Sentencing Sapphire

by Mia Thompson

  “I don’t think she’s in the Middle East. I think she’s in Paris.” She held up a phone bill.

  Aston felt the blood surge through his legs. They twitched as the feeling spread from his toes to his waist.

  “Okay, Mr. Ridder…” The nurse who’d quit entered the doorway. “I know you didn’t mean to throw your juice at me and I’m willing to—”

  Aston shot out of the bed and slammed the door in her face. He turned and pointed at the chief. “You, hand me one of those cigarettes. And you,” he pointed at Julia, the woman who’d brought him back to life. “Tell me everything.”

  • • •

  Sapphire was still in dreamland when the strong male arm pulled her closer to his side of the bed. She inhaled, relishing how warm his chest felt against her back.

  They lay on her 100-year-old mattress. She could hear the drips and smell the summer rain from outside. It smelled stronger in Paris than in L.A. Perhaps it was because there was no smog to dilute it, or perhaps because her windows had no glass. Her apartment was a dump. The electricity only worked when it felt like it, the walls were riddled with holes, and it stunk of mildew. In short, it was awesome. She loved the independent life she’d created in Paris.

  Sapphire scooted closer to the man behind her.

  The morning would be complete if not for Father O’Riley’s words echoing in her mind.

  She’d left the cemetery last night and rushed to platform C at Stazione di Pisa Centrale, just to find her train to Paris delayed. She was about to go to the café and get an espresso, when she counted her change and realized she was a euro short. It still surprised her every time she couldn’t afford something.

  Before Sapphire moved to Paris, she didn’t know what it felt like to be out of money. It turned out that poverty sucked. But if being broke meant freedom, then a life without espresso and conditioner it was. Not that she had a choice.

  She’d noticed a group of men in black exiting a train from Rome. Her mouth drew to a wide grin as she recognized her old friend. Father O’Riley had told her a few days before that he’d be visiting a monastery in Pisa, but the Barbed Wire Butcher had been her main focus and she’d forgotten.

  She launched through the group and wrapped her arms around the priest. “I’m so glad my train got delayed. I’ve missed you!”

  In the States, he was the only person who knew she captured serial killers. In Europe, he was family. Sapphire had run from the U.S. to get away from the cops, and Father O’Riley had run from the guilt of canoodling a woman. With canoodling being strictly forbidden for Catholic priests, he’d gone to the Vatican to reaffirm his faith. Because of their busy schedules of praying and catching killers, they’d only seen each other in Europe a couple of times, but they called as often as they could.

  “Happy to see you too, Sapphire, but do you mind letting go?” Father O’Riley stood stiff in her embrace. “This doesn’t look great.”

  Sapphire’s eyes shot from her short skirt and high heels to the appalled monsignors tossing around the word prostituta.

  “Whoops,” she said, backing up. “So, how about I save up to come to Rome next month?”

  “Um, right, I’ve been meaning to tell you…” Father O’Riley’s face was wary. “I’ve accomplished what I came here to do and I think it’s time I go home.”

  “Oh…” The disappointment was undeniable.

  “And I think… it’s time for you to go home as well. Surely, you must be missing your family, your friends?”

  “First of all, don’t call me Shirley.” Sapphire paused so he could laugh at the reference, but he didn’t. “Second of all,” she muttered, “you know exactly what happened back home. You want me to end up in prison?”

  “Maybe things aren’t as bad as we think? Maybe you can explain. Have you even used the Google to look for news back home?”

  Sapphire decided to let “the Google” slide.

  “No.” She wanted to forget her old life. “Even if—and this is a stretch—it isn’t as bad as I’m imagining, even if the…” she cleared her throat, “hadn’t happened, I humiliated a Vanderpilt at the altar. FYI, that’s social suicide, so I don’t even know what life I’d be going back to.”

  The monsignors called Father O’Riley.

  “Un momento,” he replied then turned back to her. “I came to realize something during my stay at the Vatican. You can’t outrun your demons, Sapphire. Eventually they’ll consume you… no matter where you are.” He paused. “Look, I can only imagine what’s going through your head. You had just found out your estranged father was a serial killer, and then you…”

  “Woah, woah, woah,” Sapphire hurried before he could finish the horrible sentence. “I’m fine. My life is fine. Perfect actually.”

  He held his hands up. “Well, if you change your mind and need help, all you have to do is call.” He was about to hug her then glanced at the monsignors, and shook her hand instead. “Pleasure.”

  Sapphire watched him and the others walk away. There was a part of her that wanted to go home. It was small, but it was there.

  “Hey!” Sapphire called.

  Father O’Riley turned with a beatific smile.

  “Can I borrow a euro? I’m dying for an espresso.”

  His smile fell, then he muttered and dug in his black robe.

  On the train back to Paris, she held the steaming tiny cup in her hand and concluded that her confidant was wrong about everything. Sure she missed some things from home, but so what if she longed for Mulberry Street Pizzeria. She hadn’t tried French pizza yet, but she was sure it tasted perfectly fine-ish.

  So what if she missed Chrissy at times. Yes, even Christina Kraft: Sapphire’s best friend and an heiress so spoiled she made the Hilton sisters look humble.

  So what if she missed Julia, her former housekeeper and the woman who raised her. Her own mother, Vivienne, had been too busy boozing and sleeping with the pool boy, gardener, and pretty much anyone with a dick who wasn’t her husband, Charles. Julia had been pregnant when the walls of Sapphire’s life crumbled, and over the summer Sapphire worried something would go wrong with the pregnancy. She tried to fight the urge, but caved. She called Julia and her husband Antonio’s apartment from the restaurant downstairs. Her worries were silenced when Julia picked up and the unmistakable sound of a baby’s cry was heard. She hung up without a word and never called again.

  As much as the people at home had meant to her, life without them was easier. Here, she had no one to worry about except herself and her next killer. Her new life was uncomplicated, wonderful. All was well, especially now that he was in her bed.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Sapphire whispered, her voice still thick with sleep.

  Detective Aston Ridder wrapped his arm tighter around her waist then kissed her neck. It sent goose bumps down her back. She smiled, taking in the chill from the morning rain and his warmth. “There’s nothing better than this.”

  “I know something that would’ve been better,” Aston murmured.

  “What?”

  His voice faded. “If I were actually here.”

  Sapphire’s eyes snapped open. She lay alone on the cold mattress.

  • • •

  If you’ve seen one yacht party, you’ve seen them all. There was a live band. Waiters moved about, holding silver trays above the well-dressed guests’ heads. The jewels sparkled, the hors d’oeuvres tasted like heaven, the champagne was expensive, and the verbal shots were cheap. It was Beverly Hills.

  We could kill them all, The Hunger whispered in his ear.

  “Impossible,” he replied, barely moving his lips. The Hunger had always been too greedy.

  William Dubois sashayed through the rich in his stolen tux. His gestures were graceful, his smile charming, and his body language showed the confidence of a man accustomed to wealth. Little did they know he’d spent the past decades living in squalor.

  He reached the stern and let out a beam that melted her heart and colored
her cheeks, then handed her the glass of champagne.

  “Oh, thank you. It’s so hot.” She gazed into his eyes as she sipped the cool champagne.

  She was Erika Phelps, the heiress of a major recycling company if he recalled correctly. His interest in her wavered in the beginning; she wasn’t very attractive and The Hunger had been reluctant. But, this particular heiress was the charitable kind and they were hard to come by.

  He’d noticed her from across the yacht when she was nice to a staff member—very uncommon. As he inched closer, he realized people’s faces genuinely lit up when they saw her. She spoke about her involvement in animal rights, but only in a way that was to gain donors and not to receive praise—highly uncommon.

  By killing Erika the Charitable, William would not only feed The Hunger, but also make a dent in society; this woman truly would be missed. By harming her, he’d harm the whole Beverly Hills community. The same people who’d shunned him years ago.

  The longer he talked to her, the more attached The Hunger grew. Her amiable personality enhanced her dull features. William grabbed her hand and kissed it, keeping his eyes on hers. Her breath grew heavy then she cleared her throat, trying to regain composure. “So, are you from Beverly Hills?”

  Erika’s nerves gave her away. She wasn’t used to getting attention from someone as attractive as him. Perhaps she wasn’t used to any sexual attention. She wore little makeup, had no visible surgical alterations, and looked bland in the sea of Beverly Hills’ enhanced women.

  “More or less,” William purred. “Truly, the world is my home. My favorite sunset is in Morocco, my perfect beach in Saint-Tropez, and my preferred restaurant in Luxembourg.”

  “Oh, how wonderful.”

  Yes, wonderful… and utter malarkey. He was being vague in case he didn’t end up killing her, or someone overheard their conversation. Not that anyone was paying attention. At parties like this the guests only focused on two things. Themselves, and who they were going home with.

  William Dubois was from Beverly Hills. His birth mother had an affair with multi-millionaire Charles Dubois Sr. His mother died in childbirth and he was raised by the Duboises. In order to protect their good name, his father’s wife insisted William should be known to the community as a distant relative. The family and their lawyers were the only ones who knew the truth.

  All was well in the Dubois home until William killed the maid. He’d just entered into his twenties. He’d been thrilled when the family helped him cover it up. Then the traitors packed up his things, took his money away, and tossed him to the street. William was shunned by the people who’d claimed to love him: his father, stepmother, and even by his half-brothers, Charles Jr. and Gary.

  When he returned to Beverly Hills after over twenty years of killing around the country, he had to avoid the people who might recognize him. There weren’t many that would; last time they saw him he was scrawny and covered in acne, but William made sure to keep his lies big and his time in public minimal.

  “Enough about me,” William said, “I want to know more about…”

  Vivienne Dubois. His ex-wife entered the party.

  William felt the way he did the first time he saw her, back when she was in daisy dukes and a cheap T-shirt. Now she wore an elegant, revealing dress, and a new set of breasts. She held the arm of a small, unattractive fellow with a convincing smile. William didn’t like the looks of him. He studied people the same way William did, with intent.

  Was she happy, he wondered? Did this man make her laugh?

  Ah, the one that got away, The Hunger taunted. He wasn’t talking about love.

  The Hunger had always wanted Viv, but William fought it. She’d mesmerized him. He’d been with others since he’d left her, he’d even had an on-off relationship with a woman named Rita Hayes, but he never cared for anyone the way he’d cared for Viv. At least as much as someone like him was capable of caring.

  William tried to balance the life of serial killer and family man in Oregon after they’d had Sapphire. When Sapphire witnessed him in the act of killing a woman, he realized he couldn’t have it all. He adored his wife and daughter, but he lived for killing. It was one or the other.

  “What were you saying?”

  The heiress brought him back and William realized Viv could expose him. “I’m terribly sorry, my darling, but I’m afraid I have to leave sooner than expected.”

  No! The Hunger roared in William as he walked away from the heiress. She got lucky. William not so much; The Hunger would torture him for days.

  “Wait!” Erika hurried after him. “I could join you elsewhere, if you’d like?” She gave a shy shrug. “I don’t care much for these parties anyway.”

  The Hunger chuckled in satisfaction and William shrugged, finishing his champagne. “Suit yourself.”

  “Pardon?”

  He touched her arm gently and led her to the exit. “I said, suit yourself.” This time he breathed the words into her ear, turning them sexual.

  She inhaled deeply and blushed again. Humans were simple and too easily manipulated by money and sex. William was reaping the benefits. It was never about intercourse for him. Sex was merely the worm that attracted the fish to the hook.

  He moved behind trays, people, and poles to shield his face from Viv.

  “This is your car?” Erika asked when they got to the parking lot and squinted at the tinted windows.

  “Of course…” Not. The car belonged to Eloise Parker, a wedding planner he’d killed and the woman whose house he’d made into his lair. She, unlike the other women, hadn’t been rich, just well-off. Since he wanted to keep living in her house and not alert the cops, he’d spent the summer keeping up her pathetic life. He’d found her work info and wrote her employers an email as Eloise saying she was taking a leave of absence. He’d paid her bills, watered her plants, and washed her Nissan.

  William looked at Erika Phelps. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but wait until you get inside.” He smiled at her. “Trust me.”

  She smiled back. Yes, of course she trusted him.

  William opened the door for her. Before she could see that the inside of the car was too average for the wealthy man he claimed to be, William put the needle in her neck. Her blood stream filled with the hemlock concoction and her body turned stiff within seconds. He placed her in the car before anyone noticed.

  He reversed out and looked down at his new heiress, the one they’d all miss. He felt it; his first objective would come to an end when Erika’s life did.

  William Dubois returned to Beverly Hills for two reasons. First, to get his revenge on the society who’d shunned him—so far he’d killed the wedding planner and three heiresses. Two of which the police had found the bodies. They weren’t meant to. He’d buried them at sea, and a fishing boat scooped up them up. He didn’t dare try to dispose any more bodies until his next phase had begun.

  William’s second, and most important, objective for returning to Beverly Hills was to get his daughter back. Once he’d overheard what Sapphire had done, William knew his darkness had transferred to her. The Hunger ran through her veins as well. He knew he could never have Viv again, but his daughter… everything was different now. Though The Hunger needed no one, William had travelled the states alone to kill for over two decades. He got lonesome.

  He used to wish his daughter would have a life far away from his world, but the revelation of Sapphire’s darkness came as a blessing. They could be together again because of it, a family at last.

  There was only one problem: where the hell was Sapphire Dubois?

  And when will she join us? The Hunger added.

  “Soon.” Confidence came with William’s words. “Soon.”

  Chapter 3

  Sapphire was covered in ketchup and smelled like a liquor store when she reached the shabby door to her apartment. Had she not felt so discombobulated, she may have noticed her moth-eaten Bienvenue mat was crooked and there were scratch marks on her door, i
ndicating someone had jimmied her lock.

  Instead she kept her head down and hoped it was one of those days when the water heater decided to work. It wasn’t just the ketchup and alcohol she wanted to wash off, it was the whole day. Twenty minutes ago she’d been rushing around on Le Burger’s bustling floor, hands full of plates.

  “Mademoiselle!” A lady had waved to get her check.

  “Mademoiselle!” A man had pointed at his empty glass.

  “Saphir!”

  She turned and smacked into her boss with the plates. Hamburgers, fries, and ketchup splattered across Sapphire’s white T-shirt and apron before the plates crashed to the floor.

  Her boss, Colette, peered at Sapphire under her cowboy hat. “You are the worst waitress I’ve ever seen…” She shook her head, then laughed. “Lucky you’re adorable.”

  Sapphire sighed as they bent down to clean. She’d held two jobs in her life. She’d gone undercover as a stripper to catch the Stripper Slayer before summer, and now she was a waitress. She sucked at both jobs.

  Colette, unlike a lot of Europeans, was a huge fan of the States and had opened an American themed restaurant steps from the old bohemian Le Moulin Rouge Cabaret. Her dream was to one day visit the States, so the second she heard the American lilt in Sapphire’s French, she hired her. Colette also offered her the crappy apartment she owned above the restaurant rent-free. All her boss wanted in exchange was for Sapphire to teach her American expressions and bring authenticity to the restaurant. It had all worked out like a dream. Here, Sapphire, or Saphir as they called her, could be herself. Here, her last name which translated to the woods in French, was like being a Smith, or a Jones back home. To find her by name in France, was to find a needle in a haystack made up of thousands of S. Duboises.

  “I’m so sorry, Colette,” Sapphire said. “I know it’s like the twentieth plate this month.”

  “Fifty-sixth, but who’s counting,” Colette said, then switched to English. “You know what they say: Yee-Haw, bitch.”

  “That’s really not…” Sapphire tried, but Colette had already taken her finger guns out and was shooting at the customers with a pew-pew-pew as she went to get the broom. Colette was convinced everyone in America wore cowboy hats and referred to each other as “bitch.” It could have something to do with the broken ’90s jukebox in the corner that only played Billy Ray Cyrus and Dr. Dre.