Dead to the World (Sookie Stackhouse #4)(67)
Author: Charlaine Harris

I blinked, wondering if that wasn’t exactly what Christianity taught. But I am no theologian or Bible scholar, and I would have to leave the judgment on my action to God, who was also no theologian.

Somehow I felt better, and I was in fact grateful to be alive.

"Thank you, Eric," I said. I kissed him on the cheek. "Now you go clean up in the bathroom while I start in here."

But he was not having any of that. God bless him, he helped me with great zeal. Since he could handle the most disgusting things with no apparent qualms, I was delighted to let him.

You don’t want to know how awful it was, or all the details. But we got Debbie together and bagged up, and Eric took her way out into the woods and buried her and concealed the grave, he swore, while I cleaned. I had to take down the curtains over the sink and soak them in the washing machine in cold water, and I stuck my coat in with them, though without much hope of its being wearable again. I pulled on rubber gloves and used bleach-soaked wipes to go over and over the chair and table and floor, and I sprayed the front of the cabinets with wood soap and wiped and wiped.

You just wouldn’t believe where specks of blood had landed.

I realized that attention to these tiny details was helping me keep my mind off of the main event, and that the longer I avoided looking at it squarely – the longer I let Eric’s practical words sink into my awareness – the better off I’d be. There was nothing I could undo. There was no way I could mend what I had done. I’d had a limited number of choices, and I had to live with the choice I’d made. My Gran had always told me that a woman – any woman worth her salt – could do whatever she had to. If you’d called Gran a liberated woman, she would have denied it vigorously, but she’d been the strongest woman I’d ever known, and if she believed I could complete this grisly task just because I had to, I would do it.

When I was through, the kitchen reeked of cleaning products, and to the naked eye it was literally spotless. I was sure a crime scene expert would be able to find trace evidence (a tip of the hat to the Learning Channel), but I didn’t intend that a crime scene expert would ever have reason to come into my kitchen.

She’d broken in the front door. It had never occurred to me to check it before I came in the back. So much for my career as a bodyguard. I wedged a chair under the doorknob to keep it blocked for the remainder of the night.

Eric, returned from his burial detail, seemed to be high on excitement, so I asked him to go scouting for Debbie’s car. She had a Mazda Miata, and she’d hidden it on a four-wheeler trail right across the parish road from the turnoff to my place. Eric had had the foresight to retain her keys, and he volunteered to drive her car somewhere else. I should have followed him, to bring him back to my house, but he insisted he could do the job by himself, and I was too exhausted to boss him around. I stood under a stream of water and scrubbed myself clean while he was gone. I was glad to be alone, and I washed myself over and over. When I was as clean as I could get on the outside, I pulled on a pink nylon nightgown and crawled in the bed. It was close to dawn, and I hoped Eric would be back soon. I had opened the closet and the hole for him, and put an extra pillow in it.

I heard him come in just as I was falling asleep, and he kissed me on the cheek. "All done," he said, and I mumbled, "Thanks, baby."

"Anything for you," he said, his voice gentle. "Good night, my lover."

It occurred to me that I was lethal for exes. I’d dusted Bill’s big love (and his mom); now I’d killed Alcide’s off-and-on-again sweetie. I knew hundreds of men. I’d never gone homicidal on their exes. But creatures I cared about, well, that seemed to be different. I wondered if Eric had any old girlfriends around. Probably about a hundred or so. Well, they’d better beware of me.

After that, whether I willed it or not, I was sucked down into a black hole of exhaustion.

Chapter 14

14

I guess Pam worked on Hallow right up until dawn was peeking over the horizon. I myself was so heavily asleep, so in need of both physical and mental healing, I didn’t wake until four in the afternoon. It was a gloomy winter day, the kind that makes you switch on the radio to see if an ice storm is coming. I checked to make sure I had three or four days’ worth of firewood moved up onto the back porch.

Eric would be up early today.

I dressed and ate at the speed of a snail, trying to get a handle on my state of being.

Physically, I was fine. A bruise here or there, a little muscle soreness – that was nothing. It was the second week of January and I was sticking to my New Year’s resolution just great.

On the other hand – and there’s always another hand – mentally, or maybe emotionally, I was less than rock-steady. No matter how practical you are, no matter how strong-stomached you are, you can’t do something like I’d done without suffering some consequences.

That’s the way it should be.

When I thought of Eric getting up, I thought of maybe doing some snuggling before I had to go to work. And I thought of the pleasure of being with someone who thought I was so important.

I hadn’t anticipated that the spell would have been broken.

Eric got up at five-thirty. When I heard movement in the guest bedroom, I tapped on the door and opened it. He whirled, his fangs running out and his hands clawing in front of him.

I’d almost said, "Hi, honey," but caution kept me mute.

"Sookie," he said slowly. "Am I in your house?"

I was glad I’d gotten dressed. "Yes," I said, regrouping like crazy. "You’ve been here for safekeeping. Do you know what happened?"

"I went to a meeting with some new people," he said, doubt in his voice. "Didn’t I?" He looked down at his WalMart clothes with some surprise. "When did I buy these?"

"I had to get those for you," I said.

"Did you dress me, too?" he asked, running his hands down his chest and lower. He gave me a very Eric smile.

He didn’t remember. Anything.

"No," I said. I flashed on Eric in the shower with me. The kitchen table. The bed.

"Where is Pam?" he asked.

"You should call her," I said. "Do you recall anything about yesterday?"

"Yesterday I had the meeting with the witches," he said, as if that was indisputable.

I shook my head. "That was days ago," I told him, unable to add the number of them up in my head. My heart sank even lower.

"You don’t remember last night, after we came back from Shreveport," I pressed him, suddenly seeing a gleam of light in all this.

"Did we make love?" he asked hopefully. "Did you finally yield to me, Sookie? It’s only a matter of time, of course." He grinned at me.