Living Dead in Dallas

even with two human companions, he could not have taken Farrell if Farrell didn’t want to go.”
    I looked directly down at my hands and didn’t say one word. I didn’t want to be the one to say this out loud. Bill, wisely, didn’t speak either. At last, Stan Davis, head vampire of Dallas, said, “Someone went in the bathroom with Farrell, Bethany recalled. A vampire I didn’t know.”
    I nodded, keeping my gaze directed elsewhere.
    “Then this vampire must have helped to abduct Farrell.”
    “Is Farrell gay?” I asked, trying to sound as if my question had just oozed out of the walls.
    “He prefers men, yes. You think—”
    “I don’t think a thing.” I shook my head emphatically, to let him know how much I wasn’t thinking. Bill squeezed my fingers. Ouch.
    The silence was tense until the teenage-looking vamp returned with a burly human, one I’d seen in Bethany’s memories. He didn’t look like Bethany saw him, though; through her eyes, he was more robust, less fat; more glamorous, less unkempt. But he was recognizable as Re-Bar.
    It was apparent to me immediately that something was wrong with the man. He followed after the girl vamp readily enough, and he smiled at everyone in the room; but that was off, wasn’t it? Any human who sensed vampire trouble would be worried, no matter how clear hisconscience. I got up and went over to him. He watched me approach with cheerful anticipation.
    “Hi, buddy,” I said gently, and shook his hand. I dropped it as soon as I decently could. I took a couple of steps back. I wanted to take some Advil and lie down.
    “Well,” I said to Stan, “he sure enough has a hole in his head.”
    Stan examined Re-Bar’s skull with a skeptical eye. “Explain,” he said.
    “How ya doin’, Mr. Stan?” Re-Bar asked. I was willing to bet no one had ever spoken to Stan Davis that way, at least not in the past five hundred years or so.
    “I’m fine, Re-Bar. How are you?” I gave Stan credit for keeping it calm and level.
    “You know, I just feel great,” Re-Bar said, shaking his head in wonderment. “I’m the luckiest sumbitch on earth—’scuse me, lady.”
    “You’re excused.” I had to force the words out.
    Bill said, “What has been done to him, Sookie?”
    “He’s had a hole burned in his head,” I said. “I don’t know how else to explain it, exactly. I can’t tell how it was done, because I’ve never seen it before, but when I look in his thoughts, his memories, there’s just a big old ragged hole. It’s like Re-Bar needed a tiny tumor removed, but the surgeon took his spleen and maybe his appendix, too, just to be sure. You know when y’all take away someone’s memory, you replace it with another one?” I waved a hand to show I meant all vampires. “Well, someone took a chunk out of Re-Bar’s mind, and didn’t replace it with anything. Like a lobotomy,” I added, inspired. I read a lot. School was tough for me with my little problem, but reading by myself gave me a means of escape from my situation. I guess I’m self-educated.
    “So whatever Re-Bar knew about Farrell’s disappearance is lost,” Stan said.
    “Yep, along with a few components of Re-Bar’s personality and a lot of other memories.”
    “Is he still functional?”
    “Why, yeah, I guess so.” I’d never encountered anything like this, never even realized it was possible. “But I don’t know how effective a bouncer he’ll be,” I said, trying to be honest.
    “He was hurt while he was working for us. We’ll take care of him. Maybe he can clean the club after it closes,” Stan said. I could tell from Stan’s voice that he wanted to be sure I was marking this down mentally; that vampires could be compassionate, or at least fair.
    “Gosh, that would be great!” Re-Bar beamed at his boss. “Thanks, Mr. Stan.”
    “Take him back home,” Mr. Stan told his minion. She departed directly, with the lobotomized man in tow.
    “Who could’ve done such a crude job on him?” Stan wondered. Bill did not reply, since he wasn’t there to stick his neck out, but to guard me and do his own detecting when it was required. A tall red-haired female vampire came in, the one who’d been at the bar the night Farrell was taken.
    “What did you notice the evening Farrell vanished?” I asked her, without thinking about protocol. She snarled at me, her white teeth standing out against her dark tongue and brilliant lipstick.
    Stan said, “Cooperate.” At once her face