Page 184 of Scrimmage

I snatch the phone and set it on the counter, pressing play on speaker. I hear a man grunting. I’m about to turn it off when I hear the sound of a pop. Something heavy hits the floor, there is a crunch, and then she screams. Ashlandscreams. It’s not a frustrated one, but it’s terrified. I hear bodies hit the floor and there's more struggling, as Ashland starts to sob. Then she's screaming and growling.

“Go ahead and scream, baby. I know you need to get it all out,” a male voice says on the other end. Something metallic clatters to the floor.

I can’t stop listening.

There’s a growl. She screeches, and I hear the man roar in what sounds like pain. He calls her a bitch before there’s another pop.

“Goddammit, Ashland!” The man shouts. “You made me fucking shoot you.”

He said shoot. Those pops are of a gun. He shot her.

A thump. Fist meeting flesh. Then another shot. Another pop. Another scream accompanied by frantic sobbing. Screaming. Something else hits the floor and then a series of shots. Wheezing and pained laughing. Then there’s silence. Just silence.

I dial the phone. It’s all I can manage as I try to convince myself this is some insane ruse. It rings and rings and rings until I get her voicemail.

“We need to go over there,” I tell Alexi.

I try to talk myself out of it as I stand up and grab for my keys, I make arguments while I walk through the door with Alexi on my heels, and I figure out all of the ways I’ll get revenge on her for making me this scared. I’d rather her at least tell me to fuck myself than to ignore me. At least let me know she’s alive.

I drive to her house at a dangerous speed, hoping for some sort of response to stop this madness. I imagine that she’s going to be livid that I showed up, but I’ll know everything is okay. Then I can ruin her life a little more.

The lights are off in her house. It’s dark and seemingly empty. Penny’s car is still out front, though. I go back to my never ending internal debate as I get out of the car and head for the door. I turn the handle, but it doesn't give. Could it be that Ashland finally started using the lock? Seems improbable, and I didn’t lock it on my way out. I huff, trying to make the decision on if I use my key or not. Alexi grabs them from my hands and sorts through them carefully until he sticks one in the lock and opens the door.

I snatch them back. “What the hell?”

“I know you well enough to know that you have a key, Armory. Come on, let’s piss her off.” He’s in denial, too. Alexi holds his hand out, waving me in first.

It’s eerily quiet. I clear my throat. “Ashland?” I call out, using a tone of authority.

There’s no response. She could have walked somewhere. That’s a possibility. Maybe she took a ride share and she’s on her way to fucking Europe. Now we’re here, breaking into her house, and when she comes back she’s going to be more pissed than she already is, unless she never comes back.

“What’s that smell?” Alexi furrows his brows. I breathe deep. There’s a weird scent in the air. It smells like metal and something I can’t determine. Her house always smelled like almonds and vanilla, but now it smells like almonds, vanilla, and…and death. It’s a gross smell.

There are broken ceramic plates and bowls all over the floor. That’s the pops, I convince myself. She was angry and throwing things. It would explain why she was screaming. I follow the putrid scent down the hall until I reach the turn into the kitchen. At the end of the hallway is a hole in the drywall that I couldn’t see from the front door. The smell is overpowering here.

“Ashland?” Alexi reaches his fingers up and touches it.

My eyes sweep across a bloody kitchen. Ashland and Penny are messy, but not dirty. There are always dishes in the sink or stuff laying out on the counter, but the only things there are the sketchbook and the remnants of the letter. The page is laying on the marble and it’s burnt, splattered with blood. I take one step inside and see the deep dark red on the tile.

It’s wine, I reason. I confronted her with the truth, she lost her shit, and smashed a bottle. It’s wine. It’s wine. It’s wine.

If I tell myself that enough times, then it'll come true. I stand there in complete and utter shock, looking at Ash propped against the cabinets in the corner with her eyes closed. Blood pools around her. Her pink hair is caked in it. Her skin is slicked with it. Every shade of red, rust, and black covers her.

Next to her body is another lying face down in the mess.

Her phone is on the ground by my feet. I spring into action as Alexi is already speaking to 9-1-1.

Her chest rises and falls in light shallow breaths. They’re almost not even present. She’s been shot. The gun lays next to her, a knife next to the other body, and a skillet. The thud and the clatter. She's riddled with bullets from what I can tell. The shoulder, the stomach, and the leg. They’re everywhere.

Whoever is next to her tried to kill her.

The burner on the stove makes a sound like it’s adjusting. She was making tea before I left, but the kettle is laying in the living room next to the couch.

Out of all of the people she could have called, it was me. She needed me, and like an asshole I shoved her away. Those few minutes could mean life or death for Ashland, and it'll be all my fault.

Her head hangs over her chest. I collapse, my knees hitting the tile, and blood seeps into my sweatpants. I grab her cheeks between my hands. Her skin is so cold and pale. There’s a gash across her eyebrow, down her temple and through her cheek. I can’t even make out where the blood is coming from in her torso. I fucking weep.

“No. No, Ashland, please.” Tears stream down my face. “Ashland, baby girl, please wake up. Wake up.”

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