Slash, p.3
Slash, page 3
She could have lived in peace if it wasn’t for you freaks, he thought.
The post-traumatic stress that Ash suffered from was some of the worst her doctors had ever seen. And these were men and women who had treated hundreds of people straight from the throes of combat in theaters all around the world. Todd and her parents had accompanied her on countless trips to Manhattan for therapy, sometimes six days a week. They went to the top recommended therapists and psychiatrists in the country, spending more money than they cared to watch fly out of their savings accounts. Todd often wondered if it was possible to ever put Ash back together again. He vowed that no matter what happened, as long as she would allow him, he would never leave her side. He’d already lost her once. He was determined not to lose her again.
He did, anyway.
Those final girl vultures did what a psycho killer couldn’t.
“Here you go.” His mother placed a plate of pancakes in front of him. She’d warmed up the syrup, steam rising from the small creamer glass Ash had giddily found at a tag sale last year. For all of the darkness that hovered over Ash, one of the things that lit her up was collecting all kinds of unique glassware. The cabinets were filled with singular glasses and service bowls. No two things matched, as she preferred finding lone, misfit items at garage sales and flea markets. “Now, eat up and get changed. I don’t want to miss my plane.”
Todd poured a few drops of syrup on his pancakes. He was suddenly far from hungry, but it was better to choke at least one pancake down than suffer his mother telling him to eat until he did. He was grateful that she had stayed with him throughout this ordeal, but also looking forward to being alone.
“Your plane takes off in five hours,” he replied. “You couldn’t be late if we walked to the airport.”
She patted his shoulder. “Those security lines take forever.”
He nearly choked on the dry wedge of pancake. Forever was exactly how long Ash was gone.
His mother pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “And you can’t let the people who followed Ash get to you. In their own way, they’re in mourning too.”
Todd dropped his fork. “They didn’t even know her. They don’t have the right.”
Her somber, pale eyes softened. “You can’t control how they feel. Or what they feel. They didn’t kill Ashley. She was such a strong girl. But I don’t know anyone who was strong enough to…to…”
He took a deep, hitching breath and held her hand. “I know, Ma. I know. I just can’t make myself believe they didn’t play their part. At least the man who did what he did to her is gone. These final girl cultists never go away.” Todd had wanted Ash to change her name and move away with him to another state, maybe New Hampshire, and simply disappear. She’d refused, saying the killer had taken so much from her, she wasn’t going to let him take her identity too.
“But they will. Let them grieve. They’ll fade away before you know it. You’ll see.”
She got up to clean the kitchen while Todd forced himself to finish the top pancake. He tossed the rest in the garbage when her back was to him.
He was heading to the bedroom when she said, “You know you can call me anytime.”
“I know.”
“Even if it’s just to talk about nothing.”
“Yeah.” He was surprisingly anxious to get in the shower. He’d been cooped up in the house for weeks and the thought of going to the airport was oddly refreshing.
“Do you have any plans for next week?” she said.
His foreman had bumped his bereavement leave from one week to three once he’d seen him at the wake. Everyone told Todd that work would help take his mind off things, help with the healing process.
But he had other work in mind.
“Not really. I have a dinner invitation from Vince and Heather and I need to take the car in for an inspection and oil change. Nothing exciting.”
“Try to keep busy. If I hadn’t when your father died, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
Before he closed his bedroom door – it used to be their bedroom door – he muttered, “Oh, I will.”
He had plans.
He just didn’t think his mother would approve.
Chapter Five
The Killer Podcast had been one of Ash’s favorites, though Todd could never understand why she wanted to subject herself to two idiots who probably never left their basements babbling about serial killers and their victims. When pressed, she would say that if she could understand why a person would do what that man had done to her and her friends, she might find a way to put it all behind her.
Poor Ash and her puzzles. She couldn’t leave one unsolved. She would have made a great detective, so long as she was allowed to work on one mystery at a time until the culprit was apprehended or the mystery laid to rest.
Todd didn’t see the appeal of podcasts. He preferred music to amateurs with microphones. But Ash loved them, downloading new episodes of dozens of podcasts every week. She never missed an episode of The Killer Podcast. He always knew when she’d listened to it because she would get quiet and introspective, answering him in monosyllables. He saw her mind desperately trying to unravel her own personal mystery, and hell, taking her to a place and a night he could not follow.
The hosts, Jay and John, at least did their homework, tackling each crime with tons of research. Their devotion to such a twisted subject sickened him. What kind of people would choose to wade in this kind of muck and madness and sorrow?
Rubbernecking freaks. That’s what they and all the final girl followers were.
The Killer Podcast had interviewed the older brother of Jamal Banks two years ago. Todd and Jamal had played together on the bowling team in their junior year of high school. They were friendly but never friends. Ash had met Jamal through him and they had hit if off in a completely platonic way. Jamal had been with Ash on just about every one of her urban exploration jaunts. His brother blamed her for Jamal’s death. Not the Wraith, who he and many others were convinced was a passing, homeless lunatic either high on drugs or criminally insane. There would have been no Wraith if they hadn’t been there at the wrong time.
Jamal’s brother (why couldn’t Todd remember his name?) went on an unedited diatribe against Ash and the cult of final girl followers who gave her fame.
“Ashley King should be the one in the fucking ground, not my brother!”
When Ash had heard that episode, it had nearly broken her all over again. She hadn’t slept or eaten for days. She just cried. She didn’t want to be touched or consoled. Todd listened to the podcast and wanted to hop in a plane to New Mexico where Jamal’s brother was living and beat the living daylights out of him.
All that week, Ash wept and Todd fumed. She was the first to regain her composure.
“Leave him be. Pray for him,” she’d said out of the blue one night. He’d been watching TV but not watching and she came out of the bedroom, her eyes red but clear for the first time since the podcast aired.
“Fuck him.”
“No. He’s processing a tragedy. Or not processing it. And in some ways, he’s right. But not entirely. No matter, he’s entitled to feel any way he wants.”
Jamal’s body had been found in two parts. A jagged stone had been used to cut through his abdomen and spine. From what police could tell, the killer had jammed his fingers into Jamal’s eye sockets so he could carry his top half like a bowling ball. His legs had been stomped post mortem until the bones were merely pebbles wrapped in sinew.
“I can’t pray for him,” Todd had said.
“Then I’ll pray for both of us.”
Ash had prayed often.
Todd had willfully forgotten how to make the sign of the cross.
He tapped the sides of his head with his palms to chase the memories away, and opened his laptop and found the email from The Killer Podcast. They had an assistant, Hilary, who had been communicating with him. She’d rearranged their schedule the moment Todd reached out to her. The name Ashley King held a lot of power in their sick world. The fact that her grieving fiancé wanted to be on the show called for all hands on deck. They normally recorded at eight pm every Tuesday, but Todd insisted he would only do the show on Monday morning. It was a lame attempt at jerking them around, but they didn’t hesitate to alter their schedule. He hoped they were missing a day of work at Walmart for this.
He had to have a very early morning beer to temper his nerves before he connected with them on Skype. He wasn’t worried about being on a podcast, so much as wanting to keep his cool, at least in the beginning.
Headphones on and sitting back in his chair, Todd found their name on Skype and connected the video call. It took a few moments before he heard one of them say, “Hey, Todd, thanks for being on time. We can’t say that about most guests.” It was followed by brief, nervous laughter.
It took several more seconds until the black screen was replaced by live video of John and Jay.
“I thought this was only audio,” Todd said, already bristling.
The one with the red hipster beard and black-rimmed glasses smiled and reassured him. “We only use the audio for the podcast, but we think it’s important to be able to see the person we’re talking to. You can lose nuances without the video.”
We wouldn’t want to lose any nuances, Todd thought.
“Hi, I’m Jay,” the other one, a thin guy with sunken cheeks and the pallor of a corpse, said, giving a small wave. He looked like he was in desperate need of an IV and feeding tube. “I apologize for not mentioning this in our email. I’m so used to it, I just don’t think about it. Is it okay with you? If not, we can always drop the call and do straight audio.”
“No, it’s fine,” Todd replied. He wondered if they’d caught on to his skipping any pleasantries. He was sure they could read his face and tell instantly he was not a fan.
All part of the nuance.
John scratched his beard and said, “Let me just start by saying Ashley and you and your families are in our prayers. When the news broke, it was devastating. She meant a lot to a ton of people and it’s horrible it ended the way it did.”
I’m sure the news wasn’t near as devastating as finding her body hanging in the basement, Todd thought. His expression must have given him away because Jay gave a worried look and jumped in. “I know this is a hard time for you. You don’t know how much we appreciate your reaching out to us. If at any moment you want to stop, just say the word.”
Todd had the feeling Jay would try to convince him to go on if he were to throw up the white flag. He could see it in his cadaverous eyes. These guys were hungry for Ash’s story, no matter how tragic. They were beyond vultures. They were demonic.
Swallowing back a ball of bile, Todd said, “Thank you. It was…a shock.” Though when he was tired and couldn’t hold his emotions in check, he flitted upon the realization that her suicide was no surprise at all. Maybe he should have been more astounded that she’d lasted as long as she had. He hoped he’d at least given her some moments of normalcy in the five years they’d been together since the massacre.
John said, “We’re not big on pre-show preamble. It robs the spontaneity from the interview. So we’ll just do a ten-second countdown and start the show.”
“You don’t have to hold back on language,” Jay intoned. “There are no restrictions here.”
Other than good taste.
They were silent for a moment, then John said, “Welcome to The Killer Podcast, your exploration into the dark soul of man. I’m John Jackson, joined as always by my co-host on this journey into mystery and madness, Jay Anselm. Today, we have a very special episode. As you all know, Ashley King was the country’s, if not the world’s, most beloved final girl. Having endured the horror of the Resort Massacre, life was never going to be the same. She quickly rose to fame as the embodiment of feminine empowerment and survival. Five years ago, she went into the abandoned Hayden Resort to do some urban exploration with four of her closest friends. By the first light of day, she was the only one of their group to leave the fallow grounds.”
Now it was Jay’s turn, his baritone adding a level of gravitas to the broadcast. “Sadly, Ashley passed away several weeks ago. Fans have been left wondering why, their hearts broken. Maybe tonight we’ll be able to provide some answers. Our guest this week is Todd Matthews. He was Ashley’s fiancé, her former high school boyfriend who reconnected with her immediately after the Resort Massacre and never left her side. Thank you for coming on with us.”
At first, there was silence. Todd wasn’t aware they were waiting for him to say something. Just hearing the words Resort Massacre sent him into a dull fugue. Jay and John stared back at him. “Uh, you’re welcome.”
“I think I speak for all our listeners when I say you have our deepest sympathies. I’m sure you’ve seen the outpouring of love these past few weeks,” John said.
“There were certainly a lot of flowers,” Todd said.
The funeral parlor had received so many flowers, they had to commandeer the next viewing room to fit them all. Bouquets and arrangements from every corner of the globe had been sent to her funeral. Todd and her family had made it a point not to publicize it, but somehow word had gotten out. The overwhelming aroma of flowers had been almost too much to bear. It was what prompted Todd to dig up all of the flowers he’d planted for Ash around the house several days ago.
“The big question,” Jay said, “is how are you?”
There was no point sugarcoating things. Todd replied, “I’m not good. I’m not good at all.”
His honesty set them back for a bit.
John bent closer to the microphone and said, “We understand that you were the one that found her. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”
Todd bristled. “Where did you hear that?”
“I’ve read it from several sources,” John said.
That information had never been revealed to the press. Which meant someone on the local PD had leaked it, probably for a price. Shit!
“I’m really not here to discuss that.” Todd moved closer to his screen. “And to be honest, it’s nobody’s business.”
John looked nervous that he was going to lose Todd’s co-operation. “I understand and I apologize for bringing up an unsubstantiated rumor.”
It was bad enough all of the news outlets had let the world know Ash had hanged herself. Todd recalled the throng of photographers that had swarmed the house when the men from the medical examiner had wheeled her body from the front door and had to push their way through to the open doors of the black van. The flash of cameras had been like watching fireworks going off right in front of his face. They’d not just wanted to photograph the sealed bag strapped to the gurney. Todd knew that deep in their dead hearts, they’d hoped the zipper would come undone and they would capture the very last photo of Ashley’s face. Or even a pale, lifeless arm.
Jay said, “What was it like for Ashley, these past five years?”
Oh, the things Todd wanted to say. The beer fizzed up his throat, hot and full of needles. “It was as tough as you’d think,” he replied after swallowing hard. “She was never the same after that night, as you would imagine. I did the best I could for her. We all did. But it was impossible to escape that night. She was the strongest person I ever met, but honestly, I don’t think anyone could ever recover from what she’d been through.” He stared into the pinhole-sized camera in his laptop. “No one.”
He could tell Jay wanted more details, but was afraid to press after the way the interview had started.
“The world hadn’t seen or heard from Ashley for going on four years now. I understand her desire to move on, to reclaim her privacy,” Jay said.
Yes, she had made a conscious effort to remove herself from the spotlight. She’d always been shy and was uncomfortable in the slew of interviews that had followed that first year for many reasons. This was all at a time when the last thing she needed was more stress. But she felt compelled to tell her story, the parts that she could remember, as a warning, for the killer had never been caught, and also a giant F-you to the psycho.
Now here Todd was, dragging her back into the spotlight. He felt sick to his stomach.
Jay continued, “Was she ever able to recall any details of the Wraith?”
“No. She only remembered that he was a man. But she was never able to tell us what he looked like.”
“There was always the hope that with the passage of time, her memories would come back to her and possibly lead to the Wraith’s capture.”
“Ash wanted nothing more than to see that sick bastard arrested and sent to the electric chair. She tried, but nothing ever came.”
John said, “Do you think her memory loss was from the head trauma she suffered or was it her mind’s way of blocking out that night to preserve itself? Or both?”
Todd bristled. Yes, Ash had gotten a concussion when she’d been struck on the side of her head with what they believed to be the handle of a shovel. But she’d been through a battery of tests and there had been no damage to her brain. Her wounds ran far deeper and were more difficult, if not impossible, to heal.
“I think, no, I know she simply blocked it out,” Todd answered. “She might have remembered it all or parts of that night next month, next year, on her seventieth birthday or never. It would come back when she was ready to receive it.”
And now it never would. He eyed the refrigerator, wondering if he should pause the interview to grab another beer. Then again, he didn’t want these schmucks telling the world Todd was a broken drunk. In fact, the beer he’d had before the show was the first drop of alcohol he’d had since Ash’s death. He didn’t want anything to stand in the way between him and his grief.
