by Isabel Fox
“Cassie? It’s okay, I can track your location through the phone you’re using. I’ll send officers to you right away, they’ll be there as soon as they can. Did you say someone was dead? Can you get somewhere safe?”
“Drew,” I moaned mournfully. “Poor Drew is dead, I don’t know what Ashton did but he killed him.” I said. No sooner had the words left my mouth than there was a pounding on the door.
“Cassie? Cassie, open the door! Open it right now!” Ashton demanded.
“We may have a slight problem,” I breathed into the phone.
“Cassie? Do not hang up, okay? Stay on the line. Help is on the way,” the dispatcher’s voice sounded in my ear.
“Cassie!” Ashton’s voice sounded absolutely furious. “Who are you talking to? Open the door!” This was followed by a loud thud that I could only assume was Ashton attempting to force the door open. There was a brief pause, then a scuffling sound, a click, and then I saw the knob turn. Ashton had a key. Of course he did. I just couldn’t catch a break, could I?
For a moment, Ashton and I both just stared at one another, him with a hurt expression on his face, me with Drew’s nearly dead cell phone still pressed to my ear.
Then, with an alarming screech like a banshee, Ashton lunged at me. I managed to dive out of the way, colliding shoulder first with the wall and dropping the phone as I did. My path was clear now, though, and I wasn’t wasting another second. Sprinting down the hall, I made a beeline for the front door. Much to my chagrin, the deadbolt was tightly locked. From the inside.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I muttered aloud. “Do you have stock in Schlage?” I didn’t have much time to bemoan my bad luck, though, as seconds later Ashton came careening into the living room.
“Cassie,” he said. “Let’s talk about this.”
“What,” I asked, moving so that the couch, now conspicuously empty, was between us, “is there to talk about? Besides the fact that I think having deadbolts that require a key to open from the inside is a major fire hazard.”
“I love you!” Ashton burst out, sounding close to tears. “I’ve done so much for you, for us. Why don’t you see that?”
“It’s like I tried to explain to you via text earlier this week,” I replied, inching my way towards the kitchen with the vague thought that there must be a knife or something in there I could use to protect myself. “I get that you think these things you’re doing are sweet and romantic, or whatever. But really, they’re not. They’re creepy and insane and I don’t like them. Doing even more of the things I don’t like is the exact opposite of what you should be doing. And I have to say, murder is kind of a deal breaker for me. Drew was your best friend, and you killed him!”
“Cassie, I know that was bad. I hate that I had to. But I really did have to do it. There was no other choice. If you would just give me a chance,” Ashton really was crying now. I could see tears sliding down his cheeks. “I could do better! I could prove to you how much I love you. Cassie, you are the most perfect girl I’ve ever met. I’ll do anything to make you see that!”
“Look, Ashton, here’s the thing. The police are on their way. It’s all over. It doesn’t matter anymore,” I said, trying to sound both firm and soothing at the same time. My hope was that the police would arrive any minute, but with the roads in such bad shape I knew it might take a little longer for them to get here. Never mind that I had no idea where “here” was. For all I knew, we could be an a whole other county. If that was the case, I certainly didn’t want to antagonize Ashton into doing something rash. I just needed to keep the situation under control for a little while longer.
“No,” Ashton shook his head vehemently as he came even closer. “It does matter. I’ve worked so hard to make this happen. I’ve worked so hard to have this chance, to show you how perfect we’d be together. I’m not going to let all this go down the drain because you’re too brainwashed to see that we are meant to be!”
I noted with some alarm that Ashton’s hands were clenched into fists at his sides. There was no doubt in my mind now that he would attack me if he thought it was the only way to keep me there.
“Stay back,” I told Ashton, holding up my hand. “Just...stay there, okay?”
To my surprise, Ashton actually stopped in his tracks a few feet away from where I had crossed over the threshold to the kitchen. He sniffled loudly and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. His hands loosened.
“Look,” I went on, “I know this is probably really upsetting. I get it. I know what it’s like to be disappointed in how someone feels about you. I know what it’s like to feel rejected. And it sucks, there’s no getting around that.” I had no idea where this was coming from, but amazingly Ashton seemed to be listening. He had stayed where he was, his head cocked to the side like a lost little puppy. A terrifyingly psychopathic puppy, but still.
“You...do?” he said, sounding surprised.
“Yeah, I really do,” I replied truthfully. “My mom left me when I was a kid. I haven’t talked to her in years. It took a long time for me to get over the fact that no matter how good I was, how well I did in school, or how perfect I tried to be, it wouldn’t make her want to come back and be my mom. Finally realizing that, well, it’s...it’s made a big difference. I feel...I don’t know, free. You can get there, too, Ashton.”
“But...I don’t want to get there,” Ashton said slowly. His expression was a strange one that I couldn’t quite read. “I’m not your mom, Cassie. I do see how perfect you are. I-”
“Just stop it!” I interrupted. “You keep saying that and it’s driving me crazy. Ashton, I’m not perfect. I’m neurotic and obsessive and I have really awful taste in movies. Sometimes I’m a little selfish and I’m a neat freak and oblivious and it’s not entirely unheard of for me to spend an entire Saturday organizing my closet, okay? I am far from perfect. I’m just...me.”
“Oh, Cassie,” Ashton clucked his tongue sadly. He gave me a look that was full of pity and took a few steps toward me. My back was pressed against the kitchen counter already, and I began to slide down the length of it warily.
“Cassie, Cassie, Cassie,” Ashton went on. Just hearing him say my name like that made me cringe. “You poor thing. This is why you need to be with me. You have no idea how amazing you really are! Your friends and that...that guy you’re wasting your time with don’t see how special you are. They take advantage of you, take you for granted. I would never do that to you, though.”
For the love of God, I thought. Did he hear nothing I said? Is he that delusional? Where are the police, anyway?
Ashton reached out a hand and tried to run it down my arm. I flinched away, and he furrowed his brow in concern.
“Cassie? Are...are you afraid of me?” he asked, the thought having clearly just occurred to him. He took a step closer to me, leaving only a half foot gap between us. I had reached the corner of the counter, and there was nowhere I could easily move now. Like an idiot, I’d gotten myself trapped.
I was torn between being honest and acting brave. I settled for the truth.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid you’re going to hurt me, like you did Drew.”
“Cassie!” Ashton’s voice was shocked. “Of course I wouldn’t hurt you! Oh, sweetheart,” he said, reaching out and taking my hand. I tried to jerk it away, but he held on tightly.
“Cassie, I can prove to you that I’d never hurt you. Come with me, and give me a chance to show you how incredible we could be together,” Ashton went on. He had leaned in until his face was just inches from mine. I could smell his breath, a mix of wintergreen gum and something else faintly sour.
“No. I’m not going with you, Ashton. Move,” I said. I was finally able to pull my hand free from his grasp. I pushed at his shoulders and tried to get past him. He moved closer and stretched out his arms until he held onto the counter on either side of me to block my path. There was a distressed look on his face.
“Really, Cassie, don’t
you see? You just have to give me a chance, and you’ll-” Ashton broke off abruptly and wrapped his arms around me, pressing his lips to mine.
“Get off of me!” I cried out, jerking my head out of range of his mouth. I flailed wildly, pushing and shoving at him.
“Just...hold...still,” Ashton grunted as he struggled to keep me in place, apparently oblivious to my words. He grabbed a chunk of my hair in one hand, holding my head in place. Pressing his lips to my throat, he left a trail of skin crawling kisses down my neck and shoulder. Feeling desperate now, I tried to bring my knee up, hoping to strike him in the groin. Ashton had apparently anticipated this move, though, because he shoved himself against me, pinning me to the counter before I could make contact.
The sudden pressure made my ribs explode in pain, so sharp and sudden I could barely stand. I cried out, startling Ashton. He pulled back slightly, and I sank to the cold tile floor, barely able to breathe. Ashton crouched in front of me, his expression a mixture of alarm and worry. Fighting against the pain that was strong enough to make me want to black out, I again raised my leg and kicked out. My foot made contact with Ashton’s chest, and sent him sprawling backward. He scrambled to his feet and started to move back towards me before pausing abruptly.
While I was on the ground wheezing and panting, something moving behind Ashton caught my eye. I couldn’t make out what it was, though, and for a wild moment I thought I was imagining things. Then Ashton dropped to his knees.
His expression was one of complete surprise. Looking down at himself, I saw what had startled him so. In his torso, jutting out from under his ribs, was a large kitchen knife. The fabric around the blade was dark and wet looking. Blood, I quickly realized.
“Hummmph,” Ashton groaned, dropping further to the ground on his hip. As he did, I saw Drew just behind him, leaning heavily on the counter, his broken leg bent alarmingly out to the side in a way I was positive legs shouldn't be able to bend. Quickly I scooted away from Ashton and over to where Drew was.
“Drew!” I exclaimed, struggling to my feet while clutching my side. “You’re alive!”
“Yeah. Ashton tried to smother me, but I just passed out, I think. He dragged me to my room. When I came to, I heard you out here. Then I heard you yell. I was afraid he was trying to hurt you.” Drew’s face was paler than I had ever seen, and he seemed to be shock.
“Drew,” Ashton echoed, his voice sounding much weaker. Drew and I both watched him warily. Ashton reached down and fumbled with the knife handle. A second later, he had pulled it free, causing a bloom of blood to spread across the entire front of his shirt.
“Ashton, no!” Drew exclaimed. He half walked, half threw himself across the kitchen to where his roommate sat in a rapidly growing puddle of blood. He pressed his hand to the wound as Ashton lay back wearily.
“Hang on, buddy,” Drew went on. “It’s okay, it’ll be okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
I watched the scene unfold in a daze, and I found myself wondering if Ashton had said the same thing to Drew when he had pushed him down the basement stairs.
“Cassie?” Drew’s voice was alarmed. “I think he’s dying. Oh, God, I think I killed him.”
I stayed where I was at first, unsure what to do. Then, a sudden swirl of blue lights in the distance caught my attention.
“Drew. The police here. It’s okay. It’s over,” I told him.
“I...I thought he was going to hurt you,” Drew said again. “I didn’t know you’d called the police.”
I made my way over to where Drew was still crouched over Ashton’s body. His hands were still pressed to the wound, blood seeping from between his fingers. I had to admit, I wasn’t sure how a person could lose that much blood and still be alive. Careful to avoid dark red pool under Ashton’s body, I pressed a hand to Drew’s shoulder.
“He was hurting me,” I said softly. “He was trying to leave with me, and take me somewhere else. And he hurt you, too. I thought you were dead for real, Drew. But you saved me. It’s okay.”
At my words, Drew burst into tears, sobs wracking his body. “He was my friend. My friend. And I killed him!” he wailed. His cries were so pitiful I felt like my heart would break. I dropped to my knees beside him and threw my arms around his shaking shoulders.
“It’s not your fault,” I whispered, my own eyes tearing up now. There was an authoritative knock at the front door, followed by an officer calling, “Police!”
“Drew, it’s not your fault,” I repeated hurriedly. “Okay?”
Drew said nothing, but he finally took his hands off Ashton and clung to me, still sobbing. He held me so tightly I could barely breathe, but I tried my best to bear it.
“Police! Is anyone there?” the voice called again.
“Help us! We’re in here,” I yelled, since Drew showed no sign of letting me go. Moments later, that was how the police found us, arms wrapped around one another, the pool of blood under Ashton’s still form slowly spreading across the kitchen floor.
42
“So, wait,” Brooklyn was saying from her spot at the end of my hospital bed where she was painting my toenails a shade of startling pink. “Explain to me again how Drew could have not known about any of this.”
“Ashton was apparently super secretive about it. He kept his room locked all the time, and Drew said he’d always been kind of odd, anyway.” I told her, feeling somewhat defensive on Drew’s behalf. “Drew didn’t really put it all together until he found Willow at their house. He confronted Ashton, and you know the rest.”
Jenna, apparently feeling left out, came to squeeze beside me on the bed. The brief jostling sent a flash of pain through my ribs, though it quickly subsided.
“He still could have let us know sooner what was going on,” Jenna grumbled, taking my arm and examining the various multicolored bruises that dotted the length of it.
“Ow, stop that,” I told her, pulling my arm away. “And how was he supposed to let us know? He was trapped in a basement with broken leg, remember?”
“Also, how can he not know if Ashton was the one in the closet? That day at the inn, I mean?” Brooklyn went on as though I hadn’t spoken. I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. I was positive Amber and James had already explained all of this to them, but I supposed there was nothing like hearing it from the source, so to speak.
“Look, all I know is that Drew told the police Ashton dropped him off at work that day because the last day he worked the battery in his car died. Ashton gave him a jump start, and then Drew thought he left. Apparently Ashton actually hung around for awhile, hoping to see me. Which he did.”
“God, how creepy,” Brooklyn shuddered.
“Well, Ashton certainly did a number on you, Cassie, giving you a concussion and black eye and all,” Jenna said sadly. She reached out to touch the truly impressive bruise that had formed on my temple. The cut on my head had wound up needing six stitches, and I privately thought that I looked like a mangled scarecrow.
“Quit!” I smacked Jenna’s hand away. “Why do you want to touch all my bruises? And actually, technically it was the crash that gave me the concussion and whatnot, not Ashton himself.”
Jenna and Brooklyn both shuddered and shot each other glances.
“Cassie, I don’t know how you can talk about it like it’s no big deal,” Jenna said, her eyes filling with tears. “Look at me, I’m a wreck just hearing about it. You actually went through it. You were kidnapped and held hostage. You watched someone get stabbed. And he died.”
I considered this for a moment. Though I would have thought my memories might be a bit blurred, what with the concussion and traumatic events and all, pretty clearly I remembered all of the events that had happened at the cabin, and I remembered inexplicably bursting into tears when the doctor told me I had a concussion, even though I’d suspected that all along. Apparently being unnaturally emotional was common after both physical and mental trauma.
The next day I had remained in the hospita
l “under observation,” which was necessary for some reason even though all that was wrong with me was a concussion and some bruised ribs. The police had been in and out, of course, asking questions and taking statements. The questioning had been surprisingly brief. Apparently there was no doubt in the minds of the police that Ashton’s death was a clear cut case of self defense. Or maybe it was justifiable homicide? I couldn’t remember what term the police had used. I would have to ask James.
James had also informed me that it was technically up to the district attorney if they wanted to press charges against Drew or not, but the well documented instances of stalking, combined with mine and Drew’s statements, made it pretty likely that wouldn’t be necessary.
Earlier that day a psychologist affiliated with the hospital had come by and given me her card, offering her services free of charge should I need them. I had tucked the card away for safekeeping, but I wasn’t sure yet if I would be giving her a call. I felt like I had a lot of processing I needed to do on my own first.
My friends had made sure I had twenty-four/seven company and kept up a rotating shift as the Cassie Entertainment Committee. Amber and James’s parents had come into town and taken it upon themselves to spend the last few days “supervising my recovery,” as Mrs. Davis put it. Eileen, who was positively furious with me for not calling her sooner, would be arriving from Ecuador later that night. I fully intended to play up my concussion as much as possible in the hopes she would take mercy on me.
