The Darkness of Sable

by Faith Bicknell

  “It’s okay, really.” Lucretia chuckled. She turned and quickly gathered up the scattered items from her cart. “The only other time I’ve seen customers exit so fast,” she said, scooping up combs, “was when Hurricane Katrina moved into The Gulf!”

  Sable tried to laugh, too, but the sound stuck in her throat. What was wrong with her? Only the deranged and little children saw frightening creatures…didn’t they? Maybe she was just too tired and overstressed after all.

  For the remainder of her appointment, she forced herself not to dwell on the embarrassing incident. She focused on the salon’s stunning gold-and-black décor and engaged Lucretia in conversation about Naples, tropical storms, and the craziness of three generations of a Latino family living under one roof. Once Sable moved over to the nail technician’s table, she chatted with Candy, a small elderly woman who told her about her recent weekend vacation in the Bahamas and how her next trip would be to New York City.

  Three hours later, Sable gave the women a forty-dollar tip each.

  Lucretia’s eyes grew round with surprise, her mouth ajar.

  Sable patted the young woman’s shoulder. “Your patience with me and my outburst today is well worth it. And tell Candy that if she does make it to New York City next summer,” she said, rummaging in her clutch, “she’s welcome to look me up. We’ll have lunch.” Sable pulled out a business card and handed it to Lucretia.

  She turned and walked out to the waiting limousine. A relaxing afternoon at the beauty salon had turned into a fiasco that had left her nerves so thin she could have used them as fiber optics. Slight pain in her skull forced her to turn her head from side to side and roll her shoulders. To her left, the limo driver waited.

  “Ma’am?” he said and reached for the car door. “Are you ready to return to your hotel?”

  “Umm…” She cast her gaze down the sidewalk.

  Perhaps a bit of shopping for tonight’s gala would soothe her nerves. Both jewelry and lingerie stores were a few doors down. Not that she had anyone to wear lingerie for, but some new, beautiful jewelry for the night’s event sounded like a good idea.

  A lanky blonde in a white T-shirt and jeans emerged from the florist shop on the corner. Sable’s attention zeroed in on her. The young woman looked familiar. Her posture, the way she tipped her head, and even her lithe figure and long limbs all rang bells of recognition, and yet there was something different about her. Maybe it was the girl’s clothes…

  Sable blinked. The woman wasn’t wearing gothic clothing. Her daughter in regular street clothes? No, it can’t be…it is! Cheyenne!

  At first, no sound would exit her mouth. She gaped, swallowed. Finally, her audio kicked on, and she shouted, “Cheyenne!”

  “Ms. Hendricks-Tade!” the chauffeur called after her.

  The young woman turned slightly, revealing a distinct profile, her long, shiny hair framing it.

  It is her! Oh, thank God!

  “Cheyenne, wait!” Sable trotted down the sidewalk, her sandals slapping against the concrete. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She waved one hand in the air. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad to finally find you!”

  Thomas jumped out of the rental car. “Damn it! What the hell’s going on?”

  He’d been watching the salon for the last three hours. All seemed to be well, mundane in fact, then, within seconds of exiting the hair boutique, Sable started yelling and took off running. He scanned the sidewalk, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, but just because he couldn’t see something didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

  Desperation and worry plagued Thomas. How the hell was he supposed to follow Sable without alerting her to his presence or revealing magic to the public?

  Shit! He raked his hands over his cornrows and paced back and forth alongside the car.

  “Valimar!” A dark-haired man in a police uniform approached him. “I’ll handle this.”

  Thomas stared at the white man, his sixth sense screaming words of warning. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “The Judges sent me,” he snapped.

  “And I’m supposed to take your word for it?” Thomas eyed the man with skepticism.

  “Stay put. I’ll follow Sable.” Without another word, the cop ran down the sidewalk opposite Sable’s retreating form.

  “Damn, damn, and triple damn!” Thomas snarled. What if the cop was really part of the New Order? What if…

  He raced after the policeman, darting around pedestrians as he kept the guy in his sight. He prayed his instincts about him were wrong.

  The young blonde woman spun on her heel and strode to the curb to wait at the busy intersection.

  “No, wait! Didn’t you hear me? Cheyenne, it’s Mom!” Adrenaline rocketed through Sable’s veins on the heels of panic and dismay. She must’ve heard me—everyone else is looking at me. Sable ran faster, her handbag clutched tightly to the bodice of her sundress. “Cheyenne, don’t go!”

  The blonde waited for the pedestrian light signal to change. The red, glowing hand icon switched to WALK, and, without a backward glance, the girl stepped out into the crossover.

  “No! Wait!” Sable screamed and waved her hand harder. She ran onward, dodging shoppers and sidewalk sale racks.

  A blind man and his Golden Retriever stepped out of a café’s entrance. The dog jerked back on its leash. The blind man paused. His head turned toward Sable as she careened along the pavement, her sandals pounding out a crisp, frenzied rhythm. She veered around them, nearly upending herself into the gutter, but somehow, she managed to maintain her balance and continue on her path.

  Midway across the pedestrian strip, Cheyenne glanced over her shoulder but hurried on her way.

  Did she see me? She has to know it’s me.

  “Cheyenne!” Sable screamed. “Please wait!”

  The thin soles of her Pradas did little to protect her feet. Each step sent a stinging jolt all the way up into her calves. Her heart thrashed against her ribs, and her breath grew ragged and painful. She couldn’t lose sight of her daughter. Not now, not after months of searching and finally stumbling across her right here in Naples.

  The passenger door of a vintage Trans Am swung out in front of her. Sable crashed into it, dropping her purse, the free locks of her hair tangling in the door handle and the edge of the window.

  “Hey!” the passenger, a svelte, raven-haired woman in her late twenties, shrieked. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Pain burst in Sable’s hip, a firecracker of discomfort that radiated down her leg. She cried out but pushed onward, her hair ripping lose from the car door.

  “You stupid bitch!” the Trans Am woman yelled.

  Only vaguely aware of the pain in her scalp, she half ran, half hobbled after Cheyenne’s receding figure. On the corner, an elderly clerk pushed a cart full of flower bouquets through the door of the florist shop and directly into Sable’s path. She veered to the left, her right arm catching several clusters of daisies, carnations, and roses mixed with baby’s breath. The flowers toppled to the concrete, but Sable raced on, the old man’s indignant cries dogging her heels.

  She bumped into a woman who strode around the corner carrying a to-go cup. The lid popped off of the container, and dark coffee spilled down the front of her silk blouse. Sable barely glimpsed her angry face, but the pedestrian’s hurled cuss words echoed in her ears.

  “Wait!” Sable cried, the word warbling off into a pitiful, anguished squeak. “Cheyenne!”

  Her daughter kept going at a brisk pace down the opposite street, her yellow hair, crisp white T-shirt, and snug jeans fading into the crowd.

  Lunging out into the traffic, Sable paid no heed to the DON’T WALK sign flashing opposite her.

  Tires wailed. A horn shrieked.

  Something struck her, and Sable felt herself go airborne.

  She left me…she didn’t even look back.

  The pavement rushed up to meet her.

  No matter how terrible the impending impact would be,
the pain of losing Cheyenne again hurt worse.

  Chapter Six

  Squeaks

  S he blinked up at the fronds of a palm tree towering over her. They waved and bounced in the stiff ocean breeze. Beyond them, the sky hosted a passing cumulonimbus cloud, the whiteness of it emphasizing the blue background. Stunned, Sable grasped her predicament as thoughts and awareness of her surroundings finally filtered into her mind. Excited chatter full of questions and statements reached her ears.

  “Who was the woman?”

  “Why had she run out into traffic?”

  “That broad’s crazy.”

  “Is she dead?”

  “Who was she chasing?”

  “Someone should put her in a mental ward.”

  An attractive face with a pair of dazzling gold eyes framed in thick, black lashes appeared over her.

  “Ma’am? Are you okay?”

  Recognition nudged Sable’s brain—the cop who had been writing the parking ticket.

  “Don’t move. My name is Officer Rick Delmont. I’ve called an ambulance and I’ll stay here with you until it arrives.”

  Sable ran an internal cursory check on her body. Nothing really hurt other than her hips, and discomfort was a more adequate word. One hip was bruised from the Trans Am’s door, the other from the vehicle that had struck her. The palms of her hands stung as well as her elbows and knees.

  Her brain popped into drive, and memories sped into it. She recalled landing in a vacant parking spot on her hands and knees. She’d rolled to the curb where she now lay. Other than bruises, her worst wounds seemed to be a case of road rash and her devastated pride.

  Maybe I am mental. She blinked up at the policeman’s amber-like eyes. No, I’m not crazy, just desperate…and obsessed.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked. “Are you able to move?”

  “I’m fine,” she answered. “Just bruised and scraped.” She attempted to sit up, but he pressed one hand to her shoulder. Tingles swept through it.

  “Lie still. You might have other injuries.”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.” She sat up, touched her shoulder, and found the tingles were gone.

  Her gaze swept the immediate area. Several pairs of curious eyes stared back at her.

  Embarrassment assaulted Sable, and the heat of it rushed across her body. “I feel like an ass, but I’m okay.”

  He chuckled. “I imagine you do. Why did you run out into traffic?”

  “I saw my daughter,” she explained, focusing on the abrasions covering her palms. She wiped the blood and grit on her dress. Feeling braver, she finally forced herself to look at him.

  The officer’s attention moved from her hands to her face, an intrigued expression in his eyes.

  What unusual eyes. Sable admired the way they contrasted with the black hair that peeked out around his hat. He smiled. More heat crept up her neck, warming her cheeks, and she glanced away. One of her sandals lay just under the bumper of the next parked car.

  The officer reached over, snagging it by the heel strap. He handed the shoe to her. “I’m sure your daughter would have waited for you. There was no sense in risking your life and that of others to catch her before she crossed the street.”

  She shook her head and met the man’s bright eyes. “You don’t understand. My daughter has been missing for five years, and when I saw her step out of one of the stores, my only thought was to reach her before she disappeared in the crowd.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.” Concern etched his face. “For that matter, you’re damn lucky you didn’t cause an accident and get someone else killed.”

  She nodded and contemplated a cluster of saw grass at the edge of the beach entrance. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “You’re looking at a couple of fines, too.”

  “I deserve it.”

  “First time I ever heard someone say they deserved a fine,” he said. “You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

  Derisive laughter burst from her. “I’m sure.”

  A siren punctuated the traffic noises and the jumbled conversations of the crowd. The cop left her to chase away the spectators and directed motorists around the scene of the accident. Sable insisted on walking to the e-squad, but an EMT still held her arm. The breeze cooled her skin and lifted her hair so the ends danced in the current. Somewhere around the opposite corner, a car horn tooted a friendly greeting. Once the EMTs had Sable settled in the back of the ambulance, the policeman poked his head through the open doors.

  “I didn’t get your name,” he said.

  “Sable Hendricks-Tade.”

  “The sculptress, right?”

  “Umm, yes. I’m surprised you—”

  “What?” He grinned. “You’re surprised a beat cop would know who you are?”

  She shrugged. “Well, yes.” Embarrassment fell over her again. Perspiration slicked her skin, and she wished for a bath and clean clothes.

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t have recognized your name if it wasn’t for having a baby sister who’s about to graduate from Naples School of Art. She’s told me all about her favorite artists, sculptors, and who she likes best in special effects.” He removed his hat and ran one hand through a thick, wavy mop of jet-black hair. “She’s quite taken with your latest series of sculptures. I have to admit that when she showed me your website, I was in awe of them, too. They’re very lifelike; dark, sinister.”

  “I appreciate that, but I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. Anyway, I’ll stop by the ER later to get a statement and your information.”

  Sable nodded. “Thanks.”

  He paused. “For what?”

  “For being so nice.”

  A crooked smile graced his mouth, and a deep dimple appeared to the right of it. Despite the early afternoon hour, a dark five o’clock shadow kissed his jawline. She guessed him to be somewhere between thirty-eight and forty-two. His uniform clung to his shoulders, accentuating their broadness and the defined muscles of his arms. He must be an after-work gym kind of guy. A furtive glance at his left hand revealed a missing wedding band, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  He noticed her wandering gaze. His smile grew wider, and Sable’s face flamed hotter.

  “Just doing my job,” Officer Delmont stated. “But when the lady involved is easy on the eyes and has the prettiest head of hair I’ve ever seen, it makes my job a lot nicer.”

  The glow of his compliment drifted over her on the breath of the ocean wind. She smiled and averted her gaze. “I just had my hair and makeup done for an art gala tonight. I imagine I need everything repaired now.”

  The lady EMT snorted. She put a blood-pressure cuff around Sable’s upper arm. “Don’t listen to that sweet talker,” she said, amusement in her voice. “This is the first time I’ve seen this officer. He’s new, so that means he can either charm a snake right out of its skin, or he’s an eager beaver.”

  Officer Delmont laughed softly. “Shh! You’re telling all my secrets.”

  The EMT shooed him aside, her laughter filling the squad.

  “See you later,” he told Sable and walked away to a black-and-white parked halfway down the street.

  Although she tried not to, Sable admired his physique as he retreated. Broad shoulders, a trim waist, and a nice ass all in a Naples police uniform served to warm her blood. Too bad she wouldn’t see him again other than when he took her statement at the ER. Anyway, she didn’t need a bedmate to complicate her life, and a relationship with anyone was the last thing on her mind, not that it mattered. She was only in town for a few days, and then she and Thomas would return to New York City where she would resume her life.

  But before she left, she had to find her daughter.

  Cheyenne was somewhere in Naples.

  Within Sable’s heart, a seed of hope sprouted.

  The curtain, separating her from a little boy waiting for stitches in his arm, slid asi
de with a screech.

  “Sable!” Thomas rushed to the gurney where she sat. “Are you all right? Your phone call scared the hell out of me.” He pushed a lock of her hair back and looked down into her face.

  She smiled. His worry secretly pleased her, and his presence comforted her. “I’m fine. Just bruised with a bit of road rash, that’s all.”

  “Are you sure?” His chocolate-kiss eyes brimmed with concern.

  “Positive.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “So much so that I intend on calling Lucretia at The Elegant Curl to ask if she’s willing to make a house call to repair my hair and makeup for tonight’s gala.”

  He studied her for a moment. “I can always contact The Golden’s agent and let her know that you had an accident and—”

  “Thomas, I want to go tonight.” She paused for effect. “Besides, I saw Cheyenne today. Maybe I can put some feelers out about her to the wealthy and prestigious who will be attending tonight.”

  “Cheyenne?” he said. “You really saw her?”

  Nodding, she couldn’t hide her huge grin. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  He gaped at her, his usual composure gone. “What did Cheyenne say? Where has she been all this time?”

  “Well…” Sable dropped her gaze to the floor.

  The white-and-green tile glimmered in the overhead lights. A nurse shuffled in and filled a utility tray with antiseptic swabs, a squirt bottle of saline, gauze, and first-aid tape. She left without a backward glance, the curtain swaying from her passage.

  Certain the nurse was gone, Sable said, “Cheyenne didn’t say anything. She practically ran from me.”

  “What? Why?”

  A shadow appeared on the other side of the privacy curtain. “Hello?” a male voice said. “Officer Delmont here. Ms. Hendricks-Tade?”

  “Right here,” she said.

  The officer brushed by the curtain, her little purse in one hand. “Someone discovered your bag where you’d dropped it. It appears all your credit cards, belongings, and cash are still intact. Most people would have cleaned it out first, if they even turned it in at all.”