Stalking Sapphire

by Mia Thompson

  “I dunno, dude,” the clerk responded.

  “Did you see her come in?”

  The clerk’s eyes looked straight up at the ceiling without moving his head. After ten seconds of long silence Aston thought the guy might have had a brain aneurism but finally realized he was just thinking.

  Aston snapped his fingers an inch from the guy’s face and brought him back to life.

  “Yeah?”

  Aston took a deep breath refraining himself from punching the guy. “Was there a young woman here an hour ago?”

  “Uuuuh…yeah; definitely, man.”

  They went back and forth for another five minutes until Aston decided to jump over the counter and review the security tape.

  He rewound until the Range Rover popped up on the screen and circled around, disappearing behind a port-a-potty. Sapphire came out from behind the bathroom and walked up to something that had once been a car. She abused it a little, then opened the door, climbed in, and drove off.

  “Son of a bitch,” Aston said surprised, almost impressed.

  “Right,” said the clerk, nodding at Aston with a smirk.

  “I’m gonna take this tape.”

  “Cool.”

  Aston jumped back over the counter and grabbed his vodka. He dropped a ten and moved toward the door.

  “Hey,” the clerk called behind him. “She comes here like a few times a month.”

  “Do you know where she goes?”

  The clerk’s eyes darted from side to side for a bit. “Who?”

  Aston stared at him for a few seconds, then left.

  * * * * *

  After an hour on the 101, Sapphire yawned for the twentieth time and rolled her windows down to let the cool evening air hit her face, hoping it would help her to stay awake. It had been a long day; she’d been dumped, got a chopped-off finger in the mail, and was on her way to find the perpetrator all in the span of sixteen hours. Her eyelids were getting heavier and heavier. The red tail lights from the cars in front of her combined in a blurry mess until it all finally merged together and became nothing but a dark mass.

  * * * * *

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  The sound was overwhelming. Loud at first, it was all she could hear when she slowly came to. How many times had she gone in and out of consciousness? How many times had she realized where she was, then blacked out, just to wake up and do it all over again?

  She knew she was tied up, but why, again?

  One second her body felt as though it was burning up from the inside out, the next her teeth were clattering from an unwavering cold. There was thirst too. She was so thirsty that her tongue was swollen and her gums were dry as sand.

  Maybe, she thought briefly, she was sick. Some sort of flu that was accompanied by the permanent feverish state she seemed to be in. Maybe she was at home, in her bed under her wonderfully plush comforter. But why the ropes again?

  No, that wasn’t right. There was no drip drip drip in her bedroom. The noise sounded like it came from a dripping faucet.

  Oh water! She wanted water.

  Then she was slipping again, back into the darkness—so tired.

  Just as the blackness was about to swallow her, something brought her back. Slowly the pain flared in her, growing until it was sharp and present. Originating from her hand, it climbed to her arm and onward to her mouth. Somehow, all that blind agony only escaped her in the form of a weak whimper.

  The terrible pain seemed to sharpen her mind a bit, and she started to remember fragments and pieces of what had happened. Hadn’t she been in her car and then—

  Then came the footsteps. Down the squeaky staircase they went. Loud and firm. Him announcing his presence to her. Everything came rushing back to her all at once. She didn’t know why she was there, but she knew where she was and it was hell.

  Panic. Thick, all-consuming panic shot through her, and her otherwise slow and impish heartbeat escalated rapidly. Boom…Boom…Boom-Boom-Boom!

  His steps where closer now, almost right by her.

  Her eyelids felt as heavy as bricks, and she had to struggle to open them and look up at him even though she knew when she lay eyes on him, it would all be real again—not just some horrible fever-induced nightmare.

  “What do you want?” She didn’t want him to know how she feared him, but her voice quivered automatically in his presence.

  He laughed, circling around her like a hawk over its prey. “What do I want?”

  She knew something bad was about to happen.

  “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what he wants.” He played with something in his hand, but her eyes were too weak to focus on it.

  “Why me? Please, just let me go; I didn’t do anything,” she begged, now crying.

  He took an aggressive step toward her, pushing a cold blade against her cheek. “Why you? Why you?” he spat. “Because you are the disease that is wrong with this planet. Sins. Sins. Sins!”

  His breath was close enough to warm up the skin on the side of her face, making her whole body tremble.

  “Disgusting. He gave you it all and look at you. Full of sin. How many men have you fornicated with? Hmm?”

  She whimpered as he dragged the knife lightly over her face.

  “I’m saving you, you slut! I’m here spending my time so that you, a dirty little whore, can get salvation. Clearing you of your sins for the other side.”

  Angrily, he quickly untied the rope behind her, letting her hands free. Before she had time to even think about moving, he tied her down to the arm of the chair. “It would be nice to get a little appreciation every now and then!”

  She clamped her jaw shut, and suddenly, temporarily, the fear was gone; anger replacing it. She was angry at him, angry because she was powerless. “Then just kill me! Get it over with!”

  He stood up straight and looked at her. “I would. I really would. But you, my darling…” He walked over to a small desk, by the dripping faucet of the moldy basement and set the knife down on a piece of fabric.

  She held her breath watching the blade and once again she was shaking; scared to do anything to make him pick it back up.

  “You are not just any sinner. You are part of a bigger plan. God gave you to me in the form of a piece. You should be honored. But don’t worry, I’ll send you to him when we’re done.”

  “Done with what?” she whispered.

  He turned around to face her, a meat cleaver in his hand.

  Her scream suffocated in her throat as she stared at her hand, covered in dried blood and missing a finger. Then he raised the meat cleaver and a flash of silver followed.

  Chapter 9

  Sapphire’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. It had all happened so fast. She had closed her eyes for a second and when she opened them again, there was a blinding light and the blasting horn of a semi. She swerved off the road and into a ditch. She tried to start the car, but her body wouldn’t move. She was paralyzed.

  Perhaps Sapphire had convinced herself it was something she could do. Someone else was hurt or dead because of her and her actions, and Sapphire knew it. She had gone over and over it in her mind since the package arrived, and there was no getting around it. She could feel it in her bones. The girl had been taken for one purpose only. To fuck with Sapphire. She was in over her head, and her heart was racing so fast that she could hear her pulse like a drum in her ear.

  She felt like a silly girl with a silly hobby. What had she been thinking? That she was some sort of superhero? That she could swoop in and save the world? Truth was she couldn’t. Truth was that she had no idea what she was doing; she had stumbled her way through the adventures and usually ended up lucky.

  What was happening now was real and she wasn’t prepared for it. Maybe her body was trying to tell her something. To call the cops and tell them what she knew. To quit her ridiculous hobby once and for all.

  Then what? She’d lie awake at night staring at the custom designed canopy above her like she had
before. Hollow inside as her days revolved around mindless people and their mindless new things. While everybody around her was obsessed with living extravagantly and living well, all she could think about was death.

  Then there was the girl. Sapphire had started something and now she had to finish it. Now wasn’t the time to stop. Now was the time to find him before the situation got more out of control.

  “Start the car,” she commanded herself and was able to let her shaking hand wrap around the key. “Start the car, Sapphire.” She stared at her hand until it obeyed her. The engine roared and Sapphire put the pedal to the floor, fighting her way out of the ditch and back onto the road.

  There was only one thing she could do to fix it. Find him and do it soon.

  * * * * *

  Aston typed in the registration for the third time and got the same result. Nothing. The car had been toast at a junkyard and come back to life. A normal twenty-something Beverly Hills socialite wouldn’t be caught dead in a rusty old Volkswagen. So what was her agenda? Why was she disguising herself and sneaking out of her mansion in the middle of the night?

  “Detective.”

  Aston pushed ESC and spun his chair around to face the chief, who stood with a somber look, his arms crossed over his Gucci suit.

  “Chief, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “Cut the crap, Aston. Where were you last night?”

  Aston shot off a dazzling smile as he casually scratched his head. “I was en route…as they say.”

  “Really? Because I just checked the GPS trackers and guess what?”

  “What?” Aston knew he was fucked but was trying to buy time until he could master up a great excuse.

  The chief took a second to suck in a mass amount of air through his nostrils, then flopped down a folder in front of Aston. A long list of his car number’s past routes and escapades stared back at him.

  “Hmm,” Aston said, raising an eyebrow.

  “You were halfway to Thousand Oaks, for Christ’s sake!”

  “That’s not south side?”

  The chief put his hands up and strangled the air in front of Aston, trying to get a sentence out.

  “You…you…south side…I…I.” He clenched his teeth and threw his hands up, holding them like claws. He reminded Aston of someone, but he couldn’t pinpoint it.

  “You…just…can’t…this…” the chief continued.

  Aston slapped his own knee and pointed at the chief in relief.

  “Tom Hanks. League of Their Own,” Aston burst out. “That’s who you look like. Whew, that would have bothered me all day.”

  The chief blinked at him, dumbfounded.

  “Are you crying? There’s no crying in baseball,” Aston imitated and chuckled.

  The chief took another deep breath and backed up, closing his eyes. “I’ve been the chief of police of this station for fifteen years, Detective. Never in those fifteen years have I ever…ever given up on anyone. I tend to believe in people, believe that they can change and be the best version of themselves.” He paused. “We may not be as exciting or have the best and most interesting cases here, but I do take pride in my work and I expect my employees to do so too.”

  “Chief…”

  “Shut up, Aston. I’m backing the transfer you put in. I heard about the position in North Hollywood; maybe you’ll feel more at home. They’ll hardly care about your leg. They’ll take anyone, from what I’ve heard.” The chief turned abruptly, about to walk out. “By the way, whatever investigation you were doing right there,” he pointed at the blank computer screen, “wasn’t authorized by me. So I suggest you get back to work. I need someone to go down to Christian Dior.”

  “Who’s he?”

  The chief stared at Aston, annoyed. “Dior. Christian Dior?”

  “Send Barry to go see him.”

  “He’s been dead since the fifties.”

  “Then I really don’t understand why we have to see him.”

  “It’s a store on Rodeo. I need you to dress in civilian clothes and see if you can defuse some possible situations.”

  “You want me to do loss prevention? Loss prevention! I’m a detective, for crying out loud. Not even officers do loss prevention. They have people for that.”

  “Last night one of my best men escorted Hilary Duff to get a Brazilian wax because she was convinced her usual bodyguard tries to sneak peeks.” He tilted his head “This is Beverly Hills, Detective, and you’re here for now, so suck it up.”

  * * * * *

  Sapphire held her breath, not moving a muscle. One peep, one loud breath, and he’d know where she was, which would ruin everything. She was taking a leap of faith stepping out of her comfort zone. She had to improvise, turning an old slaughterhouse into a trap, and trust that he would follow where she led. Hanging from various places in the room were hooks that once held animal carcasses.

  This time there was no pit for him to fall into and nothing to save her in case the plan didn’t work.

  She could hear his footsteps.

  Sapphire had looked over the articles a dozen times, but the day before, Chrissy had made her see it all. The first article mentioned the woman shopping with a friend just a few hours before she went missing. Her body was found in an alley by a public shopping street. Her feet were bare and her shoes nowhere to be found. The second and third victims’ stories were similar. The papers had stated that the police were searching for a perp with some sort of shoe fetish M.O. However, after spending years shoe shopping with her mother and Chrissy, Sapphire had learned that they lived in a world where accessories meant status. There was one brand that existed that was so hard to come by that even Chrissy had to fight to get a pair of pumps. The only brand of shoes that would incline an everyday woman who had stumbled upon a dead body to steal its shoes before she proceeded to call the police. Chi Chi.

  As far as Sapphire knew, only one store in Thousand Oaks carried Chi Chi. She marched into that store dressed in designer clothing. As she pretended to look at a pair of Chi Chi’s in a display case, she was eyeing a salesman who was eyeing a woman who, in turn, was eyeing a pair of yellow pumps. The salesman was overweight—no, very overweight—and sweaty. Sapphire didn’t like to use the word fat, but after all, he could possibly be a serial killer, so she allowed herself to call him just that, fat.

  His size surprised her. A high-end store like that back in L.A would usually staff people who looked like models; then again, most of them actually were models or actors working in unglamorous jobs as they awaited their big break. As far as she could tell, he was the only male working there. The likelihood of the killer being a woman was about twenty to one.

  In order to sneak into the back she needed a distraction, so she decided to knock over a shoe rack in the shape of a golden foot, perfectly pedicured, holding thousands and thousands of dollars worth of footwear. It worked like a charm; two saleswomen and the one salesman came running in pure panic, the scandal of the season.

  “Oh my God, Oh my God,” one of the saleswomen cried out as Sapphire made her way over to the staff quarters. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Nobody panic!” the woman continued in panic.

  The staff quarters were neat, organized, and smelled of fresh leather. Sapphire dug through schedules and paperwork from a filing cabinet as she watched the staff on the security camera screen run around, yelling at each other in a frenzy, picking up shoes as if they were newborn babies.

  She looked at the papers and found that she had been right; there was only one male sales agent, and his name was George Rath. His address was written in a blurry mess on the bottom of his employee information.

  She turned to the screen to discover that the mess she had created was neatly put back together and the salespeople were making their way back, blocking her way out. She had two choices. She could scale the wall and reach the tiny ceiling window, pry it open, climb through, and hope she’d hit the ground ten feet below without breaking her legs. Or she could pull down her pants and s
it her ass down on the employee toilet and act confused when the crew entered. She knew there had to be more options, but with only seconds to spare, it was all she could come up with.

  The sales crew entered to find an empty room.

  Sapphire hung out the window on the other side. She dropped to the ground and stood to find all her bones unbroken, then stepped right onto a cactus.

  After two minutes of jimmying the lock, Sapphire opened the window facing the fire escape to see a disgusting mess of pizza boxes, rotting food, clothes, newspapers, and half-empty non-fat yogurt cups.

  “God.”

  She decided it was safest to breathe through her mouth from that point on and entered Rath’s apartment. She began to search the place trying not to step on old slices of cheese and crunchy potato chip crumbs all over the floor.

  She gagged, picking up a piece of old toast that was covered in mildew and smelled like vomit. She flung it across the room to get it out of her nose’s reach. Normally she would have avoided being so reckless, but there was no way Rath would notice any change in the mess, and she hoped he’d never get an opportunity to. The man was as sloppy in his killing profession as he was at home, leaving bodies lying around like his half-eaten yogurt tins.

  Sapphire tended to go by one simple rule when it came to exposing a murderer. If the evidence wasn’t obvious and staring her in the face, she had the wrong guy. It took her only an hour to find what she was looking for.

  She stared at a box filled with locks of hair…five different locks, meaning five different women. A blond, a brunette, a red head, one black, and one gray. The man was a collector, like most killers.

  George Rath cleared his throat and Sapphire was getting irritated as her leg was starting to fall asleep. He was taking forever.

  As soon as he crossed the mark she had chosen, she would be able to make her move. She was desperate to find out if he was her man or not. She had reentered the store several times wearing different wigs and sunglasses, hoping that one of the hair colors would befall his taste. When she put on the blond wig and entered the store again, she got his attention. She had lured him out, and then he had followed her to the slaughterhouse, believing he was the hunter.