Ashes of guilt, p.1
Ashes of Guilt, page 1
Ashes of Guilt
By
Isabella Steele
© Copyright 2023 - All rights reserved Cosmic Phoenix Publishing
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First Edition 2023
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Contents
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Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Prologue
T wenty years ago, I would have called Wakefield my home. I grew up here for a time within the kind of tight-knit community folks could only dream of.
My little town was known for its blazing hot summer days. Every evening like clockwork, I’d run outside to watch the dying sun smolder into glowing embers from a charcoal fire, inferno colors inking the sky.
One evening, however, a different charcoal fire had burned. The one in our garage, getting ready for another barbeque. But it wasn’t an average Sunday evening, not for me and not for the entire town of Wakefield.
With this particular sunset came suffocating black smoke, seeping out from the crevices in the garage door. The doors I had locked, reaching up on my little toes and stretching an arm as high as I could. The doors I had locked, with both grill and griller still inside. That was the evening everything had changed.
History made its mark, and red and orange became my true colors. The heat became my hellfire. The smoke became my shadow.
I watched the sinister black clouds emerge from the locked doors. I didn’t register anything else. Not the screaming or shouting or banging.
I was maybe grabbed by the shoulders once or twice, but that did not affect me. I was too busy watching as people rushed across the street to ours and as they tried to get the doors open. I was too busy watching that black cloud of death float up with the soul of the man left inside, mistaken for an offering. That evening, the whole town was united in grief. And I was all alone.
Twenty years later, I don’t belong here in this town, and everyone knows why.
I killed him.
Chapter One
I drum my fingers on the side door of my partner’s car, and the window accidentally opens. Quickly pressing the button again, I shift uncomfortably and pick at my nails in my lap—an old habit.
“Something wrong? You’ve been restless ever since we passed that welcome sign,” he glances over at me before returning his attention to the highway in front of us.
I shake my head, not because nothing was wrong but mostly because I was at a loss for words. Where could I even begin? I didn’t enjoy the fact that at the end of this car ride, we will finally reach my hometown, Wakefield. I didn’t enjoy that the very people who know me are the ones I dread meeting the most. Or how the town I grew up in just never felt like home. I couldn’t really call Wakefield my home despite growing up here. I left as soon as I got into a college miles away from here, and then, well, I never bothered to look back.
Until now, that is.
“I know it’s not worth much, but you’ll feel more at ease once you get there. It’s pretty refreshing to see old faces again.”
I shuddered as an image came to mind. A smiling face, then smoke. Then screaming.
“I don’t know about that, Luke. There’s a reason why I stayed away from this place for so long.”
But Lucas Reed was Lucas Reed, and he dismissed me with a snort.
That’s what I liked about him. He is big on respecting boundaries and didn’t ask further, and I was, thankfully, spared from going into details. You could offer as much information as you wanted, and he’d ask for nothing more and nothing less. Whatever you brought to the table was okay for him.
“And what is that reason?”
Except today.
“It’s a long story, you wouldn’t be interested.” I look out the window to conceal my face from him.
“Three more hours to go; I’ve got the time,” he shrugged at the road ahead.
I tried again. “Oh, you know, just some drama I remember from the last time I was here. I hope it doesn’t come up again.”
The car slows down, almost to a halt, and somebody honks behind us before overtaking us. I catch a glimpse of his middle finger before turning to Luke.
“You said it’s been, what, twenty years?” He laughs, “How could they possibly remember now?”
He has no idea.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I nod and reach into the backseat for the case files. Once I find them, I flip through the freshly-printed pages and go through the latest victim.
“Ariel Warren, last seen two weeks ago,” I announced the new subject of our conversation.
With a sigh, Luke obligingly carried on: “Whereabouts?”
“Reported missing by friend Lucie Mills,” I read off the paper, “last seen going inside her apartment by the landlord two days before the report.”
“No leads?”
“Nothing. Like the others. What do you think?”
“If you’re going with a serial killer, I wouldn’t be so sure. Not a single body has been found.”
“But she’s the sixth person to go missing.”
“Read the list,” he says, and I oblige. I flip through to the captain’s notes. The whole file was faxed this morning before Lucas, and I had a chance to get to know what was going on. Our captain assigned us to it before I even reached the precinct.
The car is filled with silence as we both rack our brains for any leads.
I look out the window at the rows of familiar sycamore trees, knowing each moment I get closer and closer to where I never want to be.
But I have a case to solve.
Chapter Two
C rowds lined up on either side of the sidewalk, eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the blocked-off street with a single teal 96' Mustang parked on the curb. Police crawled on the scene like ants, taking pictures, collecting evidence, and keeping die-hard journalists and nosy neighbors alike at bay.
Beaver Street was shaken up; that was clear to anyone who happened to drive by. Pristine white houses stood at attention with their close-cut lawns and that lone, teal car with sunlight bouncing off its hood effortlessly. If you removed the curious bystanders and blue uniforms, this would seem a perfectly safe and normal neighborhood.
But inside that teal Mustang, the windows didn't reflect the white-washed houses or the lush green lawns. They couldn't reflect anything because they were covered in splashes of dark red, dried-up blood.
Captain Rebecca Lawson's car was waved through, and the makeshift barriers parted to give her way.
She stepped out slowly, one black-heeled shoe at a time. Taking off her sunglasses, her eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the bright afternoon day and the sharp white of the Beaver Street houses.
"Before we get into this, I need you to move these people away and call Asher to tow this back to the station. This is one hell of a scene you're creating," she walked up to the dr iver's side of the Mustang. Her deputy scurried away with the orders.
"Steve Hale, 37-year-old who just moved back to town a week ago," Chief Officer Patricia addressed the captain. Through the open window, she lifted the man's head with sleek plastic tongs. "He was, uh, three years senior to me in high school. A really great friend of-"
"Is that a gunshot wound?"
Patricia cleared her throat. "Yes, on the left side. Used a 0.96 pistol found on the passenger seat there." The captain tilted her head and looked directly at the dead man's pale face before glancing over at the place card that replaced the pistol.
"Mrs. Sullivan called it in. The horn kept blaring for a good portion of the night until it finally gave out. Nobody else bothered to report the noise; they all assumed it was from that construction site a few blocks from here."
"Nobody heard the gunshot?"
"Not a soul."
A scuffle from the crowds being pushed away drew their attention.
"People are starting to get spooked. They're not calling this one a murder. They’re calling it a warning."
Rebecca sighed. "And is it a murder?"
"We're still looking into that. The doors were unlocked, and the pistol’s already at the lab for fingerprint analysis. Also, from what I know, Steve was right-handed. This shot's on his left."
"Well, let's get these folks outta here and let the lab reports tell us what this is." Captain Rebecca straightened up and walked toward the crowd that was getting angrier by the minute.
"They always seem to bring trouble home," the chief officer mumbled as she peeled off her gloves.
But Rebecca was out of earshot by then. She began to address the crowd but was cut short with cries of 'He's the seventh!' and 'How many more are there gonna be?'
Patricia and a few other officers hesitated a moment, waiting for their captain's response.
"I assure you," she spoke through tight lips and stern eyes, "that this is an isolated event. The current evidence points to suicide, and we have reasons to believe Steve Hale was financially troubled..."
Patricia's eyes widened. In the seven years she worked as a cop, Captain Rebecca was never one to report speculations. She wasn't the type of woman who grasped on straws or let others do so.
And Steve, she bumped into him last week at the drugstore. From their little chat, nothing indicated to Patricia that Steve was in need of cash. It was actually the opposite. Anybody could tell by his '96 teal Mustang.
But the crowd seemed to buy it. Almost all of them knew Rebecca Lawson personally, either growing up with her or growing up around her. She was there for everyone–except, some might add, for her own family.
“Seven! Seven people gone missing, and only two bodies were found! What does that say about Wakefield?”
Rebecca adjusted her gaze towards the man who pushed himself through the crowd. He was glaring at her, his nostrils flared, waiting for a response, not to listen but just so he could continue.
So Rebecca took the bait.
“Mr. Warren, I assure you that the death of Steve Hale has nothing to do with–”
“That’s a load of horseshit! Every week, somebody goes missing!”
The crowd surged with interjections, pushing Warren forward until he was right in Rebecca’s face. She couldn’t back up because the journalists flanked her on all sides, waiting for the next moment to unfold and write it down for all to know that Chief of Police Rebecca Lawson was pressured on the ‘Wakefield Woes’ by Ariel Warren’s father.
Boy, how she hated journalists.
“Step aside!” Her team cut through the crowd. Little notebooks fell to the floor in the chaos. “Make way! Move back!”
Chief Rebecca Lawson was escorted away from the crowds and towards a different car, a gray Ford.
“I told them to wait at the station, but they drove straight here as soon as they heard…” Patricia’s voice trailed off as Rebecca moved forward, not stopping to let her finish. She clenched her jaw as she walked.
Some might have noticed her clenched fists, but she could blame that on Warren. She forced herself to ease up once a woman stepped out of the Ford, smiling at her until it felt natural enough.
Chapter Three
A s soon as I saw the crowds on Beaver Street, I sank back even more into my seat. I wanted to claw into the leather cushions, pull out the stuffing, and hide in its place.
Luke honked for them to make way for the car. He was too busy maneuvering past the police tape and pedestrians, but I’m sure he could hear my erratic breathing if he wasn’t so distracted.
“People are crawling around here like ants; there’s no way they’re getting any progress done,” he mumbles.
I thought the five-hour car ride would have prepared me to face the people I’d be working with for the next two months or so, but I was wrong. I wasn’t prepared to meet the entire Wakefield in one go. And an angry Wakefield at that. And I sure as hell wasn’t prepared to meet them all at the scene of a murder.
I felt the cold looks before I saw them. The hot air that blasted in my face as I opened the car door made me shudder.
From the crowds of civilians and uniforms alike, the figure walking toward us made my erratic breathing almost cease altogether.
Captain Rebecca Lawson walked toward me with a determined stride.
“Olivia! I’m so happy to see you!” But I couldn’t help but notice the clenched fists that suddenly changed into open arms for me to fall into.
After a stiff hug, I pulled back and smiled meekly. “Hi, Rebecca. You look well.”
She laughed and looked me up and down. I had grown up since the last time she saw me. I left as a skinny teenager with a backpack full of everything I owned. More importantly, I left while she was still asleep: in the early hours of the morning, leaving just a note that said I didn’t want to be late for my first day of college two days before it even started. I hated this town that bad.
“And this must be your partner?”
“Detective Lucas Reed, homicide,” he holds out a hand for her to shake. She glances at me for a moment. I forgot to mention that I worked in the homicide department. Fitting, wasn’t it?
“Detective Reed, welcome to Wakefield,” she waves at the surrounding chaos. “Not a great first impression, I assume?”
“Well, you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
She laughs lightly again before clearing her throat.
“Let’s get down to business, shall we?” She turns and motions a finger for us to follow her.
“Seems tough,” Luke whispers in my ear. “Wakefield Woes?”
“Y-yeah, that’s what they’re calling it.”
We are introduced to Officer Patricia O’Neil… and then Steve Hale. Wakefield Woe Number Seven.
When a police tech moves aside to let us get a look at the victim, for a second, I don’t see the face of Steve Hale. I see a man’s face blackened by smoke. I shuddered and stepped back.
“The window isn’t broken, so the bullet must still be lodged inside the head?”
“Yes, that’s what we’re going with for now.” Patricia smiles at Luke like it’s just a nice day in the park and not a grisly crime scene. But Luke takes no time, his eyes scanning the inside of the car as he circles it.
I feel a hand on my back.
“Olivia, did you get a chance to go through the files yet?”
I turned towards Rebecca. “Yes, I–we did. No apparent link between the victims, so the disappearances could be random. But this,” I tap the bloodied window with a pen, “seems more gruesome than the rest. Left as a sign, almost.”
Rebecca nods her head slowly, a small smile on her lips. I find myself returning the expression.
“I’m just so happy to have you back, Olivia. I’m sure you can solve this in no time.”
A killer that Chief of Police Rebecca Lawson can’t catch is definitely no match for me. The way those angry crowds turned on her, there was no guarantee this town would let me off so easily.
I noticed a few officers, including Officer O’Neil, stopped to watch our interaction. As soon as I glanced at her, she buried her head in her clipboard and walked away.
