Claude was badly wounded. Glassport had gotten to use the knife on him at least once, and Steve Newlin had pummeled his face.
They'd made Newlin help him to the road, and he hated that worse than anything.
When they were close enough to hear me, I said, "Claude. Human jail."
His thoughts focused, though I couldn't read them. Then he understood. As if someone had given him a shot of vampire blood, he went nuts. Utterly reenergized, he spun on Steve Newlin, throwing him down with a terrible force, and then he leaped for the nearest Good Samaritan, a man wearing a Stompin' Sally's shirt, and the Good Samaritan shot him dead.
Two down.
To make things even simpler, Claude had thrown Steve Newlin down with enough force to fracture his skull, and I heard later that he died that night in the Monroe hospital, where they moved him after stabilizing him in Clarice. Before he did, he was moved to confess his part in Arlene's murder. Maybe the Lord forgave him. I didn't.
Three down.
After I talked to the law, Sam took me to the hospital. I asked after Xavier; he was in surgery. The ER doctor thought a butterfly bandage was enough for my arm, to my profound relief. I wanted to get back home. I'd spent enough time in hospitals, and I'd spent enough nights scared.
Now, everyone who wished me ill was dead. That is, everyone I knew of. I wasn't happy about that, but I wasn't grieving, either. Each of them would have been glad enough if I'd been the one on my way to the grave.
I was pretty shaken up by my abduction from Stompin' Sally's. A few days later, Sally herself called. She said she'd sent me a gift card for ten free drinks at her establishment, and she offered to buy me a new pair of cowboy boots, since mine would never be the same after my flight through the cornfield. I appreciated that - but right then, I wasn't sure about any future line dancing.
And I knew I'd never be able to watch Signs again.
There was no way to thank everyone who poured out of the bar and into their trucks to try to track down the van. At least five other vehicles had headed south, just in case Claude had doubled back that way. As the bartender told me, "We had your back, little lady."
This little lady was grateful. And also grateful that out of all the people who heard me remind Claude of what he'd be facing, only the Stompin' Sally's bartender who'd shot him found a moment while we were waiting for the police to ask me what I'd meant. I'd explained as simply and tersely as I could. "He wasn't human, and I knew he'd be in a human jail for a century or more. That would have been pretty awful for him." That was all I had to say.
"You know I had to shoot him 'cause you said that," the man said steadily.
"If I'd had a gun, I would have done it myself," was all I could offer. "And you know he was attacking you and would have kept on going until he was stopped." I could tell from the man's thoughts that he was a veteran and he'd had to kill before. He'd hoped never to do it again. This would be another thing I'd have to live with. He would, too.
Chapter 22
I went to work the next day. I'd missed enough, I figured. I won't say it was an easy day to get through, since I had moments of sheer panic. That would have been the case if I'd stayed home, and at least at the bar I was able to hear that Xavier had made it out of surgery and would recover. Sam's presence behind the bar was reassuring. And his eyes followed me, as if he were constantly thinking of me, too.
I drove home while it was still light, and I was glad to get in the house and lock the door behind me. I was less glad to find Mr. Cataliades and Diantha already in the house, but I felt better about their presence when I saw they'd brought Barry. He was in bad shape, and I had a hard time persuading them that he could not heal himself the way demons could. In fact, I was pretty sure that Barry had broken a bone or two in his face and one of his hands. He was bruised and puffy all over and moved with excruciating care.
They'd put him on the bed in the guest room across the hall from mine, and I had an appalled realization that I hadn't changed the sheets since Amelia and Bob's stay. But after evaluating Barry's physical damage, I realized that worrying about used sheets was the furthest thing from his concerns. He was more worried about peeing without blood.
"I feel pretty rough," he said, between cracked lips. Diantha watched me give him some water, very carefully.
"You gotta go to a hospital," I said. "I guess you can tell them a car hit you while you were walking by the road or something. And you were unconscious."
I was aware, even as I said this, that it was utter bullshit. Not only would any competent doctor be able to tell that Barry had been beaten, not hit by any car, but I was sick of trying to explain away awful stuff like this.
"Isn't worth the trouble," Barry said. "I'll just tell 'em I got mugged. More or less the truth."
"So Newlin and Glassport grabbed you. What did they think they could beat out of you?"
He tried to smile, but the attempt was pretty ghastly. "They wanted me to tell them where Hunter was."
I sat down in a hurry. Mr. Cataliades stepped forward, his face grim. "You see why it is a good thing they are all dead," he said. "Newlin, Glassport, the fairy."
"He told them," I said, and it was almost funny how deeply hurt I was that Claude had betrayed a child.
"It wasn't the money he paid them," Mr. Cataliades said. "That was not what made them persist beyond all reason in trying to capture you. The two humans knew Claude wanted you, wanted to kill you, and they were very willing to go along with that. But they wanted the boy. To mold to their own purposes."
The enormity of it washed over me. I felt no guilt or regret about their deaths any longer, not even about the ex-soldier who'd had to shoot Claude.
"How did you find Barry?" I asked.
"I listened for him," Mr. Cataliades said simply. "And Diantha and I searched, following his mind like a beacon. He was alone when we found him, and we took him away. We didn't know they were coming after you."
"Wedidn'tknow," Diantha said sadly.
"You did great, you did the best thing ever," I said. "And I owe you one."
"Never," said Mr. Cataliades. "You owe me nothing."
I looked at Barry. He needed to get out of this area, and he needed a place to heal. His rental car was in downtown Bon Temps, and I'd have to drive it back to the rental place and turn it in; he wouldn't have wheels, but he was too battered to drive, obviously.
"Where can we take you afterward?" I asked Barry, trying to sound gentle. "You got a family to go to? I guess you could stay with me."