Ashes to Ashes (50 page)

Sometime sharks did indeed circle its prey.
Sometimes the prey was injured. But sometimes the prey was a stern
swimmer, a stern and stubborn meal. When coming upon a prey that
might be a challenge, the act of circling, of going round and round
the prey, served to scare the would-be food. Now and then the shark
would rush in and nip…but just nip. Once the prey had been worn and
beaten down to nothing but strayed nerves, the killer would move in
for the final bite.

Ashe was being circled.

And if Franklin wasn’t the shark…then Lucky
was.

“You visited your brother recently,” the
psychologist said. “Didn’t you? You made a mistake getting Franklin
put in prison. He had told me recently that he doesn’t take
drugs…and I didn’t believe him. But it’s true. Isn’t it? What did
you do? How did you get Franklin to take the pill? You wanted him
to swallow the pill but couldn’t just slip it into his normal pill
intake, because he doesn’t take pills without knowing what they
are.”

Lucky was silent.

“You lied,” Ashe concluded. “You came up with
a reason for him to take them. I can’t for the life of me think of
what you said to him…but I know he took them. He trusted
you…possibly without question, because deep down you were the shark
and he was only the bottom feeder that fed on the dropping that the
shark left behind. You got him to take the pill. And then he
butchered his family. How did you know he would kill them and not
you? You were certain…weren’t you? They were really plotting
against him. Weren’t they? And you somehow knew about it. Or you at
least knew that Franklin had serious fears that they were. You know
he wouldn’t target you…even in his drug induced psychosis.”

The room had grown still except for the
psychologist.

“But you didn’t think it through,” Ashe said.
“Not all the way. Because you left him alive…with a direct line
back to you. The other scenes were cloudy, with any link to you
being full of holes and speculation. But not Franklin. Nope.”

“My, my,” Lucky finally said, “have you and
my little brother bonded.”

“And that was what you were scared of,” Ashe
responded, his voice rising. “You knew that Franklin’s state of
mind would be questioned. You knew that he would be seeing someone
like me as soon as he set foot inside. You were afraid the he would
talk…spill secrets…about your precious pill and its link to
you…because you viewed him as being weak. You knew he
would
talk…in time.”

Lucky growled.

“You couldn’t let him talk,” Ashe continued.
“And for some reason you are against killing him. You were loyal to
your brother but no to own wife. I don’t get it, but it makes sense
to you, I guess. Maybe killing your brother would be like putting
down a loyal and loving mutt, you just couldn’t bring yourself to
do it. You made a mistake, first one in a long time.”

“Did I?”

“Yes,” the psychologist corrected. It was
Ashe’s turn to chuckle. He shut it down quickly and took a breath.
“You did research on me…the man your brother would have to speak
to…tell his thoughts to. Finding the cracks in my shell was easy.
Any Google search would bring up what happened to my wife. You told
Franklin to bring up Steven Reynolds…even though neither of you
have ever met the man. You told him that it would give him control
over me…a sense of control that you know Franklin always
craves…like you crave. But your real intention was to drive a wedge
between psychologist and patient. It would get rid of my
objectivity and I couldn’t work with him. It would buy you some
time. But you failed.”

“You think you are so smart, don’t you, Dr.
Walters?” Lucky Barrett screamed, spittle flying from his lips.

“Smart? Sometimes,” Ashe admitted. “Now?
Possibly. All I know is that I am in your head. I am in your head,
Lucky, and it fucking sucks, doesn’t it?”

Chapter 60

“The negotiator is nearly here,” Wiles told
Oscar, his tone seemed troubled. “And so is the captain.”

That last sentence explained to Oscar why the
young man’s expression was that of tension, apprehension. Whenever
the captain became involved, which Oscar figured he eventually
giving severity of the current situation, things often got ugly
with egos clashing like that of the mythological Greek Gods. Even
if the captain was that of a small town force, he or she didn’t get
there by playing nice. He or she got there by being the biggest and
baddest asshole to play the political game. Oscar knew it all too
well. His own captain and himself occasional butted heads, because
Oscar did the work while the captain took the credit, seemingly
only concerned with keep his station and his power. It was the
reason why Oscar would never be made captain, because politics were
for politicians and real police work were for men like him, men
that knew that only way to get killers off the streets was to put
your head down and truck through the mud and guts. It was true that
politics also had mud and guts, but Oscar didn’t trudge the filth
to get ahead in life, but to make life a little safer. And to smash
the head of some whacko who likes to hack up his fellow human
beings.

“The captain?” Oscar sighed. “That can’t be
good.”

“He likes to be present when real shit hits
the fan, and this may be the biggest pile of shit to come our
way…possibly ever,” Wiles explained. “Shit like this never come our
way, it stay in the cities and ignores our sleepy little town. We
hide in plain sight. And it works. I’ve never even had to fire my
weapon, to be honest.”

“Well,” Oscar groaned, “I hope you still hit
the shooting range now and then, because you might have no choice
but to fire your weapon in the very near future. Just remember…only
try to kill the bad guys. Remember
that
…and you will
fine.”

“Can do. But I’m still not sure who the bad
guys are.”

Oscar shook his head at the comment. But
looking at the officer, he couldn’t help but to be surprised at the
quick turnaround. The police officer with not even half a decade
worth of experience, zero experience in hostage situations, one who
admittedly loved his uneventful suburb, was appearing primed and
ready to raid the house at Oscar’s side.

He patted the man’s shoulder, causing rain
water to splash from his uniform. “You’re a good man. I’m sorry
that our big town mess came to your peaceful burgh. I’m hoping to
end it without any more blood.”

“I believe you,” Wiles stated. “But none of
that will matter once Captain Phenton gets here. And the
negotiator.”

“I am just a guest, Wiles,” Oscar clarified.
“You have been in charge this whole time. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” the officer agreed. “Thank
you.”

“ETA on Captain Phenton and the
negotiator…Mr…?”

“Dr. Duley,” Detective Wiles said, filling in
Oscar’s verbal blank. “Not too long. We have five to ten minutes on
the captain.”

“Doctor?”

“PhD,” Wiles informed the detective. “In all
things criminal and hostage…I would assume. Can’t be sure.”

“I don’t know him,” Oscar admitted. “I’m not
sure how that is possible,” Oscar mumbled, before verbally running
down a mental checklist with the young officer. “Phone still not
working? Damn. Got the snipers into place? Good. Parameter secure.
Great. I wish that I knew what Ashe was doing in there. I wish
there was some way to speak to him.”

“You could call his phone,” Wiles suggested.
“Does he have his cell phone on him?”

Oscar looked over at the officer. “I’m going
to pretend you didn’t just ask me that. We have a good thing going
on here. Don’t mess it up.”

The young officer coughed and cleared his
throat but didn’t reply.

“Damn it!” Oscar cried out, wanting to punch
something hard, hard but soft enough to break underneath his
intense anger. “Fuck! I hate not knowing what is going on
there.”

“What is the protocol when communication
fails?” Wiles asked.

The detective glared.
“You don’t want to know.”

Chapter 61

“How do you know what you saw is
accurate?”

“Because it
always
is,” Lucky Barrett
swiftly replied. “It is
always
right. Ask my wife…if you
could. But you can’t. You will have to take my word for it.”

The comment raised an animosity inside of
Ashe that roared from his chest into his face. He wanted to see
Lucky Barrett hung by his throat, a masked hangman by his side. He
wanted to hear the rope snap as the executer let the bastard fall
and swing. It was a hatred void of understanding and sympathy,
which went against Ashe’s very being. It was an instinctual need to
see the sorry sack of shit in front of him die. It was that simple.
And it was unabated by any form of logic and compassion. It was an
ancient form of thinking, something that had stuck around inside of
mankind since the days of caves and newly found fire. It was pure.
And it scared the hell out of him.

“But it can change,” Ashe pointed out to
Lucky. “You’ve done proven that. And so has Scott. And so had your
brother Franklin.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked,
startled. “What can change?”

“Death. The moment of its occurrence, that
is,” Ashe clarified. “Apparently what you see, or think you see,
can be changed. Scott avoided his roommate shooting him. Franklin
has apparently avoided getting killed for money.
You
…
you
have avoided your own death who know how many
times, I would assume, based on several circulated news stories
along with the few tall tales whispered amongst the dive bars and
back room poker games. It makes what you were shown completely and
utterly void. No longer true. You changed it. Right?”

“What are you getting at?” he demanded.

Ashe tilted his head a little further,
looking at Lucky Barrett like an amused dog, his expressions filled
with bafflement and light curiosity. It was a planned move on his
part, aimed at getting underneath of the Lucky’s skin, under it
enough to throw him further off balance. It better have the
expected affect, Ashe thought. If not, he might simply be poking a
pissed off bear. That would end badly. It always ended badly. “How
do you know what the pill has recently shown you to still be
accurate…up to date? Is all I’m saying.”

Lucky did not answer right away.

“You do not, is the answer,” Ashe
revealed.

“But…
I
have not changed anything,” he
replied. Ashe could clearly see the condensation of sweat as it
continued to pool within the folds of Lucky’s forehead. Like
Scott’s tears, it reflected the illumination of the low lying
lantern.

“No,” the psychologist concurred. “But the
pill might have.”

“The pill?” Lucky stopped fidgeting and
became eerily still.

“One pill being involved is simple,” Ashe
began. “However, both Scott and your daughter also took the same
pill. Two more pills have become involved in the mix. Maybe even
add Franklin in the pot to spice it up a bit. Things become quite
convoluted, muddied. Who knows what happens when multiple pills
cross paths and intersect. I have to say that all bets might be
off, at that point. The future could be continuously altering at
this point, without a single outcome set in stone. And you wouldn’t
know it. Would you? The outcome of this mess could be the outside
police putting a bullet into your skull. There might be an exit
wound…or there might not be. You don’t know.”

“I
will
know it,” Lucky insisted and
began to pat the pocket of his expensive pants. His suit jacket had
been allowed to remain on his upper torso. He checked the chest
pocket of it, as well. “Where is it?” He then glared at Scott. “You
have it. You took it from me.” The addict lunged over to Scott and
back handed him, drawing blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Stop!” Ashe called out. “Don’t do that!”

Lucky slapped
Ashe
as well, with the
same hand that had struck Scott. Ashe Walters refused to bleed, out
of sheer spite.

“Where did you put it? Where the hell is it?”
Lucky Barrett appeared distraught and mentally disheveled. He began
to desperately put his hands in and throughout Scott’s pants
pockets. He was searching any pocket that Scott had while swearing
and cursing nonstop in short, aggressive bursts of air. Lucky was
having no luck with his search. “Where did you put it? Where did
you hide it?”

“Paranoid?” the psychologist inquired.
“Uncertain of your future, Mr. Barrett? Fate no longer your play
thing?”

“Give it to me!” he screeched at Scott, who
remained still and silent.

“I think I dropped it,” Scott chose to admit,
“while I was running away from your goons. I’m not sure, though. It
might be upstairs. Maybe in the hallway or the bedroom”

“Liar! You hid it from me,” Lucky accused,
pulling back from Scott.

“Is this the kind of man you choose to
follow?” Ashe called out to the remaining armed man. The soldier
had remained nearby, but chose to give himself a secure distance
from what had been taking place. “A drug addict? How can you trust
an addict? You can’t. You can never, ever trust an addict. It’s
psychology 101, my dear boy.”

The armed man didn’t seem fazed or affected
in the slightest.

Lucky Barrett began to pace the floor. His
paranoia was eating away at his mental stability and he had no pill
to give him the instant assurance he craved. He was coming undone.
It was exactly what Ashe had wanted to happen.

He had extensively considered the man with
the gun and was positive that he was no psycho. Ashe was sure of
it. The man was most likely ex-military, former mercenary, turned
gun for hire to men like Lucky. He had been intensely, acutely
programmed to blindly follow orders from those with authority, and
nothing created authority more than piles of spendable cash. But,
as Ashe silently concluded, if the faith in those giving the orders
was destroyed, if a possible of not getting paid arose, the
allegiance would in turn suffer the effects.