Drop Dead, Gorgeous.
Disclaimer : Drop Dead, Gorgeous, is a piece of fanfiction modeled from Charlaine's Harris's Southern Vampire Mystery Series starring Sookie Stackhouse with a few liberties taken from TrueBlood, a show based off the same books. All recognizable places and characters belong to C.H. As a reminder, I earn no money from this fanfiction.
Author's Note: Reviews and Criticism are appreciated.
[1]
I GOT UP VERY LATE THE NEXT MORNING, WHICH WAS NOT TOO SURPRISING. I had snuck in past the time Gran was in bed and thankfully didn't wake her. I think I may have been asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Normally on my day off, I took it easy. I'd sip coffee, watch tv, read a book if I wanted to stretch my mind. If I was feeling productive, I'd make sun tea and vacuum or dust while it brewed. Today I put my muscles to work, celebrating that I could actually do so. I weeded the beds, which was easy since Gran and I had just done them the other day but there were always new weeds that would take their place. I cut the grass, around the front and back of the house. I watered the roses, checking for aphids, and spread fresh mulch.
When Gran called me in for lunch I realized I was famished. As I ate, she watched me from under light brows, her cup between her fingers. I realized, I didn't think I'd said a word to her yet and blushed, and cleared my throat, "Thanks Gran, everything is delicious."
"You're welcome, dear." I could tell from her expression she was comparing my appetite to Jason's and I decided against a second plate. "Long night?"
I nodded but instead of fibbing, I shared a bit of good news. "The vampire, Bill, he came by last night."
Gran perked right up, her eyes alight with interest, "He did? Did you remember to ask?"
"Mhm – he'll be by tomorrow, after dark."
"We'll be on daylight saving time, so that'll be pretty late." She made a sound of consideration, "Good, we'll have time to eat supper and clear it away before hand. And we'll have all day tomorrow to clean the house. I haven't cleaned that area rug in a year, I bet!" And she was off with plans to make sure our home was up to snuff.
I started, and finished, the dishes immediately after lunch before heading to the living room. While I knew Gran prided herself on being able to take care of her home, she wouldn't be able to move the furniture once I left, so I set about to pull the the chairs, coffee table and couch off the rug. I took it outside and beat it, shaking out most of the debri. While it was up I swept the floor, vacuumed under the cushions and in the creases of the furniture and without conscious thought I'd started to mop.
The phone rang, and I heard Gran's patented, "Hel-lo." For some reason she always sounded put out, as if a phone call was the last thing on earth she wanted. We both knew that wasn't the case.
I beat the area rug again, then spread baking soda over one side and let it sit. Gran appeared in the doorway as I was halfway through vacuuming. "You'll never believe what Everlee just told me." Gran loved a good pause for dramatic effect, "A Torndao must have touched down at Four Tracks Corner! It turned over that rent trailer in the clearing there. The couple that was staying in it, they both got killed, trapped under the trailer somehow and crushed to a pup." She held her hands in front of her chest, clasped together, "Mike's never seen anything like it."
I tried not to look guilty. After all, I couldn't possibly have had anything to do with that, "Is he sending the bodies for autopsy?" I aimed for concerned about the situation, not concerned about the autopsy.
"Well, I think he has to, though the cause of death seems clear enough, according to Stella," She helped me flip over the rug when I started after it. "The trailer is over on it's side, their car is halfway on top of it, and the trees are pulled up in the yard."
"My God," I whispered. The strength it must have taken… "That's horrible." I finished, knowing there was no other polite way to finish when speaking of the dead.
Gran hmmed to herself, and took up the vacuum to finish the rug as she mentioned the time. I kissed her high on the cheek and flitted upstairs to wash the day off me and get ready for work.
On my way to Merlotte's, I detoured north a bit and drove by Four Tracks Corner. It had been established at a crossroads as old as the human habitation of the area. I could think of only one other crossroads older, the one Hot Shot was built around. The two weren't totally unalike on the surface, but it only took stepping foot in one to know it was a far cry from the other.
Since there was nothing preventing me, I drove right up to the clearing where the Rattray's trailer had stood. I stopped my car and stared out the windshield, appalled. It was exactly as Gran had described it, but seeing it in person put a weight on my shoulders. The bushes and woods around the trailer spoke to a great force passing through it; branches snapped off, the top of one pine hanging down by a thread of bark. The trailer looked like a tin can, as crumpled as it was.
All I could think was this was Bill's handiwork. I wasn't witnessing an act of God, I was seeing an act of Vampire.
An old Jeep bumped its way down the rutted path and came to a stop by me.
"Well, Sloan Stackhouse!" called Mike Spencer, Bon Temps funeral director, "What you doing here? Ain't you got work to go to?
Everyone knew everyone's schedule in a town like Bon Temps "Yes, sir." Manners first, "I just couldn't believe when I heard." I looked back at the damage, taking in the smaller details, the clothes strewn threw the landscape, pots and pans as well, "I'm seeing it and I still can't."
"An awful thig," Sherriff Bud Dearborn said, stepping out of the vehicle as well. Of course he'd be along with Mike, "I'm surprised to hear it upsets you so though, Sloan." I didn't have to fake being offended, "I heard you, Mack and Denise didn't exactly see eye to eye on in the parking of Merlotte's last week."
My guilt, knowing what had actually happened, put me on edge but I had plenty of practice hiding away my emotions, "Yes, sir, we had a disagreement." It was hard, southern to southern, to prod too hard in the face of etiquette, lest you wanted to be considered rude yourself.
"You want to tell me about it?" The Sheriff pulled a Marlboro and lit it with a plain, metal lighter. Bud was a little older than my father would be if he were still with us, and had considered himself one of his friends. When I'd moved in with Gran, he'd helped her move the furniture she'd taken such pains to bring over.
A person without something to hide wouldn't have a reason to be evasive, so I went with honesty. "They'd cozied up to one of our customers – and you know the Rattray's, bless their souls," we all motioned the cross, "they never did nothin' without a reason. So when they led him outside, I was worried. I went out to check and make sure things were alright, and I saw them hurting him." My hands bound up into fists at the memory.
"That would be the vampire that's living in the old Compton house?" Mike Spencer and Sheriff Dearborn exchanged glances.
I didn't hide my surprise, there wasn't reason to, "I suppose it is. We didn't have that much conversation before. I was just worried." The old Compton house was right across the fields from us, on the same side of the road. Between our houses lay only the woods and the cemetery. Handy, I thought.
"So the vampire was being drained by the Rattrays? And you stopped them?" Bud Dearborn was taking notes, but I could tell this was more out of habit than any suspicion. I relaxed a bit.
"Yes, sir." I said. I paused, like I was working up to apology, "I realize that wasn't the smart thing to do. Sam gave me a talking to about it already."
Bud Dearborn was thinking I should have let the Rattrays do their work. He knew vampire draining was illegal, but as far as he was concerned one less vampire was better than that damn law he had to uphold. In fact he knew exactly what they'd been doing because Sam had called it in and he'd been dragging his heels on coming to collect them. I kept my knowledge of this under wraps, and shifted on my heels, "Is there anything else I can answer?"
Mike Spencer was thinking it wasn't likely a vampire would just let his attackers live, but he couldn't make the leap that the work around him proved Bill hadn't. Bud Dearborn was thinking along the same lines but he too underestimated their strength. With a few niceties, thanking me for my time but maybe staying clear of crime scenes, they let me on my way.
By the time I got to Merlotte's the whole bar was humming with news of Mack and Denise's deaths. The constant reminder was a little off putting, so my smile was stretched tight as I bussed tables. I kept a handle on my, and everyone's, thoughts by pulling a thin shade between our minds. I didn't want to block everyone, trying to make sure everyone was believing Bill's cover story. Once that was established, I pulled my shields more firmly in place and tried to tell myself there was nothing wrong in being glad to be alive instead of them.
Lafayette and I spoke over the counter as I collected orders. Ever observant he'd noticed a little pep to me that I knew was attributed to my replaced vitality. It was hard not sharing with Lafayette, but I didn't want to involve him when the end question would be how was I doing so well today? Vampire blood wasn't reported for it's health benefits like this, and I imagined that was a closely guarded secret.
"Just slept well I guess." I shrugged, and lifted the pitcher and cup in one hand and the tray of wings and onion rings in the other. With a swish of my hips I sashayed back out to the front.
Everyone was excited that night because of the unusual happenings in Bon Temps. A woman had been murdered (Maudette,) and it was a mystery, and a couple had died violently by a freak of nature. So I attributed what happened next to excitement.
"Two wings and onion rings and -" I felt a hand slide up the back of my shorts and gripped the side of my tray, preparing to swing when I felt someone step right behind me and suddenly the wandering fingers were gone.
Rene, who'd been playing pool at the single table with Hoyt Fortenberry, had reacted quicker than I'd expected. Looking down, I saw he was gripping the man's hand so hard the guy's broad face was turning a mottled color under his blond hair.
"Hey, man, let go!" the blonde protested. "I didn't mean nothing!"
"You don't touch anyone who works here. That's the rule." Rene might be short and slim, but anyone there would have put his money on our local boy over the beefier visitor.
"Okay, okay."
"Apologize to the lady." He said gruffly.
"To Slow Sloan?" His voice was incredulous. He must have been here before. This was specifically why I didn't like the nickname Slo, thankfully I could tell who meant it one way, and who meant it another.
Rene moved his other hand to his shoulder and pulled his arm down off the table. And pressed. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry Sloan, ok?" Tears had sprung to the perpetrator's eyes.
I nodded as regally as I could and Rene let the guy go, jerking his thumb to tell them to take a hike. Rene watched them with a glare, arms crossed across his chest. Rene played the role of crazy Cajun sometimes, though his family had let their heritage go. Still, I could see in him the man that Arlene had told me could do things that'd make her hair curl.
When the blonde and his companion were gone, I collected the dollars his friend had left on the table. "Thanks Rene, I could have handled it. But I appreciate you standing up for me."
"I don't want no one messing with Arlene's friend," Rene said, matter-of-factly. "Merlotte's is a nice place, we all want to keep it nice. 'Sides, sometimes you remind of Cindy, you know?"
Cindy was Rene's sister. She'd moved to Baton Rouge a year or two ago. She was blonde and blue eyed and we both worked waitressing jobs as far as I knew, but our similarities ended there. "You see Cindy much?" I asked. Hoyt and another man were exchanging Shreveport Captain statistics, the conversation in the bar returning to other topics now that the moment had passed.
"Every now and then," Rene said, shaking his head as if to say he'd like it to be more often. "She works in a hospital cafeteria." So she'd moved up to something steady, with benefits. Good for her.
I offered the food the men had paid for, but not touched. "I'd hate these to go to waste. Think you and Hoyt can handle these for me?"
He grinned a half grin, stroking his chin, "Well, it'd be a shame to toss them." He took them and the beer as well, lifting it, "Thank ya, Sloan."
When I returned to the bar for my next order, Sam raised his eyebrows at me. I widened mine to show how amazed I was at Rene's intervention, and Sam shrugged slightly, as if to say there was no accounting for human behavior. I'd been avoiding Sam a bit, not knowing how much he knew about what happened last night. It was hard to think he hadn't heard anything, and there had been another voice I remembered vaguely before Bill had whisked me away.
But he didn't say anything to me, so I didn't ask.
GRAN KEPT ME BUSY ALL THE NEXT DAY. Though I'd practically done the entire living room, and handled all the yard work for sure, there was still plenty to do in the house. While she dusted and vacuumed and mopped in the entryway and kitchen, I scrubbed the bathrooms. I don't think vampires even use bathrooms.
I emptied the trashcans and polished the banisters. I wiped down the laundry room for heavens sake. It wasn't until Gran shooed me upstairs that I realized she thought of Bill as a suitor. That was disconcerting. I don't think I'd given the impression I had interest in Bill. Did I have an interest in Bill?
Before the other night I would have said no. But since he'd saved me, when I thought of him, I had this sort of wondering. I didn't know what to think of that. It was unexpected.
Most of my crushes had been women, or very masculine men. Bill fell into neither of these categories. Was it that he saved me? I'm sure it was. What was that though? I scrubbed myself thoroughly, ridding myself of all the dust and grit I'd come in contact with throughout the day.
Was this the beginning to my fairy tale? Plenty of stories started that way for sure – man saves damsel, damsel falls madly in love. They encounter one or two obstacles and live happily every after. But did they? I leaned forward, blow drying out the thick layers. When I stood up, the volume was a bit much so I secured it into a bun at the back of my head, and pulled out a few strands to frame my face.
Clothes were another matter. I knew how Gran thought of our meeting, but I wasn't sure I was decided on it. Lord knows what Bill was expecting. That wasn't true exactly, he'd asked to call on me. Ok, so I was going into this with my eyes open.
I decided on a blue cotton knit dress. It was one of the last ones Gran had made me, before her hands had started to get stiff a few years ago. I was pleased to find it still fit. I put on a touch of ChapStick and the smallest amount of makeup before heading downstairs.
If Gran thought it wasn't dressy enough, her happiness at seeing me in something she'd made outweighed it. I could have checked to know for sure, but it was a terrible thing to do to the person you lived with, so I was always careful not to. Gran had opted for a skirt and blouse that she favored, and I could tell she'd taken pains to do her hair, "You look lovely, Gran."
"Thank you, sweety." She gripped my elbows and looked me over nodding, "As lovely as I thought you'd grow to be." She shooed me out to get the porch last minute so when Bill appeared out of the night, it was while I was distracted. I didn't jump though, his lack of presence gave him away.
I set the broom against the door, turning, "Trying to scare me?" I asked, teasing.
He looked a little embarrassed, "It's just a habit," he said, "appearing like that. I don't make much noise."
I opened the door, "Come on in," I invited, and he came up the steps, looking around.
"I remember this," he thought aloud, then said more directly, "it wasn't so big, though."
"Make sure to tell Gran, she'll love it." I led him into the living room, calling Gran as I went.
She came in, very much on her dignity and I realized that Gran was not only meeting Bill for me, and to set up a meeting for her club, but also for herself. To Gran, Bill was her senior, someone who had known maybe not her parents, or her parents' parents, but further back. There were things Bill could tell her that no one else could, if she had questions for him. And his opinion of her might also reflect what her family would have thought of her if they could see her now.
Bill proved as adept at social tactics as my grandmother. They greeted, thanked each other, complimented and finally we sat to enjoy peach tea. Well, Gran and I enjoyed it, Bill lifted the glass to the edge of his lips and then set it down, politely. Gran swallowed at her faux pas, ad opened with an even more unfortunate topic, "I guess you heard about the strange tornado."
I looked at Bill.
"Tell me," inquired Bill, as though he was unaware. If I didn't know he'd been the one to kill the Rats, I wouldn't have suspected a thing. Just a vampire asking for the latest news because he had been asleep when the story broke.
So Gran told him. Her empathy was heartfelt, but the incident was cut-and-dry. I thought Bill relaxed a millimeter.
When I mentioned having stopped by on my way to work, Bill asked how I had found it. I shook my head, "I couldn't have imagined something so… destructive."
"Aria, you've seen tornado damage before." Gran said, surprised. Bill's gaze met mine, puzzled, and asked after the name.
"Only Gran calls me that. It's my middle name." I supplied.
"I had wondered, your name is not… popular for many girls your age." Bill put delicately.
Gran's lips twitched and I grinned, "Jason, my brother, likes to tease one of the nurses saw my initials, and decided to rearrange my name before it became official." I saw him make the connection and decided when he laughed that he did have a very attractive quality after all.
Gran chided me for my explanation, but it was too funny not to. Bill pulled her attention, "I understand you have some questions for me?"
Gran plunged in. It pained me to realize how glad she was to have my supposed suitor in her living room, even if (according to popular literature) he was a victim of a virus that made him seem dead. I listened as he answered her, courteously and with apparent goodwill. So a dead man, but a polite one, and well dressed too. He sat in khaki Dockers and a green and brown striped golfing shirt that brought out warmer tones in his hair. Nothing could help the pallor, at least to me, but without the glow I didn't know how it looked to other people. Even his polished loafers were well matched to thin, brown socks.
"There are lots of Loudermilks left," Gran chattered happily, "But I'm afraid that old Mr. Jessie Compton died last year."
"I know," Bill's voice was cool with acceptance, "That's why I came back. The land reverted to me, and since things have changed in the culture toward people of my particular persuasion, I decided to claim it." In Louisiana, the state allowed the three months after someone's passing for living relatives to make a claim on a deceased's estate. If no one came forward, then any known vampire ancestors were contacted.
"Did you know the Stackhouses? Aria said you had a long history." Trust Gran to navigate how to phrase a vampire's age well.
"I remember Jonas Stackhouse," Bill said, to Gran's delight. "My folks were here when Bon Temps was just a hole in the road at the edge of the frontier. Jonas Stackhouse moved here with his wife and his four children when I was a young man of sixteen. Isn't this the house he built, at least in part?"
I noticed that when Bill was thinking of the past, his voice took on a different cadence and vocabulary. I wondered how many changes in slang and tone his English had taken on through the past century.
Of course, Gran was in genealogical hog heaven. She wanted to know all about Jonas, her husband's great-great-great-great-great grandfather. "Did he own slaves?" she asked.
"Ma'am, if I remember correctly, he had a house slave, and a yard slave. The house slave was a woman of middle age and the yard slave a very big young man, very strong, named Minas. But the Stackhouses mostly worked their own fields, as did my folks."
"Oh, that is exactly the kind of thing my little group would love to hear! Did Aria…" Gran and Bill, after much do-si-doing, set a date for Bill to address a night meeting of the Descendants before Bill smoothly arranged for us to go on a walk.
"…it is a lovely night." He finished and slowly, so I could see it coming, he took my hand. He wasn't quiet asking permission, but he wasn't not either.
Gran urged us out, fluttering with happiness, "Oh go on you two. I have so many things to look up. You'll have to tell me the local names you remember from when you were…" She wound down, not sure how to phrase it this time.
"A resident in Bon Temps?" I supplied, helpfully.
"Of course," Bill said with a small smile. I got the impression he was amused with her fretting, but was too kind to tease her.
As we eased outside, the frogs and the toads sang to us, a nightly rural opera. By now I'd typically be falling asleep, our conversation had been long but pleasant, but I was a relaxed kind of tired. Gran needn't worry, I couldn't stay up long. My cat, Tia, came out of the shadows and asked to be tickled, and I bent over and scratched her head. To my surprise, she rubbed against Bill's legs, an act he did not discourage but looked down at curiously, "You like this animal?"
It was a funny way to ask I thought, and I didn't try to hide my amusement, "Her name is Tia, she's my cat, so yes. I like her a lot." I watched as he waited patiently for her to finish before she stretched and strolled off, seeming to have her fill of the interaction.
We wandered down the driveway, toward the two-lane road that ran in front of both our homes, the silence not uncomfortable between us. Bill broke it when we were out of sight from the house, "Did the trailer upset you?" I remembered how he had studied me, taking stock, during the conversation.
I tried to think of how to put it. "I hadn't realized the differences between us. It made me feel… very small."
"You knew I was strong." He stated. He seemed to be puzzling over something. I only nodded in response with a soft hmmm.
"It made me wonder how many things I've seen, that might not have been what I thought." He didn't deny that there could have been a great many things that weren't what they appeared. I was both pleased and made uneasy by this.
Instead he admitted, "Over the years, we get good at hiding what we've done." Read : we've learned to cover up our kills.
"It makes sense," I acknowledged. What was casual conversation for a vampire? Asking a quota didn't seem appropriate. I thought of all things I didn't know, since I couldn't just pluck them from his thoughts, "I know you mentioned much of your human life, listening earlier. What of when you became vampire? How did that happen?"
Bill sighed and I wondered if I'd offended. Well, I can't know everything I suppose, "How I became vampire is too long a story for how tired I know you must be. But for how it was… I was never sure when I'd get to eat again, you understand? I killed by accident. We were hunted, naturally, and there was no such thing as artificial blood…" Again his voice changed as he spoke, I could hear the worry he had felt, the hunger. The relief at never having killed a child. How thankful he was now, "… I can go to an all-night clinic in any city and get some synthetic blood, though it's disgusting. Or I can pay a whore and get enough blood to keep me for a couple of days. Or I can glamour someone so they'll let me bite them for love and then forget all about it." He spoke mater-of-fact. Deal with it, his tone implied. This was him.
"Can't be all head injuries I suppose." I knew I hadn't been the meal, and he told me so. It made me feel almost like he heard me. A change for sure.
My hand was still in his as we walked, and I looked down at it. "You know… this is the first time I've done this." When he looked at me I tilted my head down to indicate, "Just walk, hand-in-hand. Not have my shields up." I tapped my head, "I don't know that I've ever been this relaxed. At least, with another person." And it was true.
"You feel good to me too," he confessed. And like he had been with my explanation, I was patient with him, "No fear, no hurry, no condemnation. I don't have to use my glamour on you to make you hold still, to have a conversation with you."
I hadn't heard the term before, though I suspected what he meant. "Glamour?"
"Like hypnotism," he explained. I had been right as I pictured first Long Shadow, then Pam, "All vampires use it, to some extent or another. Because to feed, until the new synthetic blood was developed, we had to persuade people we were harmless… or assure them they hadn't seen us at all… or delude them into thinking they seen something else."
"What about the people it doesn't work on?" I wondered.
He gave me an odd look, "It works on everyone."
"Not me," I shook my head.
He slowed, then came to a stop and turned to face me, removing his hand from mine. It was odd how suddenly empty it felt. "Look at my face," he implored. I did as he asked. I felt the barest flicker against my mind, but nothing else. "Can you feel my influence?" he asked, a little breathless.
"Not a bit," I shook my head. "It's not just you though. Others have tried too." I was looking down when I mentioned this so if he reacted, I didn't see it. "Why is it you glow?" I asked instead.
"You can see that?" he sounded surprised and we resumed walking.
"Can't everyone?"
"No." I noticed he never answered my why question. Then again, maybe it was too personal. I could hear the teen from the newly released Mean Girls, "you can't just ask people why they're white." I nearly snorted. If it wasn't personal, maybe he didn't know. How many vampire doctors could there be?
We spoke of the things he could and couldn't do, which he compared to people's abilities. Not everyone could do the same thing. He showed me he could levitate, but admitted he couldn't fly. I confessed how poor a singer I was. I asked if he'd met anyone else, like me. He understood what part of me I was referring.
"No, I have never met another Telepath." He shook his head, "I have heard of one, in stories. But it has been a long time."
"Are there no vampires that can hear thoughts?" If flight was possible, surely someone out there could do the same as me. Maybe I could meet them.
His face was very serious, "No. And if there were, they would be wise not to admit it." I chewed on that for a while.
He peppered me with questions, not all that I answered. But many I did. We spoke about my parents' death, how they had been caught in a flash flood that caught them on a bridge west of where we walked. How my parents had known of my ability, and feared what it meant. "But I can't hate having it. It hasn't been all bad. I didn't do well in school, and most people think I'm crazy, but I've done good with it."
"You said your dad asked you for help, the man he was going to make a deal with?"
"He would have taken the money and ran." It was one of the only times my father had permitted the use of my gift.
"Humans can be cruel about things they don't understand. Even when it involves their loved ones." I had never heard anything more true. We walked for a moment in silence.
"How do you become vampire?" I'd read all kinds of stuff, but this would be straight from the horse's mouth.
"I would have to drain you, at one sitting or over two or three days, the point of your death, then give you my blood. You would lie like a corpse for about forty-eight hours, sometimes as long as three days, then rise and walk at night. And you'd be hungry." I shivered at the way he said hungry.
"No other way?" I felt it important to be informed as possible. Especially having had some of his blood recently.
Bill frowned, it wasn't as expressive as most people but I could tell he'd rather I not asked, "Other vampires have told me humans they habitually bite, day after day, can become vampires quite unexpectedly. But that requires consecutive, deep, feedings. Others, under the same conditions, merely become anemic. Then again, when people are near to death for some other reason, a car accident or drug overdose, perhaps, the process can go… badly wrong."
I wondered about the people who were turned wrong, but Bill's tone didn't invite questions. "SO, what do you plan on doing now that you're home?"
He explained his plan to live there, finally free to put down roots after decades of roaming as a nomad. The Compton estate needed some repairs from the sound of things. A fact that seemed to have stumped him so far.
"Do you have a phone?"
"Sure," he said surprised.
"So, what's the problem with the workmen?" There wasn't a person in Bon Temps who couldn't use the cash such a job would provide.
"It's hard to get in touch with them at night, hard to get them to meet with me so I can explain what needs doing. They're scared, or they think it's a prank call." Frustration was evident in Bill's voice, though his face was turned away from me.
"I'll call them." I offered, "Everyone has their opinion of me, but they know I'm honest. If I call, they'll come."
"That would be a great favor," Bill said, after some hesitation. I wondered if this was because I was a woman offering assistance, or because I was a human offering it. "They could work during the day, after I'd met with them to discuss the job and the cost."
"Is there anything else you need doing?" I hadn't considered how only being able to act at night could effect his day. Bon Temps hardly had anything but eateries open after dark, any story that was open wasn't for long.
"No, but thank you." We reached the road and looked up and down it as if we expected a taxi. I could see him clearly in the moonlight, now that we were out of the trees. He could see me, too. He looked me up and down.
"Your dress is the color of your eyes."
I ran my hands over the smooth feel of the fabric that had been put so thoughtfully together, "Thank you." I remember Gran remarking when she made it, it would complement the color.
"Not a lot of it, though."
This was absurd. My dress was of perfectly adequate length, "Pardon? Are you implying my grandmother made me something inappropriate to wear?"
This gave Bill pause. I might not pose any physical danger to him, but there were quiet a few social pitfalls he could fall into. "I mean to say… I miss the clothing of my era. When not showing oneself was more intriguing than display." He realized he was failing miserably, and cleared his throat, "It is that… there were certain other things one had to be good at managing in order to…"
Was he implying men had to have skill to undress their dates? I laughed, raising my hand to stifle it. "Sorry, sorry. I know it's just… nostalgia. You must be very stubborn Bill."
"That's what my wife always told me."
"You were married?"
"Yes, I became a vampire when I was thirty. I had a wife, and I had five living children. My sister, Sarah, lived with us. She never wed. Her young man was killed in the War."
"Did you serve together? Both for the Confederacy?" It was hardly a question, to have been a 'Yankee' sympathizer at that time would have been suicide.
"Of course, but that was a long time ago." We turned to walk back up the drive, "Once I became vampire, the triviality of my human life fell away."
I couldn't say the cause of the Civil War should be considered 'trivial' but I wasn't undead. "So, you don't consider yourself human at all?"
"I haven't for a very long time."
"Do you really believe you've lost your soul?" That was what the Catholic Church was preaching about vampires.
"I have no way of knowing," Bill said, almost casually. It was apparent that he'd brooded over it so often it was quite a commonplace thought to him. "Personally, I think not. There is something in me that isn't cruel, not murderous, even after all these years." He looked at me, as if to make sure I was taking what he was saying seriously, "Though I can be both."
"Sounds human to me." Only I laughed.
"Tell me about your life," he said after a time. "What are your days like? What do you do when you get up in the morning?"
"I get out of bed. Then I make it up right away. I hate to do it, but I love how it looks when it's done. I eat breakfast – usually toast or eggs. Always with coffee. If it's a workday, I go in. If I don't go in until night, I take Gran on her errands, or help around the house. If I'm off… I like to walk, or garden. Usually because I can take in the sun, though sometimes I'll lay out and read." I felt a little unsure about talking about my love for sitting out, since it was something he couldn't do and finished, "On occasion, I'll go into Shreveport with my friend."
"What about young men?"
"Are you fishing for yourself Bill?"
To my surprise, Bill squeezed my hand and turned me to face him, pausing our walk back. His eyes ran over my face and shoulders and I felt my face warm. "Take down your hair?"
I reclaimed my hand and reached up with both to loosen my hair from the bun I'd placed it in. The relief that came from letting it down was immediate and it brushed over my shoulders. The band circled comfortably around my wrist. Bill reached up and ran his fingers through my hair, spreading it out. "It looks silver," he commented, softly.
I studied his face, the smoothness of his skin. It looked no different than the first time I'd seen him, his hair no longer. "Does your hair grow?"
He shook his head, "No. Luckily I didn't wear a beard as so many men did. I'd have it for eternity."
"How does that work? Does that mean you can't cut your hair? What would happen?"
"What happens when you cut yours. But much quicker" He said with a smile.
I wondered at this. How could his body strive to maintain the same characteristics it had at the time of his death, but repeatedly heal everything to perfection. It seemed contradictory. I cocked my head, considering to ask, and found him watching me. His eyes gleamed a little, casting off all light. I felt like we were standing in a moment. Not for a moment, but in a moment where something was to change.
The moment passed. I nodded toward the house still a distance away, "I should be getting back."
"Allow me." And he saw me the rest of the way in silence.
Sleep evaded me after I went to bed, twisting beneath the thin sheet. I replayed our conversation and the moment I had let pass by. Had I mucked things up? Had I hesitated because I wasn't attracted to Bill or because I might be? Was it only because he was here, available, that I had considered it at all? I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. And an entirely other vampire appeared behind my lids. Her painted lips parted in a fanged smile.
THE NEXT MORNING, BETWEEN FIELDING GRAN'S QUESTIONS ABOUT MY WALK WITH BILL AND OUR FUTURE PLANS, I MADE SOME PHONE CALLS. I found two electricians, a plumber, and some other service people who gave me phone numbers where they could be reached at night and made sure they understood that a phone call from Bill Compton was not a prank.
Finally, I was laying out in the sun turning toasty when Gran carried the phone out to me.
"It's your boss," she said. Gran liked Sam, and he must have said something to make her happy because she was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Hi, Sam," my voice pulled at the end, questioning him. If he was calling, there was something he wanted. Not that Sam couldn't call on my day off to check in, but he never had before.
"Dawn didn't make it in, cher." Sam said, straight to the point.
"Oh, Sam…" I sighed, thinking of the information I had gathered for Bill. Granted it didn't have to be delivered in person, but I would have felt better handing them over. Besides, it would have given me the opportunity to examine my feelings around him again. "When do you need me?"
"Could you just come in from five to nine? That would help me out a lot."
That wasn't so bad I guessed, and I still had time to nap, eat and get ready. "Sure thing, Sam. See you at five."
I could hear his exhale, so close to the phone. "Thanks, Sloan," he said. "I knew I could count on you." Gran took the phone back, and I stood from the chaise lounge, brushing off the back of my suit. I followed her inside.
WORK HAD NEVER SEEMED MORE SLOW, NOR I SO BORED. I wished Lafayette were working tonight, so I could talk with him to pass the time, but he was scheduled off this shift. Not surprising. He and Dawn did not get along. I imagined because both liked to be center of attention.
Since it was slow, I had relaxed the barriers in my mind. The handful of tables occupied in Merlotte's simply weren't worth the effort. At this level, it was the same as ignoring chatter in the bar, only the 'voices' I recognized stuck out. Tonight this included Sheriff Bud Dearborn and Arlene, who was waiting on him, and Terry.
Sheriff Dearborn was still mulling over the Rats' death's. He'd taken a seat that had a clear view of the customer parking lot and was trying to picture where they'd taken Bill. My expression soured hearing him trying to imagine the good it would have done if they'd been successful. He wished Arlene would take notice of his empty water and get him a refill, but she was troubled tonight and he didn't want to point this out to her. He couldn't handle a crying woman right now. He wished he'd sat in my section instead since I always appeared right before he ran out.
I wondered what Arlene was stressed about as she walked back to put in the Sheriff's order for a slice of pie, and I found she was worried she might be expecting again. She was cursing herself for depending only on the birth control and – I switched out of her thoughts. Arlene and I were friendly, but the last time she'd had a scare I'd hugged her and she read me the riot act about her privacy.
I was normally very careful around Terry – his head is a scary place to be in. A Vietnam veteran, Terry paid dearly for our country. He was a prisoner of war, held for two years, and his mind exceeded his body in scars. And his physical scars are plenty. I was in his head before I had remembered he would be working tonight – of course he would be with Lafayette off – and I felt clammy all over.
Breaking out in sweat, I ran to Sam's office to pull myself together. That's where Sam found me, leaning with my head between my knees. "Cher?"
"I'm sorry, Sam. I just need a minute." I could see his sneakers turn to me, the shadow of the door sliding shut running over the floor.
"You heard something that bothered you?" Sam asked, voice lower. I sat up, surprised. I'd wondered sometimes if Sam knew, but it was the first he had ever acknowledged it directly to me. There was no mistaking how he had meant though, his finger was raised to the side of his head.
"Yes." There was no reason to lie.
He sighed and took a seat on the edge of his desk, jean clad legs crossed over one another, "You want to talk about it?"
I shook my head. For one, I didn't want to think about it anymore than I always was and two, Terry was extremely tight lipped about his time overseas. It seemed wrong needing to vent about something I'd only seen from his point of view when he'd had to live through it.
"Can't help it, can you?" He asked.
There was the rub, this time I could have. I might not be able to change what I was, but I wasn't a kid anymore, I'd learned some control. I could have avoided this if I'd been more careful. "Yes and no," I admitted. "I can't help hearing – but it's not impossible to ignore."
"How do you do it?" Sam's voice was calm, curious. There was no pressure not to answer but it was a relief sharing.
"It's kind of like this, sitting in a room. But instead of you talking, it's whatever is in there," I gestured to his head, "Is just floating around, out here. And I can hear it.
Sam straightened a little bit, but otherwise didn't pull away, "So you can hear me? Right now?"
I shook my head again, "No, I'm not listening now. And I've noticed even when I don't have my guard up, I don't hear you as well." He didn't seem surprised, and I wondered if he knew why that was, "Do you… have you met someone like me before? Do you know how to … block me?"
"I've never met anyone like you before, cher." The way he said it, I wanted to blush. His eyes twinkled a little, and he smiled "But no. I'm not doing anything I know about."
I was feeling better, relaxed when he asked what I meant by putting my guard up. "When I was younger, it was like… a blanket. It was ineffective, and I still heard everything. I was doing it without really thinking about it. But as I got older, it became more like one of those paper sheet doors, I could put up a screen around my mind. It muffled everyone, gave me a little privacy but didn't take up a lot of energy." This was still something I did, something I should have been doing tonight at least, "And then when I started here it was like, like I was trying to hold up steel plates.
They work really well, but they take a lot of energy." I rubbed my arm, "I thought, since we were so slow, I could just relax."
"Is that why everyone talks about you? Says all that.. stuff." Sam didn't want to apply the word crazy to me, or slow, but I knew what he meant.
I nodded, "It takes a lot of concentration, so yeah."
"The vampire says you can't hear him."
The idea of Bill and Sam having a conversation about me made me feel very peculiar. "That's true." It also reminded me of him knowing about the other night. "You were out there, after the Rattrays-"
Sam stood away from the desk and put his hand on my shoulders, his concern washed over me. Even with the contact, his thoughts came through in pieces, but they matched what he said. "I'm sorry I got there too late."
"How did you know that he could heal me?"
He pulled away and it was quiet again. Before he could answer, Arlene swung the door open wide, "Cheese and rice people, I'm out here alone." She said dramatically. She was met with silence, Sam and I looking at her.
"Well?"
I got up and made sure my shirt was smooth. "Thank you for checking on me, Sam." Arlene waited in the door until I walked out.
"You know, I can't do this all on my own. It's not like I'm your age, it's not like I don't have to stay up and put my kids to bed when I go home. Do you know how tiring it is, being a mom?" Arlene was still talking, I was reminding myself she had a possible pregnancy on her mind. I tried to think about the years we'd worked together and how sweet her kids were and how she tried to do right by them.
"Arlene," I kept my voice low so it didn't carry to the front as we stopped in the hall just past the door that separated the back and the front (I don't think I'd ever noticed that). She stopped short, however it came out, and I turned to look at her surprised face. "I'm sorry." This hadn't been what I had started out to say, or what she'd expected, "If you want to go home early, I'll stay and close with Sam."
Arlene paused, studying me. I wasn't listening so I could only imagine her thoughts. I took in the tables that were in view, and it didn't seem any busier than when I'd left to sit for a moment, and looked back at her. She sighed, "I didn't meant to be rude, sweetie." And it was true, Arlene never meant to be rude. "If you still need a minute…"
I touched her elbow briefly with a light squeeze, and turned to the front of the house. It was the same as I'd left it, even a table or two less. Arlene must really be feeling frazzled. I circled my section, all of which were ok as I could see and then wiped down the tables in Arlene's section that were empty. The tables that had paid and left tips for her, I dropped in her hand in passing and kept going. We continued on through most of the evening until about 8:45 when a rush came in.
According to the schedule, I could leave at nine but one look at Arlene's pinched face and I decided to stay. It wasn't until almost 10:30 that I hung up my apron. I'd cleared a good amount of tips, Friday patrons were usually pretty generous, and let Arlene have a short break off her feet (after which she apologized again) before waiving at Sam. He raised a hand, and I headed into his office, collecting my wallet from his drawer.
THE COMPTON HOUSE, LIKE GRANS, WAS SET BACK FROM THE ROAD. It was a bit more visible from the parish road than mine, and it had a view of the cemetery, which my house didn't. This was due (at least in part) to the Compton house's higher setting. It was on top a knoll and it was fully two-storied. Gran's house a couple of spare bedrooms upstairs, and an attic, but it was more like half a top story. Jason use to sneak out the upstairs by slipping out his window, walking across the roof over the first story, and then jumping off the side. He'd managed it perfectly every time, up to when he landed wrong one night and ended up at parish hospital rather than whoever's house he'd been planning to sneak to.
As I came up the circular drive, the evening cloaked the old home in a sort of graciousness. The inside of the house was all lit up, and I realized Bill must already have company. Seeing another car parked in front of the house, a Lincoln Continental, white with a dark blue top, confirmed this. I grabbed my notepad containing the numbers I had for him and stepped out of the car. Glancing over I caught the license plate Fangs 1.
I could tell this was not going to go as last night had.
As I walked up the front steps, the door swung open. Bill stood in a white button down and brown slacks with shoes to match. His face was flush, warmer than I had seen it before. I felt uneasy at the look in his eye. A woman stepped out from behind him and her eyes zeroed in on me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and my palms itched. I smiled tightly.
The woman glowed like crazy. She was at least five feet eleven and black. She was wearing spandex, an exercise bra in flamingo pink and matching calf-length leggings with a man's white dress shirt flung on unbuttoned. I thought she looked wild and intimidating. "Oooh, the little human chick." She purred.
If I thought she looked mouth watering before, the danger I was confronted with doused me like cold water. I straightened my spine, angling my head to her in acknowledgement, not wanting to get closer to say hello. Her lips pulled up in a smirk, amused.
Behind her two other vampires, male, were filing out. Two humans adorning them like cheap jewelry. Both of the men were white. One with a buzz cut and tattoos on every visible inch of his skin. They seemed to shimmer in the candle light as he turned to look at me, a woman at least 10 years my senior and wearing a pound of makeup leaning on him.
The other was even taller than the woman, maybe six foot four, with a head of long rippling dark hair and a magnificent build. He was suckling on the fingers of the young man who he had his arm wrapped around. The human was easily the prettiest man I'd ever seen. He was small and finely boned, of Hispanic descent, and no more than 21. His make up was just fine, he knew exactly how to make himself look appealing.
"Are you sure you wont join us, Bill?" the long haired male vampire asked. "We'd be happy to wait while you and your human conclude your business." He sounded delighted, "Maybe watch?"
Bill's jaw tightened and he moved stiffly. His hand was held out to me, and when my fingers fell in his he pulled me forward quicker than I found comfortable. I was smart enough not to comment. "No. As I said, this is a private matter."
The female vampire leaned forward, breathing in, "She smells wonderful. Come now, we shared Jerry."
My eyes snapped to the young man's that hung on the tallest of the vampires. I lowered my shields, not wanting to ask Bill directly, but needing to know just what she meant by sharing. I wasn't naïve, vampires might be able to sustain themselves off synthetic blood but as Bill had made clear, they preferred the real thing. What I wanted to know was if there had been any other type of sharing.
Jerry was loud. His thoughts not only in clear sentences, but also picture. I could have done without his view of the tattooed vampire and his female companion's activities. From Jerry's point of view Malcolm, the tall vampire, and Diane, the woman, were feeding from his arm as he leaned back against someone – Bill, of course. He had been feeling satisfied, but I realized it was not in any sexual gratification. He was pleased he'd been able to get the new vampire (Bill) to feed from him.
My hand in Bill's tightened. I felt sick again, but I made myself stay still.
"Sloan is mine," Bill said firmly. I looked up at him. His hand in mine moved. If he'd squeezed I'm sure he could crush my fingers, but I understood this was not something to dispute.
Whatever this meant seemed to hold some significance to the trio, though not much. I was trying to pay attention to them, and Jerry. I wanted to be aware of what was happening around me, but Jerry's thoughts were equally important. I struggled to keep my mouth shut, not sure what speaking about what I'd learn would do. The woman, Janella, I realized, wasn't part of it. She was only there for Liam and what he gave her. I partitioned her off from my thoughts.
"Come, the evening burns and I am bored of this." Malcolm seemed to be the leader of the group, and gestured to Bill with a wave from his brow, "Good to see you Bill, as always. You know where to reach us."
I stayed perfectly still beside Bill as they drove way, their back bumper decorated with stickers: a blue on white VAMPIRES SUCK. A red and yellow one stated HONK IF YOU'RE A BLOOD DONOR. Bill's face was still unreadable as they disappeared out the drive and onto the parish road. I exhaled, loud and deep, hand right around my notebook, "Oh Bill…"
We were inside without any effort on my part. He paced the room, tense, coiled to spring. I watched him and waited. I had no choice but to give him the bad news but I didn't know how to break it. How did doctors do this every day? "Bill…" I tried to start and he took a seat far from me in the corner, gripping the chair's arms.
"I am sorry, Sloan." Though he'd said my name earlier, it was odd to hear between just us now after he'd used my middle name last night. It had felt more personal then. "I didn't have time to call Merlotte's to warn you not to come."
I folded my hands over the note book, curling, "Bill, Jerry-"
His face sharpened, "I am a vampire, Sloan." He seemed to be warning me about judging what I had heard.
"That's not what I was trying to say!" I snapped, and then regretted it. I was feeling irritated, but this wasn't Bill's fault. He needed compassion, especially now. "Bill, I heard Jerry's thoughts. He has the Sino-virus." Bill became a statue.
The air was thick, the silence heavy. I opened my mouth and closed it.
"Malcolm and Diane – they do not know?" He asked sometime later.
I shook my head, "No. He just met them recently. He found them in New Orleans. He was there because he thought he could infect the most vampires there. He plans to kill them." Bill didn't react though I'm sure he was under the surface, "And then he plans to come back here." It was obvious where the logic followed.
The Sino-virus was the only disease that could pass from human to vampire. While it killed humans, eventually, any vampire that fed on a human with it fell victim shortly to sudden weakness. The undead part would be very weak, for about a month once they displayed symptom, during which time it would be comparatively easy for the vampire to be caught and staked. In some cases, vampires that fed on the same infected human could – in rare cases – die without being staked at all.
In short, Jerry was using himself as a means to take out as many vampires as he possibly could before dying.
"You did not tell them." He pointed out.
"I'm not worried about them." It was cruel to think that way, but I didn't owe them anything and Bill's reaction hadn't given me to believe they were truly friendly either.
The silence resumed. I assumed Bill was considering what this would mean for him. There was no 'maybe' about catching the virus. Bill had fed from Jerry, Bill would be infected. Now the only concern would be keeping himself safe while he was vulnerable. He had much to think about.
I opened the notebook I'd brought with me, flipping open to the page I'd listed all the available workmen I knew would be able to assist him. We talked about setting appointments for them to come out. He shared that from what he understood of the virus, he would show symptoms no later than the end of the week.
"I can tell Gran something came up. Cancel the meeting with the Descendants?" She'd be embarrassed to have him cancel when she'd made such a thing of it, but manners would keep her from saying anything.
Bill shook his head, "No. It will give me something to look forward to this week. And to think on while I am.. recovering."
"Stubborn." I said, trying to make light of the situation.
He smiled, "So I am told."
Bill excused himself shortly, walking me to the door. He had things to line up, synthetic to stock up on if he wouldn't be able to move around to get it himself, though I offered to go for him. It was the neighborly thing to do, but he declined. "If you can visit with me in the evenings, check on my home during the day. That will be enough."
I didn't ask about where he would be, though I'm sure there was some place in the house. Or nearby. His hand ran down my arm. Another moment, just waiting for action. "What did you mean earlier, when you said I'm yours?"
"It means that if they try to feed on you, I'll kill them. It means you are my human. That I will protect you." We stood in the doorway, his voice cool running over me, "It also means that I take responsibility for you. What you do, in our world, will reflect on me." It felt like I was suddenly in a very serious and committed relationship with a man I still hadn't decided my feelings on.
"Do I.. are we.." I looked at him, not sure how to phrase it tactfully.
Bill's eyes were dark, his face closer to mine, "Only if you want us to be. I will not force myself on you. For now, this is how I can thank you for treating me with kindness." I felt relieved. That in itself should have been my answer.
"Good night, Bill."
He kissed my cheek, "Goodnight, Aria."