Sentencing Sapphire (Sapphire Dubois: Book 3)

Epilogue

It was happening again.

She woke up from the soothing dream at the sound of his tires against the gravel outside. She saw the headlights through the crack in the wood he'd placed over her window so no one would see her.

She lay curled in a fetal position on the cold, dirty floor. She had to sleep this way to keep her body warm. She moved slowly, careful not to yank on the chain around her foot too hard. The skin on her ankle was hardened from the vicious cycle of chafing and healing, but it still hurt. Sometimes the throbbing was so bad it woke her up from her dreams, the only reprieve she got from this house.

Tonight the chains hadn't woken her. Tonight her dream had been so wonderful no pain could take her away.

She heard the engine shut off and knew what would happen next. Yet, she couldn't help but drag her sore foot toward the crack in the wood. She pressed her hands against the board and her eye to its slim gap.

He'd been gone for a while this time, maybe a week... or more. She wasn't good with telling time. She knew it was longer than usual because she'd had to ration the dog bowl of water and kibble for the last few days.

The first few times he went, she hadn't understood the bowls. She'd drank the water too fast and ate the bad tasting kibble in two sittings. Now she was older, and understood she had to save. She didn't know when he'd be back to refill it.

She shivered from the cold. He kept the house freezing, even in the summer. Sometimes she wondered if it was because he knew how cold the attic got. He never left her any blankets, or new clothes to wear. She'd been in her Princess and the Frog t-shirt and yellow shorts so long they'd turned brownish and grown riddled with holes.

She watched him step out of the truck. When he moved to the back she held her breath though she knew what she would witness.

He pulled out the woman, tied by her arms and ankles, from the covered truck bed and tossed her over his shoulder. Her hair, like all the others, was short and black. This one was awake. Sometimes when they arrived they were asleep, sometimes not; she never knew what made the difference.

He said something in a low voice and the woman tried to wriggle her way out of his grip.

"My name is Mary Dunnigan!" she shouted. "You have the wrong person!" They always said that. They never understood him in the beginning. But soon, just like the others, Mary Dunnigan would play along. After she did, she would die.

He walked inside and slammed the downstairs door so hard it rattled the window behind the wood.

She hurried back to her spot by the nearly empty bowls, knowing he would come soon. He didn't like it when she moved about—he beat her if he caught her—yet he allowed the chain to be long enough for her to do so.

She heard the woman scream downstairs until the second door closed. He'd put her in the basement. The room was especially for them, just like the attic was especially for her.

His heavy footsteps sounded, and she held onto her chains as the door opened.

He stood in the doorway, a dark shadow against the downstairs light.

"Good evening, Rosie," he said.

"Good evening." Sometimes she responded in the right way, other times the wrong way. It was hard to tell which was which until he got angry.

He threw her the stack of clothes she got to wear for the dinners. "Put them on tomorrow. I want you at your best behavior."

"Yes," she replied.

As horrible as the events that would follow would be now that the next one had arrived, she would get to drink soda, instead of dirty water and eat warm food, instead of dog kibbles. She felt guilty for looking forward to the pot roast, knowing its purpose would result in Mary Dunnigan's death.

He stared at her, and she froze. What did she say or do this time? Was she sitting wrong, breathing wrong? She still had bruises from the last time he got angry.

"Yes, what?" he asked, grinding his teeth.

She panicked, not knowing what he wanted her to call him today. "Yes... sir?"

He stood still, his body tense, his glare on her. He seemed to be deciding between letting it go and punishing her. The tension rested in the attic and the hair on her arms stood. Then, just as quickly as he came, he left and locked the door behind him. She was safe... for tonight.

She waited until his footsteps were off the stairs before she got back up, and walked over to the boarded window. She wanted to see the stars, and the moon. Besides tonight's dream, it was the only beauty she had to look forward to.

She pushed her eye against the gap and sighed. The sky was gray with clouds, but at least she still had her dream.

Sometimes she dreamed regular dreams, other times she dreamt of things that were to come. She had ever since she was really little. She dreamt of her mother's death before it happened, and she dreamt of her long, cold nights in the attic before she was put here.

Her special dreams weren't always of bad things, sometimes they were good.

Tonight, she dreamt that a woman with long dark hair arrived. This woman was different from all the others before her. She was strong and when she looked him in the eye, it wasn't with fear, but in defiance.

Outside, the gray clouds parted and the faint yellow light shined into the crack and onto her. She watched the big bright moon look down at her, and smiled.

As much as she feared the things that were about to happen downstairs with Mary Dunnigan, she also felt something she hadn't for as long as she could remember: Hope.

She knew the one with the dark hair and the fearless eyes was out there somewhere, and soon this woman would come to save her from this house of horrors.

It was only a matter of time.