Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ Fixation ❯ Chapter Nineteen ( Chapter 19 )

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FIXATION

Chapter Nineteen

Bulma sat on the edge of the bed wearing only one of Vegeta's blue muscle Tee that gaped revealingly under the arms. She was brushing her hair with long, smooth strokes with a paddle brush she had brought downstairs some weeks ago. They had slept till early afternoon and her wet hair had dried into a nearly unmanageable mess.

In a rare moment of vulnerability Vegeta was sprawled face down on the bed, the cotton sheet bunched around his hips. The off-white contrasted sharply with the caramel tinted expanse of his bare back. His face was turned away, but she knew he was awake. Nothing moved within proximity of him, even her, without sending warning shrieks through him. She could see it in the tightening of his muscles.

She steadily brushed her hair while she stared at the gray-metal wall willing her mind back to a place she had steadfastly refused to go for months.

“He brought me a single white lily for every day he kept me,” she began. Vegeta's thigh muscles clenched against her hip, but he didn't move. She couldn't find the strength to glance back at him. “He placed them in a cheap glass vase beside me. You know the kind that comes with flowers from the supermarket. The first lilies were dying by the time he brought the last one. Sixteen in all.

The stench was unbearable. So sickly sweet it made me gag. I died with that scent in my nose. It was stronger than the blood.

The day he took me upstairs to show me his trophies I was actually happy. I thought for sure I would escape the smell even if it was just for a little while. The upstairs was beautiful with a big bay window that overlooked the ocean. There was blue sky and sunshine everywhere and I could taste freedom in my mouth, but when I inhaled instead of sea salt the stench was there. In front of the window was a bouquet of lilies in a gold gilt crystal vase.” Bulma chuckled softly.

“I obsessed over that vase for days. I actually screamed at him that he must not think I was so fantastically special if my lilies only got a cheap vase while those sat in an eight thousand dollar one.”

She quieted, her face falling. She smoothed her hand down her slender neck and it sounded as if her next words had to fight their way out of her throat.

“He laughed and told me not to be petty. Then he cut me and used on of the lilies to paint the blood up and down my body.”

The silence that fell upon the room was heavy and soft. It felt as if eternity passed between heartbeats. Bulma sat, staring sightless at the gray wall, Vegeta motionless beside her.

“You saw the outside?”

Bulma was startled from her solitude by Vegeta's rough voice. She twisted to look behind her. He was still motionless, turned away from her, but the tension in him was palpable.

Bulma dropped her gaze away, studying her memories.

“Well yes, I could see the East Bay Harbor from his window.”

“Which side of the bay were you on?” Vegeta sat up next to her, his sheet falling away. His eyes were intense and she found herself drowning in them, drowning in the memories she saw in the obsidian reflection of his gaze.

“Well it's all residential on the north slope, so it had to be the south side. All the buildings around were one story warehouses, but we were in a two story loft.”

“Are you sure it was a loft and not a warehouse?”

Bulma bit her lip. “Well the upstairs was pretty posh, but the downstairs was dank and cavernous. I suppose it could have been a warehouse.”

“Do you think you could recognize it?”

“I never saw the outside.”

“But you saw the window. What is the likelihood of their being another bay window adorned with lilies in that area?”

“Probably slim,” Bulma replied quietly.

Vegeta didn't wait for her to say more. He swiped up his shorts, stepping into them gracefully before wrapping his fingers around her slender wrist, and pulling her up from the bed.

“What are we doing?” she asked, breathless and afraid.

“We are going to get dressed and hunt this guy down.” He pulled her towards the ladder, but she dug her heels in.

“S-shouldn't we call the police?” The waver in her voice exemplified her fear. She didn't want to hunt anyone down. She didn't want to be anywhere near him. Mostly she wanted to pretend he didn't exist.

Vegeta turned on her, and she was caught once again in his predatory gaze. He pulled her into him, his heat washing over her in a comforting wave. He lifted his hand and her eyes widened. Not from fear, but from shock, as he gently tucked a stay curl of blue hair behind her ear.

“It is time for you to slay your monster, Bulma.”

The low intensity of his voice was overwhelmingly convincing. At that moment he could have told her to walk off a cliff and she would have nodded wordlessly and obeyed. But even beneath her body's strong desire to obey his command, she felt a shiver of fear. Of terror so overpowering that it threatened to steal her breath and freeze her heart.

“He will never hurt you again. I will be right beside you,” he swore and her fear stilled beneath his shadow like a rabbit cowering from a wolf. With a strong arm behind her back, he swept her forward towards the ladder, leading her down a dark path.

88888

Detective Wong stared at the glossy photography, his forgotten cigarette turning to ash between his yellowed fingers. There was something disturbing about the photo that he just couldn't put his finger on. There was a clue there, but he couldn't decipher exactly what it was.

Chatree flung himself into the ladder-back chair next to Wong's institutional metal desk, a defeated sigh deflating his chest. Wong dropped the photo on his desk, flicking his cigarette into the ash tray as he studied his young protégée. With disinterest Chatree glanced at the photo, his eyes narrowing in irritation.

“Those damn lilies,” Chatree began nodding towards the photo, “turned out to be a dead end. There was no third donor, only the maid's prints and DNA and what we assume to be Vegeta's. CSI wasn't brave enough to ask him for a sample, but they figured his was the only other exclusionary set.”

Wong lit another cigarette, blowing gray swirls towards the overhead florescence as he fingered the photo.

“Sincerely Yours wouldn't leave behind any DNA or prints.”

“Yah,” Chatree agreed. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and Wong's eagle eyes sharpened on him. “The brass upstairs are getting ready to release a statement saying that Merced Bruins was the killer.”

Wong leaned back in his chair, enjoying another pull from his cigarette. “You don't agree with that, pup?”

Chatree rested his ankle on his opposite knee, and propped his elbow on his superior's desk. For the first time since sitting down he met Wong's gaze. “It seems sound. Bruins was unhinged, matches the description the maid gave, and he was clearly a predator.”

“But?”

“But the maid didn't pick him out of a photo line-up.”

“Is that all? She's twenty-two and a little scatterbrained. And photo recognition is hard.”

“Yah. But she was banging him for a week straight. I would think she could recognize him from a photo.” Chatree scratched the bridge of his nose, breaking eye contact with his boss.

“I don't think she was studying his facial features.”

“Still…Ms. Briefs still hasn't given us a description either. I tried to interview her after we secured Bruins, but Mrs. Briefs said she was unavailable. Not that it matters. She still claims she doesn't remember anything.”

“You don't believe that?”

“She was the guy's captive for over two weeks. I mean, I think I would remember the guy who murdered me.”

Wong was reclined in his chair, studying the cherry tip of his cigarette. His wife was getting after him to quit, but it was one vice he was unwilling to give up.

“Trauma is a tricky thing.” Chatree didn't reply, but Wong watched from the corner of his eye as the young man squirmed slightly in his seat. “Well, out with it.”

“It just doesn't feel right,” Chatree finally admitted. Wong leaned forward, suddenly interested.

“Why?” he prompted the detective.

“Well, Bruins was so disorganized. His place was a mess. There was no pottery kiln, no clay, and no place to hold a woman for as long as Sincerely Yours does.”

“Perhaps he has another property that we don't know about,” Wong advocated.

“I suppose,” Chatree agreed reluctantly.

Wong picked up the photo and tossed it towards his subordinate. “Did you see any flower stuff?”

Chatree picked up the photo and studied it. “Flower stuff?”

“Lilies, vases, colored ribbon. Any of that at Bruins place.”

“No,” Chatree looked at Wong slyly. “But it could be at another property.

Wong's eyes narrowed at the pup.

“Could be. But where have we seen flowers recently?”

Chatree's brow crinkled, and returned his attention to the flowers. The waxy white was apparitional against the black marble of the counter they were lying on. The thick stems were such a deep green they looked emerald, and the ribbon reminded Chatree of blood. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the white petals, feeling the slick glossy feel of the paper. Suddenly memory zinged through him like an electrical bolt. Eyes wide he looked at Wong.

“The bastard had them displayed right in his living room.”

The both bolted out of their seats at the same time, Wong reaching back to scoop up his tan duster off the back of his chair.

“Call for backup.”

“Yes, sir!” Chatree nodded as they raced from the precinct.