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Shirley The Vampire Slayer

Shirley, a (Buffyverse) Slayer wannabe, has traced, through Quileute legends, "vampires" to La Push. Her time of preparation and training behind her, Shirley is ready to act.


4. Chapter 4 - Sam

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Shirley the Vampire Slayer

Shirley the Vampire Slayer

Chapter 4 - Sam [1048 words]

The sky was beginning to lighten as Sneakers drew me to my van, opened the passenger side and shoved me across to the driver's seat.

“Okay, let’s head back to The Resort,” he said while brushing stale cheese puffs off the passenger seat.  “We’re meeting Sam there.”

“Sam who?”

“Sam Uley.”

“Who’s he and why should I want meet him?

“I guess you could call him the head of the Protectors.  I’m not sure, but I think that you're packing up, checking out and leaving the reservation."

"You can't make me do that!"

He looked at me with dark baleful eyes.  "I think you'll find that we can."

It was quiet during the short drive.  I wasn’t sulking or sullen.  I was just having the think and to plan.  Yes, I was thinking.  I was planning.  I was terrified.

The mustard Honda had an entire door in red primer as well as sundry other spots.  The left tail light was covered in red cellophane and tape.  It was parked in the front of my cabin.  Another of these muscular giants, with a black stubble head and hard, angular plains on his face, stood blocking my door.  He was a bit older than the Sneakers and Flip-flop, definitely a man, not a boy.  He seemed to be busy bulging out of a blue denim work shirt.  It was disgusting in an attractive sort of way.  Or was that attractive in a disgusting sort of way?

Sam took my key and unlocked the door.  After nudging the door open with his boot, he stuck his head in and looked around.  Pulling his head back he said, “Sit her at the table, Jared.  Don’t let her stab you too.”  They both grinned.  I didn’t see what was so damned funny.  I was more than just a tad disgruntled.

As I sat down, I heard the door to my van open and a few moments later close.  Sam brought in my purse.  Sitting across the small table from me, he dug out my wallet and looked at my driver’s license.

“What is your name?”

“Shirley Turner.”

He glanced at Sneakers who was standing behind me.  “That matches the resort register and her license.”  Turning his attention back to me, he said, “And what is your business here in La Push?”

I weighed my options.  It might take a while to check the graduate student story.  Cal would be quick to deny my “student” status and they might bring up that bogus hate crime charge where I tried to save them from that witch.  My best bet was to keep quiet.

“That is personal and private,” I replied after a brief pause.

Sam took my wallet and went over to the bed.  When he saw the squirt gun on the night stand, he gave me a funny look.  He sat on the bed and picked up the phone.  After a moment he said, “Beverly, can you put me through to the Chief Swan?  Thanks, I’ll wait.”

“Chief Swan, this is Sam Uley. … Fine, fine.  We’ve run into a little problem down here and I was wondering if you could run a name and a VIN for us. … Sure, sure.”  I hadn’t seen him bring in my van’s registration.  He read the VIN and plate numbers from the registration and my name, license number and date of birth from my license.

Why would a Quileute chief be looking up my VIN number or “running” my name?  Shouldn’t they be concerned about “cold ones” and monsters like that Embry guy?  I was confused.

“No, I’ll wait. … Mmmm, restraining order?  Any details? … Okay. … Dropped?  Did it say why? … Mmmm. … What’s her description? … Identifiable marks? … Okay. … No thanks, I think we can handle it down here. … Okay, I’ll let you know. … Yeah, thanks.  We appreciate your help. … Hey, no problem.  Any time you need us. … Yeah, I’ll talk to you later.  Yeah, bye.”

“Well Jared, no outstanding warrants.”  Sam turned back to me.  “But you, Miss, do have a decidedly checkered past.”

“Jared, put all of Miss Turner’s things in her van.  I am going to help her check out.”  His grip was just as hot and no weaker than Sneakers.  He kept my purse and wallet in his other hand.

“Miss Turner,” he said as he dragged to the resort office.  “You have you hurt a member of our tribe.  You could end up spending more than a year in a federal penitentiary.  Considering what we have found in your room, and your past record, you could spend much longer than that in an institution for the mentally ill.  We can make the case necessary for involuntary commitment that you are a danger to others.  Do you understand?”

I couldn’t look him in the face, it was happening again.  “Yes,” I whispered.

“We don’t want any problems.  Check out, get into your van, and leave the reservation.  Don’t stop until you do leave.  And don’t come back.  We have long memories here.  I will follow you until you cross the reservation border.  It would be best if you didn’t stop until you get to Forks.”

The door bell tinkled again.  “Beverly, Miss Turner is checking out!”  Sam handed my purse to me.

Beverly’s knowing look made me look down and shift my feet.  A worm of irritation turned to anger.  I lifted my head to a determined angle and took a sharp breath.  But as my eye lifted to meet Sam’s, his steely look squelched my incipient diatribe.

In the oppressive silence, I paid my bill and was escorted back to my van.

“Got everything?”

Jared replied, “Yeah.”  From the driver’s seat I could see the disorganized pile in the back.

“Go home.  Get some rest, we patrol again tonight.”

“Sure, sure.  See you tonight.”

By the time I pulled out onto the street, Sam’s Honda was a mustard and red smear through my dirty back windows.  It began to rain and then rain hard.  I don’t know when he stopped following me.  All I know is that when I passed the “Welcome to Forks” sign, there was no mustard and red behind me.  It was still raining.