Chapter 64
“Dust of the dead,” Ashe began. “Inhaled each day. In. Through. And out again.” He took a needed breath in order to stifle the ever present threat of tears. The threat had circled him for the past few days, ever since his son was executed. “Ashes to Ashes…one breath at a time. In. Through. And out again.” He paused one last time before finishing. “Taste it on the tongue. Those who fill our chests. In. Through. And out again.”
He brought his eyes up from the cemetery dirt and allowed the small group of people, family and friends to fill his view. They were gathering, along with himself, for Scott’s funeral. They come together, collected at the spot of ground where Scott would forever be laid and buried.
Ashe was happy to see them. He gave a nod to Oscar. A smile to his sister. He then forced another smile for Ginger, Rains, Phillips, Wiles, along with other familiar faces. His sight lingered for a moment on the form of Katherine, who to his own surprise had showed up as well. Her beautiful figure stayed at the back of the group. She didn’t need to come but he was pleased that she had.
“That was one of my wife’s own poems,” Ashe continued from his position in front of the freshly dug hole. “I know that poems have complex levels and layers of meaning attached to them. And I don’t always comprehend them, even though I consider myself to be a semi-intelligent fellow. My wife, Susanne, would never let me in on the intended meanings to what she wrote. Even if I begged her.” He nervously laughed to himself. “I remember how annoyed I would get when she refused to give me any insight into her work. I forgave her for that, though, a very long time ago. She claimed that I should find my own meaning. A poem could be whatever I wanted it to be, she would say. That that was the beauty of poetry…in her eyes. And she was right. Everyone could take their own interpretation from the words, the lines.”
He inhaled and then exhaled.
He trekked forward. “This little poem was always special to me. For me it was always about love and loss. More now than ever before. Dust of the dead. Those who fill our chest. The poem is stating that we are always breathing in those we have loved and lost…those that continue to fill our chest by way of memories and our never dying love for them. In. Through. And out again. With each breath. For as long as we are able take the memories into our chests.”
He thought hard about his next words.
“My son Scott is being buried a murderer who was shot to death by another killer,” Ashe bluntly stated. “To some people, to a lot of people, the facts are cut and dry. But they are misguided by their own ignorance. They don’t know what we know. They didn’t see what we saw. What I saw. They didn’t experience what some of us experienced. So they go on with their simple lives and condemn my son, a confused young man who was led astray by forces beyond his control. It could have happened to any one of us, to any one of them. But it didn’t. It happened to Scott. My son. And he will forever be labeled a killer. But not in my eyes. And not in my heart. I love you all. I will always love my son…because I knew him…I knew his character…no matter what others may think. If there is a heaven…Scott is there…with his mother. I am sure of it. The innocent would never go anyplace else.”
“Amen,” Oscar chimed in, his almost unrecognizable accent largely present in the vibrations of his lord’s word. “We all love Scott. And we love you, too, Ashe.”
“Thank you, old friend,” Ashe replied, letting a couple tears escape. “That means a lot. Thank you all for coming. Scott and I both appreciate having you here. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.” Leaning down, he scooped up a handful of dirt and turned to pour it down into the hole where his son’s casket had already been lowered. He watched as the dirt trickled downward, fighting a subtle breeze in order to reach the top of the polished wooden box. Picking his head back up, he ended the ceremony by saying, “I love my son and he loved m.”
Everyone nodded agreement.
The small group began to disperse, each one making their way to Ashe for their final condolences, before returning to their daily lives or a future alcoholic beverage. They would move on. Some would move on right away, while others would heal a little slower, but would heal nonetheless. But Ashe never would move on or heal. He would never be able to.
He shook hands as his friends and family shuffled to and away from him. Oscar was the last person to approach him and Ashe hung on to the man’s handshake long after it was over with. “Give me some news, Oscar.”
“You don’t need this right now, man,” Oscar insisted, but his conviction instantly wavered and Ashe knew he would talk. He just had to be silent until Oscar told him what he wanted to know. “He was officially charged with first degree murder. We thought that he would confess as soon as someone got a recorder under lips, letting his psychotic ego do the talking, but he tightened up his lips. I honestly didn’t think that the arrogant bastard could help but to brag about his first real kill, but his mouth sealed up nice and tight. But we don’t really need his confession to put his ass away. It would only make the process quicker, smoother. I’m sure that if he had confessed, it would have been some long-winded fit of ranting and raving.”
“We don’t need his confession?”
“Nope,” Oscar assured him. “Don’t worry, my man. The odds are stacked against the asshole. The trial may not prove to be as fast as his brother Franklin’s, but it will still make your head spin. He will get no less than twenty-five to life, I’m sure. Especially once your well-spoken, highly professional ass takes the stand and speaks out against him. He doesn’t have a chance in hell. I almost feel sorry for the crazy bastard. And, thankfully, there will be no way that he will get sent to Wilson, even though you might actually want that to happen…you know…so that you can get your hands on him, yourself. It won’t happen, my friend. The court wouldn’t let it happen. He will go somewhere else, hopefully far away.”
“Only twenty-five to life? Chance of parole?”
“A chance. Yes. But don’t worry about that, either,” Oscar assured him. “That was just one charge. Scott’s murder is the jumping off point. The castle that is Lucky Barrett is crumbling into the ocean. Information is coming to light left and right, and it is information that should have been exposed years ago. Take away a man’s power and control so that the people no longer fear him and they immediately begin to storm the walls and the gates, with pitchfork and torches.”
“You’re being awfully symbolic today, Oscar,” Ashe pointed out. “Crumbling castles. Angry medieval mobs. You are obvious happy with the way that things are unfolding.”
“He will go to prison, Ashe, and never get out…alive,” Oscar assured him. “I promise you that.”
“But he will still be able to draw air into his lungs,” Ashe said. “That is more than my son will be able to do in his current condition. It isn’t fair, Oscar. It isn’t fair at all.”
“Is it ever?” Oscar asked. “And don’t be so sure about him being able to draw in air for too long. Lucky has enemies all over the country. Wherever he goes, there is a chance someone there will want him dead. And while in prison he will susceptible to attack.”
“No one wants him dead as much as I do,” Ashe lied and then sighed. For a brief moment his anguish gave him the urge to remove Lucky Barrett’s head from his neck, but another desire had since taken its place. It was a desire for the honest-to-God truth behind all that happened. Why was the mean for it? What was the pill, really? Lucky Barrett could still be the only accessible person to Ashe that may know the truths. He wanted those truths and the understandings that may come along with it more than his body wanted air to breathe.
Ashe took a moment to change the subject.
“Can I ask you a question? Is there any chance that that stupid fucking pill could actually do what Barrett and Scott believed? Owen and Scott had an issue one night which resulted in an alterca
tion. Owen had also committed a series attacks when he had been a teenager. What if Owen was going to eventually have another one of his violent episodes while in some kind drug induced haze, killing Scott in the process? It there any chance that Scott was made aware the attack before it actually took place?”
“Not a chance,” Oscar instantly blurted.
Ashe tilted his head. “Not at all? But you believe that the lord had granted John the Apostle visions of Armageddon, the end of the world as we know it?”
“Without a doubt.”
“You are a complicated man, Oscar,” Ashe stated.
“Not really,” Oscar explained. “I hunt down bad men and I either get the chance to arrest them or I end up killing them. Sometimes they get away. Sometimes they do not get away. It’s pretty simple.”
“It just might be,” Ashe admitted. “Did you ever find a black and gold container in Amber Barrett’s house?”
“Yea,” Oscar replied. “We found it in the upstairs bedroom. It was empty, though.”
The psychologist was taken aback, his eyes becoming wide. “You think Scott took the pill after all? That he knew he was about to die? That he died believing that he could change it again somehow, like he had changed it the first time? He may have even died believing that I would find a way to save him?”
“I don’t know what your son went to the grave believing,” Oscar clarified. “However, I do not think he saw his own death. I don’t think that at all. And whether he took the pill before dying or not, I can’t say for certainty. Toxicology hasn’t come back, yet. I will have Ginger pay extra attention for signs of that god damned pill. If you want.”
Ashe did.
“You need to quit beating yourself up with these ideas,” Oscar demanded. “It will only drive you crazy, my friend. When Susanne died…you retreated from everything…and dove into that prison…further than I ever thought possible. I don’t want to see that happen again. I don’t. I don’t want to lose my friend again. You hear me? Are you hearing me?”
“I hear you,” he lied. “I will do my best. I am not going anywhere Oscar. I swear. I may not even go back to my job at all. Not sure there is a point any longer.”
“Your job is important, my friend,” Oscar insisted.
“How so? What difference do I make in the end? What point is any of it?”
“Keep your head,” the detective said. “It won’t be easy, or even close to bearable for a long time. It is also natural to have crisis of conscious. You are going to question…everything you know and think you know.”
“Why don’t you just take my job,” Ashe replied. “You sound more like a psychologist than I do right now.”
“I could never be you, Ashe,” Oscar admitted.
“I don’t know if I can still be me either,” the psychologist stated. “But I won’t disappear either. I promise.”
“Good.” Oscar put his hand on Ashe’s shoulder, the same way he had that night in Oak Hill. “I’ve got to head back to the station. The wicked never rest…so neither can I. Call me. If you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?”
“Yes,” Ashe said. “I will.”
“Take care, Ashe,” Oscar stated and turned away.
“You too.”
Oscar gave Ashe one last glance over his shoulder. Ashe watched his friend pull away before marching toward his own vehicle. Waiting at his Mazda was Katherine. He instantly felt a low tingle at the sight of her. At that moment he realized that she had not come to him like the rest of those who had attended the funeral. She had stayed back.
“You got any place in particular to go, Doc?” she asked.
“Not really,” he answered.
“Want to come home with me? Forget about everything for a while?”
Ashe forced a grin. The grin wasn’t hard to force because he did want to go with her. He really, really did. And no more thought was needed. He simply did.
Ashes to Ashes Page 64