Reckless

Chapter 4

"I can't just sit here like this, Sam. I'll go crazy." I was restless, lying in a hospital bed in a curtained section of the Clarice Hospital emergency room. The nurse had taken one look at me before calling for the doctor and a pair of Renard Parish's finest. Sam Merlotte crossed his arms over his chest, crinkling the blue plaid shirt he wore. His brow was furrowed, creased with wrinkles. He was looking at me with concern, and that only made me more uncomfortable. I kept my mental barriers up high to block out the thoughts of pain all around me.

"Just sit still, Sookie Stackhouse. The longer we spend here, the less time we have to deal with Andy Bellefleur when we get back to the bar." Sam sneered. Even though I wasn't listening to his head, I knew he was thinking about the double homicide at the bar. I tried to imagine the Rats, dead as doornails, in the bar's parking lot. I wished I'd killed them myself.

"Is there a mirror around here somewhere? I wanna see what I look like at least." After the nurse left, I'd had to shimmy out of my bloody uniform and into one of those awful cotton gowns with the open backs. Worst of all, Sam had had to help me maneuver out of my shirt and skimpy black shorts. He'd made these hissing sounds with his teeth every time he saw something he didn't like, and that was pretty often. On the front of myself, I could see huge bruises and a few open cuts. My knees and elbows were scraped up, though I couldn't recall any sort of dragging across the ground. I had huge bruises around my ribcage, and when I breathed, I could feel the sharp pain of broken rib bones wiggling around in ways that weren't exactly comforting. The arm that I was sure was broken before didn't feel so busted up now. Bill had done something to me, something I didn't like or trust.

"What are those jokes about the things that are black and white and red all over? Well, you're it, Sook. When we find out who the hell attacked you, I'll kill 'em." Sam scowled in a way that was completely foreign.

"Not if I get my hands on him first, you won't." I narrowed my eyes to slits and could feel a thumping of blood in my cheek.

The doctor finally came down, followed by a couple of cops. They took my statement, and then the doctor took me for the world's most painful x-rays. He stuck my broken arm, which had a hairline fracture, in a splint and a sling. He gave me a huge prescription for Oxycodone and warned me against aspirins. He told me my ribs would heal on their own, that I would be out of the splint in six weeks; that I should take it easy. Sam got me out of there after almost an hour in a damn hospital bed. He filled the prescription for me as we left the building.

"Whoever would want to hurt you that bad must know you well enough not to challenge you to a fair fight," Sam shook his head. I looked down at the bottle of pain killers in my lap. Part of me wanted to take one. Another part of me just wanted to suck it up.

"'Cause I'd kill em," I growled.

"Take the pain killer, Sook. There's some water in the glove box." Sam reached over and opened it. He's probably the only person in the world I'd let reach across my lap like that.

"I'm fine."

"Did I ask if you were fine, chere? Just take the damn thing. Lookin' at you like that makes my insides hurt." Ah, a little reverse psychology right there. I grabbed the water bottle and unscrewed the cap. I couldn't get the fuckin' medicine bottle open without help, so Sam popped the top and shook out a pill into my hand. I took it, then knocked it down my throat with a few sips of water. It was stale. It'd probably been in the truck for a year.

"Don't boss me around, Sam Merlotte," I muttered.

"I'm your boss, Sook." Sam retorted with a triumphant grimace.

"Yeah, right," I frowned, looking out the window.

Sam drove us back to the bar, but when we got there, I was in no mood to talk to the cops. Andy Bellefleur and Bud Dearborn were stalking around the parking lot amongst lines of glaringly bright yellow police tape. The coroner had arrived and was wheeling a body in a black vinyl bag across the gravel. I was really feeling the effects of the vicodin when we pulled up, yawning and trying hard to keep my eyes open. The sheriff leaned into the open window of Sam's pickup and stared hard at me. He was trying to look intimidating, but he just looked like a crotchety old man to me. I would have busted up laughing if I hadn't been so damn tired.

"What happened to them? How did they die?" Sam had gotten out of the truck and leaned against the passenger door to talk to Bud.

"We ain't releasin' that kind of information, Sam." Bud grunted in that way he had, like he had a big steel rod shoved up his ass.

"Well, who the hell found them there?" Sam demanded.

"Andy Bellefleur found them. Their bodies were up in the trees." Bud gestured to the thicket of bald cypress trees that circled the parking lot.

"How the hell…" Sam breathed.

"Didn't know Rats could fly," I smirked, feeling light-headed.

"What the hell is goin' on with Sookie? Is she on drugs?" Bud sneered in my direction.

"She was beaten up in the lot a few hours ago. She doesn't know who attacked her. I found her out here, took her to the hospital." Sam lied only slightly.

"God damnit, what the hell is Bon Temps turning into?!" The sheriff roared. "This isn't the damn city!"

I woke up in a daze the next morning, only to stare at my alarm clock and find out it was past noon. Sunlight flooded into my bedroom through slats in the wooden window blinds. There was a post-it note on my alarm clock, and the bottle of vicodin was open beside it. I retrieved the note and held it in front of my face. Everything seemed a bit fuzzy, and I had to read it a few times to get the gist. Sookie, it said in Sam's hurried handwriting, get some rest. I'll check on you tomorrow. Sam. I shook my head and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Instantly regretted it, too. Pain shot up through my arms and legs and torso like a rocket ship headed for outer space. The phone rang at my bedside and I almost tore the cord out of the wall to shut it up.

"What?" I groaned into the receiver. I don't have any of that called identification stuff, or anything, so when the phone rings, I don't ever know who is on the other end. That's a helpful thing to know, especially when the person on the other end could be your only living relative.

"Wow, Sook, have you seen the news?" Jason guffawed on the other end of the line.

"The Rats, yeah. I heard." I grunted, getting ready to hang up.

"No, I meant Maudette Pickens! Man, I used to hook up with her before she went all vamp-crazy." Jason was reminiscing as if Maudette hadn't been my only friend. I wanted to reach through the phone and wring his neck.

"Yes," I growled through clenched teeth. "I heard."

"News said it might be vampire-related. I hear there's a new vampire livin' in Bon Temps now, right across the cemetery from you. Maybe you should come live over here."

"Right across the…how the hell do you know that?!" I blinked, shocked. In fact, I got out of bed and hobbled across the room to look out of the blinds at the old, abandoned Compton house across the cemetery. It looked just as old and decrepit as usual, but there was a small blue hatchback sitting in front of it.

"People talk, sis. I listen."

"That vampire, I don't think he did it," I mused quietly, talking more to myself than Jason.

"How the heck do you know that?" Jason asked.

"I just know, okay? Quit givin' me shit."

"Yeah, fine. Look, Maudette's funeral is on Wednesday. You should go."

I hung up before I answered him. Of course I was going to Maudette's funeral, and I prayed that Jason wouldn't be there to join me. I continued staring out the window at the old Compton place, a house that had been abandoned since I was a little girl. I couldn't remember the last time it had been occupied by anyone, but now it seemed to house a vampire, a very particular vampire. I thought about Maudette's murderer, probably a vampire just like him. If I could get him to take me to the vampire bar in Shreveport, I could probably find and kill Maudette's murderer. I just needed an in.

I walked back to the bathroom and flicked on the light. I hadn't seen myself in the mirror once since the day before, and now I could understand Sam's grimacing. One of my cheeks was black and blue. There was dried blood on my mouth and nose. There were bruises on just about every part of exposed skin. The scrapes on my elbows and knees were scabbed over now. The fingers of my broken arm were swollen. I was a mess. I couldn't go to a vampire bar looking like I'd been hit by a baseball bat and raked over hot coals. I'd have to wait until I healed up a bit, until I looked like a real person again. Then I could march into that damn bar and beat down every vamp until I found Maudette's sadistic bed-buddy. Then I could have my way with him in a way he'd never forget.

Sam came by a few hours before dark with Cajun takeout and soft serve ice cream with hot fudge and sprinkles. He set the food down on my kitchen table, and then turned around to look at me. His eyes were a troubled sea of blue, completely distraught with the sight of me. I let down the barriers that kept our thoughts divided, but for some reason, I couldn't hear him. Chalk that up to the beating, I thought. My head was broken, and it was sorta nice, except for the whole broken and beaten part. Sam put his hands on my shoulders, gently, and bent forward. I took a step back. I really hate being touched. But Sam wasn't taking my shit. He rarely did. He bent in again and touched his lips to my forehead. It was nice, I admit. I stood there, stock still, while he did it, but it was really nice.

"Did you take some medicine?" Sam asked, scooping some rice, beans, and fried shrimp onto a plate.

"I'm fine," I shrugged.

"Take the medicine, chere," Sam growled, narrowing his eyes at me but keeping his voice strangely soft.

"I told you I was fine," I replied, just as resolute and aggressive.

"I didn't ask if you were fine," Sam said. If he had fur, it would have stuck up on the back of his neck. He stalked past me and went to grab the medicine bottle off the table in the bedroom. I heard him rattle the bottle and extract a pill. He thrust it into my hand as he breezed back into the kitchen.

"Damnit, Sam, you're not my father!" I shouted.

"That's right," he said, suddenly staring me in the eyes. "I'm your friend, and I'm your boss. Take the pill."

I thrust it in my mouth and swallowed it. I don't know why I did it. Thankfully, Sam didn't look triumphant or accomplished, like he'd just won a battle of wills. He simply set my plate of supper on the table in front of my chair, and sat down in the chair beside it with his own serving. We ate in almost utter silence, and the medicine hit me like a brick to the temple. I could swear I was slurring my speech and passing in and out of consciousness, completely oblivious to any physical pain, by the time ice cream was set down in front of me.

"I'm going to find the son of a bitch that hurt Maudette," I said to Sam between bites of ice cream.

"That's what the police are for, Sookie," Sam sighed.

"If it was a vampire, they can't do anything."

"And if it wasn't? Are you going to commit murder, same as Maudette's killer did?"

"Yes," I grunted. I didn't feel guilty or proud. It was simply something I had to do, for my friend. "If someone killed someone you love, wouldn't you want to kill them right back?"

"Yes," Sam said quietly, looking right at me. The fringes of kitchen around his face were blurry, and I knew I was close to passing out again. His eyes were full moons of bright blue, and I swear I could see his soul in them. It was the drugs talking, for sure.

There was a knock at the door, and it echoed in my head like someone was using my skull as a bass drum. Sam got up out of his chair and I followed him. After all, it was my house, and my front door. Sam reached it first and, because I don't have a peep hole, swung open the door. Bill was standing on the straw welcome mat, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His skin was as pale as the moon glowing behind him, and his mouth was no longer rosy but grayish. His scruffy hair had been combed, and he wore a plain blue collared shirt and a pair of black slacks.

"Sookie," Bill said in a low, growling voice. "I came to see how you were feeling."