Sanity
"So, Sindee..."
It was probably the fifth time he'd put his arm around her. She'd lost count.
"You said you had Glisten," she mumbled, trying to get back to the subject.
"Again? We just did lines ten minutes ago."
"No we didn't." Not if she was already crashing.
"Okay, so I guess you're not that out of it. I'll get it in a minute, but first I wanna show you something." He got up off the couch. "Check this out."
He disappeared into one of the bedrooms. She followed slowly, as if walking on broken glass.
It was a home office. Her heels clacked loudly on the hardwood floor; the sound hurt her ears.
His... computer?
She squinted; it was too bright.
"Well?"
Oh. The little boxes were pictures.
"Sit down. Check it out." She fell into the chair; it looked hard, but actually wasn't. He put her hand on the mouse, then clicked.
The first picture opened.
It was Sapphire.
She blinked.
No, not Sapphire. Not really.
It was her. From the photo shoot.
She stiffened. "I don't-" she mumbled.
"Mitch told me Sapphire saved you and some other girl from some muggers the other night. It must have been weird playing her, huh?"
Ouch.
"God, you are so hot," he said, pointing back to the picture of her onscreen. "Mitch told me to check 'em out, and then I just had to meet you, I didn't care what it cost- er, took."
What it cost. After she'd given her money to Cherry, just just couldn't seem to hang on to any of it herself. She wasn't working as much, but still, she was working... if it hadn't been for another vial from Kat she'd be in a real mess, and the last of that got used getting here. She didn't know what happened to the money from the photo shoot; she hoped it'd turn up. Anyway, Mitch said this guy thought she was hot and would give her some Glisten if she'd agree to meet him, so here she was...
"Can we not look at these?" The pictures brought back bad feelings, and she'd rather they not solidify into bad memories right now.
"Yeah, sure, I mean, you're probably sick of them." He closed the window on the computer screen; a familiar face stared back at her with a come-hither look.
Becky.
Why wouldn't that girl leave her alone?
He was tugging on her wrist.
"Hold on," she said, "who is that?"
"Oh, that's right, you just started. That, Sindee my dear, is Erin Jones. I bet before long you'll have your own site just like her. Oooh, maybe the two of you'll do a set together. Fuck, I'm gettin' hard just thinkin' about it! And it's too soon for the Viagra to kick in..."
"Erin Jones," she said dully, trying to hold onto the name. God, her head hurt... so hard to think...
"Come on, sugar, let's get some of that party fluid in you; then maybe you can help me with my little problem here. Actually, it's getting to be a *big* problem..."
Angela wasn't sure how long she'd been staring at the stain on the wall. She wasn't sure how long she'd been awake. She didn't fall asleep or wake up so much anymore as she just found herself thinking or lost herself not thinking. It was probably better that way.
Angela wondered if she was supposed to be doing something today. Kat used to take care of that. Now, without anyone to tell her what to wear or where to go or what to do next, she just basically didn't do anything. Mitch let her dance whenever she managed to show up at the club; other than that, she ate when hunger motivated her enough to find something, and she showered when she needed to wake herself up enough to go to work, and washed something in the sink when it got too funky, and that was about it. That she could remember, anyway.
She should probably dance more. She needed the money for... what? Oh right, she wanted to move away from this crummy city, all the bad memories and the bad people...
But until then she just took Glisten, and that was a lot like moving away... and somehow she always seemed to find some when she really needed it. One way or another.
The bed squeaked. Nobody was touching her, so it must be Cole.
"I did some... thinking." It almost sounded like he said research. "You did some amazing things with the sapphires. If you really believe that's what they're for, don't you think you should stop this self-destructive behavior?"
Cole was a real piece of work. Left her alone when she needed him, and now when she just wanted to sleep he was back with the lecturing.
She staggered to her feet and shuffled into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.
"Angela, don't shut me out. I'm trying to help you. I know things haven't worked out the way you might have thought they should, but you can't just give up like this. You can't-... Are you dosing in there?"
She flushed the toilet. The door seemed to open just before she reached it, as if Cole had opened it himself. She'd mostly learned to ignore the hallucinations that a Glisten high and a sapphire-enhanced comedown induced -- like the shiny liquid coating that the bathroom seemed to have, or the Christmas-light twinkling the bedroom wallpaper seemed to be doing right now -- but sometimes they took her by surprise.
She just glared at him, which seemed to back him out of her way, then she flopped back on the bed before her dizziness became too much.
"If I'd dosed you wouldn't still be here," she said glumly.
Cole stood over her; through the flash-bulb sparkles in her eyes, she thought he looked concerned, not angry. She felt him touch the crook of her arm. The needle marks were still sensitive.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself," he said. "It's killing you."
"It's under control," she lied.
"Do you even know what you did last night?"
Angela turned away, staring at the stain on the wall again. "I'd rather not."
"How much lower are you going to go to get high?"
She couldn't answer.
"Angela, you have to wake up. Things are happening-"
"Don't you think I know that?" she snapped. "But what good am I if I can't move, if I can't see? Don't you know what it's like? It *hurts*. It's not like flipping a switch and everything's magically all better."
Cole inhaled sharply, like he was going to start lecturing again, but held his tongue a moment, then just sighed.
Nothing was said for a long time.
Angela finally spoke. "I don't know what to do about Becky." If he was going to bug her the least he could do was help her figure it out.
"Becky."
"The girl Ricky was living with." That didn't sound right, but she didn't bother to restate. "I saw her again. Actually a picture of her. I guess she's modeling, too."
"The girl who fought off the muggers that night."
"Right. Everybody's talking about her like she's Sapphire."
"Everybody who?"
"At the club. And last night." She remembered seeing a picture of Becky; what did that guy say her name was? Erin... James? Something like that...
"That's hardly everybody."
"The way the girls gossip, it will be. Moroshkin is looking for me. If he finds her instead..."
"You worry too much. Anyway, you're hardly in any shape to do anything about it."
"I could try to find her. Talk to her."
"And then maybe the Russians would find *you*."
"You really know how to cheer a girl up."
"I'm just trying to protect you. You can't save everyone."
"But if anything happens to her, it'll be my fault. Just like my mom."
"It's nothing like your mom. That was just random."
Angela stiffened. "What?"
"You can't keep beating yourself up over your mom. There was nothing you could do."
"No, what did you say?" She sat up, looking at him, hard.
"What do you mean?" He seemed nervous.
Angela thought carefully. "You said, 'that was just random.'"
"Yeah. So?"
"What did you mean?"
Cole's eyes danced around, like he knew something was wrong, but didn't know what. "You couldn't have known that would happen. You can't be everywhere. Those drug dealers who k- shot her because of that lost shipment, it was just a mistake, just random. It sucks, I know, but you can't..." he trailed off; obviously he saw the way she was looking at him.
Angela felt like her brain had been dunked in ice water. Drug dealers? That was the cover story, not what had really happened! How could her own conscience not know her mom was killed by the rogue government agents who'd gone after her?
Angela already had her wristbands on; she grabbed her tiara off the pillow next to her and shoved it on her head. "Who are you?" She got up off the bed, slowly, never taking her eyes off this man who suddenly wasn't a hallucinogenic incarnation of her conscience at all. Her feet felt around the floor, finding her sapphire heels and slipping them on. All the while, her adrenalized mind searched every memory she could manage about this stranger, looking for clues, connections, context... Ricky used to be like her conscience. Dino was as handsome. Noel was as stern. Miguel had given her similar attitude.
But only Chris Cogan disappeared like Cole.
"*What* are you?" Angela amended with defensive hostility.
"I'm your conscience," Cole tried, knowing it wouldn't fly anymore.
"Bullshit!" Angela screamed; the word echoed around the room, startling them both.
"I just want to help you." His eyes showed fear. Angela sneered; he *should* be afraid.
"No. You want to use me. Like everyone else." She was *through* being used.
Angela felt herself trembling. And it was not just withdrawal.
"It's not that simple," Cole said. His tone was intended to calm, but his words admitted a guilt that inflamed.
"Yes it is," she snapped. She felt a... *shimmer* in the sapphires' energy. And suddenly she understood. "You *are* using me. I can *feel* it. You're feeding off them somehow, aren't you?"
"There's more to it than that," he started. But the look in his eyes told her everything.
"Stop it!" she yelled, shoving both hands at him; the sapphires' force blasted him back against the bathroom doorjamb; he barely kept his feet.
"Angela, please, I only want to-"
"Shut up!" She raised a hand, palm open, cocked to slap him; but by the time she struck, he wasn't there.
She heard him behind her. "Angela, calm down."
She spun around, sapphires enhancing her reaction; but her landing was wobbled by the stones' faltering power. "Stay away from me," she hissed.
"Okay, okay," Cole said, hands extended in front of him. "Let me explain."
Angela's eyes narrowed. "No. You don't have to. You're one of *them*. You're like Crisco. Or the Hunter. You *need* me. That's why you're hanging around. That's why you only show up when I'm wearing them." The light from the window was in her eyes; she moved slowly around the bed, her back to the front door. She wanted to see him.
"You're angry," he said. "I understand. But-"
"Shut up! You'll just lie to me. I'm tired of everybody lying to me. Acting like they want to help me, manipulating me. You're just a vampire, sucking the life out of me. You've been doing it all along. All this time, it wasn't even the drugs, it was *you*. That's why the sapphires turn on me, that's why they don't work right all the time -- it's you. Just like the Hunter did. That's how you do your little disappearing act."
"The drugs *are* hurting you. They're what's messing you up. I know, I can feel it."
"*SHUT* *UP*!" She threw both hands toward him, smashing his body into the wall; the plaster cracked and rained dust on him as his body sagged. "I know it's you. And you want to keep me all to yourself. That's why you don't want me going out, why you don't want me to be Sapphire anymore -- you don't want anyone else to find me!"
"You're right, I don't, but that's not the reason. What you're doing now with the sapphires, that's not even why they... Becky, the Mafiya, none of that matters. It just attract-"
"Of course it matters!" she shouted. "They hurt people, they ruin lives. Becky's just trying to help, trying to do what I tried to do." She struck at him again; he fell to his knees. His face was bleeding.
"Listen to me! I'm not the only one, you know that. Crisco. There's more. One of them already found the Black Widow. They'll find the key, and then they'll find you." He rose and stepped toward her; she swung at him, shoving him back, but he vanished before impact.
His presense was felt behind her before she heard his voice. "You can't let them find you, or none of this matters. I can help you, but you have to-"
She hadn't quite turned around when she felt the touch on her shoulder. Instinct lashed out, a blind blast of energy punching the stranger through a dark hole into nothing.
"What are we doing here again?" Itsov bitched.
"Kostya-" Vadim cut himself off; even if Kostya had said to call him by his first name, around others Vadim still wanted to show he knew his place. "Moroshkin says we need to recover Mr. Farmer's product to determine if it was tainted, and if so, how. We cannot afford a drop off in business." Vadim didn't like to associate with the drug trade -- he liked to think he was above such vulgarity -- but Kostya had asked him to do this as a favor, and Vadim wasn't dumb enough to decline.
"Neal was an idiot," Itsov spat. "He did it to himself. We don't need to break into his apartment to figure that out."
Vadim held his finger up to his lips; Itsov dismissed his faux pas with an angry wave. "No one is going to say anything. Not if they want to *live*." The last word was louder, and echoed through the apartment complex.
Vadim just shook his head; Itsov was a necessary part of the organization, but Vadim wished such men had more than just meanness to their credit.
Vadim pulled out his picks and was about to work the lock when Itsov pushed him aside. "Allow me," he said, raising a heavy boot and driving it against the door, splintering the jamb. A second louder kick broke the door free and it swung open. "Those take too long," the wiry Russian sneered as he entered the dark apartment.
Vadim flipped the light switch before he followed.
"You might stop to think about why Kostya asked *me* to come here," Vadim said, this time using his boss' first name to remind Itsov whose place was lower between them. It worked; Itsov froze up for a moment. Then he recovered his bravado and resumed looking around the apartment.
"Let's just find the stuff and get out of here," Itsov muttered. He started poking around the furniture.
Vadim took a careful look around. The decor was... modern Viking. Stout masculine wood furniture with leather cushions, wooly throw rug over scarred wood floor, poorly-framed print of a woman in a fur bikini atop a white-haired beast in a snowstorm on one wall, tattered Star Wars movie poster and various Playboy centerfolds on the other. In the bedroom, a king-size waterbed with sweat-yellowed sheets countenanced all manner of discarded clothing.
The woman's touch was slight, indeed. Antique white lace above the small kitchen window, cute refrigerator magnets (all but one scattered on the kitchen floor), a vinyl shoe rack hanging from the bathroom door, a lone frilly pink pillow that had been on the love seat until Itsov tossed it and every other loose item to the middle of the living room floor.
And the object Vadim was looking for: an oversized teddy bear with a grumpy expression.
Vadim noticed Itsov was heading for the bedroom. "Hold on, before you make it any more obvious that someone was looking for something. Toss me the bear."
"Huh?"
"In the corner. By the lamp."
"Ahh, the drugs are inside," Itsov smiled, as if he'd been the first one to think of it."
Vadim stepped toward him, snatching the bear out of Itsov's hands before the man could tear it open.
Check the seams... there. The back of the head. Two zipper sandwich bags fat with lavendar-white powder.
"Look for his kit," Vadim instructed. "Maybe behind the headboard."
"What do we need that for?""If the drugs are clean, perhaps his needles are not."
"Yeah." Itsov slinked into the bedroom. "Got it!"
Itsov sidled up to Vadim, who stood at the door to the bedroom, staring at nothing in particular. "Let's go."
"Wait.""What?"
"Look around, do you see it?"
"What?"
"There was a struggle."
"Just the paramedics. They break shit all the time." Itsov started for the door, but stopped when Vadim didn't follow. "You coming?"
"No, not just the table there. The kitchen. Look, broken dishes."
"Probably an argument with his girlfriend."
"And the refrigerator door is caved in." Vadim walked over to it, running his hand along the creases. "Did she do that too?"
"He probably threw her up against it."
The thought turned Vadim's stomach. "Perhaps." He noticed a particular shaped dent -- a small cross. "Does Mr. Farmer wear an earring?"
"Yeah, metal cross in his right ear. Why?"
"Interesting," Vadim non-answered. He blinked, and then looked Itsov in the eye suddenly. "I want to see Neal."
Itsov shook off the stare, obviously uncomfortable. "In the hospital? Why?"
"Because something tells me I should."
Valley General Hospital. Angela wasn't sure why she was here.
It wasn't too hard to find Neal, even though she didn't know his last name. A cute guy in patient transport gave her the room number off the top of his head.
He just looked like he was sleeping. But she knew better.
What was the point of coming here? It wasn't like she could do anything to help him... could she? She fingered the gemstones in her purse nervously, but didn't really know what she might do with them. And anyway, it was the sapphires that had hurt him in the first place; maybe they'd only make him worse now.
Then again, maybe it wasn't the sapphires at all. Maybe it never had been, with her, or with the Black Widow. Maybe it had been Cole Temple, or someone like him, hiding just beyond the tangible, using the sapphires and the woman who wore them to pull the life out of men like Neal.
Or maybe it was the sapphires. Maybe it was how they were meant to be used. Maybe Black Widow had been right and Angela had been wrong. Maybe her darker half had simply used them against the wrong adversaries. Maybe this was what the sapphires were supposed to do to Cole. And Crisco. And others, if there were any.
Or maybe she was so messed up on Glisten all the time she couldn't separate what was real from what wasn't. Maybe this was all just a hallucination, a bad dream.
If so, she wished someone would wake her up.
The other bed in the room was empty; she was alone. She'd worn big sunglasses to obscure her face in case anyone was looking for her; she lowered them now.
At first, it just looked like Neal was sleeping; but there was something not right about him. It was like he was... blank.
A nurse came in, checking something on the other side of the room. She was on her way out when she stopped; she probably realized she hadn't seen Angela before.
Or maybe they were supposed to be on the lookout...
"Are you family?" the nurse asked.
"His cousin," Angela lied. The nurse's suspicious eyebrow relaxed. "Is he going to wake up?"
"I'll let the doctor know you're here; he can explain."
"No, that's okay," she said, almost panicked. "I mean, I just want to sit with him for a while first."
"Sure, honey."
Angela sighed, ignoring the stiff complaints from her shoulders. How had it come to this? She'd only gone to Neal's to scare him, but then things got out of control...
No, she'd wanted to do more than just scare him -- after what he'd done to Cherry, a *lot* more. Maybe the specifics of Neal's condition were the sapphires' fault, but he wouldn't be here if she hadn't wanted to hurt him.
Angela had been a good person once. A heroine dedicated to helping people.
Somehow that had changed. Things had gotten complicated, good and bad all mixed up and turned around, fighting crime less a noble cause and more an ugly compromise, her own weaknesses stacking up against her, circumstances pushing her further and further away from everything she knew and deeper and deeper into trouble.
She struggled against it, she tried not to believe it, but it was so obvious: she couldn't even take care of herself -- and anything good she tried to do only blew up in her face.
Angela Barrett was no heroine.
Sapphire was a mistake.
She heard soft voices beyond the door; maybe the doctor was coming to talk to her anyway. She pushed her sunglasses back up and yanked her ballcap down low; she'd ask where the restroom is, and then slip away...
"His cousin's here," she heard the nurse say. Angela turned around...
...and her heart jumped.
This man was no doctor -- sinewy, greasy, stubbly, hard-looking.
Russian Mafiya.
His eyes went wide. "Hey..."
Surprise gave way to anger. "You again!" He quickly grabbed her by the wrist. "This time you won't be doing any gymnastics."
Angela panicked. She kicked him in the shin, her sapphire shoes sparking at the impact. The thug went down like his skeleton had been removed.
Angela just started running.
Vadim saw a flash of someone entering the stairwell in a hurry. Then he heard a groan from Neal's room.
Itsov was trying to stand; from his grimace it looked like his leg was broken.
"What happened?" Vadim asked.
"It was her," Itsov said through clenched teeth. "No one else could kick that hard!"
Vadim knew who Itsov meant: Sapphire.
"Come on," Itsov said, hobbling through the door, "we could still catch her."
Well, maybe Vadim could, but Itsov wasn't going anywhere fast. At least he'd picked a good place to get injured. "No," he said, his hand on Itsov's shoulder, "she kicked your ass once; we need to know more before we chase her."
Itsov glowered at that, but he knew Vadim had a point. And he seemed glad someone else had given his machismo an out.
Anyway, Vadim had come here for a reason, and he knew he couldn't leave until he'd satisfied his curiosity.
He approached the bed where Neal Farmer lay. There was nothing remarkable about the young man, except for how completely lifeless he looked.
Vadim felt a warmth in his chest again; he'd felt it back at the apartment, too. It was something like the feeling he got when he was on a job just before finding something unexpected -- a second safe, packs of cash, or a guard dog.
Only now he felt compelled to... touch Neal's forehead.
So he did.
Vadim had been shocked by house current before. This was worse.
He felt himself disconnect from his own body as it became a spasming slab of meat. Then the images hit him. Like smashing through a series of brick walls, disturbing random murals painted on them: a hooker in a doorway, a drug-filled needle breaking, a metal door caving in, a snow-covered mountain, a fallen angel, light dimming...
"Are you okay?" The voice was female, but not feminine.
Vadim opened his eyes to see a stern wart-faced woman wearing an expression of worry.
"I'm fine," Vadim managed.
He realized he was laying on the floor, his limbs sprawled, a pillow under his head.
"Your friend said you passed out."
Itsov was looking over the nurse's shoulder. His face was whiter than usual.
"I think... the equipment must have shorted." Vadim pointed lazily up to the vitals monitor.
"You touched it?"
"Yeah. Sorry." Vadim got control of himself. "I think I'm okay now," he said, grabbing the bed rail to pull himself up.
"Take it easy," the nurse said, stopping him in a sitting position.
"I'm okay," Vadim said more firmly, and pushed himself to his feet.
"Okay," the nurse said somewhat defensively, "just stay put for a minute, and don't touch anything. Let me get Biomed to replace the monitor, and get an incident report started."
Incident report? Vadim and Itsov exchanged looks, but said nothing until the nurse was out of the room.
"Come on, Vadim," Itsov said, "let's get out of here before anything else happens."
Vadim was still a little shaken, but agreed.
They needed to talk to Moroshkin...
Angela kept running -- weaving past amblers, threading shoppers, too fast to look back. Crossing against the light -- horns honked.
Two blocks? Three? Around the corner. Tucked against a plywood construction barrier.
Angela peeked around the corner briefly. Then again, longer. There was no sign of the man, or anyone else suspicious. She'd gotten away.
She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. Her eyes wandered, over the steady stream of pedestrians, the lanes of cars, all going the same direction... there were only a few blocks of one-way streets downtown. She was close to the convention center. A lot of bus routes stopped at the convention center.
One last look over her shoulder to satisfy her safety, and Angela rejoined the flow.
Her mind still rushed. The Russian had recognized her. No, not her. Sapphire. He'd said something about gymnastics -- and the tape over his broken nose was fresh.
Becky had been at it again.
Angela had to warn Becky. But how? She wasn't even going by Becky now. What was it, Erika? No, Erin, Erin James, Erin Jane... something. Angela thought Erin probably worked with Artie Hooks, or at least that's what that guy had said... hadn't he? She cursed the fuzziness of her memory.
Wait, Angela, you can't just... Hooks wasn't going to just give someone Erin's number, especially not a drugged-out model he'd only met once. And it wasn't like Angela could come up with a good reason for needing it. The truth certainly wasn't going to work...
Maybe when she calmed down, she'd think of something. Maybe a little Glisten would help.
Rounding the corner, Angela looked at the numbers on the buses already stopped at the main entrance of the convention center, and those pulling in -- nothing she recognized. She was pretty sure she wanted the 12A.
It looked like she had a few minutes until the next one came, so she found an out-of-the-way corner on the building's facade and relaxed against it.
Idle eyes eventually found the readerboard sign. The Auto Show opened in two weeks... Tony Robbins Success Seminar next weekend... AdventureCon today and tomorrow...
Wasn't AdventureCon a comic book convention?
Angela suddenly thought of Ricky. And suddenly felt hope.
Doubt and guilt and shame rushed in to smother it, but there was still hope. Angela didn't know how, but she knew Ricky could help. And even if he couldn't, she still had to see him.
He was the only person she could trust.
Of course, he probably wasn't here. He was just an inker for a tiny independent publisher. And for all she knew Ricky's dad had made him quit -- it was the kind of thing Noel Aquino would do.
But she was already here. She had to try.
She had to tell him about Becky.
Kostya was meeting with Jacob again. Vadim was tempted to ask what it was about, but he knew better.
"Kostya," Vadim said, still uncomfortable with the familiar, "something strange happened."
"Did you find the product? Is there something wrong with it?"
"The chemist says it's fine, but he is doing more tests to confirm."
"So what is it?"
"We went to the hospital, and-"
Itsov suddenly shoved Vadim aside. "Stop!"
Vadim and Kostya looked stunned at the thug, but his bulging eyes were focused on Jacob, or rather his computer screen. "That's her!"
Jacob's screen saver had kicked in, but when he saw the wild-eyed man rushing toward him he reflexively pushed his chair back, bumping the mouse and bringing back the computer's desktop.
"Bring her back, bring her back!" Itsov said, gesticulating wildly at the screen.
"Who?"
"The picture, it was just there!"
"The screen saver?"
"Yes!"
"Hang on." Jacob fiddled with the control panel; a different photo appeared. "Her?"
"No, no!" Itsov spat, frustration mounting.
"Okay, hang on a sec, I've got a bunch in rotation, let me bring them up. This one?"
"No."
Jacob cycled through more. "No. No. No. No..."
Vadim rolled his eyes; how many different naked girls did Jacob need to stare at in a day?
"No, no, n- Yes! Her!"
"You're shittin' me."
"No, that is her."
Kostya approached the pair; Vadim strained to look over their shoulders.
Jacob was shaking his head. "Do you know who that is?"
"That is the girl."
"It can't be her. She's-"
Kostya nudged Jacob, hard. Jacob cleared his throat and tried again. "She's Artie Hooks' new girl."
It was really hard not to Glisten for this. Every muscle hurt. Every bone hurt. And that was before the city assaulted her -- the piercing points of light from headlights and buildings, the screeching rush and pounding impacts of people and tires and motors and doors...
But she didn't want Ricky to see her high.
Angela attracted a lot more attention than she'd expected on the convention floor. She supposed she shouldn't have been surprised -- comic books were always a guy thing, mostly a geeky guy thing. She felt bad making such a generalization -- after all, she'd never thought of Ricky that way, not really -- but it was hard to ignore the dominant traits of the convention-goers. The few women who were here either seemed popped right out of the junior-college-lifer-goth-geek mold, or were dressed up in completely over-the-top sexed-up costumes, obviously hungry for attention and feasting on it. Angela thought of Becky, and wondered if the younger girl would have been one of them -- if she hadn't gone off the deep and and decided to try being a comic-book heroine for real.
"Who are you supposed to be?" a particularly lascivious-looking thirty-something asked.
"Nobody," Angela shrugged.
He changed course to "discreetly" follow her. After a few aisles of lost wandering, she turned around suddenly -- the look on his face said "busted." But she motioned him toward her. After a disbelieving blink, he raced through the crowd as if it didn't exist.
"What's up? Help you with something?"
"Yeah. I'm looking for a friend of mine. He works for a comic book company."
"Have I heard of him?"
"I don't know. Ricky-" she corrected herself, "Rick Aquino."
"Hmm." He gave it far too much thought before shaking his head. "Doesn't sound familiar. Which company?"
Angela didn't know.
"What book?" Book? "Title? Or character name?"
She tried to remember -- she was sure Ricky had mentioned it, or shown her a cover, but she couldn't come up with anything. "Wait, it was... it's a homicide detective."
"Powers?"
She shook her head.
"Midnight nation?"
No...
"William Noir."
So that's how it was pronounced. "That's it."
"Hang on." He dug a program out of his goodie bag. "That's... this way." He grabbed her hand and pulled; she let him.
She was beginning to think maybe this guy was just leading her around and down into the basement to get her good and lost before he tried something stupid, but then they came to the last row, and she saw him.
The shock of black hair, now with a tuft of orange-blonde up front, seemed to vibrate with every movement the young man made. There was another, older man sitting next to him, jawing with a pair of starry-eyed fans, but the young man had his head down over a large sketch pad.
Angela's guide pulled her along behind him like a helpless caboose until she stood behind him, right there at the quiet booth. "Ricky Aquino?" the guide asked.
"Yeah?" The hair bounced up.
"Somebody here to see you." And then Angela felt herself yanked around the man who'd dragged her here and thrust in front of a familiar face.
She watched Ricky's smile grow.
And fade.
But then he found it again. Without ever breaking eye contact, he said to the man next to him, "Hey, I gotta go." He stood up and took her hand, drawing her around the table and into the booth and through the curtain behind. She'd barely stepped out into the stark concrete hallway when she got wrapped up in a bearhug. After a moment of surprise, she hugged back.
It took a long time before he let go. She didn't mind. "I missed you," he said, his eyes darting back and forth between hers. "Come on, let's go somewhere we can talk."
Her led her to a service elevator, up three floors, out some double doors to a large balcony, or maybe the roof. The hotel tower soared up behind them; in front, a view of the park.
All the way up here, he never said a word. He just looked at her, looked over her. She saw relief and regret and worry in his eyes. She knew she'd looked better, but he seemed to see more of what she'd been through than she wanted to show.
"Something told me you'd come," he said, pasting his happiest smile over his worried face.
"I just happened to be in the neighborhood," she said, the lame excuse that happened to be true.
"Lucky you came when you did. My dad doesn't trust me here. He couldn't get away, so he asked one of his old friends to babysit me. Ackerman had just gone for a coffee when you showed up."
"I won't keep you long."
"S'okay. The show's boring anyway." He laughed. It warmed her heart, even if the laugh was forced.
Angela looked down at her feet. "I need your help, Ricky."
She half-expected him to ask hotly if it was Angela or Sapphire who needed help, but he just said, "I don't know what I can do, but I'll try."
"It's Becky. She's in trouble."
Ricky was naturally surprised -- and concerned. "You heard from Becky? Do you know where she is?"
"Sort of. I... I saw her. A few times." Well, twice, but with her run-in earlier today she knew someone else had run into Becky too.
"How? You were in New York?"
"No, Ricky. Here. She's here, in Oak Valley."
She could tell Ricky didn't believe her. "I know you think I'm lying, Ricky, but I know what I saw. And..." Angela didn't know how to put it, so she just said it. "...and she's trying to be like me."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, she's trying to be like Sapphire. She fought off a bunch of muggers who were after... these girls."
Ricky's eyes narrowed; he looked up and down her form before settling again on her eyes. "It wasn't her."
"Yes it was, Ricky. I know it was her because I was there. I saw her. She went after them when..." Angela skimmed over the humiliating memory, "...before I could do anything."
"Angela..."
"There's more. She's a model." And maybe more. "She uses the name Erin James." Or something close; Angela couldn't quite grasp that memory firmly enough. "She does... fashion shoots for a studio in the southern part of town, his name is Art Hooks."
"How come the police haven't found her?"
"They're looking for Becky Robinson, not Erin Something. And she's changed her hair. Ricky, you know she's smart."
"I know, but, Angela, I mean..."
She remembered her run-in with the Russian. "It wasn't just that one time, either. I ran into someone today who recognized me. But it wasn't me he recognized, it was someone else. He said Sapphire," or at least she was pretty sure he did, "but I'd never met him before. And he was really mad. I think she did something, and now they're after her."
Ricky took a deep breath. "I... I don't know what to say. I don't know what you want me to do."
Angela took Ricky's hand. "I need you to believe me." She squeezed tight.
"I'm trying, Angela, but..." Ricky trailed off. And then something happened.
His eyes narrowed.
"This isn't right," he said. "Really, Angela. I know you must be hurting -- you really hurt me too -- but I didn't expect this from you."
"Ricky, what-"
Ricky pulled away, turning his back to her, walking to the edge of the balcony, looking out over the park. "Saying bad things about Becky isn't going to fix things between us."
What? How could he think that? Sure, Angela wished they could... but that was still an open wound, and it hurt more than she thought it could just to come here and talk to him, and she wouldn't have done it at all except she knew she wasn't in any shape to help Becky on her own, and Ricky could tell his dad and maybe the police could do something...
"Ricky, it's not like that. I'm not making this up. I swear, I would never do that."
"I want to believe you, Angela, but... well, have you seen yourself? You look... sick."
"I know. Things have been... difficult. I'm going through a tough time right now. That's why I'm here. I don't know if I can do this by myself."
"I mean you look bad, Angela. Like... like you're still taking that stuff. You look like an addict."
Ouch.
He'd turned around; his expression said it hurt to look, but he did anyway. "Do your hands always shake like that?" He stepped toward her, taking her hands in his own. Then she felt him stiffen. "The bruises on your arms. I've seen those before -- my dad had pictures. They're from needles, aren't they?" He dropped her hands, as if he couldn't bear to touch her. "God, Angela, why?"
"It's just... it's just until I get some things sorted out."
"Listen to yourself, Angela. Look at yourself. You're so thin -- are you even eating?"
"Sometimes... but right now I need you to-"
"Stop. Let me get you into a program. My dad can find one for you. I'll take you, no matter what my dad says, he has to let me do that much. And then maybe when you're better we can talk. But you have to give up Sapphire. She's killing you."
It wasn't even about that. And yet it was.
"I can't. Not right now. Becky-"
"Stop about Becky! It's not gonna work, okay? We're not even together. You're really messed up if you think saying something like that is gonna make me help you do this to yourself. It's not gonna bring us together. I can't..."
"Ricky, you're not listening. I didn't come here to get you back." She didn't want to say that; she didn't want him to think she didn't want that, not that it could ever work, not as long as she was Sapphire, but still, that didn't mean she didn't want it. But she had to get him to understand. "I'm not here to ask for money so I can buy drugs -- I don't know how you can even think that-"
"You have to see what I see. I know how you get. And I know what it feels like."
Her mind flailed; this wasn't at all how she thought this would go. All he had to do was have somebody check out what she told him, and then he'd know she was telling the truth, and together with the police she could keep things from getting worse...
"Okay." He suddenly grabbed her hand and . "Come on."
"Wh-where?"
"Back to my room. I'll call Detective Lewis. She used to work with my dad; she can help."
Angela's heart soared. That was all she was asking for.
He opened the door and gave another little tug on her hand. "She knows all the programs."
Programs. No...
"Ricky, they think she's me. They're going to kill her."
"Fine, after we check you in somewhere you can tell Lewis all about it, and she'll look into it. I promise."
The way he smiled... he was patronizing her. He'd say anything just to get her to go with him, give up, let people lock her up...
She yanked her hand away. "Don't lie to me, Ricky. You don't believe me. And if *you* don't..." She shook her head, blinking her tears away. "I can't go with you, not if you're just gonna lock me up. We need to find Becky before they do. It might already be too late. I shouldn't have come here. Becky needs my help."
"Come on, Angela. You run off trying to save her, whether she's really at risk or not, and you're just giving them what they want. I know what you did to them, Angela; I saw it in the paper, and I knew it was you. But you're in no shape to go after them now. They'll *hurt* you, Angela," Ricky paused, choking up, "and I can't let that happen."
"And I can't let someone else get hurt because of what I did. She needs help."
"No one needs your help!" Ricky shouted, his voice cracking. "Not as Sapphire. Not like this." His breathing was short; he blinked back tears. "Look..." he reached into his pocket. "Look at this. I didn't want to show you, but..." His trembling hand extended an envelope; her trembling hand took it. "It's from Becky. From New York. She sent it to the office. Look at the postmark. It's two days ago."
No. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. Becky faked it somehow. She had to. Angela knew what she'd seen. Even with the Glisten, even with Cole, she knew what was real. There was an explanation. There had to be.
I'm not crazy.
Ricky suddenly lunged at her, arms wrapped tightly around her, his strong warm body holding her, squeezing her desperately. "It breaks... it breaks my heart to see you like this. I can't let you go, Angela. I *won't* let you. Maybe you'll hate me, but I'll live with that as long as I know you're safe." She struggled, but he had her wrapped up tight, and he was stronger than her. "Don't fight me, Angela, just let it go. Let it all go." He squeezed her so hard that her sapphires began to glow. "Let Sapphire go before she kills you. Let me help you get your life back. Let me help you get clean."
Angela let go of what breath she had left. And with it, hope.
Not even Ricky believed her. And she couldn't blame him.
She was truly lost now.
But she couldn't be. She couldn't be locked up somewhere, shivering her way through some rehab program, when maybe it wasn't even the drugs that were doing this. She couldn't let herself be held helpless while Crisco and Cole were out there. And she couldn't just give up and let someone else take the wrath that was meant for her.
Angela cried out, a tortured wail of heartbreak and agony as the sapphires glowed and spat brightly, breaking her free of the desperate grasp of the only person she'd had left, thrusting her skyward, halting her just out of reach. She hovered there unsteadily, in the empty sodium-lit void just beyond the balcony, blinding tears streaming down her cheeks, chest heaving.
"You can't understand," she sobbed, "I can't let it go. After everything that's happened, I'll *never* be clean."
And the heroine streaked off to battle the demons alone.