Disclaimer: The Southern Vampire Mysteries are copyrighted to Ms. Charlaine Harris. All rights to characters and locations in the Sookie Stackhouse books belong to Ms. Harris. Copyrights to original characters belong to me. This work of fiction is not intended infringe upon rights held by others than myself, and I make no profit from this work.
CAETERA DESUNT (The Rest is Wanting)
Chapter 12: Down in Yon Forest
"Down in that hall there lay a bed; The bells of Paradise I heard them ring: Voices of heaven here in my head; The bells of Paradise I heard them ring: All scarlet the cover that over it spread—and I love my Lord Jesus above anything."—Traditional English Carol
Northman's privacy be damned, neither Pam nor Chase bothered to knock. Brandon entered after Pam, his attention instantly focused on the leather sofa against the far wall where the Viking cradled Sookie against his chest. The fingers of one hand gently stroked her hair while the other supported her back. The girl had her arms wrapped tightly around Eric's neck, face buried against his shoulder. Both Pam and Brandon heard what they first thought was laughter, but realized was really choked sobs.
Northman fixed them both with an icy, steel-blue glare. "Leave." Neither moved. "Now." His eyes narrowed at the blatant disregard of his order.
"You know I'd love to obey, Eric, but I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on." Pam folded her arms over her chest in punctuation to her words, nodding toward Sookie. "I've seen her near death and itched to slap her for her disobedience. I've seen her exhausted and pissed off—but I've never seen her lose it like that. Give."
Chase, of course, couldn't say the same. He knew very little about the Stackhouse girl, save she seemed to a constant pain in the Sheriff's ass. He liked neither her holier-than-thou attitude nor how she undermined Northman's authority. Still, he'd been around enough authority figures in his 500-years to know better than remark upon it. Pam might get away with it because she was Eric's childe. He wisely kept his mouth shut, letting the stubborn set of his chin speak for him.
"You both know better than this. Get out before I—"
"Eric, stop." Sookie appeared shaken, but she was pulling herself together. "I'm all right, and this concerns—" Her voice faltered, but she straightened up, shifting away from Northman. "—concerns all of us. They need to know what happened out there."
This piqued Chase's interest. He moved one of the chairs in front of the sofa for Pam, then one for himself. Once seated, his eyes never wavered from Sookie's tear-stained face. That she was more than distraught was obvious by her behavior. Though her crying had stopped, there was genuine fear in her eyes.
Brandon really wanted to know what she'd "heard" in the bar. He was, however, gentleman enough not to press her.
Pam, on the other hand, had no such qualms. "Were the bastards there?" It was a demand, not a question.
"Pam." Northman's voice was ice. "She will talk when she's ready, not before."
Chase made note of the Stackhouse girl's pale face and shaking hands. Rising, he went to the desk and picked up the phone. Pressing an in-house line, he ordered a bottle of fine brandy and one of Royal Blüd for the office. This gave time Sookie to further compose herself. Pam found a box of tissues, passing them to Sookie. By the time a waiter delivered the bottles, she was sitting beside the Sheriff. Chase poured the girl a brandy, and the vampires glasses of blood.
"Thank you." Her voice was steadier, less panic-stricken. Chase heard her breathing and heart rate slow to normal. Once she'd taken a couple sips of strong liquor, the color was back in her cheeks. "I'm all right," she told Eric, who had her pulled protectively close to him. "You don't have to hold me."
"I like holding you."
"I think I'm going to throw up." Pam's expression was far from amused. "Just tell us what you heard, Sookie. You know we won't let anything happen to you."
There was, Chase assumed, an odd sort of friendship between Pam and the Stackhouse girl. At least it looked that way to him. Admittedly, he hadn't noticed it until recently, but the more he was around the two women, the more he could see a mutual respect in the way they acted around one another. He saw Sookie manage a smile at Pam, which was more than Northman did. He scowled at his childe, his eyes promising retribution.
"It was after Eric and I started making out." The voice was stronger, if slightly husky from the alcohol. "It's hard to hear individuals when there are so many in one place, but I can usually isolate thoughts when I concentrate." She glanced slyly up at Eric. "Unfortunately, I had ... distractions."
Northman beamed. Chase ignored him. Pam looked like she was going to be sick.
"Anyway, I was letting my mind wander, picking up snatches of thoughts here and there when something ... hit me, for lack of a better word." Chase saw her physically shudder. "It came at me sideways and caught me off guard. Black, dark, terrifying—like plunging into an icy cold river of hot blood." She paused again, taking a deep breath, then exhaling slowly.
"At first there weren't words, just this thick, oily black that wrapped itself around me, pulled me down into ... someplace awful. I heard things—horrible, hateful things directed at all the vampires. It was worse than anything I ever heard from the Fellowship." She shuddered again, apparently steeling herself against the fear with which her mental encounter left her. "Then I heard a single mind thinking what he did to all vampire whores he got his hands on." A beat, then, "There were a lot of them—and not just here. Other places."
Chase watched as Sookie took a final sip, then held out the glass. "More?" he offered.
"No, I've had enough." Chase took the glass, setting it on Northman's desk. After a moment, Sookie continued. "It was like falling into hell. The things he did to those women before he killed them—" Her lips pressed together. "He took his time with some of them. Others he killed quickly."
A moment passed, and Sookie met Chase's eyes. "He's going to kill again. Soon. Maybe tonight. I don't know who, but his thoughts were of a woman he's seen a few times. Walking. He and Reggie. That's who he forces to help him. They'll follow her and snatch her off the street. I don't know who she is, but he loathes her because she's sold herself to a vampire."
A moment passed, then, "He hypnotizes them. That's how he gets them to trust him. He learned how to manipulate people through hypnosis. His ... his mother—" She stopped. "That's when it ended. I don't know if he left, or just ... stopped thinking about it." She looked at Northman, then Chase. "I didn't see who it was."
There was complete silence when Sookie finished speaking. The only sound was the muffled pound of music from the bar, and her breathing. None of the vampires spoke for what seemed hours. Then Chase was up and out of the office, leaving three startled people in his wake.
Brandon didn't bother with the front door, instead flying out through the back door. A blur of motion, he was across the street into the public parking lot within seconds. It was as he feared: the van was gone. Drawn by the abrupt appearance of his boss, the bouncer assigned to watch the lot approached at a run. Chase heard him huffing and puffing, whirling on him with fangs bared. The young man skidded to a stop, a strangled scream in his throat. Brandon was on him in a heartbeat, hand grasping his throat, lifting him easily off the ground. He struggled, eyes bulging from their sockets, pure terror in his expression.
"Where did it go?" Chase demanded. "You were told to watch the van. Where. Did. It. Go?"
Gurgling noises came from the man's throat as he tried to answer. Chase shook him once, then suddenly threw him to the ground. The bouncer—no lightweight—grunted as he landed, sliding backwards from the force. Breathless, he tried to scramble away, but Chase advanced menacingly.
"When did it leave?" Brandon's voice was a bare whisper. His eyes glared at the man who scuttled sideways like a crab. "Answer me!"
"I d-don't know!" The response was a horrified whimper. The bouncer did his best to regain his feet, finally succeeding. Without another word, the young man ran. He didn't even stop for his own car, just ran down the street, disappearing into the night.
Brandon watched, the rage inside demanding he give chase, but he forced that instinct down. He was so furious he almost missed Pam's arrival. Chase whirled on her, poised for battle: fangs extended, fingers curled like talons, body crouched.
Pam appeared to have sense enough to stop where she stood. A hand went to her hip, and her head cocked to the side. Chase felt her eyes rake over him, saw her lips curl into a smirk. "Somehow I don't think he'll be back to pick up his paycheck."
Brandon scowled, a guttural growl escaping his throat. She stood her ground, eyes almost—but not quite—amused. Gradually, Chase began to release the rage, whirling back around to put his fist through the steel "exit" sign next to the back driveway. The sound of tearing metal split the night. Afterwards, Chase slowly turned around, eyeing Pam with a cold blue eyes.
"Don't worry, I'll pay for it," he snarled. A pause. "He didn't see them. He was told to watch, and he didn't. They escaped because of his ineptitude."
"Probably, but not necessarily." Pam walked over to the empty parking space, squatting down to peer at something on the gravel. "You were right about the van being old." She dipped two fingers into a dark stain on the ground; she lifted them, sniffed, then grinned. Her fangs gleamed white in the streetlight. "Oil leak. Quite a bad one—but I'm no expert." She looked up at Chase, a smirk on her lips. "You're the one with the Harley, you take a look." Obviously referencing a Harley-Davidson's tendency to always leak oil.
Chase ignored the barb, kneeling beside her. It was oil, all right. A good bit of it. He looked closer, noting a few drops beyond the space. Straightening, he kept looking, finding more drops toward the exit. A whole trail of leaking oil lead out of the parking lot, turning onto a side street. Brandon followed them a short distance, stopping only when he realized he could easily see the spots, and recognize the particularly acrid odor of oil long-overdue for a change.
Turning back, he nodded toward Fangtasia. "Good find." This time Brandon actually smirked back at Pam. "Guess you're not just eye candy after all." He might pay for the jibe later, but right now, he didn't care.
They entered through the front, Chase pausing long enough to let Greg know what had happened. The young bouncer winced when he heard the story, and promised to make sure his friend understood the stress everyone was under. Northman and the Sookie were back on the dais; she was sitting on his lap, but it was more casual now. Chase saw she looked a lot less strained. He nodded, pausing to bow before approaching the Sheriff. Leaning close to Northman's ear, Brandon told him about the trail of oil.
Though his face didn't change expression, the Sheriff nodded. "You have permission to follow it—but do nothing when you find the prey," he was ordered. "They must go to the human police for justice. They have not killed a vampire."
"No, just tried to frame us for multiple murders." That was Pam's comment as she flopped down in her own chair.
Northman turned his head toward her. "Human crime is not our jurisdiction. You will all obey me in this."
Chase's lips thinned, but he gave his word. "Miss Stackhouse and I should go for our walk now," he told the Sheriff, but he was unprepared for the vehemence of Northman's response.
"No." Cold. Iron-clad. Glaring.
Chase straightened, his own eyes narrowed. "It was agreed upon—"
"That was before Sookie was scared out of her wits. She will not leave my side."
"Eric, if I can help—"
Icy glare now turned on Sookie. "I said no." Firm. "You will also obey me, is that understood?"
Brandon could tell Sookie wasn't happy from the stubborn jut of her chin. Surely she wouldn't argue with Northman in front of everyone; that would certainly undermine the Sheriff's authority, making him an easy mark for vampires looking to discredit him.
"It will be as you wish, Sheriff." Chase bowed his head, turning on his heel and heading toward the storage area.
Opening his locker, Brandon removed his leather coat, hanging it inside. No need for an incumbrance when he broke his word to the Sheriff. He rifled through his locker, pausing when he came across a holstered, 9mm Glock-19. As old as he was, Chase really didn't need weapons, though he occasionally carried a stiletto he took from a New York gang member in the 50s. An elegant, slender blade as beautiful as it was deadly, it came in handy, even for a vampire. He put the Glock back, picking up the stiletto, debating on whether or not to take it with him.
"You can always let me carry it." Chase knew it was Sookie was behind him; he'd heard her approach, no matter how softly she walked.
"I don't think Northman will approve." Chase closed the locker, leaving the stiletto inside. He turned to face Sookie, frowning. "He told you to stay here."
"He told you the same thing." She looked up at Chase, lips pursed. "Look, I know you don't like me, but I can help. I want to help." She seemed to deliberate over something, then added, "I didn't tell you all everything."
The confession caught Chase by surprise. He looked at Sookie with narrowed eyes, waiting.
"The woman—" Chase heard her take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. "—the one he plans to kill. I'm not sure, but I thought he called her Mary."
His brows creased. "Mary?"
"Yes, only it sounded like merry, as in Merry Christm—"
Chase whirled about, re-opened his locker and took out the stiletto. "Here." He thrust it toward Sookie. "You do as I tell, no argument. Do I need to remind you that I won't live long if any harm comes to you?"
There was an urgency to Brandon's actions. He knew it was a risk taking Sookie along, but there was only one woman he knew with that name—and that monster could have her only over Chase's undead body. Sookie's gift would be of immense help in finding the killers, or Meredith if they'd already taken her. If he and Sookie got in trouble, Northman would know through his bond with Sookie. Chase was sure she, at least, would be rescued, if not himself.
They slipped out the back, pausing only long enough for Brandon to tell Sookie to climb onto his back. In such a manner, he carried her so they could move that much faster. Across Line Ave., through the parking lot and onto the side street in a blur of motion. Chase followed the still damp trail of oil on the brick surface, moving swiftly though the area was not well lit. Once beyond sight of the bar, he slowed, allowing Sookie—when had he started thinking of her in first person?—to get down. She still couldn't move as fast as him, but she at least made an effort not to hold him back.
Twice he lost the trail but found it again. They followed a convoluted path which led past the rail yards and turned north. Chase slowed even more here, taking note of familiar looking rundown houses, abandoned industrial buildings and derelict ditches of stagnant water. Sookie kept her word, doing exactly as Brandon instructed.
It was only when they turned onto St. Vincent Ave. that a coldness gripped Chase. He suddenly knew exactly where they were—the homeless shelter was only a couple of blocks ahead on the right. Praying Meredith hadn't been helping there that night, he scooped Sookie into his arms and ran the two blocks in record time. Coming to a halt in front of the mission, he peered at the ground as he allowed the girl in his arms to stand on her own. It took a few minutes, but he located a pool of oil about halfway to the stop sign at the corner of 78th St.
Sookie apparently saw what he did. "Looks like they stopped here for a while."
"Probably waiting." Chase sounded distracted, as, indeed, he was. He turned back to the mission when he heard a car engine. One of the sisters he' recognized from last week was locking the mission doors as the other nun started a car.
"Come." He didn't give Sookie much of a choice, grasping her hand and almost dragging her back up the block. He skidded to a stop in the parking area beside the building, calling out, "Sister!"
The nun did what any self-respecting woman would do in a city besieged by a serial killer—which Chase might have realized had he stopped to think. He was, however, in too much of a hurry to think things through clearly.
"Easy, I'm not going to hur—" At first, Chase thought she might faint, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.
Mace stings—even if you are a 500-year old vampire. It doesn't hamper breathing the way it does on humans, but makes seeing difficult for a few minutes. It took that time and more to calm both nuns. The Sister in front of Chase was backed up against the door, a silver rosary in one hand, mace in the other. Fortunately, Chase wasn't in range of the silver. The other nun locked the car doors and scrambled to dial her cell phone. Sookie was at the car window, pleading with her not to panic and definitely not to call the police.
By the time Brandon regained his sight, Sookie had at least managed to get both nuns to stop and listen as she explained they weren't there to hurt them. They only wanted information. The panic slowly ceased, although the one nun refused to leave the car, and still held up the cell phone as if threatening to call the police if Sookie didn't back away.
Someday Chase might look back on the situation with humor, but not at the moment. Once he backed away, the nun at the door stopped swinging her rosary long enough to listen. "Sister, we mean you no harm. I just want to know if Meredith Ward was here tonight."
Perhaps it was the urgency in Chase's voice which ultimately demanded a response. Color came back to her face, and she stepped forward. "Meredith? Why, yes, she was. Such a dear child. So dedicated."
"Is she still inside?" Chase asked, pointing to a lighted window on the second floor.
The nun turned to look, then shook her head. "No, Meredith left some time ago. One of the other volunteers is on duty tonight."
"Do you know if she was going straight home?"
"She usually does, but she didn't say anything to either Sister Mary Agnes or me."
Brandon was about to ask something more, but Sookie had moved up beside him. "Thank you, Sister. If you don't mind, I have a question—do you know anyone who drives an old, black van? Someone who comes into the mission regularly, perhaps?"
The nun looked thoughtful, then shook her head. "I have no idea what kind of vehicle that would be, child." She appeared to think hard, then added, "Brother Reginald might know. He does odd jobs for us, including keeping our car running."
"Brother Reginald?" This from Chase. "Is he inside?"
"No, he lives out by the airport, I believe, though I'm not sure where. He just shows up and asks for work."
"Do you have a last name?"
"No, Reggie's is very secretive about his personal information." She tapped the side of her forehead, indicating the man in question might be a little "tetched" as most Southerners would say. "I'm afraid I must go reassure Sister Mary Agnes. Is there anything else I can do?"
Chase was already turning aside, but he looked over his shoulder. "Yes. Pray."
AUTHOR NOTES: Thanks for the reviews! There's only one more chapter to finish, and then this story's done. Don't hate me because I leave some questions unanswered. I do plan a sequel. Even if I don't manage a second story, I will post the answers to those questions in my profile. Honest!