Page 100 of Pieces of Ash
Unbelievably, after the horrific day I’ve had, this makes me smile, and I fall asleep feeling something I have always longed to feel…safe.
For the first time in my life, and against all odds,
I feel safe.
Chapter 18
Ashley
We sit in the living room, where I have laid out a simple breakfast of fresh-baked strawberry scones, hot coffee, cream, and sugar. It’s not fancy, but I want to be useful while these men—Julian, Gus, Jock, and Special Agent Simmons—discuss my fate and the best way to save me from Mosier’s clutches. And frankly I don’t know how to be helpful to them. I feel young and vulnerable and, therefore, endlessly grateful that they are interested in protecting me at all.
I sit on the couch between Julian and Gus, while Jock and Simmons sit in the wingback chairs across from us.
“Shall we get down to it?” says Agent Simmons, wiping his mouth before placing his empty cake plate on the coffee table. “Great scone, by the way.”
He has reddish-blond hair with gray streaks at his temples and a smattering of freckles across his nose, and he wears a wedding ring on his left hand. I’m not good at guessing ages, but I’d place his somewhere between thirty and forty.
Jock nods. “Let’s get Julian and Ashley up to date.”
Agent Simmons clears his throat before speaking. “The bureau’s been tracking Raumann for years. We know that he’s into nefarious dealings—trafficking and smuggling mostly. He brings weapons in from Russia and the Middle East via his contacts in Moldova, Romania, and Bulgaria. With over ninety percent of the world’s opiates now originating in Afghanistan, Raumann’s overseas operations in Eastern Europe are strategically placed. We suspect that a fair amount of the heroin in New York is being imported and distributed via the Raumann family and its associates.” He grimaces. “This is in addition to human trafficking—stealing children from smaller ethnic groups in Albania and Romania and bringing them to the States to work in the sex trade. Of the estimated 4,000 children being exploited in New York, we suspect a significant percentage were smuggled in by someone in Raumann’s network.”
My stomach churns as I listen to Agent Simmons speak, remembering the princess room prepared for me at Mosier’s compound and the luxurious suite of rooms where my mother lived. Beautiful things purchased from the terrible suffering of others. I knew he was a bad person, but I had no ideahowbad. Suddenly I hate it that I ate his food, washed my body in his shower, and slept in his house. I was a child, of course, not complicit in Mosier’s business dealings, but right this second, it makes me feel sick that I ever accepted anything from him.
“Stop,” I say. “Please.”
Simmons sighs, looking slightly annoyed. “Miss Ellis, I’m sorry if this information is troubling, I truly am. But you need to know who he is.”
“Idoknow,” I say. I know better than anyone here what he is capable of.
“Let’s move on,” suggests Jock. “Tell them what you told me this morning.”
“Right,” says Simmons, looking at me. “I troll the dark web for chatter. Do you understand what that means?”
“Dark web? No.”
His lips twitch. “Think of it as a layer beneath the internet.”
To be frank, I have very limited knowledge of the regular internet, but I nod for him to continue.
“People can use it anonymously. Post messages. Send out feelers for information. Buy weapons. Sell drugs. Think of it as this huge bazaar where there are endless stalls, and in each one, you can buy or sell anything—people, children, weapons, drugs. No laws, no rules.”
“She gets it,” says Julian sharply from beside me, taking my hand in his. I’m grateful for the comfort of his warm, strong hand enveloping mine. “What did you find?”
“He’s looking for her. Raumann has been sending out feelers since last night. Her picture, her description, and a bounty of $100,000 dollars for information that leads to her whereabouts.”
“He’s hunting her,” says Julian, squeezing my fingers.
“Yes,” says Simmons. “Actively. Aggressively.”
Jock clears his throat. “Ashley, tell us about leaving school. Tell us every detail until Gigi and I picked you up in Charlotte.”
I tell them about the woman who woke me up when the train stopped in Westport, about the conductor who called me a bitch, about the taxi driver who noted my good manners, and about the ticket seller at the Charlotte ferry who recognized me.
Simmons shakes his head with a grim expression. “I remember your sister. Her face is memorable, and you look just like her. That’s at least four people who could remember you. And frankly, Miss Ellis, there are probably countless others who didn’t make an impression on you, but on whomyoumade an impression.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means he’ll find you,” says Simmons, not mincing words. “I don’t know when, but I’d estimate you’ve got less than two weeks before he shows up in Charlotte looking for you.” He glances at Jock, then at Gus. “Your name is Gus Egér? That’s your official name? Your legal name?”
