Ashes to Ashes (30 page)

“He killed people,” Katherine blurted.

“Did he? And why? Do you know why?”

“No.”

“And neither does anyone else,” Ashe said.
“He could be guilty of nothing else but being coerced into murder
by someone else. But now he will be seen as the bad guy in the
shadows…at least until someone approaches him with a loaded a gun,
ready to apprehend a wanted, dangerous fugitive.”

“That won’t happen.”

“It happens. A lot more than it should.”

“What do you want me to say here?” Katherine
asked. “I didn’t have that press conference. If you look at the
video…I wasn’t even there. What do you want from me?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Ashe admitted.

“Come inside,” she said, stepping aside.

He shook his head.

“You met me on purpose,” Ashe stated.

“Yes,” she admitted. “But there was also luck
involved.”

“The bar? My sister? Why me?”

“Not you,” Katherine replied. “Franklin
Barrett.”

Ashe closed his eyes and breathed in
deep.

“Right,” he said. “Of course. I was the
inside information to Franklin Barrett. I could give you
information about his mental health and…other types of information.
Pillow talk? Was that the method you were hopping for?”

“No,” Katherine exhaled, the look of regret
returning to her eyes. “I was only hoping to have a few beers with
you…some food…and then come up with a reason why our relationship
wouldn’t have worked out.”

“You changed your mind?”

“No,” she quickly said. “
You
changed
it.”

Ashe sighed.

Katherine continued. “I realized that I
needed your bedroom just as much as you needed me in it. I can’t
tell you why. Not now. Not yet. I just want you to know that I
retracted the story immediately. I wasn’t going to do it.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to believe the truth to make
it real,” she replied. “Only a couple of people knew about the
story. I don’t know how the police found out.”

Ashe shook his head again.

“Reasonings and rationales do not change
anything,” he stated

“Doesn’t it? Aren’t those the basis for your
entire career?” Katherine asked. “Don’t you seek and search for the
reasoning, the rationale behind behavior. You told me yesterday
that a man who kidnapped and raped young girls didn’t deserve
anything but pity…due to the reason and the rationale behind what
he had done.”

Ashe groaned.

“This is different,” he said.

“How?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. His head was
beginning to spin as thoughts twirled and spun like a tornado. She
was right. And she was wrong. What did those words even mean? Were
they real or were they something to turn chaos into a civilized
structure? Could the idea of right and wrong be imaginary, from the
minds of desperate people, fighting against their true natures?
Could chaos be the one and true state of things?

Katherine startled Ashe by taking his hand.
She put his palm to her face before putting it to her lips and
kissing the skin. “Nothing else matters,” she whispered. And for
the moment, he believed her. Within that belief, inside the gray
spaces between right and wrong, he let her lead him inside the
house. Behind them, Katherine closed the door, leaving any complex
concepts outside.

Chapter 35

Scott was far from an expert pursuer. He
didn’t have the slightest clue how to properly follow a target
without being noticed and found out. He knew that he had to stay
behind, far enough behind so that the driver being followed
wouldn’t become suspicious, which would happen if the same vehicle
remained in the rearview for an hour long trip. So, hands sweaty
and heart pounding, he remained far back from the yellow Porsche,
sometimes too far, causing him to almost lose sight of the bright
colored car.

But he was able to keep up. Barely. Even on
the highways and freeways that he was forced to travel. I-80 and
I-480 especially. There was a lot of traffic, even for a weekday
and Scott had trouble keep his sights on the bright car, while also
remaining a safe distance. Scott’s breath tightened each time an
exit would appear and he was too far to pursue if the Porsche chose
to take it. Luckily, the driver never needed those exits.

Luckily.

Upon passing by Twinsburg, Bedford, and
Garfield Heights, he knew that Bam had been right about their
destination. And as some cities do, Cleveland seemed to come out of
nowhere. It was like what Scott heard about Manhattan. One minute
the driver is going over a massive bridge, which seemed to face
only an empty horizon, and then suddenly the view is filled with
skyscrapers and the homes and workplaces of millions of people.
Cleveland didn’t really compare to Manhattan, though, just like
Youngstown, which is often called a city, didn’t compare to size of
Cleveland. By comparison, it was apples to oranges to
watermelons.

Bam had told him that he would be lead into
Cleveland, but beyond that point, she didn’t know any more details
about the destination for the meeting. Tightening his grip on the
wheel, Scott was able to keep the yellow Porsche in his windshield
while weaving in, out, and between the tall structures.

Overhead he could see dark clouds building,
coming in from what appeared to be the direction of Lake Erie. The
clouds seemed to be thick and full of lake water. They were
obviously heavy, pregnant with moisture, ready to drop their load
right on the heads of those in the city.

Scott was both glad and mad to see rain
rolling in. Rain would give him cover, a thin wall of water to hide
behind, but it would also infringe upon his own abilities, his own
senses. He hoped that the rain would hold off until they made it to
the meeting. But even then the rain or possible storm would cause
problems. And he was already scared and shaken at the possibilities
of things to come, because Scott was far from his comfort zone, a
safe area of life that he had left when he shot and killed his
roommate.

What is safe?

He no longer knew.

He no longer knew a lot of things.

He could still turn back, Scott told himself.
Nothing has happened. He could go back and get Bam and they could
flee for Canada. From there….the world was open to them. The police
and Ashe Walters wouldn’t know where to find them. They wouldn’t
know where to look. Bam and he could become ghosts, a string of
mist in a large world.

He shook his head.

Then he
would
be nothing but a killer.
A killer who fled the country.

The meeting wasn’t taking place in the inner
city, Scott realized it when the buildings began to grow shorter
and shorter and more spread out. The yellow Porsche was leading him
to the other side of the city, away from downtown.

Continuing to follow the yellow Porsche,
Scott noticed that they were heading for the lake. He could see the
large body of liquid appearing in the distance. He had never been
to the ocean, either Pacific or Atlantic, but he imagined that
looking out onto the ocean was the same as looking out onto Lake
Erie. It was vast, seemingly endless. No wonder people used to
believe that they would fall off once they reached the blue lined
horizon.

Maybe Cleveland
was
like a
mini-Manhattan, equipped with its own little ocean.

Lake Erie became more and more immense as
Scott followed the yellow Porsche up E 9
^th
street. He
had the illusion that if he continued directly forward that he
would be able to drive right up to and into the lake. He wondered
how deep it would be and how far Bam’s car would sink. Would it
sink in, never to be found?

He doubted it.

Cleveland-Hopkins was the main airport in the
city, providing flights from the large airlines like Southwest and
United. It was almost like a town unto itself, with a massive
terminal and what might be miles of runways. But there was another
airport, Burke Lakefront Airport, just past the Cleveland Memorial
Shoreway. It was a lesser airport, and Scott didn’t know much about
it. He figured that it most likely handled smaller crafts, like
cooperate flights and private planes. And it was most likely where
the yellow Porsche was heading. They were heading right for it.

Was the man in the yellow Porsche taking a
plane? Slight panic. Scott knew that he couldn’t follow him if he
left the ground.

He sighed in relief as they passed by the
airport and continued to drive. A minute later, the yellow Porsche
activated its turn signal and Scott followed it off of Rt. 2. He
was happy to leave the highway behind. A few more minutes of
driving and they had finally reached their destination. Kirtland
Park.

Another park.

Scott sighed again.

From the outside, Kirtland Park resembled a
wooded land more than a populated park, due to the thick trees that
seemed to cover the park. But signs existed that revealed that it
was indeed a park, one better, happier than the last park he had
been in. There didn’t seem to be any vagabonds hanging around cans
of burning garbage and twigs. Through the trees, Scott could even
make out what might be a pavilion in the far distance. He could
also see what might have been a playground for children, shapes and
outlines of swings and a metal jungle gym stood out against the
green of the trees.

Scott was directly behind the yellow Porsche
as it pulled off the main road into the park. A large wooden sign
stood at the foot of the road, spelling out KIRTLAND PARK in large,
thick black letter. Once beyond the sign, he immediately began to
look for parking lots, because he had become too close to the
vehicle and risked exposure.

If he didn’t do something quick he would
absolutely be noticed.

Only a minute after turning, the narrow park
street forked and Scott found himself turning in the opposite
direction of the yellow Porsche. A parking area, nearly empty, sat
on the right and he had no choice but to abandon the car. He
couldn’t tell how long or wide the park was, but he hoped there
weren’t too many nooks or crannies that the man in the yellow
Porsche could hide in.

He groaned.

He swore.

Frantically, Scott jumped from the car,
taking the handgun with him. And as he did so, the sky decided to
open up on him, dropping an onslaught of rain. It was cold, feeling
as if a bucket of water that was just above freezing was dumped
onto his head and shoulders. It chilled him to the core.

He swore.

The rain became harder and he heard cries
from a group of parents and children, who had been playing on the
nearby playground, the one he had seen from the main road. At once,
the parents and children scattered toward their vehicles. Scott
turned his head away from them, toward a stretch of woods.

Peering through the trees and rain, Scott
witnessed the flash of brake lights. The red light glimmered in the
pouring water. They were small and low to the ground, coming from
what was mostly like a sleek sports car. On faith, he decided that
the flash had come from the back of the yellow Porsche.

Tucking the Browning into the back of his
jeans, Scott pulled his baseball cap down and took off down a
concrete jogging path. The path twisted like a snake through the
trees, back and forth, back and forth. He tried to avoid the
forming puddles. He didn’t want to take the chance of slipping and
falling down. One wrong step and the moisture could bring him
down.

The path began to slither in an undesired
direction, one away from where Scott saw the red brake lights.
Leaving the jogging path, he began to make his own trail directly
through the trees as rain continued to roar all around him.

His breaths began to come quicker and
quicker.

Suddenly, the road and the yellow Porsche was
there. Scott’s heart stopped. He came to a stop so quickly that he
almost slid. Without full pause, he put himself against a tree,
hoping that there had been no one around to witness his arrival.
With his body planted against the bark of the tree trunk, he waited
and listened, but he couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the
pouring rain.

Taking a moment to peak around the tree,
Scott saw that the yellow Porsche was not alone. A black SUV was
parked in front of it, both cars pulled to the side of the road.
The other half of the meeting, he assumed. Meaning that there was
another person or group of people to worry about, possibly having
guns of their own.

He began to tremble, before shaking it off.
He had already known that the man in the yellow Porsche was having
a meeting. He had known there would be other people. He had
known.

Turning his body, Scott put his hands against
the rough bark and looked around the other side of the tree.
Another, smaller playground could be seen. It was quant and empty,
having only a set of swings, a teeter-totter, monkey bars, and a
narrow building, most likely bathrooms. Through the veil of rain,
he tried to make sure that the playground was in fact empty.

That was when he heard the voices. They were
a low rumble within the rain. Scott had almost missed them, but
somehow the vibrations of the noise were centered out amongst the
other ruckus. Focusing on the voices, he could tell that they were
coming from direction of the bathrooms, from the opened door on the
side facing the road.

Should he wait?

Should he make a move?

Before he could make a decision, five men
came walking out of the building, two of the larger men were
holding wide umbrellas for the rest. The only face that was
familiar to Scott was that of the man from the yellow Porsche.
Squinting, he could see that face clearly, even in the almost
blinding rain.

“I got you,” Scott whispered.

He pulled the gun from the waist of his
pants.