Hello everyone! Finally picking up this story again, I'm so, so sorry for the hiatus. I hope to kick off with this story again, because I know a lot of people were sad about the break; I hate it when I'm reading a story and the author leaves it unfinished, so I decided to keep going with this one. I hope everyone loves this chapter, please comment, favorite, and — most importantly — read! I love to hear what you guys have to say. Anyways, enjoy!

I pressed the cold metal of my cellphone into my cheek, looking still at Pam from across the kitchen. The speaker on the other side of the line seemed hesitant to introduce itself.

Finally, she heard: "Gee?" It was Sookie, with a sob stuck someplace between her stomach and her mouth.

"So what made you decide to ring, Sook?" I asked. I turned back to the fridge to pull out a plastic carton of apple juice. A swift wind brushed past my ears and tickled the ends of my hair; when I turned away from the fridge, Pam and every trace of her visit to my kitchen was gone. I sighed to myself, wondering why a creature would ever feel the need to be so mysterious.

Sookie emitted a harsh sob and released the unthinkable: Bill had just called her after she spent the night trying to ascertain his whereabouts in Mississippi; he delivered a final goodbye and notified her on his revived affair with his maker, Lorena.

"I don't believe it, Gee. I can't. He'd die for me—I know that. He wouldn't jus' leave me behind! The last time I saw him he asked me t'marry him," Sookie wept into her cellphone's speaker. I sat down in one of the chairs at the table, spinning open the cap to the carton of apple juice. I suddenly felt like an older sister, a mother, even a grandmother. This role was one which I played most frequently during our years in high school; boys would fight tooth and nail for Sookie's fair countenance and cheerleader status, but only cast me a second look every once and again, wondering why such an outgoing girl could have a sister so mousy, so skinny, so bookish. It was I who held her hand when the boys thought their terrible, pubescent thoughts and Sookie heard each and every one of them.

Trying not to think of my ordinary and vague transformative years, I refocused myself on Bill's odd behavior. I figured Bill's torrent of disinterest in Sookie was not a result of nature but manipulation; in spite of my personal disinclination toward Bill, I knew Sookie was right when he said he'd die for her and that he loved her—he did. Someone had been listening to Bill while he was on the phone; he wouldn't have said that out of pure spontaneity—which I had determined was an attribute generally lacking in vampires.

"I won't believe that either. Even if Bill wanted to end things with you—which I know he don't—he wouldn't do it like that."

"That's what I'm sayin'!" Sookie exclaimed. "It was jus' the way he said it… He was so cold, Gee. He scared me."

"Well, are you still goin' to look for him out in Jackson?" I asked after I took a sip of the over-sweetened amber juice. I winced at the saccharine flush that drilled sugar into every crevice of my minutely-crooked teeth.

"Hell yes I am. If Bill's goin' to say that t'me, he's goin' to be saying that t'my face," Sookie decided. "But, Gee, I need your help."

I let out a long and heavy breath that seemed to have been sitting in the bottom of my lungs for eons. My head grew dense and my russet lashes leaden; a wave of fatigue lay waste to my every active sense as I heard news of my necessity to another one of Sookie's endeavors. As per.

"For what?"

As I soared eastward through Monroe on Interstate 20, I began talking to myself. This was a habit that announced itself when I'd first gotten my license at sixteen and I'd become allowed to drive by myself. Correcting the mistakes of drivers around me had eventually evolved into entire conversations with myself on the reveal of the moral compass by way of driving skill and etiquette. Now at the age of twenty-two, my conversations with myself were entirely unrelated to driving; I no longer had an excuse for insanity.

"Georgina, why—why are you driving to Mississippi? Sookie don't need you, she certainly don't need Bill, nor should you put yourself at risk so you can patch up her relationship with that damned vampire?" I asked myself with great and pensive thought. "Why can't you ever just do what you want, you damned fool? Gran always said so… 'Do what you want and love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw at it still.' She didn't never give Sookie or Jason that. Just you, who could never say 'no' to nothing."

I could feel the scowl dragging lines down my face as I waddled in my shallow pool of self-pity and looked as longingly at self-confidence as I would my silvery, distorted reflection in that very pool.

I continued to distract myself instead of dealing with my ultimate and personal failure, reflecting on memories in lieu of weaknesses. The rattle of Hank Williams from my car radio summoned these bygone times, when I would run through Gran's garden without having to worry about whether the sky painted sun, stars, or storm.

There was a vignette design to these blurry impressions; Jason standing before a broken plate and a splash of raspberry jam on the floor while looking up culpably to Gran; Sookie sitting on the rope swing that several years ago crumbled away into dust and oblivion; myself sitting in a buttery grove of dandelions, asking Gran why she'd call such pretty little things 'weeds' and want to tug them from the ground. These pieces of my mind could not be touched—not even with the purest of fingertips. Their fading corners and unsure borders labeled each picture expired and looked only fair behind panes of glass. I could not revive these memories, only duplicate them in my mind and hope for the best.

Time passed in the vehicle as suddenly as time did; as quickly as the unstoppable slide from one year to the next I seemed to have watched come and go since I could first hold memories. Things floated by quickly, nothing went slowly. But there seemed to be an exception to this rule: Vampires.

And another except might have been… Myself. Memories lasted long in my mind; they could not be swept away with the ease that sweeps away facts and figures caught in the holed net of Jason's mind. I held things forever, and not necessarily what the weather was going to be the next week or how many nickels it took to make three dollars, but the feelings, the dreams, the stories, the histories, the smells, the senses… I could imprint them in my mind forever, and I could steal them from the minds of others. The memory I had placed in Pam's mind was not mine, nor had I ever encountered it. That scene was just there, and I could wrap it around my finger like a piece of twine or a lock of my hair.

The tender backside of the Deep South swirled around my car like an Expressionist painting; in the night the trees had wild, jagged arms and the moon had a face. I could feel every car that had ran through this landscape as mine did, and I could see every child run to play in the Big Black River and every old man head out to it with his fishing pole. Running through such a rural stretch made my heart thump quickly with the raw nature of the land.

Once I arrived in Jackson, Mississippi, I was instantly daunted by the grandeur of a city. Truth be told, I had never seen a city with my own eyes. I nearly got in three car crashes as I maneuvered my way through the area, simply captured by the way the entire world seemed to light up from the small space between two skyscrapers in the city.

But the address Sookie gave me was that of a residence relatively distanced from the heart of the city, so I had little difficulty finding this place. And soon enough I was in an apartment belonging to a man named Alcide. He seemed kind and compassionate, good for Sookie—better than Bill was to her. But in times like these, when Sookie faced an ultimate tragedy, there was only one living person in the entire world who could console her: me.

Alcide's sheets smelled like sandalwood and detergent. So much detergent that I could see him bundling the white linens in his hard arms every morning to carry them to the washing machine. In the run of my hand across the smooth bedclothes I could feel his hurting heart; he wished to rid someone of these very sheets.

Sookie's tears would perhaps permit Alcide peace; there was a chance her flowery fragrance might replace that of the girl who used to sweeten his bed. I felt lost tears roll over my thumb and knuckle as I brushed away her tears. However much Sookie wiggled her way into my deepest nerves, these tears could purify my every thought of her. No one deserved these tears, not even Bill. These were tears of absolutely heartbreak.

"He was so mean, Gee," Sookie hiccuped. Her nose was crinkled and hot pink, her eyes glossy and filled with spilling water. "He ain't never been that mean."

"Then that ain't Bill, Sook. You and I are goin' to find out why in the Hell he'd say such terrible things, and you and I are goin' to watch him get on his very knees and beg for your forgiveness. I swear it, Sook."

"I love you, Gee," Sookie cried. I could feel her fading into exhaustion in my arms.

"I love you too, Sook," I muttered in her hair. We both faded away soon after. Sobs turned to sleepy mumblings, tears turned to sleep in our eyes.

Though her and I both climbed through black passageways of sleep, I was awakened in my dreams by a knock at the window. When my eyes opened, I was the only one in the bed, and a figure hovered outside the window.

I inhaled quickly in fear before my eyes could identify the figure that could float several stories from the ground. Despite the anger I still felt an angry burn in my heart for this figure, I could not stop myself from walking to the window and opening it.

"Eric? What are you doin' out there?" I asked in a hushed voice, hoping not to wake Sookie even though I was sure she was no longer in the room. I considered the possibility that Sookie had gone to be with Alcide, which riled curiosity in my heart. Yet, I was more curious about Eric standing outside Alcide's window.

"Waiting for you to invite me in," he answered. I leant out the window and looked to my right and left to see if there was any logical explanation to Eric's ability to fly. I found none.

"Can all vampires fly?" I asked him.

"Can all humans sing?" He replied. I raised my eyebrows and considered my tone-deafness. I stepped aside to give him room.

"Come on in," I invited.

With practiced agility, Eric's feet met the carpet of Alcide's room. He looked around, taking in the ordinary white walls and the recently-emptied picture frames on top of Alcide's dresser.

"Here to visit Sookie?" He asked, turning around slightly.

"Why are you here, Eric?" I asked him, avoiding his question. The fascination of his height hanging over mine captured me at the moment—I could not focus on reality, or even if this was that. All I knew was that I could hear the tide lap in my ear when he neared, and smell the North Sea with every movement of his limbs.

"I'm not. This is my dream, and because you are what you are, it's yours too."

I felt my eyebrows quickly furrow at his words, but I could not stop them from pulling apart either. His words would like a riddle riding right through my brain, but I couldn't care to solve it.

With the warm wind rolling through the window, he moved too. He was just as soundless, just as gentle, just as delicate. It was odd to see how easily such a mountain of a man could move with such stealth. Between his fingers, he captured a silky lock of my orange hair. He touched it tentatively, as though it could burn his pale skin.

"You dream about me, Eric Northman?" I asked coquettishly. Something about the way I functioned in this supposed dream didn't seem lifelike; I was not a flirt.

His eyes faltered as he looked down, then answered slowly: "Yes."

By the look on his face, it seemed that Eric couldn't understand something. I began to think that that which he couldn't understand was me, but that wasn't possible… Eric knew everything, understood everything.

"Why?" I asked. His thumb smoothed across my freckled cheek, thus ripening the cry of a northern ocean's waves in my ear. And he could hear it too, and smell the salt in my hair. His lips speedily met my hairline, and he claimed me from the head down. His hands dug deeply into the subtle fire within my hair; he covered himself in me.

"You're the only way I can feel it again," he answered against my hair. "I can feel human again, just for a minute. I can feel home again."

I looked up to him, seeing a harsh sincerity in his cold eyes. When I placed my hands on his hard, broad shoulders, I felt comparatively miniature. I was but a fragile twig by contrast of his greatness, yet a part of my heart beat with ownership. A gentle tug of my hands lowered Eric's lips to mine and the lapping of the waves grew tremulous; his mouth was just as thoroughgoing as the comb of the water on sand. When his kiss became devouring, I let him hold me entirely in his arms, for once again I was bathed in the cold of the North Sea.

Despite my lack of size and the coldness that only Eric's arms shielded me from, a surge of heat flushed through my every blood vessel and I backed him up against the edge of the bed. He pulled me down with him, hands still lost in my hair, and I kissed across his cheek and jaw with an expertise that I was sure I did not possess in reality.

When I tore my lips from his skin temporarily, the scent of pine and sea-salt swept through my nose. I put a greater length between my face and Eric's, still sitting atop his hard torso. I had no doubt that my skin was pink at the cheeks and nose, that my lips were red and raw, that my hair was as chaotic as wildfire, but I didn't mind. The tundra within his eyes could still cool me.

And I pressed my thumb lightly to his lips, brushing over the reddened skin, and our minds were both seized by something quick and delicate.

An image of green mountains opened up, split by a cerulean estuary. The vertical walls of the fjord were dappled white, resembling glacial waterfalls spilling into the reflective waters that moved with the indiscernible stillness of the sun passing over our heads every day. In the distance—from where our picture was painted—white mountaintops were powdered over a violet sky with a matching fragility to that of the clouds. I could have reached out and touched it all with just a finger, but he captured me again with his lips.

Then a rock of something electric hit me, and I was alone—not alone, but no longer with Eric. He was not there. My legs were warm, especially the tops and the insides that were burrowed deeply beneath the covers, as were my breasts, as was my stomach and my head. I turned my head to see Sookie's blonde hair still tangled up with tears beside me, however. I felt guilty that such an emotion could capture me with my near-sister sleeping soundly next to me.

I lay a messy head back down on the pillow, trying to sink back into the sheets in spite of the uncomfortable heat my body had accumulated. I eventually slipped back into sleep, having dreams that were my own—not belonging to Eric. In my sleep I dreamt of swimming in that cerulean fjord, slipping into the saline depths like distant comets slip into the blackness of space; the fruits of the sea tinkering quietly beneath my kicking toes like the mysteries of our galaxy tinkering behind our blind eyes.

"No fucking way!" I heard the words leave Alcide's mouth from the kitchen as I was ripped from sleep. My arms lazily twirled in a clockwise circle around me like the second and minute hand of a clock. My fingertips grazed the wrinkled edge of the bed and I realized they had not interfered with what they should have—Sookie.

I then realized Alcide was arguing with Sookie in the kitchen. I stretched my legs towards the opposite edge of the bed and pushed myself up, letting my feet touch the scratchy rug. When I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, the first thing I saw was the closed window across from Alcide's bed. Last night, in the dream-encounter with Eric, I had opened the window. It was now closed. I was sure unsure to whether that dream was mine, or Eric's or both of ours. Weird things often happened in my dreams, but it was his words that had hung as a shadow over the possibility that it was a dream belonging to us both

"I'm not. This is my dream, and because you are what you are, it's yours too."

What did that mean? The dream was Eric's, but because I am what I am, it was my dream too? And can Vampires even dream?

"I know you're still hurtin' over Debbie," I heard Sookie's identifiable voice ring over the sizzling of a frying pan. "But seeing her with those creeps might help you get over her!"

"Are you insane? Either one of us showing up after last night is just asking to get our asses kicked!" Alcide responded harshly. A loud clutter sounded from the kitchen and I hurriedly dressed myself, wondering how comfortable I was with Alcide and Sookie being alone. "You go if you got to, but don't put your shit on me."

I passed Alcide in the hall as I headed for the kitchen. He sent me a dark look as I passed and I cast my eyes toward the floor to avoid his daunting countenance. When I crept into the kitchen on quiet toes, Sookie was sitting at the small, round table that served as Alcide's dining table. She looked at me quickly when I entered and smiled halfheartedly; her argument with Alcide had clearly made a dent in her day.

"Good mornin'," I greeted with a full-hearted smile, hoping to lend some joy to her. She opened her arms for a hug and I went to accept. A night of tears never failed to reforge our bond.

"Not necessarily a good mornin'," Sookie responded with a frown.

"Don't say that, Sook. I meant what I said last night. You and I are goin' to find Bill and figure out what all this is about."

Sookie smiled fully again, her golden curls matched her golden smile well. "Good. But first, you and I have got to make a call to someone. We're goin' to Lou Pine's tonight, but we got to look the part to get in."