Ashes of Roses

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  I took that opportunity to text the name Tony Allen, to Miles, John, and Jackson.

  The doors opened behind us, and I turned to watch as the bridal party entered, bringing snowflakes, and a cacophony of rapid talk and shouts of laughter, with it. As they surged by in their light gray tuxes and lavender bridesmaid gowns, Tony Allen kept his phone to his ear, his head down, and his back turned. Chances were best that he was more concerned with shielding himself from detection, than he was in shielding his call from the hilarity that accompanied the boisterous group. Boisterous, and large. I wondered how that many attendants managed to fit at the front of the church, or wherever the wedding was held, or maybe they stretched down the side aisles, and out the door.

  Okay, it wasn’t quite that extreme, but there were a lot of them. I studied the bride’s dress as best I could, considering she was surrounded by the rest of the wedding party. Taken altogether, I decided her family was either very wealthy, or now very much the opposite.

  The group exited the entry without casting a single glance in Tony’s direction. That appeared to suit him just fine, but it told me there were those who would recognize him, if they had the chance.

  Tony, phone still held to his ear, walked past us briskly, and into the lobby.

  Ug! If we followed, it wouldn’t take him long to know we were following him. If his target was someone at the reception, we could stick by the door, and ensure he didn’t succeed. For now. It wouldn’t prevent him from finding another opportunity in the future. We needed to stop this guy, permanently, and since Miles reserved hurling would-be killers halfway through walls as a last resort, that meant we needed proof of intent to hand over to the Sheriff, and—

  “Xander,” Miles said quietly into his phone. “Keep an eye on the main staircase, second floor. If you see a guy in a dark suit, gray tie, about five-eleven, dark hair, contact me immediately. Do not interact, he may be armed.”

  Miles glanced through the arched doorway to the lobby, then turned back to me.

  “He’s pacing.”

  “Is he still on the phone?” I asked.

  “Yes. So while we find out what John has for us, be ready to catch any truths that come your way.”

  I nodded, and turned to see Annette waving to get our attention. She pointed to the office. We hurried to the counter, and past the gate.

  “If he comes back, knock,” Miles said, and she nodded.

  Miles opened the door, then followed me inside.

  John was seated at the desk, behind the computer. His brown eyes were filled with intensity as he looked up.

  “I found a few articles and social media postings. According to those, Tony Allen worked for Avery Foster’s father, this is a fairly wealthy family over in Elm Glade. He and Avery were in a serious relationship, when it was discovered he was stealing from the company. Avery ended it immediately, he was fired, and charges pressed. Jackson’s source reports that Tony’s also been charged with stalking Avery, and also Gabe Barclay, the guy who turned him in. An article and multiple social media posts state that he threatened Gabe publicly, and Gabe and Avery both have restraining orders against him. They were married this afternoon, it’s their reception being held in the ballroom. His presence here is in violation.”

  “Alright. Hold off…” Miles started to say, as I held up my hand.

  “If Joe Franklin doesn’t get here in time, Tony won’t go home and wait for him to handle it. If Joe does get here in time, Tony doesn’t trust that he will handle it, unless he sees it for himself.”

  John’s eyes were glued to the screen again. If he wasn’t doing a search on Joe Franklin, I’d be very surprised. Miles had his phone out, he was also searching.

  “Nothing other than social media, and there are several different men with that name. And a Josephine,” John reported.

  “If ‘handling’ doesn’t equate killing, what else could it be?” I asked, because I was coming up with nothing!

  “No idea, let’s go find out,” Miles replied, as he guided me back to the door. “Thanks, John. If you get anything else, you know how to reach me.”

  We exited the office and hurried through the gate, and out from behind the counter. The entry was in the midst of a lull, which was just as well.

  “Did anyone come through those doors while we were in the office?” Miles asked, as he pointed to the entrance.

  “No,” Annette quickly replied.

  “Good,” Miles said. “The latch is jammed, until further notice. Don’t bother calling maintenance.”

  We were off to the lobby without further explanation. Maybe John would fill her in on Joe, who might or might not be a hired killer, but who would most certainly find it impossible to enter, regardless of intent.

  We rounded the doorway of the lobby, and I reminded myself to calm down, and act casual. There was no reason to freak out. Tony was in Miles’ line of sight. He couldn’t hurt anyone, even if he wanted to. And he did.

  “What do you mean, you can’t get in?” Tony snapped, as he gripped his head with the hand that wasn’t holding his phone, and paced beside the door leading to the grounds behind the Lodge. His eyes seized on it, and he grasped the knob in his hand.

  He pulled for all he was worth, then tried pushing, to no avail. The darkness swirled, but his despair was evident, as he sank into a nearby chair.

  “Never mind. I’ll take care of it,” he said resolutely.

  So why was the darkness finding him suddenly hard to hang onto?

  We moved closer to the fireplace, which gave us a reason to stand there doing nothing, and watched.

  Tony ended his call, and returned the phone to his pocket as the darkness fought to grip his heart.

  “Hi, Tony,” I said more calmly than I felt. “You look like something’s bothering you. What can we do to help?”

  I felt kind of proud of myself for coming up with that question. There was no room for a yes or no, there! Unless he refused to respond at all, I was about to find out the truth.

  Tony looked up, and suddenly a tiny ray of hope joined the desperation.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed, as he swiftly rose to his feet.

  Yes, what?

  “Yes, I need help,” he said, his words practically tumbling over each other in his haste.

  That gave me nothing. Because it was the truth.

  “What can we do?” Miles asked.

  “I have to get this to the projection room,” Tony fumbled in his pocket, and held up a flash drive. “It’s the video slideshow for the wedding reception, I’ve got to play this, but I don’t have the key, the guy who does is stuck outside! Please, you’ve got to help me.”

  A rush of truth flooded me.

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” I replied. Probably the last thing Miles expected me to say next, was “Right this way.”

  The darkness grasped and clutched, but it couldn’t hold on. It wasn’t giving up, but it no longer had control.

  Miles had to really be wondering what I knew, but without a word of doubt or expression of concern, he followed my lead.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Tony said in relief, as he matched our steps.

  “We’re glad to help,” Miles replied.

  I smiled at John and Annette, as we passed through the entry. They, too, had to be wondering. They looked rather dumbstruck, but explanations would have to wait. If they gave it enough thought, they might just figure it out on their own.

  We passed by the fitness center, where a couple of guests made use of the ellipticals, while the staff member on duty helped another get started on a treadmill.

  “I don’t want to interrupt,” Tony said, with a furtive glance toward the door of ballroom one, where the reception was being held. “There’s another way into the projection room, isn’t there?”

  “That’s where we’re headed,” I said.

  We reached ballroom two. The knob turned easily in Miles’ hand. After entering, the door locked behind us.

  I p
uzzled briefly over how to begin, as Miles put his arm around me, and I turned to face Tony.

  “You do need our help, and not just to ensure that video gets played. So step one, put the gun on the table.”

  Tony’s eyes widened.

  “If you want this done sooner rather than later, do as she says,” Miles added seriously.

  Tony wrestled over how to respond. Deny its existence, or ask how in the world I knew. He hesitated, then opted for compliance.

  “I wasn’t going to use it,” he said, as he removed a small pistol from his coat pocket, and set it on the table.

  “You’ve never killed before,” I said for Miles’ sake, “and you say that, now. You think you’d only use it to get people to listen, but you’ve been entertaining murderous thoughts. You have no idea how dangerous that is, or how powerful they are. They’ve convinced you more than once that you’d be doing society a favor, and that this, and only this, will make your existence tolerable, and that the justice you mete out, will satisfy. Those thoughts you’ve had, imagining wiping him off the face of the earth, and giving him what he deserves, those have comforted you, and dulled your mind like poison, because they are. You’re not a killer, but you will be, if you don’t stop thinking like one.”

  “I lost everything because of him,” Tony said, and suddenly he looked tired. He wasn’t trying to justify. He needed to say it, and be heard for a change.

  “Not entirely,” I disagreed. “He never had that power. The people who were quick to believe the worst, instead of hearing you out, are also to blame. Don’t entertain thoughts of paying them back, either. Did you look into the death of Gabe’s first wife?”

  “No, I don’t know anything, except—” Tony’s eyes suddenly widened. “How do you know about that? About any of this?”

  “My wife is more perceptive than most,” Miles replied. “What matters, is that everything she’s said is the truth. Are you ready to play the recording?”

  Miles asked me, as much as he did Tony.

  “Yes,” I answered, and Tony nodded.

  Miles opened the door to the projection room and glanced inside, then opened it wide and we followed him in.

  There was no one manning the projector, perhaps because Joe never arrived, but apparently someone figured out how to run it. On the other side of the one-way glass, a slideshow played. The sound of music, along with laughter and chatter, filtered into the small room easily.

  Miles checked the sound and other settings on the laptop open on the desk, then inserted the flash drive Tony handed him. It contained one file, and Miles selected it.

  The slideshow abruptly ended. The brief pause that followed served to draw everyone’s attention, and for a moment, the talk and laughter ceased.

  The image of a park in late autumn suddenly filled the screen, and the distant singing of birds took the place left by the music. The video was moving, bobbing up and down slightly, as the person recording it moved forward. A park bench appeared, and on it, sat Gabe Barclay. He looked completely relaxed and sure of himself as he lounged there, one leg crossed over the other, an arm stretched across the back of the bench, and a cigarette in his hand. He looked up at the crunch of footsteps in the fallen leaves. A gleam of recognition lit his eyes, and his expression grew mocking, as he released a plume of smoke into the air.

  There was murmuring in the ballroom, and someone laughed. No doubt all but one of the partygoers wondered what was coming next.

  “You must be a glutton for punishment,” Gabe declared with amusement, as he slid his phone out of his pocket. “It’s either that, or painfully short-sighted. I wonder what the judge will think of you violating the restraining order, again.”

  “Maybe I’d like to know what it feels like to be guilty for a change,” Tony said grimly.

  There were a few gasps, and more murmuring as the spectators recognized Tony’s voice, but they quickly silenced as the video continued.

  Gabe blew another plume of smoke into the air, and smiled tauntingly.

  “But you are guilty, Tony,” Gabe declared. “You’re guilty of believing that your reputation, your record, your work, and your innocence, would make any difference when you stood accused. I admit, I expected more of a challenge, myself. I’ve faced greater difficulty when taking down lesser men than you, but you really only have yourself to blame for that.”

  “How do you figure?” Tony asked tightly.

  “You trusted the wrong people,” Gabe replied, as if it should’ve been obvious. “You gave them far more loyalty and credit than they deserved, and… they gave you none. The employer you admired didn’t hesitate to have you charged with embezzlement and sue you for everything you had, to pay back the money that’s in my account. And as for Avery, the girl you loved… she and I are engaged, you know. Would you care to guess how many minutes it took after abandoning you, before she was expressing her undying love for me? The stupid little thing trusts me completely. The entire Foster family does. It goes to show how little value there is in the truth. All that matters, is what people are willing to believe. And they were easy to convince.”

  “You don’t love her,” Tony stated grimly.

  Gabe laughed.

  The entire ballroom was utterly silent now. I couldn’t observe Gabe from where I stood, much to my disappointment. I really wished I could see his expression.

  “Love?” Gabe laughed. “What’s to love? Although the family fortune does hold a certain appeal, and unfortunately one can’t very well have that without her. For now.”

  “You’ll never get away with this,” Tony snapped, and Gabe sent up another plume of smoke, his expression as mocking as ever.

  “Naïve, as always,” he tsked. “Wife number one would disagree, if only she still could. When I have all I want out of wife number two, I’ll get away with that, too.”

  “You’re crazy,” Tony sounded shaken. “You’re not getting away with any of this! I’ll stop you myself, if I have to!”

  Gabe glanced at his watch.

  “I’ll be sure and tell the police you said that,” he replied without concern.

  “It’s not enough, that you ruined my life?” Tony exclaimed. “I lost everything because of you! Why are you doing this?”

  Gabe laughed.

  “Because I can.”

  Though the video ended, the image of Gabe’s mocking, egotistical smile remained frozen on the screen.

  Either the entire room was held stationary by one of Miles’ forcefields, or everyone was frozen in shock.

  Tony let out a sigh of relief.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Now I’ve got to get out of here, before anyone sees me. I’d rather not end up arrested again.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” I said sympathetically.

  “If anyone dares try—” Miles started to say, when on the other side of the glass came the sound of clapping, slow and measured, as a man—or parasite, is more like it—stood.

  “Nice job, Tony,” Gabe called out, as he looked around. “Amazing what the right video imaging software can accomplish, these days.”

  Someone— possibly the bride—began to sob, and an impeccably dressed middle-aged woman leaped to her feet. She shook, she was so angry.

  “How dare you!” she snarled.

  Gabe looked surprised, and a little hurt.

  “Amelia… don’t tell me, you believe this? You think—you actually think I said these things?”

  “I trusted you,” wailed the bride, as her sobbing grew louder. “You told me you loved me!”

  Gabe reached out to her, and she turned her shoulder.

  “Get away from our daughter!” snapped Mr. Foster, as he rose abruptly from his seat, and moved forward threateningly. “You so much as try and touch her again, it’ll be the last thing you do! Edward, Robert, hold him!”

  The room erupted in excited cries and exclamations, as Mr. Foster and a number of other men rushed forward.

  Gabe’s expression vacillated rapi
dly, as he struggled to decide which lie would most likely spare him a much deserved lynching. As the posse closed in, contempt filled his eyes. In one swift motion, he snatched his bride out of her seat and a pistol out of his coat pocket, grabbed her in a headlock, and pressed it into her side.

  “Get back!” he snarled, and the men froze indecisively.

  There were cries of alarm and several screams, as those nearest the exit made a run for it.

  “SIT DOWN!” Gabe shouted, as he pointed the gun in the direction of the door, and a gunshot rang out. Everyone screamed and cowered, and those attempting escape, dropped to the floor.

  Miles squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, but his gaze never left Gabe and the rest of those in the ballroom. He was in control. He knew what he was doing.

  “Gabe Barclay can forget trying to talk himself out of this,” Miles commented.

  “You’re right,” Tony realized, but his concern for the scene unfolding was no less evident.

  “I know you’re here, Tony!” Gabe shouted, his eyes burning dangerously. “That was a clever stunt you just pulled. I may have underestimated you, but the game’s not over!”

  Gabe panned his gaze all around the room, the gun once again pressed deep into Avery’s side. She sobbed and gasped for air, her fingers struggling to loosen the hold he had on her neck.

  “Come out, Tony! Come out, or her blood is on your hands!”

  “That’s not the truth,” I felt compelled to say.

  “No… but I have to do this,” Tony said, his lips set in a thin line.

  “You actually don’t,” I disagreed.

  Miles would ensure no one was injured, regardless, but if Tony insisted… it would reflect a pitiful lack of concern on our part, if we didn’t at least try and talk him out of it.

  “She’s right,” Miles said. “You don’t have to sacrifice yourself.”

  “No,” Tony shook his head. “But I do have to do this.”

  He opened the door and stepped into the ballroom, then closed it behind him.

  There were a few gasps, but most of the crowd was too busy cowering, to bother.