The Haunting of Ashton David (2 page)

She bent to pick one of each different flower in bloom to make a colorful bouquet. They walked until they were on the David side of the meadow, a smattering of old oaks led the way to a place that held half of her heart. Her pulse and breathing increased as she led the horse to the place that had once made her completely happy. A few more paces and the shadows cleared to reveal their cottage. That was when her breathing stopped altogether. It wasn’t the cottage she’d remembered. No, this cottage had been vandalized. Windows lay broken. The small curved door was ajar, inviting any and all forest creatures and insects to seek refuge inside. The flowerbeds that surrounded the little house had been burned, the resulting blackness symbolizing the neglected state of the house and their relationship.

Harmony fell to her knees and clutched at the burning pain in her chest. If half of her heart were in there then it had been broken beyond repair. In that moment, on her knees in the dirt, Harmony made a promise to herself that she’d restore the cottage to its previous state. She had no choice—the little house, directly across from the meadow, held her memories and cradled her heart.

She stood and tethered Dancer to a tree. Harmony approached the inside with caution. It was dank and moldy from weather, but she didn’t see any signs of rot or other destruction to the inside. Leaning against the fireplace were a shop broom and shovel. Both were covered in soot, but so was the floor. She took the broom and started the restoration process she would refer to as:
Operation French Riviera
, for this was the theme of the junior prom he’d taken her to, and then they’d spent the night together in this little cottage where she fell in love with him all over again.

As she swept out leaves and mud and twigs the floor began to come into view. That’s when she noticed the blue rug with white lilies. She leaned the broom against the wall and tugged the rug out the front door—the door that she’d dubbed the hobbit door because of its size and the arched top.

On the lawn her heart leapt to her throat. It was their rug. The one they’d lain on and watched movies and played games and ate junk. It was damp and covered in mud, but she recognized it all the same. She pulled it over to a faucet that had a hose attached. When she turned the spigot water sprayed all along the rotted out hose, but she didn’t care how wet she got. She aimed the bulk of the water at the rug and sprayed, watching the mud melt away like an impressionist painting.

The rug was sopping, but her plan was to return with an industrial ATV and retrieve the wool rug. She’d have it professionally restored.

The sound of his cries and moans immediately chilled her skin. He was near enough that she could hear him, but only faintly. However, even the low sound waves carried his pain with them. The sounds wrapped around her, suffocating, and robbing her of all goodness, leaving her somber and blue. The waves guided her like a beacon to the other side. She diligently followed, drawn to the agonizing sounds like a moth to a flame. Winding round and round through another forested maze she followed the curls of his torment. This forest she knew led to the back of the plantation. As she moved forward the sounds grew louder and more anguished. She was desperate to get to him and guide him through the darkness and into the light. She had to get him out of the pit of hell he was living in, but what she saw when she peaked beyond the trees was a scene from a massacre. So gruesome was the scene before her that she became dizzy, and knew to sit with her head between her knees.

His war cries and moans mingled with the sounds of the hatchet he used to skin the animal. A cow’s body lay on its side. The cold dead eyes stared into her soul. She held the animal’s lifeless gaze while he used a machete to sever the large head. Hacking at the neck with repeated blows produced a sickening thud and she became nauseated. Standing she ran back the way she’d come and vomited in the woods.

She wanted to run away, far away, but her feet had her taking the steps that led back to him. She watched as he vigorously skinned the large cow. His movements were accurate and precise, considering the primitive tools he chose for the task. He leaned over and held the skin away from the body and sliced. Blood was all over his clothes and the ground. Huge flies buzzed in the air all around him.

A medieval winching device attached around the cow’s ankles. The other end was affixed to a large old oak tree. At the tree he manually adjusted the chains, grunting and panting under the pressure of the work until he had the large animal turned to expose the opposite side. He walked over, lifted the skin, and resumed his task.

Harmony stood for a while, watching him work himself to exhaustion. Once he’d staked out the skin to dry he started butchering the cow and harvesting the meat. He wrapped the meat in paper and placed it in a cooler near an old wooden and weathered picnic table. He carried firewood to a hole he’d made in the ground that had seen fire before. Pouring gasoline on the wood, he then threw a match on it. While it flamed he drank from a large industrial thermos.

He threw scraps from the cow on the fire and soon her nostrils filled with the odor of burning flesh and hair and meat. Once he had the entire cow processed she watched in awe as he removed his T-shirt and threw it on the fire. She’d seen him bare chested lots of times, but that was almost ten years ago. He’d been in good physical shape, but now he possessed corded, sinewy muscle. It looked as if he’d been shredded by muscle. His youthful softness was gone and all that remained were hard angles and projections. He stepped out of his boots and removed his belt. A dry lump formed in her throat when he peeled the bloodied jeans from his body. Either his underwear went down with his jeans or he wasn’t wearing any.

She attempted to swallow the cotton in her mouth, but couldn’t. The sight of his manhood between his bulging thigh muscles made her dizzy all over again, but this time she refused to sit. She watched with dropped jaw as he bent, his backside facing her, and turned on the faucet attached to the back of the house. Using a water hose he rinsed himself thoroughly of the blood and muck. The water poured over him from the top of his head and set his muscles glistening. His impressive backside was on full display for her and she felt her fingers tingle at their desire to touch.

He turned off the water and stood naked, looking up into the sky. Given her dizziness she started to tilt, but righted her footing, breaking a dry twig in the process. His eyes and body went on full alert as his focus drilled into the places where she hid.

Looking down she tiptoed away, stepping where only dirt-covered ground existed. When she was out of earshot she ran for it, her heart pounding in her chest from the exertion of her run and the shock of all she’d seen today.

By the time her dissertation had been defended at Berkeley, the summer was in full swing in Southern Louisiana. She wasn’t used to the heat, given the almost ten years she’d spent in California. She hadn’t recalled her boobs breaking a sweat, but the last time she’d been home during the intense heat of the summer, her boobs hadn’t fully grown in.

Now she was back, with three degrees and a nice job to begin in the fall. St. Mary’s Catholic School principal had a nice ring to it. She just hoped her story wouldn’t end like those of some of the nuns. At that she recalled a perfectly-shaped bronzed buttocks and massive bulging thighs, corded and sinewy muscle that ran the length of him. Speaking of length, his—

“Harmony, I don’t know what to do with these odds and ends of yours so I’ve placed them all in this box for you to go through at your leisure.”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so glad your home. I worried about you out in California, living along that fault line. It’s active you know.”

Hmm, so is the Gulf of Mexico, but Harmony wouldn’t talk back to her mother whose only flaw was worrying too much about her children when they weren’t in Baton Rouge.

Harmony put on old jeans and a tank top. She finished the look with a pair of old boots. She’d purchased some flowers that she wanted to put in the ground over at the old cottage, but first she’d need to build up the beds.

In the garage she attached a trailer to the Kawasaki Mule. She loaded it with the bags of soil she’d purchased, a few gardening tools, and topped it off with the delicate flowers—hydrangeas. The front of the cabin would be in the shade for most of the day and she hoped the oppressive heat wouldn’t take its toll on the beauties. She also had some marigolds, which she considered to be the happiest flower, especially yellow and orange, and a few grasses that would build up the turf.

With her assortment on board she set out to drive across the diverse landscape, hopeful she wouldn’t have a jackknife mishap on her hands. Pausing at the forest she bit her lip as she thought through the twists and turns. With her haul, it would be more prudent to skirt the woods than try to navigate through them. However, were she to run into Ashton her little dream of fixing up the cottage would come to a screeching halt.

She’d have to chance it, for if she lost her load she’d be exceedingly disappointed. She slowly advanced, skirting the forest, wishing the flowers weren’t so bright yellow, but hopefully he wouldn’t be way out by the cottage. Although she happened to know that the cows were in the path of the little house. She grimaced as she recalled his barbaric performance when she’d been home for spring break. His torment had broken what was left of her heart. She’d wanted to help him then, but was at a loss as to how to do it. When he’d set eyes on her for the first time in almost ten years he’d seethed in anger and thrown a glass ashtray through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his den. It had been clear what he’d thought about seeing her again.

He needed help. Something to get him to live through the pain instead of living for it. The time she’d spent in California tying up loose ends had helped her clear her head of the haze that was Ashton David. She’d just received a Ph.D. in behavioral neuroscience, and so she’d signed up for a painful summer of trying to reach Ashton. After all, if she couldn’t help him, no one could. As Ashton confronted his demons the beast would rage at her. The thought of renewing the cottage would give her the hope to get through the long road ahead.

Grateful she’d made it to the cottage with her load, she pulled the rake from the trailer and started on the beds, tilling up the roots. She spread fresh topsoil around, distributing it evenly among the flowerbeds lining the cottage. She arranged the plants, moving them around until she was satisfied with their placement. By eleven o’clock the sun was high in the sky and she hadn’t thought to bring a hat or any sunscreen. Her body felt hot. Touching her skin she realized she’d exposed herself too much to UV rays. She cleaned up after herself, placing the empty containers in the trailer.

After she’d sufficiently cleaned up the yard she stood back and admired her work. The yellow, orange, and blue flowers created a nice backdrop for the rich pine cabin. The hobbit door that she’d loved so much used to be shamrock green. Now it was weathered and gray. She knew her next project would consist of sanding and painting of the door.

She heard the thunk of metal meeting wood and decided to follow the sound, but she had an idea of where it would lead.

At the front line of trees she hid behind a large oak, watching a shirtless Ashton use an axe to chop firewood. Corded muscle flowed in streams across his shoulders and chest.

Wood was stacked neatly along the back porch that ran the length of the massive plantation. He’d chopped so much wood she wondered what in God’s name he planned on doing with it all, and yet he continued to chop, picking up speed. Sweat poured from his body. As his muscles screamed for relief he howled through the discomfort, depleting his energy down to nothing.

Clouds rolled in and she watched as he collapsed to the ground after twenty solid minutes of abuse to his body. His body convulsed as he cried. Cupping his hands over his face he wailed. She started to walk toward him from the bank of trees, but then he sat up and was still. She managed to duck behind a tree before he looked in her direction. As it started to pour down rain he lifted his face to the heavens, letting the water wash away his agony.

Beneath the heavy canopy of trees as she was, she’d managed to stay dry for a few minutes. However, once the water started, it poured as if from a spout, soothing her sun-burned skin. She was drenched as she watched him mount a horse and take off toward the stables.

She ran toward the back of the house, taking the steps up the porch two at a time. Her hand closed around the distantly familiar feel of the ornate knob as it twisted and she pushed on the door. Inside she was stunned to see the dilapidated condition of the home. She walked with caution through the house. It needed a thorough cleaning and major paint and stain on the floors. She recalled how when his folks were alive something was always being repaired on the home. Her fingers traced along the ornate wooden dowels that made up the staircase, several of which lay broken.

Recalling that Mr. David, Ashton’s father, had purchased the plantation when she was a small child she became saddened. He’d purchased it when the previous owners could no longer afford to care for it. His hope was to one day bequeath the home to the River Road Plantation Historical Society. Looking at it now, however, Harmony didn’t think the society would have the funds to restore it to all of its former glory.

As her clothes dripped on the faded and scarred wooden slats that made up the floor, Harmony moved to the kitchen and found a towel with which to dry her hair and wet arms. She removed her boots and socks. A dry shirt would be heaven. Knowing her way around the house she walked to the laundry area where she found a pair of athletic shorts and one of Ashton’s white undershirts. She dressed in the clothes and placed her clothes in the dryer.

In the hallway she mopped up the water that had dripped from her wet form. The water had mixed with the fine dirt and formed nasty clay. Back in the kitchen she filled a bucket with water and soap and gathered the mop. Harmony estimated it would take an entire day to collect all of the dirt and leaves.