Things Lost In The Fire
Read Things Lost In The Fire Online
Authors: Katie Jennings
THINGS LOST IN THE FIRE
Copyright © 2014 Katie Jennings
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Sapphire Royale Publishing
Print edition ISBNs:
ISBN-13: 978-0692333402
ISBN-10: 0692333401
ALSO BY KATIE JENNINGS
THE VASSER LEGACY
THE DRYAD QUARTET SERIES
The Dryad Quartet Special Edition
To Brandon,
who makes me thankful every day
that I fell in love with my best friend.
BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA
JANUARY 2002
T
HE FIRST thing she noticed was the stinging scent of smoke. It trailed off cigarettes and hand-rolled joints and wafted up the stairs in heady plumes, beckoning like an invitation to the madness coalescing below.
Sadie breathed in and out of her mouth in soft huffs, immediately regretting her decision to come downstairs. Already her head hurt from the blaring music—Three Dog Night’s
Mama Told Me
—and her eyes burned from the smoke. People flooded the living room, sprawled over sofas and chairs or gathered in intimate social circles. Others wandered lazily, drifting into the kitchen for another drink or a hit of something darker. Like always, her mother permitted party guests to indulge their vices, no matter how vulgar.
At fifteen years old, Sadie had witnessed her fair share of her mother’s extravagant parties. They were always the same—packed with Hollywood stars, industry wheelers and dealers, perfect strangers, and of course, her mother’s personal entourage of musical geniuses. It was a life she’d been born into, a world more chaotic and privileged than most could ever dream of.
It was also a life she despised.
Her hand skimmed over the wooden railing as she descended the last few steps, hoping her presence went unnoticed. The craving for a glass of milk to help her sleep was too powerful to resist, even when it meant facing the freaks her mother called friends.
She slid like a covert ninja through the sea of guests, careful not to make eye contact or welcome conversation. Some of them knew who she was, and the others couldn’t give a damn. All she needed was to slip into the kitchen then back upstairs to safety.
Though her mother’s five thousand square foot home nestled in the Hollywood Hills boasted an open floor plan, with the party in full swing Sadie felt suffocated. Strangers brushed and bumped against her, releasing the scent of musky perfume and alcohol. Laughter and voices rose over the din of electric guitar and drums. Somewhere in the chaos, she heard her mother’s legendary bell-like laugh.
Sadie squeezed into the kitchen and went straight for the fridge. She ignored the guests crowded around the marble island behind her, knowing without looking that her mother was among them. Valerie Ryan had the voice of a goddess, and not just when she sang. That voice was giddy with gossip now, breathy with elation as she divulged some sordid secret she likely concocted out of thin air.
Sadie poured milk into a glass, trying hard not to stare at the half-empty bottles of her mother’s treasured Grey Goose littering the countertop. After replacing the milk in the fridge, she nearly made it out of the kitchen before her mother called to her.
“Lovely child, sweet baby Sadie. Isn’t she beautiful?” Valerie crooned, beaming at her friends with glazed eyes and a serene smile. The women giggled and gushed while the men cracked sarcastic jokes. Valerie tossed back her mane of silken blonde hair, gazing upon her daughter with relish. “Doesn’t she look just like me? Ben
hates
it.”
“That’s because Ben’s an asshole,” the gangly man beside Valerie drawled, leaning in to press a sloppy kiss to her forehead. She patted his length of dark hair, winking at her friends.
“This little angel is your spitting image, Val,” a striking brunette said, tipping back her martini. “I bet money she sings one day too.”
Valerie laughed brightly. “Imagine us doing a duet. Ben might shit himself.”
“You’ve been divorced for four years and he’s already remarried. He needs to stop bothering you,” another skeleton-of-a-woman argued, puffing on a cigarette. “Surely he has better things to do.”
“You’d think so, but no.” Valerie lifted her chin, honeyed eyes glittering. “When he sings our songs I can tell he’s never gotten over me. Albatross isn’t the same since I left and he knows it.”
“Whatever, who gives a shit what Ben thinks?” The man grunted with a cocky grin, downing the last of the vodka tonic in his glass. “Today’s about you and your birthday and I say we’re long overdue for a hit.”
He dug into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small, clear bag of white powder. As he dumped some onto the marble and divided it into lines with a tattered business card, Sadie flushed. She knew adults did cocaine, had witnessed it before. That didn’t make it any easier to see her mother give in to the substance like the rest of the weirdos parading around their home.
Sensing an opportunity to slip away, Sadie ducked out of the kitchen, milk in hand. The second she turned there were warm hands on her shoulders and a toothy grin beaming down at her.
It was Tommy Barnes, the bassist for her father’s band, and at that moment he was like a life raft in the middle of a sea of sharks. “Hey Sadie-bug, what’re you doing down here?”
“Hi, Tommy.” She attempted a smile in return, though she couldn’t help but glance back at her mother. Valerie was laughing hysterically and brushing at her nose.
Tommy followed her gaze and frowned. “C’mon, kid. Let’s get you back to bed.”
He draped his arm over her shoulders and led her through the crowd, stumbling a bit and laughing as he told her a joke he’d just heard. She knew he’d been drinking and likely smoking pot, but she didn’t mind. Even under the influence he was the kindest, gentlest person she’d ever met.
They stopped at the staircase and she looked up at him. She took in his messy cap of chestnut hair and bright blue eyes and smiled. “Can you take me to the Pier tomorrow?”
“Sure thing. Sleep tight, kid.” He wandered off, cracking jokes to random guests and inciting bouts of laughter. Tommy was always the life of the party.
Sadie ascended the steps, eager to return to her room. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted a man dressed in black trailing behind her. When she reached the top of the stairs, she realized he was following her.
Thinking he was looking for a bathroom, she ignored the instinct to run and continued down the hall. Even from up here, she could hear the thumping of the bass and the wail of Robert Plant. If she needed help, no one would hear her.
He was closer now, mere steps behind her. She didn’t have to look; she could sense him. He reeked of cheap cologne, and his footsteps were heavy on her mother’s powder blue carpet.
Her hand shot out the second she reached her bedroom door and she threw herself inside. She attempted to close it but he shoved her back, forcing his way in. She threw her milk glass, barely missing his face, and attempted to push past him into the hallway. Instead, he caught her and wrestled her back, his hand flying to her mouth.
“Shush, sweet babe,” he murmured, gritting his teeth as she continued to fight him, a muffled scream bursting from her throat. “I said quiet!” He released her and struck her hard across the face, sending her spiraling back onto her bed. Tears of pain and horror fell from her eyes as she lay stunned from the blow. Through the throbbing on her cheek, she felt the warm drip of blood.
