Page 36 of Pieces of Ash
“Dragon, huh?” Gus rubs his lower lip. “Nickname?”
“I don’t think so. I think that was his name.”
“What happened to him?”
I sigh. “You know? I think my brain filed this as a dream, but it wasn’t.”
“Whatwasn’t?”
“I was in bed, but the dogs woke me up. Barking. Loud, you know? Snarling. I looked down at the courtyard in front of the house, and two guys were holding Dragon. He was limp, and his face was bloody. Mosier punches him in the face while they hold him, and then they release him. He falls on the ground but tries to get up. Like, he was in so much pain, he almost couldn’t move, but he somehow manages to get up, holding his ribs, and Mosieryells something at him. He turns and tries to run toward the gates, but he’s slow and clumsy. Just as he gets to the edge of the light, close to the gates, the dogs…the dogs were on metal chains, but Mosier walked over to their handler and unclipped them. I watched them race into the darkness, following the man.” I gulp, hating that I have gruesome memories like this one stuck in my head. “I jumped back in bed. I don’t remember anything else. In fact, I think I tried to convince myself it was just a dream. But…but, Gus…I never saw that guard again.”
“When was this, Ash?”
I purse my lips, trying to remember. “Maybe, um, two or three years ago? There was still some snow on the ground. I remember because Dragon was barefoot. I thought his feet must have been freezing.”
Gus nods. “Okay. I’ll tell Jock. I don’t know if it’ll lead anywhere, but at least it’s a start.”
“You’re going to try to get him arrested? Mosier?”
“If he’s behind bars, he can’t get to you, li’l Ash.”
I stare at Gus, thinking that he has no idea how strong Mosier is, how far his reach extends, how brutally he will retaliate if he discovers that Gus and Jock are poking around in his affairs.
“Don’t do anything dangerous, Gus. Please. Promise me.”
Gus cups my face, a gentle smile on his lips. “Lifeis dangerous, baby doll. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”
“I can’t lose you, too,” I whisper.
Gus drops his hands and stands up. “Then get dressed. The sooner we get you over to Julian’s place, the sooner I can breathe easy again.”
The drive toJock’s farmhouse takes a little under half an hour over quiet roads dotted with farms both well-kept and dilapidated—quiet Americana in the middle of nowhere. Gus was right. It’ll be the perfect place to hide for a while.
We turn down a nondescript road with farms on both sides, and then down another with woods on both sides. The woods thin to a clearing, and up ahead I see a house, barn, and meadow, with a circular gravel driveway in front. We pull in, and Jock cuts the engine as I look out the window.
The house and barn are pristine.
No flecks of peeling paint dot the shingles of the house, and the barn is a soothing maroon in the late-morning sun. The garden around the house blooms with sunflowers turning their cheerful faces to the sky, and a weather vane caps the roof’s peak. It feels more like a top-rated bed-and-breakfast than a private home, and as I leave the car, I breathe deeply, feeling hopeful that this place will welcome me, even if its downstairs tenant does not.
“What do you think?” asks Gus.
“It’s lovely.”
“Yes, it is. P.C. renovated it when he came back from Afghanistan. It’s how he dealt with everything.”
“Hey,” I ask Gus as Jock walks over to the barn and knocks on a maroon door with bright white trim, “how did you two meet anyway?”
“The Cape,” says Gus. “He was browsing in an art gallery. I saw him through the window. I took one look, and I died. I had to have him.”
I nod, remembering that Gus had always loved his P-town getaways.
“Just like that?
“Oh, honey,” says Gus. “When you know, you know. And with Jock? I knew. I knew the second I looked at him. He was mine, I was his, and that was that.”
My eyes skitter to the barn, where I can hear voices raised in increasing anger. Suddenly a man comes stalking out of the door, wearing a T-shirt, jeans, and black leather gloves that cover his forearms. He takes them off and tucks them under his arm as he approaches me.
“Are you kidding me, Jock?” he asks over his shoulder, practically spitting the words. “Goddamnit.”
