Ashes to Ashes

by Nathaniel Fincham

Chapter 25

  He hung up the payphone and stared at it for a few seconds. He tried but couldn’t get the woman’s voice out of his head, out of his ears. It played in his mind, over and over. How dare his father bring someone else into his mother’s house? Who was she? Did he take the woman to his mother’s bed? Scott thought about how late it was and knew that it was true. The woman had been in his mother’s bed, touching her sheets, he knew it.

  Scott grew inflamed. Susanne Walters had been a great woman, loving and honest. He could still picture his mother’s face and how she smiled without reason. She smiled only to smile. But that smile had been taken away from him…from everyone…and it had been the fault of her husband, Ashe Walters.

  Ashe Walters was to blame.

  As far as Scott was concerned, his father did not deserve another chance, another love. Frustration rushed through him like liquid fire, burning him through and through. Ashe Walters only deserved guilt and shame. He only deserved loneliness. At the same time, though, Scott was counting on his father to help him. He had left clues, like a trail of bread crumbs out of the dark woods, for Ashe Walters to follow.

  But Scott did not put all of his hopes into his father. He knew better.

  Scott kicked out toward a nearby plastic garbage can but missed and nearly fell to the concrete sidewalk. “Shit,” he mumbled, trying to compose himself. Glancing up and down the dark street, he didn’t see anyone looking at him. The sidewalk was nearly empty.

  Even if that night was as chilled as the previous one, Scott would not have produced a single shiver, because his veins were filled with bubbling magma. He wanted to cuss and break things, but controlled himself, for obvious reasons. Pulling his blue baseball cap down lower, he thought about taking the trek back the way he had come. Before he took a step, however, he caught an accidental glimpse through the window of the convenient store. He could clearly see a narrow counter with a single register. Behind the register, on the wall, was an old television. Behind a layer of static, the local ten o’clock news was being replayed for its night-owl viewers.

  Scott paused.

  After Scott finally reached Bam the night before, it didn’t take long to find himself wrapped up in her bed, asleep. He spent most of the day in that same bed, avoiding the world and the problems that existed for him in reality. He had dreamed. He had dreamed deep. Most of the dreams had been blurred and void of any reasonable story line. They had been images that his mind quickly discarded upon waking. Scott was able to remember the blue lady. She had been laughing. Always laughing. Laughing at his dismay. The blue lady always came to him when his life had issues.

  Even when he did finally wake up, he had avoided the television and the news, sure that his name and face had been plastered across the screens of the entire city. Three bodies were positively connected to him and he was on the run. But Bam had assured him that that was not true. She had been keeping up with the news, on the television and on the internet, and Scott’s name or image had not appeared anywhere.

  He had a hard time believing her. How could it be possible?

  Pulling his cap down lower, giving his face more shadow, Scott was caught by curiosity and pulled into the convenient store. He was immediately struck by the rows of florescent lights, which seemed to be set on annoy and migraine. Ducking his head slightly, he let the brim of his cap catch the brunt of the glow. The store only had two aisles along with a group of coolers in the far back. It seemed to have just the essentials, whether it was for a late snack or a beer run.

  Sliding down the aisle closest to the counter, Scott pretended to browse the candy bars. He listened closely as Erica Worley, a pretty, light haired newscaster, discussed one of the many reform plans set in motion to revive Youngstown. It was nothing but false hopes provided by lying politicians. As far as he could see, trying to revive Youngstown was like pouring fertilizer onto a field of ashes.

  Shit and ash.

  That was what the city had become.

  Scott reached for a Snickers bar but froze. The news story had changed. “Little is still known about the identities of the shooting victims found this morning here in Youngstown,” Erica Worley reported. “Two bodies were found in Lincoln Park, a local park that has become a nest for the homeless and vagabonds of the city. YPD were on the scene early this morning and have yet to release any information to the media. It is still not known whether or not a suspect has been identified. More information is sure to come, perhaps as early as tomorrow morning.”

  It is still not known whether or not a suspect has been identified…

  It’s true. His name still has not been connected to the deaths in Lincoln Park. And Owen’s name or death didn’t seem to be known about at all. Where was that news story? The one about the death in the Youngstown apartment complex? Was Owen’s death being kept a secret? Why? Was his dad involved somehow?

  Scott was at a loss.

  The young woman at the register looked bored. She half-smiled when he approached. He didn’t greet or even grunt acknowledgement. He paid for his Snickers and quickly left the store.

  The city still appeared to be calm and the imaginary target that Scott felt on his back was smaller. Not gone. Smaller. Even if his name or image remained unknown to the common public, he was sure there were many officers that hoped to get his face beneath their crosshairs. Oscar Harrison especially. Scott had always sensed a tension between the police detective and his father. Something just below the obvious friendship. It might have only been a subtle clash between the two men, their intensity and competiveness butting heads like Billy goats. Or maybe it was something more. Scott couldn’t put a finger on it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Oscar Harrison was on his heels, gun drawn.

  Pulling his cap down as far as it could go, Scott quickened his pace. Two blocks over, a car waited for him and he immediately slid into the passenger seat. Giving Bam a kiss, he motioned for her to proceed.

  Her green eyes seemed to sparkle, reflecting a street light. They looked like two emeralds, but worth far more than any jewel. More than monetary riches lay behind Bam’s green eyes. She smiled at him and got the car into motion.

  Slowly and obeying all traffic laws, Bam and Scott jumped onto I680 and made their way out of the city, heading toward the area of Oak Hill. When the city lights began to fall behind them, Scott felt relieved. The YPD wouldn’t look beyond the limits of Youngstown, at least not yet, because Scott had not given them a reason. His father would keep his sights within the city limits for the time being, as well. Scott had returned to the same payphone he had used to call Bam so that when he called the number would be from Youngstown. It would keep Ashe focused on a central location and his eyes would not wander too far from the intended target. Whenever it was time for Ashe to expand his sight, Scott would let him know. Besides, if his father had thought he had headed north to Canada or south toward the warm states, his motivation might falter. That couldn’t happen. He was counting on his father…for some reason.

  “How did it go?” Bam asked.

  Scott shrugged.

  “That bad?”

  “No,” he admitted. Scott took a deep breath. “There was someone else there.”

  Bam took a second to look away from the road. “A girl?”

  He nodded.

  “Sorry sweetheart,” Bam replied, but then added, “You can’t blame him for moving on, though. Being alone, without someone to reach out and touch, is like being dead and buried. It is just not living. It is just not life. We all need someone to touch. Even your dad. It’s been…what…four years…give or take. He’s done his time.”

  “He never did time,” Scott blurted and quickly looked away. “No one did time for what happened to my mother. No one.”

  “Not technically,” she admitted. “But I’m pretty sure that your dad has done some hard time for the last four years.”

&nb
sp; “Not hard enough,” he replied.

  “Why call him then?” she asked. “Why count on him?”

  “Because he will come through,” Scott said. “He failed once, but he won’t fail a second time. Not him. Not Ashe Walters.”

  “Okay, baby,” Bam said. “Did you light a fire under his ass?”

  “I think so.”

  “Are you ready…for this…hun?” she asked. “You still want to do this?”

  “I do. I am ready.”

  She freed a hand and patted Scott’s knee. “The girl at your dad’s?”

  “What about her?”

  “Did she sound hot?” Bam giggled. “Did she light a fire in your loins?”

  “Wait until we get to the house and I will show you,” Scott replied.

  She stuck her hand on his crotch. “Why wait?”

  Scott gave a much needed laugh. It was low and lethargic.

  They found an empty back lot behind an abandoned Kmart. There were no lights. There were no police. There was no one but them. And for a few moments, they chose to forget that civilization existed, with its death and taxes. Within that space, void of civilization, they came together and touched, feeling very, very alive.