Ashes to Ashes by Nathaniel Fincham

It was watching and waiting. This
isn't the first dream. Always the white house and dark figure. What
if the figure is death, following me from a safe distance. What
will happen when it decides to catch up to me? I can't say for
sure...
    The journal did not contain any times or
dates, so Ashe had no idea how old any of the entries were. They
could be days or years old. The thought frustrated him. But he kept
the journal opened and read on to the next page.
    ...blue lady laughing. Blue lady dancing.
Blue lady...
    The journal should not be years old, he found
himself sure. It was barely over half-way filled. Scott had begun
writing down his dreams when he was young and, even if he threw
them out along the way, there should have been more than one
journal hanging around. Where were the other journals? Where were
they? Did Scott throw them away? The other ones most likely didn't
matter, anyway, because the one in front of Ashe appeared to be the
most recent. And the most recent journal would hold the answers, he
hoped.
    For a moment, Ashe leaned back in his chair
and closed his eyes. Jerking back forward, he pulled the small
black and gold container from the pocket of his slacks. The little
piece of plastic was a true enigma. It looked like a lipstick
container, but obviously held no actual lipstick. It was a
container, but it was too small to hold most things.
    What was inside of it?
    Ashe opened the container and tried to peer
inside. Tilting it in slow circles, he tried to get some light to
fall into the opening. Finally finding the right angle, the above
light revealed what appeared to be a thin, barely noticeable
cluster of white powder at the bottom. It was barely there.
    Drugs? Ashe wondered. Could drugs be the main
factor in everything?
    Closing the container, he placed it in the
spine of the journal.
    A cup of coffee steamed nearby, the aroma of
the caffeinated beverage filled the small room. Taking the white
dome lid off of the cup, he sat and enjoyed the aroma. He never
allowed sweetener or creamer to touch his coffee…it took away the
bite of the drink. Whenever he drank coffee, Ashe needed the
bite.
    He took an easy sip. The sip stung his
tongue, but he took another one immediately after.
    Opened and pushed to the side of his desk, a
laptop chirped. The tone was a beep , short and sweet,
letting Ashe know that he had received a new email. Making sure
that his cup of coffee was out of the way, he quickly pulled the
thin black laptop over to him. Maybe it was a message from Oscar,
an update of some kind on his son's case. Perhaps Scott had been
located. No. If Oscar had found anything new, especially Scott, he
would not use an informal email. Oscar would have called.
    The email was from Warden Chase. The warden
was a workaholic after his own heart and Ashe was not surprised to
have a message from her at an early hour. Sometimes he even
questioned whether or not the warden ever actually went home, or
even had a home outside of the prison. Maybe there was a secret
bedroom connected to the warden's office, one where she slept and
bathed, never having to leave the premises. That might be why the
warden could be found in her office or roaming a nearby hallway at
all hours of the day and night.
    Ashe sighed lowly. What could she want? He
wondered. The title of the message was a simple word. GRUB. He
immediately opened it.
     
    Dr. Walters—
    Your request has been approved.
    --Chase
     
    The message was simple like a twig but as
heavy a tree trunk. The psychologist couldn’t help but to smile.
After reading the email, Ashe suddenly vaulted from his desk and
headed out of his cage.
     
     

Chapter 9
     
    On the other side of the prison was Solitary
Confinement, often referred to as The Lonely Mile. The stretch was
much less than a true mile, but when a person was standing and
taking it in, it seemed much longer than a single mile. The section
of the prison was a single narrow hallway, lit around the clock by
fluorescent