Шарлин Харрис - Dead to the World

When Pam knocked on my front door thirty minutes later, I was ready for work, and Eric was antsy as hell.

Pam was no sooner seated opposite him than he began bombarding her with questions. I told them quietly that I was leaving, and I don't think they even noticed when I went out the kitchen door.

Merlotte's wasn't too busy that night, after we dealt with a rather large supper crowd. A few flakes of snow had convinced most of the regulars that going home sober might be a very good idea. There were enough customers left to keep Arlene and me moderately busy. Sam caught me as I was loading my tray with seven mugs of beer and wanted to be filled in on the night before.

"I'll tell you later," I promised, thinking I'd have to edit my narrative pretty carefully.

"Any trace of Jason?" he asked.

"No," I said, and felt sadder than ever. The dispatcher at the law enforcement complex had sounded almost snappish when I'd called to ask if there was any news.

Kevin and Kenya came in that night after they'd gotten off duty. When I took their drinks to the table (a bourbon and Coke and a gin and tonic), Kenya said, "We've been looking for your brother, Sookie. I'm sorry."

"I know you all have been trying," I said. "I appreciate you all organizing the search party so much! I just wish . . ." And then I couldn't think of anything else to say. Thanks to my disability, I knew something about each of them that the other didn't know. They loved each other. But Kevin knew his mother would stick her head in the oven before she'd see him married to a black woman, and Kenya knew her brothers would rather ram Kevin through a wall than see him walk down the aisle with her.

And I knew this, despite the fact that neither of them did; and I hated having this personal knowledge, this intimate knowledge, that I just couldn't help knowing.

Worse than knowing, even, was the temptation to interfere. I told myself very sternly that I had enough problems of my own without causing problems for other people. Luckily, I was busy enough the rest of the night to erase the temptation from my mind. Though I couldn't reveal those kinds of secrets, I reminded myself that I owed the two officers, big-time. If I heard of something I could let them know, I would.

When the bar closed, I helped Sam put the chairs up on the tables so Terry Bellefleur could come in and mop and clean the toilets early in the morning. Arlene and Tack had left, singing "Let It Snow" while they went out the back door. Sure enough, the flakes were drifting down outside, though I didn't think they'd stick past morning. I thought of the creatures out in the woods tonight, trying to keep warm and dry. I knew that in some spot in the forest, Debbie Pelt lay in a hole, cold forever.

I wondered how long I'd think of her like that, and I hoped very much I could remember just as clearly what an awful person she'd been, how vindictive and murderous.

In fact, I'd stood staring out the window for a couple of minutes when Sam came up behind me.

"What's on your mind?" he asked. He gripped my elbow, and I could feel the strength in his fingers.

I sighed, not for the first time. "Just wondering about Jason," I said. That was close enough to the truth.

He patted me in a consoling way. "Tell me about last night," he said, and for one second I thought he was asking me about Debbie. Then, of course, I knew he referred to the battle with the witches, and I was able to give him an account.

"So Pam showed up tonight at your place." Sam sounded pleased about that. "She must have cracked Hallow, made her undo the spell. Eric was himself again?"

"As far as I could tell."

"What did he have to say about the experience?"

"He didn't remember anything about it," I said slowly. "He didn't seem to have a clue."

Sam looked away from me when he said, "How are you, with that?"

"I think it's for the best," I told him. "Definitely." But I would be going home to an empty house again. The knowledge skittered at the edges of my awareness, but I wouldn't look at it directly.

"Too bad you weren't working the afternoon shift," he said, somehow following a similar train of thought. "Calvin Norris was in here."

"And?"

"I think he came in hopes of seeing you."

I looked at Sam skeptically. "Right."

"I think he's serious, Sookie."

"Sam," I said, feeling unaccountably wounded, "I'm on my own, and sometimes that's no fun, but I don't have to take up with a werewolf just because he offers."

Sam looked mildly puzzled. "You wouldn't have to. The people in Hotshot aren't Weres."

"He said they were."

"No, not Weres with a capital W. They're too proud to call themselves shifters, but that's what they are. They're were-panthers."

"What?" I swear I saw dots floating in the air around my eyes.

"Sookie? What's wrong?"

"Panthers? Didn't you know that the print on Jason's dock was the print of a panther?"

"No, no one told me about any print! Are you sure?"

I gave him an exasperated look. "Of course, I'm sure. And he vanished the night Crystal Norris was waiting for him in his house. You're the only bartender in the world who doesn't know all the town gossip."

"Crystal— she's the Hotshot girl he was with New Year's Eve? The skinny black-headed girl at the search?"

I nodded.

"The one Felton loves so much?"

"He what?"

"Felton, you know, the one who came along on the search. She's been his big love his whole life."

"And you know this how?" Since I, the mind reader, didn't, I was distinctly piqued.

"He told me one night when he'd had too much to drink. These guys from Hotshot, they don't come in much, but when they do, they drink serious."

"So why would he join in the search?"

"I think maybe we'd better go ask a few questions."

"This late?"

"You got something better to do?"

He had a point, and I sure wanted to know if they had my brother or could tell me what had happened to him. But in a way, I was scared of finding out.

"That jacket's too light for this weather, Sookie," Sam said, as we bundled up.

"My coat is at the cleaner's," I said. Actually, I hadn't had a chance to put it in the dryer, or even to check to make sure all the blood had come out. And it had holes in it.

"Hmmm" was all Sam said, before he loaned me a green pullover sweater to wear under my jacket. We got in Sam's pickup because the snow was really coming down, and like all men, Sam was convinced he could drive in the snow, though he'd almost never done so.

The drive out to Hotshot seemed even longer in the dark night, with the snow swirling down in the headlights.

"I thank you for taking me out here, but I'm beginning to think we're crazy," I said, when we were halfway there.

"Is your seat belt on?" Sam asked.

"Sure."

"Good," he said, and we kept on our way.

Finally we reached the little community. There weren't any streetlights out here, of course, but a couple of the residents had paid to have security lights put up on the electric poles. Windows were glowing in some of the houses.

"Where do you think we should go?"

"Calvin's. He's the one with the power," Sam said, sounding certain.

I remembered how proud Calvin had been of his house, and I was a little curious to see the inside. His lights were on, and his pickup was parked in front of the house. Stepping out of the warm truck into the snowy night was like walking through a chilly wet curtain to reach the front door. I knocked, and after a long pause, the door came open. Calvin looked pleased until he saw Sam behind me.

"Come in," he said, not too warmly, and stood aside. We stamped our feet politely before we entered.

The house was plain and clean, decorated with inexpensive but carefully arranged furniture and pictures. None of the pictures had people in them, which I thought interesting. Landscapes. Wildlife.