Sapphire Scars: Volume Three Read online

  The words rebounded inside his mind and the grip he had on his guitar tightened as he squeezed his eyes shut and fought against the sour memory.

  But that was exactly what he was, there was no denying. Son of a drunk, killer of his own mother, naive boy-toy of the rich.

  … just low-class filth.

  Ash tried to squeeze his eyes even more against the feelings threatening to drive him mad, but the only thing he got for it were sapphire flashes and the beginnings of what he could tell would be, minutes from now, a splitting headache.

  Enough of this.

  He could wallow in misery later. Now? Now he had priorities to focus on. He needed to find a drug store to buy something to fight the impending cold, and he needed to find somewhere to take a bath and sleep. He couldn’t handle one more minute of stinking of wet dog.

  And then things would be fine.

  Ash swallowed dry and nodded to himself. They had to be.

  EVEN THE FAINT smell of mold wasn’t enough to dampen his spirits as Ash finally closed the motel room’s door behind him. He sighed in relief, even knowing it was temporary. Everything hurt and the dilapidated building had been the closest one he’d found to the bus station. As he couldn’t afford to spend too much on a taxi, he instructed the driver to drive him to the closest, cheapest motel. He’d ended up here in Berta’s.

  He hadn’t had the courage to ask the over-sized, surly woman downstairs at the reception if she was Berta, but something about her deep frown and the unkempt state of her winter clothes simply gave off a Berta vibe. It didn’t really matter. Hopefully, with a little bit of luck, he’d get a job soon. Something simple enough for a practically inexperienced man like him, but that’d pay enough to keep him on his feet for now. And then he wouldn’t have to be here anymore.

  His ratty bag went perfectly well with the lifeless, vomit-yellow curtains and bedclothes when he dropped it there.

  All he wanted was to get under the shower already. He’d punch something if he had to spend one more minute in the clothes that still smelled of water dried on skin, sweat and lies. But priorities first.

  The water came out of the faucet in the kitchen kicking and screaming, and even the extra time it took to fill up one of the three glasses he found on the cupboard pissed him off.

  The two Tylenol squares scratched his throat on the way down; a testament of how sick he already was. He silently thanked the heavens for finally getting here. When he’d asked for the woman in Biscuits for a ticket to the farthest place he could get with fifty dollars, he hadn’t been really thinking. He’d just wanted to get away from that place, from those people — from him. Just wanted to leave his past and the pain it came with behind for good. To get a shot at a completely fresh start without not even a sliver of a chance of even stumbling on anyone he knew out on the streets by accident. It’d been almost an entire day of traveling since then, but he hadn’t registered that it’d equal to now not even being on the state of Arizona anymore. Well, if the distance wasn’t enough, the difference in weather would be proof enough.

  Ash wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen fog before, but if he had, he didn’t remember. There wasn’t such a thing as fog in Biscuits. Not being able to see because clouds were literally in your face was creepy. Scary, even.

  Ash shook his head to get rid of the thoughts and regretted it immediately when sharp pain attacked his right temple.

  Twenty minutes later, shivering from the lukewarm shower that was all the motel had to offer, he settled on the bed with the Subway he’d bought on the bus station and proceeded to munch the thing down, not even tasting a bit of it. He was numb; from yesterday’s events and from the cold of this new, scary place.

  When he finished the medium-sized sandwich, Ash dragged his bag over from the foot of the bed where he’d left it after changing clothes. In just one day he’d gone from eight hundred, fifty-five dollars and forty-one cents to seven hundred, twenty-five dollars and twenty-seven cents. At this rate he had, what? A little more than two weeks until he ran out of money? He had to act. And quick. Tomorrow, given this fever was gone, he’d start hunting for some kind of job, and then things would be okay.

  Ash was still trying to reassured himself that things would be okay when he closed his eyes and, for the first time in his life, was raped by horrible nightmares filled with blue.

  TOMPAS WAS AN elegant, charming place, Ash eventually discovered on the course of the next five weeks or so. Kinda in the same way glaciers are elegant and charming when you see them on TV: cold and distant; maybe pleasant if you’re well equipped to deal with its challenges — which he, of course, was not.

  April had come, but there was still a cold bite in the air. Nothing compared to what it’d been three weeks ago when he’d run out of money and had been forced to live on the streets, but still cold enough that he was forced to keep the pieces of cardboard paper he’d found well wrapped around his legs and torso at night.

  He removed them now and hid them under the ratty blanket he’d stolen out of Berta’s motel on his way out. It had been a poor excuse for a blanket then. Now? Now it was smelling worse than he smelled at the end of each new day, and that was saying something.

  Still, he was thankful for having found this spot to hide at night. It was funny, really, that of all places he’d envisioned himself ending at, what had saved him was the bell tower of an abandoned church: his new home for practically three weeks now.

  Eyes still full of sleep, he wearily assessed his surroundings, as he did every morning after unwrapping all the cardboard pieces from around himself — this place was considerably removed from the otherwise crowded streets, but if he’d found it, others could, too. Thankfully, as it had been since his first night here, everything looked normal.

  The stack of bricks he’d amassed were still keeping the door, circled by the cracked wall of concrete, rightfully barricaded. The banana and half-eaten box of fast-food he’d found last night in the dumpster downtown were blissfully intact, waiting to placate his constantly rumbling stomach.

  Raising from the makeshift bed — which was just his blanket lying over two layers of newspaper sheets, really — Ash smiled to himself as he sauntered to the rotting pine table where his breakfast awaited.

  On his first few days of dumpster diving, he’d retched uncontrollably and for several minutes before gathering enough strength to take the first bite of the slightly rotten sandwich he’d luckily found. Now he just peeled off the banana skin and took a bite, not even thinking about it. You learned real fast not to think when your next meal was not a guarantee.

  And it wasn’t as if he really had a choice. Not like anyone cared enough to know why he didn’t have a choice. In the three weeks he’d been in this fight, not one person had cared to approach him and ask why a boy freshly turned sixteen was roaming the streets alone at night, his guitar his only company besides his dirty, ragged clothes and backpack. They’d had plenty of opportunity to question him; to look and see, but they hadn’t.

  Ash, in turn, had seen a lot. He’d seen how there was a clear divide between three distinct parts of Tompas; pretty much like in Biscuits, but in a considerably larger scale.

  He’d started his exploration around Berta’s neighborhood. The first few days of walking around and getting acquainted with the place had been hard, since that annoying, scary fog had still been around to taunt him, but it hadn’t completely hindered his adventures through the streets. Ash had quickly gathered that that neighborhood was right downtown; the center of Tompas. Markets, two huge malls, motels, businesses left and right. Busy people rushing from A to B with their Starbucks cups in hand, eyes trained ahead, never taking stock of their surroundings.

  Ash’d learned to take advantage of that, of course. He could — now more than ever — be low-class filth, but he wasn’t dumb.

  For some reason he couldn’t think of, no one had bothered to cut off the water supply to the church before leaving it to its own fate, and Ash couldn’t be thank
ful enough for it. Besides being a sure way to keep him hydrated, the tap water helped him strengthen his disguise. It was in the sink of the small, run-down kitchen downstairs that he managed to wash his clothes every few days, when the weather agreed. Then, with clean clothes, no one blinked an eyelash when he crossed through the sliding glass doors of one of the two immense malls, guitar in hand, and headed for the spot he’d found for himself at the largest foyer.

  For hours and hours he played, guitar case open in front of him, hungry for the meager coins someone would occasionally spare. It was rare that someone made a significant contribution, but Ash always made sure to wink and smile at them when they did. Then he’d go back to singing popular songs that he didn’t even like or could relate to, but helped him survive. Once in a while, he’d venture into playing dark melodies that he’d composed the night before and stored only in memory. They were nameless and painful, but the people that seemed to always gather around him didn’t mind that. They couldn’t see.

  Forty-one dollars and sixteen cents was all that six hours of playing had amounted to. Ash smiled to himself. Not bad at all, but certainly not one of his best days.

  He’d just finished locking the guitar back on its case when his stomach chose to rumble. He still had some of the money from the last few days. Maybe he could afford to spoil himself a little and buy some food today.

  “Hey, kid,” Mario greeted when Ash got to the McDonald's stand. Ash had come here a handful of times in the last few weeks and the beefy older man now recognized him.

  They traded the usual pleasantries and, a couple minutes later, Ash was devouring the greasy lunch that was all he could afford. He strolled leisurely along one of the wide aisles, lined with stores, that would eventually lead him to the main exit. He liked looking at the stores and the pretty things inside, even if he would never be able to afford them.

  Half-way through, he got to B&B, the music store that was, by far, his favorite. He’d lost count of how many hours he’d stood outside drooling over the shiny guitars that were probably worth more than himself. It didn’t take long for the piece of paper to catch his eye.

  MUSIC TUTOR NEEDED

  PART TIME

  INTERVIEWS TOMORROW, APRIL 8th AT 9AM

  NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED

  Not choking on the bite he’d been chewing was the greatest of feats. This was exactly what he needed: a job that didn’t demand previous experience. And it was music. Just music. It was like it had fallen from the heavens right in front of him.

  He had to show up for that interview. He just had to.

  The euphoric reaction started to fade as soon as Ash realized he couldn’t. Even if he showed them how good he was with his guitar, they would never hire him. Not with this haircut and distinct smell of someone who hadn’t experienced shampoo and soap in weeks. Not with clothes that would look better placed on a scarecrow.

  Ash gave the store his back and kept on his way to the exit. He finished the sandwich as the automatic glass doors opened before him. A couple feet away, he sat on the cement steps outside.

  He needed that job. An opportunity like that would never just tumble in front of him again.

  Frustrated, he got up and started on his way back to the church. The sun was setting. When he got to his hideaway, it’d probably already be night, and night was dangerous.

  Some stores were already closing down for the day, and the streets were filling up with the bustle of people getting out of one more day at work. Ash didn’t pay them any mind, the engines of his brain still crunching down ideas. He needed to get that job. It was his only way out of the daily coin flip between fast food and dumpster diving.

  Ash stopped in his tracks.

  It wasn’t like he hadn’t done it before, right? Stealing. He could do it again.

  As the malformed idea possessed him, Ash scanned the area. He’d seen all of these stores before. Countless times he’d crossed in front of them. There was no way at least a couple of the owners wouldn’t recognize him. If he did this, he would have to change the path he took to the malls drastically, or he’d go to jail. At least he was in a different block, so his spot of work wouldn’t be compromised.

  His breath started to come up faster at the prospect of what he was about to do. This felt different. He’d stolen that blanket from Berta’s; he’d pic-pocketed from the unaware rich, but it had all been for his own survival. In a way, stealing to give himself a shot at a job that would probably save his life was also survival, but it felt more selfish and calculated, and the idea made him sick.

  But he had to do it.

  It was just a Target store. He’d get in, stuff a pair of pants and a new shirt under his jacket, and get out.

  Ash was telling himself exactly that as he crossed the front doors and scanned his surroundings.

  It was crowded. Nothing out of the ordinary for this hour in a week day. Maybe it would even work to his favor. The more people security had to pay attention to both on the ground and from the camera room, the lesser the chances they’d see him leaving with unpaid goods.

  In no time he was shuffling through shirts. He settled on a beige button down that would go well with his skin tone. Everyone around him was busy enough that no one saw when he slipped it under his jacket.

  Next, he’d need pants.

  No one knows, he recited to himself as he trod through the couples and families along the aisle. When he passed an employee restocking skirts into a shelf, a shiver ran through his spine. The scrawny teenager seemed to sense Ash’s eyes on her and shifted her eyes to him. She knew. He could feel that she knew. Ash was about to run when her face softened and she gave him a light smile before going back to her job. In the verge of having a heart attack, Ash returned her smile with a plastic one and moved along.

  This was so wrong. What would his mom think about him if she knew he was stealing? What would Ms. Baker think?

  They aren’t here now.

  Stacks and stacks of denim pants greeted him when he finally got the end of the aisle. Cheap, but all of them more than he could ever afford on charity money.

  A couple stolen glances to the side showed him no danger. Ash found the first black pair that was his size and grabbed it. He adjusted it under his jacket so it wouldn’t look so bumpy and attract unwanted attention.

  The weight of all the eyes in the world seemed to fall onto his shoulders; burn the back of his head as he rushed to the front doors. The closer he got to them, the harder it was to breathe.

  Just a few feet away from the gates to freedom, when Ash was beginning to believe he’d actually pulled this off, all hell broke loose.

  “BOY!”

  Ash looked over his shoulder, even though he knew the voice had been directed to him. A single look to the enraged bulldog face of the massive security guy told him everything he needed to know.

  And then he ran.

  “Hey! Boy!” The words sounded different, more distant. “Thief! Stop him!”

  Ash made sure to scowl at the few people that stopped on their tracks on their way in. He just had to cross the parking lot and then the crowds roaming the streets would provide the cover he needed to escape.

  “SOMEBODY STOP HIM!”

  The voice had changed. Ash threw a look over his shoulder. Oh, no. The guy that had given him chase first was now hunched forward, breathing heavily, hands on his knees. Totally different from the fitter, blond guy running at him full speed in the middle of the parking lot.

  Ash jumped through cars and kept on ahead. He’d never felt more grateful for the thorough exercise wandering the streets through the last few weeks had given him. And he’d never been more thankful for the cold, individualistic nature of Tompas’ citizens. Nobody moved a muscle to stop him.

  The man had a mean face. One that told Ash he’d better not be caught.

  A few people threw him ugly looks when he got to the street and started pushing them out of his way, forced to slow his speed. He couldn’t afford to stop running.
The guy would get him at any second if they didn’t freaking move.

  “SOMEBODY STOP THAT BOY WITH THE GUITAR!”

  Ash couldn’t even find the courage to check. He just shoved people out of his way and ran as much as possible along the crowded sidewalk.

  More shouts came from the blond security man, but they started to sound more distant.

  Ash grinned to himself as he turned the corner, thinking this was it. He’d pulled it off.

  That grin was promptly wiped off his face when he crashed against a wall that shouldn’t have been there and found himself landing on his behind.

  An officer, so big and muscular that the lines of his navy blue uniform strained against arms that were easily Ash’s width. He’d probably been talking to the petite woman in front of the coffee shop. Now both looked down at him with wide eyes, the smile they previously held for each other dissolving into confusion.

  “What th—” the man started saying, when another ultimatum came from somewhere at Ash’s back, way closer than he was comfortable with.

  “STOP HIM! THIEF! FUCKING GRAB HIM!”

  Heart racing, Ash didn’t give the beefy cop time to process what he’d heard. The rough stone scrapped against his hand as he forced himself up and started running. Ash winced, but this was no time to be a whiner.

  Heavy footsteps came from behind him, probably the cop coming to his senses. The only consolation Ash had was that he couldn’t shoot him here in the middle of all this people without risking his badge.

  Blurs of people and color sped by him as he twisted and turned among the crowd, hoping to lose the man. No use. This guy was far from the untrained guys at Target, and now the easy target was Ash himself. Damn.

  He turned into a street he’d never been to before. No shops, no people, no protection. Just an alley with a high fence right in the middle and some dumpsters lining the stained brick walls.

  “YOU’RE JUST MAKING THINGS WORSE FOR YOURSELF, BOY!” The angry voice was too close. He had no time to change paths without being caught and thrown into a cell. It was only forward now.