Through the ashes, p.6
Through the Ashes, page 6
Ethan’s heart stopped. His stomach went from flipping to clenching, nearly dropping him to his knees. He didn’t need to see Vargas to know how he had taken the decision.
“No! We made a deal!” His accent, though thick, didn’t conceal the rage in his message, which Ethan heard clearly. “You will pay for this!”
Ethan somehow managed to move his eyes toward Vargas as he continued the tirade. “You’re dead,” Vargas screamed in Ethan’s direction. He knew the message was meant for him. “Everything you’ve ever loved will be burned to the ground!”
“You are in contempt,” Atkins shouted over his slamming hammer. “Get him out of here!”
Ethan watched the bailiff and two Sherrif’s Department deputies drag him from his seat toward a set of doors to the right of the judge. Before they pulled him from the table, he managed to contort his body enough to toss a wadded paper over the rails into the gallery. A man in his early twenties, one of the few people sitting on his side of the courtroom, leaned over to grab the ball before anyone noticed.
With all the commotion, no one had. Even Ethan hadn’t noticed. He was too focused on what had just happened. His life and career flashed before his eyes.
Ethan stood from his bed and went directly to his closet, which held four outfits and a box containing the last remnants of his old life. After tugging on the chain to light the small area, he kneeled in front of the box, opened it, and retrieved the object at the top.
It was a charred teddy bear. The only thing that survived the blaze, Ethan felt was worth keeping. He had given it to Mary on her first birthday. From then on, it lived in the crevices of her arm. She had been holding it when the fireman pulled her from her room. It was in her arms when they strapped her to the gurney and rushed her to the hospital.
Ethan realized he was sobbing only when he found he was struggling to breathe.
He returned the bear to its place in the box, forcing himself to his feet, knowing he wasn’t going to be getting any sleep that night. The sun would be rising in less than half an hour, and in either case, it was a losing situation for him. If he managed to get some sleep, he knew, he would only dream of Mary and Kristina, of him trying to get to them in the intensity of the flames. Failing every time. He would sleep into the late morning, leaving him vulnerable and unaware when someone would most likely be coming onto his property. He would be leaving John unsupervised access to everything.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to redirect his thoughts and suppress the headache that was forming behind his eyes.
Ethan looked to his window just as a dark blob passed by. It took a moment for what he had seen to register in his mind. Once it did, he grabbed his rifle from the foot of his bed, where he stood, and then ran out into the late October night, wearing only his shorts.
Chapter 15
The darkness wrapped around Ethan as he burst into the coldness of the night. He had called for John when he sprinted through the living room, but John hadn’t seemed to notice. The sun kissed the horizon, casting a soft blue glow over the tree line, but it did little to help Ethan see where the figure had gone. It was far too big to be a deer.
He turned his focus to the left when he heard the snapping of a twig. The silhouette appeared smaller than it had when passing by his window. Of course, now he was more awake. More alert. The figure ran across his lawn near the road, heading for the tree line. He had one shot, or the intruder would break into the woods and be gone.
Ethan raised his rifle, pressing the butt of the stock hard into his shoulder. He knew it was too dark for the scope to be of any use. He also knew that he wouldn’t need to hit his target. He hoped if Vargas, or whomever he had sent, knew he had heavy firepower, they would stop coming around for a while. Giving him enough time to secure his land properly.
Ethan lined his barrel up a few yards in front of where the shadowy figure was running. He squeezed the trigger firmly. Instead of the deafening clap he expected, there was a heart-stopping and defeating metallic click.
Ethan rotated his rifle to the left so he could see the safety switch on the right, near the trigger guard. The safety was off, showing a round red circle, confirming it was ready to fire. He cursed himself for not making sure there was a round in the chamber. He pulled the bolt back and then slammed it forward as forcefully as he could. Ethan noticed the brass of a round eject from the rifle, but he didn’t have time to think about that. Ethan then raised his rifle again for another shot. When he did, his target was gone.
Ethan watched the woods for a moment, disappointed they had vanished. Ethan scanned the grass for a shimmer of the brass, found it poking through a weed, and retrieved it. He checked the back, noting that the firing pin had been punctured. He flipped the round to inspect the bullet, which was gone.
He thought back to the last time he had fired the rifle. It had been the evening he shot the deer. Ethan distinctly remembered putting a new round in the chamber in case the deer wasn’t dead when he approached it. Someone had replaced the bullet in the chamber with a dummy round.
Why? Who?
Ethan pulled the bolt back again, ensuring there was a live round. Satisfied there was, he stormed back into the house, his rifle pointing forward.
As soon as he entered, he spotted John exiting the bathroom mid-yawn, his hands over his eyes. When John saw Ethan, he asked, “What were you doing out there?”
Ethan didn’t speak. Instead, he rushed John, who was too close to sleep to react. Ethan raised the stock of his rifle, pressing it into John’s neck. Ethan drove John backward into the wall. The sturdy wood wall made no noise and had no give as the two men collided into it.
“Was it you?” Ethan demanded to know. “Did you change my bullets?”
“You know it wasn’t. I wouldn’t even know how to swap bullets.” John’s hands pressed against the stock of the rifle, just enough to not suffocate.
“Someone was outside and when I took a shot, my gun misfired. Turns out, someone replaced my bullet with a dummy round.”
“What the hell are you even talking about?”
“Why were you not here when I woke up? I yelled for you. Where the hell were you?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, his mind telling him John Waters was part of all of this.
“I was taking a leak, Ethan. If I was outside, how could I have gotten back to the cabin and in through the window before you got back?” He pressed more firmly against the stock. Ethan pressed back. “All this is making you paranoid. Why would I want to do anything to you?”
Ethan pushed his face closer to John’s, making sure he was close to his eyes so he could catch a tell. “We both know you have expensive tastes in women and a problem walking away from the card table. Vargas could easily buy you.”
“A lot has changed in the past year, Ethan. Neither of us is the same man. I haven’t gambled once.”
Ethan eased his weight off the rifle.
John raised his head to stretch his neck. “You have no one else. You have to trust me. I’m not conspiring against you, I didn’t sell you out, and I sure as hell didn’t intentionally lead anyone out here. I’m in this just the same as you.”
Ethan took a deep breath, slowing the nagging thoughts in his mind that refused to stop.
“We were gone most of the day yesterday. Anyone could’ve gotten into the house and swapped that round.”
“Maybe,” Ethan admitted.
“What do you know about your neighbor? He knew you weren’t home.”
“I know he has no idea who I am, no idea who Angel Vargas is, and has no need for money. He’s even more of a recluse than I am.”
“Who says he doesn’t have his reasons for wanting you gone?”
Ethan stepped away from John, turning toward the couch where he sat. The radiant warmth of the wood stove hit his bare legs and feet, relaxing him slightly. “Because I’ve been here a year. If he wanted me gone, he has had ample time to do it. He even took me hunting. If a man wants to kill another man, being alone in the woods with a gun is a great time to do it.”
John stood in the kitchen, keeping his distance. “We might’ve jumped the line on thinking it was Vargas.”
“There is one man on this planet that would want to kill me. It sounds like you’re trying to put doubt of that in my head. Not putting much more confidence in me.”
John raised his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, we need to consider everyone. Vargas is obvious. Your neighbor could want more land or feel like you’re encroaching on his way of life. One of Vargas’s associates could want to retaliate.”
John considered his own words for a moment. “Didn’t you attack one of his guys?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan said, burying his face in his hands. His life had already been flipped upside-down once. He didn’t know how he could handle it happening again. He also wondered what it was that made him care at all. Just days ago, he was ready to end his life. He began to wonder if it would be easier to just let fate take care of itself. But then, what about John? He wasn’t sure if he could trust him, but there was a guilt with the thought. John may have been the one person he did trust. Ethan wasn’t a therapist, but he wondered if he had hoped he could just push John away, to be left alone in solitude. To let things end the way he wanted them to.
“I think we should consider all possible angles.”
“Yeah,” was all Ethan said before standing up, grabbing his rifle, and heading back to his room.
Chapter 16
Ethan stared out his window as the sun broke the crest of the woods, casting a warm yellow ray over his lawn. Even for late October, he could tell it was going to be a rare day when he wouldn’t need his coat. He also knew that it wouldn’t last. Snow was coming later in the evening, more than the dusting they had before. He had a lot of wood to collect still, food to prep, but he realized he wasn’t going to get the chance. Vargas—or if John was right, whoever—was out there with them—was getting more brazen. It was only a matter of time before he did what he was there to do.
John’s words circled in his mind, trailing vague images of Vargas’s associates. The man he only just remembered from the trial. The man in the precinct. Pictures the FBI and DEA had taken of Vargas talking to various people. Some of equal power, but most with less. He recognized none of them, and if they stood before him, then he wouldn’t recognize them either. Except for the man he attacked in the IMPD precinct three hours after his family had been slain.
He was there to look through mugshots, despite his repeated—and unheard—arguments pointing to Vargas. A neighbor had even told them they had seen someone walking through the neighborhood who matched Vargas’ description. The only thing the police ever said was, “We are looking into him as a possibility.”
Vargas had made bail just days after his court outburst because the feds probably only found a fraction of his blood money. Two days after he made bail, Ethan’s house was torched. No one saw Vargas after that.
The closest Ethan got to Vargas was sitting at the desk of Detective Richard Reinbolt, the man in charge of his family’s case. He was showing Ethan a slew of mugshots of people who also matched the description given by the neighbor, except they didn’t. A uniformed officer pushed a man down the hall, his hands cuffed behind his back. Ethan instantly recognized him as a co-defendant, Manuel Rodrigez, who was being tried separately from Vargas. Ethan had worked closely with the Assistant DA working that case, so the man’s face had been etched in his memory.
Ethan lost what little control he had left in that moment. His sight went red, and his skin burned despite the cold sweat beading from every pore. He left his body, floating above himself. It was as if he were watching his movements from a screen somewhere else. Each movement was weightless, as if he floated through the air, almost like a dream, except he knew it wasn’t.
Ethan erupted from the chair, causing it to flip on its side. He raced toward the cuffed Manuel. The officers reached for him, but it was like they reached through him. His foot found the top of a desk as he sailed over a computer and into Manuel, taking them both and the uniformed officer to the ground.
Hands were grabbing him, pulling at him; pepper spray had been deployed, but the swarm of officers may as well not have been there at all. Ethan rained fists down on Manuel, and new gashes opened each time. Then, without conscious thought, he grabbed Manuel’s collar. He could hear the man’s head hitting the floor, but it sounded distant. In the chaos, nothing held any reality to him. Sounds were dulled, almost inaudible entirely. His vision blending from red to black.
The next thing he knew he was coming to in a jail cell. It felt as though his head were three times its standard size, a speaker playing crashing thunder seemed to have been placed right by his ear. When he vomited, he realized the noise was coming from inside his head. Every part of his body ached, but none as much as his lower back and his fists. His muscles felt like Jello, so he didn’t dare try to stand. He called out to the empty hall, then had to silence himself before throwing up again.
“That was a real shit show,” Detective Reinbolt said coming down the hall.
Ethan squinted his eyes to keep the light out. “What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” Reinbolt leaned against the cell with one hand. His suit was an off-the-rack from J.C. Penny, a polar opposite of Ethan’s. He chomped down on some gum, which Ethan knew was intended to help him cut his twenty-year pack-a-day habit. It was annoying, but it seemed to work.
“I was looking at pictures… Rodrigez came in… That’s all I remember.”
“You damn near killed the man. Took eight officers to restrain you. You know you’re facing some serious problems with this, and you might have fucked up your case. We were going to interview him about your house and Vargas.” Reinbolt put his face to Ethan’s cage, his eyes stern. “Now, he’s in a hospital bed with tubes down his throat and a hole in his skull to stop the swelling. You might’ve cost us our one shot.”
Ethan began sobbing, making every roaring ache in his body scream. It didn’t bother him. Not like Reinbolt’s words. “I let them down again. I promised them I would always protect them.”
Reinbolt’s eyes softened then. “Look, you went through a lot. I think anyone in your position would’ve lost it too. Especially knowing what kind of man Rodrigez is. I don’t think you’ll face any time, but there must be consequences.”
Ethan choked back the pain. “Doesn’t matter what happens to me.”
“You’ve done a lot of good for this city, Barret.” He pulled his gum from his mouth, replacing it with a new piece and wrapping the used gum in the wrapper. “It might be a good idea for you to think about going away for a while until everything is worked out. I’ll stay in contact as things unfold. We’ll get ‘im.”
Two months later, Ethan was in the cabin. Reinbolt called a lot less often. He knew Rodrigez had some permanent damage from the attack, but he was a free man. He also had reason to want payback. Either he and Vargaz were working together, or he had his help. Both seemed just as likely, though he wondered how probable it was either man would waste time rather than just killing him.
Unless they wanted him to know how much more power they had than him.
Ethan was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at his bedroom door. He locked the memories back into a dark corner of his mind. “Yeah?”
Chapter 17
John opened the door before he leaned against the frame, “Are we good?”
Ethan’s body relaxed slightly before he offered a simple grin.
“I was thinking, if you really aren’t sure you can trust me, I can leave. I don’t want you having to worry about these guys and me,” he gave a half-smirk. “I would prefer you to come along so I don’t have to worry about you. But I get it either way.”
Ethan shook the suggestions away. “I’d rather you stayed. I’d feel better knowing you have my back. If you’re comfortable with however this plays out,” Ethan told him, which wasn’t entirely a lie. He did like the idea of having an extra pair of eyes and ears he thought he might be able to trust. But if John was trying to double-cross him, he wanted him close just as much.
“So, what do we do next?” John asked, using his shoulder to push him from the door to the interior of the room.
Ethan walked over to his bed, retrieving the snub-nosed .38 from under the pillow. He extended his arm, handing it to John. John looked at the weapon like it was an unidentified form of the plague, grabbing the grip with his thumb and forefinger, then with his left hand once he realized it was heavier than he expected.
“I don’t do guns,” John said. “I wouldn’t even know how to use this thing.”
“Well, hopefully just pull the trigger. If you have to use it then we are already in trouble.” Ethan pointed at different parts of the firearm as he spoke. “The pointy piece in the back is the hammer. When you pull the trigger, that goes back and then snaps down firing a bullet. The cylinder will automatically rotate. Rinse and repeat.”
“What about a safe button or something? I don’t want to accidentally put a bullet in my leg.”
Ethan shook his head. “Those don’t come with a safety, I don’t think.” Ethan had never held a gun until a year ago. He wasn’t all that brushed up on firearms or what functions they all had himself. “It takes a bit of commitment to get that trigger pulled. It isn’t going to just go off.”
“What do you think the odds are I’ll need it?”
Ethan shrugged. “Hopefully not at all. But I think I might know where we will get our first lead.”
“Where?” A curious look came over John’s face as he asked the question.
