ASHES (Ignite Book 3)

by R. J. Lewis

  …15 years old…

  He’d been waiting for this moment for a very long time. When he’d finally fill out, grow taller, put on more muscle. And when he did, everyone noticed. Girls and the club especially. Frank had his sights on him. Remy was the youngest kid in the club to ever be promised a spot.

  And it killed his father.

  His father who, growing older and weaker and fatter with the excess alcohol, couldn’t beat his kid around anymore. No, the last time he tried that was a year ago, and Remy, for the first time, fought back. Smashed his fist right into his jaw, nearly broke the thing right off. His father had ice packs on that jaw for weeks, looking petrified of his son. He never complained it hurting once.

  That was the last time he ever touched him again. Surprisingly, his old man was nice to him. Always friendly. Always playing the nice guy whenever Remy came home, and Remy was hardly at home these days, so the façade was easy to maintain.

  At fifteen, Remy had blossomed into his natural good looks. He and Kieran were popular bad boys. This was something Remy always wanted. What he dreamed would happen. Invited to all the parties. Invited to Frank’s office every Saturday to learn the ins and outs of the club.

  Remy had even lost his virginity.

  It was quick.

  It felt good.

  He moved on.

  “Tell me Lana gave it good,” Kieran had pleaded, wanting every single detail, but Remy had pretended he’d forgotten.

  “It was two years ago, Kieran,” he replied, shrugging. “I got a better babe.”

  Remy had a better babe every single week. He was already over relationships. He’d been with Tam for over a year solid, which at the time seemed like a dream come true. Imagine that, being with your crush. Unfortunately, shy Tam wasn’t all that shy after all. She’d cheated on Remy a time or two, and apparently had a line-up of guys who’d felt up her breasts. Shy little thing never had a single issue dropping her bra down, yet she proclaimed love to Remy like he was her everything.

  “I ain’t your everything,” he had yelled at her, after he’d busted the dude’s face up at school when he’d learned of what happened. “You were fake, Tam. You played pretend real good, but you’re just a fuckin’ hussy. You and that man whore deserve each other. Enjoy Gosnells inbred trash, babe.”

  Tam had fallen to the ground in tears. It was real good gossip at high school for a while there. He had stopped trusting girls forever after that. It looked good for the image.

  They called Remy a soul collector. Said he destroyed every girl in his wake and busted every boy that got in his way.

  “You know how girls have magic vaginas,” Kieran said once, “well, I think you’ve got a magic dick, Rem. Why does every girl fall for you? Meanwhile I’m this weedy little shit that’s barely hit puberty. No wonder Uncle Frank wants you in the club so much. You look like you’re twenty, not fifteen.”

  So, for a while there, there was that. Remy was enjoying himself. He’d stayed out of the house. Inhaling chain smoke and walking over cracked glass every morning had gotten old. If his pathetic mother wanted to wake up with a shiner every fucking day, that was her prerogative.

  It wasn’t his problem anymore.

  He was done crying about it.

  …18 years old…

  It was his fault.

  They buried her in the ground on a cold autumn day. Everyone showed up to say good bye, but Remy was the last one standing, staring down at her coffin. The entire funeral was paid for by the club. Now that he was a member, they helped carry his burdens.

  It’d been the roughest week of his life. Rita was inconsolable. Worst than that, Rita was covered in bruises. She’d been there. She had been there, screaming for help, and Remy wasn’t there to protect either of them.

  No, he was fucking Tina, or Gina, or whatever the fuck ina she was.

  He stood at the burial, his soul crushed. “It’s my fault,” he told Frank as he stood beside him, peering down at the coffin. The best one the funeral home had to offer. “I failed them, Frank.”

  Frank was quiet, burying his hands in his pockets as he shared this moment of silence for him.

  “He’s going down,” Frank said to him. “He’s on the run and he’ll be found real quick. He’ll go to prison for this, Remy. We can handle him on the inside if you’d like.”

  “He beat her to death,” Remy replied, emptily. “Threw her down the stairs. Broke her spine with the heel of his boot. Smashed her head in so flat, they found skull fragments everywhere. All over the floor. All over the stairs. All over Rita.” Remy’s voice cracked, tears blurred his vision. He was so angry. “I should never have pulled away. Rita won’t even look at me. I failed the most important women in my life.”

  “Stop.”

  “I should be the one to kill him. Not some no-name junkie in a prison cell. He deserves worse than that.”

  Frank was quiet, mulling over his words. “What if we found him for you then?”

  Remy looked up from the coffin, meeting Frank’s eyes. “I want to gut him. I want to tie him down and break his spine. I want to set him on fire and watch him scream as he turns to ash.”

  “It won’t take away the pain,” Frank muttered, patting Remy on the back, “but it’ll stop you from killing him in your head every single day he breathes.”

  Remy would do that. He would kill him. He wouldn’t stop hunting for that fucker.

  He was going to the ground where he belonged.

  He’d apologized profusely to Rita. Had begged for her forgiveness, but Rita changed after that.

  “Where were you?” she screamed. “Where were you, Remy? We needed you and you weren’t there! She was scared for her life. She screamed for you and you were gone! Like always! Always gone, always running back to that club, back to those girls! Where were you when we needed you?”

  She’d carry her hate for years. She’d try and get over it as she matured, but the damage was done. Every time they were together, there would be that moment of grief between them. So, she distanced herself. She didn’t want to feel it, or be reminded of it.

  Rita was never the same again.

  He tattooed the date of his mother’s death on his ribcage. Then he would put the date of his father’s death when he took it.

  None of this would have happened if he’d made sure they were alright. If she’d just checked up on them occasionally even.

  He would never make that same mistake again.

  …20 years old…

  Two years the fucker had been on the run. By then, Remy had earned his stripes in the club. He was a prodigy. A skilful killer. The best of the best.

  He didn’t even call himself Reaper.

  Everyone else did.

  But there was one soul he’d been itching to take, and they’d finally found him. He was living as a homeless dude, answering to some whacked up gang called the Os.

  “Sounds like cheerios,” Kieran said.

  “He did good,” Remy muttered. “He hid himself well, eh, Kieran?”

  “Oy, you fuck, it’s Edge now. Kieran is too pretty boy.”

  “Why the fuck Edge? You were Storm like week.”

  “Someone compared that to some Xmen hottie.”

  Remy didn’t even bother answering. He let Edge have it. Frank had called them into his office that morning and threw a duffel bag on the desk.

  “Everything…torturous is in here,” he explained. “Honestly, don’t make me open it. It’s fucked. Alright?” They nodded. Sure, they believed him. “The best plan is to scope out the place first, see if the fucker has any back up. Disguise yourselves, look like you’re part of the fucked up community over there. Really, Winthrop has its colourful parts. Don’t get involved in any shady shit because that might lead back to the club, and we really don’t want to bury any of you. You’ve proven useful. And Remy, make sure he has a fitting end, huh?”

  Remy nodded. Was that even a question?

  They left the office with Edge going off
about how undercover it made them sound. But a few hours later, he wound up bitching and moaning about the itchy beard.

  “Can’t I take this off?” he whined as they walked the streets of the most depressed, neglected neighbourhoods Winthrop had to offer.

  “It defeats the purpose of a disguise, doesn’t it?” Remy replied, annoyed already.

  He scanned every homeless person on the street, searching for that evil fucker. The club had a picture of him wearing a giant red jacket. He moved silently, focused on every sad shmuck on the ground. God, he felt bad for them. This was a rough life. How the fuck had his old man funded his alcohol habit?

  “Down by the bay

  Where the watermelons grow

  Back to my home

  I dare not go

  For if I do…”

  He stopped and looked down at the godawful voice singing that godawful song. He paused, taken by surprise to find a little girl in a sad looking sweater, holding up a Styrofoam cup. Her eyes were downcast. She looked broken. Remy didn’t know if this was a seriously good actress, or if she was genuinely busking for some coin.

  “You really homeless, or you puttin’ on a performance?” he asked.

  She looked up at him. Her eyes were empty. She looked robotic. She lifted the cup and shook it. Opening her mouth, she sang louder. Remy stared down at her, feeling disturbed.

  “It’s obviously a scam,” said Edge. “There are no homeless kids around here on their own. Child services, remember?”

  “That’s assuming they give a shit,” Remy retorted. “And haven’t we established they don’t many years ago?”

  Edge grunted. He didn’t give a fuck. He was still scratching feverishly at his fake beard. Remy knelt down in front of the girl and stared at her for a long moment, trying to assess whether some fucked up adult had sent her out here and was waiting in a car, or if she was seriously homeless.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out 50 dollars and flipped it into her cup. She paused, staring at it like she’d never seen a number so big.

  “Where do you sleep at night?” he asked her, looking her over intently.

  She wouldn’t look at him. She’d gone completely mute, staring off at the ground. Her breathing changed though. She was scared. Her eyes scanned the streets suddenly, like she was expecting something to jump out at her.

  Jesus, it wrenched his heart. “You okay?” he asked.

  She swallowed. He heard her stomach growl. He felt too shaken to move.

  “We gotta go,” Edge pushed. “She’ll be here tomorrow. You can grill her then.”

  Remy lingered a while longer. He stared at her, trying to understand why she looked so broken.

  “Be here tomorrow, kid,” he demanded. “Right in this spot.”

  That night they found his father, huddled in a group. He looked half-dead from the heavy drugs he’d gotten himself into. It made him feel fucked up for dragging him away to his death. He would have died on his own, he knew. He didn’t have long left. If the drugs weren’t going to finish the job, the winter would.

  Unfortunately, Remy’s urges had died down since that morning. Seeing that girl had stirred something in his gut. He felt agony. Images of his mother’s dead body, and the bruises on Rita’s legs and neck haunted him. If he left that girl on her own and something was wrong with her, he’d never forgive himself.

  He made quick work of killing his old man. No final words were said. He dragged him in that ratty old disguise and he shot him in the head once. There was absolutely no joy in it. It needed to be done. He simply did not deserve to live. Frank was right. It didn’t feel good at all. It felt like something he could finally cross off on his to-do list.

  “Time go to home,” Edge said.

  “I’m staying,” Remy returned. “I gotta figure out that girl.”

  “Remy, she was obviously planted there.”

  “But what if she wasn’t?”

  “Rem –”

  “Did you Frank told me Milo Dillinger’s getting out of prison and he’s got a very high reward for whomever can find his daughter?”

  Edge went quiet, thinking. “You think that girl was it?”

  “No,” Remy returned, “because Frank also just told me he was on the case and he found the mother and daughter dead.”

  Now he was annoyed. “I don’t get why you’re telling me this then.”

  “Because there’s a perfect little girl who looks the exact same fuckin’ age and has the exact same fuckin’ description as the little girl who died.”

  One thing that Remy loathed about Edge was his lust for money and all pretty things. He didn’t care about the little girl. He cared about the money. Smiling, Edge smacked Remy on the back. “Fucking great, Reap. Well done.”

  She wasn’t in the same spot he told her to be in, and Remy had a feeling she’d avoided it. They asked around, and with a money reward on the table, Edge was extra motivated.

  The girl was a regular on the streets, they quickly learned, and she lived in a tunnel. The network of homeless people was impressive. News always travelled. They located the tunnel easily, but their raid was without success. Edge had rounded up every kid in the tunnel, and Remy had gone into every tent, searching under cigarette smelling covers.

  The girl was not there.

  Instead, they got mouthed off by some batshit crazy lady, threatening them about that lame ass gang.

  “The cheerios are gonna kill us, Reap,” Edge snorted.

  Remy was too buried in thought to chuckle. He kept glancing back at the tunnel, unable to shake an overwhelming feeling in his gut that he had missed something. It occurred to him what it was. He’d past it twice going in and then out.

  There were pictures on the walls of the tunnels.

  There was a building with a window, and a stick figure girl waving.

  Another was a picture of a mom and daughter.

  “Let’s go on a stake out,” he said, “For just a few hours.”

  Hardly an hour had went by before some weedy tall dick was dragging out a pleading girl – the girl – demanding to know who her father was. The second he stepped on her, watching her struggle, Remy snapped.

  He tackled him to the ground and stomped him to death.

  Right in front of the girl.

  Then he picked her up and they left. He would later clean up the body with the help of Frank.

  God, what would he have done without Frank?

  He cradled the girl to his chest, telling her it was going to be okay. They stopped off on the side of the road later that afternoon. She slept in the back of the car as Remy called Dillinger up with the number Frank forwarded.

  Dillinger answered the call. The first thing Remy said to Dillinger was, “I don’t want your money. I want a favour when the time comes.”

  Edge’s face fell. He would later holler at Remy that he used him to kill a guy. He didn’t understand that having a powerful man in your pocket was better than any kind of money. Their friendship went cold, and Edge moved to another club.

  Remy checked into a motel and put the girl in bed. Then he got out, tucked the key under the mat, and sat in his car outside of the motel, waiting for Dillinger to collect her. When he did, he cradled her sleeping form to his chest, settling her in his car. Remy watched them drive off, and he felt hope in his chest.

  She was going to have the best life.

  His eyes watered as he thought of Rita.

  Then he remembered Sara.

  He called up Frank. “It’s done,” he said.

  “Good,” Frank returned. “You made a good call, Rem.”

  “Edge won’t talk to me.”

  “Kieran has a lot in life to learn. Money isn’t everything.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything else, Rem?”

  Remy went quiet for a moment, and then, “I want to keep tabs on Sara Nolan. Make sure she’s okay.”

  Frank took a moment too. “Yeah,” he returned, his voice aching. “I can get that
started.”

  …32 years old…

  Everything inside of him died. The weariness sat heavy in his chest as the void within grew bigger and bigger. But when you’ve been burned from within, not all hope was lost. Because at the end of every fire, there were still sparks amidst the ashes. And with enough work those sparks would grow again. He would build it, but he wouldn’t build it as it was before. He had learned the hard way what it meant to love and lose. He would never go back there again. He would rise from the ashes and journey down the road that had been inevitably carved out for him. He was made to be forsaken. Made to be the killer he knew he was.

  That much was for certain now.

  …34 years old…

  He had a dream about her little face. He had to make sure she was okay. He thought she didn’t need to checked on. He thought it was obvious she would grow up happy and fine.

  But he was wrong.

  Olivia stepped out of the apartment building in a pink uppity dress. Her hair was done up. She had a workbag in her arm, filled with her classwork. She stood in front of the street, waiting for her driver. As she waited, she looked up at the sky, closing her eyes at the feel of the soft rain drops that had begun to fall.

  Then she began to cry.

  Remy’s chest tightened. It wasn’t a normal sort of cry. It was the kind of cry you do when your heart is hurting. The kind of cry you want everyone to see, but you’re scared. The kind of cry you find the opportunity to shed when the rain starts to pour.

  Remy cried like that too.

  He let out a few breaths, watching her. He didn’t even have to touch her to feel her. He could read her already. With one look, he couldn’t detach.

  Fate’s a bitch. He decided. It put him there, in that exact moment after that fucking dream, for a reason.

  …36 years old…

  Did they think he would fade into oblivion after he’d left? Did they imagine him drowning in loneliness for the rest of his days? He could imagine their pitying expressions, and he could practically hear their whispers from the vast distance that separated him from them.