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 15: Another Year Completed
"Another year completed, the day comes round once more; Which with our patron's radiance is bright as heretofore. Now, strong in hope, united, his festival we greet; He will present our troubles before the mercy-seat."—Paulinus of Nola (353-431)
"It's just like Merlotte's, only with stripper poles."
Sookie sat across from Chase, Northman at her side. Their booth was toward the back, near the kitchen door. Not many patrons were eating, though. Mostly the bar appeared to be a watering hole for local rednecks, a few bikers and off-duty military personnel from nearby Barksdale AFB. The only women present were either dancers or waitresses, so Sookie stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb.
So did Brandon and the Sheriff. Chase felt eyes on them from the moment they entered. Two burly biker-types acted as bouncers, but the clientele seemed mostly made up of locals. They drank and watched the girls perform, occasionally casting their eyes toward the odd trio. Apparently, not many vampires chose to patronize Belle's. Chase could certainly see why; it was, plain and simply put, a dive.
The dancers were passable, but nothing exciting. Northman and Chase weren't even mildly tempted by their erotic performances. Sookie just looked bored, excusing herself to wander the bar alone. She checked out the video poker games at one bar, played a game of pool with a couple of rednecks, eluded hands like the expert she was—all under the watchful eye of the Sheriff. Chase kept his own eyes open for anything unusual, though he was unfamiliar with what was routine for this establishment. Both men were approached for lap dances; both refused.
Chase saw Sookie returning to the booth, strolling casually though her expression belied her calmness. She slid into the seat beside Eric, leaning close to him. "I think I have something," she said softly while snuggling with the Viking. "Couple of those guys in the corner were talking about a party out at Frankie's place. Said Frankie's friend had a surprise for them—a 'real looker' this time."
Chase tensed, eyes cutting to the opposite corner of the bar. A table of four men sat drinking beer. Three of them wore the typical redneck look—jeans, tee-shirts, ball caps, workmen's boots. The fourth wore a stylish, black jumpsuit with a silver-colored emblem on the front pocket. Unfortunately, Chase couldn't tell what the symbol was, nor could he hear their conversation. They were too far away, and the music was simply too loud.
At that moment, two of the men—including the one in the jumpsuit—stood, heading toward a hallway in the back. A red neon sign over the opening read "Restrooms." Before Chase knew it, Sookie was up and moving toward the same doorway. Northman hissed, reaching out a heartbeat too late. Not wanting to cause a scene, the Viking was forced to remain seated and not display any of his vampiric talents. Northman's voice was low and in a language Chase didn't speak. He could, however, imagine what the other vampire said.
Tense moments passed until Sookie came out of the hallway. She was moving with quick steps, making a beeline for their booth, not looking back.
"Don't do that a—"
The Sheriff was interrupted by Sookie practically diving into the booth. She slid close to Northman, making Chase wonder what happened in the hall. He immediately looked in that direction, seeing Jumpsuit Man leaving the corridor, heading toward the bar. The red-head behind the counter gave him a smile, and he handed her something. She gave him a nod, pocketing whatever it was.
The other man was standing in the doorway, watching Sookie with narrowed eyes. He was big, he was dark-skinned, and he was nearly filling the opening. Something in his expression reminded Chase of a pissed off bull. Northman, apparently didn't like the way the man was watching Sookie, but she put her hand over the Viking's, softly urging him not to move. Chase, in the meantime, kept watch on the redneck version of King Kong, surreptitiously observing him from the corner of his eyes. Finally, the big man shook his head and returned to the other table.
"Is he gone?" Sookie whispered. Chase nodded, and she sighed with relief. "I was outside the men's room listening, and they almost caught me. I had to get out of there fast." She reached for her drink, taking a big swallow before adding, "They're leaving soon. I think we should head out before they do, so we can follow." A pause. "You go first, Chase."
It seemed like a good idea. Chase beckoned for the check, paying the waitress for a beer and two True Bloods. He gave her a decent tip, then slid out from the booth. Nodding, he headed for the door, helmet in hand. Not that he wore it, but hard fiberglass makes a good weapon in a bar fight. Outside, the road was dark; most businesses were closed. Chase started his Harley, pulling out of the parking lot. He went about a mile down the road, then doubled back. Parking in the shadow of a closed gas station, he cut his headlight and watched the bar. Taking out his cell phone, he called Northman, letting the Sheriff know where he waited.
Not long afterward, the four men left the bar, getting into three separate vehicles: two got into a Jeep Wrangler, one into a Ford F-150 and the last one into a shiny black van marked with the Anubis Airline logo. Chase's brows knitted as something might've just fallen into place. He couldn't be certain, of course, but it had been an Anubis van which was supposed to deliver Menéndez to Fangtasia the night before.
As the three vehicles pulled out of the parking lot, Chase abandoned his bike, taking to the road on foot. He could easily run fast enough to follow the men, though he did have to admit running and talking on a cell phone wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done. Still, he had to let Northman know which way to go, so despite running in and out of dead zones, he set his GPS signal so the Sheriff could follow.
About two miles north of Belle's, they turned on Old Plain Dealing Rd., heading west out of Benton. It was easier without having to talk; as long as he kept the cell phone engaged, the tracer would give his location. Somewhere behind him, Sookie and Northman were supposedly following in the Corvette—unless something happened at the bar to detain them. Even so, Chase was resourceful. If there weren't too many people present, he should be able to handle things. Still, Northman's backup would be more than welcome.
Ten minutes later, the vehicles turned west again, this time onto Willow Bluff Rd., which led into swampier land. There were few houses on this road, and Chase could smell marshland. He dropped back to the road where he could see their taillights rather than lose them in the thick foliage. Cypress trees and dark water bordered the road, which was now little more than a raised channel through the swamp. From the distance they'd traveled, Brandon figured they were getting close to the Red River. That part of Louisiana was better known for fish camps and hunting shacks than homes, and they'd left civilization far behind.
Wonder how that pretty Corvette will handle a good, ol' fashioned Louisiana dirt road?
In actuality, calling the dirt track a road was giving it far more credit than it deserved. No more than ten feet wide, it probably hadn't seen a road grater since it was built. Bridges over the water were planks of twelve by six wood sturdy enough to bear the weight of the vehicles. Chase had no idea how close to the river he actually was, but the night smelled of wetlands and humidity. He could feel the latter on his skin as he sped along behind the last vehicle—the black van he presumed carried Menéndez's coffin. Not that Brandon knew this for certain. He just had a feeling the vampire would somehow play a part in all this.
A moment later and the taillights disappeared around a bend in the road. Chase was about to follow when he sensed he wasn't alone on the road. There was literally no where to hide, and Chase whirled around, poised to face his enemy.
"Don't." The voice was familiar. Chase whirled around, watching Northman slowly lowering himself to the road beside him. Sookie was carried on the Viking's back, her arms and legs wrapped around the tall Sheriff. "Where are they?"
"Around a bend in the road. I assume they're heading to the 'party.'"
Northman nodded, letting Sookie slip down his back. "You will remain here."
"Like hell!" Her voice was low, but adamant. Chase could easily see the stubborn lift of the Stackhouse girl's chin. "You are so not leaving me out here in the middle of the swamp, Eric Northman, so just forget it."
"You will—"
"—wait out of harm's way, but I'm not staying here." There was a splashing in the water not far away. "There are gators out there, and they'd just love a Sookie-sized treat."
Silence from Northman probably indicated he couldn't argue with her on that point. He reached out, taking her wrist in his hand, continuing down the track. Chase snickered, not caring whether or not the sound carried to the Sheriff. The more he got to know this human, the more he appreciated her assertiveness. Northman was wise to keep a short leash on her, and let everyone know she belonged to him.
They nearly stumbled into the "party." The road came to an abrupt end at a clearing. On probably the highest ground in the swamp stood a cypress wood shack. A few scattered bushes offered some concealment, and it was behind one of these they hid. Voices and boisterous laughter echoed through the swamp from inside the structure. Two propane lanterns hung from hooks on the porch, offering a greenish glow to the area. Five vehicles were parked around the shack, amongst them a battered, black Ford Econoline van.
Wooden shutters prevented Chase from seeing inside the shack, but he clearly heard ribald jokes and suggestive comments being made about a woman. His instinct told him it was Meredith, and it was all he could do to keep from rushing the place to rescue her. Rage boiled inside him. His nostrils flared, drinking in the scent of the men's lust and sweat. Beside him, Northman remained calm.
Sookie, however, could read their minds, and she knew what was going to happen inside that cabin. "You have to stop them." Her whisper was desperate. "They're going to—do awful things to her. I can feel it again. He's insane!" No need to explain what she meant. "If you don't do something, I wi—"
"You will remain here." This time Northman faced Sookie down. Chase saw her cower before the pure fury in his expression. "Understood?" His voice was a hiss, and the girl nodded. "Can you count how many?" he then asked her.
"Eight—maybe nine." The uncertainty made Chase clench his fists. "Ten with the girl. She's terrified." She turned to Brandon. "It's Meredith."
That was all Chase needed to know. He was poised to spring when the Viking's hand grasped his arm. "No. Even with your speed and strength, you cannot best all of them."
As much as Chase hated to admit it, he knew Northman was correct.
"You need a diversion." Sookie pointed beyond the shack to a ramshackle dock. "There's a boat, and where there's a boat, there's gasoline. Blow up one of those cars and you'll get everyone out of that cabin fast."
After a moment, Chase nodded. "The idea has merit."
"I also suggest calling the Sheriff of Bossier Parish. Unless he's in there, I'm betting he'd be right pleased to know what's going on here." Sookie looked pretty self-satisfied. "I can hel—"
"You can stay here and call the sheriff," Chase told her before the Viking could open his mouth.
It didn't take Chase long to reach the dock. About twenty feet from the back of the shack, it stretched half that length over the water. Beside it bobbed a flat-bottomed bass boat with an outboard motor at the back. Sitting on the dock was a 10-gallon gas can, some rope and what looked like a trout-line. Moving almost silently—certainly unheard over the racket inside—Chase stepped onto the sagging wood. It felt sturdy enough to carry his weight, and even if it wasn't, he could always levitate.
The Viking met him at the back of the old van. It was parked farthest from the shack, with the Anubis Airline van beside it. This was Northman's goal; he slipped through the shadows until he reached the side doors, finding them unlocked. Sliding them silently open, he inspected the interior. Moments later, he emerged with something in his hands, shaking his head.
"Nothing." The Sheriff's voice was barely a breath of air. "No coffin, no Menéndez, no nothing."
There wasn't time to ponder this development. Chase nodded, moving to the older van beside it. The driver's window was down, making it easy for Brandon to open the door. Inside, he found exactly what he needed. The tee-shirt was filthy, but it would serve a greater purpose now than clothing the insane; no need to wonder how he would use the cigarette lighter. Chase crept down the side of the van until he reached the gas cap. Deftly unscrewing it, he then tore the shirt into long strips. Wetting the strips with gasoline, he shoved one end into the tank, leaving it hanging to the ground. The rest of the gasoline he poured on the tall grass completely around the van, and inside the open driver's side window.
The fumes were strong, and Brandon knew it was the fumes which would burn faster than the gas itself. Dropping a lighted cigarette or match into a bucket of gasoline would only put out the flame. Light a match around fumes?—big-badda-boom! Grabbing some dry grass, Chase twisted it into a lighter-knot, then lit it afire. Letting it burn steadily for a few moments, he tossed it onto the gasoline soaked grass and sped around to the back of the cabin with Northman.
It took a few minutes—longer than Chase actually expected—but the explosion was worth the wait. Red, orange and white flames shot skyward, bathing the clearing in heat and light. Startled cries came from inside the shack as the men all tried to exit at once. Cursing and exclamations filled the night. About half those present headed to their vehicles, deciding discretion was the better part of valor. Gasoline fumes tainted the night air. Three men grabbed old blankets from chairs on the porch and started beating at the fire, without much success. Another picked up a bucket, and headed for the nearest water source—the river. It was too little, too late.
The moment everyone cleared out of the shack, Chase bolted through the back door, tearing it from its hinges. A one-roomed shack, there was no missing his quarry. Meredith was tied to an apparatus that looked like something out of Torquemada's dungeon. A BDSM lover's dream, it was made of heavy wood in the shape of a large "X." Thick, leather straps held the wrists and ankles in place. Tilted at an angle, it spread arms and legs wide apart while the person's head was left to dangle forward, backward or to either side. Across Meredith's mouth was piece of duct tape. She was naked, and Chase saw bruises and scratches on her torso.
He was beside her in an instant, fingers working frantically with straps and buckles. She was barely conscious, for which he was glad. Her eyes flew open as he touched her, the terror readily apparent in her eyes. She cowered, fighting him, but she wasn't strong enough to affect an escape. Her hair was matted with something sticky Chase didn't want to think about. Once her ankles were free, he grabbed a jacket from where it lay on the floor, wrapping it around her. She was like a feather when he lifted her.
"You think it's that easy, vampire?"
There was a quality to the voice that was not only menacing but chilling in its madness. Chase whirled around, Meredith cradled in his arms. She whimpered at the sound of the madman's voice. In moments, the back of the shack exploded as Northman flew threw the door. His eyes blazed red. Chase felt icy hot rage inside his chest, and knew that was only partially what the Viking must be feeling. A feral snarl came from Northman, and his fangs snapped into sight.
"Monty." Chase's voice was cold as he addressed the monster who, at the moment, held an unconscious Sookie in front of him. "So, you're the one who's responsible fo—"
"Lookie, lookie, lookie—I've got Miss Sookie." The sing-song voice was high-pitched, like a girl. "Ain't she pretty, vampire?" The hand holding Sookie was filthy, and the smell was disgusting even as far away as Chase stood. "You two better keep back. M'friends are gonna be back inside any time now, and they'd love nothin' better'n t'see a vampire bar-be-que." He laughed, but was careful to not let his eyes leave Chase or Eric. "Too bad I can't fix you like I fixed Reggie, but my powers don't work on Satan Spawn."
Chase watched him. He was a big man. As tall, if not taller, than the Viking. Powerfully built. Not like Northman; heavier, barrel-chested, thick legs. Strong—the insane are always possessed of a manic strength. Brandon knew he would be forced to lay Meredith down in order to fight, but he didn't want to leave her unprotected. Not with Mad Monty present. No telling how many of his friends were still hanging around; at this point, he only heard a few male voices outside. Finally, he began to slowly sidle toward a table to his left. Using Meredith's body to shove the remains of a redneck feast from the top, he gently lay her down. Brandon's eyes never left the big man holding Sookie, not even when the others drifted back inside.
There were five of them, and they were a mean looking lot. Most of them were tall and heavily built, like some kind of perverted wrestling team. Typical of the breed, they sported boots and belts with big buckles. There was a similarity to them; Chase would've bet their family tree had very few branches. Soot blackened some faces, and none of them looked happy to have had their party crashed.
"They done blowed up yer van, Monty." The one in front shoved his way into the shack. When he saw what his friend held, his mouth split into a wide, nearly toothless grin. "Shoo-shit-fire!—you got us anudder one. Hey, boys—lookie what we got here!" And then he saw the vampires. "Holeeee shit!—them's vampires!"
Monty only giggled. "That's right, gentlemen. Didn't I promise you something special? Not only two vampire whores, but two vampires, as well!"
Sheer evil rolled off of Monty like ichor. Not even in his darkest, most beastly days had Chase ever stooped to this depth of depravity or exuded this overpowering of evil. It reached out to engulf everything around him like the tentacles of some heinous monster. His confederates shuffled and hesitated, none of them quite ready to face down two vampires full of righteous indignation. At the moment, Monty was alone—only Chase didn't think he knew that.
Brandon and Northman heard it first: the thin, distant wail of a siren. None of the others even had an inkling.
"If you're wise, you'll leave now." That was the Viking. His voice was colder than ice, dripping with venom. "He will not survive this encounter—nor will any others who remain."
Monty laughed, but his friends weren't quite as confident. The one nearest the door edged backwards to freedom. It didn't take the others long to follow his sterling example. What no one saw was Sookie's hand slowly move. She surreptitiously slid the switchblade out of her pocket, and Chase was glad he kept it well-oiled and easy to open.
"Don't look now, but I think your friends are leaving the party."
Chase sneered at the maniac holding Sookie just as the first sound of a siren reached the clearing. Monty's eyes narrowed as he glared at Brandon. The Viking smirked, taunting their opponent. There was a flash of something bright, then the howl of an animal in pain.
Northman was a blur as he rushed the man. Sookie was apparently conscious enough to get out of the way, leaving the switchblade impaled in Monty's groin. The first scream of pain was nothing compared to the high-pitched wail from Monty when Northman bore him to the floor, the vampire's superior strength easily pinning him down. Unable to escape, Monty's eyes widened in total terror at the sight of fangs hovering bare inches above his throat.
Chase helped Sookie clamber to her feet from where she'd fallen after stabbing Monty. Blood poured from the madman's inner thigh, spurting around the blade. The acrid odor of urine mingled with the tang of blood as Monty lost control of his bodily functions. The murderer was frozen in Northman's grasp, apparently convinced he was about to die.
It took a while for law enforcement to enter the clearing. The narrow track allowed for only one vehicle at a time. The escaping rednecks caused a road block, and the Parish Sheriff and his deputies had to hoof it nearly a mile on foot to reach the shack. By the time they reached the clearing, Sookie had Meredith sitting on a bench outside the cabin. Inside, the deputies found the vampires keeping watch over the body of a man, a switchblade still embedded in his inner thigh.
In one of those infinitely ironic twists of fate where the wheel comes full circle, Monty had bled to death from a severed femoral artery.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks to everyone who offered an opinion on a continuation or a sequel. The majority of folks want a sequel, so a sequel it will be. I just finished the last chapter, and sent it to my incredible Beta reader. She works fast, so you'll get the final chapter no later than tonight. In the meantime, this chapter kind of wraps up the action. The next chapter kind of sets things up for the sequel. Thanks again to everyone for all the positive comments and reviews.