Dead until Dark ss(v-1

by Шарлин Харрис

  "I'll miss you," he said. His voice was just a breath in the air, but I heard him. I felt him kiss the top of my head, and then he stepped away from me and out the front door. I heard his voice on the front porch as he gave Bubba some last minute directions, and I heard the squeak of the swing as Bubba got up.

  I didn't look out the window until I heard Bill's car going down the driveway. Then I saw Bubba sauntering into the woods. I told myself, as I took my shower, that Bill must trust Bubba since he'd left him guarding me. But I still wasn't sure who I was more afraid of: the murderer Bubba was watching for, or Bubba himself.

  WORK THE next day, Arlene asked me why the vam­pire had been at my house. I wasn't surprised that she'd brought it up.

  "Well, Bill had to go out of town, and he worries, you know ..." I was hoping to let it drop at that. But Charlsie had drifted up (we weren't at all busy: the Chamber of Com­merce was having a lunch and speaker at Fins and Hooves, and the Ladies' Prayers and Potatoes group were topping their baked potatoes at old Mrs. Bellefleur's huge house).

  "You mean," Charlsie said with starry eyes, "that your man got you a personal bodyguard?" I nodded reluctantly. You could put it that way. "That's so romantic," Charlsie sighed. You could look at it that way.

  "But you should see him," Arlene told Charlsie, having held her tongue as long as she could. "He's exactly like—!"

  "Oh, no, not when you talk to him," I interrupted. "He's not at all the same." That was true. "And he really doesn't like it when he hears that name."

  "Oh," said Arlene in a hushed voice, as if Bubba could be listening in the broad daylight.

  "I do feel safer with Bubba in the woods," I said, which was more or less true.

  "Oh, he doesn't stay in the house?" Charlsie asked, clearly a little disappointed.

  "God, no!" I said, then mentally apologized to God for taking his name in vain. I was having to do that a lot lately. "No, Bubba stays in the woods at night, watching the house."

  "Was that true about the cats?" Arlene looked squeamish.

  "He was just joking. Not a great sense of humor, huh?" I was lying through my teeth. I certainly believed Bubba en­joyed a snack of cat blood.

  Arlene shook her head, unconvinced. It was time to change the subject. "Did you and Rene have fun on your evening out?" I asked.

  "Rene was so good last night, wasn't he?" she said, her cheeks pink.

  A much-married woman, blushing. "You tell me." Arlene enjoyed a little ribald teasing.

  "Oh, you! What I mean, he was real polite to Bill and even that Bubba."

  "Any reason why he wouldn't be?"

  "He has kind of a problem with vampires, Sookie." Arlene shook her head. "I know, I do, too," she confessed when I looked at her with raised eyebrows. "But Rene really has some, prejudice. Cindy dated a vampire for a while, and that just made Rene awful upset."

  "Cindy okay?" I had a great interest in the health of some­one who'd dated a vamp.

  "I haven't seen her," Arlene admitted, "but Rene goes to visit every other week or so. She's doing well, she's back on the right track. She has a job in a hospital cafeteria."

  Sam, who'd been standing behind the bar loading the re­frigerator with bottled blood, said, "Maybe Cindy would like to move back home. Lindsey Krause quit the other shift be­cause she's moving to Little Rock."

  That certainly focussed our attention. Merlotte's was be­coming seriously understaffed. For some reason, low-level service jobs had dropped in popularity in the last couple of months.

  "You interviewed anyone else?" Arlene asked. "I'll have to go through the files," Sam said wearily. I knew that Arlene and I were the only barmaids, waitresses, servers, whatever you wanted to call us, that Sam had hung on to for more then two years. No, that wasn't true; there was Susanne Mitchell, on the other shift. Sam spent lots of time hiring and occasionally firing. "Sookie, would you have a look through the file, see if there's anyone there you know has moved, anyone already got a job, anyone you really rec­ommend? That would save me some time."

  "Sure," I said. I remembered Arlene doing the same thing a couple of years ago when Dawn had been hired. We had more ties to the community than Sam, who never seemed to join anything. Sam had been in Bon Temps for six years now, and I had never met anyone who seemed to know about Sam's life prior to his buying the bar here.

  I settled down at Sam's desk with the thick file of appli­cations. After a few minutes, I could tell I was really making a difference. I had three piles: moved, employed elsewhere, good material. Then I added a fourth and fifth stack: a pile for people I couldn't work with because I couldn't stand them, and a pile for the dead. The first form on the fifth pile had been filled out by a girl who'd died in a car accident last Christmas, and I felt sorry for her folks all over again when I saw her name at the top of the form. The other application was headed "Maudette Pickens."

  Maudette had applied for a job with Sam three months before her death. I guess working at Grabbit Kwik was pretty uninspiring. When I glanced over the filled-in blanks and noticed how poor Maudette's handwriting and spelling had been, it made me feel pitiful all over again. I tried to imagine my brother thinking of having sex with this woman—and filming it—was a worthwhile way to spend his time, and I marvelled at Jason's strange mentality. I hadn't seen him since he'd driven off with Desiree. I hoped he'd gotten home in one piece. That gal was a real handful. I wished he'd settle down with Liz Barrett: she had enough backbone to hold him up, too.

  Whenever I thought about my brother lately, it was to worry. If only he hadn't known Maudette and Dawn so well! Lots of men knew them both, apparently, both casually and carnally. They'd both been vampire bitten. Dawn had liked rough sex, and I didn't know Maudette's proclivities. Lots of men got gas and coffee at the Grabbit Kwik, and lots of men came in to get a drink here, too. But only my stupid brother had recorded sex with Dawn and Maudette on film.

  I stared at the big plastic cup on Sam's desk, which had been full of iced tea. "The Big Kwencher from Grabbit Kwik" was written in neon orange on the side of the green cup. Sam knew them both, too. Dawn had worked for him, Maudette had applied for a job here.

  Sam sure didn't like me dating a vampire. Maybe he didn't like anyone dating a vampire.

  Sam walked in just then, and I jumped like I'd been doing something bad. And I had, in my book. Thinking evil of a friend was a bad thing to do.

  "Which is the good pile?" he asked, but he gave me a puzzled look.

  I handed him a short stack of maybe ten applications. "This gal, Amy Burley," I said, indicating the one on top, "has experience, she's only subbing at the Good Times Bar, and Charlsie used to work with her there. So you could check with Charlsie first."

  "Thanks, Sookie. This'll save me some trouble."

  I nodded curtly in acknowledgment.

  "Are you all right?" he asked. "You seem kind of distant today."

  I looked at him closely. He looked just like he always did. But his mind was closed to me. How could he do that? The only other mind completely closed to me was Bill's, because of his vampire state. But Sam was sure no vampire.

  "Just missing Bill," I said deliberately. Would he lecture me about the evils of dating a vampire?

  Sam said, "It's daytime. He couldn't very well be here."

  "Of course not," I said stiffly, and was about to add, "He's out of town." Then I asked myself if that was a smart thing to do when I had even a hint of suspicion in my heart about my boss. I left the office so abruptly that Sam stared after me in astonishment.

  When I saw Arlene and Sam having a long conversation later that day, their sidelong glances told me clearly that I was the topic. Sam went back to his office looking more worried than ever. But we didn't have any more chitchat the rest of the day.

  Going home that evening was hard because I knew I'd be alone until morning. When I'd been alone other evenings, I'd had the reassurance that Bill was just a phone call away. Now he wasn't. I tried to feel good about being guarded o
nce it was dark and Bubba crawled out of whatever hole he'd slept in, but I didn't manage it.

  I called Jason, but he wasn't home. I called Merlotte's, thinking he might be there, but Terry Bellefleur answered the phone and said Jason hadn't been in.

  I wondered what Sam was doing tonight. I wondered why he never seemed to date much. It wasn't for want of offers, I'd been able to observe many times.

  Dawn had been especially aggressive.

  That evening I couldn't think of anything that pleased me.

  I began wondering if Bubba was the hitman—hitvampire?—Bill had called when he wanted Uncle Bartlett bumped off. I wondered why Bill had chosen such a dim-witted creature to guard me.

  Every book I picked up seemed wrong, somehow. Every television show I tried to watch seemed completely ridicu­lous. I tried to read my Time and became incensed at the determination to commit suicide that possessed so many nations. I pitched the magazine across the room.

  My mind scrabbled around like a squirrel trying to get out of a cage. It couldn't light on anything or be comfortable anywhere.

  When the phone rang, I jumped a foot. "Hello?" I said harshly.

  "Jason's here now," Terry Bellefleur said. "He wants to buy you a drink."

  I thought uneasily about going out to the car, now that it was dark; about coming home to an empty house, at least a house I would have to hope was empty. Then I scolded my­self because, after all, there would be someone watching the house, someone very strong, if very brainless.

  "Okay, I'll be there in a minute," I said.

  Terry simply hung up. Mr. Chatterbox.

  I pulled on a denim skirt and a yellow T-shirt and, looking both ways, crossed the yard to my car. I'd left on every outside light, and I unlocked my car and scooted inside quick as a wink. Once inside the car, I relocked my door.

  This was sure no way to live.

  I AUTOMATICALLY PARKED in the employee lot when I got to Merlotte's. There was a dog pawing around the Dumpster, and I patted him on the head when I went in. We had to call the pound about once a week to come get some stray or dumped dogs, so many of them pregnant it just made me sick.

  Terry was behind the bar. "Hey," I said, looking around. "Where's Jason?" "He ain't here," Terry said. "I haven't seen him this eve­ning. I told you so on the phone."

  I gaped at him. "But you called me after that and said he had come in."

  "No, I didn't."

  We stared at each other. Terry was having one of his bad nights, I could tell. His head was writhing around on the inside with the snakes of his army service and his battle with alcohol and drugs. On the outside, you could see he was flushed and sweating despite the air conditioning, and his movements were jerky and clumsy. Poor Terry.

  "You really didn't?" I asked, in as neutral a tone as pos­sible.

  "Said so, didn't I?" His voice was belligerent.

  I hoped none of the bar patrons gave Terry trouble tonight.

  I backed out with a conciliatory smile.

  The dog was still at the back door. He whined when he saw me.

  "Are you hungry, fella?" I asked. He came right up to me, without the cringing I'd come to expect from strays. As he moved more into the light, I saw that this dog had been recently abandoned, if his glossy coat was any indicator. He was a collie, at least mostly. I started to step into the kitchen to ask whoever was cooking if they had any scraps for this guy, but then I had a better idea.

  "I know bad ol' Bubba is at the house, but maybe you could come in the house with me," I said in that baby voice I use with animals when I think nobody's listening. "Can you pee outside, so we don't make a mess in the house? Hmmm, boy?"

  As if he'd understood me, the collie marked the corner of the Dumpster.

  "Good fella! Come for a ride?" I opened my car door, hoping he wouldn't get the seats too dirty. The dog hesitated. "Come on, sugar, I'll give you something good to eat when we get to my place, okay?" Bribery was not necessarily a bad thing.

  After a couple more looks and a thorough sniffing of my hands, the dog jumped onto the passenger seat and sat look­ing out the windshield like he'd committed himself to this adventure.

  I told him I appreciated it, and I tickled his ears. We set off, and the dog made it clear he was used to riding.

  "Now, when we get to the house, buddy," I told the collie firmly, "we're gonna make tracks for the front door, okay? There's an ogre in the woods who'd just love to eat you up."

  The dog gave an excited yip.

  "Well, he's not gonna get a chance," I soothed him. It sure was nice to have something to talk to. It was even nice he couldn't talk back, at least for the moment. And I didn't have to keep my guard up because he wasn't human. Relaxing. "We're gonna hurry."

  "Woof," agreed my companion.

  "I got to call you something," I said. "How about... Buffy?"

  The dog growled.

  "Okay. Rover?"

  Whine.

  "Don't like that either. Hmmm." We turned into my drive­way.

  "Maybe you already have a name?" I asked. "Let me check your neck." After I turned off the engine, I ran my fingers through the thick hair. Not even a flea collar. "Some­one's been taking bad care of you, sweetie," I said. "But not anymore. I'll be a good mama." With that last inanity, I got my house key ready and opened my door. In a flash, the dog pushed past me and stood in the yard, looking around him alertly. He sniffed the air, and a growl rose in his throat.

  "It's just the good vampire, sugar, the one that's guarding the house. You come on inside." With some constant coax­ing, I got the dog to come into the house. I locked the door behind us instantly.

  The dog padded all around the living room, sniffing and peering. After watching him for a minute to be sure he wasn't going to chew on anything or lift his leg, I went to the kitchen to find something for him to eat. I filled a big bowl with water. I got another plastic bowl Gran had kept lettuce in, and I put the remains of Tina's cat food and some leftover taco meat in it. I figured if you'd been starving, that would be acceptable. The dog finally worked his back to the kitchen and headed for the bowls. He sniffed at the food and raised his head to give me a long look.

  "I'm sorry. I don't have any dog food. That's the best I could come up with. If you want to stay with me, I'll get some Kibbles 'N Bits." The dog stared at me for a few more seconds, then bent his head to the bowl. He ate a little meat, took a drink, and looked up at me expectantly. "Can I call you Rex?" A little growl. "What about Dean?" I asked. "Dean's a nice name." A pleasant guy who helped me at a Shreveport bookstore was named Dean. His eyes looked kind of like this collie's, ob­servant and intelligent. And Dean was a little different; I'd never met a dog named Dean. "I'll bet you're smarter than Bubba," I said thoughtfully, and the dog gave his short, sharp bark.

  "Well, come on, Dean, let's get ready for bed," I said, quite enjoying having something to talk to. The dog padded after me into the bedroom, checking out all the furniture very thoroughly. I pulled off the skirt and tee, put them away, and stepped out of my panties and unhooked my bra. The dog watched me with great attention while I pulled out a clean nightgown and went into the bathroom to shower. When I stepped out, clean and soothed, Dean was sitting in the door­way, his head cocked to one side.

  "That's to get clean, people like to have showers," I told him. "I know dogs don't. I guess it's a human thing." I brushed my teeth and pulled on my nightgown. "You ready for sleep, Dean?"

  In answer, he jumped up on the bed, turned in a circle, and lay down.

  "Hey! Wait a minute!" I'd certainly talked myself into that one. Gran would have a fit if she could know a dog was on her bed. Gran had believed animals were fine as long as they spent the night outside. Humans inside, animals outside, had been her rule. Well, now I had a vampire outside and a collie on my bed.

  I said, "You get down!" and pointed at the rug.

  The collie, slowly, reluctantly, descended from the bed. He eyed me reproachfully as he sat on the rug.
/>   "You stay there," I said sternly and got in the bed. I was very tired, and not nearly so nervous now that the dog was here; though what help I expected him to be in case of an intruder, I didn't know, since he didn't know me well enough to be loyal to me. But I would accept any comfort I could find, and I began to relax into sleep. Just as I was drifting off, I felt the bed indent under the weight of the collie. A narrow tongue gave my cheek a swipe. The dog settled close to me. I turned over and patted him. It was sort of nice having him here.

  The next thing I knew, it was dawn. I could hear the birds going to town outside, chirping up a storm, and it felt won­derful to be snuggled in bed. I could feel the warmth of the dog through my nightgown; I must have gotten hot during the night and thrown off the sheet. I drowsily patted the animal's head and began to stroke his fur, my fingers running idly through the thick hair. He wriggled even closer, sniffed my face, put his arm around me. His arm?

  I was off the bed and shrieking in one move.

  In my bed, Sam propped himself on his elbows, sunny side up, and looked at me with some amusement.

  "Oh, oh my God! Sam, how'd you get here? What are you doing? Where's Dean?" I covered my face with my hands and turned my back, but I'd certainly seen all there was to see of Sam.

  "Woof," said Sam, from a human throat, and the truth stomped over me in combat boots.

  I whirled back to face him, so angry I felt like I was going to blow a gasket.

  "You watched me undress last night, you ... you ... damn dog!"

  "Sookie," he said, persuasively. "Listen to me." Another thought struck me. "Oh, Sam. Bill will kill you."

  I sat on the slipper chair in the corner by the bathroom door.

  I put my elbows on my knees and hung my head. "Oh, no," I said. "No, no, no."

  He was kneeling in front of me. The wirey red-gold hair of his head was duplicated on his chest and trailed in a line down to ... I shut my eyes again.

  "Sookie, I was worried when Arlene told me you were going to be alone," Sam began.

  "Didn't she tell you about Bubba?"