Шарлин Харрис: Dead to the World

There was a long pause.

"I can just see Andy Bellefleur's face," Jason said in a subdued kind of way. "He still can't get over me being innocent of murdering those girls last year. He'd love to get me committed as being delusional. Catfish would have to fire me, and I don't think I'd like it at the mental hospital."

"Well, your dating opportunities would sure be limited."

"Crystal—God, that girl! You warned me. But I was so bowled over by her. And she turns out to be a . . . you know."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Jason, she's a shape-shifter. Don't go on like she's the creature from the Black Lagoon, or Freddy Krueger, or something."

"Sook, you know a lot of stuff we don't know, don't you? I'm getting that picture."

"Yes, I guess so."

"Besides vampires."

"Right."

"There's lots else."

"I tried to tell you."

"I believed what you said, but I just didn't get it. Some people I know—I mean besides Crystal—they're not always people, huh?"

"That's right."

"Like how many?"

I counted up the two-natured I'd seen in the bar: Sam, Alcide, that little were-fox who'd been standing Jason and Hoyt drinks a couple of weeks ago . . . "At least three," I said.

"How do you know all this?"

I just stared at him.

"Right," he said, after a long moment. "I don't want to know."

"And now, you," I said gently.

"Are you sure?"

"No, and we won't be sure for a couple of weeks," I said. "But Calvin'll help you if you need it."

"I won't take help from them!" Jason's eyes were blazing, and he looked positively feverish.

"You don't have a choice," I said, trying not to snap. "And Calvin didn't know you were there. He's an okay guy. But it's not even time to talk about it yet. We have to figure out what to tell the police right now."

For at least an hour we went over and over our stories, trying to find threads of truth to help us stitch together a fabrication.

Finally, I called the police station. The day-shift dispatcher was tired of hearing my voice, but she was still trying to be nice. "Sookie, like I told you yesterday, hon, we'll call you when we find out something about Jason," she said, trying to suppress the note of exasperation beneath her soothing tone.

"I've got him," I said.

"You—WHAT?" The shriek came over loud and clear. Even Jason winced.

"I've got him."

"I'll send someone right over."

"Good," I said, though I didn't mean it.

I had the foresight to get the nails out of the front door before the police got there. I didn't want them asking what had happened to it. Jason had looked at me oddly when I got out the hammer, but he didn't say a word.

"Where's your car?" Andy Bellefleur asked first thing.

"It's at Merlotte's."

"Why?"

"Can I just tell you and Alcee, together, one time?" Alcee Beck was coming up the front steps. He and Andy came in the house together, and at the sight of Jason lying wrapped up on my couch, they both stopped dead in their tracks. I knew then that they'd never expected to see Jason alive again.

"Glad to see you safe and sound, man," Andy said, and shook Jason's hand. Alcee Beck followed on his heels. They sat down, Andy in Gran's recliner and Alcee in the armchair I usually took, and I perched on the couch beside Jason's feet. "We're glad you're in the land of the living, Jason, but we need to know where you've been and what happened to you."

"I have no idea," Jason said.

And he stuck to it for hours.

There had been no believable story Jason could tell that could account for everything: his absence, his poor physical condition, the bite marks, his sudden reappearance. The only possible line he could take was to say the last thing he remembered, he'd heard a funny noise outside while he was entertaining Crystal, and when he'd gone to investigate, he'd been hit on the head. He didn't remember anything until somehow he'd felt himself pushed from a vehicle to land in my yard the night before. I'd found him there when Sam brought me home from work. I'd ridden home with Sam because I was scared to drive in the snow.

Of course, we'd cleared this with Sam ahead of time, and he'd agreed, reluctantly, that it was the best we could come up with. I knew Sam didn't like to lie, and I didn't either, but we had to keep that particular can of worms closed.

The beauty of this story was its simplicity. As long as Jason could resist the temptation to embroider, he'd be safe. I'd known that would be hard for Jason; he loved to talk, and he loved to talk big. But as long as I was sitting there, reminding him of the consequences, my brother managed to restrain himself. I had to get up to get him another cup of coffee—the lawmen didn't want any more—and as I was coming back in the living room, Jason was saying he thought he remembered a cold dark room. I gave him a very plain look, and he said, "But you know, my head is so confused, that may just be something I dreamed."

Andy looked from Jason to me, clearly getting angrier and angrier. "I just can't understand you two," he said. His voice was almost a growl. "Sookie, I know you worried about him. I'm not making that up, am I?"

"No, I am so glad to have him back." I patted my brother's foot under the blanket.

"And you, you didn't want to be wherever you were, right? You missed work, you cost the parish thousands of dollars from our budget to search for you, and you disrupted the lives of hundreds of people. And you're sitting here lying to us!" Andy's voice was almost a shout as he finished. "Now, the same night you show up, this missing vampire on all the posters called the police in Shreveport to say he's recovering from memory loss, too! And there's a strange fire in Shreveport with all kinds of bodies recovered! And you're trying to tell me there's no connection!"

Jason and I gaped at each other. Actually, there was no connection between Jason and Eric. It just hadn't occurred to me how strange that would look.

"What vampire?" Jason asked. It was so good, I almost believed him myself.

"Let's leave, Alcee," Andy said. He slapped his notebook shut. He put his pen back in his shirt pocket with such an emphatic thrust that I was surprised he had a pocket left. "This bastard won't even tell us the truth."

"Don't you think I'd tell you if I could?" Jason said. "Don't you think I'd like to lay hands on whoever did this to me?" He sounded absolutely, one hundred percent sincere, because he was. The two detectives were shaken in their disbelief, especially Alcee Beck. But they still left unhappy with the two of us. I felt sorry for it, but there was nothing I could do.

Later that day, Arlene picked me up so I could fetch my car from Merlotte's. She was happy to see Jason, and she gave him a big hug. "You had your sister some kind of worried, you rascal," she said, with mock ferocity. "Don't you ever scare Sookie like that again."

"I'll do my best," Jason said, with a good approximation of his old roguish smile. "She's been a good sister to me."

"Now, that's God's truth," I said, a little sourly. "When I bring my car back, I think I might just run you home, big brother."

Jason looked scared for a minute. Being alone had never been his favorite thing, and after hours by himself in the cold of the shed, it might be even harder.

"I bet girls all over Bon Temps are making food to bring to your place now that they heard you're back," Arlene said, and Jason brightened perceptibly. "'Specially since I've been telling everyone what an invalid you are."

"Thanks, Arlene," Jason said, looking much more like himself.

I echoed that on the way into town. "I really appreciate you cheering him up. I don't know what all he went through, but he's going to have a rough time getting over it, I think."

"Honey, you don't need to worry about Jason. He's the original survivor. I don't know why he didn't try out for the show."