasia and not this hellhole. Her actions caused a stir from behind her and she froze when she realized she wasn't alone.
"Oh, thank God! I thought they killed you!" A female voice beside her caught her attention. Pam looked over to her right. There, in the corner, sat a tiny, rather attractive woman on an armchair. She was just barely in Pam's line of sight, but the vampire could still manage to see the woman's wrists tied together by a bluish rope similar to Pam's.
"I saw them drag you in. I asked if you were dead, but they didn't answer me. I tried talking to you, but you didn't answer me either so I thought you were dead. It's a good thing you're not though, that'd be sad…. I'm Stacy!"
"Stacy?" Pam's heart sank as her mind began to process recent events. "Stacy… Kane?"
"You know me?" The girl glimmered, wiggling against her restraints. Her expression fell immediately and she gave Pam an odd look. "How do you know me? I don't know you."
Pam swallowed and stared at the ceiling, fighting back tears that were begging to fall.
"My maker is Eric Northman," she informed, closing her eyes. "He was looking for you when you went missing."
"Really?" Stacy cocked her head to the side. "The Sheriff was looking for me? That's so sweet of him! I knew he was a good sheriff." She giggled and snorted, again shifting around in her chair. Pam's brows furrowed at the girl's attitude. She tried to reposition herself so she could get a better glimpse of her, but once she had, she wished she hadn't.
Stacy's nose was bleeding profoundly, and her face was stained an odd, purple color—most likely from the powder her attackers had used on her. Her body was cut up and scabs, needle pokes, and stab marks decorated her sickly pale skin. She was sitting in only her a bra and underwear, with a thin sheet draped over her shoulders.
"What did they do to you?" Pam gasped before dropping her heavy head back on the pillow. Stacy giggled.
"The masters? They needed my blood."
"They're not your masters, Stacy," Pam ignored the girl's protests. Stacy was delusional. That much was certain. Pam needed to figure out Stacy's state of mind and whose side she was on before the group came back.
She thought back to the girl's purple stained face. "Stacy, did you try calling your maker?"
Pam heard shifting from beside her as the girl kicked the ground with her bare feet.
"The masters won't let me," She pouted. "Not yet. They say they need more time. They say my maker is too strong for them, and then they took my blood."
"What do you mean, 'not yet'? Are they going to let you call your maker?"
"I'm so glad you're here! Now I have someone to talk to. This is so exciting; we can do so many things together! Would you like to sunbathe?"
"STACY! Please, focus! You need to focus, okay? We need to get out of here."
"Why?" Stacy asked. She was being sincere.
"Because those men are bad people, okay? They're not your masters."
"Yes, they are!" Stacy shouted defensively. Pam immediately shushed her and glanced toward the door. Stacy continued to pout and murmur to herself, ignoring the obvious danger. After a minute or two of no one bursting through the door and rushing in the room, Pam continued.
"Have you eaten anything since you've been here?" She felt her nervousness growing. She didn't want to starve while in captivity. Pam patiently waited, but she didn't get a response.
"Stacy?" She asked, lifting up her head. Stacy was staring at the floor, silently sobbing.
"We're gonna die…" she mumbled. Bloody tears streamed down her cheeks and dropped onto her bare legs. "They're gonna kill us. We're gonna die…" She was trembling in her chair.
Pam's heart pounded painfully in her chest. She wasn't entirely sure of Stacy's state of mind, but she needed help on this one.
"Stacy…" Pam began again, much softer this time. She was trying to calm the girl down. "Stacy, it's okay, you're okay. You're not going to die. I won't let you. Eric won't let you. But I need to know what's going on, okay? Now are they going to let you call your maker?"
Stacy sobbed and hiccupped, but nodded. "They're gonna let me call her, but…" her lower lip trembled and more bloody tears ran down her face.
"But what?"
"But she won't come… she's mad at me," She glanced up at Pam. "Eric's gonna be mad at you too."
Pam's brows furrowed in confusion. "Your maker will come, Stacy. Just like my maker will, okay? We're going to be fine. Eric will get us out of here. I know it."
"Then why aren't they here?" her voice was cracking as her sobs grew deeper.
"Because they did something to us—something that affects the bonds we have with our makers. We can't call them and I don't think they can call us."
"That's not true." Pam felt dizzy as the familiar voice of the leader of their captors boomed around the walls of the tiny room. Stacy squeaked at the sight of him. He casually walked up to her and stroked her face, wiping away her tears. Stacy whimpered at his touch.
"Awww, don't cry, Gorgeous, Beautiful's right. Everything is going to be just fine." He turned his attention to Pam. "Your makers can call you… they just don't care."
"That's not true," Pam defended, although she was reassuring Stacy: not herself. "They can't call us; they don't know where we are."
"How do you know that? How do you know that they just don't give a shit?"
"Because I know Eric." Pam looked at the man with intensity, irritated at his mocking grin.
Stacy's eyes darted between the two, trying to keep the attention off of her. She remembered when she was that confident… three days ago, was it? Did it really only take three days for them to break her? The man snickered and stroked Pam's face. She tried to pull away, but he held her down.
"I like your confidence, Beautiful," he reached into his pocket and pulled out a washcloth and a teabag. He set the bag at the edge of the bed and used the rag to wash the purple powder off of Pam's face.
"I'll tell you what, Beautiful, I'll make you a deal. Call Eric. See if he comes. If he doesn't, then you need to stop filling Gorgeous' head with these silly little stories, okay?"
Pam eyed him suspiciously, but his expression said he was serious. She looked down at the little bag sitting next to her head. It reeked of something fowl, and the smell burnt her nostrils.
"What is that?" She asked, referring to it.
"Nothing. Call Eric," he crossed his arms; waiting. Stacy began whimpering in the corner as if she had something to say. The man glared at her, daring her to speak, but she bowed her head and kept her mouth shut.
Pam scowled, and stared at the ceiling. A sarcastic smirk pulled at her lips. "You got a phone?"
"Call him!" The man hissed. "You know what I mean."
"I'm afraid I don't…" She smiled, "Could you please clarify?"
The man grabbed the teabag and pressed it firmly against her forehead. Silver mixed with something Pam could not recognize burned her skin and she screamed and thrashed against his weight. He removed it from her forehead and planted it on her chest, scrubbing it on her body. She screamed again and trashed around, trying to make the bag slide off. The man let go, leaving the bag on her chest and he laughed as she hissed in pain and squirmed to get it off.
"Now see, Beautiful, I don't like to hurt you, but you can't disagree with me like that. When I say do something… you do it? Got it?"
Pam hurt too much to respond. He grabbed the bag and threw it at Stacy. It smacked her in the nose and she screamed at the pain for a second before gravity pulled it to the floor. The man laughed, before brushing off his hands.
"Those are my good girls. I'll see you two tonight!" And with that, he turned on his heel and headed out the door; leaving Pam hissing in pain, and Stacy sobbing on the couch in the darkness.
Jason Stackhouse smiled at the collection of trophies he was staring at. All of them were placed neatly in a row. Each one 1st place in whatever sport it was representing. Football, baseball… heck, he even had a little bit of soccer on there. He sighed and smiled, admiring his beautiful achievements in the only physical form he had of them. Then, he looked up at the pawn shop keeper.
"So how much can I get for 'em?" he asked. The man picked up a football trophy and eyed it warily.
"I don't know, Stackhouse. What do ye want to sell yer trophies fer anyway?"
"Just need some extra cash. I've got a more responsibilities than what most folks think you know. People to take care of."
"Ah, yeah, like yer sister, eh?" The man licked his lips and bounced his eyebrows as if trying to emphasize a rather crude point. "I'd take care of her too if ye know what I mean."
Jason's face soured. "Sick… Just tell me how much the damn things are."
"Twenty… each. Naturally, I'll 'ave to rip the plaque off of 'em, but the most I can give ye is twenty."
"Sold then," Jason smiled as he traded the rest of his stuff and finished the transaction. He walked out of the shop with a good 250 dollars and walked into the grocery store across the street to spend a good 150.
Ever since he was put in charge of Crystal's family, he's been taking the job pretty seriously. The people need food, better shelter, clothing, and medicine, and Jason had been doing whatever he could to make that happen. The problem, though, had been finding some spare cash. He was running out of stuff to sell, and he had remembered earlier that day that Sookie had all of his trophies and medals. Now he really needed to look for another job.
He left the grocery store with enough food to last his adopted family a good week, and after stuffing his vehicle with it, he headed over toward Crystal's home. There were more kids there than he originally thought. At first, they were never seen—just popping out of bushes every now and again when he went over to pick up Crystal. Now, they were everywhere. Buzzing around like a swarm of bees, all of them looked up to Jason. He was terrified of the idea of letting them down.
He pulled into the farm, parking next to an unfamiliar truck. He killed his engine and got out of his car, his attention caught on two newcomers: a thin man and a short kid with an occasional tick in his neck. The two were talking to the children. For some reason, this irked him.
"Can I help you?" The oldest Stackhouse asked as he approached the two, a gallon of milk in each of his hands.
"JASON!" His name was shouted out in a joyous choir by the small children that excitedly came running towards him. He averted his attention to them, smiling and passing off the milk.
"Hey, guys! I got you some food. Go unload it, okay, I'll deal with this." The kids smiled and nodded, all racing towards Jason's truck and digging to get groceries to take them inside.
"You must be Jason," a thin, boney man approached him; his hand outstretched. Jason instinctively shook it, keeping a puzzled look on his face. "We've been waiting for you to get home. The kids were talking all about you. Looks like you're our new head customer."
Jason frowned. "Customer?" He asked, not exactly liking where this was going. If he was their new customer, then they had an old one. And the history of Crystal's family meant that the product they were selling was most likely meth or V.
"My name's Jeremy, this is Twitch," the thin man introduced. "We're here to sell some of the best V you have ever had."
Jason's frown deepened. "Not interested." He waved his hand in an attempt to dismiss the two, but they didn't budge.
"Come on, Stackhouse," The twig man grinned. "This is fresh stuff. Our boss just approved it, and it came from a gorgeous vampire. One hundred percent guaranteed to be a perfect high. No freaking out, no withdrawal, nothing. You can't pass this shit up."
Jason eyed them skeptically. He didn't want to admit it aloud, but he was slightly curious. The withdrawal was the only true downside to using V. Everything else was—
"No," Jason shook his head, both answering the dealers and dismissing his thoughts. "I promised a vampire I wouldn't sell or do V anymore, and I don't plan on breaking that promise anytime soon. Besides, I'm trying to get these people off drugs, and having dealers come around here isn't gonna cut it. Now beat it, I don't got time for this shit."
Jeremy scowled. "You promised a vampire? Really? Those lifeless fucks are worth keeping a promise to?"
"You know, for someone who sells V, I would think that those 'lifeless fucks' would mean a little more to you than that." Jason countered. If they weren't friendly with vampires, how'd they get their V? The thought made him nervous, and it helped strengthen his mental defense.
"I'm not interested. Get your crap out of here. Now."
"I really think you should reconsider. You won't find this shit anywhere else on the market. It's top of the line."
"I don't care. I don't want it. Now get lost!"
"Fine, but we'll leave you with a sample at least. Try it. If you like it, give us a call." He motioned his head towards Twitch and the boy nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vile of blood. In doing so; however, a small black bag came up and over the boy's pocket; falling to the dirt.
It went unnoticed.
"Good day to you, Stackhouse," Jeremy nodded in a poor attempt to be classy. He walked towards his truck; the younger boy hopping alongside him.
Jason looked at the vile. His eyebrows furrowed in distaste, but he couldn't bring himself to toss it. Instead, he pocketed the blood and was about to go inside when he noticed the bag Twitch had dropped. Cautiously, he picked it up and untied the strings that were sealing it shut.
An odd, purple powder filled the bags contents. Curiously, Jason pinched a bit and rubbed it on his fingers, allowing the purple dye to stain his tips and nails. He bit his lip, not knowing what to make of it. Instead, he retied the bag and stuffed it in his pocket.
"Are you coming in, Jason?" A little girl shouted from the doorway to her house. She broke him out of his thoughts.
"Not yet," he shouted back as he headed towards his vehicle. "I gotta go somewhere first, but I'll be right back." He headed to his car and climbed in the driver's seat.
There was someone he really needed to talk to.
Good news, guys! My college semester is almost over, which means I'm going to have more free time! Which means I can finish this story!... Maybe... yeah... okay, probably not. I still procrastinate, but I might be able to update a little faster than once every... year or so. Anyway, enjoy your week.
-Redd