by A. P. Moraez
Ash clenched his fists and ran. Breathless, he reached the fence and started climbing, praying to all that was good that the beefy cop had faced more problems trying to get through the crowds than he had.
He was inches from reaching the top when a twisted wire caught the back of his jacket, just when the head of the alley had its light blocked in the distance by the cop’s huge frame.
The man started running at him, and no matter what Ash did, the jacket wouldn’t come off.
Ash would regret this later, but better facing the cold and hunger than going to jail. He took care to remove the guitar from around his shoulders, but still cringed when the case landed on the other side of the fence with a dry thump. Then he climbed, leaving the jacket, clothes and all the money he’d made today behind.
“FREEZE!” the officer shouted when Ash threw his legs over the fence and jumped the ten feet or so to rejoin his guitar.
That was when the first shot was fired. It hit the metal and rebounded off. Ash didn’t wait around to see if the second one would land.
Three more followed, but the fence protected him.
The last rays of sunshine from the day bathed the opposing sidewalk and gave the buildings and cars a ghosting of orange. Ash threw a look over his shoulder only to see the officer climbing the fence right as he’d done.
Desperate, he searched his surroundings. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins like never before, so he didn’t even think before running to the end of the street and opening the Taxi’s door.
The old man behind sunglasses jumped from his dramatic entrance and threw the stub he’d been smoking out the window.
“DRIVE!”
“Where to?”
Ash threw another glance out the window, the officer was running toward them.
“ANYWHERE! JUST GO!”
“Alright.”
He was getting caught. He was getting caught and thrown into jail. He should never had tried to steal those clothes.
“FASTER!”
The old man scowled at him before hitting the gas and taking on a side street which, luckily, was empty of the bustle from before.
Only then did Ash start breathing again. Then he hugged his guitar closer to his chest and started crying in silence.
“You okay, kid?”
“Yeah,” Ash sniffed out. “Just don’t stop, please.”
The driver grunted and on they went.
It was night now, the automatic lights illuminating the strange neighborhood. Fifteen minutes they’d driven in silence; fifteen minutes that Ash had been freaking out with no idea how he’d pay the man.
It was only in the last minute he’d realized he wouldn’t. A thief once, a thief forever, apparently.
When they finally got to the red light he’d been waiting for, he threw the door open and ran, not paying attention to the affronted screams from the poor old driver, nor to the occasional honks coming from the cars he was sliding through.
Ash ran for a good ten minutes before he gave himself permission to stop, breathless, and collapse in front of an old-looking house. The single lamp post at the beginning of the quaint street was the only font of light. He could barely see the color of the painting. It was some kind of salmon that covered the brick walls. Black were the iron front gates. No light came from the windows. Maybe there was no one home.
Still with labored breath, Ash supported himself with his right hand, scratched from the fall from before, and sat on the first of many steps that led to the iron gate.
A few minutes later, when the adrenaline rush started to recede and his heartbeat calmed down a little, Ash shivered.
It was the middle of April in Colorado and all he had to protect himself from the cold now was a thin tee that’d had holes in it to begin with. He hugged his guitar closer, foolishly seeking warmth from his only friend, but that was not something it had to give.
He had to move. This was obviously one of those rich neighborhoods he’d only ventured into once or twice before. Here lived the uptight, nose-in-the air people that looked and never saw, unless it threatened them. And they would surely see a ragged, dirty boy sitting on their doorstep as a threat. He didn’t need more trouble. Almost going to jail once was enough for a day.
Rubbing his arms, Ash left the street and the neighborhood behind. For hours he roamed the streets, keeping his head low even though his eyes were always alert for imminent danger. At some point his stomach started to rumble again.
Ash tightened the fist he had around the strap of his guitar; his jaw did the same. He wouldn’t be eating anything today. That was just a reality he had to accept. No use in whining.
He didn’t know how he’d ended up there, but at some point the street he’d been walking sloped down to a low viaduct — more like a bridge, really. Ash had seen these before. They were sprinkled all around Tompas. Places the authorities pretended didn’t exist so they didn’t have to deal with them. Didn’t have to deal with the fact their town wasn’t as perfect as they liked to believe, and there were people starving on the streets, using such places as a refuge.
As he got closer, the tiny light that had first caught his attention from the distance became two, three lights. Makeshift fireplaces made with trash inside metal drums. Small groups of homeless people like him gathered around them, chatting.
Ash stayed away from them. People were trouble. People were liars. In one of the first nights he’d ended up having to turn to a place like this just to stay alive, he’d opened himself to chatting and making friends, only to find a decrepit woman trying to steal his guitar away from him during the night.
Some of them threw him looks as he passed by in silence, but most didn’t bat an eyelash. You learned real fast not to mess with people on the streets. You never knew what a person was capable of.
Ash left them to their fires and started looking for a place to endure the night. He gathered whatever pieces of newspapers he could find forgotten on the ground. Some of them had clearly been used before, even as toilet paper, but he was in no position to be picky. Nights in Tompas didn’t give you the privilege of choosing not to be covered in shit. Not if you wanted to survive.
He eventually found a corner that looked comfortable enough. As in, it didn’t smell of piss and shit as much as the others he’d passed by.
It took a while for him the wrap his legs in newspaper. It took even longer for him to cover as much of his back as possible with the stuff. It didn’t help much, really. Not when he only had a shirt to wear, and no blanket. But it’d have to do.
Satisfied, he used the guitar case as a pillow and laid down, crossing his arms over his chest.
For a while, he lost himself in the sound of the few cars crossing right above. He wondered what it would feel like to have a car. A home. A place to go to that didn’t smell of piss. Then he wondered if it’d hurt if this viaduct collapsed and a car fell down right on top of him. He wondered if he cared, but couldn’t come up with an answer.
The flicker of the closest fire and the voices of those chatting around it was the last thing he registered before falling asleep.
ASH’S PULSE RACED as he was rudely awoken by someone trying to tug his pants down. When he tried to get up, an arm vised around his throat and captured him in a chokehold, keeping him right where he was.
Mind still fogged by sleep, it took Ash a few seconds to come to his senses, and when he did, his nose was attacked by the putrid odor of trash and sweat coming from the man trying to rape him.
“LET GO OF ME!” Ash screamed, trying to get a look at his attacker, but the position didn’t let him. All he could see was the vandalized wall a couple feet from his face.
“Stop it.” The rough words came from behind him accompanied by the smell of cheap beer and rotting teeth. The chokehold tightened.
Ash started breathing with his mouth, afraid to risk throwing up. He didn’t have any more clothes here. He’d left his bag at the church.
“I can make it good for y
ou.” A hand slid down his abdomen and clenched around his cock. The man tightened his hold right after threatening, “Or really, really bad. Your choice.”
“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
The stranger squeezed his balls even tighter. “Nobody’s gonna help you, boy. Might as well enjoy it.”
Ash started to shiver as the realization that he was about to be raped under a viaduct by an old man who smelled pretty much like death downed on him.
The man squeezed the hold around his neck more, making it difficult for Ash to breathe. Then he finally released his cock and started tugging Ash’s pants down again. Only seconds later, his behind was exposed.
“Fine ass you got there.”
Judging by how slurred his words were, it was clear the man was drunk. If only he could get rid of the chokehold. Then he could get a fair chance at a fight.
All of Ash’s thoughts were interrupted when the man’s finger touched his hole. It was humid. The bastard had probably spit on it. Ash’s heart was going one thousand miles a minute. Disgust didn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling in that moment.
Come on, he started chanting to himself, eyes squeezed shut, as the man started rubbing and prodding. Think. Just think.
He came up empty.
It was when he felt the hot pressure of the man’s cock connecting with his skin that he snapped.
Ash’d never tasted someone’s blood before, neither had he felt what it was like to have someone scream so loud and so close to his ear. So when he bit down on the man’s forearm and his mouth warmed with the salty, coppery fluid, it all paralyzed him for a second.
He didn’t have seconds to spare.
As startled by Ash’s act of violence as Ash himself was, the jerk loosened the hold around his neck just enough so that he could slip under it and get to his feet.
A picture-perfect representation of the stereotype he’d always imagined homeless people looked like, as a kid, the son of a bitch was nothing more than a thin, ragged man. Long, neglected hair and beard speckled with white. He was probably on his forties or something. His cock was still out, but softening now while the man tugged his arm against his chest and hissed in pain.
Ash was about to leave when the man trained his dark eyes on him and started to laugh. Laugh. Hysterical laugh, as if he was actually finding amusement in any of this.
Ash sprung forward and kicked him right in the stomach. “You sick bastard!”
He connected two more kicks and all the man did was laugh. When the third was about to hit him — in the balls, this time — the man fisted the bottom of Ash’s pants and pulled with all his strength. Ash protected his face from hitting the asphalt with both hands, and that left him vulnerable.
As if nothing had happened, the sick fuck rolled him around and pinned him to the ground with his body weight.
They’d rolled closer to the wall, away from his guitar. At least it was safe; it was the only consolation Ash had for what was about to happen.
“You’ve had your fun,” the man whispered against his ear. Ash whimpered when the slick, disgusting tongue licked him from there to the point where his neck connected to his shoulder. “Now it’s my turn.”
“NO!”
Screaming was useless. Only a few of the homeless from hours before had remained, and none of them would come to the rescue.
The man’s shaft was hot and ready again, and the disgusting pig groaned as he rolled his hips around Ash’s still naked butt.
Resigned, he lowered his head to the ground.
Something glinted a couple feet ahead. A shard of glass from a broken beer bottle.
Blood pumped in Ash’s ears as the possibility taunted him.
Could he do this? Was he a killer? Was he agile enough? Strong enough?
When the man spread his cheeks and started pressing the head of his member against Ash’s hole, he had his answer.
With all his might, Ash bucked and shuffled forward as much as the movement had allowed him. The man grasped at his shirt, ready to capture him in another chokehold, but it was too late.
Relief and adrenaline washed over him when his hand fisted around the glass.
“It’s gonna be worse if—”
The man didn’t have time to finish that sentence; not with Ash slicing his forearm from wrist to elbow.
His scream tore through the night, and Ash took advantage of the element of surprise to get out from under the monster and back on his feet.
The man tried to lunge for him. Ash kicked him in the face.
He was seeing red. The man was already out. As much blood ran from his nose as it did from his sliced arm, but it wasn’t enough.
Ash had such a tight grip on the glass shard that his hand was stinging; probably cut, too. But he didn’t care.
In an uncharacteristic moment, he rushed to the man and sat in his chest. And then he stabbed.
A fountain of blood seemed to erupt from the man’s jugular where the first stab connected.
There was a light. Ash flinched from it, but couldn’t stop stabbing.
One. Two. Six times he stabbed. The seventh went right into the man’s left eye-socket.
Only then did Ash come back to his senses and, shivering, jumped away from the man. He took a step back, then fell on his ass.
He should feel guilty. He was a good person and he should feel guilty for taking the life of another man. But he wasn’t. If anything, he felt powerful and giddy. He wanted to resurrect that son of a bitch even if only to stab him six more times and bury the blade on his other eye.
The light got stronger. He was breathing so fast he was afraid he was gonna have a heart attack, and someone was coming.
Ash got up and pulled his pants back up. Then he rushed to his guitar, strapped it around his shoulder and started to run.
He was semi blinded by the lights and his path was cut by a black limousine.
That was it. He was going to jail. And there everyone would rape him at will and there’d be no shards of glass to defend himself.
Maybe he could save himself. He only had to pretend nothing had happened. Desperate, he scanned the area. The man’s body lay a few feet to the side, no one else was around by now and his hands were coated in fresh, still warm blood.
There was no way out of this.
More from nerves than fear, his eyes teared up. He didn’t have time to process anything else before one door of the limousine opened and a shiny foot came out. Those shoes were probably worth more than the house he’d grown up in.
A long leg followed and seconds later a tall, built guy was studying him. Ash studied him right back. He was young, probably just a few years older than Ash himself. His blond hair was styled with some product, slicked back from his austere, noble face. He looked like one of those mannequins he’d seen in the many stores in Colbuk, that weekend he’d gone out with— that he’d gone out with—
Sapphires flashed before his eyes and Ash squeezed them shut, pain choking him.
When he opened his eyes again, the man’s cold, pale eyes were trained on him.
Silence cut through them like a poisoned knife, leaving fear and dread behind. Ash didn’t dare to say a word.
After what seemed like ages, the man’s calculating eyes left him and turned to the body growing cold on the asphalt.
“Quite a job you did there, kid,” the man said. He had a calm, strong voice.
Ash’s blood was pumping so fast that he could hear it in his ears. All he could do was watch as the man’s lips turned up in a half-smirk and he took measured steps towards the body. When he got there, he poked it with the tip of his expensive-looking shoe, sighed, and turned around.
“What’s your name?”
“Why would I tell you?”
The man’s eyes twinkled in the dark.
“My name is Nate.”
Ash swallowed. “I’m Ash.”
“Well, Ash,” he said, in a way that felt like he was testing how the name tasted on his
tongue. “I wish we had time to chat, but sunrise is just a few hours away. Someone is bound to find…” His nose scrunched up as he spared the body another disgusted, unimpressed look “that.” He cleared his throat and his lips turned up again. It was measured and calculated and Ash didn’t trust none of it. “I’m sure you don’t wanna be here when that happens, do you?”
Ash shook his head.
“Great.”
The man got back inside the limo, but kept the door open. Ash didn’t know what that meant. Was he free to go? Wasn’t the guy gonna call the police?
“You coming or not?”
“Coming where?”
The man’s face hardened. He fixed Ash with a look that threatened to freeze him. “Does it really matter?”
Ash took a few seconds to consider. He was already here, covered in blood, cold, and hungry. A few days from now and he’d surely die anyway, if things didn’t start looking up.
Without answering, he rounded the posh car and opened the door.
In the dark, all he could see was the cold glint of Nate’s calculating gaze before they were off to God only knew where.
the catch
twelve years ago…
IN SILENCE, THEY weaved through the quiet streets of Tompas. Ash had no idea where they were taking him. He was tired and hungry; stinking and doing everything possible so he wouldn’t let his bloody hands touch the leather seat.
Nate hadn’t bothered to talk to him since they left the viaduct, and Ash was too freaked out to push for conversation himself.
Stolen glances to his left revealed Nate was glued to the screen of his phone. As for the driver, he couldn’t tell. He’d caught a glimpse of him once he got inside the car, but then a privacy barrier rolled up and that was it. Ash leaned his head against the cold window glass and resigned himself to wait. He didn’t recognize any of the streets they were rushing by. The houses were opulent and intimidating and it was all so dark.
They started going up a hill and Ash straightened his back. He yawned and was about to cover his mouth when he remembered it was covered in blood. It was starting to dry now, growing sticky and even more disgusting as it did. If anything, he was starting to want to get to wherever it was Nate was taking him, even if it was only so he could maybe wash his hands.