Sookie 09 Dead and Gone (16 page)

I crouched under a bare mimosa, feeling as bleak and miserable as I’ve ever felt. Granted, I’d known for some time that Arlene wasn’t truly a good person or even a faithful person. Granted, I’d heard her rant and rave about the eradication of the supernaturals of the world. Granted, I’d come to realize that she’d slipped into regarding me as one of them. But I’d never let myself believe that whatever affection she’d ever felt for me had slipped away entirely, transmuted by the Fellowship’s policy of hate.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I called Andy Bellefleur.

“Bellefleur,” he said briskly.

We were hardly buddies, but I sure was glad to hear his voice.

“Andy, it’s Sookie,” I said, taking care to keep my voice quiet. “Listen, there are two guys in Arlene’s trailer with her, and there’re some long pieces of wood in the back of their pickup. They don’t realize I know they’re in the trailer with Arlene. They’re planning on doing the same thing to me that was done to Crystal.”

“You got anything I could take to court?” he asked cautiously. Andy had always been a closet believer in my telepathy, though that didn’t mean he was necessarily a fan of mine.

“No,” I said, “they’re waiting for me to show up.” I crept closer, hoping like hell they weren’t looking out the back windows. There was a box of extra-long nails in the pickup bed, too. I had to close my eyes for second as the horror crawled all over me.

“I’ve got Weiss and Lattesta with me,” Andy said. “Would you be willing to go in if we were there to back you up?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling anything but. I simply knew I was going to have to do this. It could be the end of any lingering suspicion of Jason. It could mean recompense or at least retribution for the death of Crystal and the baby. It could put at least a few of the Fellowship fanatics behind bars and maybe serve as a good lesson to the rest. “Where are you?” I asked, shaking with fear.

“We were already in the car to go to the motel. We can be there in seven minutes,” Andy said.

“I parked behind the Freer house,” I said. “I gotta go. Someone’s coming out the back of the trailer.”

Whit Spradlin and his buddy, whose name I couldn’t recall, came down the steps and unloaded the wood beams from the pickup. The pieces were already formed into the correct lengths. Whit turned to the trailer and called something, and Arlene opened the door and came down the back steps, her purse over one shoulder. She walked toward the cab of the pickup.

Dammit, she was going to get in and drive away, leaving her car parked in front as though she were there! Any lingering tenderness I’d harbored in my heart burned away at that moment. I looked at my watch. Maybe three more minutes until Andy arrived.

She kissed Whit and waved at the other man, and they went into the trailer to hide so I wouldn’t see them. According to their plan, I’d come to the front, knock on the door, and one of them would fling it open and drag me in.

Game over.

Arlene opened the truck door, the keys in her hand.

She had to stay. She was the weak link. I knew this in every way I could know it—intellectually, emotionally, and with my other sense.

This was going to be awful. I braced myself.

“Hi, Arlene,” I said, stepping out of my cover.

She shrieked and jumped. “Jesus Christ, Sookie, what are you doing in my backyard?” She made an elaborate fuss of collecting herself. Her head was a snarled tangle of anger and fear and guilt. And regret. There was some, I swear.

“I’ve been waiting to see you,” I said. I had no idea what to do now, but I’d slowed her down a little. I might have to physically tackle her. The men inside hadn’t noticed my abrupt appearance, but that wouldn’t last long unless I got extremely lucky. And I hadn’t had a run of luck, much less extreme luck, lately.

Arlene was standing still, keys in hand. It was easy to get inside her head and rummage around, reading the awful story in there.

“What you doing, getting ready to go, Arlene?” I asked, keeping my voice very quiet. “You’re supposed to be inside, waiting for me to get here.”

She saw everything, and her eyes closed. Guilty, guilty, guilty. She had tried to construct a bubble to keep the men’s intent hidden from herself, to keep it from touching her heart. That hadn’t worked—but it hadn’t stopped her treachery today, either. Arlene stood exposed to herself.

I said, “You got in too deep.” My own voice sounded detached and level. “No one will understand that or forgive it.” Her eyes went wide with the knowledge that what I was saying was true.

But I was in for my own kind of shock. I knew, suddenly and surely, that she had not killed Crystal and neither had these men; they’d planned to crucify me in emulation of Crystal’s death because it seemed like such a great idea, such an open statement of their opinion of the shapeshifters’ announcement. I’d been selected as the sacrificial lamb, despite the fact that they knew for sure I wasn’t a shapeshifter; in fact, they thought I wouldn’t put up as much of a fight since I was only a shapeshifter sympathizer, not one of the two-natured. I wouldn’t be as strong, in their opinion. I found this incredible.

“You’re a poor excuse for a woman,” I said to Arlene. I couldn’t seem to stop, and I couldn’t seem to sound anything but matter-of-fact. “You’ve never told the truth to yourself in your whole life, have you? You still see yourself as a pretty, young thing of twenty-five, and you still think some man will come along and recognize that in you. Someone will take care of you, let you quit working, send your kids to private schools where they’ll never have to talk to anyone different from them. That’s not gonna happen, Arlene. This is your life.” And I swept an open hand at the trailer in its weedy yard, the old truck. It was the meanest thing I’d ever said, and every word of it was true.

And she screamed. She couldn’t seem to stop screaming. I looked into her eyes. She kept trying to look away, but she couldn’t seem to do that. “You witch!” she sobbed. “You’re a witch. There are such things, and you’re one of ’em!”

If she’d been right, I could have prevented what happened next.

At that moment, Andy pulled into the Freer yard, just as I had. For all he knew, there was still time to creep up on the trailer. I heard his car more or less at my back. My whole attention was concentrated on Arlene and the rear door of the trailer. Weiss, Lattesta, and Andy came up behind me just as Whit and his friend burst from the back door of the trailer, rifles in hands.

Arlene and I were standing between two armed camps. I felt the sun on my arms. I felt a cold breeze pick up my hair and toss a lock playfully across my face. Over Arlene’s shoulder, I saw the face of Whit’s friend, and I finally remembered his name was Donny Boling. He’d had a recent haircut. I could tell from the white half inch at the base of his neck. He was wearing an Orville’s Stump Grinding T-shirt. His eyes were a muddy brown. He was aiming at Agent Weiss.

“She has children,” I called. “Don’t do it!”

His eyes widened with fright.

Donny swung the rifle toward me. He thought,
Shoot HER
.

I flung myself to the ground as the rifle went off.

“Lay down your arms!” Lattesta screamed. “FBI!”

But they didn’t. I don’t think his words even registered.

So Lattesta fired. But you couldn’t say he hadn’t warned them.

In the moments following Special Agent Lattesta’s demand
that the two men lay down their arms, bullets flew through the air like pine pollen in the spring.

Though I was in an exposed position, none of them hit me, which I found absolutely amazing.

Arlene, who didn’t dive as fast as I did, got a crease across her shoulder. Agent Weiss took the bullet—the same one that creased Arlene—in the upper right side of her chest. Andy shot Whit Spradlin. Special Agent Lattesta missed Donny Boling with his first shot, got him with his second. It took weeks to establish the sequence, but that’s what happened.

And then the firing was over. Lattesta was calling 911 while I was still prone on the ground, counting my fingers and toes to make sure I was intact. Andy was equally quick calling the sheriff’s department to report that shots had been fired and an officer and civilians were down.

Arlene was screaming over her little wound like she’d been gut shot.

Agent Weiss was lying in the weeds bleeding, her eyes wide with fear, her mouth clamped shut. The bullet had gone in under her raised arm. She was thinking of her children and her husband and of dying out here in the sticks, leaving them behind. Lattesta pulled off her vest and put pressure on her wound, and Andy ran over to secure the two shooters.

I slowly pushed up to a sitting position. There was no way I could stand. I sat there in the pine needles and dirt and looked at Donny Boling, who was dead. There was not the faintest trace of activity in his brain. Whit was still alive though not in good shape. After Andy gave Arlene a cursory examination and told her to shut up, she quit shrieking and settled down to cry.

I have had lots of things to blame myself about in the course of my life. I added this whole incident to the list as I watched the blood seeping into the dirt around Donny’s left side. No one would have gotten shot if I’d just climbed back in my car and driven away. But no, I had to try to catch Crystal’s killers. And I knew now—too late—that these idiots weren’t even the culprits. I told myself that Andy had asked me to help, that Jason needed me to help . . . but right now, I couldn’t foresee feeling okay about this for a long time.

For a brief moment I considered lying back down and wishing myself dead.

“Are you okay?” Andy called after he’d cuffed Whit and checked on Donny.

“Yeah,” I said. “Andy, I’m sorry.” But he’d run into the front yard to wave down the ambulance. Suddenly there were a lot more people around.

“Are you all right?” asked a woman wearing an EMT uniform. Her sleeves were folded up neatly to show muscles I didn’t know women could develop. You could see each one rippling under her mocha skin. “You look kind of out of it.”

“I’m not used to seeing people get shot,” I said. Which was mostly true.

“I think you better come sit on this chair over here,” she said, and pointed to a folding yard chair that had seen better days. “After I tend to the ones that are bleeding, I’ll check you out.”

“Audrey!” called her partner, a man with a belly like a bay window. “I need another pair of hands here.” Audrey hustled over to help, and another team of EMTs came running around the trailer. I had nearly the same dialogue with them.

Agent Weiss left for the hospital first, and I gathered that the plan was to stabilize her at the hospital in Clarice and then airlift her to Shreveport. Whit was loaded into the second ambulance. A third arrived for Arlene. The dead guy waited for the coroner to appear.

I waited for whatever would happen next.

Lattesta stood staring blankly into the pines. His hands were bloodstained from pressing on Weiss’s wound. As I watched, he shook himself. The purpose flooded back into his face, and his thoughts began flowing once again. He and Andy began to consult.

By now the yard was teeming with law enforcement people, all of whom seemed to be very pumped. Officer-involved shootings are not that ordinary in Bon Temps or in Renard Parish. When the FBI is represented at the scene, the excitement and tension were practically quadrupled.

Several more people asked me if I was all right, but no one seemed to be anxious to tell me what to do or to suggest I remove myself, so I sat in the rickety chair with my hands in my lap. I watched all the activity, and I tried to keep my mind blank. That wasn’t possible.

I was worried about Agent Weiss, and I was still feeling the ebbing power of the huge wave of guilt that had washed over me. I should have been upset that the Fellowship guy was dead, I suppose. But I wasn’t.

After a while, it occurred to me that I was also going to be late for work if this elaborate process didn’t get a move on. I knew that was a trivial consideration, when I was staring at the blood that had soaked into the ground, but I also knew it wouldn’t be trivial to my boss.

I called Sam. I don’t remember what I said, but I remember I had to talk him out of coming to get me. I told Sam there were plenty of people on-site and most of them were armed. After that, I had nothing to do but stare off into the woods. They were a tangle of fallen branches, leaves, and various shades of brown, broken up by little pines of various heights that had volunteered. The bright day made the patterns of shadow and shade fascinating.

As I looked into the depths of the woods, I became aware that something was looking back. Yards back within the tree line, a man was standing; no, not a man—a fairy. I can’t read fairies at all clearly; they’re not as blank as vampires, but they’re the closest I’ve found.

It was easy to read the hostility in his stance, though. This fairy was not on my great-grandfather’s side. This fairy would have been glad to see me lying on the ground bleeding. I sat up straighter, abruptly aware I had no idea whether all the police officers in the world could keep me safe from a fairy. My heart thudded once again with alarm, responding to the adrenaline in a sort of tired way. I wanted to tell someone that I was in danger, but I knew that if I pointed the fairy out to any one of the people present, not only would he fade back into the woods, but I might be endangering the human. I’d done enough of that this day.

As I half rose from the lawn chair with no very good plan in mind, the fairy turned his back on me and vanished.

Can’t I have a moment’s peace?
At this thought, I had to bend over and cover my face with my hands because I was laughing, and it wasn’t good laughter. Andy came over and squatted in front of me, tried to look into my face. “Sookie,” he said, and for once his voice was gentle. “Hey, girl, get it together. You got to come talk to Sheriff Dearborn.”

Not only did I talk to Bud Dearborn, I also had to talk to lots of other people. Later, I couldn’t remember any of the conversations I had. I told the truth to whoever asked me questions.

I didn’t mention seeing the fairy in the woods simply because no one asked me, “Did you see anyone else here this afternoon?” When I had a second of not feeling stunned and miserable, I wondered why he’d shown himself, why he’d come. Was he tracking me somehow? Was there some kind of supernatural bug planted on me?

“Sookie,” Bud Dearborn said. I blinked.

“Yessir?” I stood up, and my muscles were trembling.

“You can go now, and we’ll talk to you again later,” he said.

“Thanks,” I told him, hardly aware of what I was saying. I climbed into my car, feeling absolutely numb. I told myself to drive home and put on my waitress outfit and get to work. Hustling drinks would be better than sitting at home recycling the events of the day, if I could manage to stand up that long.

Amelia was at work, so I had the house to myself as I pulled on my working pants and my long-sleeved Merlotte’s T-shirt. I felt cold to the bone and wished for the first time that Sam had thought about stocking a Merlotte’s sweatshirt. My reflection in the bathroom mirror was awful: I was white as a vampire, I had big circles under my eyes, and I guessed I looked exactly like someone who’d seen a lot of people bleeding that day.

The evening felt cold and still as I walked out to my car. Night would fall soon. Since Eric and I had bonded, I’d found myself thinking of him every day as the sky grew dark. Now that we’d slept together, my thoughts had turned into cravings. I tried to stuff him in the back of my mind on the drive to the bar, but he persisted in popping to the fore.

Maybe because the day had been such a nightmare, I discovered I would give my entire savings account to see Eric
right now
. I trudged toward the employee door, gripping the trowel stuffed in my shoulder bag. I thought I was ready for an attack, but I was so preoccupied I didn’t send out my extra sense to detect another presence, and I didn’t see Antoine in the shadow of the Dumpster until he stepped out to greet me. He was smoking a cigarette.

“Geez Louise, Antoine, you scared me to death.”

“Sorry, Sookie. You planning on doing some planting?” He eyed the trowel I’d whipped out of my bag. “We ain’t too busy this evening. I took me a minute to have a smoke.”

“Everybody calm tonight?” I stuffed the trowel down into my purse without trying to explain. Maybe he would chalk it up to my general strangeness.

“Yeah, no one preaching to us; no one getting killed.” He smiled. “D’Eriq’s full of talk about some guy showing up earlier that D’Eriq thought was a fairy. D’Eriq’s on the simple side, but he can see stuff no one else can. But—fairies?”

“Not fairy like gay, but fairy like Tinker Bell?” I’d thought I didn’t have enough remaining energy to be alarmed. I’d thought wrong. I glanced around the parking lot with considerable alarm.

“Sookie? It’s true?” Antoine was staring at me.

I shrugged weakly. Busted.

“Shit,” Antoine said. “Well, shit. This ain’t the same world I was born into, is it?”

“No, Antoine. It isn’t. If D’Eriq says anything else, please tell me. It’s important.” Could have been my great-grandfather watching over me, or his son Dillon. Or it could have been Mr. Hostile who’d been lurking in the woods. What had set the fae world off? For years, I’d never seen one. Now you couldn’t throw a trowel without hitting a fairy.

Antoine eyed me doubtfully. “Sure, Sookie. You in any trouble I should know about?”

Hip-deep in alligators. “No, no. I’m just trying to avoid a problem,” I said, because I didn’t want Antoine to worry and I especially didn’t want him to share that worry with Sam. Sam was sure to be worried enough.

Of course, Sam had heard several versions of the events at Arlene’s trailer, and I had to give him a quick summary as I got ready to work. He was deeply upset about the intentions of Donny and Whit, and when I told him Donny was dead, he said, “Whit should have got killed, too.”

I wasn’t sure I was hearing him right. But when I looked into Sam’s face, I could see he was really angry, really vengeful. “Sam, I think enough people have died,” I said. “I haven’t exactly forgiven them, and maybe that’s not even something I can do, but I don’t think they were the ones who killed Crystal.”

Sam turned away with a snort and put a bottle of rum away with such force that I thought it might shatter.

Despite a measure of alarm, as it turned out I treasured that evening . . . because nothing happened.

No one suddenly announced that he was a gargoyle and wanted a place at the American table.

No one stomped out in a hissy. No one tried to kill me or warn me or lie to me; no one paid me any special attention at all. I was back to being part of the ambience at Merlotte’s, a situation that used to make me bored. I remembered the evenings before I’d met Bill Compton, when I’d known there were vampires but hadn’t actually met one or seen one in the flesh. I remembered how I’d longed to meet an actual vampire. I’d believed their press, which alleged that they were victims of a virus that left them allergic to various things (sunlight, garlic, food) and only able to survive by ingesting blood.

That part, at least, had been quite true.

As I worked, I thought about the fairies. They were different from the vampires and the Weres. Fairies could escape and go to their very own world, however that happened. It was a world I had no desire to visit or see. Fairies had never been human. At least vampires might remember what being human was like, and Weres were human most of the time, even if they had a different culture; being a Were was like having dual citizenship, I figured. This was an important difference between the fairies and other supernaturals, and it made the fairies more frightening. As the evening wore on and I plodded from table to table, making an effort to get the orders right and to serve with a smile, I had times of wondering whether it would have been better if I’d never met my great-grandfather at all. There was a lot of attraction in that idea.

I served Jane Bodehouse her fourth drink and signaled to Sam that we needed to cut her off. Jane would drink whether we served her or not. Her decision to quit drinking hadn’t lasted a week, but I’d never imagined it would. She’d made such resolutions before, with the same result.

At least if Jane drank here, we would make sure she got home okay.
I killed a man yesterday
. Maybe her son would come get her; he was a nice guy who never took a sip with alcohol in it.
I saw a man get shot dead today
. I had to stand still for a minute because the room seemed to be a little lopsided.

After a second or two, I felt steadier. I wondered if I could make it through the evening. By dint of putting one foot in front of the other and blocking out the bad stuff (from past experience I was an expert at that), I made it through. I even remembered to ask Sam how his mother was doing.

“She’s getting better,” he said, closing out the cash register. “My stepdad’s filed for divorce, too. He says she doesn’t deserve any alimony because she didn’t disclose her true nature when they got married.”

Though I’d always be on Sam’s side, whatever it was, I had to admit (strictly to myself) that I could see his stepdad’s point.

“I’m sorry,” I said inadequately. “I know this is a tough time for your mom, for your whole family.”

“My brother’s fiancée isn’t too happy about it, either,” Sam said.