Silencing Sapphire

by Mia Thompson

  “Gone,” Berta said then winked at Capelli. “Cabbage for you?”

  “Er, no thanks. Where can we find her?”

  “Country club. Everybody’s always at the country club.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Capelli said and turned to leave.

  “Goodbye,” Berta said in a dreamy tone.

  “Bye,” Aston responded.

  Berta glared at him and slammed the door.

  * * * * *

  A cry erupted in Sapphire’s throat as the pain shot through her thumb and out her hand. The iron taste of blood made her gag and pull her hand back.

  Sapphire’s thumb was stubbornly attached despite the deep flesh wound her teeth had made. She knew she had to bite down harder this time and it scared her.

  Sapphire placed her thumb back in her mouth, took a deep breath, and started to bite down…then stopped. On the cellar floor lay a rusty paperclip.

  Sapphire pulled her thumb away, spitting out a mouthful of blood. She launched her hand at the clip and stretched the cuff’s chain to its limit.

  Above her, the smoke grew thicker and she could hear the crackling of fire.

  Sapphire’s fingers were almost to the paperclip. She pressed forward feeling as if her shoulder was going pop right out of its socket. The tip of her finger grazed the paperclip and coaxed it closer.

  Sapphire snatched the clip, pried it open, and jammed it into the cuff, unlocking it in record time. She sprung to her feet and her head exploded in raw pain, making the room spin. She reached her hand out in front of her to stay straight.

  Sapphire coughed and searched for a basement window. There were none. She would have to go through the door, into the fire.

  She pulled herself up the railing and yanked on the blazing door handle. Locked. Of course her kidnappers wouldn’t be so kind. Sapphire wasn’t even sure what the hell was going on. Maggie Butler had clobbered her on the head just to set her own house on fire?

  Sapphire shielded her face and kicked at the lock. It caved and she shoved the door open. The heat rushed at her, burning her face. A spectacle of orange licked away the walls of the Butlers’ living room.

  Sapphire squinted through the flames as her eyes teared up from the smoke. She couldn’t see anything but the wall of fire rising in front of her. It was spreading, pushing her back. She wouldn’t make it to the door.

  She coughed and tried to shield her face from the penetrating heat, as the flames inched closer, trapping her.

  Sapphire squinted and spotted a window behind the wall of fire. She backed up to get a sprint going. She pulled her shirt to her mouth and jumped.

  Blazing heat shocked her body before she crashed through the glass.

  Sapphire tucked her head, expecting to hit the ground flat, but she never did. Instead, she tumbled down the steep hill next to the house. She tried to grab onto bushes and moss but ended up with most of it in her fists.

  Several yards down the decline, she smacked into a tree and stopped.

  Sapphire felt a thick drowsiness take over. She tried to get up, but her body wouldn’t let her. Her head roared in pain and her arms felt too heavy.

  She gazed up at the dark treetops swaying above her and was mesmerized by the stars. They were more prominent over the mountains than above Los Angeles’s sea of lights.

  How could a day that started so well in Aston’s bed end in such despondency? A part of her wished she would have stayed at Joe’s house. Had she, maybe the day would have ended the way it begun.

  Or?

  She suddenly couldn’t help but feel like there was somewhere she was supposed to be tonight. Like she’d forgotten something important…maybe on purpose.

  Sapphire used the last of her strength to reach in her boot. Her fingers were so weak they barely managed to place the phone on her chest.

  “Text Father O’Riley…coordinates with help.” Sapphire’s eyelids dropped against her will.

  “You have no…”

  The phone beeped, gaining a bar. “Father O’Riley is out of the coverage area.”

  Sapphire let out a weak, hopeless laugh as she let the warm darkness take her. “You…asshole.”

  “Texting…”

  * * * * *

  “I hate that asshole,” Aston mumbled to himself.

  “Who?” Capelli asked.

  Across the ballroom floor John Vanderpilt swirled his Cognac like it was a sport. He was pretending to be in a conversation with some men but was actually admiring himself in the mirror behind them.

  “No one.” Aston looked away. He wanted to fight the asshole so badly that his knuckles itched whenever he was near.

  How could Sapphire be so stupid to want to…

  No, Aston realized, she couldn’t. Now knowing the true Sapphire Dubois, he understood who Vanderpilt must be to her. A cover, an attempt to retain a persona that fit into the ideal Beverly Hills mold. Obviously the cover had gone too far, and Sapphire was with him against her will, forced by outside pressure to marry the guy.

  A relieved smile spread on Aston’s face. “Fucking aye.”

  “Excuse me?!” An old jewel-mongering lady to his left crinkled her nose at him, disgusted.

  “I’m sorry,” Aston said and leaned in. How rude of him; she was hard of hearing. “FUCKING-AYE!”

  The lady walked away, huffing and puffing.

  No wonder she’s in a bad mood, Aston thought. The crowd had been waiting for hours.

  The place was packed with guests of the Dubois and Vanderpilt families, all of them gossiping about why Sapphire Dubois wasn’t attending her own wedding rehearsal. Aston had heard everything from Sapphire was getting a last minute boob job—which people agreed was needed—to Sapphire joining her mother in rehab. It was scandalous, and they all loved it.

  Who knew where she was? Aston sure as shit didn’t. He’d snuck away from Capelli to call the Golden Mirage, anonymously asking for Sapphire. The British guy told him she wasn’t there tonight.

  The good news: She wasn’t getting herself in trouble at the Golden Mirage. The bad news: She was most likely getting herself in trouble elsewhere.

  Vanderpilt noticed Aston and his obsessive swirling ceased. He worked his way toward them.

  “I don’t get it.” Capelli nodded to the groom. “I thought you said she was gay.”

  “She is.” Aston kept his eyes on Vanderpilt. “That dude used to be a chick. Sex change. Fake balls and everything.”

  “Really?” Capelli said amazed.

  Vanderpilt came up to Aston. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t disclose that.”

  “So how do you take a piss with that thing?” Capelli asked Vanderpilt, staring down at his crotch.

  “What?”

  “Good evening…again.” A bitter woman held the microphone up on the U-shaped table. “Like I said three hours ago, I’m Eloise Parker…the wedding planner.” She waited for applause. None came. “Ahem…Since the bride-to-be is still M.I.A., I say we proceed with the dinner. Ms. Kraft, do you mind playing the bride for the speeches?”

  Vanderpilt gave Aston a last look of hatred and hurried to the table. He and Chrissy sat down next to each other, bodies stiff.

  Aston’s phone buzzed and he flipped it open to find a text from Sapphire.

  “Capelli,” he said, “you think you can hold down the fort?”

  “Why?”

  “Emergency. They need me at the station.” Aston headed for the double doors.

  “Ridder! Do you think I’m an idiot?” Capelli grabbed Aston’s shoulder. “Don’t you think I know what you got on your phone?”

  Shitballs.

  “A booty text from Moore.” Capelli broke into a smile.

  “You got me.” Aston took the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in.

  “Doesn’t look like she’s showing up tonight, so go get ‘em, tiger.” Capelli smacked Aston on the ass, athlete-style.

  Aston waited until he was ou
tside to start running.

  Chapter 20

  Aston stared at Sapphire sleeping on the other side of the window looking small in the king-size bed. Only in Beverly Hills would the hospital rooms look like something from a five-star hotel.

  Aston sighed. He knew what he had to do: the shittiest thing ever. He had no choice— Capelli would never give up. He couldn’t avoid it anymore.

  He’d found her on the ground in the forest at the text’s exact coordinates, unconscious and bloody. He’d picked her up gently and carried her through the dense, dark woods until he got to his car. He’d smelled fire from somewhere but didn’t care. All he wanted was to get her to the hospital and have her safe once and for all.

  After he got her there, Vanderpilt was notified. Then the whole country club knew, including Capelli, who called Aston to give him the news of the Serial Catcher’s whereabouts. They agreed to meet at the hospital the next day, knowing she wasn’t going anywhere. Of course Capelli didn’t know Aston was already there.

  He took one last look at Sapphire then moved to meet Capelli at the entrance, sweating.

  Between worrying about Sapphire and second-guessing himself, Aston hadn’t slept. It was evident now that he struggled to text Barry with double vision.

  He gave the hospital’s security guards each a nod and placed himself in front of the sliding glass doors, waiting as Capelli parked and marched up to him.

  “Ready for fame, Ridder?” Capelli beamed. “Can you imagine how the girls are going to react when they see our faces all over the news? Their panties will drop before they even know what hit ‘em.”

  Aston cringed. The chief had been right. Capelli didn’t give a crap if what the Serial Catcher did was illegal; he just wanted the cameras on him. Not that it mattered.

  “I’m ready,” Aston said. He wasn’t. Even his balls were sweating.

  “Detectives!”

  They turned to see Barry sprinting across the lot.

  “Bad news,” the newbie wheezed, putting his hands on his knees. “When I tried to save the evidence, I accidently inserted the infected flash drive. The photograph. The original footage. Everything is gone!”

  “Barry, you fucking imbecile,” Aston cussed.

  “Are you kidding?” Capelli shouted, looking at Aston. “Is he kidding?”

  “He’s really not that funny, so I doubt it.”

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Barry said nervously, eyes on Capelli, who was at least twice his size.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what you are.” Capelli put a giant finger to Barry’s pimply face. “A sorry excuse for a cop.”

  “Hey!” Aston put himself between them. “He might be fresh, but he’s as much of a cop as you or me.” Nobody was allowed to talk that way to Barry…except Aston.

  Capelli backed off, pulling on his hair, then calmed himself. “You know what, it’s okay. We may not have the evidence to back it, but we’ve got three eyewitness cops that saw her face. We can bring her in for questioning and get a warrant. We’ll get new, better evidence.”

  “W-hell,” Aston said. “I never actually saw the photo, and it being a Beverly Hills heiress is improbable to begin with. We’re going to come off as nutjobs if we try to peg a powerful vigilante on a tiny girl with a fancy purse.”

  “You know I never forget a face, Ridder. It was her!” Capelli yelled. “Barry saw the photo. Tell him, Barry.”

  “I don’t know,” Barry said, “now that I think about it, it could have been a lot of people.”

  Capelli’s gaze bounced between them, landing on Aston’s sweaty forehead.

  “You did this.” Capelli backed up and pointed, staring at Aston wide-eyed. “You erased the evidence. Moore isn’t the one who’s been messing with your head; it’s her, the Serial Catcher, isn’t it? You’re protecting her.”

  Aston crossed his arms over his chest. Barry noticed and did the same.

  “Fine.” Capelli moved to the door. “I’ll bring her in myself. More glory for me.”

  Aston put a hand to Capelli’s chest. “Actually, you can’t. You’re on my ground, and you have no jurisdiction in Beverly Hills.”

  Behind his back, Aston waved at the two security guards, and they stepped up behind the doors. They weren’t there as muscle but as authorial witnesses in case the out-of-towner broke the law and Capelli knew it.

  He turned to Aston. “You know what, I thought you’d changed, but you haven’t, you’ve lost your freakin’ mind!” Capelli shook his head. “Do you realize what you’re doing, Ridder? You’re throwing away your chance at the career you’ve always wanted, the FB—fucking—I, and for what…some chick?!”

  Capelli was right. Aston knew he was an idiot. He was sacrificing everything, the FBI, his morals, his beliefs, the friendship of his old partner…for a girl who was engaged to someone else. It was the wrong choice, one that would send him down a withering path. But for the first time ever, Aston cared for somebody else’s life more than he cared for his own.

  “Leave the premises, Detective,” Aston said.

  Capelli growled and grabbed Aston by the collar. Their eyes narrowed, Clint Eastwood and John Wayne facing off. Aston wasn’t sure who was who.

  Capelli glanced at the security guards and let go.

  “I’m going to bring her down, and I’m taking you down with her.” He walked away from them, backward. “This isn’t over, Ridder.”

  Aston watched his old friend walk away. That’s where Capelli got it wrong; it was over. He had no evidence, and even if he managed to get a warrant outside of his own Thousand Oaks jurisdiction, there was nothing to find. Aston had emptied Sapphire’s attic before he left and placed the collection in a location where he knew no one would ever go. Barry’s bedroom.

  “Thanks boys,” Aston nodded to the security guards, who he had warned, suspecting Capelli wouldn’t go for the accidental loss of evidence.

  Barry glanced over at him as they moved through the hallway in silence. Aston knew he would feel shitty for stabbing his old partner in the back, just not this shitty.

  Barry opened and closed his mouth as Aston sat down opposite of Sapphire’s room and leaned his head against the wall, tired. “Spit it out, Barry.”

  “Thanks…” Barry said, sitting down, “for defending me, back there, I mean.”

  “It’s what partners do.”

  “Partners?”

  Aston ignored him, closing his eyes. Barry had proved he had Aston’s back no matter what; it was the best quality you could ask for in a partner.

  “I’m taking a nap so keep your eye glued to that door,” Aston mumbled. “Trust me, if she gets the chance, she will run.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to arrest the Serial Catcher, but he still needed to make sure Sapphire Dubois was safe. If he didn’t stop her, he knew she’d head for the Golden Mirage.

  “You got it, partner,” Barry beamed, nudging him with his elbow.

  “Now you’re pushing it.”

  * * * * *

  Sapphire sat up with a jolt.

  Tubes and needles were sticking out of her hands leading to IVs standing tall next to the hospital bed. She pulled the foreign objects out of her body in panic.

  The last thing she remembered was being in the forest, and she had no idea how she ended up in the hospital. Maybe Father O’Riley got the text after all.

  She looked at the clock on the wall. 5:00 p.m. She needed to head to the Golden Mirage right now. She hoped Paul never saw her face the day before so she could still lure him in. Had he seen her, she’d find away to take him down anyway.

  “Sapphire.” Dr. Wells shut the door behind him, looking down at his chart. “I’ve been seeing a lot more of you lately. How are you feeling?”

  “I feel great! Grrreat,” she emphasized, aware that she sounded like Tony the Tiger. She gave the Dubois family physician a big smile. “Can I go home now?”

  “You lost a lot of blood, it looks like someone tried to eat your thumb, and you have a pretty serio
us concussion, so I’m going to say no. We need to do a CAT scan and what everybody wants to know, including the cop who brought you in is, what the heck happened to you?”

  “Who’s the cop?” She already knew. Her stupid phone had sent the text to the worst person imaginable.

  “Ridder, I think his name was. Do you feel ready to speak to him?”

  “Not yet. Is anyone else here for me?”

  “I think I saw Charles before. I’ll go see if I can find him.”

  “Grrreat.”

  Dr. Wells opened the door, and Sapphire glimpsed Aston in the hallway. He was sound asleep in a chair next to Officer Harry who was playing rock, paper, scissors with himself.

  The door closed and she looked around the room realizing none of her clothes were there. She’d have to make her escape in a hospital gown and ill-fitting slippers. Worse yet, she didn’t even have her Range Rover. It was probably waiting for her in the mountain town’s auto shop, and she didn’t have time to get it.

  In the middle of climbing out the window, she heard the door smack shut.

  “Sapphire!”

  “Charles,” she panted, amazed by her stepfather’s stance. He took two steps toward her with the help of a cane.

  “What are you doing?” His words were so clear it was as if he’d never had a stroke.

  “Um,” she said, still in the window frame. “I’m really late for my manicure.”

  “Sapphire,” Charles said in a stern voice, “I spent seven years locked inside my own body watching you. In my more lucid moments I realized what you were doing, why every newspaper in the house had certain articles cut out of them.”

  Sapphire’s body turned cold and her gut twisted.

  “I…” her voice was thicker than molasses. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do, and it is important that you stop.”

  He knew. Charles knew. Sapphire stood frozen though she wanted to run. The sweet old man suddenly looked demon-like as he came closer,, a vicious poltergeist that knew her secret.

  When Dr. Wells’ voice appeared outside the door, Sapphire snapped out of it and control returned to her body.