by Mia Thompson
Why is she so upset? William wondered as he watched Sapphire burst out of the apartment building. Who did this to her?
She was following his orders, and she was on her way to become the person he knew she could be. He wished there was a way to make the process easier for her. He wished…
“Hmm,” William hummed as the idea came.
Sapphire looked up at the windows in caution, then pulled a couple of papers out of her pant lining. She’d stolen them, he realized. The question was from who?
She threw them in her purse and jumped into her Range Rover. As she peeled out, he felt confident she was off to follow his instructions and kill the priest. He was just about to follow her when he saw a man appear in a window. He stared after Sapphire’s car. He was most likely the man she’d come to see and the one who’d caused her distress.
Something about the man rubbed William the wrong way. It wasn’t just that he upset Sapphire; it was deeper. Not that he cared for anyone else in Sapphire’s life, aside from Viv. That’s why he wanted her to kill this Father O’Riley.
He’d followed her to the Catholic church once during one of his annual checkups. The priest seemed to be some sort of father figure to her. But William was her father now, again. “Father” O’Riley had to go.
He watched the man light a cigarette and crack the window. The man was handsome, sure, but looked unkempt and sloppy with his wild hair and un-pressed shirt. Even when William lived in poverty, he made sure to look sharp. A three-piece suit was his second skin.
Time… The Hunger whispered in excitement.
He looked at the clock on the dashboard. The Hemlock would wear off soon. It was time to go back to Chrissy.
The appetite surged through his stomach, and William took a breath. Originally, he’d only meant to use the Kraft girl as a tool against Sapphire, but The Hunger liked her. Over the past days his attachment to her had grown to unpredictable proportions.
William pulled out, and got back on the freeway that led to his new lair.
He’d promised to let Chrissy go if Sapphire followed his instructions, but when The Hunger was famished, promises tended to die.
Chapter 10
Sapphire stared down at Father O’Riley’s body on the kitchen floor.
His face was blue and his eyes vacant. The side of his mouth was open and dripping blood. The stab wound in his chest held a brutal red contrast against his white shirt.
Her father had given her an impossible choice, and this was the only thing she could think of to save her best friend.
“You know, these floorboards are murder on my back,” Father O’Riley said, eyeing her. “Couldn’t you have killed me in my bed instead?”
Sapphire pulled the Polaroid camera down again. “For the love of baby Jesus, quit looking directly at me. You don’t look the least bit dead when you do that.”
He sighed and gave her the vacant eyes so she could snap another photo. “And no. We’re talking about my father, a man who has seen more dead bodies than a mortician. I don’t think he’d buy it if you were all cozy in your bed.” Sapphire exhaled the frustration. “You don’t understand, he’s always a step ahead of me and I can’t seem to catch up. He’s different than all the other killers; he’s too smart.”
A whistle sounded.
“Tea time,” the dead guy chirped, and jumped up.
Sapphire moaned. Father O’Riley was the worst dead guy in the west. He’d interrupted the shoot three times already. Once to go pee, twice to ask her about the trial.
She sat as he wiped the Halloween synthetic blood from his mouth and took the pot off the stove.
“Don’t look so worried.” Father O’Riley poured their tea then sat opposite of her. “If anyone can fake a dead body, it’s you.”
Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re being way too positive about this.”
“Que sera, sera,” he crooned. “Life is way too short to worry.”
She sipped the tea. “Are you giddy like a school girl because you’re back with your church again?”
“Actually…” Father O’Riley clasped his cup. “I quit the church, and took a job as a counselor at the local college. Less repenting old ladies and more shaping the youth. It’s much like it is with you, minus all the hey-another-fellow-is-trying-to-kill-me hoopla. I like it.”
He looked so happy Sapphire couldn’t help but smile. “So, you’re not a Father anymore. What do I call you then, just O’Riley? That’s weird.”
“You could just call me by my first name, you know.” He laughed and pushed a basket of muffins to her.
“Oh… right.” Sapphire sipped her tea to hide her face.
“You do know my first name, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he gave her a perturbed look. “It’s Barrfhionn, Sapphire. Barrfhionn.”
“Oh… er, pretty.” She took a muffin from the basket. “So why didn’t you go back to the church?”
“Two reasons. I didn’t want to be a priest when I grew up. I wanted to be an astronaut and to marry Betty Boop. I was sitting there at the Vatican, well past sixty years old and it hit me, I will never go to the moon, or marry Betty Boop.”
“Mmm. Because you realized she’s a cartoon?”
“Because my parents were devoted Catholics who told me I was born for priesthood. It was who they thought I was, not who I really was. I wanted a wife, a family.”
Sapphire nodded and took a mouth full of muffin. “So, what’s the second reason?”
His eyes moved to the kitchen window and he lit up. “Right here.”
He got up to open the door. A woman wrestled her way in with bags of groceries. The same woman he’d boned and fled to the Vatican due to thou-shall-not-bone guilt.
“Sapphire, meet my wife, Teresa.”
The muffin fell out of Sapphire’s mouth and plopped into her tea.
Teresa waved at Sapphire, then turned to her husband. “Here’s your ring, resized and—what happened to you?” She stared at his bloody clothes and makeup.
“Ah right,” he stumbled, relieving Teresa of bags. “Sapphire here is a…”
“Student,” Sapphire filled in and got up.
“And she was…”
“Doing a project,” Sapphire hurried up to shake Teresa’s hand. “So nice to meet you.”
“You too,” Teresa beamed, then stopped smiling. “Aren’t you the one in the papers? The one who’s on trial for murder?”
Both Father O’Riley and Sapphire froze. They stared at a confused, perhaps terrified, Teresa as the long, awkward silence filled the kitchen.
“You know, Sapphire was just leaving.” Father O’Riley opened the door and shoved her outside. “’Kay, bye.” He shut the door.
“Okay…” Sapphire said to the closed door, “see you around then.”
She walked up to the mailbox close to his house as she dug through her purse for the pre-addressed envelope. She found it next to the pages of notes she’d taken from Aston and Barry last night.
When she spotted the police report, she knew Aston was investigating the Copycat. She grabbed the notes during her sweep of the apartment, hoping they could help her figure out who the Copycat was. She had to look them over as soon as she got priority number uno under control: her murderous father.
He would anticipate her going to the P.O. Box address so she could follow him to Chrissy. If she did stake him out later, odds were, he’d be right behind her, already staking her out. All she could do was send it and hope he bought it.
Sapphire slid the Polaroid into the envelope then held it over the drop, eyes on the vacant street.
“Hey.”
Sapphire turned to see Father O’Riley cross his yard.
“Sorry about before; I panicked.” He stopped in front of the mailbox. “I forgot to tell you something. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s different than the rest of the killers you’ve captured.” He tapped her forehead. “I think the difference is, he’s gotten in your head. Okay?”
Sapphire nod
ded, though she didn’t believe it, and gave him a hug. “Well congrats, and thanks, Burr… furr-furr.”
“It’s Barrfhi—” he sighed, “let’s just stick with Father O’Riley.”
He walked back to his house, then turned and cupped his hands. “And he’s not smarter than you.”
Sapphire looked at the P.O. Box address and titled her head.
Yes, her father would be expecting her to try and shadow him, but what if she could get someone else to help her? Someone he didn’t expect.
She put the envelope back in her purse and felt the old determination take over as she took out her cell. Sapphire only had until tomorrow afternoon, after court, to set up a plan.
She knew just where to start.
• • •
Aston forced his way through the row to find an open seat. He stepped on a few toes, said a few cuss words, and banged a few knees before he found a spot he liked. He backed his ass down, then wriggled it to make room between a reporter and a journalist.
“Do you mind?” the reporter snorted.
“Not at all,” Aston looked at the time. Thanks to Archer Woodland, he’d barely made it to the last half hour of Monday’s trial, the most important day.
Thirty-five minutes ago, he and Barry had caught up with the suspect at a soup kitchen. He was a smelly man with long hair, unkempt side burns, and patriotism coming out the ying yang. Woodland bolted the moment he realized Aston and Barry were cops. He sprinted through the soup kitchen, lobbing chairs and old ladies behind him to slow them down.
Due to Aston’s bum leg, Barry was the one to take lead in the chase. He’d disappeared into an alley in pursuit and by the time Aston made it around the corner it was too late. A banging came from inside a locked dumpster.
“Barry?” Aston asked, ear to the dumpster.
“Yes.”
“Wanna tell me how a seventy-year-old man, who trips on his own nose hair, managed to lock a young, agile cop in a dumpster?”
A long pause. “No.”
That was it. Woodland was gone, the chase was over, and Aston knew something wasn’t right. Why would a man, seemingly poor as dirt, spend months burglarizing just to risk it all for a woman he didn’t know? It didn’t make sense, but it was the only lead they had.
Aston pushed the reporter’s head to the side so he could get a proper view of Sapphire and the witness stand.
Former Officer Angelica Moore sat on the stand, rightfully dressed in an orange jump suit and shackles. The woman had been crazy in love with Aston—crazy being the key word. She loved him so much, she’d plotted with serial killer Richard Martin to have Sapphire killed. Crazy bitch.
Aston’s stomach tightened, the same place she’d put a bullet in. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Moore since she shot him. She was his special witness and he’d paid her a visit at the California Institution for Women and offered her a deal. If she lied in court about her inside scoop of Richard Martin and swore Sapphire was neither a murderer nor the Serial Catcher, Aston would visit her once a month for the next year. Moore took the deal in a civilized manner then sincerely apologized for trying to kill him. Convinced the meds they kept her on in prison had made her better, Aston nodded and got up to leave. Then Moore pulled her shirt up, pressed her bare boobs to the separating glass, and screamed: “I LOVE YOU, ASTOOOON!”
He glared at her on the stand, and she looked back at him. Though her longing eyes turned his stomach, he also knew her fanatical feelings for him would be the thing to discount Capelli’s upcoming day as a witness. Aston eyed his ex-partner who sat a few rows ahead. His long arms spread across the back of the pew, taking up space like the smug fuck he was.
“Former Officer Moore,” Mr. Goldstein said. “Do you believe it was Richard Martin’s intention to kill Sapphire Dubois?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe he killed Charles Dubois, and Sapphire was forced to kill Richard Martin in self-defense?”
“Absolutely.” Moore gave Aston the tiniest of smiles. She spoke of the tears she’d seen in Sapphire’s eyes when she ran out of the lounge and Aston watched the jurors nod along. Insane people made the best liars. He was so satisfied with Moore’s effort, he decided to stop referring to her as crazy bitch.
Sapphire turned and her eyes searched until they found Aston. She knew he had something to do with this. Oddly, she didn’t look grateful about it, but remorseful.
When she turned back he didn’t take his eyes off her. Her head turned toward the giant clock above the bench. What the hell was more important to her than her trial? A gut-fucked worry rose in him.
Too late, Aston realized Moore had stopped talking, and was staring at him instead. Her gaze moved to where he’d been looking and her longing eyes changed to something else.
“Why, Ms. Moore…” Prosecutor Pearl marched to the stand, “would a serial killer want Sapphire Dubois dead?”
“Be… because,” Moore stammered, eyes on Sapphire, “he… because… he said…”
Spit it out. Aston nodded, willing her to say the words she’d promised: Because he said he’d seen her engagement photo in the paper and wanted to add her to the rest of his trophies.
“Because.” Moore turned in satisfaction. “He told me she was the Serial Catcher who trapped him.”
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
Gasps spread around the room. The jurors’ interests piqued. Sapphire’s shoulders sank. Mr. Goldstein’s bald head glistened in sweat. Capelli accidently high-fived a man in the face.
Soon after the prosecutor was done, Judge Biggs banged the gavel, declaring the end of the day. Aston felt nauseated. He pushed the reporter out of the way to get to Moore who was being escorted down the aisle.
“I thought we had a deal,” he said between his teeth.
“I love you, Aston,” Moore said calmly. She smacked her guard in the solar plexus. He gasped, losing his grip on her, and she launched toward Aston.
Moore wrapped her shackles around his head, then leaned in and whispered in his ear. “But I hate the way you look at her more.” She grabbed his head and licked his face. Her tongue got all the way to his sideburns before the guard pulled her off.
Aston wiped his cheek and stared at her as she was dragged down the aisle. Crazy bitch.
He turned just as Sapphire’s dark hair disappeared through the doors.
• • •
Sapphire held her binoculars toward the UPS store.
She’d tracked the P.O. Box address here, then sent the envelope with a tracking number and a same-day-delivery guarantee. Her phone had sent her alerts until it reached its destination.
Her father could come pick it up anytime.
In case he was watching her earlier, Sapphire parked her Range Rover at the mansion, and went inside, just to climb down the vine on the other side. It was like the good old days when she had to hide her nocturnal activities from Julia. Then she’d rented a black sedan, the blandest car on the lot. It would’ve been much easier if she still had her old beat-up cover car, a Volkswagen. But even without it, Sapphire felt good taking the power back.
She felt like herself again. Even when Angelica Moore’s words left her crazy mouth earlier, Sapphire had tried to stay calm, though it was now evident she’d end up in prison. The more she repeated the plan to herself, the better she felt. Save Chrissy, stop her father, wait for money, get the hell out of Dodge before the jury sent her to a place worse than Lynwood.
She sat on a hillside parking lot, looking over the shopping center where her father’s UPS store was located.
After Father O’Riley gave his encouraging words yesterday, Sapphire called a man so dumb she once saw him hit on a mannequin. He didn’t answer his phone, so she tracked him down to a restaurant on Rodeo.
Sapphire had plopped down in the seat opposite John Vanderpilt III, who was just about to order from the waiter. “Long time no see, Romeo.”
He held his hand to his chest. “Sapphire. It’s me, John.”
> “I know. I meant because of… never mind.”
“I’ll have the Kung Pao Chicken.” John handed the menu to his waiter, then looked at her. “I’m really not supposed to talk to you, with DubCorp and all.”
“We don’t have Kung Pao Chicken.” The waiter handed the menu back.
Sapphire frowned. “What do you mean, DubCorp and all?”
“Ah, nothing.” He looked at the waiter. “I’ll have the Chow Fun then.”
“No Chow Fun either.” The waiter gave John the same look Sapphire often gave him when they were together.
John groaned and Sapphire took the opportunity to start her plan. “Are you in love with Chrissy?”
“Wh-wh-wh—no!” John scoffed, then asked with helpless hope: “Why, is she in love with me?”
“Of course. Had it not been for that older guy she’s dating I think you guys would’ve been great together.” Sapphire continued as the waiter tapped his pen, “I mean, the looks of the both of you, just imagine your children, W-O-W.” She laid it on thick, slightly nauseated.
“She’s dating an older guy?” John’s voice turned frail as he handed the waiter the menu again. “The moo goo gai pan.”
“We don’t have moo goo gai pan.”
“What the… what kind of Chinese restaurant doesn’t have moo goo gai pan?”
“An Indian one!”
The waiter and Sapphire watched John’s eyes wander from the Hindu décor to the complimentary naan bread, and the waiter’s knee-length kurta.
“Oooh,” John finally said. “In that case, I’ll have the beef broccoli.”
The waiter stared at John for a long second. “I’m going to walk away now, and I probably won’t come back.”
Sapphire looked after the frustrated waiter in sympathy. “Any way, I think the guy is cheating on her. I wish there was some way we could prove it to Chrissy, so that she could go back to you, the handsome guy she truly loves.”
John silenced for a moment. “You don’t suppose we could…”
“What?” Sapphire asked innocently, as he fell into her trap. “Shadow him, hope to catch him in the act and snap a photo?”