Dead Until Dark 1 by Charlaine Harris

Author:Charlaine Harris [Harris, Charlaine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

THE NEXT NIGHT Bill and I had an unsettling conversation. We were in his bed, his huge bed with the

carved headboard and a brand-new Restonic mattress. His sheets were flowered like his wallpaper, and I remember

wondering if he liked flowers printed on his possessions because he couldn’t see the real thing, at least as they were

meant to be seen . . . in the daylight.

Bill was lying on his side, looking down at me. We’d been to the movies; Bill was crazy about movies with

aliens, maybe having some kindred feeling for space creatures. It had been a real shoot-em-up, with almost all the

aliens being ugly, creepy, bent on killing. He’d fumed about that while he’d taken me out to eat, and then back to

his place. I’d been glad when he’d suggested testing the new bed.

I was the first to lie on it with him.

He was looking at me, as he liked to do, I was learning. Maybe he was listening to my heart pounding,

since he could hear things I couldn’t, or maybe he was watching my pulse throb, because he could see things I

couldn’t, too. Our conversation had strayed from the movie we’d seen to the nearing parish elections (Bill was

going to try to register to vote, absentee ballot), and then to our childhoods. I was realizing that Bill was trying

desperately to remember what it had been like to be a regular person.

“Did you ever play ‘show me yours’ with your brother?” he asked. “They now say that’s normal, but I will

never forget my mother beating the tarnation out of my brother Robert after she found him in the bushes with

Sarah.”

73

“No,” I said, trying to sound casual, but my face tightened, and I could feel the clenching of fear in my

stomach.

“You’re not telling the truth.”

“Yes, I am.” I kept my eyes fixed on his chin, hoping to think of some way to change the topic. But Bill

was nothing if not persistent.

“Not your brother, then. Who?”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” My hands contracted into fists, and I could feel myself begin to shut

down.

But Bill hated being evaded. He was used to people telling him whatever he wanted to know because he

was used to using his glamor to get his way.

“Tell me, Sookie.” His voice was coaxing, his eyes big pools of curiosity. He ran his thumbnail down my

stomach, and I shivered.

“I had a . . . funny uncle,” I said, feeling the familiar tight smile stretch my lips.

He raised his dark arched brows. He hadn’t heard the phrase.

I said as distantly as I could manage, “That’s an adult male relative who molests his . . . the children in the

family.”

His eyes began to burn. He swallowed; I could see his Adam’s apple move. I grinned at him. My hands

were pulling my hair back from my face. I couldn’t stop it.

“And someone did this to you? How old were you?”

“Oh, it started when I was real little,” and I could feel my breathing begin to speed up, my heart beat faster,

the panicky traits that always came back when I remembered.

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