Шарлин Харрис - Dead and Gone

“I don’t know what to make of that,” Calvin said. “But we have your confession, and we’ll have to proceed.”

“I accept that,” Mel said. “Jason, I love you.”

Dawn turned her head just a fraction so her eyes could meet mine. “You better go,” she said. “We got things to do.”

I walked off with the rifle, and I didn’t turn to look even when the other panthers began to tear Mel apart. I could hear it, though.

He didn’t scream after a second.

I left Jason’s rifle on his back porch, and I drove to work. Somehow having a bodyguard didn’t seem important anymore.

As I served beers and daiquiris and vodka collinses to the people stopping by on their way home from work, I stood back and eyed myself in amazement. I’d worked for hours, serving and smiling and hustling, and I’d never broken down at all. Sure, I’d had to ask four people to repeat their orders. And I’d walked past Sam twice, and he’d said something to me to which I hadn’t responded—I knew this because he’d stopped me to tell me so. But I’d gotten the right plates and drinks to the right tables, and my tips were running about average, which meant I’d been agreeable and hadn’t forgotten anything crucial.

You’re doing so good, I told myself. I’m so proud of you. You just have to get through this. You can go home in fifteen minutes .

I wondered how many women had given themselves the same lecture: the girl who’d held her head up at a dance where her date was paying attention to another classmate; the woman who’d been passed by for promotion at her job; the woman who had listened to a dire diagnosis and yet kept her face together. I knew men must have days like this, too.

Well, maybe not too many people had days exactly like this.

Naturally, I’d been turning over in my head Mel’s strange insistence that he was not responsible for Crystal’s crucifixion, during which she’d actually died. His thoughts had had the ring of truth. And really, there was no reason why he would’ve balked at confessing everything when he’d already confessed so much, found peace doing so. Why would someone steal the half-dead Crystal and the wood, and do a deed so disgusting? It would’ve had to have been someone who’d hated Crystal an awful lot, or maybe someone who had hated Mel or Jason. It was an inhuman act, yet I found myself believing in Mel’s dying assertion that he had not done it.

I was so glad to leave work that I began driving home on automatic pilot. When I’d gotten almost to the turnoff into my driveway, I remembered that I’d told Amelia hours before that I’d meet her at Tray’s house.

I’d completely forgotten.

I could forgive myself, considering the day I’d had—if Amelia was okay. But when I remembered Tray’s mean state and his ingestion of vampire blood, I felt a jolt of panic.

I looked at my watch and saw I was more than forty-five minutes late. Turning around in the next driveway, I drove back to town like a bat out of hell. I was trying to pretend to myself I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t doing a very good job.

There weren’t any cars in front of the small house. Its windows were dark. I could see the bumper of Tray’s truck peering out from the carport behind the house.

I drove right by and turned around on a county road about half a mile farther out. Confused and worried, I returned to park outside Tray’s. His house and the adjacent workshop were outside the Bon Temps city limits but not isolated. Tray had maybe a half-acre lot; his little home and the large metal building housing his repair business were right next to a similar setup owned by Brock and Chessie Johnson, who had an upholstery shop. Obviously, Brock and Chessie had retreated to their house for the night. The living room lights were on; as I watched, Chessie pulled the curtains shut, which most people out here didn’t bother to do.

The night was dark and quiet; the Johnsons’ dog was barking, but that was the only sound. It was too cold for the chorus of bugs that often made the night come alive.

I thought of several scenarios that could explain the dead look of the house.

One. The vampire blood still had hold over Tray, and he’d killed Amelia. Right now, he was in his house, in the dark, thinking of ways to kill himself. Or maybe he was waiting for me to come, so he could kill me, too.

Two. Tray had recovered from his ingestion of vamp blood, and when Amelia had appeared on his doorstep, they’d decided to treat their free afternoon as a honeymoon. They wouldn’t be at all happy if I interrupted them.

Three. Amelia had come by, found no one at home, and was now back at the house cooking supper for herself and me, because she expected me to drive up at any moment. At least that explanation accounted for the absence of Amelia’s car.

I tried to think of an even better series of events, but I couldn’t. I pulled out my cell phone and tried my home number. I heard my own voice on the answering machine. Next, I tried Amelia’s cell. It went to voice mail after three rings. I was running out of happy options. Figuring that a phone call would be less intrusive than a knock at the door, I tried Tray’s number next. I could hear the faint ring of the phone inside . . . but no one answered it.

I called Bill. I didn’t think about it for more than a second. I just did it.

“Bill Compton,” said the familiar cool voice.

“Bill,” I said, and then couldn’t finish.

“Where are you?”

“I’m sitting in my car outside of Tray Dawson’s house.”

“The Were who owns the motorcycle repair shop.”

“Right.”

“I’m coming.”

He was there in less than ten minutes. His car pulled up behind mine. I was pulled over on the shoulder, because I hadn’t wanted to drive up onto the gravel in front of the house.

“I’m weak,” I said, when he got in beside me. “I shouldn’t have called you. But I swear to God, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You didn’t call Eric.” It was a simple observation.

“Take too long,” I said. I told him what I’d done. “I can’t believe I forgot Amelia,” I said, stricken by my self-centeredness.

“I think forgetting one thing after such a day is actually permissible, Sookie,” Bill said.

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “It’s just that . . . I can’t go in there and find them dead. I just can’t do it. My courage has just collapsed.”

He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “What’s one more dead person to me?” he said. And then he was out of the car and moving silently in the faint light peeking around the curtains of the house next door. He got to the front door, listened intently. He didn’t hear anything, I knew, because he opened the door and stepped inside.

Just as he vanished, my cell phone rang. I jumped so hard I almost hit my head on the roof. I dropped the phone and had to grope for it.

“Hello?” I said, full of fear.

“Hey, did you call? I was in the shower,” Amelia said, and I collapsed over the steering wheel, thinking, Thank you God thank you God thank you thank you .

“You okay?” Amelia asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m okay. Where is Tray? Is he there with you?”

“Nope. I went to his house, but he wasn’t there. I waited a while for you, but you didn’t show, so I figured he’d gone to the doctor, and I decided you must have been held up at work or something. I went back to the insurance agency, and I just got home about thirty minutes ago. What’s up?”

“I’ll be there soon,” I said. “Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in.”

“Doors are locked; no one’s knocking,” she said.