Club Dead - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,92

put them all out in the yard,” he said casually, “and clean up Sookie’s house.”

“Of course.”

Bill began rolling me over, and I began crying. I couldn’t help it. As strong as I wanted to be, all I could think of was my body. If you’ve ever been really beaten, you’ll know what I mean. When you’ve been really beaten, you realize that you are just an envelope of skin, an easily penetrated envelope that holds together a lot of fluids and some rigid structures, which in their turn can simply be broken and invaded. I thought I’d been badly hurt in Dallas a few weeks before, but this felt worse. I knew that didn’t mean it was worse; there was a lot of soft tissue damage. In Dallas, my cheekbone had been fractured and my knee twisted. I thought maybe the knee had been compromised all over again, and I thought maybe one of the slaps had rebroken the cheekbone. I opened my eyes, blinked, and opened them again. My vision cleared after a few seconds.

“Can you speak?” Eric said, after a long, long moment.

I tried, but my mouth was so dry, nothing came out.

“She needs a drink.” Bill went to the kitchen, having to take a less than direct route, since there were a lot of obstructions in the way.

Eric’s hands stroked back my hair. He’d been shot, I remembered, and I wanted to ask him how he felt, but I couldn’t. He was sitting on his butt beside me, leaning on the cushions of my couch. There was blood on his face, and he looked pinker than I’d ever seen him, ruddy with health. When Bill returned with my water—he’d even added a straw—I looked at his face. Bill looked almost sunburned.

Bill held me up carefully and put the straw to my lips. I drank, and it was the best thing I’d ever tasted.

“You killed them all,” I said in a creaky voice.

Eric nodded.

I thought of the circle of brutish faces that had surrounded me. I thought of the Were slapping me in the face.

“Good,” I said. Eric looked a little amused, just for a second. Bill didn’t look anything in particular.

“How many?”

Eric looked around vaguely, and Bill pointed a finger silently as he toted them up.

“Seven?” Bill said doubtfully. “Two in the yard and five in the house?”

“I was thinking eight,” Eric murmured.

“Why did they come after you like that?”

“Jerry Falcon.”

“Oh,” said Bill, a different note in his voice. “Oh, yes. I’ve encountered him. In the torture room. He is first on my list.”

“Well, you can cross him off,” Eric said. “Alcide and Sookie disposed of his body in the woods yesterday.”

“Did this Alcide kill him?” Bill looked down at me, reconsidered. “Or Sookie?”

“He says no. They found the corpse in the closet of Alcide’s apartment, and they hatched a plan to hide his remains.” Eric sounded like that had been kind of cute of us.

“My Sookie hid a corpse?”

“I don’t think you can be too sure about that possessive pronoun.”

“Where did you learn that term, Northman?”

“I took ‘English as a Second Language’ at a community college in the seventies.”

Bill said, “She is mine.”

I wondered if my hands would move. They would. I raised both of them, making an unmistakable one-fingered gesture.

Eric laughed, and Bill said, “Sookie!” in shocked admonishment.

“I think that Sookie is telling us she belongs to herself,” Eric said softly. “In the meantime, to finish our conversation, whoever stuffed the corpse in the closet meant to saddle Alcide with the blame, since Jerry Falcon had made a blatant pass at Sookie in the bar the night before, and Alcide had taken umbrage.”

“So all this plot might be directed at Alcide instead of us?”

“Hard to say. Evidently, from what the armed robbers at the gas station told us, what’s remaining of the gang called in all the thugs they knew and stationed them along the interstate to intercept us on the way back. If they’d just called ahead, they wouldn’t now be in jail for armed robbery. And I’m certainly sure that’s where they are.”

“So how’d these guys get here? How’d they know where Sookie lived, who she really was?”

“She used her own name at Club Dead. They didn’t know the name of Bill’s human girlfriend. You were faithful.”

“I hadn’t been faithful in other ways,” Bill said bleakly. “I thought it was the least I could do for her.”

And this was the guy whom I’d shot the bird. On the other hand, this was the