Chapter 113 Part 113
Asher
His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. Emerson had fallen asleep quickly, the adrenaline, the fear, and the shock, giving way to exhaustion. He slowed down as he reached the town limits, and he looked around at his hometown with new eyes.
When he finally drove past the entrance to the main house, he swallowed his emotion away. This was his home. It was his safe space. Joey hadn’t been at the cabin, and he hadn’t told Mark about him.
The betrayal stung. Asher and Joey had been friends since they could walk, their mothers having been best friends. He parked the truck in front of his house, and carried Emerson upstairs to the guest room. He tucked the blanket around her and left the hall light on.
When he got back to the foyer, he stared at the blood on the floor. His blood. He pulled a dark parka from the foyer closet, a beanie, and a pair of gloves. He locked the front door behind him, and headed back to the SUV.
Joey lived in a single family home on the other side of town. He rented an acre from a farmer and the house that had been built there 50 years earlier. He lived alone, and Asher prayed that he was there now.
He switched his headlights off and let the car free roll down the drive. He let it roll past the house and slow to a stop. He got out slowly, surveying the area around him. Joey’s car stood in a carport, and the smile tugged at his lips but didn’t form.
Joey’s front door was unlocked, a habit he hadn’t broken, and for that, Asher was glad. He stepped into the house quietly, listening for any sounds. The house was dark and quiet, but Asher knew the layout. The living room and kitchen were both empty, and he headed down the short hallway to the bedrooms.
His room was at the end of the hall, the door wide open. He could see the lump at the edge of the bed where his feet were, and he avoided the floorboard that always creaked when stepped on.
Joey lay on his side, his back to the door. Asher rounded the bed, and pulled Joey’s sleeping form out of the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud, cursing, and flailing his arms.
“It’s not so easy to kill me,” Asher said harshly, as he pulled Joey to his feet.
“Asher?” His eyes were wide with shock. “It wasn’t personal, I swear.”
“It felt pretty personal to me when they asked me to dig my own grave, Joey!”
He shook his head. “Asher, please. You have to understand. I owed them money, a lot of money. We can—”
Asher’s fist landed on his jaw, blood and spittle flying from his mouth. His hand went to his jaw, and then he clenched his fists. Asher saw the prediction in his moves. His mind was quiet and he was calm. The anger had faded into the background, and he hit Joey with his elbow, and pushed him past him. Joey stumbled to a halt against the wall, and Asher moved up behind him.
His arms locked around Joey’s head, and he squeezed. The man bucked and writhed, but Asher stood his ground, his arms tightening. Joey slapped his arm, tapping out, but Asher kept on squeezing. When his arms fell limp to his sides, Asher let go, and gently lowered him to the floor. He gripped his head on either side and broke his neck.
He switched the bedroom light on and checked Joey’s fingernails. They were clean. His parka was nylon so there would be no fibers. His boots had left wet footprints on the carpet and he grabbed the glass from the bathroom and poured more water over them. It looked ridiculous but at least they wouldn’t be able to determine anything. He mopped the wooden floor in the hall and living room, everywhere he’d stepped. He placed the glass on the coffee table, not worried because he hadn’t taken his gloves off.
Asher walked back to the SUV in his own footprints in the snow and then he reversed over them, drove forward and reversed again. He wasn’t worried about the tire marks. Mark would take the SUV when he arrived at the house and dispose of it.
He drove back to his house, glad for the back dirt roads, and the fact that he didn’t pass a single car. Nothing and nobody could tie him to Joey’s murder, and he wasn’t planning on confessing anytime soon.
Back at his house, he sat in the dark living room, thinking about everything that had happened. The fire in the fireplace had been reduced to ashes, and he built up another one. The journal still lay on the floor where he’d left it, and he threw the book into the flames.
He made himself comfortable on the couch, the fleece blanket thrown over his legs. He closed his eyes and he swallowed the lump away. Life had a way of kicking you when you were down, but watching that journal burn had freed him from its contents.
He knew he would always have nightmares, he would always remember the life he’d dreamed up, but now, it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
It was liberating. The urge to run out into the snow, breathe in the fresh air, saddle One Star, and ride off into the horizon lessened. He would always want that, it was part of his DNA, but resisting that urge when he felt overwhelmed was now a real possibility.
He heard the vehicles before their headlights flashed across the dark living room, and he got to his feet. Mark and two men got out of the first vehicle, and two more men out of the second vehicle. He watched them approach the house and opened the front door.
It was finally time to end this.