Ashes Remain

by Alethea Stauron

  Drake grips her spare key in his hand,

  and…

  Lucius shoves front bumper along with a button click of his device. The car alarm sounds. Wheels slowly gain momentum out of the driveway. Drake sloshes a gaze back. He doesn’t know where he’s dropped the key but he’s running sideways toward his unmanned vehicle. He catches himself from hitting a tree, “Hey!” Gurgling out to his car, “Where you going?” The car rolls catty corner across the street, clearing out overgrown spring brush before mowing a small Johnson grassy ditch. Wet sprigs fling dew on Drake’s pants. He grips the handle, and the wheel catches a rut of muddy silt.

  Thunk

  Drake slams into an open door, falling back several feet. He slides down, grabbing his ribs as his body acts as a landing plane for disturbed millers buzzing out of tall growth that mark an unsettling reality. Drake comes to, “What the hell happened?” He crawls from a damp spot, wiping off muddy ground splotched back on him. His footsteps clump behind him in thick mud and loses a shoe. A few divots later… a sock. He climbs into his vehicle which has easily found a thick muddy patch on Mr. Gonzalez’s old land. Disoriented from being inebriated. Confused about what has just happened. He breathes for a moment, staring through mucky windshield. “The hell?”

  Lucius positions himself for a front row seat, standing in the middle of the road. His arms are crossed. He exhales, “Probably the only time I’m gonna help this guy,” and activates his camouflage.

  ◆◆◆

  After fifty minutes and two more naps, Drake turns the ignition key. His wheels make deeper divots, digging a grave in a slushy pit. Stuck by circumstances. Lucius angles a bearing behind the car, “Here you go, moron,” and kicks the bumper. Drakes car bumps forward, leaving a newly paved dirt road over grass and landscaping. Mud streaks down her street.

  Lucius slaps the air, “You’re not welcome!” He watches car lights disappear from the edge of a field, relief aids his mind in thinking clearly. He realizes how to handle the new guy. He reaches down into the mud, grabbing Drake’s lost shoe and flinging it several hundred yards. “Have your stupid shoe back.”

  Clunk

  “Don’t come back,” knowing Drake couldn’t hear. But it felt good having his side yelled out into the cold night. Lucius breathes deeply until lights disappear in the distance. He jostles his jaw, strolling back toward the cabin, mocking Drake’s lies, “Oh no,” waving his hands, “Don’t drink and drive off a bridge you… poor orphan helper.”

  Morning gracefully hues across Josephine’s face, as the fresh scent of rain enters her nostrils. A peaceful sigh exits her lips, “I love waking up to this. Smells like he’s been here with me.”

  Lucius smiles from the balcony, “Faithfully,” nodding, “ever faithful to you.”

  Leo stretches a yawn across the old sewing table next to the bedroom door. Josephine glances over with a mild stretch of her own, “You know, Leo…” Leo’s tear bags push fur out beneath his eyes at her. She snickers, “… there was one time when Lucius was here when I woke up.”

  “Tell me ‘bout it, baby.” A chuckle huffs under his breath, “Keep remembering me.”

  Her body stretches words into a feminine, grunting sigh, “He made something and…” recoiling her arms, “… it was a manly quiche is all I remember.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Lucius wipes his nose, “I remember that morning. Nothing short of a miracle.”

  “Well … actually he said something else. But I heard quiche and we’ll go with that.”

  “Frittata. It was called a frittata.”

  “He had all these ingredients with eggs.” She continues, “Not as good as my potato soup though.”

  “That’s for sure,” rubbing his abs, “Best potato soup I’ve ever eaten.”

  She squints, “Hmmm,” tapping her index against puckered lips, “I couldn’t figure out where he got those ingredients.”

  “Buns from my buns,” he snickered. He vaults his secrets behind a quiet chuckle, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  ◆◆◆

  She slowly arises, staring into nothing beyond her bedroom door. Her vision meets the loft of the east wing, until eyeing the rolled cord of her vacuum. “Oh, Drake moves in today.”

  “Oh, lovely.” His eyelids roll in disbelief. “I can’t believe she’s letting the devil live here.” Lucius glances around, then pauses. “I have a housewarming present for him,” and jumps from the banister of the balcony. “I’ll give him… uh um… a warm welcome.”

  Josephine puts on a pair of cut off shorts and throws on an old t-shirt. “I’m not dressing fancy for working,” grabbing her brush from a purple basket on her dresser.

  Lucius glances through walls. His jaw gapes open. “Baby, cover yourself. My God, I can almost see the bottom of her butt in those.” He hunches back down, messing with tools outside. “Are all women this ignorant? What am I gonna do with her?” And continues red-faced and digging in the toolbox.

  In front of her mirror, Josephine pulls her hair into a ponytail, bundling it tight before staring at her reflection. “I look tough today.” She puckers out a mean lip.

  “What,” Lucius looks up from under the oak trees and activates his dimensional vision again. She’s posing as a strong warrior, flexing her arms and crumpling her lips tightly. “What’s she doing,” his smile breaks through reddened cheeks.

  She bulges arms as big as she can make them, concentrating on a tough growl. Her lips snarl to one side and uses a semi-deep voice, “I have tough Lucius arms… gurr!”

  Lucius hunches over, gripping his thighs, holding in his guttural laughter. “So… adorable right now.” He’s choking on his tongue. “Oh man, she’s so cute.” Pain that shot across his chest moments before subsides. “Wouldn’t even scare her cat.”

  ◆◆◆

  Josephine’s slathers peanut butter topping over a pancake with a handful of raisins as garnish. She presses a harsh voice through duck billed lips, “That’s my protein shake for the day.”

  “She’s getting me with this tough stuff. I have to say.”

  She downs her coffee and heads upstairs to finish cleaning out a vacant room. Lucius works on his housewarming preparations as well. Josephine empties drawers and closets, making the room as bare as she can. She gathers bedsheets. As her linens are popped up in the air like a parachute, she glances the ceiling fan. “I’ll get dust all over them,” and moves the bedding into a chair from potential falling debris. Time has made its mark, remembering a time before the car crash. Before her injury. She remembers the weekend before graduation when she had broomed every fan blade. It feels like an eternity ago. But time continues on with such subtle reminders. Subtle reminders like thick lines appearing as matted hair to one side of each blade. “Eww… that can’t stay like that,” and dusts away evidence of her being handicapped for a year of her life.

  She carts up a plastic bin, sloshing cleaner noises with every step upstairs. Rags and detergents. It’s all topped by a pair of colorful dish gloves after retiring her pink ones after the broken gutter on the roof episode.

  Old surfaces are wiped down. Clutter emptied into a plastic container for her to rummage through later. Last to be wiped down, her old dresser. Complete with knickknacks from middle school all the way until graduation. Pieces of memorabilia that used to be so important to her. “I feel so old now,” halfheartedly placing away objects for later review. She pulls a mum from the wall and glances over.

  And something catches her attention…

  an old papier-mâché jewelry box. The room’s natural sound is the only thing heard, taking a few closer steps. Her old box. Bundled with a clutter of girlish bling and stickers. She reaches with a bump and it tips over, losing its lid.

  and…

  a white rose lies over the dresser, peeking dried petals from the rim of her box. All her attention is stolen as if asking her to remember. Uncontrollably. Without warning. She can’t help it. It was believed to be lost. And tears fall. “
Lucius,” clinging discolored petals to her breast, “I found it.”

  Lucius runs toward the front of the house, standing beside the oak tree. His heart races with her outburst. “What’s wrong, baby,” he investigating through walls.

  “Come back to me.” She’s standing, but her knees are losing strength.

  “Oh, baby,” realizing what’s in her hands. He leans against stone walling. “Don’t do this? Not today,” his head drops, “I can’t stop your tears today.”

  She brushes crunchy petals against her cheek, trying to preserve her keepsake from squeezing it too much. Warm drips moisten one side of the flower. Nearly five minutes pass. Maybe twenty. She concentrates on restraining. Maintaining herself from further puffy eyes. “Okay,” snuffling her whining back, “Today I’m tough,” and places her tear coated flower back into its tomb.

  “That’s right…” wiping his nose with a charcoal shirt recently used as a napkin, “you’re tough. We’re both tough today.”

  She carries a sacred ceremony into her master bedroom, placing the papier-mâché box on the dresser beside her purple basket. “These are all I have left,” and sits on the end of her bed, staring at her gifts. Her collection. The only keepsakes of memorabilia she cares to hold onto. She glances her reflection, rubbing under eyes, “Soldiers don’t cry.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Lucius sniffles beside the house, “… but they do.”

  Josephine halfheartedly pumps her arm, much less energy than before. A mediocre, “Gurr,” hardly exuberates pass her lips. She stuffs her thoughts away, along with her other worries, and before long, a busy-minded Josephine peels herself from the bed and finishes chores. She vacuums dust bundles from her ceiling fan and off the floor.

  However,

  across the loft…

  Lucius opens the papier-mâché box. A slight crease forms a smile line from his lips and taps a withered petal. A few moments pass. A bright white rose with vibrant green leaves and stem fill the box. “Whatever I can give. You have me.” A rosy fragrance is delicately placed back, and sealed. “They don’t have to know about that.”

  ◆◆◆

  If they weren’t out in the country, Lucius could’ve sworn he heard war drums turning from several miles off the main highway. He finishes what he’s doing outside when a couple of minutes pass. A gravel road is disturbed down the street. And then the blacktop of her private road. Too close for comfort…

  and headed toward them.

  Lucius pauses in place. “It’s here,” letting out a deep breath, “Judgement’s coming.” His lips snarl with back-noise sounds of a vacuum. Innocently carrying on with whatever she does while Lucius’s nerves spin a web around his duties. His unmerciful duties, constantly reminding him to think everything through without breaking rules. Every action has a consequence. And every consequence needs permission. “I hate today.” He looks out her front window and witnesses a muddy car parking.

  Growl

  Lucius closes lids, bowing his head down, and releases the fisted curtains. “Happy housewarming.” He takes several tissues from the front tissue box beside the family bible.

  ◆◆◆

  On the driveway, Drake grabs a few loose items in his car, packing them into a box. In the house, Lucius stuffs his newly acquired tissue paper into the doorbell chime. Silencing her doorbell. He strolls toward the side of the house. Marking territory with firm feet next to the sprinkler system, “From Lucius with love… liar,” waiting with his hand on a control panel.

  Drake carries his box of breakables to her door. This time, carefully walking up steps, partially blinded behind cardboard. He tries maneuvering his body for his finger to reach out for the doorbell,

  and…

  Sput sput sputter

  Fresh water digs through the earth from buried positions around the yard. The yard is screaming with the rush of water. Drake frantically presses his finger several times on the doorbell plate… to no avail. Only a click from a disconnected button. No chime throughout the house. Silence beyond the vacuum.

  Chilly water shoots through his shirt. Material sticks to his skin. Sprinklers shoot cardboard, resounding like a drum in his hand. Drake shouts, “Hey,” raising his foot to knock on wood, and sprinklers spray between a recently warm crack of his pants when lifting his leg. “Augh!” Drake squeezes thighs together, “Get the door,” shouted a few octaves higher than before.

  Lucius covers his vindication seeping through his teeth. The bottom of Drake’s box tears and he holds the ripped area from dropping goods. Cardboard rips with flimsy covering, and he places it down, banging on her door. Huddling in a corner, “Hey! Hey, are you in there?” His tone is deepened. Much darker than it was a couple moments earlier. Lucius catches the anger in Drake’s voice.

  Lucius says, “Okay, that’s enough,” turning off several sprays.

  Upstairs, Josephine clicks off her vacuum.

  Tap tap tap

  She perks an ear toward sad knocking, and makes her way downstairs. When she opens her door, “Drake?”

  A dripping mess meets her silently. Not an inch of dry on him. Her jaw drops in shock, watching water drip from his chin and lashes. Drake says, “I’m glad my room is next to a bathroom.” She covers her mouth. No words… just… pointing toward his new room. Drake bends over a wet box, shuffling through his stuff and stands back up to look at her. He squeezes a few items. A flow pours collected water from belongings, silently showing his recent struggle. He decides to leave the waterlogged box, only taking a few items with him into the house. Footprints mark his steps. Several puddles trailing upstairs. And she closes the bathroom door behind him.

  Josephine can’t remove her eyes from the scene, but manages to enter her downstairs bathroom. She takes a hand towel from a rack, wiping a trail leading upstairs. She throws her wet towel into the laundry before heading back upstairs to remove the vacuum from her new tenant’s space. She’s rolling up the cord when the bathroom door opens. Drake enters from the loft wearing only a towel. Josephine gasps, “Do you have modesty issues?”

  “I have nothing,” he answered, “and you wanna insult me,” holding a slit together, keeping his modesty by a weak grip. Drake hangs his head, grabbing at his chest. “I just got attacked by your sprinklers and now I have nothing to wear but freezing wet clothes. I thought you were my friend. It’s just a towel. I’m not naked, Jojo. You don’t have to gasp. Guys can walk around with this… given the circumstances.”

  “I’m sorry, you poor thing,” she nods, “I guess it’s an emergency. You’re right. Let me get you something to wear while your clothes dry,” and walks by him.

  “You go do that, so I don’t get sick,” studying tight cut off shorts snugly across the fold of her bottom. Fringe bumps against her thighs as she walks the loft over to her room. Drake whispers, “So hot,” his words slithered out.

  Lucius studies where Drake gawks currently, “Yep,” his nose flares, “I’m gonna torture him.”

  Just after three in the morning, Lucius pets Leo’s back ear. Purring resounds over an antique sewing table. “Weird to you that she doesn’t see me, buddy. I know it can be confusing. My camouflage doesn’t always work on animals. Cats see all sorts of things out here. Truth be told… it’s pretty strange for me too. But nice to have a furry friend. Someone to talk to.”

  Yawn

  Leo rubs his motor against Lucius.

  Lucius kisses the top of his head, “I don’t think you realize how many times I’ve healed you.” Leo rubs his nose over Lucius’s cheeks. He snickers, “You’re so sweet. Momma wouldn’t like her kitty getting hurt. Me neither. Let’s keep me being here between us. Okay, Leo, buddy?”

  Mumble

  Lucius’s ears perk over. A baritone whisper from outside the master bedroom. Across the loft. And in her old bedroom. He gazes toward faint talking and glances back, pressing an informative sway of his fingers toward creamy fluff, “Stay away from… that thing… over there, buddy. This guy’s not your fr
iend,” and Lucius walks toward the new tenant’s room. The voice becomes louder. Every step increases a heavy atmosphere as he listens in. He pauses outside of Drake’s door, pulling a dagger. Calm yourself, Lucius, he tells himself. He exhales when studying through the cracked doorway, “What’s this guy doing?”

  A cell phone presses against Drake’s ear. He snaps, “Well, I can’t force ‘em to pay those prices, Butcher. If you wanna get a deal… get a damn deal!” A short pause before snapping again, “Eff you, man… get’n mad at me ‘cause you’re in deep. I’ve got my own problems. I’m figuring ‘em out as I go along. If he finds you, don’t tell him ‘bout me. I’ll bury you myself. Besides, the lease was in your name… not mine. No bull shit’n me on this one.” Another short pause. Lucius hears Butcher’s voice a couple levels louder than before. Terrified. Angry. Unforgiving. Drake slices in, “You’re the ass who got caught using his own stash. Pulling me into it. They never would’ve known… but you…”

  and

  Lucius hitches a breath.

  Drake continues, “I’m hiding ‘til I can get some of it paid off.” Drake pauses, realizing his voice is carrying over the sound of his fan. He lessens his tone, “Don’t call me for help, stupid prick,” hanging up. He tossing a phone onto his side pillow. His back darkens sheets with a mild exhale, covering his body like nothing happened.

  Lucius’s breathing falls, figuring it out. Figuring out the characteristics of the new guy. Agendas. No conscience for those crying out for help. Someone he would immediately realize he couldn’t psychically link to. Realizing everything was tainted when trying to read thoughts brewing. “That’s what they’re doing.” He back steps over loftway, “The Mangoram sent in a pawn. A pawn I’m not authorized to kill.” His fingers slide through chestnut bundles. “Inconsiderate jerks.” He fastens interdimensional straps tighter around holsters, striding a guarding step toward Josephine’s room. “This guy doesn’t know what war he’s fighting in either. No clue.” Lucius holds a stance outside her door. “He couldn’t know…” wobbling his head, “Nah… not him. Too much of a self-centered moron.” He flicks the locking mechanism of her door, trying to gather thoughts. Realizing the sinking ship he’s paddling on. “I am ticked now,” nodding toward a bullhorn of information, “He’s gotta go. Judgment’s coming… and happening across the loft.”