Distortion - Street Noise - Scene One Rewrite - In Progress...

A man in black rushed behind a gray Chevy Suburban across the street. Theron "Ash" Ashland spotted him through the window of The Grounded Café while waiting for his morning Java Chip Frappe'. Wait, was he wearing combat gear?
 

Ice-shards tore down his spine, his heart skipped a beat. The muscles in his right arm tensed as he reached for the Glock 9mm holstered on his side. Huh? He shook his head, on second glance the man was gone, a cloud of charcoal dust whisping into the air from under the SUV.

A breath slowly escaped his lungs, Ash released his grip on what he originally thought was his Glock 9mm, but he now realized was a holstered steel tape measure. He wasn't licensed to carry anymore, so he typically didn't. He let his arm slowly lower to his side as he closed his eyes. Deliberately inhaling slowly, silently counting to ten, . The scents of blonde roast and espresso filled his mind and centered him.

Eight years away from any war zone and apparitions still haunt him. Eyes open again, the world returned to normal. No threats. No combat zone. Just passers-by; shoppers on a crowded small-town tourist street in Orion, Oregon. A town known for its big-game hunting cabins, as well as its boutiques and quaint scenery.

The reflection of the café window caught the silver lining the side of his head. Ash thought it made him look wiser, almost regal. The creases near his eyes and lips betrayed a man older than he actually was. You're too damn young to feel this old buddy, Ash thought. Despite multiple tours in hot arid deserts, he still couldn't hold a tan. He turned red, pealed, and turned white again. He enjoyed these mountains as it rarely got above 85 degrees in the heat of summer.

Movement from above, just outside the window caught his attention. The shade of a Basswood tree was crawling down the sidewalk for the days' last stretch. A yellow and orange leaf twirled down, landing on a coffee table on the empty patio.

A young college girl walked by outside, face glued to her screen like so many others. She bumped into an elderly homeless gentlemen but didn't look up, or give any indication to acknowledge the incident. The old man walked off mumbling to himself. A gray dust cloud hung around the girl's shoulders like a shawl, and riding the cloud was a small green frog with red eyes. Its legs disappeared into the mist, becoming one with it.

As she passed, the frog held Ash's gaze; head turning unnaturally backward. He shuddered, no matter how many times he saw them, they were still creepy. They weren't always frogs, and they weren't often cute. Even after eight years of seeing the various creatures crawling on people, they were sometimes terrifying.

He was coping with combination of Prazosin, Dr. Pepper, and Jack Daniels; and a guarded distance from his fellow man. It was dangerous to spend too much time talking anyone, he'd learned to shield his reactions to the dust clouds and companions that appeared and disappeared at will, but the reactions sudden appearances sometimes caused him to jump at the wrong point in the conversation.

To the best of his knowledge, nobody else could see the colorful dust clouds that wrapped people like a shawl or overcoat, nor the variety of creatures that accompanied some of them. Each person's cloud seemed to be colored by their mood or attitude. Not everyone had a creature companion, but many did. This insight was his unique gift, a prize brought home from overseas.

 

"Don't worry so much," Ash could still hear his doctor's advice from their last session a few weeks earlier. "We’re just beginning to understand PTSD and many veterans come back with hallucinations. The mind is a marvelous adapter to stress. As long as these phantoms do not interrupt your daily work, or cause you to want to harm yourself or others, you should be fine. Consider yourself lucky. Just think of them as a construct of your over-active imagination, an amusing distraction from the mundane realities of life."
 

"Ash," the Barista called him back to the present. "One Java Chip. Are you ever going to let me talk you into trying something else?"
 

Ash turned from the glass reflection, walked to the counter, and replied, "I doubt it, Jake, maybe next time," He grabbed a sleeve and slipped it on the plastic cup. Even in winter he wanted cold drinks, a thirst from hot desert war zones that could never be quenched.
 

"That's what you said last week. You working on anything new lately?" Jake asked.
 

Ash forced a smile and glanced up to look Jake in the eye, no creature today. Ash took stuttered breath and replied, "Yeah, I've got a few new pieces. Just dropped them off this morning over at Woodmen Furnishings. You should go by later, a few of the other craftsmen were there... lots of new inventory."
 

"Will do," Jake said as he turned back to start another order. "Good to see you, as always."
 

Ash nodded and said, "You too," as he headed to a far corner and found his favorite leather chair.
 

He glanced around the café before taking a seat. Two women were talking about their kids. Three teenagers typing away on laptops as though their life depended on it. Two men had just arrived while he was waiting, they were having a meeting. One with glasses, the other in a black turtleneck. Always keep your back to the wall, stay as inconspicuous as possible. The need to be hyper-vigilant was like breathing, it never stopped. With the possible exception of the guy in the turtleneck who looked like he could handle himself, the room seemed fairly free of danger for the moment. He'd still keep an eye on Mr. Turtleneck. He bit his lip and sighed, You're doing it again... He took his seat, the leather hugged him like a cool blanket.
 

The morning paper had been abandoned on a nearby table, as was the café custom. He reached to grab it when he noticed several people outside turning and staring in the same direction. Others ran from across the street to join a crowd that was developing just outside the window. Whatever had their attention was just out of view.

Not one to ignore possible danger, he reluctantly got back up and headed outside. After he exited the front door, he turned to the crowd. The man with the glasses followed from inside the coffee shop, turtleneck in tow. Turtleneck bumped into him. "Excuse me," the man said flatly but he kept walking.

A voice from the direction of the crowd was yelling something he couldn't quite hear. He could see the white hair of a man's head bobbing back and forth, "I know-- I know--- Shut up you!" the man kept repeating.

Ash wasn't going to get a good view from here, so he walked around the outside of the crowd, keeping his distance from actually touching anyone. The whisps of colorful dust rose and fell off each person. When people were close together like this the dust combined, grow even. He avoided getting near it if he could help it.
 

A woman in a red hoodie rushed passed him to join the crowd and knocked the coffee out of his hand. The lid popped off, contents spilling down the front of his jeans as it tumbled to its final resting place on the asphalt.
 

"Dang lady, watch it!" He said. She paid no attention, engrossed in whatever was happening just beyond his field of vision. "Whatever," he said, more to himself than her, and worked his way around the crowd.

A small boy in blue and white overalls let go of his mother's hand and started walking across the street. Ash's fingers fidgeted with the edge of his shirt, eyes darting between the boy, the oblivious mother, and up and down the street. "Ma'am?" he tried to call, but his voice cracked and she didn't hear him.

Not wanting to be accused of trying to hurt or take the child, Ash waited to see if the mother would notice but a car turned the corner. Sprinting to the middle of the road he grabbed the toddler and moved him out of the way of the oncoming traffic. The car barely stopped, looking at the commotion rather than the road. The kid laughed loudly, as though it were a game. The mother turned and saw Ash with him, eyes wide. Then she turned and saw the car that had just passed. Her eyes darted to the ground and back to the child. He skin turned a shade whiter.

Ash walked back across the street, child in his arms. "Ma'am, you really ought to be more careful. He ran out into the road." He handed the child back to her.

"Oh my baby! Thank you so much," she replied and turned to the child. She wagged her finger in his face, "How dare you scare Mommy like that! No! You hold my hand!"



He shook his head and sighed. Sure - it's the kids fault. Crazy people. The child, now glued on his mother's hip, smiled at him over her shoulder. The rock façade Ash kept in place for adults melted a little in the presence of happy kids. Ash smiled back, stuck his tongue out, and made a silly face. The little boy laughed. Kids were easier to handle than adults. No expectations of proper behavior. They either didn't notice you were being odd, or better, they appreciated you for it.

From this vantage point, Ash got a better view of the man yelling. He was wearing a tattered suit, head and shoulders above the crowd.

(Left off here)

Ash made his way further around the crowd and found a clearing on the opposite side. He pushed past a few people at the edge of the building and stepped onto the sidewalk. The elderly man, the one the little girl bumped into earlier, was now standing on the bed of a pickup truck. A tattered brown dress coat, stained with years of unwashed use, hung over his thin skin like a cape. The coat may have been black in a former life. A scruffy white beard hid his gaunt features.
 

It was Frank, now that he could get close enough to see him up close. Frank was one of the several train-hopping hobos that made camp on the outskirts of town. He came to pick up his Social Security check every month about this time. Ash had tried to reach out to him a few times, sat next to him on the bench and talked about the war. In his more lucid moments, Frank would tell Ash about Vietnam and tease Ash about having all the high-tech gear. Apparently, this was not one of his more lucis moments. In fact, he'd never seen him this bad. Frank was pulling strands of hair out of his own head arguing with what other people probably thought was an invisible force. The dents on the roof of the truck revealed the source of some of the noises he couldn't make out earlier. Then Franks eyes narrowed and he went into a fit and started banging his fists on the hood.

"Hey-- Stop it-- That's my truck you old idiot-- " a teenage boy yelled but stayed back.

Ash scanned the crowd for anyone to assist with the situation. The man with the glasses had managed to shove his way through on the other side of the crowd. Maybe that's Turtleneck's real job. Glasses had his eyes fixed on his tablet and not directly the scene, taking pictures no doubt, tourists. Several other's had their cameras on, taking live video. They always live behind their camera taking selfies and posting videos. Why can't people just be present, in the moment? Nobody seemed too interested in approaching the scene. Ash pulled out his flip-phone and pressed number one and held it a moment. I'm probably the last person on the planet without a smart phone, he thought. Orion PD displayed on the little screen, and he held it up to his ear.

"Yell-oh," his friend George answered.

"George. Ash. We need you down in front of the café. Frank, the old timer, he's gone totally off his rocker and he's causing property damage this time."

"I'll be right there," George replied. "See what you can do to keep him from hurting anyone."

"Heard," Ash said and closed the phone and put it in his pocket.

Frank stopped beating the truck top momentarily and lifted his eyes to the sky and screamed, "You always did love Mother best-- I know-- That's why-- You couldn't keep your mouth shut--". The rest of his words were unintelligible.

Ash turned his attention to the dust cloud rising up off Frank's shoulders. A creature emerged from the dust, only the top half visible. It bore some resemblance to a sloth but moved more quickly. It swayed from shoulder to shoulder, shouting in each ear, visibly agitated. Ash couldn't hear the creature, he never could, but it was obviously feeding the other side of the conversation Frank had been having.
 

The hair on his neck rose as he watched it. Could this be me if I stop taking my medication? He shuddered at the thought.

Frank's conversation was going badly and he started beating his forehead into the roof of the truck several times before slowing to an unsteady stop. Blood poured down the old man's face from a gash in the left side of his temple. He grabbed his face and bowed his head and started sobbing.

At the site of blood, someone shouted "Careful! He might be diseased." The crowd responded in unison with several steps backward, widening the semi-circle now almost fully formed around the truck and building.

I guess it's up to me, Ash thought. "Frank,"  he said and took a step forward to see if he could coax the man off the bed of the truck. "It's alright Frank. It's me, the high-tech woosie you love talking to. Come on down buddy." Three feet from the bed of the truck, Ash raised and offered his hand.
 

A larger creature rose from the mist behind Frank. This one had a different quality about it, more tangible. The bottom was still rooted in the dust rising and falling from Frank. The top of the creature was like that of a man, but it had the head of a bull with long horns shooting out to each side and curving upward. The Bull-thing was over nine feet tall, black skin made of charcoal, three white streaks across and down its chest in white chalk.
 

The bull creature cocked its head to one side and stared Ash in the eye. Its eyes were pools of black-smoke, billowing from their sockets. They pierced through him as none of the previous creatures he'd seen before. Other creatures seemed more interested in their hosts than Ash, but this one was staring him down. A fog entered his mind, his vision clouded over slightly. The muscles in Ash's jaw tightened, and he took a step back. A tingle ran down his thighs, he felt like he was suffocating.
 

The Bull-thing's mouth curved upward, eyes narrowed. It slapped the smaller creature into stillness and it disappeared into the mist. Frank looked confused at the sudden silence. The larger creature leaned down and spoke something into Franks' ear. The creature stood upright and evaporated back into the dust cloud. Frank turned to look at Ash, whose hand was still out to help him down. He looked at Ash's hand as though it were a weapon or snake. Frank's eyes narrowed,  face contorted. He screamed, "Ahhhhh!" and the truck bed gave a rusty creak as Frank leapt to the ground, spry for an otherwise elderly man. Head tilted awkwardly to one side, he ran at Ash with a wild deranged look in his eye.
 

Ash tried to step out of the way, or run, but his legs were now glued to the pavement. He raised his hands to prepare for a fight, but Frank jumped at him before he could properly react, they both went tumbling to the sidewalk.
 

Ash's head slammed into the concrete sending his vision swirling with white dots, and a throbbing throughout his skull. He could feel Franks' hands on his neck, tearing into the flesh. Making a fist, he aimed a punch at Frank through the white dots, where he figured his head would be. Frank released his grip with one hand and loosened the other.

Ash caught his breath. "Jesus," he cried as he recoiled at the throbbing in his throat and gagging on the scent of unwashed clothing.
 

Frank backed up and looked confused momentarily, as though he didn't know where he was.

Ash took the opening, kicked Frank in the chest and sent him sprawling backward. He struggled to his feet and half-fell forward as he punched Frank with a right-hook to the jaw. Frank spun back and fell to the sidewalk, unconscious. Ash fell beside him, one hand on his back and one hand on the ground. He took a deep breath, the skin on his throat burned. He reached to feel the man's neck for a pulse, still alive. Good.
 

Sirens pierced the air as a patrol car sped to stop a few feet away. Two officers got out and ran over, stopping just in front of Ash and Frank.
 

"Dang old man," George the police officer said. "You still got it!"
 

"I'll say. Remind me not to get on your bad side," the younger deputy said, cuffing the unconscious old man.
 

"Hey Ash, those cuts look pretty bad. You OK? " George asked.
 

Ash rose to his knees, took a few deep breaths. The throbbing in his skull was subsiding, but his muscles were fast becoming sore from the altercation. "Let me get you something for your neck," George said as Ash sat on a the curb. The deputy was kneeling next to Frank, checking pulse, talking codes into his shoulder-talkie.

A few quick swabs, and a band-aide or too was all he needed. "Want to file a report?" George asked as he finished with the bandages.

"Maybe later George, I'll let you know," Ash gave George the look they'd agreed on one day when they met for coffee after the Veteran's support group meeting. He was hoping George would leave it alone.

"Alright," George said and held his gaze a moment longer. He nodded as though he'd made up his mind and walked over to Frank. He turned over his shoulder, "But I want to see you tomorrow morning, you hear?"

Ash nodded, relieved to get away from the scene. So many people staring at him was making his skin crawl.
 

George looked down at Ash's jeans, "You get yourself cleaned up, we need to take Frank in anyway."

The two officers each grabbed one of Franks' arms and laid him in the back of the squad car. They didn't bother to belt him, body awkwardly sprawled across the back seat. The patrol car backed up and took off down the street.
 

"Are you OK sir?" a male voice spoke from in front of  him. A pair of highly polished leather shoes now occupied the ground in front of Ash's vision. Ash looked up slightly, the voice came from the man in glasses. He was wearing a yellow polo, with two overlapping Es, and gray slacks.

"I'll be alright," Ash replied reaching for the bump growing on the back of his head.

 

"That was quite brave," Glasses said. "To step up when others stepped back."

"Brave or stupid," Ash chuckled. "Ow..." the laughter hurt his head.

"Your coffee spilled," Glasses observed. "Every do-gooder deserves a reward. Can I get you another?"

 

With heart still stampeding through his chest, Ash replied, "Thanks for the offer, Mr.--?"

"Briar. Dr. Briar actually," the man replied.
 

"Well thanks for the offer Dr. Briar, but I've had enough excitement for one day. I just need to get home, and cleaned up." And a shower... and something way stronger than coffee....
 

"Another time then," Dr. Briar smiled, his pudgy flat face pinched a little too tight around the cheeks. Too interested, too helpful. But maybe Ash was over-reacting, considering the incident he just endured. Then again, turtleneck's total lack of personality kept him on the edgy side. Nah, he thought. You're doing it again....
 

He stood from the curb and waved them off. Ash walked down the street, wanting to get home, his refuge from humanity, as fast as possible. He needed to escape, re-center, and espresso wasn't going to do it this time. He needed a medically induced coma, 6 hours if he was lucky. He turned back one more time to glance at the location of the incident. Glasses was still watching him, turtle neck still behind. A nauseousness crept into his belly, and he turned back toward his truck. Ash kept an eye on window panes and the mirrors on cars he passed, to ensure he wasn't being followed.
 

In the town parking lot, just behind the main buildings, was his escape. The 1977 Ford F-150 wore a faded blue paint job, with the rust spot accents. He adjusted the mirror again, ensuring no one was watching him. The engine turned over like a beast waking from slumber. The Marvel-Beast bobble head shook with the roar of the engine. The cool-smooth-glass floor shifter knob was a familiar tactile sensation in his palm, and his stomach calmed a bit.
 

He made his way down main street. A few miles down the highway, he turned onto a private road. Taking the driveway two more miles into the woods, he parked in front a two story cabin-style home.

Ash glanced back one last time, ensuring nobody followed him. He paused and listened for any sounds out of the ordinary, tires on the gravel, shuffling in the house, a branch breaking. Paranoia satisfied, he inserted the key, opened the door, and flipped the switch.
 

Office to the left, den to the right, hallway, secure. He made his way down the hall to the kitchen, grabbed an orange bottle from the shelf and twisted the white top. They should call these adult-proof. Two blue peacekeepers dropped into his hand. He placed the pills on the counter, took a large plastic Braveheart collectors cup out of the dish drying rack. The pills washed down nicely with Dr. Pepper and Jack Daniels, half and half, over ice.
 

The stairs to the second floor were hard on his knee caps, but he managed with one hand, keeping a tight grip on the cup of sleep. The fight replayed in his mind. Ash walked over to the bookcase and pushed it aside, revealing a large steel Liberty Safe. A few spins of the dial, and the heavy door swung open. He may not be licensed to carry anymore, but that didn't stop him from keeping a stash of weapons, dating back several generations of Ashland's leading on up to his retirement from the United States Air Force, Special Tactics unit. Tonight felt safer with having something nearby, so he grabbed the Glock 9mm, two extra clips, and the holster and stashed them in the kitchen drawer so they'd be handy, just in case. House alarm set, he made his way out onto the patio which was tucked away out of sight. Police report, he remembered and grabbed a sticky note and stuck it to the face of the flip-phone.
 

The hammock swung slightly, creaking as it adjusted to his weight. It enveloped him like a cocoon, shielding him from the events of the day. The first signs of stars peeped through the evening sky. A chorus of crickets and critters chirped, his heart settling into the rhythm of the night as Ash finished off the last of Dr. Daniels' magic potion. The image of the man-bull lingered in his mind, so real, he laid his head down and the image faded to sweet nothingness.

 

The mess hall wasn't much to look at, a building in the middle of a desert Air Force base, thrown together with gray cinderblocks and a make-shift kitchen. It was over one hundred fifteen degrees outside, but the mess hall managed to keep a balmy ninety-five. The last of what passed for French fries sat on the tray in front of him. "Did you hear what General Akbar said?" two soldiers at the table in front of Ash were talking. "Yeah, another three months of this hell-hole." Ash stood, grabbed the brown plastic tray that doubled as a plate and walked to the trash to dump it.

There was a bright flash, a shockwave propelled him face first onto the wall, all went dark momentarily. When he came to, Ash found himself on the floor of what was left of the mess hall. For a moment Ash was deaf, accept a high pitched frequency ringing in both ears. Vision returning, bracing his hand on the wall, he raised to his feet, the air cleared some but smoke still obscured the scene as he tried to see what happened.
 

Heart racing, hearing normalizing. Nothing felt broken, everything moved. He took a step, nothing hurt. He tried to make out his immediate surroundings. The ceiling was caved in, mostly rubble. "Help me with this!" one soldier barked to another, they lifted several fallen cinder blocks from a fallen soldier's leg. From what Ash could tell from this distance it would need to be amputated. Another concussion came from outside, a cloud of dust and smoke rose to the sky, which was now visible from inside the mess hall.
 

Ash glanced once more at the scene in front of him, there were enough rescuers, he needed to stop the onslaught. He pushed through some fallen wall nearby and paused to listen. A third explosion hit a building on the far side of camp, there didn't seem to be a pattern.

An image of the armory, his rifle; he ran down the lane and hooked a left to the Armory. Rifle in hand, Ash took off and found a steel communications tower just higher than the rest of the buildings, and climbed to a small flat spot he could use as a nest. They were targeting large buildings, it was a risk, but an educated risk.
 

Ash steadied his breathing, after the long run and climb, and positioned himself low on the flat surface of the tower so his profile would be nearly invisible on the horizon. The high powered scope revealed ten men, faces covered by their keffiyehs and robes, hiding behind an outcropping of rocks and three old jeeps. Two of them were holding rocket launchers, two others were helping re-load. The rest were stationed around them with AK-74M Assault Rifles, ready to defend their position.

Taking aim at the bulky portion of the first rocket launcher itself, and not its handler, should incapacitate it, and Ash rarely missed. The unit exploded in its handlers face.
 

He looked away. This was his first kill, but his stomach turned a little each time. It's us or them, they'd started this, he would finish it. His blood boiled at the decision. Resolved, he peered back through his scope and found the small band of attackers had turned toward their fallen comrade, surprised by the explosion. The look on their face said that they thought it had malfunctioned.

That gave him the few seconds he needed to line up the second shot. A second explosion took the remaining rocket launcher and its handler out of commission. "Yes," he hissed to himself. The band no longer posed an immediate threat to his buildings from this distance, not with those rifles, but they were still a threat. A threat now reduced to eight with no long range weapons. Three of the men decided to leave the relative safety of the outcropping and run the mile and half of open desert firing at the outer walls of the base. Like ducks flying from a bush. Ash aimed and fired. Seven. Six. Five left. He re-centered his scope on the rocks, the remaining five popped up periodically, firing aimlessly.
 

Whack A Mole, he thought briefly, and a "hmph" escaped his throat. Ash fired each time he found a clean shot. Four. Three. Two. For less than 30 seconds, there was stillness from the desert. A shadow by the farthest Jeep. The last two crawled inside, the Jeep sped away from the scene. They were keeping low, out of sight. Ash aimed at the back of each front seat. Two. One. The vehicle drove erratically and crashed into the hill a little further out. The front gates of the base opened as an armored attack vehicle raced out. They'd clean up anything he missed, his job was done.

Back on solid ground, he surveyed the scene. Devastation. By the time he'd taken the rocket launchers out, there were four buildings decimated. The dead would be counted after the rescue was over. Despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that wouldn't leave, he chose to feel no remorse about the job he had to stop the attack. He brushed the feeling aside and ran to back to the mess hall to clean up.
 

As he ran down the street toward the mess hall, the scene turned white and morphed. Now he was jogging down a long hallway with white walls and porcelain tiles. He stopped before a door, tugged on his shirt, and glanced down at the letter he'd received that morning. "Due to valor in the line of fire, you are hereby invited to join an experimental program for soldiers with your unique skill set. Your invitation and participation is optional - classified as Top Secret. Please report for a briefing at 10:00 hours..." Ash glanced at his watch, 2 minutes to 10:00. The door plaque read: General Akbar.

He raised his hand and knocked. "Come," the voice replied. Ash opened the door, "Permission to enter, Sir?" General Akbar looked up, "Come in soldier." As he entered, General Akbar stood-

The image morphed again, General Akbar's uniform was now worn by a larger man shaped body, with the head of a bull. White striped streaked across its face.
 

The scene turned to black...
 

The sound of crickets slowly brought Ash back to his cabin patio. The hammock swinging slightly in the mountain breeze through the mountain pass. Another one, ugh. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at his wrist. 3:00 hours. His body ached, his heart was racing but his mind was foggy. Like it hadn't fully kicked on. Why would anyone live in a big city? Ugh... I need to go to town and file that report. Maybe George will come up here instead...
 

A single falling star shot across the night sky among the backdrop of a clear milky way. He decided to lay there until his mind rebooted or shut down.

END Scene 1

Me@DarrellWolfe.com

Posttraumatic Stress Disorder and Schizophrenia and Medication for PTSD


By Darrell Wolfe

Storyteller | Creative | INFJ | Intellection | Ideation | Input | Learner | Achiever | Multipotentialite

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene Four Rewrite

The smooth rise and fall of the Gibson Lucille's steel strings danced down from above as BB King's voice flowed like water through Ash's mind, washing over the events of the past few days.

"I can see why you like here," Grace said as she dropped a spoonful of peppermint ice cream into the coffee she'd just purchased from The Grounded Café. "... especially after retiring from the service so abruptly."

"Huh?" Ash replied. He felt his chest tighten at the intrusion of his past. "How...?" he couldn't finish the thought.

"Sorry, again," Grace said. "Reporter." She shrugged and tilted her head to one side.

"Gotcha," that made sense, the tightness released a bit.

"So," She glanced around a moment. Seemingly satisfied they were alone, she pulled out her phone and slide the screen to a web browser. "Are you sure you've never heard of Dr. Briar before this week?"

She pressed a bookmark and handed the phone to Ash. The website for Esion Etihw Institute was impressive. The facility on the front web page reflected a series of white buildings against a backdrop of send and brush inland from the beach in Malibu, CA. One building stood apart with 13 stories of glass at odd angles reflecting the light of the sun above and its reflection from the sand below. "No, I can't say I have heard of him before."

"The tall building is Esion Tower. They pronounce that second word like ET-Heeu. Check out the about page," Grace said as she took the phone swiped, clicked, and handed it back. Ash read the landing page.

 "Have you ever wondered what is just beyond this world? Have you thought there had to be more? Religion and Spiritualists have let you down? Turn to science. Our work in quantum mechanics and extra-dimensional evolution is providing solid scientific answers to many of life's oldest questions. The Esion Eti'hw Institute was founded on the groundbreaking principals outlined in the thesis 'Unlocking the Extra-Normal Mind. A study of the human mind’s unlocked potential', By Dr. Richard T. Briar."

"This guy sounds totally off his rocker," Ash said as he handed the phone back to her. "I'd ask you if you were sure he's involved, but I met him yesterday. What do you think he's up to?"

"I know this much, when this guy shows up people die. I did find his name tied to various research grants dating back 20 years. He has open grants with DARPA, MIT, and several other universities. It's just a hunch, but I'm thinking that he's running human testing without approvals."

"But that doesn't make sense," Ash countered. "What kind of test involves emptying two clips of 9mm rounds into an old homeless man?"

"Good point..." Grace admitted. "I guess I'm letting my imagination get the best of me. But he's got to be up to something."

"And now I'm stuck in the middle of it..." Ash sat back and put his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes but the image of the bull came back again as the rhythm of 1,000 hoofs beat against his chest. The beating ceased when he opened his eyes again.

Grace had one eyebrow raised, "You alright?"

"I will be, maybe... Uhg..." Ash remembered. "I forgot my meds at the house. Come to think of it, I don't have a house right now either. That's a bummer."

"Hate to break it to you, but the hotels are booked with reports... like me." Grace bit her lip and put her index finger to her nose. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. It made him feel like a side show, he shifted in his eat. "Tell you what... I've done my homework on you. I don't think you are a killer. I couldn't get much out of that Police Chief but I can tell he trusts you. I'm not letting you out of my sight, you are the best lead I've had on this yet. Let's get you up to your place and ask the deputy watching the house to get your meds for you. Then we can figure out how to get you a place for the night. Deal?"

"Sounds good to me," Ash felt his face heating up. "Thanks, by the way."

"Don't mention it," Grace packed her things into a messenger bag and they hopped in the convertible. The tires chirped as she threw it into gear and raced out of the parking space onto the street. She turned to him and grinned, then back to the road. Once out of the town proper, she down shifted and the engine roared to life. She raced around corners and bends. When they pulled up to his drive way there was smoke rising from the tree-line. As they turned a corner they found carnage. The police cruiser was burning whole filled with bullet holes. He imagined they would match the caliber of a rifle he owned. The officer on duty slumped over the doorway, obviously gone to this world. Yellow and red flames poked through every window, and crawled over the roof.

"This is no accident," Ash said. He punched the dashboard, a small crack left behind. He turned and looked every direction, then scanned the edges of the forest. No sign of people, no glints or reflections. "We need to leave, now!"

Grace didn't second guess him, she yanked the shifter into reverse and spun 180 degrees out of the path into the driveway. Dust flew from the back of the car and the tires squealed when she hit the road back to town. Ash was watching the smoke rise from his perfectly built cabin style home when he noticed a gray suburban coming around the bend and picking up speed.

The pit of his stomach dropped as the suburban gained on them. He reached to tap Grace on the shoulder and motioned to the back. "That's the same suburban I saw outside the café the other day. Faster!"

Grace tried to down shift for more speed but accidentally shifted too many gears down and the car slowed abruptly. The Suburban caught up in seconds and slammed into the back of the BMW. The tires chirped as she found a new gear and tried to speed away. Ash reached for his Glock to fire at the driver, then remembered he wasn't carrying any weapons. He searched the car for something, anything. "Do you carry a gun?"

"No," she said, then swerved around a corner. "But I'm about to start I think." He glanced at her and her eyes were wide, mouth tight.

The car jerked forward again as the Suburban made another attempt to crush them. The car jerked again, this time Ash felt the wheels lose their grip and the car slide into a fish tail. The car spun several times as it careened toward  cliff. Ash knew these roads by memory, scanned the side of the hill, grabbed the wheel and aimed them for where he remembered was a bank of trees he'd used as a hunting blind the previous summer. "I hope this works," he half murmured.

The red BMW flew off the edge of the cliff and for a breathless moment Ash felt weightless. Is this what it's like to be Superman? Is that what people think about just before they die in a car accident? The thoughts battled for what seamed like an eternity. Grabbing Grace's seat belt and his, he yanked to tighten their hold and braced with his arms over his face, she copied him.

The sound hit first. Steal crunching, tires thudding, glass shattering, pop-hiss went the airbags. Then the airbags punched his arms and chest like a prize fighter. He'd have bruises if nothing else. He opened his eyes, surprised to be alive, and glanced around. The BMW rocked in the cradle of three massive crisscross trees growing out of the side of the mountain's edge. He turned to Grace, who was moaning but alive. "Are you hurt?"

"Define, hurt?" She said and turned with a forced grin. "That's some stunt you just pulled soldier. We're alive."

"I guess I still got it," he prided. Then he recalled the suburban. From this angle it would be hard to see the car from the cliff top. The rumble of an SUV engine hummed from 25 feet up at the top. "Can you move?" Ash whispered holding his finger over his mouth.

"I think so," She said and double checked her limbs. She nodded yes a second time.

Ash turned to climb out and over the back of the convertible. The climbers rope he'd tied to the tree at the start of summer was still anchored to a few branches. He'd left it hoping for one more good trip before the end of the season. This spot was nice because it was out of the way of normal hunters, and he wouldn't be asked for his license.

Ash went first, holding the rope with two hands and wrapping his feet around the bottom to secure himself. He inched down and then looked up to Grace to see if she got the idea. To his surprise she was already in position and nodding to hurry. A few rocks loosened and slid down the side of the hill.

Ping came a sound from the car, followed by a thunderous crack from further up the hill. Gunfire. Ash and Grace hugged the hillside to avoid the fire. The car was hit a few more times, one shot ricocheted off a branch an inch from Ash's head. They stayed silently in position, waiting.

After a few moments the suburban roared to life above and dirt flew over the edge peppering Ash's air. The sound of the engine grew distant, so they started to move down. His hands were burning, as he imagined Grace's were. They reached the hiking path that he'd used to get to the edge, and he was glad to be done with the rope. His callouses were still hard, but his palms were burning. He took her hands in his and they were bleeding slightly. He tore a piece of his shirt and wrapped each with it, then nodded to follow.

As they made their way around the farthest edge of the trail the branch to his right splintered, followed by crack from above. He glanced back to the top of the cliff and a clear sight of Sven standing at the tope with a scoped sniper rifle. They both held each others gaze for a moment, then Sven smiled and took aim. Ash threw Grace back against the cliff out of site and pushed himself unto her to hide himself too. "This should be fun!" a voice called from above.

Grace throat throbbed a systolic/diastolic drum beat against his cheek as he covered her. Her breath against his ear raced in sync with his. He knew that look. He'd seen it in his own eyes as he prepared for missions. This was a hunter of men.

Ash raised his head slowly to peak at the top of the cliff then led her by brail through the trails. When they reached flat ground he kept them in the shadows but he raced as fast as he could. "It's only for the worst emergencies," he confided as he led her over fallen trunks and deer trails. "I think this counts."

"Where are we going?" She asked.

"You'll see," Ash whispered. "Keep your voice down."

The canopy was still functioning as it was supposed to and Ash could only tell a building existed through the branches because he built it. Pushing a set of branches to one side, he turned the handle and opened the door. After Grace was inside, he put the branches back and closed the door, followed by a two by four mimicking an old castle lock. There were no windows, but he didn't need a lot of light. The messenger back survived the fall and he'd brought it with him. He reached in and found her phone and swiped it on. He didn't prefer modern technology but it made a good light for the moment.

The hide-away was one room, lined with three tunnels into the hill. "I need you to go down that way," he said motioning to the tunnel on the farthest right and handing her a flashlight he kept in a drawer. "Go to the end, it'll open at the base of a hill. Stay there at the edge of the tunnel until I come for you. OK?" Grace nodded her understanding, but her eyes were struck with terror. "You'll be alright. Trust me." She turned and headed down the way he directed.

Ash .... TBC

By Darrell Wolfe

Storyteller | Creative | INFJ | Intellection | Ideation | Input | Learner | Achiever | Multipotentialite

• See my full about page and disclosures: Click Here. 
• Also check out my Resources and Suggestions for writers (here). 
• To Subscribe to the RSS: Click Here
• For Non-Fiction writing by Darrell Wolfe: Click Here

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Distortion - Street Noise - Scene Three Rewrite

Exhaustion finally hit, so Ash laid down.  As he stared at the ceiling of the prison cell he thought, the confine of the prison is actually kind of nice. It's safe here, less noise to shut out. No clouds. Maybe I'll like prison. Then the dust that so often followed others started seeping into the cell and swirling around him until darkness overtook him.

Brightness stung his eyes as he came back to the world of the living. He rolled over but pulled back suddenly when his skin touched the edge of the wall. The cold surface shocked him further awake, was it metal? 

Ash's vision refused to return properly at first, but as he adjusted he found himself in a white-permeated room. After further examination, the walls were made of a hard metal, painted in high-gloss white, with no seams anywhere to be seen. A soft hissing sound came from overhead. He tried to see where it was coming from but the thousand tiny lights were too bright to see past, maybe the air conditioner. A white cardboard box sat on a thin snow-white metallic table in a small space covered in white painted titanium walls. The monochromatic nature of the room, combined with the hissing and brightness were a disorienting combination.

"How did I get here?” Ash said out loud. The slight echo of his voice his only reply.

Looking down he noticed for the first time he wearing a white form-fitting uniform. A single thick black stripe ran down the side of both arms and legs. It was like spandex, full body style. His pale southern sunburn looked worse against the white fabric.  Despite years in hot arid climates, he could never hold a tan. Disorientation started to settle down and he found his bearings to stand. He walked the ten by ten room, feeling the wall for a seam or any indication that there was an opening.
Finding no escape, thoughts move to business, take stock. Name/Rank: "Captain Therun Ashland, USAF”, he said out loud again. He waited for some kind of movement or someone to address him through a speaker system, but he received no such response. Taking inventory of his body, every part was accounted for, legs, arms, toes, fingers, the scar on his neck under his left ear. No pains, other than the usual.

Ash tried to recall his last memory before finding himself in this room, but he couldn't seem place a specific memory. His mind was empty of anything more relevant than Name/Rank. Obviously he'd been handled before arriving here and must be under surveillance this very moment. There were no apparent doors or windows and no way to defend against attack without knowing where the openings are. Then again if he were going to be killed he would be in some dank dark prison cell not this whitewashed room in some overly tailored biking suit. Still, better to be defensive and keep himself against a wall ready to react.“Bring it in Ash, bring yourself together… What is the last thing you recall? The last solid memory was opening an invitation to meet with General Akbar and walking down the hall to his office. There was no other memory. He woke up here.

The box on the table was the only thing in the room with him, besides the table itself, which seemed to be built into the floor. He approached the table cautiously. The legs and table appeared to be built of high strength metal, not breakable by hand. He gave the table a shove putting his weight behind it, not even a budge. The package seemed like any US Post Office shipping box-minus the labels. It was sealed in white duct tape end to end.

Ash peeled at the tape slowly, ready to react to its contents. This box was obviously here for him, it was the only thing in the room, and no-one had reacted to his being awake. Laying the tape aside he opened the lid and found an iPhone, neatly wrapped in plastic. He opened the bag and turned on the phone.
It booted silently- then he heard the sound of metal scraping.

Voices

Keys in a gate, or latch... the sound seemed to come from everywhere...Then Ash woke up, silently. As though he'd been awake for hours. He took a deep breath which completed the transition to morning. He was sweating slightly, but not drenched. He could hear voices down the hall but couldn't make our the words. Two sets of shoes approached, one heavy footed male, Bobby if he wasn't mistaken. The other clicked and clacked, high heels if he wasn't mistaken.

"He's right through here. I can't let you in, but there's a chair by the door." It was Bobby, that one for two.

"Thanks, Bobby," the voice was female and familiar. "I really appreciate your letting me see him." Grace rounded the corner first, followed by Bobby in Uniform. Gone was the jogging outfit and red hoodie, replaced by a red blazer, black pencil skirt, and red high heels. Two for two.

Bobby brought the chair over and set it by the door of the cell, then tipped his Ashland PD Ball Cap and left. Grace took a seat and pulled a yellow legal pad and pen from her bag. He hair was pulled back in a pony tail still, but the loose strand from yesterday was now fully tucked away. She glanced over her shoulder and watched Bobby shut the outer hallway door, then turned back and gave Ash a weak and somewhat pathetic smile.

"Do I look that bad?" Ash asked and sat up on the edge of the bed to face her.

"I'd say you looked a fair bit better yesterday," Grace replied. "I hope you don't mind. They let me in when I said I was a friend, and flashed my reporter 'get anywhere you want' credentials."

"No," Ash said and started to chuckle at the absurdity of this second meeting. "I'd like some company to keep me in the land of the sane for just a little longer." He liked this person. Something about her was disarming and he felt the walls he'd spent so many years building crumble to the ground like old burned newspaper.

"So..." She hesitated. Her nose wrinkled and she bit her lip. Then she started again. "Have they told you what's going on yet?"

"Well," he started to say then shook his head. Where do I start? "I was attacked by a crazy homeless man, Frank, the day before yesterday. I had a horrible night that night, took several meds and drank until I passed out. The next morning my Glock 9mm was missing and Frank was dead. George confirmed the bullets were a match the gun registered in my name, the one that was missing but when I took George back to my house the Glock was suddenly back again. That's when George arrested me. Someone could have broken into my house last night, but all the possibilities around that make no sense. Who would have known I'd pulled the gun out that night, I usually keep them locked up. So now I'm starting to think I went sleep walking, half way across town to another hillside, and killed a homeless man... in my sleep? That doesn't make any sense either. I must sound nuts... huh?" Ash couldn't tell if she was reacting to any of this, her expression looked worried before he started talking. She didn't seem any more surprised, so that's was a consolation.

"I don't think you did it," She said. "I have reason to believe that something else is happening here, I just haven't put my finger on it yet. You, my friend, are at the epicenter of it. Congratulations," Grace said and put her notebook down. "You just got a living shadow. I'm not leaving your side until we figure this out." She forced a smile, and tilted her head back in a show of confidence.

"I hate to waste your time," Ash replied. The tiny window, high on the wall, revealed a few clouds rolling over the hills. It's getting darker by the second. He turned back to Grace and replied, "...I really am a messed up guy, lots of psychiatric history, it really is possible, however unlikely, that I killed that guy. I guess you can at least get the exclusive interview, but I don't think I'm going anywhere."

"Maybe-" She started. "Let me ask you something, have you ever seen this man?" Grace pulled out a photo of a pudgy man with bald head and graying hair around the sides.

"Yes, actually, I think I have," Ash took the photo through the bars of the cell door and stared at it a moment. The picture caused the hair on the back of his neck and head to stand on end. "I met this guy yesterday, a doctor something."

"His name is Dr. Richard T. Briar PhD, author of a book entitled 'Unlocking the Paranormal Mind. A study of how the human mind’s unlocked potential', and he is a very bad man. What if I told you that it was he, and not you, who was responsible for the missing gun showing up again, and the death of the old homeless man?" Grace's eyes portrayed a stronger confidence in this statement than anything he'd seen from her yet, which encouraged him slightly.

"How is that possible?" He asked. "What would a scientist want with an old man, and why use my gun--" The revelation slowly dawned on him as plausible, the pieces fit better than anything he'd conjured so far. The easiest way to get away with killing someone was to frame it on someone else. "Oh... But... why kill an old homeless man?"

"Honestly," She said with a shrug, "I don't know. I haven't put that piece of the puzzle together. But I've actually been following this guy for several years. I believe he's been systematically assassinating random people around the country, and Frank was one of many more to come."

"That's an odd thing for a scientist to be involved in." Ash almost lost track of the fact he was sitting in a cell.

"That hulking guy in the turtleneck that follows Dr. Briar around..." Grace said and pulled out another photo, "... he's been with tagging along on these adventures for a few years now too. His name is Sven, I still can't get a last name. He usually shows up in town a few days after the doctor. Then, mysteriously, one or more people die within 48 hours."

"Hm..." Ash couldn't put his finger on it, but the story had a certain ring to it.

"So you can say 'thank you' now." Grace said, with a broad smile.

"Thank you for..." Ash felt puzzled by the statement.

"For saving your life," She said.

"Saving my life? I think you're jumping the gun a little, I'm still locked up."

"Not that. I mean," She mimed the action of a jogger knocking into him with her shoulder. "For knocking the coffee out of your hand yesterday. Sven bumped into you just outside the door of the coffee shop and dropped something that looked like white pills into your drink. I bumped into you to prevent you from drinking it...." She squirmed a bit in her chair. "And this is where I make a confession... My car didn't break down. I was at your house to see if you were still alive."

"Really?" Ash cocked his head and took a deep breath, trying to process this revelation.

"I've followed this guy around the country, but I usually ended up arriving after he'd made the kill. This is the first time I made it to a place before anyone died. This is my big breakthrough." Grace started to smile, then made a frown. "Now we just need to get you out of here."

"I can help with that." George walked up behind her without either of them noticing. "Turns out there are no prints on the gun or bullets, but we managed find a few prints in the house that were not yours. They came up with no hits, which is odd. They aren't yours or mine or Grace's here. I checked everywhere in and around the house, and there are signs that someone climbed down your roof and rappelled onto your balcony. The DA and I talked it over and he sent his own people out to confirm. You're blood tests came back with way too much sedative still in the system to have allowed you to make the trek out to the kill site yourself. The house has been sealed for evidence. He's asked for you not to leave town, but he says you are free to go for now. You'll need to get a hotel."

"George," Ash said. "You are a God-send. What would I do without you?"

"Don't thank me yet," George held up one hand as a warning. "This is enough to cast doubt on you being the killer, but not to remove you from the suspect list. You keep your head down and I'll let you know what I'm allowed to tell you when I'm allowed to tell you it. For now, stay low."

After a quick processing, Grace and Ash ere back on the sidewalk in front of the police station breathing the clean mountain air. The little hippy-town wasn't much to some, but it never felt more like home.

"Come on," She said. "Let's get another Ice Cream and I'll tell you more about my research. Then I can drive you back to your place." She held out her keys, pressed a round button, and a red BMW parked across the street beeped twice. "I really am sorry for lying to you yesterday. But it's kind-of part of the job for a reporter. I didn't know if you were trustworthy until now." She gave him a look that said she wasn't moving until he did.

"I understand," He didn't really totally understand, but it sounded like the right thing to say. Still, there was something about her he liked. Only George had managed to break that barrier before now, and she was better looking that George.

"I'll take you up on that Ice Cream," Ash said and led the way across the street."... and I'll raise you a coffee."

By Darrell Wolfe

Storyteller | Creative | INFJ | Intellection | Ideation | Input | Learner | Achiever | Multipotentialite

• See my full about page and disclosures: Click Here. 
• Also check out my Resources and Suggestions for writers (here). 
• To Subscribe to the RSS: Click Here
• For Non-Fiction writing by Darrell Wolfe: Click Here

Read more ...

Distortion - Street Noise - Scene Two Rewrite

The sun beamed directly into Ash's eye and woke him out of a drunken stupor. He remembered waking up at three am, laying there until four am. Finally to restless to stay, he went down to the kitchen and grabbed some more pills to add to his collection, and washed them down with another mixer. The walk down stairs had fully aroused what was left of his sleepy brain, but his body was still sore from the tussle with crazy old Frank.

He eventually found a comfortable spot on the couch and turned on re-runs of Star Trek. The last thing he could recall was Warf fighting in a Jem'Hadar prison camp... vague images of colored dust clouds coming rising from him, out of the television, and then he woke up, sun beaming through the open window. Did I leave the window open? I usually shut that... hmm.

Judging from the position of the sun over the mountain, he guessed it was late morning. Ash rolled over and pulled his hand out of the couch cushion, arm asleep and tingling with pins and needles. His watch read 11:00 hours. He rolled off the couch onto his knees, and glanced around the house. Everything was in order... but... wait... the kitchen drawer was slightly open. He managed to stand to his feet and limp to the drawer. The Glock 9mm was gone, clips, holster, and all. "What the... you've got to be kidding me!"

After a quick sweep of the house things were in order, alarm still set, nothing unusual. The weapon was not in the safe and not in the drawer. Could he have put it somewhere else, somewhere closer, when he was half asleep? Not that he recalled.

The phone rang three times before he finally heard "Ashland PD, this is George." The officers voice sounded stressed.

"George, this is Ash. I need to report--" he said.

"Hey buddy, sorry to cut you short but we got a mess down here. Can I call you later?"

"Anything I can do?" Ash asked.

"Not at the moment, maybe we can grab a beer tonight. You know that old guy, Frank, that attacked you yesterday?"

"Oh yeah, I remember. Still feeling it," Ash said.

"Somehow the old coot escaped last night. We didn't even know he was missing until someone reported the incident. A hiker found him a mile up Newmans' Ranch road. From the looks of things, someone unloaded two clips into the old guy. Then the news media swept-in from Portland, I have no idea how they found out already. It's a nightmare down here, I'll get in touch later ok?"

"Wait, did you say---" *click. The phone went dead, George was gone. Is that even possible? "No, it can't be. The alarm..." Ash's mind ran through darker and darker scenarios. Could someone have been in the house while he was passed out? How would they get in without tripping the alarm, and how would they have set it again? Could they have come through the open window? But that's ten feet off the ground. Surely they didn't get in through the balcony, it's a one-hundred foot drop from the balcony straight down to the canyon floor, he'd made sure it was inaccessible when he added the second story to the old family house. Could someone have repelled down through the roof? No, what is this some black ops mission? Besides all that, who would know he had guns, or that he'd pulled one out that very night. He hadn't touched them in months. Was he being watched? Ridiculous--

Then a thought rose to the front, and it made him nauseous. What if it was me? What if I went out, sleep walking, and killed that guy? I've had some serious black outs before, but nothing that serious. I've never been caught sleep walking before. Then again, if I was, my training-- No. That's not possible. His heart was racing, his mind went numb at the thoughts and possibilities. He hadn't killed for just over eight years, and only then on sanctioned missions. Training was thorough for Spec Ops, muscle memory was built that would never really go away. Even so, he couldn't imagine that he did it while sleep walking. No delusion had ever been that bad before. Then again, he did take more pills that usual.

He picked up the phone to call George again, he needed to report the incident as related. Before he could hit the speed dial there was a knock at the door, he placed the phone on the counter. He wasn't expecting anyone. George made it clear he was busy and he was the only person that'd been up to the house in three years. Could be a sales person, they came around from time to time. Then again...

The chef's knife range in the air as it was pulled from the block on the counter. He tucked the handle in his palm, thumb covering the bottom end, blade flat against his arm.

The peep hole revealed a woman in jogging pants and red hoodie. A red dust cloud wrapped her shoulder, but no creature that he could currently see. She had a mileage counter on her right arm, and the face of someone trying not to look to awkward. He waited a moment to see what she'd do. She reached out and knocked again, his body jerked a little at the sudden noise. Satisfied that she was harmless, he released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, and opened the door.

The shrill of the alarm pierced Ash's ears and he slammed the door without thinking. That must seem rude. His pulse which had started to drop when he found a harmless lady at his door, shot up again. He ran to the alarm and punched the code as though it were a bugler out to steal what was left of his sanity- the shrill stopped. Silence. Inhaling, he closed his eyes and tapped his leg to ten holding the breath, and release. He opened his eyes, checked his hair in the mirror. The sides had turned fully gray, but he still managed to keep a decent amount of brown up top. He pulled up his collar to hide the three inch scar on the left side of his neck, and walked back to the front door.

"Sorry about that, Ma'am," Ash said as he opened the door. "I don't get many visitors up here. The hoodie was down now, allowing the suns shadows to accentuate her softer features, deeply tanned skin, soft brown eyes with a touch of hazel.

"Oh that's alright," she replied. As she rocked back and forth from heal to toe the red dust cloud wafted in the wind like a fog around her. Vanilla filled the air every time she rocked forward.

"Hello Ms.-" Ash motioned for her name?

"Scriven. Grace Scriven," she said. "But you can just call me Grace, that's what momma always called me."

"I see," Ash replied. "How can I help you, Grace?"

"May I-- Listen to me, so formal. May I. Momma always said not to say 'can I'... sorry.... you don't want to know that." She stopped, shook her head, and put her hand over her mouth.

Ash thought, keep going, you can do it.

She pulled back her head a bit and tensed her jaw when she looked him in the eye again. She took a deep breath and blew it out quickly. "Let me start over. I'm sorry to bother you, but my car broke down on the road about a mile up the hill from here, dang BMW's. I couldn't get any cell reception, and no one ever drove by. You were the first house I found. May I use your phone?" She held his eye for a moment, and turned her head down to glance at the ground. Her finger fidgeted with a strand of curly black hair that had fallen from an otherwise tightly wrapped pony tail.

"Sure," Ash glanced back into the house. Images of police tape and finger printing that would need to come later that day rolled through his mind. "I'd invite you in, but I actually had a break-in last night and I need to preserve the place for finger printing and evidence, you know? Let me go get the phone and bring it out here to you?"

She smiled for the first time since he'd seen her. It was a nice smile, not false or pretentious. "Oh that would be great. Again, really sorry to bother you."

"No problem," Ash said. He glanced at the patio and motioned to the outdoor table set. "Go ahead and grab a seat, I'll be back in a minute." He turned back down the hallway, and found the phone still on the kitchen counter. A creaking noise from the top floor made him pause. He glanced up the stairs, no shadows. He waited a moment and didn't hear anything else. You're going nuts solider, get it together. Taking the phone from the counter he suddenly felt something cold on his forearm. Then he realized that he was still holding the concealed kitchen knife. Not wanting scare a poor young lady looking for a phone, he put it back and headed for the front door.

"Here you go," Ash said. Their hands briefly touched as he handed her the phone. A shudder ran through his arm, and up into his skull. He hadn't touched a woman in a long time. He'd forgotten how smooth they could be, especially compared to the hands of a wood craftsman. The sanding and carving made for callouses that never disappeared.

He gave her some space and walked to his truck. He didn't really need anything from there, but he pretended he did. It felt right, better than leaving her on the porch while he went back inside. Then again, maybe he shouldn't go back inside. He really did need to preserve the scene, and he needed to file that report. Maybe he could go into town and get some groceries or supplies, find some reason to get out of the house for the day.

"What?" Grace yelled from behind him, "You've got to be kidding me. Never mind. No, just forget it. I'll figure it out."

Ash sauntered back to the porch, "Everything OK?"

"No, not really." She said, pressing the hang up button and setting the phone in her lap. Grace ran her hands through her hair, and glanced at the sky, eyes darting back and forth as though she were searching for an answer.

"What's wrong?" He probed.

"Well... it turns out my triple-A membership is worthless out here in the boondocks of southern Oregon. No offense to your town." She shrugged. "The closest driver is several towns away and has several calls ahead of me. It could be between 2-6 hours before they can get someone out here." She snorted a laugh.

"No offense taken, these small towns are different." Ash replied. The thought of keeping her around a little longer didn't bother him as much as he thought it would. People made him skittish, but this wasn't people. This was Grace. He'd known Grace a whole ten minutes now. He knew her name, she was easy on the eyes, no creepy creatures staring him down, and she smelled like vanilla... Ice Cream, I should go to town and get Ice Cream, he thought. Besides, the red dust cloud matches her outfit, that's nice too.

"I was thinking of heading to town anyway." Ash half offered. "I could give you a ride into town. You could wait there, or maybe we can get Faustino to take a look at your BMW. He's a classic-car restore guy, not a traditional mechanic, but I've never seen anyone better with a wrench, especially if you buy him a six pack to sweeten the deal."

"If you really don't mind, and it's not too much of a bother, I'd be very grateful." Grace smiled again, he liked it when she smiled. She'd done it twice now. Both times her smile elicited the sensation of a summer sun warming his chest. He'd forgotten what it was like to be this close to another human besides George. And George... well she wasn't George.

"Alright, do we need to drop by your car for anything important?" He asked.

"No," She replied. "I locked it up before I walked off. I didn't know how long I'd be walking. Everything I need is right here." She pointed to a modern style fanny pack that was hugging one leg.

There could be a weapon in there, idiot. How did you miss that? You're slipping. Calm down, she's just a lost lady. Not a serial killer. Ash brushed off the paranoia, waved her over, and opened the passenger door. "After you."

The engine roared to life like The Beast it was, as the blue F-150 was so named. It's mascot, a Beast X-Men action figure, was mounted prominently on the dashboard. This truck was a reflection of his soul; blue, rusted, old, and roaring like a monster inside.

Grace said that she bantered when she was nervous and she proved it all the way to town. She was a reporter passing through small towns writing puff pieces for the travel sections of The Oregonian, LA Times, and just about any other paper that would pick her up as a freelancer. The killing in town had given her the opportunity to be front and center of a real story, but she'd missed the site by going up the wrong mountain road, landing her on his front door when the car broke down.

They pulled up to Faustino's at just passed 12:00 hours. A sign on the door read "Out for lunch from 1:00-2:00... ish."

"Well, you can come with me if you'd like. I'm headed to get Ice Cream." Ash shrugged, "My treat?"

"I can't pass up an offer like that. Maybe I can interview you for the travel article." She said, and smiled again.

"I'd be happy to tell you anything I can. But I'm on the private side if you couldn't tell, so I'd prefer to stay anonymous." Ash said as they walked across the one busy street in town.

"I understand," She said, and followed. "I can respect that."

They were only at the Ice Cream shop for a few minutes when George rolled up in the patrol car. He rolled down the window and tipped his hat to Grace, "Ma'am. I'm afraid I'm going to need to bother Ash here, you mind?" Then he glanced up and locked eyes, his look stern.

"I don't mind at all, he was just telling me about your lovely town here." She said and nodded as she started writing down notes from their meeting. "I'll be fine, thanks for the ride and the talk and the Ice Cream."

"No problem, just see Faustino when he gets back." Ash said. She nodded her agreement, then went back to her notes.

Ash walked over to George and got in the passenger seat. When the door was closed he took one last glance at Grace, and said, "I haven't seen that look often, what's going on?"

"Ash-" George started, but stopped. "The forensics came back from Medford a few minutes ago. The gun that killed old Frank was a 9mm round, and it's a match to a Glock registered in your name. What the heck's going on, and what have you gotten me into?"

"Me?" Ash asked, and pulled back. "I'm nearly positive it wasn't me, George. I tried to tell you this morning, the Glock was in my kitchen drawer and it was missing this morning. The window was open too, which I didn't recall doing. I know we both know what I'm capable of, and what condition I'm in, but I was passed out all night. I'm nearly positive I've never sleep murdered anyone. That's not even possible, is it?"

George let out a slow sigh, "Come on, let's get up there and check out the house." George called in his assistant to run prints on the house. When they got to the house, the front door was open. "I didn't leave it like that." George didn't see his deputy's car yet. He pulled his side arm, "All things considered, stay here for the moment, OK?"

"Roger," Ash replied. Truth be told, he wanted to rush in ahead of George, but he knew what lines he could cross with his friend and what lines he couldn't. It was best to let cop George be cop for the moment.

After a few moments of pregnant silence, George walked out. Gun holstered. "Nobody in there," he said. "Come on in."

Ash got up, knees killing him again. They walked into the house, everything was in place. George stood back and let him take it all in. Nobodies eyes were better trained to notice something out of place than Theron "Ash" Ashland's. He better know that after all these years. The picture of his father and him fishing, baby sister in tow. Check. The knife still on the kitchen counter, unmoved. Check. Ash said, "Nothing out of place, it's all here."

Ash walked over to the kitchen drawer and pulled it out. He turned to George, "Like I said it was here and now it's missing."

"Ash," George had a confused look on his face and pointed down. There it was. The Glock, two clips, now empty, and the holster.

"What the-" Ash replied. "That's not even possible." The deputy walked in and had the look of a kid who just walked in on his parents fighting. He just stood there, eyes darting back and forth between the two. Finally he asked, "Can I come in?"

"Wait here Bobby," George replied. And he motioned Ash outside.

"I'm sorry, you are my friend. But you know what I have to do now." George pulled his cuffs, eyes drenched in apology.

"I get it, it's what I would do," Ash said. He turned and let George cuff him, fighting every soldierly urge to defend himself against his captor. A sinking feeling hit his stomach, Maybe I really am finally cracked. He let George usher him into the car and heard him through the window. "Bobby, take as long as you need. This house just became priority one. I want every finger print on every wall and window, even windows you don't think a normal human can reach. Call Medford, we need experts down here, now!"

The drive back to town was quick and silent. He'd never seen George drive that fast, or manage to balance worry and anger in one expression. When the bars shut on the small make-shift prison, his heart shut down with them. He sat on the bed, put his head in his hands, and tried to cry, but there was nothing.

By Darrell Wolfe

Storyteller | Creative | INFJ | Intellection | Ideation | Input | Learner | Achiever | Multipotentialite

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