Ashes to Ashes

by Nathaniel Fincham

  Chapter 20

  The entire ride had been silent, at least it had been for Ashe and Grub. It was solemn and anxious, as if the trip had been building up to an eruption, an explosion that the psychologist didn’t see coming, only felt it in his gut. Thankfully, the explosion never took place and Ashe simply chalked it up to his own nerves and sense of foreboding doom for his son, Scott. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Scott was heading down his own long road, the kind that led a person to darkened places, perhaps even toward the death that had been stalking his dreams. That internal belief began to bleed over into his other activities, altering his perception of things that had nothing to do with his son.

  The guards had an entirely different type of trip, however, one filled with conversation and laughter. Ashe could hear the muffled voices, even through the van’s thick walls. The psychologist envied them, knowing that any conversation or laughter that had went on between Grub and himself would have been forced and fake. He wished that he had the ability to give Grub a better quality of attention and companionship during the lengthy ride, but he couldn’t shake away thoughts of Scott. Ashe was presently with Grub during an important event in the big man’s life, but his thoughts never fully left Scott behind. And he had felt guilty and regretful about it. When the van began to slow speed and the awkward excursion was nearly at an end, Ashe felt a little glad, which strengthened his feelings of guilt and regret.

  Damn it, Scott, he wanted to scream aloud. Instead, he forced himself to try and concentrate on what was in front of him. He had promised Grub that he would be there with him…and damn it…he would do his best to keep at least some of that promise. Everyone else in Grub’s life had failed him and Ashe swore to himself that he would be there for the man every step of the way. He would not let the man down. He refused to.

  The van came to a complete stop and the psychologist rose to his feet at once. The ceiling was low, as could be expected, and he had to stay crouched in order to walk over to Grub. “Are you ready, my friend?”

  “I guess,” the big man answered. His eyes still held innocence, an innocence that was deep down inside. It was real, unlike how some other criminals pretended to be innocent in order to trick their appointed psychologist. But no trickery existed inside of Grub, only a sad soul that was shaped into a bad guy against his will. Every time that Ashe considered what happened to Grub, he wanted to cry out in anger. The man never had a chance and was beaten and broken by someone who was supposed to nurture and strengthen him, his father.

  Ashe put his hand on Grub’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “You deserve this, Grub. I just wish that there was more that I could do for you. I just wish there was more…” He couldn’t finish the words, because there wasn’t more that he could do, no matter how much he wanted there to be. What was done was done. What shall be shall be. That was the way the world worked, even if it sometimes pissed off and depressed the psychologist. Standing there, stooped over the convicted man-child, Ashe had never felt more helpless and useless. He couldn’t help Grub. And he may not be able to help Scott.

  The back door to the van suddenly swung open to break the psychologist’s train of thought. “You guys ready to go?” guard William asked. Ashe nodded in agreement. The guard then handed his shotgun away to Ben, who remained on the outside of the vehicle. William then clambered up into the vehicle to swiftly and emotionlessly detach Grub from the rod beneath the bench. He then motioned everybody, the inmate and the expert, to move out. Watching them exit, the guard then followed and retrieved his shotgun from his partner. “This way,” William then directed, pointing to a single blue door. The pair of guards remained behind the big man and the crazy psychologist, guns at the ready.

  Ashe had known Dr. Sheth for quite a few years, both men being in the similar professional fields of psychology and psychiatry, but he had only been on the property of the Cleveland Mental Health Hospital a small handful of times. He reasoned that they were on one of the sides about to go into a private entrance, away from the general entranceway that served visitors and employees. When they came close to the blue door, it swung outward to reveal Dr. Sheth, who must have been waiting on the other side for their arrival. Ashe hadn’t noticed any windows and wondered how his fellow psychologist had known they were there. But then he saw the overhead camera and his wondering went away.

  “Ashe,” Dr. Sheth greeted. “I didn’t know you were joining us.” The psychiatrist was from somewhere in Central India, but Ashe couldn’t remember the exact name of the place. Sheth’s skin held a natural earthy tint, making Ashe envious of the natural tan, like he was of Oscar’s complexion. Ashe could never tan correctly and remained somewhat pale throughout the entire year, even during the sunny and hot months of summer.

  “Sanjay,” he replied. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Let’s get inside, shall we,” he said, swinging the door out wider. “William. Ben,” he added, addressing the pair of correctional officers

  Inside the doorway, three men in scrubs awaited. They were unarmed but large in stature, most likely hired due both their knowledge and experience along with their size and stature. The Cleveland Mental Health Hospital was not a children’s hospital or cancer treatment center and large men were welcomed for obvious reasons. Also, for added insurance, William and Ben would remain with the group with their loaded shotguns.

  The psychiatrist spoke to the group of young scrubs and the guards, his accent thick, “Go ahead and take Mr. Grub to his room, you know what room it is, so that he will have a moment to settle in before I need to see him.” Sheth didn’t stick around for a reply, but instead turned and walked off. Ashe was under the impression that he should follow his colleague, who led the psychologist to his narrow office. By most standards the office was small, but the room still contained more space than Ashe’s cage.

  “Have a seat,” Sheth told Ashe. “I’m sure that we have a couple of things to discuss.”

  “Just a few formalities,” the psychologist assured. He considered bringing up Owen Roberts but knew it was too soon. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to bring up the dead man at all. Dr. Sanjay Sheth was professional and Ashe didn’t have a close enough relationship with the doctor to guarantee a favor of that magnitude. Confidentiality was one of the most important ethical factors in the practice of psychology, because protecting the information given by a patient or client was also an act of protecting the patient or client themselves. And to go against it would not only be a breach of ethical guidelines but a strike against one’s own professional integrity. “I’m sure that you will have things perfectly under control here,” Ashe continued.

  “How have you been, my friend?” Sheth inquired.

  He had been so focused on when or how to bring up Owen, that he had forgotten about personal formalities. “I have been good…busy. You?”

  “Same,” he replied. “Why are you here? This is just a routine transfer. Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “There is nothing routine about this transfer,” Ashe responded. “We had discussed Grub and the special case we have with him.” Dr. Sheth began to nod agreement. “I want to make sure that he is going to be taken care and treated correctly. He is not some low life convict with a mental issue, I promise. I’m sure that you have at least some experience with these types of circumstances, these types of people, too, Sanjay. There is no clear cut victim and bad guy, in my mind. I also made the man a promise. A pinky promise. And I’m old enough to remember when those meant something. And so are you…if I am not mistaken.”

  “Very true,” Sheth admitted. “I don’t want to sound like I am not glad you came, because I am, my friend. It has been a while and it is really good to see. Honest.”

  “It is good to see you, too,” the psychologist concurred. “How is your family? Wife? Kids? Still a happy, nuclear family, enjoying the American dream, I expect. I bet you still work h
arder than any other man you know, making guys like me look bad in comparison.”

  “Yes. And of course,” The psychiatrist laughed heartily, before altering the direction of the conversation back to Grub. “I remember what we have talked about over the phone and I have read over the documents and your notes that you had emailed. I can see why you insisted that he come here instead of remaining at Wilson, my friend. Good idea. He don’t belong there. But you always did have a soft spot for the lost puppies of the world.” He made sad face and then barked like a dog. He laughed heartily again at what to him was a hilarious joke.

  “It’s a curse,” Ashe said. “You really think that Grub belongs here?”

  “No doubt,” the psychiatrist insisted.

  “And you can supply crayons,” Ashe half-joked. During one of their phone calls, he had explained in great detail the need and necessity for Grub to have access to coloring books and crayons.

  “The best in the city,” Sheth assured. “How about I go and meet my new roommate. Are you coming with me? Or do you have to run?”

  The psychiatrist was giving Ashe an out and he decided to take it…without bringing up Owen Roberts. He couldn’t ask his friend to violate his duties, no matter how much he wanted to. It would be wrong, selfish. “This is where I get off, I’m afraid,” he said. “You understand. I have to hire a cab and get back to my city. I will call here in a few days to check in and see how Grub is fitting in.” He shook Sheth’s hand.

  “Good to see you, my friend,” the psychiatrist repeated.

  “You too,” Ashe replied, before pulling out his cell, pretending to call a local cab company had used on many occasions while in Cleveland. With the phone to his ear, he then left the office and went down the hallway. Once he had reached the corner, he swung around and ducked out of sight. He put himself out of view and waited to hear Dr. Sheth’s hard soled shoes. It wasn’t long before he heard the clop clop clop against the white tiles. He listened to the steps as they slowly made their way in the opposite direction. He remained still until the sound was completely gone.

  Peaking around, Ashe checked to make sure the hall was clear. He swiftly scurried back into his friend’s office and to the other side of the room’s desk. A thin laptop was open and the psychologist touched the connected mouse, forcing the screen to life. There didn’t appear to be any need of a password, so he was able to freely search for files pertaining to Owen Roberts. He knew that he didn’t have time to perform an in-depth penetration into the computer’s systems, so he chose to manually search for a specific name. He typed and hit ENTER. A folder popped out into the forefront and Ashe clicked on it. Another couple of clicks and he found what he needed. He didn’t click on the file containing the legal documentation, because he didn’t need to read through the long and lengthy court papers. All he needed was Sheth’s own set of personal notes and recording, because in his notes and recordings Sheth would have cut out the fat that was always throughout any court documents, leaving him only the juicy, tasty meat.

  …They believe the assault to be influenced by drugs, most likely heroine. A pending drug test will confirm. But it is unsure at this time why the assault began within Owen Roberts’ own home, the first victim being his father, who was brutally stabbed six times with a kitchen knife. The father survived without much lasting damage. The initial outburst could have begun over a number of things, like money. Or it could simply be a manifestation of whatever drug might have taken and its effect on Owen’s state of mind. Owen claims that he doesn’t remember the specifics of the string of attacks, stating that it all remains a blur…

  Owen had attacked his father at the beginning of a violent tirade before moving on to others, while high on some kind of drug, possibly heroine, proving that he had a history of drug use even as a teenager. Sheth stated in his notes that Owen had been sixteen years old at the time of the incident. It also gave another example of Owen acting out violently while on drugs, like the time he had acted out toward Scott, mistaking his own roommate for an intruder.

  But why send him to Cleveland Mental Health, especially since he was a juvenile? Ashe had ever questioned whether or not the facility dealt with drug related issues, which it must since Owen was definitely a patient of Sheth. By why Cleveland Mental Health? Why a juvenile detention center, where they are often equipped to hand detox? Ashe read onward and found the answer a ways into the notes. Owen was the son of an important attorney, Ivan Roberts of Downey, Roberts, and Lex, one of the top corporate firms in Cleveland. They had connections all over the city. The psychologist was sure that Owen’s father had pulled some strings in order to get his son into the private and often tight-lipped facility, even though he had been the first victim of his son’s drug induced rage. Ashe was also sure that the act of putting Owen into Cleveland Mental Health had been a way to keep the attack as quiet as possible. Being the son of an important man, one who most likely drank scotch with the city’s mayor, appeared to have benefits.

  He wanted to read the notes over thoroughly but didn’t want to push his luck and have his friend walk back into the office to catch him snooping. He visually scanned his area and found a printer placed on a side shelf of Sheth’s desk. CTL P. He began to print. Even though the machine spat out page after page in rapid succession, Ashe swelled with impatience, every little sound resembled hard soled shoes. When the final page fell, Ashe tore the stack from the tray and rushed from the room. He was sorry that he had to betray another friend, but what other choice did he have?