Ashes of the Fae Read online

  Already he had started making his way to the door, only stopping as I shot past him to open it before he could. He paused at the doorway a moment, only about a foot away from me as I looked up at him, studying his vast stature.

  “And thank you, Maddox, truly…but before you go…” Instinctively I grabbed onto his sleeve as he took a step forward, and I watched a gulp dance down his throat. “I know I’ve said sorry already, but I really do feel terrible for how I reacted to you down at the station. There’s no excuse for it.”

  “You’re too kind. But I understand. I know I’m not easy to look at.”

  And with that he tipped his hat again, slipping through my grasp as I pondered those words and the profound sadness they seemed to carry. It was apparent that he was used to the gawking and feeble apologies, but something about it made my heart even heavier. It was easy to judge a book by its cover. But this “book,” no matter how marred the exterior, was the first to open up to my wild stories so readily, so maybe it was a book worth reading.

  3

  More days passed, and still I heard nothing. Not a shred of news from the police, or from Maddox. Once again I was left with more questions than answers, and I had started to doubt this private investigator’s sincerity, if that was even what he was.

  I played everything over again in my head, trying to remember when he ever actually agreed to help me. But then, I never even saw a badge. He left no department for me to call or what hotel he was staying at. We never even came to any sort of payment arrangement—or any arrangement for that matter. And most importantly, he never flat out said “Hey, happy to help. I’ll let you know when I find her. Here’s my card.”

  In fact, I had no way of contacting him, seeing how the station was once again no help. The few times I called for him, they said he wasn’t in but that they would “leave a note for him” were he to stop by, which was doubtful, but it gave me time to dig up whatever info I could on this guy. Information that turned out to be increasingly scant.

  All in all, I found about seventeen articles online, some dating back to the late sixties about a “disfigured” genius “detective.” I questioned the accuracy of the dates, though, considering that would’ve put him into the senior age bracket. Surely he wasn’t that old. He moved and spoke as if he still carried the pep of a man in his twenties or thirties, but then he was scarred so badly, was there really any way to tell?

  It seemed, if it was in fact him, he had been all over. The stories stretched as far as South America, Canada, and even Alaska, but were concentrated mostly to the US. Nothing overseas.

  The few documented cases I found were almost identical to those in Missoula, and in each case he had brought a child home—sometimes two or three. But still no article carried an explanation for his burns; or more importantly who or what was responsible for all these disappearances. Each conclusion led to the corresponding precinct’s inability to capture a “mad man” or the like.

  My major daily accomplishment lately had been a shower and change of clothes. I had even managed to keep the house half-clean in case he returned. Or anyone really. Even Jean had been quiet the last few days, which surprised me.

  I also realized I had been cooped up in this house for days. I was starting to think it was contributing to these never-ending feelings of madness I had. So today I was going to go out and get some fresh air. I would try to bask in some sunlight. I figured I needed the change of scenery to clear my head and refresh before I read another article about a missing child.

  Even though I was going out for the first time in days, I decided to dress down. Inexplicable forty-degree weather wasn’t about to stop me from wearing torn-up jeans and an old grey college hoodie I hadn’t worn in years. After all, I wasn’t really trying to impress anyone. The only effort I made to look like I half cared was donning an outdated bit of lip gloss that had melted into a three-quarter circle shape at least two summers ago.

  As I slipped into my boots, I tugged my beanie onto my frazzled hair, which looked like a shoddily made maroon bird’s nest otherwise. But for now, I was off. I only hoped nothing bad would come of this.

  The freezing rain came and went since that day at the station, and had left quite a few scattered ice sheets in its wake. Icicles decorated the trees and rooftops all along the streets, and I had slipped on several frozen patches about a mile from home. Luckily I caught myself before falling on my ass.

  Even though it all seemed a bit dreary considering current events, the grey skies and frozen atmosphere quite suited this historical town. All the houses were either white colonials or a weathered red brick and saltbox style. And while Missoula seemed small, it housed quite a large population. But why wouldn’t it? It was beautiful country, which boasted such comfortable, safe living for families. I’m sure people were a bit disappointed by those promises as of late.

  I stood on the street corner of Main and Harper, smoking a stale cigarette I had found stashed in my hoodie from back in my university days, along with an old lighter. It seemed I hadn’t washed it since, which explained the faint musty smell of library books, sex, smoke and whatever else that emanated from it. I wasn’t about to take it up again, but I didn’t see how smoking just one would make things any worse right now.

  Sirens began to sound a few miles off. At first I couldn’t tell if they were coming closer or going farther away, but as I puffed a bit of the end of my smoke, a cop car went zooming by—rather quickly considering the state of the road. And then another. And another.

  But as soon as I saw the forensics car racing behind them, a gut-wrenching feeling grew within me. The road they continued down would take them to the park and pier at Lake Michael. So what on earth would have them in such a tizzy? Unless…

  As soon as that red-hot butt hit the ground, I was in a sprint. Even though running wasn’t my forte, I ran like hell. Not even the extra weight of motherhood slowed me. Following the blaring sirens, I stopped only a moment when the road came up to the park entrance. The lot was full of cop cars, forensics, and a news van.

  They had definitely found something.

  I burst into a run, my lungs feeling as if they were about to seize from the sting of the cold, with dry coughs continuously cutting off my labored breaths. Though my body tried to slow me, the sight of the coroner did nothing but quicken my pace.

  A cluster of detectives was nestled at the end of the pier, which was now roped off with crime scene tape. Maddox was among them. I casually walked to the edge of the scene, remaining unseen through the chaos but trying to listen for any bit of information I could.

  “…it’s sad, really,” a distraught reporter said to her coworker, shaking her head as I inched a bit closer. “Horrible to find one like this…”

  “I know,” the man replied, adjusting whatever settings on his camera before lowering it back down again. “They think it’s that Davis lady’s kid.”

  “Did you just…” I spouted without thinking, startling the both of them.

  “Oh, Miss Davis. We… no, wait!” The woman tried to play it off, but my eyes grew as my body began to shake like a madwoman.

  “Someone! It’s Miss Dav—”

  But I’d lost it. I barreled through them. Running past everyone fast enough so that none of them could react until I came to the head of the dock. Roger attempted to stop me as his arms enclosed around me like some sort of cage, but my fight was unforgiving. Even with my smaller frame, I threw him off balance and into the crowd of officers, catching everyone off guard.

  “Can someone help? Stop her!” one of them shouted.

  “Miss Davis, please. You really don’t want to…”

  “Get off of me!” I snapped, pushing an unfamiliar woman out of the way as I fell to my knees. Crawling to the water’s edge, I saw something pale floating just above the surface. The closer I got, the more I could make out a small hand, and soon a wrist appeared. A wrist adorned with a bright…pink…bracelet. “No…no, no!” I screamed, pulling myself farth
er until I saw the bloated outline of a dark haired girl—about Iris’ size.

  All I could do now was wail so loudly the water beneath me began to ripple. I couldn’t believe this was my girl. How could she have met an end like this? Why? Everyone around me had grown quiet. No one dared to try and remove me anymore, but they all stood by, witnessing my monumental breakdown as I felt my heart try to tear itself from my chest.

  “Miss Davis, I’m so sorry. We were going to tell you, but this wasn’t ho—”

  “I’ve told you it’s not the girl,” irritated, Maddox interrupted, sparking something within me.

  “How would you know that?”

  Was he right? I’d know that bracelet anywhere, so why would he say such a thing? Without a second thought I shot forward to flip her over, considering nothing else. A hand tried to grab me and pull me back as I took hold of the cold, hard corpse.

  “Leila, don’t—”

  “Oh…God,” I cried. Pressing my other hand against my nose, I turned away.

  He was right. It wasn’t Iris. Even though it was Iris’ bauble, the girl was unfamiliar to me. Even so, she didn’t deserve a death like this. To be found face down, lost in a frozen lake after who knows how long, looking as if she had been partially eaten by…something. I didn’t dare look back again.

  “It’s not her,” I confirmed, muffled through my sleeve and tapering tears.

  Even though no one sighed in relief aside from me, Maddox at the very least looked thankful, if not a bit troubled. I didn’t like the situation any more than anyone else, but to have just thought my daughter was found dead and to be wrong…it was all that kept me going in that moment.

  “Please, Ms. Davis….Go home,” a man spoke with terse words. He didn’t have to tell me twice. Quickly, I shuffled up from the ground, shoving my way past them as my fatigue became apparent to me. But I kept walking, falling to a much slower pace once I was back out on the street.

  I made sure to check that the coast was clear before crumbling to the ground to wallow in my sorrows, sobbing uncontrollably. I tried so hard to sort through my tangled mess of feelings, and even harder to reason with myself. I knew going through something like this was hard enough. I was a therapist before all this happened, for God’s sake, but for some reason, in that moment I remembered I was doing it all alone, and that made the void inside me grow.

  “Miss Davis?”

  I knew that voice, but it was distorted by my moaning as it faded, the smoke from an exhaust burning my nose. Now I could see a blurred khaki blob crouched beside me as my watery eyes started to clear.

  “Leila…” I corrected through a sniffle, annoyed with Maddox for the formality, amongst other things.

  “Leila, let me take you home. Please?”

  With his hand extended to me, I debated saying no, but I knew it was in my best interest. My clothes were now so wet and cold that I felt warm. I wouldn’t make it very far if hypothermia started setting in. I took hold of his sturdy arm, feeling another hand curl around to steady my back as he guided me to his car. The warmth blasted me as he opened the door, and I was sucked inside as I collapsed into the passenger seat.

  My sights were still foggy, but I could see him pass in front of me. The sound of his door soon followed. He shuffled a bit, the shrill sound of a seatbelt unwinding before he paused in a side glance. For a moment I thought I heard him speak, but all I could make out was my name. Then he leaned forward a bit, and I felt him move closer.

  It happened so fast I didn’t even get a chance to second guess myself, but I didn’t care anymore. In that moment, all I could feel was his arm as it slipped down past my side, and I just lost it, interpreting things the only way I wanted to.

  Without hesitation, I turned to him. Slipping my hands quickly beneath his jacket, I took a firm hold of his shirt and buried my face into his chest. He was so full of warmth and comfort in his firmness that it made me feel worse at first, but it was the most satisfying cry I’d had thus far. Being able to bawl into something warm and living instead of being reminded of my sheer loneliness helped to fill the hole a bit. Apart from one thing…

  He was stiff as ice.

  In the moments that followed, I don’t even think he took a breath. It was like hugging a statue. Only then did it become apparent to me that he, in fact, hadn’t gone in for a hug at all. As he cleared his throat, I could hear him releasing the seat belt behind me.

  I was mortified.

  I debated whether even letting go at this point was a good idea, because then I would have to face him, but as I started to pull away in shame, a hand came to rest lightly on my shoulder. It didn’t pull me closer, but it didn’t push away either. Even if he was only doing it to be kind, I admired him for it.

  In the end, he barely knew me. I had more or less thrown myself at his mercy when I begged for his help, so this man owed me nothing. Even something as simple as a weak hug had turned into a grand gesture.

  Short lived as it was, I felt his hand begin to waver a bit, that stillness turning to a series of pats. Then he swallowed, seeming to grow more uncomfortable the longer I lingered. With that, I pulled away and looked down, so as to not meet his eyes. I tugged on the seat belt myself this time.

  The car slowed as we approached, the rain falling and turning to sleet as I peered through the window. Needless to say, the ride home was quiet. If this car was his, it was very clean, and smelled of rosemary. It stayed true to his gentlemanly quirks. Even the interior was a shade of beige. I felt bad for soiling the fabric with my soggy pants.

  We finally stopped. As he got out, I could see him make his way to my door, but I opened it before he could—a bit forcefully. It caused him to take a few steps back before it slammed into him, but he caught it regardless. We were both still a bit keyed up from the awkward incident.

  With a weak “thanks,” I darted past him to head inside. He closed the front door this time, and I could feel him watch me as I toppled over and onto the sofa. He came to a halt in the sage-painted entryway with his hands clasped behind him as if awaiting an invitation to follow.

  “You don’t have to stand,” I mumbled through a sigh.

  My face half covered by the sofa cushion, I waved an unenthusiastic hand at him to come closer. He took his place on the chair across the coffee table from me. I caught his attention as I loudly sucked in a bit of drool that tried to escape. As I wiped it away with my sleeve, I couldn’t imagine the mess I looked.

  “I’m sorry…”

  He looked up from his twiddling thumbs as I spoke, barren brow tensing at the statement.

  “Sorry for what?”

  “Just…everything,” I said, with a fragile cry. “My house, dragging you into this mess, these awkward…things that happen and just—me.”

  “I don’t understand.” His head tilted in slight confusion.

  “I mean I’m sorry for being a wreck. No one deserves to—”

  “No…No. Wait, please…” He raised a calm hand to cease my words, closing it into a loose fist and lowering it once he got my attention. “Forgive me for interrupting you, Leila, but what I meant was I don’t understand why you would feel the need to be sorry.”

  He surprised me with a scoff, and the wry smile it carried, but it wasn’t a mocking or derogatory reply. Then his face became more serious.

  “You lost your child.” Those words carried so strongly through him it was like he knew how it felt to hear them. “So for you to be doing everything you’re doing, and to do it all alone? To be frank, I don’t care if your house is a mess or your emotions are in a shambles. If they weren’t I would be worried. And even then you still try to hold on to whatever hope you can; and pride…Leila, you have nothing to apologize for.”

  “But what if she’s dead, Maddox? If…if she…I just can’t. I won’t—”

  “I don’t think she is, Leila,” he said with an unusual sureness, his eyes casting a sideward glance out of a window as if he half-expected something to appear. “But I�
��m not going to swear to you she isn’t. I can’t—” The pause was abrupt, something painful tugging in his chest. “I can’t promise that I’ll find her alive, but I can promise I will try everything in my power to find her before anything happens.”

  “You really think she’s alive, don’t you?”

  “For now? Yes. But for how long…I don’t know.”

  With that he leaned back, shaking his head solemnly. A hand came up to rest beneath his chin as he pondered something. During the silence that followed, I began studying him. Not like a circus freak, but I began to gaze at him as a whole. As a man. Other than passing glances and uncomfortable exchanges, I never really took the chance to look at him. I only saw the surface before.

  He was a fairly big guy in stature—broad shouldered and well built. As if this was all he did for a living, run around trying to solve cases. But something about his “burns” was strange. Even though his skin was nothing but a canvas of molten flesh, I began to see beyond that. I even noticed that some parts were burned more than others—his more disfigured features becoming clearer to me. He now had more of an appeal to him because of the man he seemed to be, not just how he physically appeared.

  The one thing I could tell was that he was in pain, and it wasn’t just from his eyes. Something about his mannerisms, his quiet…and his breathing. While steady, it was almost as if each breath he took was a burden. I couldn’t explain it, I just knew something pained him a great deal, though I couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional—or both.

  “Can I ask you something personal, Maddy?” That last part just kind of slipped out.

  “M—Maddy?”

  “I’m sorry, it just kind of came out. Is that too… informal?”