by Mia Thompson
“Vivienne,” she replied.
“Tell me, Vivienne,” he pulled her closer and, for a second, the steady rise and fall of her chest ceased. “Why were you standing on the sidelines? A woman as special as you should have a husband, someone to dance with.”
Viv was truly special. Since William left her and Sapphire nineteen years ago, he hadn’t been able to find anyone like her. Rita Hayes—who he saw for over a decade every time he travelled to New York—was an intriguing woman with mental issues, but she’d never had Vivienne’s beauty and grace. Perhaps that’s why The Hunger won and killed her; William hadn’t cared enough to stop it.
He pulled Vivienne closer and felt a pang of pain. He wanted to kiss her, but knew he shouldn’t. This was the price he paid for favoring killing over his wife.
“I’ve been married… twice.” Vivienne’s finger’s traced the stitch of his tux. “My last husband and I never loved each other, but he provided a certain security.”
“And your first?”
“I loved my first husband… I always will. Turns out, he wasn’t who he said he was. He left me years ago. Didn’t even give me a proper goodbye.”
Viv’s lips parted and her eyes glossed behind her mask. William dragged his finger across her cheek and down to her chin. “What a fool.”
Vivienne looked up at him with a mix of emotions. “Perhaps he loved me as much as I loved him, but never had it in him to be a husband.”
“Perhaps,” he nodded. Love was a strong word and a feeling William was incapable of, but he cared for Viv to the furthest extent of his ability.
William put his nose to her hair and moved. She leaned her head against his chest and when she inhaled, he did the same.
They stopped moving when “In the Mood” inevitably ended, but didn’t let go of each other.
“Do me a favor,” William whispered into her hair. “Find a good man who cares for you the way you deserve and move on from the fool.” He leaned in and watched her close her eyes then pushed his lips against hers. The kiss was short, but full of meaning. When William pulled back, he took a moment to absorb her beauty one last time. “Goodbye, Viv.”
Vivienne breathed. “Goodbye, Will.”
He walked away without looking back.
Soon he spotted the woman he came for. She stood alone, exposed, and he could easily pull her into the connecting room. He zig-zagged his way to the stage area and reached out for her.
“Petunia!”
William pulled back and turned away just as his brother Gary touched Petunia’s arm.
“Where’s Sapphire? Please tell me you invited her like I asked.”
Most humans would’ve filled with nostalgia being this close to a brother they hadn’t seen in over twenty years. William felt nothing.
“I did, Dad.” Petunia assured. “All I can think is that she thought she had something more important to do. More important than our company.”
William chuckled at the new insight. Sapphire did have something more important to do. She wouldn’t have missed the chance for a face-to-face confrontation, unless a life depended on it. He didn’t have to return to Charles’s fishing cabin to know Chrissy was gone. Pride surged through his chest. “That’s my girl.”
Nooo! The Hunger roared in William’s gut. It tore up his insides and twisted every nerve, every vessel at the knowledge that he’d lost the heiress; it took his breath away.
William pulled back from the crowd, waiting for The Hunger to settle and for the opportunity to kill his niece to arrive.
• • •
“Sir.” The doorman put a hand to his chest. “This is a masquerade ball.”
Aston ripped the mask off and motioned to the Spiderman costume, covering him from the neck down. “You think I’m wearing this for sport?”
“It’s not a costume party.” The doorman signaled to the ballroom where people were dressed in masks, gowns and tuxes. “It’s a masquerade ball.”
“Ooh.” Aston reached to pull the skin-tight costume out of his ass. The chief wasn’t as muscular as him, but it was either this or Dylan’s tiny Sponge Bob costume. “Unfortunately, you don’t have a choice.” He pulled his shield necklace out from the smothering neckline.
“Of course, sir.” The doorman forced a smile, then placed his hand on Aston’s chest’s again. “Just, please, try to watch the language.”
Aston huffed in offence. “So just because I’m a cop, you assume I’m going to cuss.”
“No. I assume you’re going to cuss because I remember you.”
“Touché.”
He entered the ball. Aston may have been the one in a Spiderman costume but their head gear was ridiculous. Despite the obvious, they were the ones who stared at him. It reminded him of when he was a kid and his drunk father dressed him in pants he’d outgrown years earlier, then sent him off to school. Man, did he catch a beating or fifty.
He looked for Sapphire and waited. The longer he waited, the more free drinks he drank. The more free drinks he drank, the bigger his bladder grew. Where the hell was she? Aston shouldn’t care anymore, but his worry for her hadn’t vanished overnight.
Aston moved to the restrooms in desperate need of a whiz. At the urinals, he pulled his junk out of the costume flap, next to a rich dude. Aston didn’t have to ask the man’s name, he’d already decided on Haughty Von Douchenstein III.
Von Douchenstein gave Aston a glance that turned into a stare.
“Hey.” Aston nodded his chin. “I know it’s impressive and all, but mind keeping your eyes on your own dick?”
“Actually,” Von Douchenstein said. “I was looking at your shield. Not your… member. You’re a cop?”
“Oh.” Aston touched his shield’s chain. “Ah, yeah…”
He did a quick double shake, and hurried to the faucet. When some people realized he was a cop, they’d start complaining about all sorts of shit. The need for speed bumps. Cable outages. Neighbor’s cat pooping on their lawn.
Von Douchenstein joined him at the faucets and Aston’s eye caught the sparkle of his wrist watch.
“Is that…” Aston’s pulse fluttered, “a 1937 Rolex?”
“Ah, you know your collectables.” Von Douchenstein nodded proudly at his watch. “Believe it or not, I bought it from an old vet a few weeks back.”
Archer-fucking-Woodland. The man, and his mysterious reasoning, was still driving Aston ape-shit crazy. He pulled up his tight pant leg to get to the ankle strap that carried his wallet and gun.
“Here’s my number.” Aston handed Von Douchenstein his card. “I’m going to need you to meet me down at the station and answer a few questions.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Detective.”
“And why is that?” Aston turned to dry his hands.
“Because you’re not going back to the station.”
Aston frowned and turned to feel a sharp prick in his neck. A tingle crawled down his throat and over his muscles. His body turned soft and sent him to the ground.
The man stepped in front of him as Aston’s body went from jelly to stone. He tried to scream through his iron-like mouth, but only a faint moan escaped.
The man snatched Aston’s gun out of his ankle strap.
“I’d bet my bottom dollar you’re the detective who arrested Sapphire Dubois.” He let out a charming smile as he twirled the gun in his hand. “Your death will be the perfect gift.”
Chapter 16
She slid through the kitchen window like a graceful ninja in an evening gown.
The kitchen staff raced around her in a pot and pan frenzy. A sous chef sat in the corner, crying into a pan of burnt mini-quiches.
Knowing the country club would have heavy security on an event night, Sapphire called John and begged him to un-blacklist her so she could get in.
“I mean, we’re good now, aren’t we?” she’d asked him.
“Sapphire, I’m over you and what happened at the wedding,” he’d answered. “My parent
s are not. I couldn’t un-blacklist you even if I wanted to. You don’t mess with the Vanderpilts.”
Lucky for Sapphire, she knew how to scale a wall in an evening gown. She put on her mask and entered the country club’s lavish ball.
The orchestra’s music played in the background as Sapphire scanned the crowd for her father, feeling grateful over Petunia’s choice of ball. Thanks to the mask, she could stick around for a while before anyone noticed her.
“Sapphire?” The L.A. Times journalist, Nikki Pierce, tilted her head. “There you are.”
Or not.
“Have you given the exclusive a thought?”
“No.” She walked away and Nikki followed.
“You don’t get it; I’m on your side. In fact, I wish someone would’ve captured those maniacs a long time ago.”
Sapphire stopped. She was almost flattered by the passion in Nikki’s voice. Then she caught herself and turned again. “I’m not the Serial Catcher, Nikki. I’m just an heiress.”
“Come on.” Nikki sighed. “If you agree to do the exclusive with me after, er… if you get sentenced, I’ll do anything for you in return. No questions asked.”
A microphone squealed. Sapphire looked up to see her Uncle Gary on the stage. Petunia stood below, her hands clasped in expectation.
“Good evening, employees, friends, family members.” Gary exhaled. “I know you’re all wondering why you’re here. As some of you are aware, we’ve had issues with losing contracts all over the world. A few days ago, I was called into a meeting and told why.”
Sapphire held her breath, convinced Petunia was right. Who wanted to work with a family connected to murder?
“Essentially, anyone working with us has pulled out after being offered lower prices by two industry giants. Offers we cannot afford to match. A company with no one to do business with, is not a company at all. Therefore, as of next week, I’m forced to sell DubCorp to our only offer. This way, at least some of you will get severance.”
“No!” Petunia cried out. Upset mumbles and gasps grew around the room.
“I wanted to give you this ball, hoping we could look at it as a celebration of the years we’ve had. Not how they’ve ended.” Gary raised his glass and his voice grew thick with grievance. “To DubCorp’s final days before it belongs to Vanderpilt International…”
Of course. The moment he said it, Sapphire noticed the two familiar figures at the other side of the room. This was never about her trial: it was about who she humiliated. Mr. and Mrs. Vanderpilt joined glasses in a victorious cheer. This was their grand finale of revenge for what she did at the wedding. They hadn’t only punished Sapphire, but her whole family and future generations of Duboises.
“And,” Gary continued, “Kraft Inc.”
Sapphire closed her eyes at the nip in her chest. That’s why Chrissy couldn’t be seen with her. Her father was in bed with the Vanderpilts. They were going to take over DubCorp, chop it into pieces, and leave no survivors.
“Yikes. Bummer,” Nikki whispered, then slipped another card in Sapphire’s purse. “Call me.”
Sapphire watched the employees and DubCorp’s high-ups shatter. People were crying and hugging. All of them were losing their jobs, their livelihood, because she hadn’t married John Vanderpilt.
Sapphire stumbled backwards, her body urging her to get away. It seemed every aspect of her life was crumbling and she could do nothing but watch it spin out of control.
She held onto the wall as she passed by the cigar lounge, the room where Charles died and Sapphire killed Richard Martin. A faint wail from inside made her stop.
She pushed the door open. “Mom?”
Vivienne stood in the middle of the room, weeping into a half-empty wine carafe.
As Sapphire crossed the threshold, the memories of blood and death washed over her. She pushed it down and reached for the carafe. “I thought you were staying sober, Mom. What happened?”
Her mother grimaced and pulled it away. “Your father, that’s what happened.”
“Did he do something to you?”
Vivienne hugged the carafe and sank into the couch by the fireplace. “He’s gone, Sapphire. Gone. I know he’s not coming back. I will never love anyone the way I love him.”
Sapphire sat down next to her mother. Her hair was a bird’s nest and her mascara was running.
“He talked to me. Danced with me. Then said goodbye.” She pulled up a birthday card from her purse. “I found this after. It’s for you.”
Happy 14th Birthday.
Sapphire stared at the card as Vivienne drunkenly waved it. “If you ever see your father again, I want you to look him straight in the eyes and say hu—Huuuur.” She hurled on Sapphire’s shoes.
Sapphire held back a gag and shook off her puked-on shoes. She took the card and grabbed her mother’s arm. “Okay, come on. I’m going to find a car to take you home, and then we’ll sort everything out in the morning.”
Vivienne wiped her mouth and shook her head. “I’m not going home, Sapphire.”
“Vivienne! My angel of light!” Søren swooped into the room and hurried up to Vivienne. “I’m so glad you called. I told you, you shouldn’t have left the compound. Let me take you home.” He wrapped Vivienne’s arm around his neck and pulled her up.
Sapphire stepped in front of the door. “She’s not going anywhere with you.”
Søren shook his head calmly. “Sapphire, I just want what’s best for your mother, and this,” he nodded to Vivienne’s condition, “is clearly not it.”
Sapphire studied his honest expression. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe, despite the cult crap, he did care for her mother. She nodded reluctantly and moved out of the way.
“You go ahead.” Søren guided Vivienne out of the lounge. “I’ll be right there.”
“Listen,” Sapphire said as he turned back to her. “I—”
“No, you listen to me, little girl.” Søren interrupted. “Your mother only hears my voice now, and if you ever want her to come back to you, you can drop off five hundred thousand at the compound. Or, I’ll make sure she never wants to leave me again.”
Sapphire grinded her teeth as she stared after the manipulative bastard. She swore to herself she would get him. She wasn’t sure how or when, but she would.
When he shut the door, she opened the birthday card.
Change of plans.
The witch came out on top, instead I’m gifting you this…
Sapphire’s heart wrenched and her body turned cold with realization. No!
• • •
William watched the young, foul-mouthed man dangle from the rope.
Once he’d tied the cop by his feet and hung him upside down, he’d let the Hemlock wear off. The Hunger wanted to hear the man scream and since there was no one around for miles, William let him.
And scream the cop did… just not the way The Hunger had anticipated.
Instead of begging for his life every time William sliced his body, the cop let out a slew of profanities. Gingerly put, he vowed to take William’s buttocks and make them into a headwear. It was different, and somewhat entertaining. But the cop wouldn’t live to do any of the things he’d promised; he was bleeding to death.
“You’re the fucking Beverly Hills Killer, aren’t you?” The cop hissed. Blood ran down his body and streaked his face. “Why did you mention Sapphire Dubois?”
William looked at the cop amused. He was a bloody Spiderman hanging from a cobweb of ropes. He bet his daughter would laugh at the setting.
“Answer me, motherfucker!
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” William shook his head. “‘Profanity is a brutal vice. He who indulges in it, is no gentleman.’ —E.H. Chapin.”
“‘Fuck you.’ —Aston Ridder.”
William looked at the time. He assumed Sapphire would go to the fishing cabin after she opened the birthday card. There she would find the Happy 15th Birthday card with an x-marked map that would lead her to another card, then anothe
r, and another, until she got to the remote barn where the Happy 20th Birthday card waited for her in the driveway. Join me inside, it said.
She should arrive any minute now. She’d be just in time to kill the man who arrested her. She would love it. What killer, subconscious or not, didn’t hate cops?
“If you hurt her, I swear to God…” the cop went into the detailed rectum-to-hat description again.
“Hurt her?” He laughed at the cop’s preposterous choice of words. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is William Dubois, and the woman whose life you ruined, the woman who you caged like an animal…” He made another small slice in the man’s skin, now a total of thirty-three open gashes. Blood dripped down the cop’s face and onto the hay below. “Is my daughter.”
The cop didn’t reply with venom. It was a first. He stared at William behind the red streaks.
“So,” William continued, “as you can understand, I’m doing what any concerned parent would do. I’m taking care of her problem.”
He made another gash, and the cop grimaced. He was getting weaker. His eyes rolled to the back of his head in intervals and his thrashes lacked passion.
“Of course, she’s more than just the Serial Catcher.” The cop was fading away. He blinked and shook his head to stay conscious. “My blood runs through her veins and it’s only a matter of time before she becomes what she really is, a serial killer.”
The cop’s eyes closed as his mouth moved. William had to step closer to hear. A mere whisper escaped him. “You’re wrong.”
Then the cop passed out, and William looked at the unconscious man, feeling the bile come up. Cops, the worst of all humans.
“What did you do?”
William turned to the open red barn door and smiled at his daughter, still in her ball gown. The perfect wear for the monumental moment that was about to take place.
“You’re welcome.” He held the blade out for her.
Sapphire’s face confused him. Her expression bounced between fear, panic, and fury.
“Oh,” William realized. “You don’t recognize him? This is the cop who arrested you. The one who caused you all this grief with the trial.”
