A/N Aah, sorry for the cliffhanger last time. It just seemed like a good stopping point. Also, re: PMs/Reviews for this chapter (incidentally, I love them, send more :D) Just be aware that Lorena may not be what we'd call a "reliable narrator."

I heard Bill moving toward me across the entry way and I struggled to push back away from him. "Stay away," I say to him.

"Sookie? What's going on?" came Jason's voice from the phone.

"For Christ's sake, Sookie, cut the dramatics," says Bill. He's leaning over me now as if to get a better look. I blink at him trying to focus, but my vision is definitely hazy. I feel the room lurch and I throw out my hand to try to catch myself. My palm slips out from under me and I land hard on my elbow. My head is freaking killing me.

"Crystal hold this, come on," I hear my brother say before a feminine voice through the phone is asking, "Sookie? Sookie are you there? What's happening? Jason, where are we going?"

"Get...get out," I mumble at Bill. His face isn't perfectly clear, but I can see at least that he's giving me an ugly look.

"You're a spoiled, ungrateful little bitch," he spits, and then I hear him walking away. It's the last thing I see or hear before my brother's voice brings me back. He's shaking my shoulder.

"Sookie! Sookie wake up, what happened? Sook! Come on, Sookie!"

"Jason?"

"Crystal she's awake. Sookie, what happened?"

"He came from Arkansas. He pushed on the door at me." I'm trying to answer him, but I'm so tired right now and my face and my head hurt so much.

"Sookie is it your back? Can you stand up?"

With a Herculean effort I pull my feet back and push against the floor. I can feel him helping to lift me and I stagger as I stand, grabbing on to him.

"We have to get you to the hospital," Jason says. "Crystal, call Bud Dearborn, he's going to have to meet us there."

Jason helps to guide me as I stumble out to his truck. He hoists me in shuts the door. Crystal comes in through the driver's side and sits next to me.

"Keep her awake. You gotta keep them awake in case it's a concussion," I hear my brother tell his girlfriend.

Crystal is on the phone with the Sheriff's Department telling them that I've been attacked at home and they're taking me to the hospital. She grabs my hand and holds it in hers after she hangs up. She is squeezing it periodically and asking me what happened. I don't know that I'm saying anything coherent, but I try to answer her questions. Jason speeds us to the nearest hospital, which is still forty minutes away. Way out here, waiting for an ambulance was something only done if a person couldn't move or be moved any other way. This was three times faster, at least, going in the truck.

When we arrived at the emergency room I was quickly bundled into a wheelchair and brought inside. At some point, I fell asleep again, or I fainted, or they gave me something to put me unconscious. When the dust had settled, I was lying in a gurney in a hospital gown. I had a broken nose, a "moderate" concussion, and two cracked ribs, and a lot of bruising. The little old lady nurse had joked that it seemed my "bosoms" had protected me from further harm to my chest, at least judging by the patterning of my bruises. All in all, I'd have a lousy few days and make a full recovery. They taped the ribs and I had a little bandage and a sort of plastic splint across the bridge of my nose, but on the whole, these were not the kind of injuries that required a lot of treatment. I was stuck here overnight for observation because of the concussion.

Sheriff Dearborn was there when I woke up, along with his deputy, Kenya Jones, who had graduated a year or two ahead of Jason. I remembered her. Bud had been friends with our dad, so we knew him of course. At their prompting, I gave an account of the whole incident, from mistaking Bill for a delivery guy, to his parting words. Jason had an outburst when I described the car he was in as a late model silver sedan. Apparently he and Crystal had passed him coming up the road on the way to my house. I told them how he'd been on a business trip in Arkansas this week, and I figured that was likely where he'd gone back to, before returning to Seattle. I told them as well that I had communicated to him on two occasions that I didn't want to see or speak to him again, that I'd changed my phone number and severed all ties to him. At their urging, I did press charges, or rather, I agreed that they should file the charges, and put in my request for a protective order against him.

Even though he lives out of state, Kenya said it was the wise move to file the reports and lay the groundwork. He'd already displayed a few times that he was ignoring my wishes to end contact, and he'd showed up at my home unwelcome and unexpectedly. I was honest with them about the fact that I didn't believe he set out to do all the harm he had done to my physically, just that he hadn't exactly seemed to feel bad about it. They told me that was a matter for the Courts, should it come to that. So I went ahead and filled out the papers they needed me to fill out, and signed what they needed me to sign.

"This way," she told me, "If you so much as see him again, you call us, and we don't have to wait until you get hurt or harassed again to intervene." From where I was laying, it sounded like the best thing to do.

Jason finally gave me my phone back just before he went out with Bud and Kenya. They wanted to see the house, and he wanted to get Crystal home.

"It's been ringin'," he said. "But I didn't want to answer it." I gave him a grateful smile and he gave me a little peck on the forehead before he left, assuring me that he'd be back in the morning to spring me.

Left alone, I sorted through my missed calls. I was beginning to feel like Miss Doom and Gloom. Every time anyone heard from me lately it was bad news. It was late, so I didn't want to call Amelia. I know they say that you're not supposed to use cell phones in the hospital any more than you're supposed to use them on a plane, but the truth of the matter was that just one in a room wasn't going to emit enough anything to affect the machinery. We'd learned all about it in my classical physics course. Since it was earlier there, and we'd basically been missing each other all week, I called Eric back.

"Sookie, hello," he answered. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me."

"I've been calling you plenty, you just never answer," I say.

"I could say the same. It's been crazy up here. How are things in the Pelican State? Are you settling in okay?"

"Oh," I look down at my prone form. "I'm pretty settled in tonight anyway." I grin to myself at my little joke. "I've got a lot to do next week, but it's coming along."

"Did you like the bath stuff?"

"The what?"

"The basket? I had the spa at the hotel put it together, since you seemed to like all their products so much. Just a little homecoming/housewarming gift. I know it was delivered, I checked the tracking..."

"Oh! Yes. Yes, it was delivered alright. I haven't had a chance to open it yet. Thank you. I'm sure I'll have a more proper thank you for you after I get a chance to look."

"Well, you could go look now. If I recall correctly, you particularly liked the lather on the bodywash..."

"Ungh," I groaned a little. I could feel my face flushing at that particular memory and it actually hurt. "I'll have to check into it tomorrow, I'm actually not at home right now," I confess.

"No? Are you having a lively night at some trendy hot spot?" I can hear his smirk.

"You and Pam need to stop making fun of my town," I grumble at him.

He chuckles. That is exactly what he was doing. "Where are you?"

"I'll tell you, but only if you promise to believe me when I say that in the normal course, I'm not nearly the disaster I've been for the past two weeks."

"Sookie?" He sounds concerned now.

I go ahead then and explain to him my current whereabouts and how I came to be here. He doesn't interrupt at all throughout my entire monologue. His quiet is kind of unnerving.

"Eric?" I ask when I've finished, to make sure he's still there. That'd be just great, tell the whole story only to realize the call had been disconnected three minutes ago and I'd been babbling to myself all this time. He was still there.

"So Bill Compton, one of our executives, put you in the hospital tonight with a concussion and three broken bones, and now there's an arrest warrant being issued for him in the State of Louisiana," he summarizes tonelessly.

Is he mad about Bill not being able to come here for work? He sounds cold, and his cold sounds a lot like mad. "Eric, I'm sorry if this causes you any problems with him coming here for work, but I think Kenya's right. If he keeps harassing me I don't want to have to wait to need another reason to ask the Sheriff to come and call him off..."

"Sookie that's not what I... Are you okay? How long do you have to stay in the hospital?"

"They're letting me out in the morning, it's just because of the concussion that I have to stay tonight at all. I'm tender and achy, but I'm just fine. The doctor says I will heal up just fine."

"Jesus Fuck, Sookie."

"Eric, what..?"

"You're lying in a hospital bed right now. It's not fucking fine."

"Well, I guess it's not, but, it's nothing that won't heal."

He goes quiet for a while and I'm starting to feel a bit guilty for calling at all. He's told me he takes the weekends off, and I guess I've just thrown him a major wrench. Another one.

"Eric, I'm sorry if this affects him and your work."

"It won't for long. He's fucking gone. I'm taking this to Sophie Ann on Monday morning. We're a publicly traded company. Assault and battery are felony crimes."

"Eric, that's...You don't have to do that."

"I do, actually. We're not in a position to accommodate any loose ends or liabilities. You're aware of what's at stake for us right now," he pauses for a long moment. "Sookie, I'm going to have my lawyer down there contact you next week."

"Wh-what? Why?"

"I don't know the in's and out's of extradition or defamation or anything like this. You said he just fled the scene and left you there...who knows how that piece of shit is going to react to the warrant and the order of protection. It would be a good idea for you to have a contact through this process. You can also decide what you want to do civilly. I assume you're going to have medical bills."

"That's...Eric, I barely understand half of what you're saying right now."

"That's why you'll talk to Cataliades. He's good. He will give you his fair opinion and spell everything out for you."

"Eric I can't afford..."

"That's not a concern," he cuts me off. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment.

"Eric," I say firmly. "You need to rein yourself in here."

"Sookie," he says right back to me. "You're being unaccountably stubborn here. If I have to finesse you into agreeing with me while you're lying in a hospital bed, I will do so, but I'd really prefer you just say you'll take the call and accept the man's guidance."

"Eric why are you doing all this? It's well beyond your concern."

"It certainly isn't, but as to why, it's because I can. It is no inconvenience for me to help a friend where I am able," he pauses. "Would you do any differently?"

"You just said you'd prefer not to finesse me." Because that's exactly what he's doing. Of course I'd help a friend if I could, any way I could.

"You're still balking."

"Fine."

"Fine, you'll talk to him?"

"Yes," I agree.

"And you'll take his counsel?" he tries to confirm.

"Yes."

"Good," he confirms. "What are you wearing?"

I try to snort, at that, and it makes me wince, and the sound turns into a sharp little whimper.

"Sookie?"

"I'm sorry...it hurts to laugh a little bit. I'm wearing a very shapeless and unsexy hospital gown. And socks. I don't even know where my own clothes are. I bled all over them. They probably threw them out."

"One of those gowns that's open in the back?" he asks.

"Maybe."

"I can work with that." Huh? Oh. OH. "Sookie?"

"Yes?"

"Does it hurt to blush as well?"

"Yes, actually, thank you!"

"Goodnight Sookie. I'll talk to you soon."

"Goodnight Eric."

I set the phone down, pondering. He'd made several jumps there that I hadn't even considered. Extradition? Was that even possible? I'd have to ask about that. The idea of the hospital bill was a really unpleasant thought. It made me want to get up out of this bed right now and leave. I stared at one of the monitors like it was the meter running on a taxi, and I felt myself starting to panic. I felt incredibly stupid for being so carefree with my money over the past week. That hadn't been a rainy day. This was the rainy day, an actual emergency. I sat there sore and worried until my nurse wandered in to check on me. I guess my blood pressure and pulse had spiked a bit.

She checked me over and made sure that I was comfortable, and then she asked if I was ready to go to sleep. When I nodded, she went ahead and gave me another dose of pain medication. It was good stuff. Three cheers for hospital-grade narcotics. I was out like a light in just a few minutes.

The following morning, Jason and Crystal arrived to check me out. They'd brought some clothes for me, which I very carefully changed into. I was clear to go with orders to take it easy for a couple of weeks, and to see my regular doctor for follow ups and in case I had any persisting issues. I didn't actually have a regular doctor here. I'd seen my paediatrician right up until I had left for college. I would call his office for a referral. I got a prescription for pain killers and a warning not to take any over the counter medications instead. Apparently ibuprofen wasn't good for the concussion and aspirin wouldn't help with the bruising. I went ahead and got the prescription filled at the hospital pharmacy. I went down to the billing office. It was actually worse than I'd feared. I was little comforted when they assured me I could pay it off by months, but there was really nothing else I could say about it, so I nodded to the kind old woman and departed.

My brother and his girlfriend had tried to stay and fuss over me, but there was really nothing for them to do but sit there while I went to lay down. They ended up leaving pretty quickly, but Crystal returned about an hour later with some sandwiches for me and a handful of DVDs that I could watch on my laptop. She was being very sweet. She was really the first girl that Jason had settled with, and on the few times I'd met her she had seemed a bit snotty. Turns out she had not cared for Bill, who'd always been with me when we'd met before. He'd always seemed stuck up, to her. She was glad I was home, because it made Jason really happy to have me near. She left her number with me and told me to call them if I needed anything, and that they'd come get me tomorrow because Jason was still cooking.

I fell asleep watching the sequel of some summer blockbuster movie. When I woke up, I called Lafayette and Amelia, conferencing the calls together so that I would only have to tell the story once. They were appropriately shocked and concerned. I had to stress quite a bit that I would be fine before they seemed to settle down and believe me. I was surprised when neither one of them dug in to abusing Bill again. It wasn't that I particularly wanted to hear it or anything, but I'd been expecting it, and expecting to be able to get a bit of laughter in over it. They could play off each other perfectly for stuff like that, but they didn't today. After subdued goodbyes I ate my lunch and had another nap.

It was gone evening before I got up to use the bathroom. I hadn't wanted to dwell on it this morning, but I had a good long look in the mirror to study all my injuries. My nose is swollen and I have some definite purpling under my eyes. There's a butterfly closure on my forehead where the skin had split open and I feel a serious bump on the back of my head, though my hair covers that. There is a straight line of bruising down my chest where the door had impacted. I drop my shirt with distaste and take a very slow walk through the house. When I get to the front, I realize that someone must have cleaned up in here. I had definitely bled on the floor a little bit yesterday, but now there was no trace of it.

I see the basket of goodies by the door and try to bend to pick it up. Okay, ow. New plan. I carefully lower myself to the floor and begin to unwrap the cellophane. There's a full compliment of spa products in there, shampoo, conditioner, soap, bodywash, things for my feet and hands, and other lotions and crèmes. I smile. I search around for a note, but couldn't find one. I guess there wouldn't be one from Eric, since he was no longer there at the hotel, from where the basket had been sent.

I gather myself up and slowly rise off the floor. I put together a couple of ice packs in the kitchen, really glad I filled the trays for the freezer yesterday. Gran's old Frigidaire did not have any of the bells and whistles like the automatic ice machine like our new one had had. I pad back to the room for rest and another Michael Bay-style extravaganza on the laptop. I get distracted and start looking up on medical sites for tips on how to cure bruises. I fall asleep for good at some point and when I wake up the following morning, I feel a little better. Still sore, but a little better.

I was not going to make it to church this Sunday morning either, it seemed, so before I got out of bed I took a few minutes to be thankful that my injuries would heal, that my brother was near, and for my friends in general.

I wasn't exactly bedridden, but my body needed rest, and frankly, I had nothing else to do that wouldn't count as exertion. I started working through my list of schools in New Orleans. I did my best to personalize every email I sent, which didn't speed the process. I figured it would be in my favour if anyone noticed that I'd taken the time, and wouldn't hurt if they didn't. I kept a careful record of everything I sent. I got through ten before decided I needed to try to bathe. I felt pleased to realize that while it would be necessary for me to take it easy for a few more days, that time would not be completely wasted. I had dozens more schools to get through.

I had a very awkward and careful shower wherein I did use some of my new spa products. Blow drying my hair was out of the question as even brushing it out had proved to be a painful chore. Still, I managed to be dressed and ready when Jason and Crystal came by to pick me up for dinner. Jason claimed it had been no trouble at all, since they had needed to do a beer run anyway. It was a quiet evening and we enjoyed the steaks that Jason grilled, along with some potato salad that Crystal had prepared. We had a dessert that was some combination of Jello and Cool Whip and graham crackers blended together to create what she called "Raspberry Cloud Parfait". It was tasty.

We sat out for a while after dinner and Jason talked about his plans to install a hot tub on the porch. He'd always kept the house up very well and seemed to take a lot of pride in that. I had to take another pain pill after a while. I was practically slumped in my Adirondack chair when the two of them surfaced from their musing over outdoor winter whirlpool use and decided to get me home. They dropped me off along the side of the house again. It was the entry Gran had always used, in the main, and so I guess it was old habit. I remembered to text Eric a thank you for the bath stuff before bed. He sent back reminding me about Cataliades calling tomorrow and wished me goodnight.

I found Desmond Cataliades to be quite kindly when he phoned the following afternoon. He'd been briefed by Eric, but he had me give him a full accounting of the incident with Bill. He asked me a lot of questions about our break-up, and our relationship in general. He wanted to know the details of my packing up and leaving the condo. He delicately asked if Bill had any cause to believe that I'd been unfaithful or dishonest at any point in the relationship, explaining that if he could have been incited by me in any way that this could be used in defence of his erratic mental state, should the matter ultimately come to trial.

"Now, Miss Stackhouse," he said, once I'd finished. "Do you intend to push for an extradition order?"

"I...I'm not sure. To be honest sir, I'm not sure what that entails."

He explained then that if the state decided Bill would be prosecuted, they could put in a bid to have him arrested in Washington and brought back here to face the charges of assault and battery. This was because these were felony charges. Realistically, he told me, Bill's attorney would try and likely succeed, to have the charges dropped to a misdemeanour, if not outright dismissed. My head was swimming.

"I'm not out to ruin his life," I said. "I just want to be through with him. I don't even care if he gets arrested or charged or anything, so long as whatever happens to him, it's well and far away from me."

"Then we can make that view plain to the prosecutor's office. They are not obliged, but they certainly should, take the feeling of the victim into account when determining how to proceed. A standing arrest warrant will certainly serve as a deterrent to his re-entering the state. Even should the charges be dropped, the protective order is good for six months."

"Do you think that's it then?" I asked.

"It is difficult to say. If he were my client, I would certainly try to contact you or your attorney in an attempt to convince you to withdraw your claims. I will leave you with my contact information, Miss Stackhouse. Giving it to them should be your only response if you are so approached."

We talked for a bit more about the legal process, and I confess that I took in only the broad strokes of what he was telling me. This seemed to have gotten very big, very fast. When I started to worry though, he assured me that it would be a fairly slow and painless process, and that he would do his best to 'keep a finger on it' as he said, and keep me apprised. When we finally hung up, I felt dazed again. I was sore, but I didn't take another dose of my medication. I was overwhelmed enough as was.

Feeling a bit lousy reminded me that I had to contact my paediatrician's office for a referral for a proper doctor, and after a nice chat I took his suggestion and made my appointment with Dr. Amy Ludwig for Wednesday morning. I figured that by then, I would be able to drive myself. Thinking of it reminded me that I needed to sort out my car situation, since I really needed to return the rental and get something permanent. I needed to return it by Thursday. I had only gotten it for the week, thinking that would be more than enough time with it while I was getting settled. I obviously hadn't counted on being down for a few days.

I phoned Jason and asked him if he knew of anyone selling a car, and he didn't, but told me he'd ask around. I spent the rest of the evening browsing around on the internet, but I didn't have much luck. I really wanted to buy one from a person, rather than a dealership. Yes, the dealership would assure me it was in running order, but a mechanic could do that too, and I'd rather pay the mechanic than overpay for the car itself. It was my own logic. I was going to stick to it if I could. Also, I figured that I'd get a more honest appraisal dealing with a regular person selling their own car than a salesman selling one of many cars. I didn't want to accidentally get talked in to spending more than I could afford either, by putting myself on a sales lot. I'm self-aware enough to recognize that I'm too easily persuaded in general. I resolved to avoid more situations where this could be manipulated. I figured that this was the better alternative to becoming sceptical. It was part of my whole fresh start thing.

I hoped to hear back from Eric that night because I was very curious about what had happened to Bill. I even forced myself to stay awake well past after I was feeling tired, but in the end I didn't hear from him. It must have been pretty frustrating to have to deal with it. It was one more thing on top of everything else they're coping with involving the potential merger. I'd been really surprised they were even still going through with it, but I guess they badly wanted the acquisition.

Tuesday morning was great for a couple of reasons. First off, the bump on my head was nearly gone by the time I'd woken up. It was still tender, but I could more or less brush out my hair with no more than my usual amount of cringing from pulling tangles. Second, I heard from Mrs. Park at the Bon Temps school, and they were happy to add me to their roster of substitutes. They weren't large, and I could be filling in from anywhere from elementary through high school, but, I was on the list. Progress! I had to push back my date of availability until the following Monday though, because I was still on take-it-easy mode. Mrs. Park seemed to know exactly why.

"Oh yes, I had heard something about the trouble," she said. I smiled. This was small town living for sure. Polite, but nosy! "You're doing well, Sookie?"

"I am, Missus Park. I'm seeing Doctor Lugwig over in Monroe tomorrow, but I can't imagine she won't clear me for next week. I'm already feeling better."

"You just take it in your stride dear. Will we see you at church this Sunday?"

"That's my plan and I'll be sure to see you there, Missus Park." Technically, we were going to be coworkers, but I'm sorry, she was still Mrs. Park. Some people are just born to be a Missus or a Mister.

"Well then I'll see you Sunday and I'm sure I'll be calling you soon. It's coming on pollen season, and we always have a few go out."

"I'd say that sounds great, but I'd be afraid it could be taken wrong! I'll talk to you soon then. Thank you and take care."

"Take care, dear."

So, I'd have a little more to fill my days, intermittently. It was a start. I set down to work through my school list and around about lunch time Jason came by with hamburgers and milkshakes to help me "keep up my strength." We sat and visited for a while and he told me all about his work. His promotion to supervisor of the road crew was not without some trappings of power. While he used to go out and eat with the rest of the boys for lunch, he'd overheard a couple of his new guys, fresh out of school aged, griping about having to hang with the boss on their breaks. Apparently they didn't feel they could relax around him. So Jason had been making a point to have his lunches at home, or to meet Crystal in town, or else go down to the bar on his own to shoot the shit with the other men for an hour. I giggled at the idea that my brother was a stern old man to these boys, all eight or nine years their senior. I figured he was hinting that once I had got back on my feet, my house would become a stop on his lunch rotation, much like it had been when Gran was still here. The thought made me feel warm inside. I'd be happy to have him.

"You know it's a shame that you took the extra week to get down here," he remarked, as I was clearing the lunch. "John just sold his mom's old car, it woulda been perfect for you. She kept it real nice."

"Oh? Yeah, that is too bad," I say. Well, at least he's looking.

"Yeah, she's living up at that Briarwood Complex now, you know the old folks home."

"Aren't they calling them 'retirement communities' now?" I tease him.

"Eh, it's all the same thing. You know though, I bet if you went and put up a couple of fliers on their bulletin board, you might find someone else who'd rather have the cash than a car they ain't usin' anymore." Yeah, sometimes my brother is a genius.

"That's a really good idea," I enthuse. "I think I'll stop by there after the doctor's office tomorrow then."

"You gonna be okay getting' up there? You're still movin' a bit slow," he says, giving me a little playful pinch in the side as I moved past him.

I edged away, bending just a little too quickly and winced as I felt the sudden movement in my ribs. My hand instantly went to my side, "Ouch. Not if you keep that up. I was doing much better."

"Sorry Sook. You okay?"

"I'll be fine, but cut the horseplay," I say sternly.

He chuckles at that and shoots me a fond smile. "You sounded just like Gran right then."

That makes me smile a bit too. We don't talk about her a whole lot, with each other. It's still hard, so we don't dwell on it. He bent to give me a peck on the cheek and cleared out, leaving me to get back to me school list. Later that night I spoke to Amelia for a while, giving her an update on my recuperation. She had run into some problems with one of her contractors. They'd missed a deadline by miles, and she had basically had to fire them and take the loss. I listened to her rant attentively and made my indignation on her behalf known, joining in on lambasting them along with her and suggesting that she write up her experience on one of these consumer advocacy websites, so others would see it if they took the time to check on them before hiring. It wasn't brilliant problem-solving, but I offered what I could.

"You should tell your dad too," I said.

"What? Sookie, I'm not running to daddy just because I have a problem with a contractor!"

I roll my eyes to myself. Her relationship with her father is very weird. She does love him, but they don't get along. He tries to buy her affection, and to some degree she lets him, as with her graduation present, which she used to start her business. She's not one of these spoiled brats that takes everything off their parents though. She'd no fan of the David Threadgill's of this world any more than Eric is. She tries to go out of her way not to be one, and I can tell she's offended to hear me suggest that her father use his clout to solve this problem. I suppose they're a bit alike, Amelia and Eric. She's misunderstood me, though.

"I don't mean run to him for help, I'm just saying you could mention it. Like you would to any other business contact who might be in need of a contracting firm."

"I guess so," she paused to think, "Oh, I could probably bring it up at my WE meeting, too." Women Entrepreneurs is a group Amelia's been involved with for a couple of years now. Basically it's a network for business women. They do luncheons and give seminars and have a scholarship program. She's explained it to me a bit better, but it sounds like a nice idea, women supporting women. To some extent, or at least in some people's minds, this is still a man's world, so a group like this is useful within it.

"Well, there you go, that too," I encourage.

"I guess it's all I can really do besides cutting my losses. Still it's a damned inconvenience."

I let her grumble a bit more before I said goodnight, and found my way to bed pretty quickly. Wednesday morning I wake up with what feels like my first full day ahead of me since getting hurt. I'm actually excited to be going to the doctor's office. How do you know you've been housebound too long? That's how. Though the swelling on my face is more or less gone, I've still got some nasty bruising. I do my best with the cover up, but the best I get is that maybe if you're standing pretty far away, it looks like I haven't slept for a few days. Well, it'll have to do. I put on some big sunglasses for good measure, being careful as I set them across my nose.

The drive out to Monroe seems shorter than it is. I sing along to the radio for a while until I'm interrupted by Pam's phone call.

"Hi Pam!" I say cheerfully.

"Do I have the Easter Bunny?"

"Oh, did they come?" I mean my baskets, and of course they must have arrived, why else would she be calling me Easter Bunny?

"Yes, I'm just unpacking my new voodoo doll."

"What! I picked her cause she looks like you."

"Does she?" she pauses. "No. My hips are slimmer."

"Well, I hope you like the chocolate then."

"I am tucking them away now to save for a rainy day."

"Are things going better then?" I ask.

"Things are interesting here," she says evasively.

"Pam?"

"I will let Eric know to return your call then. Was there anything else?"

"Um, Pam, you called me."

"Yes, I can confirm that. Are you free at four? I can put it in his schedule."

I finally realize that she must have acquired an audience or something, because otherwise, she's not making a lot of sense.

"Sure Pam. I'm on my way to the Doctor's and I'm running some other errands, but I'll be home late this afternoon. Call me back when you can."

"I'll do that, thank you for calling."

Well that was weird. Obviously it wasn't Eric, cause I doubt he'd mind if she were talking to me for a minute. Or maybe he would, I don't know. He does seem pretty focused when he's in work-mode. Who knows? I'll find out later, if it's important.

Doctor Ludwig turned out to be a squat and unattractive woman with thick glasses and a perpetual sardonic scowl on her face. I found myself relieved at her appearance. I'd wanted a woman doctor, because there are just some things you don't want to admit to a man, any man, even if he's got a stethoscope. She was not pretty, and I found that I preferred that too. I try to be real confident in myself but there's something intimidating about a very attractive, highly educated woman in a lab coat, while you're sitting there in your skivvies. She enters introducing herself as Dr. Amy Ludwig and sparing me barely a glance up from the folder she's holding. For some reason, I decide that I like her immediately.

I had seated myself on the edge of the examination table wrapped in one of these paper gowns.

"Sookie Stackhouse," I say, holding out my hand.

"Miss Stackhouse, you seem to have a very bad boyfriend. Am I going to be seeing a lot of you?" she says, as she takes my hand briefly.

She'll have all my records from the hospital in that folder of hers. Logically, I know this. And I'm sitting here looking for all the world like a battered woman, despite my best efforts with the makeup this morning. Despite all that, her blunt question still brings me up short.

"No ma'am," I answer, swallowing hard. "And he's no longer my bad boyfriend."

"Good," she says. "Too many of you girls put up with too much crap and my schedule is busy enough without filling it up with injuries that could easily be avoided. Lie down, let me have a look at you. Is the head still tender? Turn to the side this way." She has set the clipboard down on a counter and is quickly moving towards me, all business. I hasten to follow her instructions. I feel her at my head, tentatively probing my scalp until I wince, indicating that she's found the sore spot. "Sorry," she says, with no inflection to indicate she truly is.

"Well he sure did a number on you, it's too bad this was how you had to learn your lesson," she says, moving down to lift the gown up to get a better look at my ribs. "I'm going to pull this tape off, we'll redo it before you leave," she starts to fuss with pushing the paper smock out of the way but it won't stay in place. "Miss Stackhouse, you have nothing I haven't seen before. Sit up and take this off please, I need to have a look at your torso."

I move to follow her instructions automatically, shrugging out of the gown and balling it up into my lap. I'm glad I'm able to do this because a big part of my brain is nagging at me to correct her assumptions.

"Lift your arms," she says, and I do so.

"Doctor Lugwig, this was actually an accident. I'm sure you have heard that before but this actually was. I was closing my door and it got pushed into me. It wasn't...this is the first time I've been injured like that or even close in any way," I explain. It's bothering me that she assumes that I'd be one of these women that puts up with behaviour like this from a man. Maybe it is what everyone else who's seen me and doesn't know me has assumed, but this is my doctor now and she needs to know the truth.

When I speak she pauses in her doings and steps around me again, eying me up with a withering look.

"It got pushed into you?" she asks.

"Yes," I confirm. "He.."

"He is legally blind?" she interrupts.

"No.."

"So he was aware that you were behind the door when he pushed it into you?"

"Yes, but he..." I trail off, not knowing how to finish that.

"He was very angry, and has never done something like this, and would never mean to hurt you. Yes. Unfortunately, Miss Stackhouse, I have heard it all before," she says, softening by a tiny fraction as she finishes.

"For all that you're a modern woman, you are still a woman, and your man is still a man, and most likely is bigger and a great deal stronger than you, and it's on him to take care with that, but he didn't. I have some literature I will leave you with when I finish my examination," she says, then lifts a hand, "And don't argue, Miss Stackhouse, you can toss them in the garbage if you insist, but I'll have done my best."

"He's no longer my man," I repeat quietly. "He showed up here more than a week after I left him."

I'm getting another of her hard stares. "Alright, Miss Stackhouse. We'll just hope there won't be any repeat performances. You understand that I have to be hard on these things when women come to me with injuries. When it's finally bad enough that they come to see me, it's usually not the first time. It doesn't serve anyone to beat around the bush. Call it my tough love approach."

I give her a little nod to indicate we have an understanding, and I lift my arms again so she can get back to pulling off the tape around my ribcage. She draws in a breath as she finishes her work and gets a good look at me. I glance down to see I'm still quite purple. And yellow. And a little green. Ugh.

"There's a crème I can prescribe that will help to heal the bruising," she says, as she begins to delicately probe at the contusions.

Once she's through checking over my injuries, the examination proceeds like a normal physical. She weighs me and measures me and listens to my heart and breathing. She asks a lot of questions about my normal medical history, and family history, if I'm taking any medications.

"And will you be continuing the depo shot now?" she asks, referring to my birth control.

"Yes, I think I may as well," I say. "It's probably better that it stay uninterrupted, right? In case, in the future, there's need."

"That's fine, when are you due for your next?" she asks, breezing tactfully past the subject of my potential future sex life.

"Next month," I answer.

"That's fine, I can administer it here and we'll schedule your next follow-up to coincide with it."

I nod gratefully. She rewraps my chest and fits me with a new narrow splint across my nose that looks a lot like these plastic strips that people sleep with to keep them from snoring. Finally she draws blood and tells me I can go ahead and get dressed as she withdraws with her little vials in tow. I dress as quickly as I'm able before she returns with the promised packet of pamphlets.

She holds them up, lifting her eyebrows at me meaningfully, "Just call it my due diligence," she assures, handing them over.

I give her a grateful smile, and she lets me know that she'll be calling next week with all my test results. She gives me a prescription for the crème for my bruises but I decline to have my painkillers re-upped. I still have plenty, though I'm trying not to take them. She reminds me to make my appointment for a follow-up next month with her receptionist. I tell her it's been nice to meet her but she brushes past my courtesies and sends me on my way. I stop in to pay my bill (wince) and schedule my next appointment before I leave. I'd been in there for a couple of hours.

I head over to the retirement community as I had planned and stop in at their reception desk to ask if there's somewhere I can post the little flier I had drawn up last night. It's pretty simple. I've written down my small budget and that I'm looking for a serviceable vehicle in any make and model. It's got my first name and my phone number and email address. Of course there are seniors that use the internet. Not as many maybe, but it's not like everyone over seventy eschews technology. There are probably plenty who use it better than I do.

I stop in at the library. I was incredibly pleased when I found my old library card while I was packing up, and I'd tucked it into my wallet. I haven't used it in a good six years, but surely it's still valid. I was out of books and was just plain tired of the DVD selection that Jason and Crystal had leant. You can only see the world saved so many times back to back before armageddon becomes woefully uninteresting. I found a nice little selection to tide me over for a couple of weeks and then I head over to buy some more groceries. When I find myself debating instant coffees, I just give up and go over to the appliance section and buy a new coffee maker. I'll keep it at Gran's and take my nice one with me to the new apartment, once I go. It's perfectly justifiable. It's got nothing to do with the fact that I can't bear to go two more days without a freshly brewed cup in the morning.

As I turn into my driveway and see another car that I don't recognize pulled up in front of my house, a feeling of great uneasiness settles over me immediately. I can see that there's a man and a woman sitting in the front seats as I drive slowly past them, pulling up around the side. I debate going over to see who it is, but instead I unpack my groceries first. They've been waiting for who knows how long, they can wait another couple of minutes. As soon as I've got the second and last load in and sitting on the kitchen table the knock comes at the front door.

I take my phone with me as I go to answer it. The man standing there is wearing a suit and holding a briefcase at his side. I join him out on the porch.

"Miss Sookie Stackhouse?" he asks, extending his hand. "I am Simon Maimonides. I am an attorney representing William Compton."

I shake his hand hesitantly, nodding to him that I am, indeed, Miss Sookie Stackhouse.

"I was wondering if you had a few minutes to discuss with me the incident that occurred here last Friday?"

"How do you do Mister Maimonides," I mumble. I'm glad I brought my phone out with me. I quickly unlock it and scroll through my contacts until I get to Eric's lawyer. "I would like to give you the phone number of a lawyer that you can call about this."

"You have hired an attorney?" he asks, surprised.

"I've been told that I needn't, and shouldn't, speak to you further, Mister Maimonides, I'm sorry," I tell him. That's when I look over to see that it's Lorena Ball sitting in the passenger seat of the car. Her eyes narrow as she catches my glance and I quickly turn back to Bill's lawyer.

"Do you have a pen?" I ask him. "Or a cell phone number I can send the contact to? Or an email address?"

"Yes," he says, haltingly. "Let me give you my card," he finishes. He pulls a packet of papers he has prepared out of his briefcase and hands them to me. I pull the business card off the top and punch the number into my phone to share the contact. I hear his phone chime as he receives it instantly. This thing is great.

"Desmond Cataliades?" he asks, with the same tone of surprise, as he produces his own phone to examine my message. "You're represented by Desmond Cataliades?" he clarifies.

Am I? He told me to give his information to anyone contacting me on behalf of Bill. I guess I am. I guess Bill's lawyer knows the name. He didn't sound thrilled to hear it. "Yes," I answer.

"Very well Miss Stackhouse, I will contact his office this afternoon. It has been nice to meet you," he finishes, and retreats back to the car. I stand on the porch impassively and watch as he has a brief exchange with Lorena. I can't hear what they're saying of course, since he's closed the door, but she looks livid when she turns to glare back at me. I struggle to keep my expression bland in return and watch them until they drive away. Then I go inside to call Cataliades myself.

It takes a few minutes of holding before I get him on the line. "Good afternoon, Miss Stackhouse," he greets.

"Good afternoon," I reply. "Listen, I am very sorry to interrupt your day, but I have just had a visit from a Simon Maimonides, who says he is representing Bill Compton. He just left my house up here. He was with Lorena Ball, I don't know if I mentioned who she was. Anyway he left me this packet of papers and I gave him your contact information just as you said to."

"Very good, Miss Stackhouse. You can look over it all, and I will wait to hear from him here."

"Alright. Uh. Mister Cataliades, just to clarify, are you my attorney now?"

He chuckles at that. "Yes, Miss Stackhouse. At Mister Northman's request, I'll be representing your interests in all matters pertaining to Mister Compton. Have you decided what you wish to do about a civil action? I presume that somewhere in that mix of papers will be a settlement offer precluding litigation."

"I honestly haven't given it much thought," I say, distractedly. So Eric is just lending me his lawyer? Like a cup of sugar? Or a pen, or a hair band? Hey, can I borrow an attorney? I thought he was just consulting with me. I need to call that man tonight.

"Well, you'll want to give it some thought. Since I have you on the line now, it would be useful to me to have copies of the hospital records here. I've managed to obtain the police report and the protection order already. I'll call you in a few days once I have heard what Maimonides has to say."

"Alright," I say. "Thank you, Mister Cataliades. You'll keep me informed?"

"Yes, of course. Good afternoon, Miss Stackhouse."

"Goodbye," I say, but he's already hung up. Well that's a heck of a thing.

I lock up the house and head back to the kitchen to unpack my groceries, annoyed with myself as I remember that I had both milk and ice cream in there. I unpack my coffee pot and wash out the interior, and then I go ahead and put a pot to brewing. The delightful smell reaches me back in the bedroom where I was changing back into more comfortable loungewear. It had been the first day I bothered with a bra, and it had gotten uncomfortable even after only a few hours.

I settle down at the kitchen table and read through the papers. Basically it seems that he's offering me ten thousand dollars as well as the contents of what is referred to as our joint savings account, which comes out to another twenty-two thousand. I'm not really sure what our joint savings account is, since as far as I know, we never had one. Maybe this is what he's done with all the rent I thought we were splitting? I have no idea. I chew at my lip for a bit. This would cover the medical bills, which were exorbitant. I'd even have a little bit left over which I could use to buy some of the things on my ever-growing list of needs for both this house and my future apartment. It didn't seem that bad, or that unfair. My phone rings and I go ahead and answer it without looking. It's probably Pam calling me back.

"Hello?"

"You think a high class attorney is going to get you anything more out of Bill you little cunt?"

Not Pam, then.

"Excuse me? Who is this?"

"You know exactly who this is you stupid bitch. Playing the innocent might work for your new corporate fuck-friend, but it doesn't work on me."

"Lorena?" I ask, incredulous. It's my only guess.

"Oh, not going to play your little game anymore? Well that's for the best, as I assure you, you will lose."

"Lorena, why are you calling me?" I ask.

"I'm calling to let you know that I'm on to your ploys and I'm done putting up with them. I let Bill string you along while he was oh so determined to raise himself a perfect little wifey to tote out in front of all the world. If you think I'll let you ruin him just because you've traded up, you've got another thing coming."

I should really just hang up the phone now. I just can't. This is like when people slow down on a highway to gawk at a car wreck. It's horrible, but I can't stop myself. "What are you talking about?"

"Whatever you and Eric Northman thought you were going to pull on us, you're in for a rude surprise. We've left Area Five. We used last week to buy a house together, while you were sneaking in to pack up all your textbooks. What do you think of that, little bitch?"

"I think it's fine, Lorena. I hope to never hear from either of you again."

"Oh I'm not about to promise that," she sounds amused. Actually it sounds like she's about to start cackling.

"It's been interesting hearing from you Lorena, I'm going to say goodbye now."

"Sign the papers, little Sookie. You won't get another red cent of Bill's money, and if we go to court, I'll see you buried. You'll find it hard to be the ingénue when you've been fucking the man's boss. Why you even bothered putting on this show, I'll never figure out. You could have stayed fucking him in Seattle for all we cared."

"I'm not fucking anyone Lorena," I retort. Okay, maybe that's not entirely accurate, but it's beside the point. She's insinuating that I've been carrying on with Eric all the while that she's been carrying on with Bill, and that is definitely not true.

"Please, bitch. Did you think Bill wouldn't see the love note attached to your little parting gift?" What? I guess there had been a card with that basket maybe? I hadn't even got a chance to see it.

"What?"

"Oh, back to clueless are we?" she's mocking me in a baby voice now before she grows more serious again. "We're through with you, and we're through with Area Five. You'll see what happens when you try to fuck with me." She's barely making sense at this point. She disconnects the call.

I sit there completely gobsmacked for several minutes. I want to get real angry at her nerve but she's gone ahead and said a lot of things that really could do with some clarification. I sent Eric a text asking him to call me back ASAP. My phone is ringing again before I even have the chance to set it down.

"Eric?" I answer. I check the caller this time. No more surprises.

"Sookie, hey. Everything alright?"

"Eric, what the heck is going on? Lorena just called me, and apart from sounding stark raving mad, I'm pretty sure she threatened both me and you, and your company."

He lets out heavy sigh as he answers, "Bill and Lorena have gone over to Arkansas. They took..." he pauses. "It amounts to what you'd call corporate secrets, with them. En masse. We're kind of fucked." he finishes. Oh.