Chapter 53 Part 53
Asher
His family checked in, but he didn’t answer any of their questions. Eden had brought him food, claiming that he couldn’t survive on prison food. Sheriff Connely had begrudgingly agreed, especially when Eden presented him with a tin of her famous cookies.
“Whose blood is in the shed, Asher? If it ain’t that Malcolm fella’s blood, then just speak up.”
“It doesn’t matter, Pops; I’ll be out soon enough. Is Finn sleeping at my house?”
Thomas grunted something Asher couldn’t make out. “Yeah, he’s sleeping there. I never used to worry about you, Asher, not even in the Army. I always knew you had a good head on your shoulders. I never worried about you coming home in a casket. You’re back a few months, and already sitting in jail. Your momma would slap you upside the head for pulling a stunt like this.”
“I know, Pops. Just trust that I know what I’m doing,” Asher said.
“You’re a damn fool, Asher Fitzgerald!”
Asher smiled at his father, but didn’t say anything. Perhaps he was right, but Asher rarely backed down once he’d made up his mind. He wasn’t going to tell Sheriff Connely anything about Maggie’s past.
“I guess we’ll know more on Monday,” Thomas said.
“Don’t let Maggie come down here again. She cries every time she sees me in here. Let Eden occupy her mind with wedding stuff.”
“Yeah, right. A horse-drawn cart couldn’t keep that woman away from here,” Thomas said.
“Everything will be fine, Pops. Trust me.”
“Hurry it up then, Son; the ranch chores wait for no man,” Thomas said, and walked down the corridor.
Asher chuckled, as he lay down on the cot. It was too small for him, but he wasn’t sleeping anyway. His mind kept going to that dark place he hated so much. He didn’t want Maggie to visit him because she was getting good at noticing it.
He kept his focus on the rolling green hills that he could see from his porch, the fresh air, the woods further up on the mountain, Melody, and Maggie. It was keeping him sane for the moment, but at night, when everything was quiet, he would close his eyes, and he would see Mark in his shed, a pistol against his temple. He would look at Asher, smile sadly, and pull the trigger. His heart would race, and his forehead would be clammy, his hands sweaty. He’d try to breathe, but it became harder, and harder, every time it happened.
On Sunday, when the church bells rang, he closed his eyes and prayed for Mark. He prayed for himself, as well, not wanting to slip further into the darkness that haunted him.
Colt and Dylan visited him with a basket of food from Eden and Maggie. They relayed Maggie’s message to him with chuckles and winks. Asher could only smile.
“I’m telling you, Asher, if she could’ve spat fire, she would have. She was so mad when Dad told her not to visit you, she went all red in the face,” Colt said.
“She cries when she sees me, and I can’t do anything about it. It’s better this way,” Asher replied.
“She said she made you a pie, and grinned. I’m not sure you should eat it,” Dylan said.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve eaten worse,” Asher said.
Mike had to unlock the cell door and searched through the basket. “It’s all good. No sharp knives. You’re not going to cut your wrists with this plastic one, right?”
Asher grinned and shook his head. “Depends on how that pie tastes.”
Mike laughed, and handed the basket to Asher. His brothers left after a few jokes about his feet sleeping on the floor. Asher unscrewed the lid on the thermos, and inhaled the rich scent of the coffee.
He made a mental note to make it up to Maggie. The coffee the deputy had brought him every morning had been weak, so he hadn’t touched it after that first sip.
Monday would come soon enough. He was a patient man; he had to become one in the Army. As a sniper, he’d sit in a nest for hours, or even days, waiting for that perfect kill shot.
Asher didn’t sleep that night; the coyotes were howling in his head. When he closed his eyes, he pictured a wolf, dark gray and fierce, his jaws open and threatening.
He’d never told his family about the two months he’d spent as a prisoner, captured when their Bradley had been shot at. There had been 18 of them detained, but only seven of them had walked out of the camp alive.
The time he’d spent in darkness, hungry, thirsty, and not knowing when death would come for him, was now back in full force. When the sun finally made an appearance, it felt like he could breathe a little better.
At 9 a.m., Preston appeared with a smile on his face, and Mike unlocked the cell’s door. When he left it open, Asher knew. He was going home.
“The blood found in your shed, and on the back of your truck, came back as animal,” Preston said.
“I take it, I'm free to go?”
“Yes, you are,” Preston said, looking intently at him. “My question, however, is why you didn’t just say so.”
“I have my reasons,” Asher said. “What about the video footage?”
“Nothing will come of it; it’s too grainy to make an identification, and I spoke to the prosecutor this morning. That tall man in the cowboy hat can be any one of about 4,000 men in this town.”
“Well, then, thank you, Preston.”
“I can’t even charge you for this, Asher. I didn’t do a damn thing,” Preston said, sighing.
“You showed up.”
“Go home, and don’t get arrested again,” he said.
“Trust me, I’m not coming back any time soon.”
“I’ll give you a ride out to the ranch; maybe I’ll even get a slice of pie out of the deal.”
Asher grinned, but didn’t say anything. He picked up the now-empty basket, grabbed his jacket, and walked out of the cell. At the reception counter, he got his personal effects, and walked out of the building into the cold.