Ashes (23 page)

Now Joel flipped pages quickly back and forth between his Word document and the Internet pages concerning the asylum Kyro had nearly convinced them held Emery.

“You've been looking at that screen all night. Aren't you tired?”

“Can't sleep.”
 

“Did you tell your girlfriend that we're storming into Troy in the morning?”

“We'll speak in the morning. And for the last time, she's—”

“Not your girlfriend, I know.”

“It bothers you, doesn't it?”

Aimee was good at hiding her emotions when she wanted to, though it was unclear how long she could keep up the façade. “A little.”

“Nothing happened.”

“You don't have to explain, right?” She coyly leaned up on her side and placed her left hand on her waist, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of the ring.

“Aimee, I…what are we?”

It was something her heart wasn't ready to respond to. The drive here from Connecticut had certainly been long enough to ponder the question, to cleanse the murky waters they'd both wandered into. But here she was, being asked a question that had lingered in the back of her mind for months. He asked her pointblank. And the safety was off.

“There's so much I used to know,” Joel started. “And now nothing seems clear. I feel so much…unrest. Forget it.”

“No, what is it?”

“There are two roads, Aimee. Who I am and who I hope to be when all this mess is over.”

“Will it ever be over?”

“I hope so. Every choice, it matters.
Everything we do or say, think, it has to matter.
It collides and has a purpose.”

Joel was speaking in circles, and she was waiting for him to make sense.

“I met Kyro only a few hours ago,” he continued. “I've known him less than a day, yet I feel like there's a part of me in him. A part of that burned-out fire I used to have. My doubts made me
second guess
it all. The spirit is willing…”

“…
but
the flesh is weak,” Aimee finished. Never before had those words held such potency.

“Something led me here, Aimee. Sure wasn't me.
Something
led me to him.”

“You think heaven is still rooting for us?”

“There are moments when I believe and others when it feels like heaven is on the side lines waiting for me to fall.”

“Maybe God is there. Maybe we just couldn't see him before. Maybe we didn't want to.”

“We're not good, Aimee. I'm not good.”

“No, we're not, but we're human.”

“That doesn't make me feel better.”

Aimee sat up and pushed a sigh out of her lungs. She never thought she'd be listening to one of his sermons again. But it was returning, however faint, that still voice she used to know. The one that lived inside Joel once upon a time, the one that got up in front of scores of people to give hope to the desperate.

“It's like a roller coaster. Up and down. Repeat. That snoring, smart-mouth kid, he believed in me. And I ignored it, Aimee. It's sick. I was ready to give up…again.”

“But you didn't. We live in the moments between our choices, I think.”

“He came back. I don't usually get a second chance. It's strange, you know, meeting him. In a lot of ways, he makes me think.” Joel chewed his bottom lip and swallowed hard. “Maybe
he
's like the son
we
…”

Aimee brushed her hair back. “It's all right, Joel. It was a long time ago. We can talk about it.”

“No, come to think of it, I'm not sure I want to.”

“It happened for a reason, right?”

Joel's eyes cut right through her.

“The miscarriage was hard. I lost a piece of myself when it happened. Our baby. My son.” Aimee choked up. “But we were able to focus completely on Emery, right?” She was searching for his confirmation, even though she knew it wouldn't come.

“Her accident changed all of us. But losing a son, there's no fixing that.”

“It wasn't easy for me, Joel. It wasn't easy.”

“You blamed me when you lost the baby.”

“I was scared, okay? You weren't around. Gosh, you were gone so much. The stress, it was eating me inside. I fell down those steps, and you weren't there to catch me.”

“I've regretted my decisions every day. Leaving you like that. But nobody had it easy, Aimee. We both lost a son. That was the hardest thing in my life to endure.”

“Harder than this?” she asked softly. “These last few months have been misery.”

“Whether you drown or burn, does it matter? You're still dead.”

“Yeah.” Aimee stared at his back. He wasn't typing anymore, but he never turned around to face her. Was it judgment for the guilt she'd put on him for so many years? Was it fear of looking her in the face? They had made a promise not to talk about it ever since it happened. But losing one child is complicated
;
losing both, unfathomable. Tonight seemed like as good a night as any to resurrect old demons.

Still, it was vexing talking to him so vulnerably. She kept noticing the ripples in his shirt, how his spine tugged gently against the fabric, or the manner in which part of his collar stuck up in the back. She studied his pale skin, the kind Emery had inherited from his side. His skin color changed enough for summer, though, most of the time.

How stupid were these thoughts, these useless bits of information? They wouldn't cleanse her of the trouble; they wouldn't give them a second chance. They were only thoughts. That was all they'd ever be.

Another tear slid to her lips. She could taste the salt and the renewed memories she'd fought hard for so long to suppress.

“Aimee, I should've been there,” he said. “All those years, I should've been there.”

“I drove you away. I was suffocating you, and you had your ministry. I just kept hearing my mom's nagging voice every time you left. It made me start rethinking what we had. That's not your fault.”

Joel nodded slowly. “We can't change those things, Aimee, but the past doesn't have to follow us forever.”

She was ready to change the subject; otherwise, there would be a river of tears collecting at her feet. Aimee unzipped her suitcase and pulled out a large photo album. “Do you remember when we met?”

“Of course,” Joel confessed. “It was a U2 concert. Rained like crazy.”

“My friend Gail set us up. Blind dates were never my thing.”

“Me neither, as you quickly learned.”

Aimee flipped the book open and selected a few photographs. Joel turned around and edged closer to the bed, to where she was.

“Here's one.” She smiled, almost embarrassed. The picture she handed over was of herself in a white t-shirt. The rainstorm left her wishing she'd worn a bra that wasn't black. “I sure know how to kill those first impressions, huh?”

“We got soaked that day. I was just glad to get outta the house, even if I hated the band.”

“They were not that bad,” she fought to convince him.

“To an unrefined musical palate, perhaps.”

Aimee shoved him gently. “I liked 'em. Just because you got dragged on a blind date, doesn't mean the band sucked.”

“Yeah, maybe I was too much of a critic. I think you knew the words to every single song.”

“Please, you loved my voice.” Aimee said it more for her own embarrassed ego than thinking he might actually agree.

“I did. I loved to hear you sing. And when they came onstage for the encore, I thought you'd be lost in the magic all night.”

Aimee was frozen, the way she was when they met for the first time. Hair messy, shirt soaked and muddy and showing off the only clean bra she had. She wanted to belt out a note right here, but she didn't want to risk waking their new friend, who seemed to be lost in a strange dream and was talking in his sleep.

“Do you remember what happened next?” she asked him, looking down at the spread of pictures in the album. How young they were, in love from the first moment. Not caring about each other's pasts or the control both their families would have over their relationship. They were two naïve kids, ready to tempt love.

Joel placed the photograph of them down on the mattress, and with his hand, he lifted Aimee's chin. He stared into her eyes, and she, afraid to look away, stared back. Her makeup was running. She hadn't worn any for him in months, and tonight of all nights, tears had to come.

“I said you were beautiful.” Joel spoke to her in a whisper. “And then I kissed you.” Slowly, his lips got closer to hers, and she felt weak before him, her heart quivering and not knowing what to do. Did she want this? Was she ready to let him in again? Did Joel really think she was still beautiful?

 
Their lips touched. She could feel his fingertips inside her hair. With the other hand he held hers. Before she had time to think, Aimee pulled away. She could still taste him on her tongue, but there was no trace of alcohol, only the flavor from his lips more than twenty years ago.
Familiar and inviting.
She wanted more. As she leaned into his mouth a second time, Aimee returned to her youth; she was young and beautiful once more. She wasn't worn out and bitter.

“I'm sorry,” she said, this time not caring if she bled tears. Where this new passion came from or how long it would last, she didn't know. But she welcomed it. It didn't matter if Redd had stolen a kiss from Joel tonight, because now Aimee had his complete focus.

It was their chance to put the clocks in reverse, to experience their first true kiss a second time. Aimee was reborn, remembering the way it felt to drown in a sea of rain, music, and unknown faces.

31

 
 

THE MAN COULDN'T SCREAM. The razor sharp wire was around his fat neck before the door whispered shut. She'd done this before.

A human body's first instinct is to fight for survival, to war with the evil seeking to end it. She knew the pattern of human stains well, and this
body-flopping
was usual. His vocal cords scratched, and his arms swung, phlegm sticking to her wrist as the violent dance carried her between seconds. His hot breath poured over her. Spit flew into her mouth. First she aimed to steal his balance, knocking out both kneecaps with the heel of her boot. And then he bowed before her.

She could see the veins in his eyes gaze up at her, asking for more time, vision ready to turn into a million colorful blotches against a wall of black. He was
all shaky, elbows
knocking back and forth, desperate for new air, like a baby from a womb. He managed to claw once at her face before his cheeks turned into pale-blue spheres with needle hairs reaching out.

The struggle was short lived, though, and this overweight terror proved little more than she'd expected. The obvious horror of approaching death forced every frail soul to its knees. More time, more breath, they always wanted. This chunk of human sorrow was no different.
 

And then, like clockwork, he stopped moving. Complete. Lifeless. Torn from this world. This part never used to bother her. The killing. Or, as she called it, recycling. But lately, she was developing a conscience, and she didn't like it.

The wire remained tight on her black-gloved palms until she peeled it from her grip. The metal cut into the fabric pretty good. Her victim had dented the closet door during their war, and now the hinge didn't swing right. A mirror had also broken, but that would be easy to replace. She had a few hours before sunrise. Despite her considerably small frame, she wasn't one to forfeit a fight.

After dragging him into the bathroom, she pulled a tight rope from her jacket sleeve. She tied it to the man's gullet and strung him up in the shower. He swung there until at last, there was no moving at all. No creak. No tug. The mess of an innocent man now hung by the thread she'd be hanging from if she weren't careful. Still, those haunting, bloodshot bullets shot right through the gate she once believed to be impervious to quiet suffering. Pain like this she swore she'd never have to endure again. And until tonight, she had kept that promise.

Why was this so difficult? The reasons and the rhymes seemed already obsolete to her. The curtain couldn't hide this guiltless man's shadow. And his phantom of a stare still searched for her even though her back was turned. The blood had to come off.

Instantly, she reached for the faucet and tried to scrub her skin. Her palms and wrists dried with black blood.
Her own blood.
The man had put up a decent fight.
Who is he?
she
wondered for the first time.
What is his name? Does he have children?

She imagined him as some overworked, discontented stockbroker who went to cheap motels to get lucky.

Maybe he was a frustrated, bitter uncle who had raped his niece.

What if he sold pot to middle school kids?

He had to be a threat. He had to be some kind of evil the world no longer had use for.
 

But she'd be protected. It was all part of the plan. She fulfilled what was necessary to ensure the future, to ensure her selection, her safety when the world became different. The details and the liner notes in between shouldn't have mattered.
 

But they were starting to.
 

The mystery of losing the one person you cared most about could make a person colder than death. What difference did it make how many she killed or how many she led astray? All of it fled toward the inevitable.

The faucet kept spilling out water as the cut on her cheek dripped blood into the sink. There was only a small mark on the skin where the man's filthy nails had clawed; but underneath, that's what bothered her. It was her ruined humanity, her soul. She swallowed hard, taking sips of the water her mind perverted,
convinced
this was the blood of others and more to come.

There were no options, no more. She had to follow through with it, no matter how much it stung. It was quiet next door.
Far too quiet.
She wondered what conversations Joel and Aimee were exchanging, deeply aggravated by her carelessness. Why had she not planted a chip in their room? Was it on purpose? Was she really becoming that vulnerable?

“You're weak,” she spoke to her reflection. “You're not like him.”

But she
was
like him. She was strong.
Strong enough to begin and strong enough to end.
Wasn't she? She had to be. Tomorrow, if she didn't stop it, everything would change. She would have to do what she swore she never could when this all began.

The vibrations of her cell phone on the wet counter sent chills up her spine. It was Saul Hoven. She wasn't ready to give a report. She wasn't prepared to confess that she was sick of the lies, sick of leading two broken people to the slaughter. She should've killed them when the arson was taken. Oh God, why did she prolong the inevitable?

Because you didn't think they'd get this far? They weren't supposed to get this far.

Her cell vibrated again.
And again.
And again.
It wouldn't cease, like a machine gun going off in her brain. Her blood curdled whenever the sound came. Her ribs embraced the impact of a frightened heart. And suddenly, a flood of tears slipped down crimson cheeks.

At last, she'd reached the point of no return. Joel, Aimee, and that thug boy knew too much. They were getting too close. Finally, she realized that this was the soul she had created, the horror she had painted with her own hands. She was cold and calloused. She was a soldier, a murderer.
 

Redd pulled out the 9 millimeter that was tucked into her lower back and put a silencer on the lip. She pointed it at the bathroom mirror, pictured it shattering. Then she nudged the weapon underneath her chin, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.

But nothing happened. Gasps later, she was blinking. A silent curse slipped out. There were no bullets in the chamber.

It wouldn't be that easy.