Wherever You Go

by Amanda Torrey

  Veins strained against Ricky’s temples as his nostrils flared and his shoulders tightened. His eyes looked too big, floating in a sea of mottled skin and undisguised hatred.

  How the hell could his brother hate him so much after all he had given, all he had sacrificed?

  Asher knew it was the addiction turning his brother into a narcissist, but times like this it just pissed him the fuck off.

  “You’ve always been selfish, Ash-hole,” Ricky slung the childish insult onto an unfazed Asher. “Someone should teach you a lesson about greed.”

  “I’m selfish,” Asher laughed. Don’t engage. Don’t engage.

  Sometimes it was hard not to engage.

  And sometimes he was tired of being the bigger man.

  “You can threaten me as much as you need to, Rick. There’s not much you could do to me that you haven’t already done.”

  Asher forced the door closed, ignoring his brother’s shouts and screeches and threats.

  Wishing he had an outlet for the anger and irritation making his limbs tremble, he considered for a flicker of a second calling Paisley for support. He abruptly killed that idea, but the pain of the thought cemented itself to the bones making up his chest wall.

  He leaned back on the couch, his hands clutching the back of his neck. A headache grew, and he knew it wasn’t going anywhere.

  Ricky kicked against the door, knocking the curtain down. The clatter of the curtain rod hitting the wood floor startled Asher, but he refused to let it rattle him the way it rattled the old glass. The kicks continued.

  But Asher ignored him.

  Ricky screamed and shouted before banging his head against the glass. Asher worried that he’d smash the glass and cut up his head.

  But Asher ignored him.

  “You’ll fucking regret this, you fucking cock-sucker!”

  Ricky’s voice trilled at the edges, burned Asher to the core, and yet still managed to cut into the part of Asher that wanted to reach out to shelter his brother, to protect him from himself.

  But Asher ignored him.

  The damn elephants returned to Asher’s chest, and no matter how much he prodded them to march on to another circus, they remained.

  But Ricky left.

  Asher listened as the screams and the shouts trailed off into the darkness, frightening wildlife and more than likely pissing off the neighbors.

  When the sound of crickets returned, Asher tiptoed upstairs to check on Izzy.

  A mound of blankets hid his niece. Her childhood teddy bear stood guard on the nightstand, a sharp contrast to the drunken teen he had found earlier.

  What had happened? Why was she acting out so severely? What was she crying out for?

  More time from him? More attention? More of a life?

  He’d give it to her.

  He’d figure it out.

  In the morning, they’d have a nice, friendly chat.

  When he had dropped her in the bed earlier, he had imagined a morning where he lectured her over freshly cooked eggs—a surefire way to make her never want to drink again.

  But he didn’t want to push her away, off this cliff she teetered on.

  He wanted to pull her back in.

  Izzy hadn’t had an easy life. Paisley was right—he was a bully.

  “The more you put your foot down, the more rebellious she’ll become.”

  Paisley may have destroyed him, but he couldn’t discount her intelligence. It had been much of what had attracted him to her in the first place.

  Tomorrow they’d turn a new leaf. Start fresh. Pretend they had found a heads up penny.

  Every positive cliché he could think of would apply to their new lives. He’d make sure Izzy felt so loved, she’d never want to harm herself again.

  If she wanted to dye her hair and wear make-up, so be it. He’d take her shopping for the stuff.

  If she wanted to date… well, they’d discuss it. Maybe he could chaperone a night at the bowling alley.

  Maybe he’d even upgrade her cell phone and let her have one of those overpriced data plans.

  The only thing he wouldn’t allow, aside from maybe body piercing and older boys, was for her to destroy her life.

  Her father and uncle had done enough of that for the family.

  ***

  Asher didn’t remember falling asleep. He jolted awake to an earthquake, slamming his booted feet into the coffee table and disrupting the glass of soda he had perched there. He watched in slow motion as the liquid sloshed against the sides, but unlike his life, it didn’t spill all over.

  The earthquake turned out to be his front door rattled by a forceful knock.

  Still dark out. Someone at the door. Never a good sign.

  Suddenly clear-minded, Asher peered out, a sphere of spinning blades lodging in his throat as he stared at the uniformed officer.

  Jenkins nodded, his lips set in a grim line.

  Asher stood in the doorway, taking a mental inventory.

  Izzy—sound asleep upstairs. Paisley—no reason he could think why she would have left her cottage. She had been dressed for bed. His brother—shit. His brother.

  “Where is he?”

  Jenkins cleared his throat.

  “Your brother was last reported to be entering the apartment at your father’s garage, but your car was found over an embankment, not too far from your shop. Crashed into a tree. There’s no sign of anyone in it, so I came here to see what you know.”

  Asher shook his head to clear it of the fog Jenkins’ words had created.

  “My car?”

  Jenkins nodded, as solemn as if he had given him the news Asher most feared.

  “Ferrari. Probably totaled.”

  Asher stumbled back into a kitchen chair, closing his eyes and clutching the back of his head.

  Jenkins followed him into the house.

  “We’ve been keeping an eye on your brother. We’re trying to figure out how the drugs are getting into our small town, and since his struggle is so well-publicized, we figured he’d lead us there eventually.”

  “You’re following my brother?”

  “Yes, sir. Figure he’s our best bet.”

  Asher filled his lungs with the putrid air of defeat and discouragement.

  “I hope you get those bastards off the streets.”

  “So do we,” Jenkins agreed. “Were you driving your Ferrari earlier tonight? Around eleven?”

  Asher shook his head. He remembered the clock flashing 11:11 in his niece’s room when he checked on her. He had made a fervent wish—just like she had always insisted. He had wished for his little family to overcome the giant stack of bullshit that had worked against them for the last decade plus.

  “Any idea who could have taken it? Anyone have access to your keys?”

  Jenkins withdrew his notepad and pen from his chest pocket. He studied Asher as he clicked his pen to life.

  Asher glared at the officer.

  “I have no idea. My brother was here around that time. Probably some punks.”

  Jenkins scribbled on his notepad.

  “We had reports of a disturbance around 10:45. Is that when your brother was here?”

  “Of course you did. No one can ever mind their damned business.”

  “Is that when your brother was here?”

  “Yes. You know he was.”

  “And he left under duress?”

  “Yes.” Asher shoved his hands through his hair.

  “Any threats?”

  “Jesus, Jenkins. He wouldn’t have crashed the Ferrari. He loved that thing as much as our father did.”

  Jenkins didn’t respond, and Asher knew he had as much faith in Asher’s words as Asher did.

  Static codes crashed the silence as the officer visibly prepared his next questions. Asher watched as Jenkins stepped to the side to communicate in codes Asher didn’t understand. He did, however, pick up on the undertones.

  Something bad was happening. And it was something that had to do w
ith Asher.

  “What is it?” Asher demanded, digging his nails into his palms as he struggled to keep his cool. Wishing he could remember the details from the days when his dad listened to the codes come in over the scanner.

  Jenkins flipped his notebook closed and tucked his pen into his pocket.

  “Don’t leave here. I’ll be back.”

  “What the—”

  His words echoed back at him as Jenkins closed the door behind him.

  Asher fought the urge to follow Jenkins, but resisted. He couldn’t leave Izzy alone. Not until they figured out how to call a truce in this war of rebellion.

  Asher splashed cold water on his face. He prepared a pot of coffee. He sat at the table and alternated staring at the door and the phone, wondering from where the next bit of bad news would burst.

  Seconds later, he had his answer.

  The door.

  More urgent and panicked than Jenkins’ knock.

  Asher whipped the door open, a little relieved—but also pissed—to find Ricky standing there. Living. Breathing. Crying. Bloody.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Asher pulled Ricky by the front of the shirt, dragging him to the kitchen where he shoved him into a chair.

  Tiny shards of broken glass glittered on his shoulders in the folds of his sweatshirt.

  “You smell like a campfire. Where have you been?”

  “I fucked up, Ash. I fucked up so bad.”

  Ricky pulled at his hair, rivulets of tears running over bruised cheeks and pooling next to his sliced lip.

  “What. Did. You. Do?”

  “I’m a failure, Ash. Damn it all. I’m nothing but a failure.”

  Ash couldn’t bring himself to argue. Not when all of his suspicions were bubbling over from his protected fantasy version of what was possible into the cold, harsh reality sitting before him.

  The phone rang, bringing more despair into an already dark room.

  Asher listened to Gary St. Clair’s words.

  Fire.

  Garage.

  Fuck.

  As Gary rattled on, suddenly eager to reminisce about the days when Asher’s father first opened the garage and promised the neighbors a lifetime of free oil changes in return for dealing with the shop noise, Asher began to zone out.

  And to focus.

  He lost track of Gary’s words, but he zeroed in on something missing.

  Izzy’s shoes.

  Asher had dropped them next to the door when he carried her in. He had straightened them like little soldiers after he had fixed the icemaker.

  They were gone.

  Oil spots gathered in his eyes as his head grew lighter, threatening to float away before bursting into millions of pieces. The walls of his home tightened around him. He clawed at his chest, eager to interrupt Gary’s monologue, but unable to loosen his throat enough to speak. All he could do was hyperfocus on the missing shoes and the words coming through the phone line.

  “The authorities told me I shouldn’t call ya, but I thought you should know. I know you’ve been having trouble with your brother and all, and that little girl of his has been rebelling something awful. When I seen her sneaking up to the window earlier, I shoulda stopped her. Had my hounds howling somethin’ fierce. That was a few hours ago. Didn’t wanna get involved, but the missus said you might wanna talk to her about how a young lady ought to conduct herself at night. Damn, that fire is raging something—”

  Asher hung up the phone, his limbs spurring him into action.

  “Get on the couch and stay there,” Asher ordered his brother, leaving no room in his tone for argument. “Did you see Izzy today?”

  Ricky shook his head, his eyes morphing into full moons.

  Asher bolted upstairs and ripped the blankets off Izzy’s bed. Nothing but pillows and a bunched-up sheet. The teddy bear on the nightstand mocked him at his pathetic attempt at keeping his young niece safe.

  “You’re sure you didn’t see Izzy?”

  Asher tried for a level tone, but panic crept in like long, spindly fingers in a dark fairy tale.

  Ricky grabbed his temples and shook his head violently.

  “Izzy, Izzy, Izzy.” Ricky repeated her name over and over as he rocked on the couch.

  Asher took hold of Ricky and shook his shoulders.

  “Tell me when you saw her!”

  “I don’t know! I mean, I was having some sort of psychological problem or something. I swore I could see Rachel. I don’t know. I thought she came back from the dead to fucking haunt me—Jesus. But she started crying and shit and I think it might have been Izzy.” Ricky pinched his cheeks until Asher thought they might bleed. “By the time my eyes could focus she disappeared.”

  Grabbing his truck keys and cell phone, he made Ricky promise to stay next to the couch and to call him if anyone called the house phone. He dialed his cell phone into the home phone so Ricky could simply press “redial,” knowing full well that Ricky wouldn’t remember the phone number if Asher rattled it off then.

  Asher didn’t give a shit about his blatant violation of the speed limit as he raced uptown.

  Taking a curve too fast, he pushed all thoughts of his wrecked Ferrari and his dad’s burning garage out of his head. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that Izzy was okay.

  What if she had snuck into the garage to hide from him in what she thought was a safe place? What if she had been trying to visit with her dad? What if she had been meeting one of the older boys she’d been flirting with there?

  Every scenario would have been his fault. His fault for acting angrily. His fault for not allowing visitation with her father. His fault for not being more understanding about who she wanted to be.

  His fault for not knowing how to be a parent.

  His cell phone buzzed in his hand. He answered it without looking.

  “Asher, it’s about time you answered,” Paisley chastised. “I’ve been calling you over and over again. What’s the point of having a phone if you don’t answer it?”

  He shook his head and inhaled a ragged breath, growling on the exhalation. He couldn’t do this now.

  “Izzy is here. She showed up about an hour ago, and I’ve been trying to call you ever since. She’s a trembling mess. I’m way over my head here.”

  “Izzy? Is there?” Relief coursed through him like a freshly cleaned fuel injection system. He jerked the truck onto the side of the road so he could catch his breath.

  “Oh, damn. Were you sleeping? I’m sorry I came across harsh when you answered. You were so angry with me earlier…I wanted to make sure you knew she was here again. And that I had nothing to do with encouraging her.”

  He leaned his head back, his eyes closed and his head pounding.

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He didn’t know if he was thanking Paisley or a higher entity, but sensation was returning to his extremities again.

  “You okay, Asher? You sound highly distressed.”

  His laughter tripped out of his throat, coarse and unrefined.

  “There’s a lot going on.” He unloaded some of the bad news that had been pouring in, not appreciating the tension that grew in his chest and muscles with every bit of information he shared.

  Though insanely relieved that his niece was safe, he now had to deal with the fact that the rest of his life was in complete turmoil.

  “Asher, I know things have been…tense between us. But I’m here if you need to talk.”

  “I’ve got to go. If you don’t mind holding onto her for a bit, I’ll swing by and pick her up when I’m done dealing with shit.”

  She hesitated before she responded, and he could picture her neck pulsating and her eyes questioning. He imagined himself swinging her into his arms and burying his face in her neck, inhaling her sweet scent as he took comfort from her.

  Instead, he swung into the parking lot of his father’s burning garage.

  Seeing the damage in action hurt more than his earlier numbness fore
shadowed.

  He left the truck running while he jumped out.

  He had to get in there. His parents’ ashes were in there.

  “Whoa, whoa, there. Slow it down. No way in hell are you passing this line.” Officer Jenkins blocked Asher’s path. Asher’s nostrils flared as several uniforms gathered behind Jenkins.

  “Out of my way,” Asher growled. “I have to get in there.”

  Jenkins placed a warning hand on Asher’s chest.

  “Look at it, Asher. It’s not even safe for our people to go in. They’re doing their best to contain the fire and keep it from spreading to the trees, but the structural integrity is compromised. You wouldn’t make it out.” Jenkins paused. “People need you, Asher. That’s just a building.”

  The stress of the night caught up with Asher as the officer’s words penetrated the fog of worry that had hovered over him for days. As if to punctuate the point, the loud creak of cracking beams pierced through Asher’s inner turmoil. He closed his eyes to the horrible groan of crashing and burning.

  Everything his parents had worked so hard for. Gone.

  In one night.

  The Ferrari. The garage.

  The photos. The blueprints.

  His parents’ ashes.

  Asher fell to his knees, the gravel cutting through his jeans and digging into his skin.

  What had he done wrong? Had he forgotten to have the furnace serviced? Had he ignored a safety recommendation? Had he overlooked aging wiring?

  “Want me to call someone?” Jenkins rested a hand on Asher’s shoulder.

  Asher shook his head.

  There was no one to call.

  His life had been committed to taking care of people who couldn’t help him back.

  And preserving the past.

  He had even had the nerve to try to plan for the future.

  Not for himself, but to help make the road he had traveled a little easier for someone else.

  He was a fool.

  Jenkins stood guard over Asher’s mourning body as action swirled around him. The fire eventually ceased roaring. The lights and sirens were eventually replaced by the rising sun. The urge to watch his life go to ruins was eventually replaced by the need to get home and figure out where the hell to go from there.