Ashes to Ashes Page 4

  Chapter 3

  Ashe hurried, barely feeling the falling hot water of the shower. With a quick swipe of his toothbrush and spritz of some cologne, he was out the door, unsure that he had made the right clothing selection. A gray button down shirt with tan khakis? Would that work? His shoes were black and far from shiny. He was aiming for a look that was not too casual and not too formal. And he deeply hoped that the combination would be okay.

  What did present day daters wear, anyway?

  He remembered what he had worn on dates in the past and tried desperately not to wear anything similar. He didn't want it to be obvious the he hadn't dated in many years, even though he was sure that his sister had already mentioned that tidbit to Katherine. Sarah had a thin filter between her brain and her mouth, which often reminding Ashe of a 5 year old child, blunt but honest.

  It didn't matter what Sarah had told his date, Ashe thought. The less surprises the better. But, he quickly reconsidered that thought when he reflected on the types of information his sister might have shared with Katherine. There were a few things about himself that he would rather handle on a second or third date…or fourth or fifth…or sixth or seventh…or ever.

  Why in the world she would even show up at the restaurant? He wondered. Maybe Sarah didn’t tell her as much as assumed. Ashe wouldn’t know until the date began. That fact made him a little nervous.

  While rushing through the pre-date routine of bathing and smelling pleasant, Ashe had no doubt that he would end up being late for the date. The time was 9:14. However, he ended up being the first to arrive, instead. He realized that he was the first to arrive whenever he communicated his name to the hostess, who in turn replied, “Ashe Walters. Says here you are a party of two? Is that right?” She mockingly scanned around his obviously solo presence, trying to spot another person who was possibly hidden or out of sight. The hostess than asked in a dry manner, “Someone else showing up to be your...of two?”

  The hostess was a young woman, looking as if she had just climbed down from a booster seat. Ashe didn't take her sarcasm to heart, blaming it on the proverbial teen boredom, which seems to be infecting the entire teenager popular. Soon it would be a diagnosable mental illness, like ADHD and DID. It would have its own section in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the bible of psychology. Ashe almost laughed to himself. With 3D movies, high tech video games, video chat, and online porn, why wouldn't teens of the world be suffering from severe boredom?

  Ashe clarified to bored youth, “I hope so. But you never know, right.”

  The hostess took two menus into her hands and insisted with a smile, “Follow me, sir.”

  Which he did. Bobbing and weaving through the restaurant, the psychologist noticed that the place seemed to be filled to the brim with nibbling, laughing, conversing customers. He took all the chatting people, wondering what they were discussing. Politics. Weather. Sex. A mere discussion could tell a lot about a person, if the right questions were asked, even if they weren't answered truthfully. Lies could often reveal more about the mind of an individual than truths.

  “Here we are, sir,” the waitress, motioning Ashe to a booth. Placing the menus onto the table top, the hostess was swiftly gone.

  Finding himself alone, Ashe began to skim the menu, while also trying to eavesdrop into the nearby conversations taking place at the surrounding tables. He wasn't able to make much out, even from those close to him.

  In what might have been between five to ten minutes, the hostess had returned, accompanied by a tall, attractive redhead. “Ashe Walters. Your of two.” And then the youth was gone again.

  After scooting into the booth, Katherine introduced herself, which Ashe reciprocated. Before any more talk could take place, a waitress arrived to take their drink orders. Ashe was caught off guard when his date ordered a Sam Adams. It was a pleasant surprise. For a brief second, he didn’t say anything. He began to feel good about the date. He happily told the waitress to make it two.

  “So,” Katherine began once the waitress had gone, “I pictured you as a Budweiser man.”

  Ashe jerked his head back and forth. “Not.”

  “Your sister has told me a lot about you,” Katherine revealed.

  “That can't be a good thing.”

  “Is it ever,” Katherine replied.

  “I guess not.”

  “So,” Katherine began again, “why did you rape and murder and eat the brains of your mother, father, and family beagle?”

  Ashe perked up his head, puzzled.

  “I'm sorry,” she explained and chuckled. “You are the one who is supposed to ask that question. I didn't mean to steal your thunder.”

  “I guess Sarah did tell you everything.”

  “I guess so.”

  The waitress returned with their alcohol and asked if they were ready to order. They both shook their heads. Before the waitress made another exit, Ashe ordered them a second round of beer, believing deeply that he may need a steady flow of alcohol. Katherine seemed feisty. And he was unsure whether or not that would end up being a good thing.

  “My sister never did tell me what you did,” Ashe stated after taking a sip of his Sam Adams. “So what...do you do...for a living?”

  “I don't do.”

  “Pardon me.”

  “I am,” Katherine clarified with a mischievous smirk.

  “So,” Ashe began, “what exactly are you?”

  “At this moment in time, I am a writer,” she answered. “If you would have asked that question 2 years ago, I would have answered differently, as would I have 2 years prior.”

  “You get bored easily, then?” he asked.

  “Do I sound boring to you?”

  Ashe thought about the question and wasn't sure how to answer it. He considered how Katherine sounded. Spontaneous? Ambitious? Reckless? Irresponsible? Living with her face on a cloud? Taking a massive gulp of his lager, he couldn't help but to be intrigued.

  “You are intrigued by me,” she announced, as if reading his mind.

  “Am I?”

  “Why wouldn't you be?”

  “Would you like to order, now?” the waitress asked, startling Ashe with her sudden presence. She placed down their second beers and once again pulled out a pen and pad.

  “You have no idea,” Ashe answered. “I would like the sirloin, and I want it to still be mooing at me as I eat it. Mashed potatoes with it, smothered to death in dark gravy.”

  The waitress smiled and jotted down the order in shorthand.

  “Same,” Katherine told the waitress, which the waitress also jotted, before ducking away.

  “Writer?” Ashe asked.

  “Yep,” she answered, before drinking from her bottle. “I can't tell you what I am writing, though, because it is top secret. I don't want you to steal my epic idea. I will say that it is like Harry Potter meets The Sound and the Fury.”

  “Sounds...fascinating.”

  “Indeed,” she said, agreeing. “What is it like working with crazy people?”

  “I don't work with crazy people, exactly,” Ashe clarified, with a slight laugh. Crazy people. It was a term that he has heard quiet often. If they only understood how more complicated and complex that term actually was. If it was easy, his job would be a walk in the park, which it definitely was not. “I administer assessment and treatment at Wilson Maximum Security Prison. I assess all inmates during initial intake into the prison and then decide if a mental illness may be present. Some are more obvious than others. And you’d be surprised how many criminals are completely sane. But if there are symptoms present, I have to diagnose the illness, plan and run the treatment schedule.

  “I thought the crazy people get weeded out in court?” Katherine asked. “The insanity defense…or whatever?”

  “In spite of popular thought, the insanity plea rarely holds up i
n court and never gets anyone off. Prisons have a good number of inmates with mental illnesses, mild to severe, and they deserve treatment just like anyone else.”

  “Do they? Why? They are murderers and rapist.”

  “It is not that simple.”

  “Isn't it?”

  “With living, breathing, thinking people…it never is.”

  “Are you still a consultant for the YPD?”

  Ashe was caught off guard by the question. He hasn't done that in a long time. Not since his wife's death. “My sister is thorough, I will give her that much. Not in a long time. 4 years, give or take. Let’s just say that I used to help an old friend out, now and again, but not anymore.”

  “How's come? That seems right up your alley.”

  “Personal reasons,” he replied.

  For nearly a minute there was no more speaking.

  “I had a wife.”

  “I know.”

  “And she passed several years ago.”

  “Your sister told me,” Katherine revealed. “But she never told me how. You don't want to talk about it...I am sure. I am not trying to pry. I am curious at the cellular level, but I know where the boundaries are.”

  “An accident.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” she expressed, reaching out for his hand. Ashe began to reach across the table for hers, but withdrew it at the sound of his chirping cell phone. He was almost glad for the interruption.

  Pulling the phone from his pocket and brushing the screen, he answered the call. After listening to the other side intensely, Ashe ended the call with a simple, “I will be right there.” Glancing over to Katherine, unsure how to meet her eyes, he conveyed, “I have to go. An old friend wants to have some words with me. I haven’t heard from the man…in a…long time. I really am sorry, but it must be important. I really have to run. What a way to end a first date. I apologize.”

  “First date? Does that mean that there will be a second?”

  “I will call you and you can tell me,” he said sincerely. Ashe wasn't exactly sure why, but he wanted another chance. “I am going to stop by the desk and insist that I pay for everything ordered and future additions. Order whatever you want, that is legal. No. I insist. Stay all night if you want. It was nice meeting you, Katherine.”

  “It was.”

  Cursing under his breath, Ashe took one last mouthful of alcohol. He then rushed away from the table, worried about what else the night had in store for him. All he wanted was to go to bed early. That was never more than a dream.