Asher (18 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Audrey

Evening is falling. I pace the length of Zane’s living room. Tessa and Zane are sitting on the sofa where I lay down with Ash just yesterday.

No word from the police since midday. No word from Ash. Zane called the homeless shelters, and when that brought no results, he went out to look for him on the streets. He came back empty-handed, and we’ve been sitting here, drinking coffee and going over what we know again and again.

“I couldn’t find him,” Zane says for the millionth time. He’s pale and he’s chewed on his lip so much he broke the skin. “Checked every place he’s frequented before, on State Street and the back alleys. Nobody has seen him.”

Tessa reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “You did all you could.”

“It’s cold out there. If he’s on the street, he’ll die.”

My chest aches. I rub my breastbone, stopping to catch my breath. I’m so damn scared for Ash.

I pace back to the window, looking out into the gray afternoon. Dylan dropped by earlier, asking how he could help, but he looked horrible, pale as if sick, and we sent him away. Tessa won’t tell me what’s going on with him, but from the few things he said, it has to do with his little brother.

I can’t summon enough concern, not when I’m so worried about Ash.

“Ash wouldn’t kill his old man,” Zane is saying. “This is bullshit.”

“He didn’t do it,” Tessa says. “I know he didn’t.”

But it looks like Ash is a person of interest because he was the last person seen leaving the house just a few days ago. The only reason we know this much is because Zane has a buddy in the force and pressed him for info.

I didn’t known Ash went back home. A neighbor saw him slip inside through the window, and then leave a while later through the main door.

Suspect behavior.

But that cinches it for me. It’s one thing imagining Ash killing his father in self-defense; quite another believing he went back in secret to commit murder.

I can’t believe it. Not for a second.

And now I know why he was fighting—he needs money to live because he’s homeless and without support—it has all fallen into place. Ash isn’t violent. He isn’t a trouble-maker. He’s a good person. Someone worth standing up for.

“He must have gone back to get his cell,” Zane says and waves the phone. “He didn’t have it before I left for the Christmas holidays. His cell and his wallet, some clothes. Erin said he had a duffel bag. That’s why he went back. Not to kill anyone.”

“You should tell the police that,” I say.

“I did.”

Tessa rubs her face. “Who found his dad’s body?”

“His cleaning was calling for days and he wouldn’t pick up, so she went to check on him and called the cops.” Zane scowls. “I wonder if she knew what sort of scumbag he was.”

My cell rings then and I dive to grab it from the coffee table. “Hello?”

“Ms. Morrison? This is Officer Nielsen, calling to see if you have heard from Asher Devlin.”

“You haven’t found him yet?” Fear crushes me.

“No. We were hoping you could give us a lead as to where he might have gone.”

“I wish I knew.”

A pause. “Please tell him to get in contact with us if you hear from him.” And the line disconnects.

I shake the cell, struggling not to throw it at the wall. “No sign of him.”

“Why hasn’t he called me?” Zane hunches over, running his hands over the shaved sides of his head. “I told him to call me whenever he needed something.”

“He doesn’t have his cell,” Tessa says.

“There are phones everywhere. Last time this happened...” Zane lets out a long breath. “It’s gonna get real cold tonight. We have to go look for him.”

“Where?” My lips tremble. “You couldn’t find him. Where else could we look?”

“If he’s hurt,” Zane says, “then he’d go someplace where he feels safe.”

“And where is that?” I sink on the couch next to him. “I can’t think of any place Ash feels safe right now.”

“He felt safe here,” Tessa says.

“So why hasn’t he come back?” I glare at Zane as if this is his fault.

“He’s a proud guy, that fucker. He thinks he can handle everything by himself. His old man taught him that if he can’t, then he’s a pussy.”

I sigh. Maybe so, but I don’t need a bad dream to tell me something’s seriously wrong. I feel it in my bones.

“He must’ve holed up somewhere,” Zane says.

“If he’s hurt, he may not be thinking straight,” Tessa mutters. “He’d head to a familiar place.”

Jesus.
Talk of Ash being hurt makes me want to throw up.

“We have to look,” Zane says, shooting to his feet. “Let’s go back where I found him last time. Maybe I missed him somehow and together we can find him.”

I grab my bag and coat. Seems as good a plan as any and I’d rather be searching than sitting idle. “Let’s go.”

“We’ll take my car,” Tessa says, getting up and hurrying toward the door. “We’ll find him.”

***

But Ash isn’t on State Street—at least not that we can see. We walk the pedestrian zone up and down, checking in every nook and corner. Despite the cold wind and the light snowfall, smartly-dressed people weave in and out of the brightly lit restaurants and bars, talking and laughing.

I can’t see any homeless people, where they usually fill the benches during the warmer months of the year. They have to be at the shelters.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms, I turn in a circle, disappointment weighing on my shoulders.

An old woman with a nest of curly white hair stares at me, then past me, at Zane. I turn.

“I know you,” he says, approaching. “You were standing nearby last time I found Ash. Have you seen him?”

She takes a step back, shaking her head. The bulging plastic bags hanging over her shoulders swing. “Ash?”

“Young guy, about my height, dark hair, blue eyes?”

She shakes her head again, looking bewildered. I wonder if she understands what Zane says, or if she doesn’t know who he’s talking about.

Zane groans and tips his head up, letting the snow fall on his face. “Useless. It’s all useless. He vanished into thin air. Goddammit!”

He stomps away, heading toward the Historical Museum, Tessa following at his heels. I cast the old woman one last look as I turn to go with them.

She’s watching me with watery blue eyes. Her mouth pulls in an uncertain smile. “Ash,” she whispers.

Stopping in my tracks, I nod. “Yes, Ash. You do know who we were talking about, don’t you?”

“Ash, yes.” She shifts the straps of the bags on her bony shoulders. “He wanted to go to the lake.”

I frown. “The lake?”

“The park.” She sighs and stepped away from me, muttering to herself.

Ash loves gazing at the water. It makes him feel calm, at least that’s what he used to say. What if that’s the safe place his mind came up with? The closest park is James Madison Park.

“Zane! Tess!” I run after them. “Wait for me. I may know where Ash is.”

***

James Madison Park. Snow swirls on the air. A few people are strolling down the path toward us. We hurry past the Gates of Heaven synagogue and walk the paved, tree-lined path by the basketball court toward the lake shore.

“Why here?” Tessa shoves her hands into the pockets of her long coat.

Shrugging, I walk faster.

I don’t want to talk. I’m afraid I’m wrong. Why did I put so much trust in what the old woman said? Why did I jump to conclusions?

Because Ash loves the water. And because I’m running out of ideas. Out of time.

“If he’s in the park, he could be anywhere,” Zane says.

“Unless he’s hurt,” Tessa says. “Then he’s probably just off the street, right here.”

We slow as the faint scent of water and cold, wet earth fills the air. Lake Mendota spreads, dark and endless, lights flickering across the bay. It’s quiet and frigging cold. The wind coming from the lake has dropped but it still has knives in it.

We step off the path, into the dimly lit night, our footsteps crunching on stiff grass and the hard ground.

Is this a mistake? Should we head back to State Street and continue looking there?

Then I stop, almost falling over.

A black shape is barely visible under the bare trees. A slumped human form seated at the roots, a dark head bowed forward.

The air leaves my lungs. Unable to speak, I reach around and grab Tessa’s arm. She halts, and Zane comes to stand beside me.

“Audrey? What is it?”

I pull Tessa with me as I lurch toward the person seated with his back to the tree trunk. “There.”

I suppose it could be just anyone, but somehow I know. The set of the shoulders, the profile—even in the dimness I know it’s him.

Finally I get some breath back into my lungs.

“Ash!” I stumble to my knees by his side. His eyes are closed and his face is ice cold under my hand. “Can you hear me?”

“I’m calling 911,” Tessa says faintly, pulling out her cell and stepping aside.

Zane grabs Ash’s chin. “Ash, wake up. Come on, fucker. Say something.”

“They’re sending the EMTs. They’re asking if he’s awake,” Tessa says, coming to stand over us, and Zane shakes his head. “He’s breathing, right?”

Warm air washes over my fingertips when I place them over his mouth. “Yes.”

“Is he injured?”

I’m about to say I don’t know, when Zane says, “Yeah.”

The word drops like a stone. “What is it?”

Zane lifts his hand, wiggles his fingers. “Blood. He’s bleeding.”

“Can you see the wound?” Tessa’s voice wavers.

Zane fumbles with Ash’s jacket, lifting it. “Looks like a wound in his side. Can’t see much, it’s too dark here. Cut clean through the jacket.”

This is like a nightmare. My nightmare, where Ash is in the car with me, where I watch him die and can’t do a thing to stop it.

“Ash.” I stroke his short hair. “He’s frozen stiff.” My fingers trail down his face and come away wet and sticky. More blood.
Jesus.

Zane shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Ash. “They’ll be here soon.”

I want to draw Ash into my arms, as much to warm him up as to reassure myself he’s there, solid and alive. But I don’t dare. I don’t know how hurt he is.

The police arrive first. They bring flashlights and when they light up Ash’s face, my heart drops. His face is one big bruise, one eye swollen shut. They also ask if Ash is breathing, if he’s hurt. I let Zane and Tessa explain.

Then the ambulance arrives and suddenly we’re surrounded by uniformed paramedics and more flashlights cut glowing trails through the night. They check Ash and talk to him, shout at him until he mutters something.

Awake. He’s awake.

They seem satisfied with his response. As I try to calm my racing pulse, they examine the cut in his side and pack gauze on it. I catch words on the rising wind about internal bleeding and blood loss, frostnip and hypothermia.

I can’t draw enough air into my lungs.

“Will he be all right?” I grab hold of a paramedic’s sleeve and tug. “Please tell me.”

“Are you next of kin?” he asks and I shake my head.

“He doesn’t have any next of kin left,” Zane says bluntly and I wince. “What do you need to know?”

So Zane steps in front of me and answers the barrage of questions flung at him—What happened to Ash? How did he hit his head and ribs? What caused the wound? What did he eat today? Is he diabetic? Does he have a heart condition? What medications and drugs does he take? How old is he? Does he have any allergies?

It goes on and on. Meanwhile, the others bring out a stretcher and load Ash on it. Then they pull a thermal blanket over him and roll him into the ambulance.

I start after them, then see Zane do the same and stop.

“You go,” I say.

Zane puts a hand on my arm. “They’ll only take one of us.”

“You’re his best friend. You should—”

“He’d want you to go. He’s been in love with you since forever.”

Strangely, after everything, this is what makes me cry. I wipe at my eyes angrily. I can’t fall apart now. “Well, me, too.”

Zane gives a faint smile. “Well, I’ll be damned. He’d better wake up soon to hear this.”

I mock-punch him. “Shut up.”

“Go. We’ll follow you in Tessa’s car. The emergency room is just around the corner from here. He’ll be fine.”

I nod and hurry after the paramedics.

***

I beg the paramedics to let me ride in the ambulance with Ash, and they cave in because it’s such a short distance to the emergency room. So I hunch over where I sit on the bench, feeling vaguely claustrophobic and uneasy, watching them take Ash’s pressure and start a drip.