A Bit of Warm Comfort (A True Blood - Sam/Tara Fic)

Chapter 3 - Dark Fantasies

Twenty minutes after leaving Merlotte's, Tara was still seething. She couldn't believe Andy Bellefleur's gall, asking her how she felt, as if he really gave a shit.

Dumbass redneck! I should've picked up the nearest fucking steak knife and showed him exactly how I feel.

She got out the car and slammed the door, mumbling expletives all the way to Sookie's back porch and up the steps. When she opened the back door leading to the kitchen, the phone was ringing. Tara yanked the receiver off the cradle, which hung on the wall next to the door.

"What?" she snapped into the phone, not caring who was on the other end.

Static cut in and out. The distant sound of car horns and traffic could be heard in the background.

"Tara…Tara? Is that you?"

"Hey, Sook," she said, now happy to hear a familiar voice.

"Can you hear me, okay?" Sookie asked.

"There's a little static, but I can hear you good enough. Where are you calling me from?"

"I'm using a friend's cell phone. We're in his truck heading to a Were—regular nightclub."

"A nightclub? I thought you were in Mississippi looking for Bill, not painting the town."

"Alcide Herveaux, that's the guy who's helping me look for Bill, said there might be some people there who know of Bill's whereabouts. I'm going there to, uh, listen. Hopefully, I'll hear something important."

"Good luck with that," Tara said flatly, leaning against the counter.

"You okay, Tara?" Sookie must have picked up on Tara's mood because her voice immediately softened with concern. Sookie was so much like her grandmother, always caring about others even in the face of her own problems.

"I'm fine as long I don't have to look at Andy Bellefleur's ugly racist ass. I swear, every time I see him, I want to scratch his fucking eyes out."

"Tara, Andy might be a lot of things but he's not a racist. I'd know."

"Any cop who shoots a black man for no good reason in my book is called a racist!"

"I'm sure he regrets the whole awful incident."

The rage she felt at seeing Andy Bellefleur at Merlotte's came rushing back.

"Incident? Sookie, he killed Eggs in fucking cold blood!" she shouted into the phone.

"He said it was in self-defense."

God, Sookie could be so damn naïve sometimes.

"Were you there? Did you read his thoughts?"

"No, but…"

"Exactly! So don't go defending Andy and talking about shit you don't know."

"Tara, please calm down," Sookie said, but Tara was too far gone for that.

"Eggs was a sweet, beautiful soul and he never hurt one fucking person—not one. He wouldn't have attacked Andy with a knife. He never would've done that-"

"Tara, anybody can be capable of anything, especially when they're under a lot of stress."

That caught Tara's attention. She sniffled, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

"W-What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she asked. "You know something, don't you?"

Silence stretched on the other end so long that Tara thought she lost the connection.

"Sook? Sookie, you still there?"

"We'll talk when I get back, okay? I have to go now."

Tara wanted to press the issue, but knew there wasn't much she could do over the phone.

"Yeah, okay," she replied begrudgingly.

Tara was pissed and Sookie knew it.

"Tara, I know you're mad, but things will get better…just don't do anything stupid. Bye."

The phone disconnected, leaving Tara with even more questions. What did Sookie mean by that last warning? Don't do anything stupid. Could she read Tara's thoughts over the phone? Had Sookie looked into her mind again and discovered Tara's vivid dreams of killing Andy?

Last night she dreamed of covering the detective's food with rat poison and serving it to him on a silver platter. She watched patiently from the bar as Sam stood beside her, his warm hand on her shoulder. Andy gobbled the food down like a pig until the color drained from his pudgy cheeks. She was delighted to see the final spark of life disappear from his eyes right before his listless body slumped forward into a mountain of mashed potatoes. "Are you happy now?" the Sam in her dream asked her.

"Very," she replied.

He gave her that sexy lopsided grin. "Good, now we can be together, cher." Then he kissed her for all he was worth.

The night before that, she dreamed of strapping Andy to a chair then slicing him up like a fish as his guts landed at her feet. The whole time all she could do was laugh as a puddle of dark red blood rose up around her ankles. She even dreamed of shooting him in the head, the same way Eggs had died. Andy was getting exactly what he deserved and each dream was more satisfying than the one before it. But these were more than just dreams; they were becoming her fantasies. She wanted him dead. It wasn't fair that he should be able to walk around Bon Temps unscathed while her beloved Eggs was dead in the Parish Morgue without one family member to claim his remains.

Tara hung the phone back on its cradle. Could she do it? Could she avenge Eggs' death by killing the detective? Yes, she believed she could; but killing an officer of the law, no matter how incompetent, was not something to be taken lightly. She would need help.

Tara picked up the phone and dialed the seven digits from memory.

The line was answered on the third ring.

"I'm coming over," Tara said. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything you need," said the male voice on the other end.

She wondered if his promise of 'anything' included conspiring to commit murder. Well, she'd soon find out.

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