Silencing Sapphire

by Mia Thompson

  “You found coffee?”

  “Bouillon cube,” Sapphire said, taking a drink.

  “Oh, I bought that bouillon,” Aston said and his mouth twitched into a smile, “in 1998.”

  About to swallow, Sapphire spat the bouillon back into the cup and pushed it away.

  “Does your dad always drink like that?”

  “Oh, he wasn’t drunk. He’s way worse as a drunk.” Aston lit a cigarette. “He drank until I was twenty-five, then had to quit because of his liver. His brain was already fried though. Psychosis. He’s got about two marbles left, but sometimes he loses them and wanders the streets until he comes to his senses or someone finds him. Wilson, my ex-partner at the LAPD, happened to be in the area, recognized him, and called me.”

  “Sooo, the whole Ashton thing is because he’s confused?”

  “Ah, yup.”

  Liar. They sat in silence for awhile, letting their eyes rest on the rotten picket fence and the long weeds taking over the yard.

  “There’s someone by the door, Ashton,” Joe yelled from inside.

  “There’s no one at the door, Pops. It’s three in the fucking morning!”

  “Maybe it’s the milkman!”

  “It’s not 1952!”

  “Maybe there is someone there,” Sapphire whispered, paranoid.

  “Trust me, there never is.” Aston stubbed out his cigarette and got up. “And hey, don’t think you’re off the hook on the whole stripper thing. We’re going to talk about it later.”

  “Now there’s someone in my bed!” Joe yelled.

  “Maybe it’s the goddamned milkman!” Aston shouted and slammed the door behind him.

  Sapphire looked after him—her hunter—as he disappeared inside. Should she have stayed? No. But to not be allowed to see Aston was like being on a strict diet and walking around with a constant hunger. Now, somebody had handed her a plate of her favorite food.

  She wouldn’t eat it. She just wanted to hold the plate and take in its aromas. At least that’s what she wanted to believe.

  Sapphire sighed, then grabbed the bouillon and took a sip.

  “Damn it,” she said and spit it back out.

  * * * * *

  Aston punched the crap out of his pillow, trying to get comfortable. The couch was older than him and he doubted he’d get any sleep.

  He gave Sapphire his childhood room once his father was in bed for the night.

  Aston groaned when he heard the shower that connected to his room turn on. It meant Sapphire Dubois was less than fifteen feet away, naked. Very, very, naked. With water and soap, all sudsy. He sighed at the image. Now he definitely wouldn’t sleep.

  After another ten minutes of tormenting himself, Aston threw the blanket off.

  He knocked twice and listened as Sapphire got up to open the door. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she was wearing his old high school t-shirt. It was too big for her and ran halfway down her thighs. Aston intended a quick peek, but when Sapphire cleared her throat, he realized he was staring.

  “I just…” Aston searched for words, “heard you showering and wanted to make sure you found a towel.”

  “Found one.”

  He nodded and braced his elbow against the frame of the door, leaning in. Sapphire’s body followed his lead. They stood close, bodies almost touching, Aston a head taller than her looking down.

  “Need anything else?” he asked, his voice coming from down deep.

  “No.”

  “Sheets?”

  “No.”

  “Pillow?”

  “No.”

  “Water?”

  “No.”

  “Ovaltine?”

  Sapphire laughed and shook her head.

  “Okay.” He finalized it with a nod. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight.” She closed the door.

  Aston left and swore at himself. Then he went back, and left again. He repeated the procedure three times. Back at the door, he raised his fist to knock.

  Sapphire reopened before he could.

  Aston pushed through, grabbed her by the waist, and kissed her. He lifted her off the ground and pushed her back against the door, slamming it shut. Their bodies pressed together as if a force from either side had launched them toward each other. Their kiss, deep and arousing, caused Aston as much pain as bliss. He savored her but knew she wasn’t his to keep.

  His hand slid up along her warm thigh, pushing the shirt up, and their kiss went primitive.

  He pulled her to his bed and slid her panties off, then pushed inside her.

  * * * * *

  Sapphire started to wake up, feeling rested. She’d slept soundly—no motel room nightmares. Whether it was because of Dr. Rues or Aston’s calming effect, she couldn’t say. She felt great, happy. It was a different happiness from the kind she felt when she hunted; it was more tangible. Sapphire and Aston waking up in bed together felt natural.

  She opened her eyes to look at him.

  Except, there was no Sapphire and Aston in bed. Just Sapphire and Disappointment. And Disappointment wasn’t nearly as attractive as Aston.

  Sapphire’s eyes narrowed. Had he abandoned her at his father’s house? The last time she spent the night with Aston, he couldn’t get her out of his studio fast enough.

  How could she be this stupid…twice?

  Sapphire ripped off the covers and searched for something to wear. Aston had dragged her out in her itty-bitty costume. In the morning light she saw the walls of Aston’s room caked in posters of Magnum P.I, James Bond, and Miami Vice: male role models, no doubt. Made sense. She found a pair of shorts next to a pile of charred Lincoln Logs.

  Self-conscious, Sapphire tiptoed to the kitchen where she found Joe drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette, watching the news on a small TV with the volume low.

  “Good morning.” He motioned to the coffeemaker. “I borrowed some coffee from the neighbor.”

  “Nice.”

  “No, she’s a hag.”

  “The coffee, I mean.”

  “Oh, right. Would you like a cup?” His mind was clearer today. It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d been shouting about invisible people the night before. “Ashton walked to the store to get some breakfast for you.”

  “Oooh.” Sapphire cringed at how relieved and girly she sounded. “So Ashton…what’s up with that?”

  Joe handed her a cup and sat back down. “That’s his name. I might have been a little tipsy when I went to fill out the paper work and forgot the H. Once the kids learned to read in school, they started teasing him about the name being spelled wrong, along with some…other things. He used to come home with bruises, broken arms, black eyes, you name it. It made him a hell of a fighter though.”

  “I see.” It explained why she’d seen him cringe at his name being mispronounced.

  “I only remember bits and pieces from yesterday, so I’m sorry if I said anything insulting. Not really the first fucking impression you want to make when you meet your daughter in-law.” Joe peered into his coffee.

  “You know Joe, Aston and I aren’t really marr-hi…” The TV caught her eye.

  A picture of a girl framed the corner of the screen.

  “It was right here,” the reporter stated, standing in front of a lake by Arrowhead, “this morning, that the drowned body of a young woman was found.” The picture of the girl in the corner blew up covering the whole screen.

  Sapphire went deaf and the room around her dissolved. All she could see was the image of the girl.

  She shot up and her chair crashed to the floor. Joe looked at her in surprise.

  “I have to leave,” she managed to get out. She had to go to the lake now. She had to find him.

  She ran out of the house. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. Sapphire was supposed to be next.

  It wasn’t supposed to be Misty.

  Chapter 17

  Aston walked in the door feeling like a million bucks. It was a good day. Hell, it w
as a good life.

  He was close to finding the Serial Catcher, something he’d dreamed of for years. Above all, he’d spent the night with Sapphire. He felt…what was it, giddy? Aston had never felt giddy before. He had such a rush of energy his bad leg didn’t even hurt when he jogged to the grocery store.

  Aston found his father staring out the kitchen window with a cup of coffee to his lips and burning cigarette filter between his fingers. For once, the house smelled of coffee instead of mold.

  Aston put down the grocery bag filled with everything he thought a vegetarian might want in an omelet.

  “She still sleeping?” he asked, pouring himself a cup.

  “Um, well…not really.”

  Aston stared at his old man as he swallowed the first sip. “What do you mean not real…” The giddy-million-bucks-the-house-smells-of-coffee-not-mold mood left him. “She left, didn’t she?”

  “Yup.”

  “And she stole my car, didn’t she?”

  “Yup.”

  “Son of a bitch!” A sharp pain stabbed his chest.

  It was clear. Last night meant nothing.

  “She saw something on the news and just took off,” his father said, shaking his head. “Women.”

  “Ooh-hoo,” Aston chuckled on the brink of madness. “See, that’s what she wants you to think to suck you in, but trust me, she’s not a woman. She’s a freaking siren.” He tossed the cup into the sink. It hit the edge and shattered, which was too bad. His dad only owned three coffee cups to begin with.

  He reached for his cell and waited impatiently.

  “Yes?” Barry’s voice was thick with sleep.

  “Get your ass out of bed.”

  “I just got my ass in bed.”

  “I need you to drive me to the Dubois mansion.”

  “Is this one of those times where you ask me to drive you, but then you end up stealing my car and leaving me stranded on Rodeo?”

  “Probably not, but we’ll see.”

  * * * * *

  Sapphire stood on the hill above the lake watching the Sheriff’s department and reporters leave the scene.

  It was hard to believe that such a peaceful place surrounded by mountains, forestry, and fresh water was the place Misty took her last breath only hours ago. Sapphire cringed, imagining the appalling scenario that had played out below. None of the girls deserved to die. But did it have to be Misty?

  Sapphire slid down the hill until she reached the water. She’d watched the Sheriff’s department comb the area and knew she wouldn’t find anything, but she paced at the water’s edge anyway.

  Why this specific lake? There were several lakes closer to the Golden Mirage and downtown L.A. The longer he drove with a woman in the trunk the riskier it was, so why go out of his way? Perhaps this lake had sentimental value to him, or…

  Her gaze landed on the few cabins scattered in the surrounding forest, smoke ascending from their chimneys.

  Or he lived there.

  It wasn’t out of his way at all. It was on his way home. Sapphire ran back to her car and jumped inside. The mountain town had no more than a couple hundred people. With a bit of luck, she might find him today.

  She’d stolen Aston’s car that morning and rushed home. She had run up to the attic to change and pack her bag, flown downstairs, snatched a banana from the fruit bowl, and headed for the door just as Charles and Berta got back from their morning stroll.

  Charles’s wheelchair had blocked her exit and he eyed her, mystified. Not strange considering she was wearing black jeans, black boots, and a tight black t-shirt—none of which were Prada.

  When she squeezed by him, Charles had grabbed her arm with such force that it startled her.

  “Charles, I really have to go,” she had said, gently pulling on her hand.

  Charles had opened his mouth, taking a breath before pouring all his energy into forming his lips. “Be…careful.”

  Sapphire had blinked at him, processing his words and the clear voice she hadn’t heard in almost a decade.

  “I-I’ll see you later,” she had stammered.

  Still taken aback by Charles’s words, Sapphire had gone to the driveway knowing what she had to do. There was a reason she stole the Volkswagen years ago. Her Range Rover with its sparkling rhinestone-covered grill and rims screamed, look at me, look at me, in Chrissy-like fashion. Not to mention that it was in her name.

  She couldn’t have a cab haul her around to hunt a serial killer, and Aston’s car was sure to have a tracker on it, most cops’ did. The Range Rover had to do.

  Sapphire got to her 100th dirt road in the mountains when it hit her.

  “Shit!”

  She never closed the attic door. How messed up was her mind if she’d forgotten to protect the one thing in the mansion that connected to her Serial Catcher life?

  She panicked, debating whether to turn around. Then she calmed down. Her mother was in rehab, Charles was wheelchair bound, and Berta had already cleaned her room the day before. She should be safe.

  She continued down another dirt road and searched for residential houses hidden among the trees. For the past hour the view hadn’t changed. She felt like she was having constant déjà vu.

  Tree. Tree. Elk Warning sign. Tree. Tree. Bush. Elk Warning sign. Tree. Bush. Elk Warning sign. Tree. Tree. Elk…

  ELK!

  Sapphire slammed the brakes and veered away from the animal in the road, heading straight for a tree. The hood bent, hissing steam, and her airbags exploded.

  She stumbled out and looked at her totaled car, then at the Elk responsible. He still hadn’t moved.

  “I’m okay, thanks for asking!” Sapphire looked around the deserted road and grabbed her phone. “Call nearest tow truck.”

  “You have no service, Ms. Dubois.”

  “Then how are you talking to me?” Sapphire sneered.

  “My verbal communication feature is not connected to the network. Please review your owner’s manual.”

  Sapphire climbed up on the car’s roof. She waved her phone around, searching for reception. It wasn’t working.

  “Look,” she said sweetly to the screen. “We’ve had some rough times, you and I, where we both said things we didn’t mean. I just need one bar, that’s all…please.”

  Unyielding silence, then:

  “You have…absolutely no service.”

  Sapphire let out a frustrated yell as the Elk ogled her.

  “Bet you think this is funny.”

  He pooped.

  “Sweetheart, are you in trouble?”

  Sapphire turned to an old, sweet-looking lady standing in the middle of the road and looking up at her.

  “Oh, those things almost never work out here,” the lady chuckled at the cell phone. “You need to use my telephone? I live right up the hill.”

  Sapphire sighed. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Come on then,” the old lady said, smiling from ear to ear. “I’ve got tea on the stove and key lime pie in the fridge.”

  Sapphire dropped her phone into her boot and followed the old woman. They hiked until they hit a small dirt road. It led to a cute house that bordered a steep hill.

  “I’m sorry,” Sapphire said. “I’m…Jill. I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Oh, how silly of me, I’m Maggie.” She closed the door behind them. “Maggie Butler.”

  * * * * *

  Barry stepped out of the buggy in the Dubois driveway and walked up to Aston’s car. “Good news. She left the keys in the ignition.”

  Aston slammed the buggy’s door shut. “How very noble. I’ll be sure to thank the thief.” He didn’t give a shit about his car. He gave a shit about her reason for taking it.

  He rang the golden doorbell sixteen times before a big-boned housekeeper ripped the door open, angry as a bee. Or in her case: moose.

  “Nein!” She slapped Aston’s hand off the buzzer. “Nein. Nein. Nein.”

  Aston was stunned by the woman. He wasn’t used to people
scaring the crap out of him. He scrambled for his badge. “We’re looking for Ms. Dubois.”

  “Gone. Goodbye.”

  She slammed the door and Aston looked over at Barry whose eyes were bulging with terror. He rang the doorbell again, only once. The large German ripped open the door again—no shit—breathing fire through her nostrils.

  God, Aston missed the old one, Julia. “Where did Ms. Dubois go?”

  “Gone. Goodbye.” She reached to close the door again, but Aston stuck his foot in the crack. Over the angry German’s shoulder he saw Mr. Dubois watching from his wheelchair.

  “B…Berta, no.” The old man waved to let them in.

  “Come,” Berta commanded. She escorted them to the kitchen where Barry and Aston sat down on stools. When Berta was about to park Mr. Dubois’ wheelchair, he held up a hand and stood up, slowly.

  Aston watched him in shock. Last time he was there the rich old fart couldn’t walk, let alone speak.

  “I’m sorry,” Aston said as the look on Mr. Dubois’ face made him realize that he was staring. “I was under the impression you were a full-time cripple.”

  He must have said something insulting because Mr. Dubois frowned before he settled in the chair, pridefully.

  “Wh…what…is this…re…garding?”

  “Sapphire,” Aston answered, “she stole my car.”

  A smile danced on Mr. Dubois’ lips. “K…kids.” He shrugged as if Aston had just told him that Sapphire had taken his ball and wouldn’t give it back.

  “But she was here first before she left,” Aston tried. “Did she say anything? Grab anything?”

  “Banana.”

  “I don’t suppose you know which way she went?”

  “F…fruit bowl is that way.” The old man pointed, barely holding back a smile.

  Aston ignored the comment and hopped off the stool. “Well if she comes home, let her know to—”

  Somebody farted. All eyes slowly turned to Berta who was mopping by the fridge.

  “Um…to call me,” Aston continued before smacking Barry on the back of the head. “Let’s go.”

  As they passed Berta, she bent down to grab something. She put the two inch black gadget on the counter and returned her attention to the mop.

  Aston glanced at it. He moved through the hallway as a strange and unwelcome feeling grew inside him. He reached for the front doorknob and got stuck. He was immovable by an invisible force field.