Ashley had spent twenty minutes in a bathroom stall crying. Once the last person left, she exited and washed her face before collapsing on the chaise up against the wall.
It did not take long for her to realize that she simply could not continue the work day. At that point, she clutched her purse and headed straight for the elevator.
It required all the self control she could muster to keep an impassive expression as the elevator slowly navigated the floors of the Library Tower. Deciding she couldn’t think of Jo- that man, she counted the number of times the car stopped picking up and dropping off fellow passengers.
Mercifully none of them spoke to her until she got to the third floor. An older woman, maybe 64 or 65, definitely nearing retirement greeted her and handed her a handkerchief. “I’ve had my heart broken a time or two myself she said. I learned this, if your heart aches now, but all you want to do is hold him in your arms, maybe whatever it is, isn’t as bad as you think.”
As the woman exited the elevator without saying another word, Ashley wondered what about her expression gave away her real feelings.
By the time Ashley arrived home the weight of her sadness and despair felt like an elephant sitting on her chest. She collapsed on the couch immediately. Within moments she was asleep.
Her impromptu nap was interrupted by a knock on the door.
The sound of a telegraph ripped through the still and silent air; Ashley grabbed her phone to reveal the text message:
Marry me, Ash. Please meet me
in Vegas tomorrow. I can’t wait.
WTH? First you kiss Tricia and run off and now you propose in a text message?
Things aren’t what they seem.
What are they?
You make out with that skank and then disappear??
Trust me Ash.
I’ve never lied to you, great risk contacting you. I need you safe. Come to Vegas. I’ll call later with
details.Luv u. Answer the door.
Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Three loud knocks at the door. Ashley hurried to the door and looked through the peephole. A bike courier? She thought. I didn’t even know they had those in LA. Guess it’s not just a New York thing. I wonder how many other stupid assumptions I’ve made about this city. As she opened the door, the diminutive messenger immediately asked to see some identification.
“Excuse me?”
“I have a package for Ashley Kauffman. I cannot release it without seeing two forms of ID. I know it’s weird, but I won’t get paid unless I see it and can confirm details on the card.”
After grabbing her purse off the table, Ashley said, “Well, here you go. This package had better be important.”
While confirming her credentials, the messenger said, “Well, I’m certain it is you have a good day, miss.” The messenger handed Ashley the package, turned away, and rode to his next delivery.
The package was heavier than she expected. What could be in here, she pondered. Opening it, the contents seemed to trickle out one by one:
2 wigs
2 passports
3 sets of driver’s licenses (his and hers)
a safety deposit key
a disposable cell phone
a purse
$5000
a plane ticket to Las Vegas
a letter.
The letter read:
My Dearest Ashley,
I am sorry that I couldn’t explain what is going on. It’s not safe. I will provide details if and when you come to Vegas. Some very powerful people are after me because of what I now know. I have no doubt they will kill me because of what I know.
I am convinced as soon as they learn you and I are together you won’t be safe either. They will assume you know what I know and will make it their mission to kill you. If not, they will assume that hurting you will be a viable means to control me. They’d be correct. I cannot bear any harm coming to you.
I wish I could be there with you right now to make you feel safe, but that would make you an immediate target. I don’t have time to write much more, and by the time you read this, you won’t have much time either. Please take the items I sent you. Do not take your purse, cell phone, or any personal belongings; only what you have on now and the contents of the package. Put on the wig, go to the nearest mall, and buy an outfit. Leave all of your clothes behind. Take a taxi to the airport, and do not drive your car under any circumstances. Board the plane with the ID listed on the boarding pass, Sandra Fisher. Once you land, ditch the ID, and get in the limo waiting for you. The driver will be holding a sign that says Mrs. Antonovich. He will take you to the hotel.
I am certain that within minutes, men will arrive at your house. You must go now. Trust no one; be careful, my love. I will see you in Vegas.
Love,
John
In her mind, she could hear her mother now. “Stick with black boys or you’ll get nothin’ but grief.” She had been talking about her large family who could never accept Ashley’s father, a man from the south of India coming in and taking one of “our women.” As if I need another reason to hate the South. Go, Ash, you love him. At least let him explain.
As she donned the wig, there was a knock at the door. They’re here! What do I do? Answer the door! Lie, be convincing, poker face Ash!
“Hola, te puedo ayudar usted?” Ashley greeted her uninvited guest with the best Spanish she could muster.
“Miss, do you speak English?” Silent man asked.
“Yo hablo poquito Ingles, pero Doña Ashley no en casa. Se dirigió a Anchorage. Su padre es en el hospital.” I hope and pray my Spanish sounds authentic. I think I sound like Rosa. I hope I sound like Rosa.
“Anchorage, hmm, I doubt it; listen lady I am not from immigration, and I am sure you speak English. Doña Ashley is mixed in with some bad people.”
He put emphasis in the wrong places saying Doh-n-yah in an exaggerated way. Handing her a card, revealing his name as Neil Silver. He began to walk away. He turned around, “If you hear from Doh-n-yah Ashley, call me. It is urgent that I speak with her.”
Meanwhile, Ash packed up both purses and locked up the house. Walk away slowly but with purpose. Which way is the mall? John, you better be telling the truth.
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The Collected Works of D. Alex Rhue 