OOM - Bon Temps

[Continued from here.]

Revenge.

Revenge is a wonderful motivator. Pam had learned this from Eric, who didn't even really have to instill that much into her, she was already of that mindset the moment she was turned. It was something they could bond over.

But that Eric is gone. Pam will never have the same bond with the Eric who exists now.

She'll just have to deal with it.

Revenge therapy is a good start.

Pam flies through the humid Bon Temps night, down its backwoods lanes, through its moonlit forests that reeked of werewolves. She's hunting. Smelling, listening. Her senses draw her toward Merlotte's Bar & Grill. God, she hadn't been to this fucking dump in a long time.

There are two women quietly talking in the parking lot. Tara and her girlfriend. Pam hears their conversation before she even gets within twenty feet of them.

"You are coming home, right?" the other woman asks Tara. "I mean, back to New Orleans?"

"I want to, Naomi..." Tara replies, uncertainty in her voice.

"But...?" Naomi urges, shaking her head. "You hate this place. You said there was nothing left for you here."

Pam steps into the circle of light from a streetlamp.

"Now, that's a rotten thing to say," she quips. Dry as dust.

The two women turn in shock and fright at the sight of her, the shadows on her face accentuating the literal holes in her skin in a ghastly way.

"Rotten. Get it?"

They start to back up, Tara pushing Naomi behind her.

"I had no idea what Marnie was doin'-!"

"Spare me the dyke-in-the-woods routine, Tara," Pam snarls.

Tara warns Naomi, "Get out now."

"But-"

"Get in the car. Drive as fast as you can. This isn't your fight!"

"It isn't yours either!"

Pam is taking her sweet time strolling closer and closer, enjoying the scent of their sweat and adrenaline. The frantic beating of both of their hearts is music to her ears.

"Girls, no need to squabble," she purrs. "There's plenty of me to go around."

Tara shouts, "Go! Now!"

But it's too late. Fangs bared, and with the blood-curdling screech of an angry leopard, Pam is on them in less than the blink of an eye. She slams Tara to the ground and straddles her, cold fingers wrapped around her throat, while her other hand holds tightly onto Naomi's throat, effortlessly keeping her at arm's length as she struggles.

"I can't decide which of you to kill first," Pam sneers, like a cat playing with her food. "You like your piece of tail?" Tara's eyes dart to Naomi. This is not lost on Pam. "Huh. I'll start with her, then."

Pam throws Naomi backwards, and she lands in a heap on the ground. The moment Pam gets to her feet, Tara draws a gun on her. Pam smacks it away. It's lost in the thick bushes in the dark.

"Play fair, now."

Pam whips around just in time to catch Naomi's leg as she attempts a roundhouse kick. That's so cute, she's a kickboxer. Pam delivers a blow to her chest that sends her flying.

"Run! Run for the bar!" Tara shouts.

As Naomi tries to scramble away, Pam tackles her in a blur, laying her out on her back. Naomi screams. Pam slaps her hard, almost knocking her out.

"Shut up."

She's about to sink her teeth into her throat when Tara comes up behind her and whacks her in the head with a tire iron. A piece of her scalp with long, blonde hair attached splats on a car's windshield several yards away.

Now Pam is just fucking furious.

She spins around on her feet, catching Tara's wrist when she tries to hit her again. Pam knocks the tire iron out of her hand before grabbing her throat and squeezing. Tara gasps for air.

"You wanna die first? Fine by me," Pam growls, lifting Tara clean off her feet. "How does it feel to have your life slippin' outta you?"

Tara gurgles weakly, her eyes rolling back into her head as the air is choked out of her.

"Huh? What? What's that? I can't understand you. Too bad. I'll never know."

Suddenly: there's a flash of light from a camera. Then another, and another, and another.

A whole fucking crowd of people from the bar have gathered, and they've got their phones out.

"I knew it, told you they were killers," someone chatters.

"TMZ's offerin' 10K for a real live vamp-attack video!" says someone else.

"Well, you're gonna have to share it with me."

"What the hell's the matter with her face?"

"Hey! Show us your face!"

"Are you sure she ain't a zombie?"

"Holy crap. Now there's zombies?"

...Is this real life? Is this really happening? What the fuck?

Are they really talking about her her face???

Pam turns her face away from the flashing cameras and phones. Horrified. Completely and utterly horrified. Tara is dying in her unrelenting grip, but she's horrified that these photos and videos will be on the internet within seconds and her disfigured face will most likely be visible. FUCK.

"I... am not... a zombie!" she shouts with indignant rage.

Someone mutters, "That's exactly what a zombie would say: 'I'm not a zombie.'"

"Like she's gonna tell us she's really a zombie..."

Idiots. Holy shit, they're all idiots.

Pam can't risk killing Tara now, not in front of everyone. Revenge was close, so close. She glares at Tara as her consciousness begins to fade, lowering her so that they're face to face.

"It may be ten minutes from now, or ten years," Pam hisses in a voice that only Tara can hear. "The moment you think you're safe, I promise I will hunt you down, and fuckin' shred you like confetti."

She lets go of Tara's throat, and she drops to the ground, wheezing. And Pam takes off into the night, away from the crowd of gawkers, away from this shithole.

Revenge will be hers some day. But right now, as soon as she gets back home to Shreveport, she's going to have to find a way to fix her face.

Because she's got fucking priorities, goddammit.


[Scene and dialogue from True Blood S4E6 & E7.]