Her Name Pain.
There is nothing else in the room but pain. There is nothing else in my body except pain. For me, at this very moment in time, the whole world is pain.
I need to sleep but I am not permitted to shut my eyes. I need desperately to feed, but I am allowed nothing.
I have been in this dank and foul smelling room for years. Or has it been months? Just days, maybe? Hours? It doesn't really matter; time means nothing to me anymore. My life has been reduced to this room, to this chair, to the silver chains that lash me in place and keep me locked in torment.
My head falls forward of its own accord; my chin hits my chest and my eyes, so heavy with exhaustion, close briefly. For a moment the pain subsides as I begin to lose consciousness and fall into the blessed daylight slumber I have been denied for so long. But then I feel someone take my hair and pull my head back hard.
I open my eyes and stare unseeing at the ceiling above me. I focus on the one dim light hanging there; a single, bare bulb on a chain. It swings slightly, back and forth, back and forth. The light is enough to illuminate the horrible patterns on the ceiling and on the walls and on the floor. The patterns are caused by blood - my blood, and the blood of others. Wild splatters and splashes and pools of red, all twist together to create a grisly masterpiece of torture; a macabre mosaic born of suffering. It's almost beautiful in a way, and the smell of it serves to drive my already terrible hunger into the realm of insanity.
I hear the door open, and feel a rush of cool air hit my face. I hear another voice, a female voice, but it does not belong to the one I long to see, and for that I am both relieved and unaccountably sad. She hasn't come to me for so long, and I need her. Her absence pains me, and also strengthens me.
My conflict runs so deep.
I hear footfalls approaching and my head tips forward as I try to adjust my gaze. My vision is clouded by exhaustion and agony, but I can see a woman's face peering down at me. It's a beautiful face, but the mocking smile is anything but. The woman laughs.
"Did you guys do all this?" she asked, looking over my head to stare behind me. I heard a male voice answer, a voice I knew all too well. The one that
liked the poker.
"Nah, not everything. But we got to do a lot. He's pretty dumb, even for a vamp. He won't talk."
The woman looked at me again, cocked her head to the side.
"What are you trying to get him to tell you?" she asked curiously. Too curiously.
"He's got some computer program," the male answered. "The vamp that hired us thinks he hid it with his human whore. He won't tell us who she is."
"It's a damn shame, too," said the other male voice, the younger one. "The vamp said we'd get a bonus if we got him to tell us."
"Really?" the woman asked, and I didn't like the way her eyes lit up. "You guys willing to split it with me if I get it out of him?"
The males laughed; they didn't think she was serious. But when she walked across the room to look at the equipment, they realized she meant every word, and the laughter turned to whistles and hoots of approval.
The woman picked up one item after another from the rack by the door. She tested the weight and feel of each in her hand, like she was trying to decide on a new article of clothing rather than choosing a device of torture. When she finally turned and started walking back toward me, I saw she had settled on the pincers.
"What's his name?" she asked, and they told her.
She smiled at me, leaned very close to my face. I could hear her heartbeat, could smell her scent. She pushed her dark hair back and stroked her neck. My fangs descended and my mouth opened wide with need. I knew the taunt for what it was, but I couldn't prevent my lips from pulling back with desire; couldn't stop my instincts from taking control of my exhausted and tortured body. Humiliated and debased, I strained to get to her, but she remained just out of reach. She winked at me.
I would remember her face.
"Bill," she said as she stood up. "If you tell these gentlemen what they want to know, I will let you have me." She reached down and stroked my leg, moving her hand on my thigh suggestively.
"You must be so hungry, baby," she purred. Then she put one foot on the chair between my legs. She touched her hand to her own inner thigh and let her leg fall open a bit. I stared at the spot where I knew her femoral artery was pulsing, just under her jeans. I shook with desperate need, and groaned a little through my parched lips.
The males were laughing again.
"You're a bitch, Debbie," the younger one said.
She grinned up at them, placed her foot back on the ground, and started to work on me. My hunger was lost again as my world returned to pain. Years passed. And then I heard the voice I had longed for, and dreaded.
"Did you get anything from him?" my maker asked as she came over to examine me.
"No, ma'am," answered the one that liked the poker. "He still won't say nothin'. We worked on him most of the day."
"Hmm. So I see," she answered softly, approvingly.
My maker knelt down in front of me, held my chin in her hand, forced me to look in her eyes. She was so beautiful. Why didn't she love me anymore? Why did I want her to love me? Why did I need her to? What magic did this she-demon have over me, so much stronger than a normal bond between maker and child. I didn't just have to obey her; I wanted to. Was this her immortal gift; the ability to make me want to please her so? Even now I desired her, even now I would give her anything she wanted, anything she asked.
Except one.
"Tell me her name!" she demanded, and I saw the knife again in her hand.
I readied myself for the cutting, welcomed it. Every slice served to give me solace now. It was my due penance for everything I had done wrong to her, the nameless one. I won't speak her name, won't even think it. But she is my love, and the only human in all my vampire existence that had ever truly loved me. I had betrayed her, I knew this. Every drop of my blood that hit the floor was a reminder of what I had done. I knew if I ever got out of this silver, out of this chair, out of this room, I would spend the rest of my eternity seeking her absolution.
"Her name!" my maker growled, and I felt the blade pierce my flesh again.
I closed my eyes and drifted. I pictured my love's long, soft hair framing her sleeping face as she cuddled against my shoulder, safe in my arms. She was so far away from me now. But I could still keep her safe.
I held my silence and for a brief moment, I smiled.
Chapter Two My consciousness returned slowly, as I had become accustomed to. I hadn't slept, not in the way I needed, but my mind had mercifully granted me another brief respite from the unending pain.
As awareness returned, so did the flood of agony, and I was aware of a choked and pitiful sound emanating from my own lips. This part was always brutal, the all encompassing pain returning at once, and every time it happened I prayed that I wouldn't lose consciousness again. It was more tolerable to simply endure never ending suffering than to have it be taken away only to be forced to adjust to it's presence once again. But, of course, that choice wasn't mine.
I heard my Were captors talking amongst themselves. Their presence informed me that it must be daytime. I was long past the point of being aware of the passage of time. My vampire senses, which before would announce the rising and the setting of the sun, no longer responded. I had been denied sleep for too long, and it didn't matter now where the earth was in its rotation, my body was demanding me to rest. That, too, was not in my control.
I heard a new sound, the sound of slowly dripping liquid, and I concentrated on it, trying to give my mind something on which to focus; something that would take my mind off the silver, and the dreadful hunger, and the crawling feel of the festering and un-healing wounds that covered my body.
Where was this water coming from, I wondered. As I concentrated, the sounds became louder, and I counted the splashes. I wondered vacantly if there was a leak in the ceiling.
Before I could gather my thoughts further, one of the shifter creatures came up from behind me and tugged roughly on the silver chains. My mouth opened in protest, but my throat was too parched to create even so much as a hint of a whisper. The silver dug into my skin further, just millimeters I knew, but my flesh was so burnt, and so raw that even the tiniest movements felt like a live flame.
My eyes opened, and my head fell downward, and through my sleep deprived eyes I saw a small puddle of red on the chair between my legs. My blood has soaked into the wood of the chair, and continued on through, dripping slowly, one drop at a time, to form a thick pool directly underneath me. I feel a peculiar moment of satisfaction when I am finally able to identify the strange noise I had heard before. I watched with a detached fascination as my blood traveled, seeping from my body, then to the chair and then onward to the floor. But then I could watch no more, and my heavy eyes shut once again.
I heard the second captor, the younger one, when he came to stand in front of me. He jerked my head up, pulling me by the hair. I struggled to open my eyes, and was able to force my lids open just a sliver. As soon as I did, I felt a rocking blow land on the right side of my face. Then another, and another. Blood from my mouth fell to to my chest and rolled down my stomach, and kept going until it joined with the puddle on the chair. The Were was almost shaking as he landed the blows, and his friend, the one behind me, started to laugh without humor.
"Lay off for a minute, we gotta get these chains moved before the vamp lady wakes up."
"Fuck her," was the growling response and I felt a kick to my leg that came just short of breaking bones.
"You need to get a grip on yourself," said the first Were, the older one, the one that liked the poker. "You can let it out tonight, but right now we got a job to do. Help me get these chains like she said."
The two started to work together then, and they were none too gentle about it. I felt my skin being ripped as they unwound the chains; smelled the stench of my own charred flesh. I jerked and spasmed, my body trying in vain to combat the fire. In the end, I was mostly stripped of the silver, save the ones that bound my ankles to the legs of the chair, and the ones that kept my hands tied tightly behind me. I should feel some relief now, but I do not. I know what it coming; I have endured it before, several times, since my torture began.
I try a few more times to take rest, but each time I am awakened by one or both of my guards pulling my hair, or punching or slapping. The Weres are particularly violent today, and they seem on edge, pacing the room, clenching their fists and running their hands through their hair anxiously. They are complaining about the time, and I realize it won't be long before my maker arrives. I am at once flooded with relief, and a deep fear.
I feel her presence before I see her. My maker comes to me expressionless this night, looking as glorious as ever in a long, flowing skirt and a tight top that reveals far more of her flesh than is polite. She examines me for a long moment, clinically, then turns to address my captors.
"Nothing?" She asks, and her voice is almost hopeful.
"No m'am, we're sorry."
"I know you boys want to go enjoy the moon," she says with some derision. "Before you go, I'll need you to help me. We won't be long tonight, will we Bill?"
My maker back away a few steps, cocks her head to the side while she studies me.
"Why are you making this so hard on me?" she asks, and I felt her power over me pressing into my mind, smothering my resolve and stripping
away my very sense of self. I want to answer her; I have to answer her. But I can't. My voice is no longer working properly, and I feel as though someone has shoved a wire brush down my throat.
My maker comes to me, places her hands on my face and tilts my head back, almost gently. Her touch is like a soothing balm, and for a brief instant my pain is forgotten. She looks into my eyes, and leans in very close, speaking into my ear.
"Don't you know I hate having to do this to you?" she purrs, and I feel her lips brush my skin as she speaks. "We were so good together, you and I. We can be that way again. It's up to you, Bill. You know what I want, and if you give it to me, I will give you what you want."
I try to speak again, try to beg her to forgive me, try to tell her I love her, but all that escapes my lips is a raspy hiss. She looks back into my eyes, and kisses my bloodied mouth, then she straightens.
I saw her nod to one of the Weres, and he walked into my line of vision and moved to the shelves on the wall near the door. He picked up the poker, examined it, then tossed it down. Then he picked up the pincers, checked it over briefly and walked back. He handed the device to my maker wordlessly.
"Are you hungry, Bill?" she asked, and just hearing the words about pushed me over the edge of reason. My hunger wasn't just a physical pain any longer, it was a deeply rooted survival instinct coming to the fore now, and every second its pounding demand got louder and louder.
My maker took a step toward me and held the pincers to my lips. My nostrils flared, and I smelled the blood, sticky and crusted; my own blood.
"Go ahead," my maker said in a soothing voice, and even though every single fiber of my being cried out with humiliation and disgust, I slowly opened my mouth and licked the very device that had inflicted so many of my wounds. I tasted my blood on the pincers, and I ran my tongue along the hard, rusted metal several times before my maker took it away. I leaned back, licking my lips, making sure not to waste even a drop.
The Were moved behind me again and my maker filled my vision. She touched my chin, lifted my eyes back to hers. She raised her eyebrows and I knew she was waiting.
"Thank you," I said, though I was hardly more than mouthing the words.
She didn't say a word, but she moved even closer to me and leaned back down. She kissed me once more, and despite my hunger, despite the pain of the silver, I felt a surge of want. She kissed me again, longer, and I felt her hand reach down and tug on the button of my torn pants.
"Do you remember how we used to be, Bill?" she whispered, and then she used both hands to unzip my pants and pull them down just enough so I was exposed fully to her. "Do you remember how much fun we had together?" She gripped me then, and stroked, and my ragged body responded, even as my mind protested. She knew me, every part of me, inside and out. We had been lovers for so long, and she knew exactly how to elicit the desired reaction from me. And I wanted to please her. I needed to please her.
I hated her. I hated myself.
She pulled up her dress and straddled me, placed her breasts near my face. She kept a firm grip on my chin, and forced me to look at her. When she lowered herself onto me, I thought I would be ripped apart from the twin needs that took control of me then; my lust and my hunger. My maker knew well how these two primal instincts were linked for our kind, and as she started to move on me slowly, she was smirking at my reaction.
"See?" she whispered. "Isn't this better than the pain, Bill? I can love you again, you know. But I need to know you want me. Do you want me, Bill?"
I was tormented when I heard her words, because I knew my answer. Yes, I wanted her. I wanted to feed from her, I wanted to release inside her and I just wanted her in a way that was desperate and senseless. Her will was forcing its way into my mind and I was close to losing myself to the constant pain, and the temporary pleasure, and the unbearable, fiery hunger that fought for the dominant position inside me.
Only one thing kept me from going over the edge, and that was my nameless love. If I gave in, her life would be forfeit and I knew this. Even as the she-demon had her way with my body, even as I responded to her touch, I kept one small piece of myself faithful and intact. The part that belonged to my darling was pure and untouched, and I guarded it with everything left inside me.
To my overwhelming disgust, my arousal was increasing. My body tensed as my maker continued to speak to me so sweetly, and consume me within her. I needed relief, my body was begging for it, but just before I achieved it, my maker looked over my head and nodded. I felt a stabbing pain and a horrific snapping sound as one of the were captors shattered one of my fingers.
I made a croaking noise, and my maker stopped moving, allowing me to fully process this new assault. My body, which had been primed for release, was now throbbing and aching with unfulfilled need. My destroyed finger pounded, and pain ripped through my hand and up my arm. I trembled and my mouth was wide, my eyes clenching shut trying in vain to stave off the combined torments.
Finally, after several excruciating minutes, my body calmed as I became accustomed to the new pain.
"Bill?" my maker asked gently. She hadn't moved from her position, and I knew she was waiting to see if I was ready to yield to her will. I opened my mouth to speak, couldn't, but my eyes must have revealed my answer. She bared her fangs at me in anger.
She made a nod over my head, and the older were came around the chair and held the pincers to my lips once again, and once more I tasted, taking what little blood I could. It wasn't enough, of course; just enough to remind me of what I needed and couldn't have.
And my maker started moving on me again. Her body was demanding mine to respond, and to my ever-lasting shame, it did. The process repeated again and again and again. First I was taunted with blood, then sex, and neither one was permitted to fulfill my needs. Then I was ravaged with pain, and the vicious cycle went on and on until I had just one, possibly two, fingers still intact. By the time my maker had tired of her game, my lust and hunger was ravaging my body like some virulent, flesh eating disease. I closed my eyes for a long moment, and begged for sunlight.
She stood up after what seemed like hours and adjusted her skirt, leaving me exposed and aching. She made one of the Weres put my pants back to rights, and then she had both of them wrap the silver chains around me again. They were working faster than ever, and pulling tighter than usual as they secured the chains. I glanced at one of them while they worked, and I thought I saw a claw starting to form where a hand should be. They were changing.
"Get out of here," my maker hissed at them when she was satisfied I was once again safely lashed to the chair. The two Weres all but sprinted out the door, and I thought I heard a howl moments later.
"Just you and me again, Bill," my maker said after a moment, and her voice rang perfect and beautiful to my ears. And I was terrified.
"Ready to talk to me?"
Yes, I was ready; so very ready. And so I retreated back to the warm, safe part of my mind that belonged to....no, I would not think her name. I could not. I could smell my makers body and her fluids in the air all around me, and while she crossed the room and readied herself for the night, I thought of my darling, and silently begged her forgiveness.
I wondered where she was, if she was safe. Sometimes I almost believed I could feel her presence close to me; such was the fog of delusion that held me now. I knew my love was far from here; away from this nightmare. I had not revealed her name; they would not get her. She was home and she was safe.
I had told her to go to Eric if I didn't return. He would take care of her, I knew. I knew also that he would just take her. Not by force, no. He wouldn't have to. I wondered if she was with him right now, and even more than the feel of my burning flesh, and the piercing pain in my newly broken bones, the thought tortured me.
My maker came back to stand before me, the instruments she had chosen for the night in her hands.
"I tire of this, Bill," she told me in a voice laced with impatience. "What makes you think you can defy me? I chose you. You belong to me. I could have had any man I wanted, you know. You weren't the strongest, you weren't the most attractive, but yet I gave you the greatest gift the world has to offer."
She leaned over me then, and I couldn't take my eyes from her face, though I wanted desperately to turn away. She slapped her hand to my cheek, gripping me tightly.
"Something has a hold on you, doesn't it? Something gives you hope that you can defeat my will. What is it? Is it your little human whore?" She sneered at me, and I felt the pressure in my head again, stronger than ever. I buried my love's name even deeper. I locked it down, tried to forget it. Tried to forget her.
"They aren't like us, Bill," my maker crooned, her voice going soft once more. "She isn't worth this. She will be dead and rotting one day very soon;
they all will. But you will still be here. And so will I."
She stood up once more, and her fangs descended as she lazily played with the poker she held in her left hand. My head fell to my chest again in exhaustion and defeat. I was resigned to what awaited me this night.
"There is only one thing in your whole, long life that will last, Bill," my maker said, and she put the poker under my chin and lifted it so I would be forced to look at her again. She smiled.
"And that one thing is me. I own you. And we have an eternity together."
She moved forward and I had nothing left inside me to even try to fight.
Chapter Three I had no idea how much time had passed since my Were captors had left me alone with my maker. At first, I tried to count the seconds as they passed, simply to keep my mind from concentrating on the physical torments. But my efforts were futile; it was as if my maker knew when I was drifting, and she would always find some way, some terrible and effective way, to pull me back into the moment.
She kept asking me about my computer project, as always, and of course she wanted to know about the nameless one; who she was, where she was. My silence only served to drive my maker to find new ways to inflict damage.
I fervently wished I knew who told her I was working on a database, and I found a new way to temporarily disengage from the pain by thinking of every vampire I knew that could possibly have known about my secret project. Unfortunately, that list wasn't long.
For a moment or two, I considered the vengeance I would mete' out for the one that betrayed me, but then I realized I would never have the opportunity to track the individual down. My maker would kill me, sooner or later. I knew this as certainly as I knew my own name. She would stake me, probably, or perhaps give me to the sun. I wished she would get on with it; I was ready.
I wanted to go to my final death before anything else happened, before my will was finally broken and I revealed the name she desired. And I feared I would break, soon. My entire being was starting to crumble under the torture, reality was becoming no more than a misty dreamworld and I found I had to concentrate with all my energy to understand what was real and what was illusion.
Some part of my brain registered that I hadn't felt the sharp stab of the poker or the slice of the blade in too long. My head had fallen to my chest, and I didn't have the energy any longer to even try to raise it. I could feel my blood draining sluggishly from the fresh wounds of the night, and I could smell my flesh as it rotted beneath the silver. I could also hear voices; my maker was talking to someone now. No, there were two others in this room. I felt a moment of merciful relief when I realized the visitors were vampires. My hunger was at such a fevered pitch, I doubted I could have tolerated the sound of a heartbeat, or the scent of a human.
I concentrated as much as I could, but it was as though I were under water. The voices were murky and hollow, and what I could hear confused me. Someone was sneaking around, one of the voices said. Might have been a vampire, said another. Then I listened no more.
With my maker occupied with the visitors, I permitted myself the briefest of rewards: I allowed myself to picture the face of the one I loved. I saw her in my minds eyes; beautiful and radiant and smelling of the sun. I let myself recall the way her soft, warm body felt beneath my hands and my lips. I repeated words in my head, things she had whispered to me during our most intimate moments.
But then I recalled the last words she said to me. And the ones I spoke to her. No device of torture touched me then, but I was filled with an agony that threatened to rip me apart at the seams.
My final words to her had been filled with a terrible coldness, and with lies. I wished I could see her again, just once, if only for a moment, so I could tell her....
Tell her what?
I squeezed my eyes shut, hearing the faint crunching sound from the dried blood on my lashes. I knew I could never explain to her why I had done what I did. Even if by some miracle I got free of these dreadful chains, my life would still be one of lies.
Lies. As a vampire, my existence for so long depended on my skill in deception, my ability to lie smoothly. But now the word stuck in my head like a splinter, and I wished I could tear it out. That small word, and what it represented, had altered the course of my existence.
Go to your old home, my Queen had told me. Find the Stackhouse girl, gain her trust, seduce her, tell no one.
I had argued. Oh, how I had tried to find another way. I was vampire. Humans were my prey, they existed to satisfy my hungers, nothing more. And that was what I had believed for so many long, long years. The thought of even pretending, in public no less, to be enamored with a human had disgusted me. It was an abomination; it was degrading.
But then I met her, and she saved my life for no other reason than the fact it needed saving. I can see it so clearly now; the moment she flung the chain at that drainer, the very second it wrapped around his throat, was the beginning of my undoing. I was vampire, and she was mortal. But she had prevented me from becoming prey myself. My beliefs, which had been molded and tempered over centuries, started to unravel. It was the most profound moment of my long life, and I knew on some level that fate had intervened.
I wanted to share it with her, the revelation I had that night. And later, I longed to tell her the truth about myself. She deserved to know, she had earned it. But how could I? She wouldn't understand. She knew nothing of my hidden vampire world, indeed I had tried to keep her from knowing, so she wouldn't ask, so I wouldn't have to lie again.
I realized I had been beset on all side by the very nature of my existence, by the shroud of secrecy that defined my kind. My darling professed love for me, and though the words sang in my heart, I knew they weren't real. She didn't really love me; she didn't truly know me. She knew only the vampire I presented to her, the one that came to Bon Temps for practical and innocent reasons; the one that entered her life by happy chance instead of by calculated planning.
But the terrible tragedy of it all, was that the love I came to feel for her was all too real. And I desperately wanted us to have a life together, one free of deception and lies. But if I ever told her, ever showed her my true face, I would lose her. The very thing that brought me to her would serve to take her from me. The pain of that knowledge was agonizing, and every night that passed, every moment I spent with her, only served to pull me deeper and deeper into a pit of confusion and conflicting desires. I couldn't abandon my mission, and I couldn't abandon her. But how could I truly be faithful to either?
And then there was my Sheriff. My Queen ordered me to tell no one of my purpose, and this meant also lying to the Viking about my reasons for coming into his area. I had been ordered to go around the chain of command - an unprecedented demand I never understood. And when the Sheriff met my love, I knew he wanted her and wanted to use her. His demands put her in danger, and if any harm would have come to her the Queen would have held me responsible. But if I disobeyed my Sheriff I could also be taken to task. It was a fine line I was forced to walk, and my existence balanced on the edge of a knife. But still I said nothing.
I managed to keep up the deception on all sides, even when the weight of it threatened to crush me. I was lying to my love, to my Sheriff, to my Queen and even to myself. I was forced to wear a different face each night, and there were times I would look in the mirror and hardly even recognize my own reflection. I was losing myself in the web of lies that entangled me, and I knew it wouldn't be long until I tripped up and made a mistake, and my true face would show. When that happened, I would be undone.
My tenuous mask was already starting to crumble when the Queen contacted me about my database. Tell no one, she had ordered again. And then I had yet another deception placed upon my shoulders. My secrets became my constant companions, and I despised them.
Then came the night I received the call from my Maker. She wanted me to come to her; she needed my help, she said. In one instant, the weight I had been carrying lifted and I felt a thousand pounds lighter. No one, not even the Queen, could prevent me from going when my Maker called. It was my obligation to go to her, and though it shames me to admit it, the relief I felt was indescribable - so much so that I hadn't even bothered to ask the most basic of questions: why?
But at the time I hadn't cared for the why of it; all I saw was a way out of the tangled pit that held me prisoner. I could leave Bon Temps behind, shrug off the cloak of deception I had been forced to wear, and just be.
It may have been cowardice, or perhaps it was simply madness born of conflicting desires, but I didn't even try to resist my maker's call. I left without looking back, and the moment I saw her again I had felt a sense of freedom that overwhelmed me. She was my sire, her blood ran through my veins and I could keep nothing from her. I didn't have to lie, to deceive, or pretend to be something I was not. That first night, when we had sex, it was like I had been reborn.
And it didn't matter to me that I saw another's face when I held her. For a brief while, I was able to retreat to a place of safety, to an earlier time when all that was required of me was to simply obey my maker. The feeling thrilled me, and enthralled me. The thought of going back to the life of politics and lies disgusted me; the way it might feel to bathe and then be forced to wrap your clean body in filthy, grimy clothes.
I would never return, I decided, but I would do right by the human that had saved my life. I owed her that much, at least. I would arrange for her care, both financially and physically. My Sheriff would go to her, and she would be safe under his protection. Perhaps she would even grow to care for him. She would never see his true face any more than she saw mine, but he would be able to keep up the facade far longer than I. Living a life of deception suited him well and he would not be burdened by it as I had been.
Her absence would grieve me, I knew, but I was vampire and human lives were fleeting. I would forget her very name in time.
And that's what I had told myself, and that is what I believed until the night my maker made her true intentions known to me. It was like a spell had been broken. I saw clearly what I had done, and it horrified me. It was then I understood that my sire, too, had been hiding behind a mask, and this time I had been on the receiving end of the deception. And I had paid dearly.
I was still paying.
I heard the two vampire guests laughing, joking, mocking my maker for her inability to make me obey her. I didn't have to look at her to know she was outwardly smiling, but inside she was no doubt enraged.
I listened a bit longer, slipping in and out of sleep. I heard the door to the room open, and close, and then I saw a blinding white light flash behind my eyes as a crushing blow from the poker landed on the side of my head. I felt a strong hand grip my chin, and I forced my swollen eyes to open. My makers face was twisted in fury.
"How dare you defy me," she spit and she struck me again, this time time a pummeled blow to my thigh. I nearly choked on the painful cry that caught in my throat.
"You embarrass me in front of others; you cause me to be mocked, and for what!?"
She was shaking with rage now, and she raised the poker as if to strike me again, but instead she threw it across the room and it crashed into the wall, causing the entire room to shake. Then she was on me like an enraged animal.
She used her bare hands to hit, and slap and pummel me with a crazed furor that was as frightening as it was effective in its desired intent to inflict pain.
She growled, she hissed, she kicked and scratched and pulled out handfuls of my hair. I couldn't even bring myself to fight against the assault. As always, I welcomed to the blows, relished them for what they were. I was being punished, as was my due - not for my silence, but for my errant willingness to seek refuge from my duty. And for my betrayal of the one I held dear.
The smell of fresh blood served to pull me back from the place in my head where I had retreated. My makers hands were covered in red, and her eyes were black as pitch with her hatred. Her face was going in and out of focus, and I felt my body weakening and slipping away.
My maker turned at the sound of an opening door, and I didn't need to shift my gaze to know the Weres had returned. Their scent was overpowering, even stronger than usual since they had spent the night under the full moon. My maker barked something at them I couldn't decipher, and they retreated from the room. My hearing was not as it should be, and I felt little trickles of blood flowing from ears and down the sides of my face and neck.
My maker turned back to me and she held my chin in her hand and leaned very close. Her power was invading my mind, and I felt like my head would explode under the pressure.
"This is your last chance," she said in a dark voice. "When I return tonight, the time for talking will have passed. I will take you apart piece by piece. Your final death will not come swiftly, and you will be begging for it before I'm through."
She stood up and looked at me for a long moment, waiting to see if her threats would cause me to break. Her face betrayed her fury when I held my tongue. She didn't understand that her words, her promise of my demise, comforted me down to my very soul. I was ready.
But then she smirked.
"I know what you're thinking, Bill. You think when I kill you, it will all be over, don't you? But you're wrong."
She leaned down once more, whispered in my ear in a voice that was at once both seductive and taunting. "When you leave this world, I want you to take this knowledge with you: I will find what I seek, even if I have to tear that little town of yours apart. And I'm not just talking about the database, Bill. Your human whore will be mine, too."
The words she spoke, and the truth I could hear behind them, almost severed my final, tenuous hold on reality. I shuddered under the chains, causing them to grind against my flesh, but this time the pain didn't reach me. My maker almost salivated at my reaction.
"Don't be troubled," she soothed, and she stoked my face. "I won't kill her. Not right away, at least. Perhaps I'll keep her as my pet."
She stood straight once more, and I forced myself to look up into her eyes. My vision was fading, and I couldn't focus, but I was certain she was smiling down at me. I had taken every abuse she had thrown at me, every insult, every degradation, to protect my love. And had it all been for nothing? Would this she-demon really track her down even after my final death?
Yes. Yes, I knew she would. And for the first time in my entire existence, I truly hated my sire. I pictured her dead, staked, burning. I couldn't move to do the deed myself, but I willed it to be so.
My maker slapped my face once more, hard. My head rolled to the side, then fell to my chest. I heard bitter laughter.
"You alway were a disappointment, Bill."
She all but spit the final words, then she turned and strode from the room, and I was left alone with the pain, and the silver, and the hunger and with my own, terrible thoughts. I deserved the fate my maker planned for me, but the beautiful and vibrant mortal woman I loved surely did not. I wanted to go to her, put myself in her way and protect her with my life. But I couldn't. My helplessness was shameful to me.
The call to rest was pulling at me, but before I succumbed I pictured her face and her soft, curvy form. And even though it inflamed my hunger, I recalled her scent and her uniquely exquisite taste. My hours were numbered now, and I knew I had nothing left to lose, so I also permitted myself one, final indulgence.
"Sookie," I whispered aloud.
Feeling her name on my tongue caused my battered body to fill with an all-encompassing wave of familiarity, so strong I almost believed I could feel her presence nearby. I knew then that I was losing my grip on reality once more, but something deep inside was willing me to hold on just a little while longer.
I had long since abandoned any religious beliefs, but at that moment, I prayed.
Chapter Four
As I prayed, I began to drift in and out of a restless slumber. I could still feel my maker's presence, like a damp blanket, trying to extinguish the final remnants of my will. I needed to sleep, my body was demanding it, but I was desperate to stay awake, to get away, to keep fighting. How could I just sit here, waiting for my final death, when I knew the plans my sire had devised for my love?
For the first time in many long nights, I tried to struggle against the chains. It was useless, of course; my tortured and starved body was no match for the silver. My efforts served only to weaken me further, and I clenched my teeth together in impotent rage. I didn't even have the strength inside me to scream aloud at my own uselessness.
I despaired.
Maybe the stories really were true, I thought absently. Maybe I really was devoid of a soul. Maybe I truly had been abandoned by God.
And maybe this unrelenting pain and my tortured thoughts was my very own, personal hell.
My head fell forward in utter defeat, and the last remnants of hope seemed to drain away. It was all over, I knew. My life; my mission; my chance at redemption. I had lost it all.
With the most overwhelming feeling of despondence I had ever experienced, I closed my eyes and succumbed to oblivion. And I dreamed.
My ragged mind conjured up visions, both horrible and wonderful. My existence lay bare before me, and I saw myself as though I was watching a play. I saw my maker most clearly. I recalled the night she claimed me as her own, remembered the fear and the pain as I died. I saw myself rising as vampire, and watched while I fed for the first time, killing my victim as if in a frenzy.
But it wasn't the first time I had killed.
The visions changed and I saw myself again, but this time I was far different. I was breathing, warm with the blood that pumped through my veins. I was in a familiar uniform, in a shallow trench, cut off from the others in my unit. I was hungry and in pain from festering wounds. I saw someone running toward me, an enemy soldier, and his eyes were filled with a terrible rage. His weapon was raised as he charged forward. He was coming to kill me, and I was terrified. There in that trench, alone, I prayed.
My past swirled away then, and I returned to the present. But something had changed while I had been drifting through time. My senses flared, and I realized I was no longer alone. I looked up, stared into blue eyes I never thought I'd see again, gazed at the face that had haunted my soul for so long. Something stirred deep inside me; something akin to hope. I was mesmerized.
Some part of my mind understood that I was dreaming - hallucinating, really. It had happened before, many times, since the night I was first placed in the chains. My reality was becoming distorted again, getting tangled up with the misty world of sleep-deprived fantasy. But I didn't care anymore. There was no reason left to fight, I had nothing left to lose and nothing left to give. So I relished the illusion that stood before me; the image of my Sookie, gazing at me from across the room.
She raised her hand, put a delicate finger to her lips and moved toward me. She wanted me to be silent, yes, that is what the gesture meant. I watched her, astonished. I had dreamed of her for so long, begged fate to allow me to see her once more, and I had been mercifully rewarded. It was more than I could have hoped for; more than I deserved. And I didn't care if she was simply and illusion, I would do anything she asked of me, anything at all. And if she wanted my silence, then yes, I would give her that.
She came closer and my ravaged mind conjured up the memory of her scent, so strong and so tangible, I almost believed she was real. But she couldn't be real, could she? My Sookie, my love, was safe and far from here. Wasn't she? The vision came closer.
"Key," a soft voice whispered in my ear, and I had to struggle to understand the meaning of the word. I tried to speak, and failed. I tried to focus my eyes on the place near the door that held the keys to my freedom, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from the face that looked down on me with urgency and resolve. She was more lovely than I remembered.
I forced myself to concentrate. She wanted something, and I could not deny her. I tested my fingers, tried to move them, one by one. Every movement was agonizing, but finally I found a finger that was left unbroken and I used it to point, as best I could, at the keys on the wall.
I watched the vision of my Sookie as it moved back across the room. Sleep was pulling at me now, harder than ever, but I refused to allow my eyes to close, lest my love disappear. And she would, I knew. Or would she?
A terrible thought bubbled in my mind, and I was instantly and desperately afraid. How much time had passed since my maker had left me alone? Had it been hours? Days? I had no concept of time any longer, and I had been drifting. I had also been close to breaking under the torture.....had I? Had I revealed the name my maker wanted? Had she found my love and brought her to this place, to torture her before me?
My God, maybe this vision wasn't just a hallucination. Could my beloved really be here, now, in this room? I struggled to clear my head, to think past the pain and the pull to sleep, but I was too far gone to understand anything with clarity now. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping when I opened them that she would be gone. She had to be gone, she needed to be gone! If she was real, then she was in terrible danger, and I had truly, finally, failed her.
I opened my eyes after a moment, and saw nothing before me but the dank room, the bare light, and the familiar patterns of blood. I was flooded with relief. She wasn't here; she was safe. But then I saw the keys that were a constant fixture in my line of sight were gone.
No!
I heard the sound of breathing behind me, felt the tug as the locks that bound me to the silver chains came free. And then I knew it was all too real. I felt anger rise within me, and a dreadful fear. My maker was still here and she was still awake; I could feel her. She would kill my Sookie. Kill her, or worse. I felt like a cold hand had reached into my chest and grabbed hold of my silent heart.
Had I done this, I wondered? I had wished so fervently to see my love again. Was this my final punishment for my crimes? To have my dream fulfilled, and then see it twisted into a nightmare when my maker turned her vile torments onto my love?
Searing pain ripped into me then, ending my train of thought. My flesh was being flayed, stripped away slowly as the silver chains were unwound. I nearly cried out, I wanted to cry out, but I held my silence. My love had asked me to be silent, I remembered this, and I concentrated on accomplishing that one, small task. The stench from my charred flesh became more pronounced as the last of the chains fell away and it filled my nostrils, masking my love's unique scent.
I felt arms gently encircle me, and I heard whispered words in my ear. I was so tired now, so utterly exhausted, I could scarcely concentrate to understand what my darling was trying to tell me. There was a car, she said. She was going to drive me away. Did I understand, she wanted to know. I nodded.
Oh yes, this was something I definitely understood. For the second time, this fragile mortal was going to save me. And for the second time, I knew I didn't deserve it. My guilt threatened to overwhelm me, and I vowed to make amends for my mistakes. I would earn this chance she was giving me.
"Who the hell are you?"
I flinched. I knew that voice. I knew that scent. I knew the agonizing pressure that invaded my head, forcing my submission.
I cringed. This was it; the culmination of my torture. My love was going to pay the price of my failure, and I was going to be forced to watch.
I fought against the compulsion to heel, the desire to heel. I couldn't let this happen, I had to protect my Sookie. But I couldn't move; I was too weak from the hunger and the torture and the lack of sleep. And worse, the more I tried to fight, the stronger the crushing pressure in my mind became. I felt my knees begin to buckle under the strain.
My brain worked desperately to find a way, some way, to save my Sookie from this she-demon. I had no physical strength and my mind was in shreds. What did I have left to give to her?
Words were spoken, vile and taunting, and then the scene before me began to alter, and time seemed to slow to a crawl.
My maker's eyes went wide, her fangs descended and she began to charge. I felt my love's terror as my own, and then I understood I had been wrong, I was not helpless to protect her. I remembered that a part of me was still strong and vital - the part I had gifted to her when I gave her my blood. That piece of me was still safe inside her, and it couldn't be taken away or diminished.
I rallied the last vestiges of my strength, and I gave as much of myself as I could to her through my blood. And at that moment, my tenuous hold on reality broke away.
I was suddenly back in that trench so many years ago, in another lifetime, a human lifetime. I saw the enemy soldier charging at me, weapon raised. I knew I was going to die if I didn't act, and without conscious thought I grabbed my own weapon from the ground and held it in both hands, angling it upward....
And as I watched myself in my vision, I saw my Sookie mimic the gesture exactly, raising up a wooden stake, holding it in both hands, angling it upward...
I felt my arms go rigid as the enemy soldier lunged at me. I heard the tearing of his flesh as he was impaled upon my bayonet, felt the shudder of his body as he realized what happened. His eyes went wide, then dulled, and he whispered a single word before he died.....
I watched as my Sookie's arms went rigid when my maker lunged at her. I heard the sound of the stake as it pierced my sire's flesh. I watched as my maker's eyes went wide with shock, then dulled. I heard her whisper a single word...
"No."
And the excruciating pressure in my head was suddenly relieved, my mind became my own again, and a terrible and wonderful sense of loneliness and emptiness consumed me.
I was free.
I stared at the lifeless heap on the floor, the remains of the woman that had taken my life and demanded my loyalty. Then I stared at her killer, the woman that had given me back my life and gifted me with her love.
Even if I would have had the strength to speak, at that moment I knew there were no words to describe the whirlwind of emotion spinning inside of me.
Sookie had never killed before, and she fell to her knees on the floor. I had done the same, long ago, after I killed for the first time. After I pulled my bayonet out of the body of that young, enemy soldier, I had fallen to my knees, feeling sick at heart.
I don't know how much time passed, but after a while Sookie was speaking again. She asked me a question.
"That was Lorena?"
I nodded, curious as to why that name no longer held any power over me.
I felt my love cover me with something warm and heavy, felt her haul me to my feet. She willed me to move, both with her words and her actions. She half carried me, and a portion of my mind wondered at her unnatural strength.
I forced my feet to move, but I felt as though I was trying to walk through quicksand. Every step was a struggle, and only the sound of her voice kept me putting one foot in front of another.
And then a door opened and I felt sunlight explode in my eyes. I heard myself moan, and the last of my strength gave way. All coherent thought dissolved as the call to sleep took control. I felt myself falling, hitting something hard and rolling. Then I felt nothing at all.
Chapter FiveI was dreaming.
No, not dreaming; I was in the grip of a nightmare, a memory from long ago rising up from somewhere deep inside.
I was young, maybe ten years old. I had gone swimming with my sister, Sarah, and one of her friends from a neighboring farm. The day had gotten quite hot, and I had told my parents I would take the girls to the nearby lake and watch over them.
The sun was high in the sky, and I felt it's sting on my skin. We were taking turns diving into the water, seeing who could go the farthest out, the deepest. It was an innocent game, a child's game, and I wanted to impress the girls. When my turn was called, I swam much too far and ended up in the deep center of the lake. I had worked hard in the fields that morning with my father, and my young muscles were aching and tired. As I started to make the swim back to shore, my strength began to fail and my leg cramped up painfully.
In my nightmare, I was there and it was happening all over again. I could feel my panic, my desperation and fear as I began to drown. I flailed, struggling and kicking and gasping as I fought to keep my face above the water. But I couldn't. I went under once, twice and then again and again. I could hear my sister calling to me. She sounded so far away, her voice choked with fear. As I bobbed up and down in the water, I caught a glimpse of her friend running away in the direction of my house. Then I was pulled under again, and I felt warm water being sucked down my lungs and into my throat.
I coughed and sputtered and after what seemed like an eternity, I felt something grab hold of me, and I latched on to it with a crazed desperation. I would find out later that it was my little sister, who had bravely decided to try to save me. But I didn't recognize her, I couldn't even see her. I was no longer thinking, not even really feeling. My mind had switched off and all that was left was some primal instinct to survive. I knew only that I needed to live, and I clawed and kicked and finally managed to get my head above the water again. I took a choking breath, feeling life-giving air fill my lungs.
For just a fraction of a moment, I thought I heard a voice calling to me. Bill! Bill, honey, it's me! Then the moment was gone, taking all reason and conscious thought with it. I sucked at the air and found I was instantly stronger, the oxygen flowing through me welcome and desperately needed.
What I didn't know at the time, what horrified me later, was that I had been pushing little Sarah under the water during my desperate struggle. I had been using her as leverage to keep myself afloat, and in my unthinking and instinctive battle to live, I had nearly drowned her instead. My precious sister; younger than me, smaller than me, and the one I had vowed to protect. My God, I had nearly killed her.
Thankfully, my father - who had been alerted to the crises by the neighbor girl - reached us in time, and was able to tear me off of Sarah before she drowned. Later, I would see the bruise on my cheek and ear where my father had slapped me, very hard, in an attempt to stun me so I would release the vice grip I held on my little sister. I remembered the strike, so real I thought I was feeling it again now. There was a sharp sting, and even in the hold of the nightmare I felt the pain.
The pain.
Something shifted, and my nightmare changed drastically. I was no longer a human child drowning in a lake, I was a vampire in silver chains, held immobile while all manner of horrifying tortures were practiced on my body. Blades, sleep deprivation, pincers, pokers, starvation; all manner of brutality was being inflicted upon me. I could see myself writhing in pain, could feel the smell of my charred flesh, and then I could see my maker, taunting me with blood, and sex.
It all felt so real, too real, and some animalistic fire flared up inside me. I could remember clearly how my maker had driven me mad with lust, how she had inflamed me, only to laugh when she denied me. I recalled, too, the dark haired woman, Debbie, and how she had mocked my agony by offering herself to me. She had known full well the effects her taunts had on me, and she found amusement in knowing that I was utterly helpless to take her.
My brain conjured up another vision then, more a dream, really. And this time when my lust was fueled, there were no chains to bind me, no weakness to prevent me from taking what I needed, and I did. I could almost feel myself pressed against a soft body, could nearly smell the blood I had been denied. Miraculously, though I was surely still locked in a fantasy, I began to feel stronger, less tortured, more like myself than I had felt in many, many nights.
Something started to happen at that moment; some sliver of understanding seeped into my head and I began to break away from the nightmare world and return to reality.
It was as if my mind was a darkened place, void and full of shadows. And little by little, piece by piece, the lights began to blink on. First, I recognized the pleasurable sensations that reminded me of sex. Then I felt movement beneath me, pressure on my arms and chest, like someone was pushing against me. Finally, I began to comprehend that my tongue and throat had recently been quenched with fresh blood. And not just any blood; the taste on my lips was too sweet, too unique. It seemed to call to me, and I knew I was on the verge of awareness. There was something so familiar here, something I knew I should recognize, but it was just out of reach.
Slowly, painfully slow, the final, murky corners of my mind were flooded with an explosion of light. My mind became my own again, awareness returned, and I understood that I had been in the grasp of the monster- that ugly and primitive creature that rose up in times of great hunger or rage. It took me a moment to recognize the monster, for it had been decades since it had forced it's presence on me. But once I knew what it was, I was able to reign it in, control it and cast it back to the black pit from whence it came.
In the space of a heartbeat, all of the dreadful events of the past nights came back to me. I understood I was not dreaming, I was near something soft and surrounded by warmth. The taste and smell of blood was very real, and with shock born of disbelief, I finally recognized the unique flavor all too well.
"Sookie?" I asked hesitantly, quietly. It couldn't be her, but yet I knew it was her. I felt elation rise up inside me, and I replayed the events in my head, the scenes I had believed were merely fantasies.
"It is you," I breathed in wonderment. "You were really there, in that room...."
I felt her body pressed to mine, felt myself inside her warmth. It was so familiar, but also so different. Her arms weren't holding me, her lips weren't reaching for mine. Her breathing was ragged, but not from passion, and her heartbeat- the sound I treasured above all others- was strangely weak.
This wasn't right. What was I missing? What happened here? Why was I in this dark, confined place? I struggled to concentrate, to find the answers I sought. Sookie was here, now. She had come for me, she had saved me and killed my maker. But why? How? There were so many questions here.
My love spoke to me then, said my name, and her voice was raspy and weak like I'd never heard. But it was her voice.
"It is you," I said again, but I was suddenly concerned. She wasn't moving, was barely responding and I began to panic. Had she been harmed? "Are you alright?"
"No," she answered, and she almost sobbed the word.
With a terrible sense of foreboding, I began to fully comprehend the situation. It didn't matter how or why it had happened, the only thing that mattered was that my love had found me, tortured and starving....
Starving!
And then I knew. I hadn't been drowning and gasping for air, I had been starving and grasping for blood. And I knew my instincts well, knew the power they held over me.
"Did I," I asked, and horror laced my words. "Have I....have I taken more blood than I should?"
She didn't respond right away, and in those precious seconds I felt a fear and dread greater than any I had ever experienced, either in my human or vampire life. My worst fears, the very words I had spoken to her so long ago, had come to pass. I had turned on her, I realized. I had turned on her that loved and trusted me. I knew my hunger had been at a fever pitch, and I knew very well the extent of my strength and the damage I could inflict when provoked. If I had indeed taken too much from her....
I vowed at that moment to meet the sun.
I waited, but she didn't answer. I concentrated on her heartbeat and her breathing, and was relieved to find that it was staying at an even tempo. This was a good sign, wasn't it? If I had drained her to the point of the death, she would be slipping away by now, wouldn't she? I considered a moment, contemplated what I would do if she began to fade. Would I let her go? Could I?
With resolution, I pushed the thought away. My love was going to live, I would see to that. I wondered if the simple strength of my belief would make it so.
I adjusted slightly, trying to take my weight off of her as much as I could, and I felt a telltale pleasure. I realized I was inside her, a fact I had completely dismissed in my amazement and anxiety.
"I seem to be having sex with you in a closet," I said, and the words sounded off, even to my ears. Was this a closet? Oh my God, was this even sex? I felt myself tense as the true magnitude of the situation dawned on me. I cringed, tried to find the words to ask what I needed to ask.
"Did you, ah, volunteer?"
I dreaded the answer, and my fears were realized when I felt her shake her head.
"Oh, no," I whispered, ashamed and beyond horrified. "Oh, no."
I immediately went about the business of righting her and myself. As I did, I fought back rage. What had I done? I recalled what she had told me about her childhood violations, and my fury at myself and the monster increased a hundred fold.
In the midst of my violent thoughts, I felt my love shudder, and gasp for breath. I had to get us out of this place, this closet, or wherever we were. I had to make this right, and the first step was going to be to get her to safety, to a place where I could view her injuries and treat them. I used my hands to inspect the little area. I felt rough carpeting, and metal, and there was a smell of gasoline.
"Car trunk," I murmured, and I couldn't begin to imagine what madness had convinced my Sookie to lock herself in such a place with me. What was she thinking, I wondered? And for just a moment I was angry at her, taken aback at her recklessness. She had to live, didn't she know that? Why had she risked herself for me?
"I need air," she said, and even to my ears it was barely audible.
"Why didn't you say so?" I asked, and I immediately cringed at my words. I was letting my anxiousness over the predicament get the best of me. I couldn't allow that.
I punched a hole through the trunk, and I felt a rush of cool air. Sookie shivered, and for a moment I wished I had a normal, human body temperature, so I could help keep her warm.
I calmed myself, forced myself to concentrate on what needed to be done. I knew she was weak, and I was going to help her, but before I could do that, I had to understand what was happening. Were we still at the compound in Mississippi? Had we been captured again? Were we hiding? I knew I was going to sound cold, but time was of the essence now. I could feel her heartbeat start to falter.
"Where are we? I asked her, and she explained as best she could, something about a person named Alcide, and a parking garage. She told me to drink the bottled blood, and I felt around, trying to find it. And she told me Eric was coming.
Why my Sheriff was here, why he was with Sookie, was another in a long list of unanswered questions. Had he brought her here to find me? Had the Queen contacted him, perhaps? I had no idea what his presence meant, no clue as to what his motives might be - and Eric had layers upon layers of motives. But right now I didn't care what they might be. Twisty as he was, Eric was still my Sheriff, and as such, he was under certain obligations, and one of those was to assist the vampires in his area if the need arose. And that obligation also extended to Sookie, since she was mine by rights.
And at this moment, she and I were most certainly in need.
I popped open a bottle of True Blood and drank it down. I was desperate to heal quickly and regain some strength. I would rip this trunk from it's hinges if I had to, to get her to safety. I heard her breath grow even more shallow.
"Sookie," I said, trying and failing not to sound panicked. "Are you all right?"
She didn't answer, and just as I was about to attempt to kick the trunk open, a heard the sound of metal being torn, smelled a familiar scent very close by.
The trunk lid disappeared, and I looked up at Eric. His normally arrogant expression was replaced by one of surprise and confusion.
"What are you two doing in there?" he asked.
I started to answer, but then I felt Sookie go completely limp against my arm. I looked down at her face, and her eyes fluttered shut. I was out of that trunk in a heartbeat, and I gathered her up in the blanket she had used to shield me from the sunlight. I hauled her into my arms, and her head lolled against my chest.
"We need to get her help," I said, but Eric had already sized up the situation and was moving toward a set of stairs. There was an elevator, but we could move faster on our own.
"What happened?" Eric asked as we bounded up the steps, stopping at the fifth floor.
"Long story," I said abruptly, and the Sheriff looked at me with disapproving eyes.
"Why was she in the trunk with you?" he clarified, and I shook my head. Apparently that wasn't part of their rescue plan, and I had no idea how or why she had come to be trapped inside with me.
Eric pounded on a door, and a dark haired man - a Were - answered. He looked at Eric, then to me, then to Sookie in my arms and his eyes went dark. He stepped back to allow us entry, and then escorted us quickly to a small bedroom and flipped on the lights. I could smell Sookie's scent lingering in the room, and I wondered at her involvement with this Were.
But that was a concern for another time. Eric disappeared with the Were, and I lay Sookie on the bed gently. I stepped back a bit, and for the first time I was able to get a look at the damage I had done to my love.
Her skin was pale, so pale. Her lips were dry, and her breathing was so shallow the rise and fall of her chest was barely perceptible. Her hair was tangled and matted with blood in some places. But the most horrific of all was the jagged wounds on her neck, still open and oozing blood. I felt a cold chill strike deep inside me as I looked at the bite marks the monster, the vampire that I was, had inflicted.
I sat down on the bed beside her, and took hold of her hand. She was cold now, and her hand lay limp in mine. I was tempted to tear open my own wrist and feed her, but I hesitated. I had nearly drained her, and giving her my blood now could be very dangerous. I knew she had no desire to become vampire, and I would not risk that.
Just then Eric returned, with the Were right on his heels. They carried bottles of True Blood, and a pitcher and a glass.
"Give it to me," I said immediately, and Eric handed me one of the bottles. I positioned myself against the headboard of the bed, and hauled Sookie's unconscious body up so she was leaning against my chest. I tipped her head back, placed the bottle to her lips and helped her drink. It was slow progress, but it was working.
While I fed her, Eric and I talked. He explained a little about the circumstances that had brought he and Sookie to Mississippi, and I told him a little - very little - about my own experiences at the compound.
After a time, we both fell silent, and I focused on Sookie. She was moving a bit on her own, and I began to have hope that she would fully recover. She finished off one bottle, and I sat it down on the little table by the bed. I stroked her cheek with my hand, and pushed her hair back from her face. My thoughts and emotions were in turmoil. I watched Sookie's silent face, both hoping for and fearing her waking.
I recalled the nightmare I had earlier, the memory from my childhood, when I nearly killed my own sister. That night, my family gathered in the main room of our house, as we always did. My father read aloud from the Bible while my brother and I listened - or pretended to listen, as boys will do. My mother sat in her rocking chair in front of the fireplace, and Sarah sat cross legged in front of her. My mother brushed Sarah's long hair, like she did every night.
I watched my little sister sitting there in her long nightgown, looking so small. My father had explained what happened, how people could sometimes lose all control over themselves when they are in great danger. I knew I could have killed my sister, and the remorse and shame I felt as I looked at her was almost more than I could stand. I wanted to thank her for swimming out to save me, I wanted to hug her and tell her I was sorry for hurting her. But I was young, and my child's mind couldn't find the words.
Instead, I got up from where I was sitting and walked over to my mother. I held out my hand without saying a word. Sarah glanced up at me with big, trusting eyes, and my mother exchanged a look with my father before smiling at me gently and standing up.
My mother handed me the hairbrush, and I took her place in the rocking chair. I started to brush Sarah's hair, awkwardly at first, then the motions became smooth and natural. Sarah and I never spoke a word about the incident at the lake, but I was the one to brush her hair from that night on.
I smiled a little at the memory, but then Sookie stirred and it brought me back to the present. Eric handed me a glass of blood, and I held it while Sookie sipped at it.
There were so many things I wanted to tell her, so many things I needed to explain. I didn't even know where to begin, and the task seemed daunting. I would make amends for my unfaithfulness, that went without saying. I would even find a way around the deception and the lies that bound me to my world and had served to distance me from the life I wanted. I could do this; I knew I could.
Truly, we were not so different, vampires and humans. We were both bound by the laws of our nature, as well as by the laws of our authority. We held within us the capacity for great evil, but also great love. Our similarities were far and away more important than our differences.
All I needed was the chance to prove myself worthy.
And she would surely give me that chance. She would look at my failings, and my resolute conviction to make amends, and she would be able to forgive. She would be able to see me as I truly was, as the man that loved her and cherished her above all others.
Wouldn't she?
Fine'
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