Body of Ash

  Body of Ash

  Bonnie Erina Wheeler

  Torrington, Connecticut, USA

  Body of Ash ©2012 by Bonnie Wheeler

  All rights reserved.

  Released August 2012

  No part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission from the copyright owner.

  Body of Ash is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design by Miranda Wheeler

  For more information please visit: http://fatefixed.blogspot.com/

  “I can resist everything except temptation.”

  Oscar Wilde

  PREFACE

  November 8th, Saturday 4:00 PM

  Riding in the passenger seat, the teen watched as her father followed behind a parade of cars. One by one, they weaved their way into the church parking lot. The place was packed – mostly with local cars, although not all contained the familiar blue and white tags of a Connecticut license plate. At the door, a line of townspeople began to form. Huddled under umbrellas, the attendees stood dressed in black, wearing hopeless expressions.

  The holidays were approaching, but the November day would not be used for shopping. Pies, frozen turkeys, and canned cranberries would sit a day longer at the grocers. The mood of the town was one of shock and disbelief. Family get-togethers were put on hold and flags were placed at half-mass in honor of the dead.

  Because Canaan had lost one of its beloved – parishioners and nonbelievers alike came out to pay their respects. Despite the frigid air, the wake was the church’s largest turnout to date.

  She couldn’t help but wonder how many more people would arrive tomorrow. The burial was scheduled for 9 AM followed by a brief morning service. While some would be pondering what they should wear or if they should send along a casserole or a dessert, she battled with her own demon – whether or not she could live with herself if she didn’t attend.

  The weather was cold, even for late fall. The sky had poured for four nights straight. Even now, as she strained to see who was in attendance, a steady rain rapped against the windshield, limiting her view. With a sigh of frustration from her father, he finally did what many other drivers were doing and pulled onto the spongy lawn at the back of the fellowship hall.

  A Jeep Wrangler pulled in beside them. The elderly occupant behind the wheel opened his door to disembark. As he met her eyes, his face blanched with recognition. Slouching lower in her seat, the seventeen-year-old knew it was inevitable that her family would be the talk of the town until a new disaster occurred.

  Despite what everyone thought and what little the newspaper reports got right, no one understood her private hell.

  1

  RACHEL

  October 30th, Thursday 7:00 AM

  Just because Rachel Jones woke up year older didn’t mean her parents gave a damn. As their only child, she hoped reaching the milestone of her seventeenth year would encourage her folks to treat her differently. But, after silencing her alarm and listening to the familiar hum of her childhood home, her wishful thinking didn’t last. While Rachel lived an invisible existence on the second floor, it was just another day in the life of Mr. and Mrs. Brian Jones.

  Dressing in her favorite jeans and a hoodie, Rachel slipped on a pair of Converse and hurried down the hall. As she passed the guest room, she heard her father’s familiar snore. Her parents hadn’t shared a bed in four years. Unsure if it was Brian’s disruptive reverberations or Angela’s fragile nerves, their sleeping arrangements matched the way they moved around the house. Despite their close proximity, the two never touched.

  Her bathroom routine was simple. With her mother’s flawless skin, Rachel didn’t need makeup. With a touch of mascara, she accented pale eyelashes. Her hair was the only genetic gift from her dad. The rich auburn was one of the first things people noticed when they met her. As she brushed it back into a pony tail, she was thankful for its easy maintenance.

  Pausing in the kitchen to grab a cheese stick and a bottle of water, she spotted the thin frame of her mother sitting at the table. Already dressed in a cashmere sweater and brown slacks, Angela sat in silence staring out the bay window. A mug of tea was held in her hands, but she didn’t appear to have touched it.

  For a moment, Rachel imagined strolling over and offering a hug. She had seen her friends embrace their parents, but she couldn’t recall the last time she had. It was before her age hit the double digits, back when smiles and laughter weren’t completely unfamiliar in the Victorian home they shared. Instead, she cleared her throat, alerting her mother to her presence.

  “Good morning,” Rachel offered.

  Angela tilted her head and glanced at her daughter. “You aren’t going to wear that tonight are you?”

  “No. I have an outfit set aside for later.”

  “Good,” her mother said, turning back to the window. “Remind Jason that dinner will be served at 5:30 sharp.”

  “I will.”

  No ‘Happy birthday!’ or ‘How are you Rachel?’ Thanks mom.

  Stepping outside to take the short walk to school, the overcast sky held a wind that pushed at her back, leaving her skin cool. As she walked down the street, Rachel wondered how her mother could spend so much time at that table, contemplating a world she didn’t seem to enjoy. Angela was well liked, even admired by the attendees of the church her father led, but Rachel knew there was a quiet unhappiness in her mother. They didn’t need a close relationship to recognize that.

  Rachel didn’t get far when she heard the familiar rumble of a Yamaha’s engine, closing in behind her. Pulling up at the curb, her boyfriend’s eyes gave her an appreciative scan. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

  Rachel smiled. He looked like a bad boy with his dark features and leather jacket, but she knew better. Despite an occasional big mouth, Jason was in all honors classes and his SAT scores guaranteed him a spot at Cambridge’s MIT next fall.

  “I needed to get out of there,” she said.

  “What, no birthday pancakes and presents?” With graceful movements, his six foot tall body climbed off the bike. Unzipping his jacket, he reached in. “Do you know what I have for you?”

  Tapping her fingers in feigned concentration, she pretended to think. “Hmm,” she brought her finger to her chin. “A birthday gift?”

  Holding out a pink satin ring box, Jason lifted the lid, revealing a small opal ring with diamond chips. “It’s your birthstone,” he said. Taking it from the box, he slipped it onto her ring finger. “I’ve been doing extra work for my Dad so I could save up for it.”

  He could have given me a scrap of paper and it would still be perfect.

  With a satisfied expression, he brushed dark bangs from his eyes. The gift was a statement. With all of the talk about going away to college between them, he had insisted she apply to Lesley University so they could be near each other – even mentioning the possibility of them sharing an apartment together after freshmen year in Cambridge. Placing the ring on her finger now, was a promise. Jason didn’t need to say the words.

  Rachel’s heart felt a tug of emotion. No matter how bent she was on wallowing in pity, he could make her smile. Her parents didn’t make room for her in their lives, always leaving notes on the refrigerator, instructing her what time to come home, when to do chores, what she should heat in the microwave for dinner. Communication kept limited to a statement or two. Jason was different. Even without speaking, he could say plenty.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said s
tudying the small stone. Tilting her hand, she appreciated the simplicity of the setting. Meeting his smile with one of her own, she added, “Don’t think this means you can skip dinner with my parents tonight.”

  A belly laugh resonated from deep in his chest. Rachel loved the familiar sound. When he let one roll, it was contagious.

  “Can’t blame me for trying.” Pulling her to him, he kissed her before she could reply. “Now get on my bike before we’re late.”

  2

  ANGELA

  Thursday 8:30 AM

  As the market doors slid open, Angela Jones steered the grocery cart to the produce section. In her hand was a slip of paper that contained a list she had spent the morning trying to create. Glancing down at her familiar script, she could barely make sense of the items she had penned. It was only a birthday dinner she was cooking with just one extra guest; why she jotted down possible hors d'oeuvres and additional desserts baffled her.

  Surely Rachel’s boyfriend doesn’t eat that much.

  Angela rarely cooked anymore. Putting together fancy spreads used to come easy. When Rachel was little, dinner was set aside as a part of their daily routine. Now, her daughter would eat alone in her room and Brian, her husband, ate in front of the television. Only Angela dined at the table, her only company a paperback to get lost in.

  Glancing at the array of lettuce types, she wondered what the kids even liked. She tried remembering if her daughter had a particular favorite. When Angela was growing up, she and her brother ate what they were told to. Harboring the same attitude that children should eat a little of everything, Angela never encouraged Rachel to be fussy. The night wasn’t going to be easy; a careful dinner menu was the only thing she could control.

  Rachel had commented that she and Jason had been a couple for a year.

  Could they have been dating that long?

  There hadn’t been a point to invite him over before now. It was difficult having guests in their home. With Brian’s position in the community, they were always being watched. Keeping the home silent and free from suspecting eyes made life less stressful.

  Rachel seemed content spending her time with friends. She never asked to host sleepovers or movie nights and Angela was fine with that. It was a good thing that Rachel developed independence early on – it would make leaving home easier.

  Settling on romaine, Angela glanced around for the croutons. Her eye caught the sunny wave of Chris Theriot, a regular at Sunday’s service. In a fleece jacket and jeans, his ruddy complexion suited him. With a casual nod, Angela hoped she had taken care with her appearance. Pulling her hair back into a perfect up-do, ironing her clothes, and applying a subtle amount of perfume – it was all a show. Getting out of bed was difficult enough. Ensuring the townsfolk she was a vision of serene Christian living was downright painful.

  Please God, get me through today.

  As she strolled through the store, Angela recalled her own seventeenth birthday. It was the last birthday she celebrated with her brother. Although she didn’t know it at the time, Perry would leave in two months for basic training and never return.

  Angela could still recall her brother’s mischievous smile as he slipped a whoopee cushion under their mother’s bottom before taking her seat that night. Sylvia, a self-appointed spokesperson for maintaining proper mannerisms at all times, turned white and her mouth dropped open in shock as the air blasted out from the gag toy. Her petite body shook with rage as she demanded their father scold Perry for his childish prank. Ralph Bennett was a stark man, but even his grey eyes held a hint of amusement as he sent Perry to his room.

  Later that night, Perry knocked on her door, confessing the fart cushion was a cliché, but embarrassing their mother should be worth a lifetime of laughs and make up for the fact that he didn’t have a gift to offer her for her birthday. Her brother couldn’t have known that because of him, Angela couldn’t stomach the sight or sound of the stupid things. It wasn’t laughter that visited her, just regret.

  Dropping a Stouffer’s lasagna into the cart, Angela wished Rachel had someone like Perry. Someone who could soften the hard edges in life, a confidant who knew your secrets and was trusted to keep them, no matter how easily they could annoy you. Rachel was Angela’s sole child. Her womb knew before her heart that another child wasn’t meant to be.

  At first her infertility was a shock, but it didn’t take long for her to realize that Brian’s seed was being planted elsewhere. For all she knew, her husband fathered a litter of bastards throughout the northwestern corner of the state. But, Rachel was all that Angela had for her own, a daughter that would carry on the family bloodline and Angela’s dreams. Knowing that the only part of her husband that was worth anything, he poured into their daughter during her conception, made her only child more precious. Unlike so many other children, the teen never asked for a baby brother or sister, instead finding comfort in her playmates from church. The lack of conversation made forgetting she once planned on having a houseful of children easier.

  Tonight all Rachel will have is Jason.

  Knowing the only gift they had for their daughter would come with a price, Angela’s hatred for her husband rekindled inside until it replaced the pools of sadness she wallowed in with a fiery rage. Heading to the line at the front of the store, Angela’s teeth clenched behind her fake smile.

  I hope the damn meal gives the son of a bitch a heart attack.

  3

  BRIAN

  Thursday 11:55 AM

  Pulling up in front of 155 High Street, Brian dusted off the breakfast crumbs from his tie and tucked his New International Version Bible under his arm. A quick look in the visor mirror revealed an even row of white teeth. With a flick of his finger, he freed a poppy seed left behind by his morning bagel. Approving the adequate job a quick shave in the shower gave him, he ran his hand along his jaw line. His bronze hair was well groomed and his suit still smelled fresh from the drycleaners.

  For a man in my forties, I look good.

  Usually, he entered the complex through the back of the building, where the Finch women had a second story entrance. Visits during the day were unusual, he preferred waiting until the street had grown dark, and eyes weren’t as quick to pry.

  But, today, his mood spurred boldness and an unexpected cancellation in his schedule left him free to make house calls. With scripture as a prop, he decided to make an impromptu visit to see Marge. She wasn’t expecting him, but catching her unaware added to his excitement.

  As he worked his way up the front stairwell, the smell of cat urine and kitchen trash permeated the carpets. Marge wasn’t a pet owner, but he bet her neighbors were. Maybe even the filthy kind that rescued felines by the dozens, just to leave them shitting all over the damn place and infesting each other with fleas.

  As a pastor, Brian had been in a few dumps like that. It wasn’t difficult to judge whether someone would be accepted as a new member of the church. If their houses were dirty and they dressed in rags, they would not be able to offer much to the congregation. He expected his parishioners to give ten percent. If they couldn’t, he sent them down the road to the Church of the Living God. The preacher there was willing to live off pennies as long as his flock got to Heaven.

  Reaching apartment 2B, Brian knocked on the door. He wondered what Marge was wearing. She dressed like a woman half her age, usually with her jugs hanging out and the crack of her ass showing. He would strangle his daughter if she ever came home in a getup like that. As a pastor’s kid, Rachel needed to dress conservative. His wife Angela did a good job raising their daughter up in the respect. Marge was a different conversation.

  Knocking harder, Brian began to sweat. Tugging at his collar, he remembered Marge down on all fours last Tuesday. Just the memory of her smell and her quick gasps for air, sent blood flowing to his organ. What he liked best was that Marge wasn’t picky. She would jump right in to whatever fantasy he had at the moment.

  Not Angela though. His wife was too dignifi
ed to cut loose. Over the years, their intimacy had shriveled down to nothing. She was still sexy. Her body lithe and sensual, even after turning forty last year. It was Angela’s attitude that made his balls hurt. She couldn’t understand his needs and turned her back on him years ago.

  Holding his breath, he heard movement from the other side of the door. Puffing out his chest, he leaned against the frame, wanting to wow her.

  With a click of the lock, the door swung open.

  Brian’s words caught in his throat when he realized it wasn’t Marge, but her daughter Katie standing there. With a sleepy expression and blond hair hanging lose around her shoulders, the girl was a spitting image of her mother. Surveying her body, the only noticeable difference was the girl’s smaller breasts.

  Give her a year or two and she’ll be a hot little thing.