Ashes to Ashes (48 page)

He had been hit hard on the head, Ashe was
sure. Where was he? Why was he there? And why won’t someone answer
the phone?

Along with the ringing telephone, he could
hear rain drops slamming themselves against what must have been a
roof over his head. He was indoors, inside a house or some other
type of building. But where? And why?

Ashe realized that he was sitting in a chair,
his hand and feet wrapped with something strong and sturdy.
Wire…thin but strong. He struggled for a second against the
restraints, unsure to why someone had felt the need immobilize
him.

He then became aware that someone sat
directly next to him. And with the help of the rising light and he
adjusting eyes, Ashe could see that it was his son, staring at him.
Scott’s expression asked the same question that the psychologist
had been asking himself ever since waking. Why was he there? At the
sight of Scott it all came back to Ashe.

He instantly grew enraged, at himself and at
Lucky Barrett. He had once again made the wrong move against an
unpredictable man. His aura of power and control after killing the
head assassin had been fake, staged, a conjuring illusion, but
Ashe’s ignorance and lack of common sense had been as real and as
present as ever. And after everything he had learned about the pill
and the extreme paranoia it caused, along with the connection he
had made concerning Lucky Barrett, his state of mind and the insane
things he might have done because of the pill’s influence, the
psychologist had still stepped incorrectly. He had treated the men
with the guns as the biggest threat, while it was truly the madman
without a gun that he should have been the weariest of.

And he knew that.

Damn it.

He knew that.

The phone continued to ring and ring and Ashe
looked over the Barrett, who was standing perfectly still. Finally
Lucky Barrett acted as if he was going to pick up the phone and say
a gentlemanly greeting. But he didn’t. Instead, he snatched the
phone from the table where it sat, next to the entranceway to the
kitchen. Yanking on the base of white phone, Lucky ripped the cord
from the wall jack before spiking the entire device onto the floor
like a football. It broke and bounced and landed next to the shards
of a broken vase, the same one that had been collapsed across the
back of Ashe’s skull. Lucky picked the phone up and again and
repeated the move, further breaking the plastic device into piece.
He then growled and strolled back to the shadows, just outside of
the full reach of the lantern’s glow.

Swinging an arm while flapping his thin
fingers, Lucky Barrett motioned for the remaining assassin to come
over to him. “Stay next to me. Whatever happens, stay right next to
me.” He tried to sound forceful, but only managed to sound
frenzied. “Okay?”

“Yes sir,” the drone replied.

“Are you okay, Scott?” Ashe asked his son,
turning his attention away from the mad captain and his remaining
mindless soldier. They both knew that the ship was filling with
water and sinking. It had just hit an iceberg and the frigid ocean
was rushing in and rising all around them.

“I’ve been better,” Scott answered. “And so
have you.”

“Definitely,” he replied.

“Enough of this family reunion,” Lucky
interrupted, “however sweet and touching it may be. I don’t know if
I should welcome you, Dr. Walters, or shoot you in the head, like
you did to one of my men…even if was quite impressive. Never would
have seen it coming. And I don’t get surprised very easily. Quite a
twist of character, I have to say.”

“You don’t know my character, Mr. Barrett,”
Ashe shot back. “But I know yours.” And he did. Or at least he
truly believed that he had finally come to an important
understanding in regards to Lucky Barrett. He may have made some
minor to major blunder during the last couple of days, but the man
in front of him wasn’t as much of an enigma as Ashe had once viewed
him to be. Unpredictable? Yes. But not unknowable.

Lucky moved fully into the light, his drone
at his side. “Do you?”

Ashe nodded.

“Tell me then, good doctor,” Lucky Barrett
said, “what exactly
is
my
character
?”

“You are a drug addict,” Ashe stated. “Plain
and simple.”

“Plain and simple?”

“Most drugs are easy to understand,” Ashe
continued. “The highs. The lows. The symptoms. The users. The
abusers. But your addiction is a little more complicated than those
that smoke crack cocaine or drop ecstasy, I have to admit.” While
he talked, he calmly tested where the wire was holding his wrists
together. Ashe wiggled, desperately searching for any potential
flaws that he might be able to use to his favor. But the wire was
sturdy and wrapped tight. Damn. His ankles were also tied with the
same wire, individually bound to legs of the chair. Damn. “That is
because your drug is a lot more complex than those normal types of
substances,” he continued.

“Much more complicated,” Lucky concurred. “In
ways you can’t possibly understand.”

Ashe tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think
that you fully understand what it does either, Mr. Barrett. Lucky,
may I call you?”

“Mr. Barrett, please,” Lucky replied. “And I
understand it more than anyone else. That is why I still stand
before you today…alive. Well. Against popular opinion, that is.” He
giggled like a child.

He joked? How could he joke? Ashe wondered.
Does he not grasp the extremity of what was taking place? Or
perhaps he had become so out of touch with reality over the years
that he honestly saw himself to be invincible. Did Lucky Barrett
seriously believe in and have full faith in an absurd scenario
where he would be allowed to walk away free and clear? Or maybe he
was merely coming apart at the seams?

Ashe figured it to be equal parts of absurd
faith and departure from reality. “Take a look at yourself, Mr.
Barrett. Find a mirror. Take the lantern if you want. Take a good
look. No matter what your precious pill has you to conclude, this
is the end for you. No matter what happens to anyone else in this
room, you are going down. You prints are all over this and a can of
worms has been opened. Your assassins came here to get you out of
this cleanly and under the radar, but they had failed. Your
failsafe
failed
. You didn’t fully appreciate and respect all
of the gears that are at work, turning and turning inside of the
current machine. You were unaware that you did not possess all of
the pieces to this particular puzzle…and I know how much of a bitch
that could be.” He didn’t know how accurate what he said was,
because he couldn’t say for an absolute certainty what was going to
happen to Lucky Barrett when things were all over and done with.
Unlike what was believed of the mystery pill, he could not foretell
the future. But he did know that Lucky had not gotten away clear
and away from fault. Everyone would be given proof of his dirty
hands. “You have remained on the outside for long enough,” he told
the so-called gangster. “It’s time to bring it to an end and pay
your dues. Maybe you shouldn’t have ventured outside of your home
today. Maybe you had been smart in locking yourself from the
threatening and dangerous world. I bet you want to take that choice
back, huh?”

“I have never killed a single person,” Lucky
Barrett insisted, a statement that was obviously a well-rehearsed
motto. But it was true. Technically.

“That doesn’t matter, anymore,” Ashe informed
him. “There are other forms of dirt and blood on your hands. And if
you think that I am wrong, walk out that door into the arms of the
loving police. Have them cuddle you and tell you that everything is
going to be okay. Maybe they will pat your head and tuck you into a
warm bed for the night. They may even have a cup of warm milk
waiting for you. I doubt it, though.”

“
I
may be a killer,” Scott threw in,
“but I am the one who is tied to this chair. You are in control.
Bring this to an end, why don’t ya?” Looking to Ashe, “I’m sorry,
dad. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I don’t know how the
hell I got to this place. It is like a strange and scary
dream.”

“I know,” Ashe assured his son. “I’m sorry
that you didn’t feel like you could come to me for help…before
things turned into…what they have become. I’m sorry that you
couldn’t count on me. This is all my fault.”

“It is
my
fault, dad,” Scott insisted.
“And I did count on you. I really did. And you are here. You are
here and I knew you would be. Deep down, somewhere inside, even
within the hatred I thought that I had for you, because of what
happened to mom, I knew you would be here for me. I don’t hate you
dad. I never have. I want you to know that. I’m sorry it took
getting to a place like this for me to realize it.”

Scott
had
counted on him, in his own
way. His son had simply lacked the ability to come completely and
directly to him. The chasm between them had grown too vast, too
wide to fully cross. Scott had in fact showed faith and trust in
his father by leaving behind the so-called clues, and also by
calling the house, risking exposure in order to speak with
Ashe.

Ashe was emotionally lifted into the
atmosphere by his son’s expressed feelings toward him, by the
revelation that Scott had never honestly hated him. But he was
immediately brought back down the cruel earth by the reality of
their circumstance. He suddenly became desperate, desperate to
escape the whole mess with his son and himself still alive. Ashe
had lost too much precious time with his boy, he realized, and he
wanted to make up for those lost years at once. And Lucky Barrett
would not stand in his way.

“I love you, Scott.”

“I love you, dad.”

“Stop!” Lucky shrieked. “Shut down this
father and son bonding moment and let me think. I know how it ends.
I’ve seen it. And it doesn’t end in prison…because I don’t go. I’m
in my office and it’s at least a few years from now. I’ve seen it.
I don’t go to prison. You hear me? I don’t go to prison…at least
not tonight.”

“Because the pill showed you…what?” Ashe
asked, becoming fed with the ratings and ravings of the delusional,
ignorant asshole that was holding his son and him captive. “What
exactly
do
you
think
you’ve seen, Mr. Barrett?
Huh?”

“
You
know
,” Lucky replied. He
began to fidget, like an addict needing a fix.

Chapter 58

“It just rings busy, now,” Oscar said, but
still attempted another call. “Busy. Damn it. Someone took the
phone out. It doesn’t look like anyone wants to speak to their
neighborhood police department.”

“Does Scott Walters have a cell?” Wiles
asked.

Oscar grunted. “Scott ditched his cell long
ago. Son of a bitch. We are deaf and blind and dumb.”

“I wouldn’t say dumb, Detective Harrison,”
Wiles replied.

“
Dumb
,” Oscar repeated, with
emphasis.

“What should we do?” the Oak Hill police
officer inquired.

Putting up a single finger, Oscar asked for a
minute to think. From their distance, he could see that the light
still burned beyond the front windows. Even though the rest of the
house remained dark as death, a single beacon of light still
burned.

What exactly did it mean in the scope of
things? Oscar contemplated.

A single light in a house of black could mean
a few things, some good and some bad. It showed him that all the
activity was most likely taking place in a single room, which was
good because the bodies, bad guys or good guys, were not spread
throughout the house. They were in the same location. That meant
that a strategic entry was possible, if it came down to it.

But that also meant that those inside, those
who were in charge, most likely Lucky Barrett and however many men
who came to his aid, was dug deep into a central location. They
would have eyes on the surrounding entranceways. Oscar was sure
that had seen shifting of the curtains by someone inside who was
moving the fabric aside in order to see. They would know from far
off anyone was coming.

Or would they? If they were all in the living
room, there would be no eyes on the back of the house, especially
since the two assassins in the back yard had been dealt with. But
Ashe didn’t honestly know for certain. There could other men hiding
in the darkened areas of the house, the sight focused outward,
watching and waiting for any movements from the police.

He just didn’t know for sure. And it pissed
him off.

Amber Barrett’s body was still lying on the
sidewalk, Oscar could see her form beneath the onslaught of rain,
which also pissed off the homicide detective. It was wrong in many
ways. He was sure that the young girl was as much as victim as
Scott. And he wanted to get the dead young girl out of the rain,
away from the madness, but he couldn’t send any of the officers
close to the house. They would be in harm’s way. And he didn’t know
if the men inside would take the opportunity to shoot at a cop. He
wouldn’t take the chance, even if it meant leaving Amber Barrett
where she fell, no matter how much his religious and professional
ideals yelled at him. Oscar could continue to argue with himself,
but he knew that he would simply have to wait, wait until the
moment presented itself and then he would make sure that moving the
young woman’s body was a priority. He would see to it himself that
she was handled with respect and sent along to a proper burial and
a peaceful rest.

“Did you talk to…ummm…Sheldon…the lead
sniper?” Oscar asked Wiles, who was yelling orders into his cell
phone, which also acted as walkie-talkie. “How is his crew
looking?”

“What was that, sir?” the young officer
asked.

“Never mind,” Oscar grunted. He grabbed the
phone from the officer’s grip and pressed the same button that he
watched the young man use. The phone beeped to life. But before
speaking into the device, the detective gave Wiles a look and
waited to see how the young man would react. The young officer
stayed docile and allowed Oscar to proceed. Oscar spoke into the
phone, which was connected to the phones every other officer. It
worked like a two-radio. “Sheldon. Officer Sheldon. Do you read
me?”