Chapter 27

From there, the next few hours were a blur of booze and dancing and bar hopping. What else was a girl to do? In one bar, I could've sworn I saw my fairy uncle Dermott. We locked eyes for a split second, and then he disappeared behind a taller man. I craned my neck, wondering if I was seeing things, and maybe I was. I forced myself to shrug it off. I didn't need to invite that trouble into my life. My plate, despite currently being empty, felt full enough. I threw myself into dancing, only pausing long enough to slake my thirst on more alcohol. Too much alcohol. And when my thoughts wandered to a certain tall vampire... Well, I pushed them away too. As far as I was concerned, I was a colossal fool and I'd made a royal mess of things.

At three am, the witching hour, Amelia ordered us all a vodka cocktail called the witch's heart, a concoction in a concerning shade of deep purple, but which tasted like apple and blackberries. We toasted and on the first mouthful, I knew I'd past my peak for the night. The alcohol churned in my stomach.

We were in a booth in a dingy bar, Hannah telling a tale about her apparently hopeless sister who was prone to renovating and redecorating their apartment at the drop of a hat. I was only half-listening, but she had the rest of our group in stitches. I excused myself and stepped outside to catch some fresh air. The room had spun when I stood, and the floor tilted under my feet as I walked. I leaned against the brickwork beside the door, sipping my cocktail. People still milled on the streets, bands were playing, costumes everywhere. Someone was letting off fireworks a little further down the street, the sound of crackling and whistling pyrotechnics echoing off the buildings.

I wandered a little ways down the road to watch. It was a group of twoeys, and they were setting off roman candles, and standing around and laughing as the pyrotechnics rocketed up into the sky in blaze of yellow sparks. One of the weres looked kind of familiar. I squinted until his face came into focus. A red-haired grizzled guy, handsome, with a strong jaw and short-cropped beard. We locked eyes, and I saw recognition there too. He knew me.

It hit me with a wallop, like a dodge-ball to the stomach.

"Chuck!" Or was it Chad? I couldn't remember.

I pushed past the crowd of people standing around watching. My hummingbird necklace was all but useless now and their thoughts assailed me. My shields were shot, and I was three sheets to the wind. The were saw my approach and back-tracked, taking one, two, three steps away from me.

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" My voice rang out, high and shrill. I ran and got up in his face and pushed him. He stumbled and lifted his hands in defense.

"You asshole!"

"Hey now," he said, "just hang on a minute."

"Was it worth it, Chuck? Was it worth it? How much did Felipe pay you? Or do ya just get a kick outta burning down small businesses owned by women?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie!" I pushed him again and he rebuffed my advances this time, trying to make a grab from my wrists. But I was too quick. I snatched them out of his reach in time. I was still suffering the lingering effects of vampire blood.

"Lady, I have no idea who you are!"

People were noticing now. Noticing over the lights and motion and the noise.

"You liar!" I pushed him again. "You destroyed everything—everything!"

He was a shitty liar. He was a shitty were. His brain told the truth in big fat gobs of emotion and thoughts that cut through the snarly mess. He flirted with me on purpose. He cased out my bar, burned it. He destroyed The Dogwood. He destroyed my life, and to him it was just a paycheck.

I pushed again and this time he stumbled back onto the curb and landed on his ass. I pounced, kicking, hitting, screaming. I saw red. I was the roman candle. I was on fire. I was incandescent and anger poured out me. Cold hands dragged me back, and I fought ferociously.

"Sookie!"

"Get off me!"

"Stop it!"

"Lemme at him!"

The world shook. I felt sick, like I might upchuck, and a woozy second later I realized it wasn't the world shaking, but rather me being dragged away across pavement.

"Rasul?"

He deposited me on the curb some distance away and held me firmly in place as I tried to fight out of his grasp.

"Leave him," he said.

"He burned my life!"

I could see the guy had already gone, he and his were buddies had hit the pavement, abandoned their cache of fireworks, and I let out an angry cry.

"I'll find him," he said. "Did he hurt you?"

I pushed his hands off me.

"Forget about it. It doesn't matter."

Why would it? It wouldn't bring my bar back, and it wouldn't bring that life back. Both were gone, reduced to ashes. The truth of it was sour and harsh. Sometimes you were stupid and things slipped through your fingers and you just couldn't get 'em back.

I got to my feet, wobbly, and kicked off my heels. I snatched them from the ground. I hadn't realized how much my feet hurt until now.

"I'm going," I announced.

"You're inebriated."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

I pushed my way back into the crowd; the fire twirlers were back, I gave them a wide berth. Adrenalin still buzzed in my fingers. I pulled off the necklace and stuffed it into the bodice of my dress. My stupid dress had no pockets. Who was I even kidding with that necklace? So stupid. I'd liked Danny and I'd needed to wear a freaking magical necklace to even make it work. What was wrong with me? Who was I trying to kid?

I wobbled down a side street to the nearest stop on the streetcar line. It had finished service for the night. Just great. No use getting a cab, either. I'd be waiting hours. I plonked down on the pavement. Rested my head between my knees. My insides felt disarranged. Muddled up. Not my bodily insides, my emotional ones.

I would never escape my messes. I now had a long time left to deal with them. A long, long time if my suspicions were right. And that was the root of the problem to begin with, wasn't it? I had to live with myself forever, with all my flaws, with all my warts and all. I swiped a tear from the corner of my eye. I pulled my phone from my purse and with considerable effort on focusing my vision, scrolled through my contacts and sent a text message.

Eric address

Pam's reply was virtually instantaneous.

550 Conti St apt. 3. Entry code 1873 ;-)

It took me twenty-five minutes to find, and in a better state I would've made it probably in a fraction of that. It was a four-story brick building, a converted commercial space. There were three residences in the building according to the buzzer, but all lights were off according to the windows.

A plaque on the front awarded the building for its fine preservation. So, it was old, huh. After failing five times I got the code to the entry door right. Huzzah. It pinged; I heard a bolt click. I had to lean hard to get the enormous forest green door to open. The foyer was tiled and the walls adorned with old timey historical photos of the building and street.

Up what seemed endless sets of stairs, I banged on the door. No answer. Fruitless, really. I could sense I was the only occupant in the whole building. In virtually the whole block.

I slid to the floor beside his door. I was sweaty, and the tiles were cool under my thighs. New Orleans was so dang humid all the dang time. I gave up. I'd just sleep here.

"You can't stay there the whole night." Something nudged my leg. I opened my eyes, blinking blearily. How long had I been out?

The door to the apartment was open, light from inside formed a trapezoid on the hallway floor. Eric was wearing a cotton tee and pajama pants. His hair was damp. I got to my feet with difficulty.

"I need a drink."

"I very much doubt that."

I made my way in uninvited, ignoring his visible annoyance. Yeah, not much fun when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?

Eric grunted, and I realized I'd spoken the thought out loud. Hah!

I marched across glossy wooden floorboards and found the kitchen to my right. I dipped my head under the faucet and drank straight from it.

"Why are you here?"

He stood on the other side of the island bench. I felt a bubble of overwrought laughter build inside me. Roles reversed. Me in his kitchen. Him rebuffing me.

"Sookie?"

I searched for the right words. My gaze drifted past him to the living space where the TV was on. "I just, I don't..."

"Don't what?"

The fixtures and furniture of his apartment were modern, but with wooden cabinetry and exposed beams above, it felt a lot warmer, more lived in than his house in the gated estate back in Shreveport.

"I'm not... I can't." How could I explain? Explain the two halves of me that I couldn't make fit together. The Sookie who longed for normality and the Sookie who was anything but. The girl who could look at herself in the mirror but only with denial. I was cognitive dissonance in partly-human form. An aberration. I should be dead, but I was alive. I didn't even know what I was. A tear slipped down my cheek, and I brushed it away, suddenly angry with myself.

"I am not the person I want to be," I said.

A crease, fine yet visible, appeared between his brows. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, but not this stony silence.

"How are you meant live forever?" I asked.

"Easily."

"No." I slapped my hand down on the marble countertop. "That's not what I mean. No one gets it. No one! I'm asking how?"

He was confused.

"How?" I pleaded. "How?" My voice cracked.

His lips formed a small, soft 'oh'. He nodded toward his leather sectional couch, and I wobbled over and sat down.

"Your phone is buzzing." He handed me my clutch. Had I left it on the floor outside his front door?

I pulled my cell phone out. It was close to dawn. I had multiple missed calls from my friends. I sent a text to Amelia telling her I was fine, that I went home early. Eric settled on the couch beside me, leaving some distance between us.

"It was forced on me," he said after a period of silence. "I was taken from my human life abruptly, violently. I had no choice but to move on. It is a kindness for one's maker to do this. To divorce you from your human life."

"What are you suggesting?"

"No suggestion. Just that… things were clearer for me."

"And you've had a good undead life?"

"Largely, yes."

"Really?" I asked doubtfully.

"I won't lie, there are times when one can wonder if eternity is a gift or a curse."

I looked hard at him then. His usually confident and striking features, unmarred by a millennia of existence, had taken on a pensive, reflective quality.

"What about now, is it a gift? Are you happy?"

"Happiness isn't the point, Sookie."

"What is, then?" I asked, because I had not a clue.

"Happiness is the byproduct, not the goal, of existence."

"What do you mean? So what's the goal?"

He let the question linger in the air for the moment, seeming to mull it over.

"Perhaps it's different for everyone," he said.

"Okay, fine, humour me. What is it for you?"

"For me?" He answered easily. "It's embracing passions, confronting challenges, putting myself to the test. In that, I believe you can uncover meaning, and yes, happiness."

I smiled sadly at him. "Things have worked out for you, haven't they?"

"Some might say they have," he replied, with a himt of a smile.

I leaned back on the couch, flopping an arm over my eyes. "Everyone thought of me as a freak back in Bon Temps. Crazy Sookie, they called me. But that was okay. I could picture my life and where it was going."

"What did you picture?"

"House, kids, husband." I wasn't sure how exactly. Maybe with Sam. That had felt like it had potential.

"Is that what you wanted?"

I snorted. "I don't know."

"And now?" he prompted.

"And now I..." I trailed off. Now? Now I was a human barely hanging onto the definition. I was a fake. But I couldn't say that, couldn't physically form the words. All I could manage was a choked sound. A minute passed, and I heard movement. I peeked under my arm. Eric was crouched by the TV cabinet.

"X-Files?" It had been a while.

"No," he said. "You'll see."

I lowered myself onto my side, curling into a ball. The spinning was subsiding. I sensed a gargantuan hangover approaching.

He sat back down. My head was in his lap now. He'd put on a documentary. Something about Yellowstone National Park. It focused on its wildlife and flora through each season, the endless cycle of change and renewal. Oh. On the screen, wolves prowled beside a snowy river, tracking deer.

As my eyes drifted closed, he spoke.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" His voice was low, soothing.

"Bad news," I mumbled.

"Bad news? You're growing and it hurts."

I swallowed thickly. "And the good news?"

"You've got forever to figure it out."

His cool fingers gently tucked some hair around my ear. I fought away the urge to weep.

When I opened my eyes, it was morning. Light streamed through the tall arched windows in the living room. I was alone. I sat up on the couch, bones creaking. My mouth tasted like someone had stuffed it with a dirty gym sock. I found a bathroom and splashed my face, rinsed my mouth. I looked like a circus clown. I turned on the warm water and washed my makeup off with hand soap. Tried to sort out the mess that was my hair.

I checked my cell phone. It was nearly midday. Then I checked the state of my feet. No blisters to be found. They'd hurt so much last night and now there was no sign of the abuse I'd put them through for the sake of pretty heels. I sighed. I guess I'd have to get used to it.

I admired Eric's apartment by daylight. Lots of exposed brick, wooden beams and natural light. It was furnished with items I recognized from Shreveport. The painting above the brick fireplace was one that had hung in his living room there—an abstract art piece in strong jeweled tones.

There was a thick wooden door in the back corner, ajar by a slight crack. I tip-toed, not knowing exactly why, and gingerly pushed the door wide enough to peer through. Beyond it was a vampire-friendly entryway to a bedroom. A light-lock, I was pretty sure they were called. Essentially like an air-lock but to prevent light from getting in to a vampire's resting quarters. But both doors of the light lock were open. This one a crack, and the inner one stood wide open. Pale indirect sunlight lit the entrance of the bedroom and diffused into deep shadows within.

I could see Eric, sprawled out in bed, a naked leg kicked over the sheets.

What was he doing with his door cracked open? Wasn't that dangerous? The light almost reached him. His expression was free of emotion, free of a thousand years of living. I wondered if he'd left the door open for me. It was tempting; I could climb right in with him. For just a moment, I could slide between the sheets, rest my head against his arms.

I smiled. I believe the shrinks would've called what happened to me last night a textbook existential crisis. And Eric had helped... like I somehow knew he would.

I watched him there for some minutes, tempted by the thought of lying beside him and being gone by nightfall. But he would know; he'd be able to sniff it out. And it wouldn't loosen the knot in my chest. There had been truth to what he'd accused me of in the car back on that night after Shreveport. I could see it now, and it made me ashamed. I had a lot of reflecting to do. I retreated from the room, shut the outer door with a click. If I were being truly honest with myself, the only bed right now that I wanted to lie in was my own, back home in Bon Temps.

So, that was exactly what I was going to do.

THE END (for now)

A/N:Thank you, and I'll see you in a month!