Шарлин Харрис: Dead and Gone

I kept my eyes on the picture, I kept my face smiling, but I couldn’t stop my heart from sinking into my feet.

In the picture, Barry the Bellboy and I were standing together in the rubble of the Pyramid, the vampire hotel that a splinter Fellowship group had blown up the previous October. I was somewhat more recognizable than my companion, because Barry was standing in profile. I was facing the camera, unaware of it, my eyes on Barry’s face. We were both covered in dirt and blood, ash and dust.

“That’s you, Miss Stackhouse,” Lattesta said.

“Yes, it is.” Pointless to deny the woman in the picture was me, but I sure would have loved to have done so. Looking at the picture made me feel sick because it forced me to remember that day all too clearly.

“So you were staying at the Pyramid at the time of the explosion?”

“Yes, I was.”

“You were there in the employ of Sophie-Anne Leclerq, a vampire businesswoman. The so-called Queen of Louisiana.”

I started to tell him there had been no “so-called” about it, but discretion blocked those words. “I flew up there with her,” I said instead.

“And Sophie-Anne Leclerq sustained severe injuries in the blast?”

“I understand she did.”

“You didn’t see her after the explosion?”

“No.”

“Who is this man standing with you in the picture?”

Lattesta hadn’t identified Barry. I had to keep my shoulders stiff so they wouldn’t sag with relief. I shrugged. “He came up to me after the blast,” I said. “We were in better shape than most, so we helped search for survivors.” Truth, but not the whole truth. I’d known Barry for months before I’d encountered him at the convention at the Pyramid. He’d been there in the service of the King of Texas. I wondered how much about the vamp hierarchy the FBI actually knew.

“How did the two of you search for survivors?” Lattesta asked.

That was a very tricky question. At that time, Barry was the only other telepath I’d ever met. We’d experimented by holding hands to increase our “wattage,” and we’d looked for brain signatures in the piles of debris. I took a deep breath. “I’m good at finding things,” I said. “It seemed important to help. So many people hurt so bad.”

“The fire chief on-site said you seemed to have some psychic ability,” Lattesta said. Weiss looked down at her tea glass to hide her expression.

“I’m not a psychic,” I said truthfully, and Weiss immediately felt disappointed. She felt she could be in the presence of a poseur or a nut job, but she had hoped I’d admit I was the real thing.

“Chief Trochek said you told them where to find survivors. He said you actually steered the rescue crews to the living.”

Amelia came down the stairs then, looking very respectable in a bright red sweater and designer jeans. I met her eyes, hoping she’d see I was silently asking for help. I hadn’t been able to turn my back on a situation where I could actually save lives. When I’d realized I could find people—that teaming up with Barry would result in saving lives—I couldn’t turn away from the task, though I was scared of being exposed to the world as a freak.

It’s hard to explain what I see. I guess it’s like looking through infrared goggles or something. I see the heat of the brain; I can count the living people in a building, if I have time. Vampire brains leave a hole, a negative spot; I can usually count those, too. Plain old dead people don’t register with me at all. That day when Barry and I had held hands, the joining had magnified our abilities. We could find the living, and we could hear the last thoughts of the dying. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And I didn’t want to experience it again, ever.

“We just had good luck,” I said. That wouldn’t convince a toad to hop.

Amelia came forward with her hand extended. “I’m Amelia Broadway,” she said, as if she expected them to know who she was.

They did.

“You’re Copley’s daughter, right?” Weiss asked. “I met him a couple of weeks ago in connection with a community program.”

“He’s so involved in the city,” Amelia said with a dazzling smile. “He’s got his fingers in a dozen pies, I guess. Dad’s real fond of the Sook, here.” Not so subtle, but hopefully effective. Leave my roommate alone. My father’s powerful .

Weiss nodded pleasantly. “How’d you end up here in Bon Temps, Ms. Broadway?” she asked. “It must seem real quiet here, after New Orleans.” What’s a rich bitch like you doing in this backwater? By the way, your dad’s not around to run interference for you .

“My house got damaged during Katrina,” Amelia said. She left it at that. She didn’t tell them that she’d been in Bon Temps already when Katrina happened.

“And you, Ms. Fant?” Lattesta asked. “Were you an evacuee also?” He’d by no means abandoned the subject of my ability, but he was willing to go along with the social flow.

“Yes,” Octavia said. “I was living with my niece under cramped circumstances, and Sookie very kindly offered me her spare bedroom.”

“How’d you know each other?” Weiss asked, as if she was expecting to hear a delightful story.

“Through Amelia,” I said, smiling just as happily back at her.

“And you and Amelia met—?”

“In New Orleans,” Amelia said, firmly cutting off that line of questioning.

“Did you want some more iced tea?” Octavia asked Lattesta.

“No, thank you,” he said, almost shuddering. It had been Octavia’s turn to make the tea, and she did have a heavy hand with the sugar. “Ms. Stackhouse, you don’t have any idea how to contact this young man?” He indicated the picture.

I shrugged. “We both helped to look for bodies,” I said. “It was a terrible day. I don’t remember what name he gave.”

“That seems strange,” Lattesta said, and I thought, Oh, shit . “Since someone answering your description and a young man answering his description checked into a motel some distance from the explosion that night and shared a room.”

“Well, you don’t have to know someone’s name to spend the night with them,” Amelia said reasonably.

I shrugged and tried to look embarrassed, which wasn’t too hard. I’d rather they think me sexually easy than decide I was worthy of more attention. “We’d shared a horrible, stressful event. Afterward, we felt really close. That’s the way we reacted.” Actually, Barry had collapsed in sleep almost instantly, and I had followed soon afterward. Hanky-panky had been the furthest thing from our minds.

The two agents stared at me doubtfully. Weiss was thinking I was lying for sure, and Lattesta suspected it. He thought I knew Barry very well.

The phone rang, and Amelia hurried to the kitchen to answer it. She came back looking green.

“Sookie, that was Antoine on his cell phone. They need you at the bar,” she said. And then she turned to the FBI agents. “Probably you should go with her.”

“Why?” Weiss asked. “What’s up?” She was already on her feet. Lattesta was stuffing the picture back into his briefcase.

“A body,” Amelia said. “A woman’s been crucified behind the bar.”

The agents followed me to Merlotte’s. There were five or six cars parked across the spot where the front parking lot ended and the back parking began, effectively blocking access to the back. But I leaped out of my car and picked a path between them, and the FBI agents were right on my heels.

I had hardly been able to believe it, but it was true. There was a traditional cross erected in the employee parking lot, back by the trees where the gravel gave way to dirt. A body was nailed to it. My eyes scanned it, took in the distorted body, the streaks of dried blood, came back up to the face.