by A. P. Moraez
“Of course.”
She had stayed close to the closet doors, so Ash cut the distance between them quickly. He had to get out of there.
“Turn around for me,” he asked as he placed a hand on her left upper arm, so she’d know he was standing close.
She gingerly did what he asked.
Ash found the little zipper and, quick as that, it was done.
“Thanks!” She started to slowly run her hands around the material.
It was then that a faint green light coming from the closet caught his eye.
It was funny. Green didn’t go at all with the theme of the room, and it wasn’t Nat’s style, either. He couldn’t remember ever seeing the girl wear that color before.
While she happily went to her desk in the other corner and asked, “What color of makeup do you think would go well with this?”, Ash turned to the closet and opened the doors the girl had left ajar.
What he saw was the stuff of nightmares. It shocked him so much that he took way longer than normal to reply.
Natasha repeated her question, sounded frustrated.
“Maybe some vibrant color? Maybe red? That will contrast well with the light colors and your skin, Nat.”
It was only the years and years of blood and mayhem that made it possible for him to keep a hold of his voice in that moment.
He’d always wondered why Leo was in the habit of taking the eyes out of some of his victims. During that first year of enlisting Ash into his service, he’d tried to hide it from him, thinking it’d weird him out. That didn’t last, though. They were together far too much throughout the day for Leo to be able to hide such things from him. Ash had always thought it was just some weird kink of his. Someone sick in the head could always get sicker, right?
Not in a thousand years would he have guessed their destination, though.
He’d considered everything, from Leo selling them on the black market to the man eating them. God knew he had sick thoughts sometimes.
But this?
Giving eyes of dead people to his daughter to keep in her closet, in glass jars?
This was sick. Creepy.
Was the girl aware of it? Or worse, had she asked for it?
Was it possible that not even one of the Lazarus could be saved?
The girl was running her mouth excitedly behind him, but he couldn’t hear any of it, to grossed out and weirdly entranced by the twenty plus pairs of orbs staring at him, floating in the green liquid.
After he didn’t know how long, he spun around.
This was the last drop. They were freaks. All of them.
He had killed and threated and tortured, yes, but this wasn’t who he was. It was a job. A job he’d all but been forced into. Threatened into.
This wasn’t his.
This was sick. They were all sick.
He had to get out of here.
“Alright, Nat. I gotta go run some late errands. I’ll be back some time later, okay?”
“Really?” She sounded disappointed. “Can you call some place and order a pizza or something for me first? I don’t really like microwaved food, and dad gave the kitchen people the day off.”
“Sure.”
He had one foot out the door when he froze, heart jumping inside his chest.
There were voices coming from outside.
Leonardo talking to someone else, probably Ivan.
They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.
Ash couldn’t believe his bad luck.
He stepped back into the room and closed the door as silently as possible, then locked it.
He was breathing heavily, and Natasha noticed.
“Ash? Why did you lock my door?”
He couldn’t stay here. If Leo caught him, he was done for. There was no excuse he could bring up to be roaming the house fully dressed, hair still wet from the shower he’d taken less than forty minutes ago, backpack loaded with all his few belongings, guitar on his shoulder.
The angel of death would fall down upon him with all his might, rage and power, and Ash would be toast.
“Ash, why did you lock my door? Weren’t you going to leave?”
“Nat, I—”
“Wait, is that dad?”
On his panic, Ash stole a look in her direction. She’d just risen from her chair and a rare smile lit her whole face.
“I thought he was gonna be back only tomorrow afternoon.”
She was dead before her slender fingers could touch the door handle she’d reached for and turn the key.
Her neck snapped easily, taking only a practiced move Ash had used many times before.
Ash hugged her limp body flush to his own bigger frame and carried her to the bed.
It took some effort, but he managed to put her under the covers and turn her back to the door and place her head in a convincing position onto her pillow. Then he rushed to the still locked door and pressed the switch on the nearby wall, turning off the lights. After that, he pressed his ear to the door and prayed to all that was sacred that Leo would just think his daughter was asleep and go to his own room to take a shower or something, before going looking for him. If that happened, he’d have plenty of time to escape before being caught and executed.
The sound of footsteps coming into the main upstairs hallway reached his ears, and his heartbeat matched them as they neared Natasha’s room. When they stopped right outside, Ash thought the sound of his own frantic heartbeat would be heard even through the thick door. Thankfully, though, Leo only hesitated for a moment outside before his footsteps continued toward the other end of the hall. From there he’d hopefully go to his room, and then Ash could make his great escape.
Praying that he wasn’t wrong and Leo hadn’t just stopped at his office before coming back to talk to Ivan or give the man some files or something, Ash, with extreme care, unlocked the door, pushed it slightly open and took a peek outside.
All darkness, except for the flickering light coming from downstairs. Ivan had probably lit up a fire in the living room’s fireplace; the man was never satisfied with the gas heating system which heated the whole mansion through the pipes running on the walls.
Maybe he’d be taking a nap on the couch, though. Or grabbing a snack on the kitchen. Ash could only hope, at this point, that he’d make it out of the house unseen.
Ash made his way downstairs, mindful of every step on the wooden stairs. Unfortunately, he had no luck tonight, it seemed.
Ivan had his back to him, sitting on the sectional, which happened to be placed between Ash and the front door. He was reading something, massive shoulders going up and down with each breath.
Silent as a viper, Ash retrieved the gun, silencer already on, and tiptoed his way toward the man. He couldn’t risk missing the shot. Usually, he was a pretty good shot, but all the happenings of the last hour had his nerves on edge.
So Ash marched silently until the hand holding the gun was almost touching Ivan’s head.
It all happened so fast, Ash barely registered it. One second, he’d been ready to pull the trigger; next he knew, Ivan had grabbed his arm and twisted it away from his head. Not before Ash managed to pull the trigger, though.
The bullet had hit him on the neck, and the man immediately raised his hand to cover the gaping hole there, eyes bulging out, bleeding all over them both. He was strong, though, and his other hand still had a hold of Ash’s arm, the one holding the gun, away from him. A flash of understanding crossed before the man’s eyes as he took account of Ash’s backpack and guitar, then he brought the hand that had been protecting his neck down and Ash barely caught the glint of the knife before he took the second of opportunity to kick the man in the stomach.
Ivan had been in the process of bringing the knife down on him with all his might, but the kick Ash gave him threw him backwards.
Searing pain, like he’d never felt before, burned Ash’s torso. The very point of the knife had made contact and slashed his sweats
hirt open diagonally from shoulder to hip.
He didn’t let Ivan have another go at him, though, he raised the gun and fired. His hand was shaking and, as a result, the first shot hit the gas pipe immediately over the fireplace, but the second hit Ivan square on the chest. For good measure, Ash shot a third time, between his eyes. Ivan fell to the ground, making a last gurgling sound as the first shot on the throat drowned him in his own blood. He twitched one last time, then he didn’t move anymore.
Run. He had to run.
The missed shot had caused a minor explosion, and the leaking gas had somehow reacted with the fire raging in the fireplace and made the Persian rug between the fireplace and the sectional catch fire.
It was spreading fast. He didn’t wanna be here when it took over the whole place.
He took a step back, and then the pain in his chest made him wince. Ash took stock of himself. He was bleeding, but the cut wasn’t that deep, maybe a quarter of an inch from shoulder to hip. But it hurt. He didn’t have time now to take care of it.
He grabbed the guitar case, which had fallen to the ground as he’d struggled with Ivan, and started marching toward the front door.
The fire was already licking at the pillars which led upstairs. In a matter of minutes, it’d reach the second floor where the rooms were, and then the ceiling. After that, it was only a matter of seconds before the place came crashing down.
“What the fuck is going on down here?” Leo cried as soon as he entered the living room, right as Ash reached the front door and pulled it open.
There was a line of fire between them, not that high, but intimidating nevertheless.
It was like everything had gone slow-motion.
Leo’s expression went from pissed-off, to confused, then shocked, and back to pissed-off, all in a matter of two seconds.
When the man’s arm arched backwards to reach for his gun, Ash raised his own and fired. This time, his hand hadn’t been shaking. He had waited for a long time to have an opportunity like this and, to his surprise, the finality of it bathed him in calmness.
The first shot hit Leonardo Lazarus on the right shoulder. The other two hit him one on each thigh.
That’d be enough. He deserved to suffer before dying. A bullet to the head wasn’t punishment, it was freedom and release. He didn’t deserve that.
“You’re not escaping this,” Leo huffed out, clutching the wound on his shoulder. “I’m calling Nate. He’s gonna get to you. I may die here, but I’m coming after you. You can’t hide from me.”
The wound on Ash’s torso was burning worse by the second. He had to go.
“Good luck trying. You taught me well, Leo, these last few years. I’m not the dumb kid I was when I got here, don’t know if you noticed.”
Leo was grabbing his shoulder, gun lying at his side as he fought to retain consciousness. The blood loss was already making him falter in place.
The hate in those icy, cold eyes, filled Ash with fear, but there was no time for it now.
“Meanwhile, if I were you, I’d worry about saving your daughter, who’s sleeping upstairs.” Ash let a small smile pull at his lips and gestured with his chin to the flames between them. “I don’t think it’ll take long before the flames reach her bedroom, at this rate.”
Leo was reaching for his cellphone, but, in his weakened estate, let it drop to the floor. There was no way he’d survive this. Nate had probably headed to his girlfriend’s after the business negotiations with prospect suppliers were over. He wouldn’t get here in time. There was no way Leo was getting out of this alive.
With that in mind, Ash, never letting his eyes stray from the man who’d tormented him more than helped him through the last four years, opened the door, got outside, and slammed it behind it.
Then he made a dash for his car, parked on the opposite side of the parking lot surrounded by the garden.
And that was the last he saw of the Lazarus family and of the place who’d sheltered him for a while, then taken from him everything he’d had left, including a great deal of his humanity.
unmasked
“AND THAT WAS it,” Ash finished, voice raw from talking for over an hour now. “That was the last I saw of the Lazarus family. I drove as far as I could, but at some point the wound on my chest was hurting too much. It got me dizzy and feverish. I hit a snow bank, at some point in the afternoon of the second day. The airbags saved me, though. I got out of the car and started walking, hoping someone would eventually pass by me on the road and help me.” Again, as he’d been doing through the last few minutes, Ash brushed his chest, right along where the scar ran. “Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital, after—”
“After I found you,” Tom finished the sentence for him in a choked voice.
Ash couldn’t bear looking anyone in the eye, so he just shook his head, gaze locked in his and Cass’ hands, locked tight on his lap. She hadn’t moved a single muscle from the moment Ash had started telling his story and, even though she’d started crying at some parts, when Ash was telling of his life on the streets and, later, when he told them about what Leonardo made him do, she’d never let go of his hand.
“So, this guy,” Jeff started, “Lazarus. You think he’s the one who killed Old Morgan?”
“Yeah,” Ash replied, never looking at his brother. Could he even call him that still? Was that allowed now that they all knew what he’d done? Ash shook his head, frustrated. “I thought he’d never get out of that house alive. I wanted him to suffer for what he did. To me and to my friends and to every other innocent kid that came before us. Clearly, I was wrong.”
“Are you sure, though?” asked Tom. His voice was different, harsher, as if he was angry. He had every right to be. Ash would too, if he’d just found out he’d welcomed a murderer into his family and subjected his whole family to his presence for almost a decade. “Couldn’t this just be a copycat or something?”
Ash risked a glance in the man’s direction before responding. Tom’s expression was closed and grim. Gone was the carefree giant teddy bear he’d grown to respect and love.
“Yeah, dear,” Martha added, puffed-up eyes shifting from his to her husband at her side and back to him again. She’d been crying almost the whole time and it gutted Ash in the worst of ways. “Couldn’t this be just some other criminal playing tricks on you now that you’ve become well-known?”
Ash threw her a half-smile before looking at his and Cass’ interlocked hands again. He’d thought of all the possibilities; all the alternatives they could possibly come up with, but none of them made any sense.
“No,” he said, “it’s him. I know it is.”
“How, though? How can you be so sure?” asked Sophia, who’d gotten up from her place on the sectional at some point and started pacing the room. Now she stood next to the fireplace, hands planted on both sides of her waist.
“It’s everything combined,” Ash let out in a frustrated voice. “The way he operates; the way Morgan’s body was found. The removing of the eyes. The message he left there for me.”
“But how do you know it was for you?” asked Lauren, who was trying to calm Ms. Taylor down from one more crying fit.
“Don’t you remember the message? Useless now. And it’s your fault, B.”
“B, because that’s what you were for him,” Jeff butted in. “That’s what he called you, because you were his plan B. The one he sent to… to…”
“You can say it, Jeff. Cowering away from the word won’t make it any less real.”
The silence in the room was heavy.
“Yes, B was his term of endearment for me. Because I was the one he sent to do the dirty work when his attempts to,” Ash made quotation marks in the air with his fingers, “be civil didn’t get him what he wanted.”
For the first time in way over an hour, Ash lifted his gaze to take in the whole room. His eyes immediately landed on Logan and, in that moment, he was glad for already having been seated, otherwise he could’ve just collapsed.
Sapphires were circled by wet spots he hadn’t been able to completely wipe away. Ash had made him cry too, as he knew he would. His square jaw, covered by the sexy beard he’d been growing since coming to Hoofslope, was locked tight, his pink lips practically lacking all color, so tight he was pressing them. Both his hands were balled at his sides and he was looking right at him with a mixture of emotions that frightened Ash to his very core. Because Ash would never have guessed that he’d see anger and… betrayal reflecting right at him from eyes that’d always meant everything to him; that regret and even disgust would burn so bad when coming from the man he loved. From his best friend.
But those were exactly the emotions twirling there in the depths of those eyes that meant the world to him.
Guess he’d lost them now too.
“I’ve killed,” Ash finally said, and the words admitted after so long felt equally freeing and terrifying. Tasted rough on his mouth. “Countless people, in the most horrible ways.” He averted his gaze when a single tear fell from the corner of Logan’s right eye. “I’ve also tortured, manipulated, persuaded and prostituted myself, all in the name of a man that, at the time, I thought was being kind to me.” Ash’s voice faltered. “I thought he’d always be the best chance I got at not struggling out on the streets again. And I know that doesn’t justify not having run away as soon as possible after that first night when he revealed his true self to me, but you don’t know what it’s like out there…” Ash wiped away a tear from his eye with the brim of his sweater. “You don’t know what he was like. How charming and convincing and persuasive he could be.”
“It’s your fault,” Ms. Taylor cried. “It’s because of you that Morgan is dead.”
The words stung, but the pain they caused hurt only because of the truth in them.
“Grace, please—”
“No, Martha,” Ash interrupted. “She’s right. It is my fault.”
“Ash, you were just—”
“No,” Ash cut Martha off, raising his hand to stop her right there. “Please, don’t make excuses for me. I deserve whatever it is that comes my way.”
