Ashes to Ashes (23 page)

Even when he did finally wake up, he had
avoided the television and the news, sure that his name and face
had been plastered across the screens of the entire city. Three
bodies were positively connected to him and he was on the run. But
Bam had assured him that that was not true. She had been keeping up
with the news, on the television and on the internet, and Scott’s
name or image had not appeared anywhere.

He had a hard time believing her. How could
it be possible?

Pulling his cap down lower, giving his face
more shadow, Scott was caught by curiosity and pulled into the
convenient store. He was immediately struck by the rows of
florescent lights, which seemed to be set on
annoy
and
migraine
. Ducking his head slightly, he let the brim of his
cap catch the brunt of the glow. The store only had two aisles
along with a group of coolers in the far back. It seemed to have
just the essentials, whether it was for a late snack or a beer
run.

Sliding down the aisle closest to the
counter, Scott pretended to browse the candy bars. He listened
closely as Erica Worley, a pretty, light haired newscaster,
discussed one of the many reform plans set in motion to revive
Youngstown. It was nothing but false hopes provided by lying
politicians. As far as he could see, trying to revive Youngstown
was like pouring fertilizer onto a field of ashes.

Shit and ash.

That was what the city had become.

Scott reached for a Snickers bar but froze.
The news story had changed. “Little is still known about the
identities of the shooting victims found this morning here in
Youngstown,” Erica Worley reported. “Two bodies were found in
Lincoln Park, a local park that has become a nest for the homeless
and vagabonds of the city. YPD were on the scene early this morning
and have yet to release any information to the media. It is still
not known whether or not a suspect has been identified. More
information is sure to come, perhaps as early as tomorrow
morning.”

It is still not known whether or not a
suspect has been identified
…

It’s true. His name still has not been
connected to the deaths in Lincoln Park. And Owen’s name or death
didn’t seem to be known about at all. Where was
that
news
story? The one about the death in the Youngstown apartment complex?
Was Owen’s death being kept a secret? Why? Was his dad involved
somehow?

Scott was at a loss.

The young woman at the register looked bored.
She half-smiled when he approached. He didn’t greet or even grunt
acknowledgement. He paid for his Snickers and quickly left the
store.

The city still appeared to be calm and the
imaginary target that Scott felt on his back was smaller. Not gone.
Smaller. Even if his name or image remained unknown to the common
public, he was sure there were many officers that hoped to get his
face beneath their crosshairs. Oscar Harrison especially. Scott had
always sensed a tension between the police detective and his
father. Something just below the obvious friendship. It might have
only been a subtle clash between the two men, their intensity and
competiveness butting heads like Billy goats. Or maybe it was
something more. Scott couldn’t put a finger on it, but he couldn’t
shake the feeling that Oscar Harrison was on his heels, gun
drawn.

Pulling his cap down as far as it could go,
Scott quickened his pace. Two blocks over, a car waited for him and
he immediately slid into the passenger seat. Giving Bam a kiss, he
motioned for her to proceed.

Her green eyes seemed to sparkle, reflecting
a street light. They looked like two emeralds, but worth far more
than any jewel. More than monetary riches lay behind Bam’s green
eyes. She smiled at him and got the car into motion.

Slowly and obeying all traffic laws, Bam and
Scott jumped onto I680 and made their way out of the city, heading
toward the area of Oak Hill. When the city lights began to fall
behind them, Scott felt relieved. The YPD wouldn’t look beyond the
limits of Youngstown, at least not yet, because Scott had not given
them a reason. His father would keep his sights within the city
limits for the time being, as well. Scott had returned to the same
payphone he had used to call Bam so that when he called the number
would be from Youngstown. It would keep Ashe focused on a central
location and his eyes would not wander too far from the intended
target. Whenever it was time for Ashe to expand his sight, Scott
would let him know. Besides, if his father had thought he had
headed north to Canada or south toward the warm states, his
motivation might falter. That couldn’t happen. He was counting on
his father…for some reason.

“How did it go?” Bam asked.

Scott shrugged.

“That bad?”

“No,” he admitted. Scott took a deep breath.
“There was someone else there.”

Bam took a second to look away from the road.
“A girl?”

He nodded.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Bam replied, but then
added, “You can’t blame him for moving on, though. Being alone,
without someone to reach out and touch, is like being dead and
buried. It is just not living. It is just not life. We all need
someone to touch. Even your dad. It’s been…what…four years…give or
take. He’s done his time.”

“He never
did
time
,” Scott
blurted and quickly looked away. “No one did time for what happened
to my mother. No one.”

“Not technically,” she admitted. “But I’m
pretty sure that your dad has done some hard time for the last four
years.”

“Not hard enough,” he replied.

“Why call him then?” she asked. “Why count on
him?”

“Because he will come through,” Scott said.
“He failed once, but he won’t fail a second time. Not him. Not Ashe
Walters.”

“Okay, baby,” Bam said. “Did you light a fire
under his ass?”

“I think so.”

“Are you ready…for this…hun?” she asked. “You
still want to do this?”

“I do. I am ready.”

She freed a hand and patted Scott’s knee.
“The girl at your dad’s?”

“What about her?”

“Did she sound hot?” Bam giggled. “Did she
light a fire in your loins?”

“Wait until we get to the house and I will
show you,” Scott replied.

She stuck her hand on his crotch. “Why
wait?”

Scott gave a much needed laugh. It was low
and lethargic.

They found an empty back lot behind an
abandoned Kmart. There were no lights. There were no police. There
was no one but them. And for a few moments, they chose to forget
that civilization existed, with its death and taxes. Within that
space, void of civilization, they came together and touched,
feeling very, very alive.

Chapter 26

My eyes have been opened…

Ashe couldn’t shake away the words and the
sound in his son’s voice as he had said them. It was the same tone
that he had come across in the voice mail message. It was pure
insanity. Those words.
Those
words. Again. He didn’t like to
use the word insanity, because it was more medieval than realistic,
but Ashe didn’t know what other word would suffice.

My eyes have been opened…

The phone call had felt like a dream and the
words,
those
words, had turned that dream into a nightmare.
Why had Scott spoken those words? They were the same words that
Barrett had uttered during their last session.

Ashe didn’t have to call the phone company to
get the number that his son had used to call him. His phone had
Caller ID. He hadn’t known the whole number, but didn’t have to.
The only digits that concerned him were the second set of three,
after the area code of 330. 747. He knew immediately that the
number originated somewhere in the city, which meant that Scott
hadn’t gone far. The psychologist had been wrong in his assumption
that his son would run far and away and never look back. He was
still local. But why? What was he trying to do besides simply
escaping?

My eyes have been opened…

It was another connection between the events
that had taken place in the Barrett household and what had happened
with his son. The first connection was the fact that all victims
were murdered in their beds. Ashe could discard it because a single
connection, one that seemed like a stretch, could be regarded as
coincidence, even though he tried to avoid believing in
coincidences. But when another connection has been made, the idea
of coincidence became thin, appearing more like a pattern.

How could there be any type of connection
between the Barrett family and Scott? Ashe’s brain fought and tried
to come up with a logical explanation, wishing he could simply
disregard both connections, but he couldn’t.

There was something going on? But what?
Why?

Steven Reynolds’ name had also spilled from
the mouth of Franklin Barrett. For whatever reason, it seemed the
man had enjoyed dropping the bomb on Ashe, like he had it tucked in
his pocket for a special occasion. Or had he been put up to it? Was
the speaking of the name another connection? If it was, Ashe feared
what might be to come. Whenever Steven Reynolds was involved,
people died, and it was sometimes those that Ashe loved.

An image flashed through his head, breaking a
well build barrier. Susanne. Bloody and violated. Dead and
gone.

Ashe growled.

His mind sped up and he hoped that it was his
imagination put in overdrive by his emotions. Steven Reynolds was
long gone, hopefully in a shallow grave somewhere. He couldn’t let
his imagination lead him astray. He knew that he was emotional
compromised, at least from a professional standpoint, but he no
longer cared about being professional. He was a father. He was a
father…one who had the ability to help his son.

My eyes have been opened…

Ashe’s grip on the steering wheel tightened,
turning his knuckles white. He was heading back to Scott’s
apartment complex. He had missed something. Another clue was there
somewhere. He hoped that everything was still there. It was still
considered an active crime, but Oscar might have cleaned everything
out, desperate for some further evidence, in the light of two more
bodies. That was what he would do, Ashe thought, and with that
thought, he pushed the gas pedal down further.

He began to hate the city. The lights. The
noises. The seemingly chaotic moments that were most likely
occurring beyond the borders of his car. It seemed to taunt him.
The city of Youngstown was poor and smug and he began to loathe
every fiber and building around him.

Pulling into the same abandoned gas station
as the last time he was in that area of the city, Ashe leapt from
his vehicle, almost without putting it into park. He didn’t check
for any uniforms on stakeout, it was obvious that Scott wasn’t
coming anywhere near that building. Ashe wondered if Oscar and his
crew knew that Scott was still somewhere in the city. They probably
suspected it, at least until some details pointed them somewhere
else, to Warren or even Cleveland perhaps.

Their sights would stay in the city, as would
his own.

He temporarily thought about providing fake
evidence that would point them somewhere else, out of his way, but
quickly shook that idea away. The YPD were not his enemies and he
needed to quit seeing them as such.

They would remain on parallel paths until a
moment comes when they must intersect.

Using a similar entrance strategy, Ashe
followed a young man into the building, thanking him for holding
the door. Taking the stairs again, he found the yellow plastic
strips still covering the door, but upon closer look he could tell
they were not the exact same strips.

They had taken down the old ones for a
reason. But what? Moving things.

The door was still unlocked and Ashe slid his
way into the apartment. The early morning had not yet become actual
daytime and a blanket of darkness once again covered the apartment.
Instead of turning on his phone, he flicked on the kitchen. His
fears were a reality. The living room was empty, completely and
entirely. Every stitch of furniture had been taken. But why? He
understood clearing out Owen’s bedroom, because it was the true
crime scene. But why remove everything else?

Ashe rushed to Scott’s bedroom, nearly
tripping over his own feet. When he got to Scott’s room he didn’t
stumble over the hand weight that had been in the doorway, because
it was no longer there. Nothing was. The room had also been cleared
out. All that remained was four walls, a floor, and a ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The third clue, whatever it was, had been
taken, along with everything else, to be processed as evidence. It
was at the police station, under Oscar’s nose.

“Fuck!”

Why had Scott felt the need to leave clues?
What couldn’t he say? What wouldn’t Ashe believe? Clues? Ashe
considered the word and remembered something. Scott had left a clue
in the park as well. His jacket on the thug. Ashe and Oscar both
considered the likelihood that Scott had killed them in
self-defense, making the clue a desperate attempt at a statement,
showing them that he had no choice but to kill or be killed.

Was it the same reason he left clues in the
apartment? Self-defense? How could shooting Owen in his own bed be
an act of self-defense? It didn’t make sense, but Scott had said
that Ashe wouldn’t believe him.

“Where are you, Scott?”

Alone in the empty room, Ashe back himself
against a nearby wall. Letting his weak legs buckle, he slid down
onto the floor. His mind was suffering from an onslaught of
feelings and emotions, anger, frustration, helplessness, and all
out worry. It overloaded his psyche. And like a loaded breaker, the
power seemed to temporally shut off. He didn’t know how long he sat
there staring at the floor, comatose, mentally and physically, but
his mind reignited and began to function when he noticed that a red
began to fill the sky.