Ashes Remain

by Alethea Stauron

  He’s tried. All the evidence of what needs to be done, but boiling over his gut. His thoughts trouble him. The constant gnawing of his nerves. “This new guy…” his head shakes until buried into her neck, “I need you. I need your comfort.” Lucius burrows into her arms, “Comfort me tonight. Hold my insecurity,” and brushes his lips over her cheek, “I miss your touch.”

  Lucius enters her dream.

  Josephine erases his insecurity from earlier. Her dream sends memory of the ceremony, envisioning herself standing next to her groom. Lucius grabs his chest, “Yes,” gazing in her eyes, “I love this part.” His self-doubt fades with not a moment wasted and embraces her hand, “I take thee, Josephine. I always do.”

  “I take thee, Lucius,” she answered.

  His lids fasten, “Thank you. I want this.” By the time he dreams of opening his eyes…

  She’s shifted the dream.

  No longer at the Cathedral. They stand in front of her cabin doorway. Gladly, he carries her over the threshold with non-stoppable kisses all the way into the kitchen. “You never have to worry about me. I’m already yours.” He sets her on countertop with a groom’s smile. Every moment cherished like when they were dating. Meals in the kitchen. The long conversations and hours passing like mere moments with her. He asks, “What do you want me to make you? Ask of me anything.”

  “Well…” her brow hikes, “we said our vows.”

  Not quite wanting to end the thought process he’s marinating in as a form of counsel, he says, “Yes… but technically —

  “Kiss me.”

  So…

  he does. He feels her body temperature warming quicker. Delightful, he thinks. Everything is delightful.

  He drifts away a few inches with barely spoken words, “What’re you in the mood for?”

  “Everything…” she kisses him again, “nothing…” and robs words from his own lips, “whatever you want.”

  His breathing is changed slightly. Space between them is nonexistent. “But what do you want?”

  Her eyes are hungry, “You,” panting against his neck, “I want you.”

  His eyes water in holding back what he wants. What he truly wants more than anything. Fighting a losing battle but still pleading, “Hold me,” his breathing shudders, “Just hold me for a while like this. Keep me under control.”

  She nibbles over his ear, “I can do more than that.” Her hands slide against his waist.

  Gasp

  His voice is weak, “Keep it G rated, baby,” shaking his head and trying to exchange scenery. He’s gulping for air, both wanting and resisting her slow glide across his abs. “I’m so sensitive for you right now. I don’t know if I can stop.” Her power weakens him. Every movement of her fingertips along his beltline. Tempting him. Teasing him. “More…” he rubs her back. Stuck as a willing hostage in dream mode with hormones bubbling over. He wants what is natural; to claim her before another man can — before he could lose her. “I want this,” aloud he cries, “I wanna feel my wife!” His body’s aching, “I wanna give myself.”

  The dream changes…

  They’re no longer in the kitchen. She’s altered the dream. They’re in the bedroom with clothes are barely on. Mere moments from like it was the first time he had entered her dream at the wrong time. The wrong time a few months ago, when he felt a sneak peek of the bonding he craves with her. Reminding himself, “It’s not real.” He’s watching her stretch her jaw, “I can’t give in. G-rated, baby.”

  “Wait,” she knew what he meant. She’s memorized the moment just before his presence vanishes. Left to make love with an image of him. He disconnects his biology. No longer feeling her warmth, taking all the mental strength he had in order to do so. She says, “You’re fading. We said I do.”

  “Baby…” Next, his empathic ability. Removing the emotions tying him toward a slippery trap. The urge to experience a punishable act that she couldn’t understand. His eyes meet hers. “you’re so beautiful.”

  Love. An overwhelming want for her love swathes over him as he looks at her pleading eyes. An unspoken understanding,

  And

  removes his psychic connection. Protecting himself from indulging in something she wasn’t fully aware of. Something only part of her mind is willing to comprehend. And something he had no permission for. Something he… promised. He keeps them both innocent.

  “Not even in a dream.” His breath carries away from her. A painful minute long exhale and he removes his grip from around her body, standing from the inviting warmth over bedding. “What am I doing?” He backs into a hidden bookshelf. The door knocks open. “I’m not him,” cowering down a few inches from flooring. He rubs his temples, “I’m not that pervert. I don’t do that.” He glances over and she’s still in her dream. “You have your answer, Lucius. She still loves you.”

  He gives her privacy, allowing facial expressions freely to fantasize of him. “Restraint. I need a lot more restraint.” His swarming head lays over buckled knees, finally dropping onto the floor. He bumps the open door, using a cornered edge of book spines to scratch along his scalp. “Nights are gonna be difficult with this guy here.” His eyes fixate over walling. His vision stares through. Drake. Lucius sneers, “Ballsy.”

  Her rapid breathing soothes his vision over. “This is good for her…” studying recent atmosphere of the room like a crime scene, “…not me. I’m too vulnerable. Too weak for her…” hugging himself, “and want her to know I’m really here. Not just dreaming about it. I want her arms to hold me as her husband.” Buzzing flutters his stomach when thinking of her arms caressing him the way it was. He says, “The way she wants. The way I want. The way we….” He swallows bulging intentions down, covering his eyes, “I need her love poured over me.” Lucius gathers himself from the floor, glancing at her pleasing expressions, “At least it’s me she’s dreaming of,” slightly jealous of her full indulgence. “Must be nice.”

  He glimpses the papier-mâché box and takes two steps over. Trying to preoccupy himself. He gathers the white rose. Still sweet, smelling its fragrance as fresh as the day it was given. “I wish I was married to her right now,” and cranks a brow, glancing at feminine mirror reflections. “Someday,” nodding, “someday I’ll hold you with your father’s permission. I’ll never let you go.” Leo stretches along the sewing table and Lucius smiles over, plugging a finger, “You just wait.” White petals plume out with a spin of his fingers under nose, “I’ll marry her.”

  Josephine practices her morning ritual, opening an impractical cupboard and reaching the top shelf on tippy toes. “Oh, my,” she recoils with a lonely container. “Last can.” Leo is gazing large marbles at her. “I was so busy, I didn’t even notice.”

  Meow. Leo weaves eights around her ankles. She says, “I wish you understood,” and forks his food in a bowl. “All you know,” scooping little bits from the bottom of the can, “… is love and food. That’s all you think about.” His tail flicks upward with every pet across his body. “Strawberries,” she smiles, “I want strawberries for breakfast.” She pushes her shoulders back, and presses off the soles of her feet. “Since I have to get things anyway…” Josephine grabs her purse and shoes, “might as well leave now.”

  Drake treads lightly downstairs. His feet screaming at his brain from last night.

  “Didn’t you have early deliveries this morning?” Josephine weaves brows together, “You were wearing that last night before bed,” she said.

  “Yeah,” his brows hiked, “I did…” A thousand thoughts rush through with a deep inhale, “I only had one to make. No one cares what I wear.” He removes his balance from the banister, taking another sore step, “It’s Sunday after all.”

  “I guess you’re right,” and angles her chin. “Kids eat on Sunday.”

  “I usually deliver twice as much on Saturday,” raising his palm, “People don’t use my services much on Sunday after all. There used to be something called the blue law… prohibiting any work on Sunday
. Some facilities still do it like Catholic ran centers.” A cool collected stretch ends his conversation with a yawn.

  “Oh, okay,” she shrugs, “I guess you know more than I do.” She re-situates a lugged over purse strap, “Well… I have to go to the store for a bit. Gotta get some cat food and stuff. Is there anything you want while I’m out? It’ll take me an hour at least.”

  “Yeah,” scratching under his shirt with a small invitation of showing off abs, “You can get some beer or tequila. There’s nothing in this house. I checked when I couldn’t sleep.”

  Her crooked smile slants over, “I can’t.”

  “How come?”

  “Tomorrow,” she nods, “I’ll be legal tomorrow. That’s why.”

  His eyes expand, “Holy crap,” allowing an inspired smile to perk his expression, “tomorrow’s your twenty-first birthday, baby girl?”

  She blushes, “Yep. No big deal.”

  “No big deal?” His voice chirps, “We’ve gotta celebrate, girl,” taking his persuasive tour guide measures into his hands, “I know a great place we can hang. We need to celebrate. Do you have boots or a hat?”

  Josephine’s brows tangle with puzzlement, “Yeah,” stuttering out, “this is Texas, but —

  “Jojo,” his palm springs forward with a non-revoking offer, “I’m taking you line dancing,” and arches his shoulders back. “I’m gonna show you off to the world as an adult. It’s a better time than that guy ever showed you for sure.”

  “Hmmm. Well —

  “You’re gonna love it,” placing his hands over his heart, “I’m your friend. I wanna celebrate with you.”

  “— Well,” a smile sprouts over her cheeks and alongside his growing enthusiasm. She’s stuck with, “um…”

  He continues, “They have the best music, beer on tap, and dancing in all of south Texas. This is the place to go for your birthday ‘round here.” He pledges over his heart, gesturing good intentions, “I wanna treat you. Let me do this? Don’t rob me of my blessing. You deserve it because you took me somewhere. Jojo, you saved my life.” He points out her vacuumed rug, “You’ve been nothing but kind to me. I’ve been nothing but a clumsy klutz. You’re nothing but the best…” scooping his eyes upward, “and deserve the best.”

  The lifestyle is new to her. Almost alien and wouldn’t know how to act. But she teeters on the fence of how adults celebrate. “I don’t know,” hiding her anxiety pretty well.

  “Jojo…” His voice sings like a smooth song, helping to lull her reservations to sleep, “everyone does this for their twenty-first birthday in Texas. It’s part of society. This is how you show your independence as a responsible adult,” and his hand raises in a pledge once more, “You just wouldn’t be Texan without it.”

  “Sounds like fun,” hearing the words slip from her mouth. Did I really just say that, she thinks, I guess I’m going. A small nod follows her thought when answering him, “There’s nobody here to celebrate my birthday anyway,” her shoulder shrugs her full give, “Since you went to the wedding… I’ll go.”

  “That a girl.”

  She opens her door, “I can’t wait,” and glances outside, “Wouldn’t hurt to celebrate once like that I guess.” And Josephine shuts the front door behind her.

  “Won’t hurt at all,” he said, sprouting a smile to one side.

  ◆◆◆

  Drake shuffles through his room. Bags and boxes left open, searching a worn leather wallet with a few hundred-dollar bills fanning out. He counts quickly, “Not much left,” tossing worn leather into his travel bag. He grabs a small sack of declining narcotics, “Gonna need some’n soon.” He eyes over at his boots. A dwindling role of twenties slaps real life problems into the forefront of his mind, “Damn.” And checks the other size ten.

  Empty.

  “Shit.” He swings his bedroom door wide open, scanning across mediocre wooden furniture, until, staring over her side of the loft. “I bet, miss prim and proper, got some’n.”

  ◆◆◆

  In the master bedroom, Drake searches around knickknacks, dresser drawers, scouring through panties and bras. He elevates a few strings of lace at eye level. “These are hot. Wonder why she has ‘em. She ain’t using ‘em,” and tosses frilly lingerie back into cedar, “Maybe later,” slamming a top drawer shut.

  A peripheral glimmer catches his attention in the mirror. Crystal kitty cats shine reflected rays. And catches his eye. Bookshelves gleam at a slant with an early morning light. A small tilt of books play an optical illusion and raises suspicion. “Why’s it look like that,” his voice rolls forward with studious steps, “something’s off.” Drake yanks several books out of place. Revealing a harness…

  and…

  unveiling fake book spines. “A hidden door?” Left slightly cracked by an unsettled and preoccupied mind the night before. Drake’s lips part, “Alright,” fully opening a book-lined doorway, “Little miss-goody been holding out,” and fiddles with an intricate turn dial, realizing a code stands in his way. A frustrated fist presses several books back, knocking a crystal cat onto the floor. The crystal kitty’s purple heart separates with a hit to her carpet. Broken from its hands. He gathers the crystal pieces up, cussing nonsensical sentences. Drake huffs with careless placement of crystal back. Quickly resting the heart between the cat’s hands at an angle, “Worthless girly gobbledygook anyway.”

  Moments later, he’s shuffling through dresser items on top again. He pauses, “This one looks nice,” and opens mahogany lined mirrors from hinges, “Holy shii…”

  Two carat diamond earrings. A pristine cut shining blue-and-white sparkles back at him. A pure color proving natural diamonds. Neatly laid. Placed in the center of cream velvet. Josephine’s last gift from her father, and kept resurrected in her mother’s old jewelry box. Her own personal treasury from them.

  He grins prying eyes over the cut of one earring, “These’ll work,” and places his covet back, “… for now. Need to clone them with some’n first. Can’t let goody two shoes stay greedy,” and wipes smudges of his fingerprints with a folded sock from her drawer. “I’m simply keeping her humble.”

  ◆◆◆

  In the kitchen, he opens cupboards, filling the atmosphere with complaints. “Nothing but scratch kitchen crap in here,” wobbling a jaw toward the lack of instant food, “freaking gourmet or something.” Another cupboard opens up, “Where’s the microwave food?” He glances at illuminated green numbers hanging above the stove, “She’s got one right here,” and opens another door. “Does she even use it?” He slams a cupboard, “Probably, only to boil water like some rich prick.” Last cupboard, Drake rumbles across spices. Whitecaps of forgotten prescriptions peek through back lined bottles. “Forget breakfast,” and mutes his treasure trove hoot. “Little princess won’t be missing these,” scanning through prescribed menu items. “Dilaudid, hydrocodone… damn, there’s more,” and slides most of it in a plastic sandwich bag, leaving nearly empty bottles for what’s left of visual appearance.

  A couple pills slide down his throat with a swig of water straight from the faucet. He smacks his lips, “Wonder how uppers and downers mix?”

  Drake races upstairs, hunting through unfolded luggage he’s been living out of, and shuffles through pockets. “Where the hell…” trying to remember where the hidden compartment unfastens. Finally, he carries a crack pipe and lighter in hand. He occupies the bathroom for a short time. For the remainder of day, he stays in his room.

  Moonbeams greet Lucius through high loft windows as he makes his rounds. He passes the balcony’s double doors, cornering the loft way. “What’s our neighborhood serviceman up to?” And glances over toward an occupied room. “Haven’t heard much from him all day.” He moseys toward Drake’s door. Furry paws follow behind. Lucius swivels rearward, “Get back, buddy. Don’t ever come in here with this guy. It’s not safe,” and gestures beneath banister spindles, “Remember the living room incident? That guy you thought was a bird last week,” Leo walks off,
“You’re a smart cat.”

  Drake lies still.

  “What,” Lucius treads lightly through the wall and into the room. His investigating vision measures every facet around the five-foot ten-inch issue plaguing his mission.

  Drake’s color is faded.

  Lucius activates a band on his arm, checking Drake’s vitals. “Lowered heart rate. Slow breathing. Low oxygen,” and shakes his head, “and he smells toxic.” Drake is melted putty into his pillow. His half dry lips are open and drooling to one side. Lucius says, “This guy’s wasted.” A face of disgust snarls Lucius’s lip to one side. He kicks Drake’s foot hanging off the bed.

  But

  Drake doesn’t move.

  Lucius studies a low growl growing in Drake’s sleep. He’s only inches away when he grips Gamerin metal, “I dare you. Change right now. See what I do.”

  The snarl subsides.

  “You have no idea what side you’re on.” A scowling expression hovers over Drake. Lucius says, “You might not know much, but something in you does. Something in you knows I’m here.” He huffs, “I don’t care. I don’t like you. I would say that to your face. Openly if I could.” Lucius deactivates his camouflage to release a bitten tongue, “You’re not welcome here. I hope you get it in your thick skull. Something in you will remember this conversation…” and lowers down eye level, “I’m gonna find a way to get rid of you. I promise. And I don’t break my promises,” pointing his chomped lip down at him, “I always keep my word. It’ll be like you never existed — Mangoram pawn. I might not be allowed to do what I want… but… I’ll find a way. I always find a way.”

  Lucius raises to his feet, emptying holsters and stares, twirling daggers in each hand. “Nobody would miss him, or even care,” gripping a dagger firmly. “I’d be doing the world a favor.” But soon realizes there’d be no way to justify such actions. The blood of a pawn doesn’t evaporate the same as dimensional enemies. Lucius exhales with his feet leaving the room, breathing deeply. “Gotta be authorized before erasing this problem. I hate those bastards for this.” His head bows and makes strides toward balcony doors. “Please, help me through this? God, I’ve never wanted to kill a man so badly before. I hope this doesn’t make me a bad person.” He peers down from the second story balcony, studying a canyon landscape. A thick cedar forest and lake area. “I need strength for this guy. I’m one bladed swing away from going to prison.”