Ashes to Ashes (19 page)

“Long enough,” Ashe replied. “Too long,” he
admitted.

“I am going to a good place?” Grub asked.
“Sure?”

“Completely,” replied the psychologist. “I
hope you know that. I hope you know that I would never send you
anywhere bad. I am going to protect you. I promise.”

“Pinky?”

“Pinky,” Ashe agreed. “Both pinkys.”

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 harder 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.