Amber to Ashes

by Gail McHugh

  The picture fades to black and I slump onto the couch, mentally disturbed beyond repair from what I’ve witnessed. From what I know will consume my every waking thought. I’ve seen the destruction man can do, experienced its brutality firsthand. But there’s no doubt in my mind that this heinous crime, this horrifying, inhumane act of cruelty done to a mother and her child, trumps it all. Visions of Cindy’s unsuspecting face, the wretched sound of her innocent kid’s screams, will forever haunt the rest of my days spent on the gutless spine of this earth, the core of who I am stained by the vileness of humanity as a whole.

  As the video restarts, my gaze widens on the mayhem unfolding before me. Hordes of families jumping from second-story windows, a father shielding his newborn daughter from a tidal wave of flames, and an array of household pets littering the streets blackens my line of sight. Limbs frozen, I watch a block of suburban row houses melt away into a skeleton of what they once were, the memories held within them spurring into the air in the form of ashes.

  Shot taken from afar, the cameraman zooms in on the frenzied neighborhood below, laughter mixing with the howling screams from women and children. Blocking out stars for miles, flames lick the angry sky red, towers of smoke billowing into the frigid night air as though the devil’s fingers were reaching up from hell, painting the small town with his fury.

  Helpless onlookers cry out as fire engines, cops, and EMTs descend upon the scene. Another cut to black and I’m left speechless as I bury my face between my hands in an attempt to keep myself from hurling. It’s no use as my stomach gives out. Knees hitting the carpet, I hunch over a wrought iron magazine rack and upchuck this morning’s breakfast onto a stack of Playboys, my body continuing to shake as I compose myself.

  After a few seconds of blank white screen, the video begins again, my heart lurching up my parched throat as I glimpse Derick, Dom’s older brother, sitting at his desk. Calmly smoking a cigarette, an emotionless stare pinned onto his half-skeletal-tattooed face, Derick looks into the video camera, his deadened eyes crinkling at the corners as he screws his mouth into a slow sneer. Transfixed on the devil before me, I barely notice a woman massaging his shoulders, only her slender hands visible as Derick lifts a snifter of pale brown liquid to his mouth.

  “Goddamn, I fucking love this shit!” Derick slams the empty glass onto the desk, his expression contorted with equal parts disgust and delight as another pair of female hands appears, refilling his snifter with Jack Daniel’s. “But I’m not making this video to tell ya how much I love me some whiskey, Brock.” A sardonic smile spreads his lips as he nods his head toward the doorway, dismissing the woman behind him. She, along with the second chick, obeys his unspoken command, the door clicking closed with their departure as he chuckles. “Of course I’m not.” Sobering, his eyes darken as he leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “But I’m pretty damn sure you figured that much out by now. Even if you are a fucking murderer, a coldhearted pig like me, I’m sure your IQ is capable of registering what exactly the purpose of this home movie is.”

  Without pulling his attention from the camera, Derick takes a long drag from his cigarette, followed by a quick swallow of his drink, his voice eerily calm as he relaxes back into his chair. “Though I have to give ya credit for one thing, Cunningham. You were right when ya said the whore should’ve been disposed of. After ya killed my brother you remembered the cardinal rule for when the shit hits the fan for us dealers. Never. Leave. A. Loose. End.”

  Out of nowhere, he explodes, all calm forgotten as he jumps to his feet. “Ever, motherfucker! You never leave a witness alive! But you did and I had to clean up your mess, had to make sure the little cunt didn’t spill details about what’d happened or the empire I run! You should’ve shoved your gun up her diseased pussy and made her pay for being there!”

  As though he didn’t trip the fuck out, he calmly reclaims his seat and takes a casual sip of his drink, his demeanor all business. “What Cindy did was just plain wrong, Brock. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I mean, she knew who killed my brother, yet she never said a word to me. I gave her enough time to confess her sins against my brother, the man who saved her from her abusive father and dusthead whore of a mother. I kept waiting, patiently, which is terribly hard for me—though I already knew it was you—for her to reveal your name. But she gave me nothin’, kept her blow job–mastering mouth shut.” He stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray, and pushes off his chair to stretch, his eyes devoid of human emotion. “And her kid? Well, what can I say? Had you taken care of her the way you initially planned to, maybe, just fucking maybe, his three-year-old little ass would still be alive. Though I probably would’ve put a bullet in his skull anyway—I don’t need some cracked-out teenager seeking revenge on his mother’s killer fifteen or so years down the road—I’ll let his demise burn your conscience for a while.” He pauses, his grin returning. “But, man oh man, you sure as fuck missed one helluva show. There’s an epic difference between the complexities of how an adult’s skull explodes under the pressure of a bullet versus a kid’s. I won’t get into the details of it all, but it’s definitely something you’ll have to try out for yourself one day.”

  Shotgun rattling in my nervous grip, I stare at the screen, visions of what the sick fuck did to that innocent child appearing unbidden as Derick stares back at me. I clench my jaw, refusing to take blame for his death. I can’t. Still, as Derick starts to pace the office, I have a feeling the kid’s short life will stay with me until the moment I take my final breath. Maybe even after.

  Derick lurches at the camera, a wild look in his eyes as he shoves his face into the lens. “You fucked up, Cunningham! You should’ve never let that pussy friend of yours Ryder talk you into saving the dirty whore and her brat!” He scratches at the stubble lining his jaw, a broken-toothed smile curling his mouth as he backs away. “Shit happens, though. Everyone’s allowed a moment of weakness, right? But I digress.”

  Taking his seat yet again and rocking back and forth in his chair, Derick produces a dagger out of the thick, smoke-filled air. Wooden handle intricately carved with what appears to be Chinese lettering, the thing makes my forearm look like it belongs to a dwarf, its length a good twelve inches or so. Its surgical steel blade catches the domed lighting at a perfect angle, momentarily blinding me, my eyes squinting in response as he runs it along his shaved head. Continuing to stare at me intently, the dick smiles and drags the tip of the weapon down the side of his cheek, producing a trickle of blood. His smile spreads from ear to ear, his eyes tumbling into the back of his head as his tongue sneaks out, collecting his blood from the blade in one slow, calculated sweep.

  The cocksucker’s a monster. The kind children imagine lurk in the shadows of their bedrooms but have never seen. The Boogeyman brought to life, he’s what haunts nightmares.

  “Did ya know I couldn’t even give Dom a proper burial?” he announces, breaking the silence shrouding the airwaves between us. “My baby brother, my last goddamn living relative, is buried right here on our property. I turned his stupid-as-fuck sidekick friend into pig feed too, so there’s no chance in hell he’s ever gonna be found. His family thinks he took off to California with his mistress.” He lets out a condescending cackle, a smile lighting up his eyes as he finishes the last of his whiskey. “I always hated that dumb fuck, but Dom? Nah, Dom loved the dick like a brother.” He pauses, an icy emotion—one I can’t decipher, but if I had to guess, it’d be jealousy—coating his face, as he sparks up another cigarette. “Getting back to Dom: I couldn’t chance the DEA sniffing all over the warehouse here. I’m sure they wouldn’t have taken well to a drug lord calling in the murder of his brother. Well, maybe they would’ve, but that’s neither here nor there. Either way, I wasn’t about to hand them over my business or my life. Not even for my family.”

  Before I can blink, he leaps from his chair yet again, his nose inches from the screen. “You killed my brother!” he growls, spittle flying fr
om his mouth as he grabs hold of the camera, shaking it to near destruction. “Now I have nothing! Nothing, Brock! No family, just hatred! I’m going to kill you, motherfucker, make no mistake about that! Before I’m finished with you, I’m gonna make ya wish your mother swallowed you instead!”

  A certified Jekyll and Hyde, Derick dips back into his cool-cat character, not a beat missed between the eerie transition as he shoves his hands into his camo pockets. “You’re probably wondering how I found out about all of this. Am I right? Hell, if I were you, my head would be all over the fucking place.” Attention aimed at the ground, he leisurely strolls back and forth in front of a swastika hanging on the wall behind him. “It’s pretty simple, actually, but stay with me here if ya can. The video from our warehouse feeds back to a low-key apartment I keep a few miles from here. Bamo! Your buddy figured he had everything covered when he tore apart the camera system, but the asshole never thought about that one, did he? So much for his supposed genius status. Dumb fuck. Ya might wanna think about getting a different partner to head your operation.”

  Laughter punches from his chest, his thumbs running up and down the slim black fibers of his wifebeater as he continues to pace. “Oh yeah, revisiting the loose ends we were discussing earlier. You’ve left a fuckload of them for me to handle. I’m not talking about you, your useless counterpart, Ryder, or Lee, but so very much more. Unlike what my brother said, this is not a game, nor is it an empty threat. There’s gonna be a reckoning, Brock. A reckoning of biblical proportions not seen since Moses destroyed the pharaoh.” He stops moving, a crooked grin hiking up the corner of his mouth as he faces the camera. “I’m gonna kill every single person you hold dear to your filthy heart, your two prick friends included. To make things even more excitin’, I’m making sure you’re the last bastard to die. Nothing personal, buddy, but I really gotta make sure ya suffer as much as, if not more than, I have. Just knowing I took everyone ya love, slowly, one by one, from your waste of a life, will make the day I cross through the gates of hell that much more . . . special, if you will.”

  Derick’s half-skeletal-tattooed face swallows the screen, his countenance every bit the rabid animal he is—foam flowing from his mouth, his words nothing but mere growls, none of which I can decipher as he continues to scream out a list of threats. However, before the camera fades to black, I’m able to make out one sentence—one sentence that has my heart tripping: “I plan on startin’ with that brunette Barbie of yours first.”

  Anger, hatred, and fear pound through my muscles with every uneven breath I take. “Bet I’ve really got your attention now, Cunningham, eh? Ah yes. Yes. I. Fucking. Do.” A fit of laughter rockets from his mouth, his hollow stare clamped to mine as he continues to verbally rape my universe. “She’ll be the first to go, the first to feel what the tip of my blade is gonna do to her slender neck. The way it’s gonna expose her delicate veins. The first to beg for her life when I drag my magical steel wand down her chest and slowly rip her open, her tears hardening my cock as I slide it into her ass, fucking her better than you ever have.”

  Licking his lips, his eyes drift closed, a sigh of contentment following the movement as he releases a groan. “I’m gonna fuck each and every single one of her holes until she’s so crazed, she’s not gonna know which pain to concentrate on more: my cock brutalizing her inner flesh, or my blade sawing through her outer. And right about the same time she’s strugglin’ through her last breath, I’m gonna shoot my load all over that pretty little face of hers. Mind ya, this’ll take place after I’ve whispered your name into her ear, letting her know you’re the reason why she’s dying. I figure it’ll add a bit more torture to her final experience on this here earth. Can’t deny I’m one creative bastard.”

  His smile slips away as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I’ll tell ya what, Brockster. Though your girl’s death will be anything but slow, when I cut off her perky nipples, I’ll make sure to send ya one, gift-wrapped and all.” Folding his arms over his chest, he palms his chin and scratches at his stubble, his gaze squinting in mock thought. “You know what? Considering the circumstances, I’m gonna be a nice guy. I’ll pay the extra few bucks to ship it overnight, so as to ensure its freshness for you before it starts to rot away.” He rises, takes a bow, and steps in front of the camera, his face covering up the entire screen as he shakes his head. “Please, please. No need to thank me, bud. I figured it’s the least I can do. Besides, what are enemies for? I want ya to have something to remember her by before I zip through my list of your loved ones.” He sucks in a slow breath, his eyes hardening before he screams out, “Until then, no one, not a single soul around ya, can be too safe! Keep your eyes and ears open, fucker, because I’m comin’ your way. If not today, next week, next month, or next year, you’re gonna feel my wrath! One way or another, I’m ’bout to make the rest of your living days hell on earth!”

  The screen fuzzes out, all traces of Derick disappearing as I try to breathe, try to think. Head fucked sideways, I swallow what feels like a bucket of nails, revenge roped around my muscles as a familiar voice whispers, “You know we have to kill him first, right?”

  I spin and catch Ryder’s eyes, his filled with as much venom as mine as he approaches, cautiously taking the shotgun from my grip. He sets it on the coffee table, his face hardened into stone as he meets my stare. Though he’s on my shit list, his presence is welcomed, his visible need to take Derick down a filter of light to the darkness shrouding my entire being as I nod in response.

  “How much of the video did you . . . see?” I ask.

  “All of it,” he answers as he lifts his weary gaze to the television. “And it’s my fault that kid’s dead, not yours. The cocksucker was right. Had I let you get rid of the girl like you wanted, he’d still be alive.”

  “Motherless,” I point out. “Don’t let what that asshole said or did fuck with you, Ashcroft. You hear me? Neither of us is responsible for that kid’s death. Derick is, got it?”

  Though he nods in agreement, I can tell it’s eating at him as much as it is me, our stares locked on each other as we share a moment of grief for the kid. The kid whom we’ve never met, his face a mystery to us, but whose death is linked to my sins, the temporary moment of insanity that’ll forever change my world.

  Lost as to why he would just show up out of nowhere, especially after the way we left off—not having spoken a word to each other on the way back home—I cock my head in question, already knowing the answer. “Amber called you, didn’t she?”

  “Yeah.” A pause, hesitancy slowing his words. “She was a mess, bro, in absolute hysterics. I could barely make out what she was sayin’.”

  Figures.

  Still, I can’t blame her. The fear in her eyes when I told her to wait in my ride was unlike anything I’ve ever seen . . . unlike anything I ever want to see again. Set on making sure she’s never afraid like that another day in her life, I head into the kitchen, my brain exploding with thoughts of my next move to ensure her safety as Ryder leans his hip against the kitchen island.

  “Madeline and Lee are downstairs with her,” he adds, placing his gun on the counter. “I was in the shower when Amber’s calls came in. By the time I got out, she’d hit my phone close to ten times. They knew something was up, so they insisted on taking a ride over here with me. I told them to wait with her until I knew everything was cool.”

  I shoot him a look. “Did you—”

  “No,” he interrupts, his hands held up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say shit to him, boss. Though he keeps prodding around, asking me tons of questions every goddamn chance he gets, he still has no clue what’s up.”

  I nod, my gut churning with confusion. After I killed Dom and Bobby, Ryder and I discussed whether or not we should let Lee in on what happened. Though it was a tough decision, I’d decided it was a no-go. I didn’t want anyone knowing what I’d done, how I’d killed two men in an instant,
not even Lee. Still, this shit changes everything. Not telling Lee what happened, keeping him from what’s sure to go down, can put him and Madeline in danger, their lives at risk from this second forward.

  Either way I’m screwed, royally fucked with no easy way out of this mess. If I tell him about Dom, I have a potential loose cannon on my hands, someone who can turn around and use that shit against me somewhere down the road. Not that I think Lee would ever do that to me—the thought a vague, annoying whisper at best. But time and life’s brutal hand can change a person, their loyalty to friends and family tossed out the window when shit hits the fan. In the same breath, if I don’t let Lee in on every detail, I have a potential dead friend on my conscience, a buddy who’s risked his life for me chilling in the morgue as his, and possibly Madeline’s, demise rests on my shoulders.

  Again, royally fucked.

  As I contemplate what to do, footsteps sound down the hall outside of my place. Alert, Ryder and I reach for our guns as the footsteps become heavier, closer. With our attentions pinned on the entryway, we aim our weapons at the front door, silent, ready, as the hinge creaks open.

  “Whoa!” Lee’s arms shoot heavenward as he cautiously steps through the doorway. “What the fuck?”

  “Speak of the devil,” I mumble, setting my shotgun back down.

  “Ever hear of knocking, asshole?” Ryder pockets his weapon as he approaches Lee, yanking him into my condo by the collar of his sweatshirt. “You know shit’s hot right now. You should’ve called before you came up.”