Ashes

ASHES

My head hurt and my eyes were jammed shut. My gut was doing violently painful stuff. Vomit was catching in my throat. It was like someone had hit me over the head and punched me in my stomach.

If only I could remember.

Maybe I was in hospital. I should be.

There was only one way to find out. I took a deep breath. Hmmm. The smell was recognisable; pine, carbon and glued cardboard.

The desire to open my eyes fled. Of course, I knew the scent. The air purifier never quite covered it. I was in the waiting room.

Now I know my location, I could work out other things. No, I was not in a bed. I was on the floor. On lino. It was cold and hard. My hip was aching, and my back felt twisted. I was not laid out flat. It was as if I had been thrown in here. My body was not as resilient as it once had been.

My eyes opened, finally, without me making a conscious decision. I looked up to the shelves of boxes. None were bigger than a shoebox. There were hundreds of them, waiting for someone to claim them. From my position, I could see mainly the dark blue and grey pinstriped ones. The cardboard ones. The ones designed to only be a temporary repository. If I looked to my right, I knew I would see the wooden boxes. They had tiny brass plaques; names neatly stamped on them.

I levered myself up. Why was I in here? The room was kept sealed so the contents would remain in the best condition.

About then, my brain became alert enough to notice the door was closed. That was not good. I squeezed my eyes closed against the loud pain at the back of my skull as I tried to work out why the door should never be closed while someone was in there.

The answer sunk in and caused my gut to spasm. That, in turn made me double over. The pain was incredible.

Because it was an air-controlled area, the door sealed when closed. I was locked in here.

But the door had to be shut manually. It could not slam accidently. That was a safety feature.

I had been assaulted and shut in. It was the only conclusion I could come up with. But why? I was not a person who made enemies. My business brought comfort to many. There was nothing worth stealing from the building.

Panic sparked through me. I had to get out. I grabbed at the closest shelf, knowing it was strong enough to hold me.

Memory trickled in as I forced my body upright. A woman, she said she was looking for her dog.

They woman at the counter looked broken. She walked with two sticks, her face wore scars across it, and her clothes all hung on a frame too small for them. She was not old. Her hair was a gorgeous copper that did not come from a bottle, and her hands, clutching her phone and a large canvas bag, were still soft and unmarked.

“Three years,” she started with a cough. She began again. “Three years ago. A dog died in a car crash. She was a staffy cross.”

An old chill ran up my spine. Three years was the right length of time.

I tilted my head slightly to the left. “Yes?” I was not going to make this easy.

“I want her ashes,” the woman explained.

My spine twinged again. I did not want to remember three years ago.

“Was she brought here?” I waved my hand, indicating the business name behind me.

“That’s what I was told.”

Sense and manners kicked in. “I’m so sorry. Please, let’s take a seat. My name is Frank. I run this business.”

The relief in the sigh she gave as she sat made me feel guilty. She did not need to suffer from my issues.

“Thank you.” Her voice was low now. “Everyone told me to let it go, but I just need to set her free.”

“It’s okay. Tell me about your dog.”,” I replied. “Take your time, tell me what information you have.”

“You mean the date, don’t you?”

I nodded. I had pen and paper ready to take notes. We have thousands of cremations a year. One dog, three years ago. If she had even been cremated here, it was unlikely we would have retained her ashes.

The woman sniffed, “Sorry, but I still choke up.”

I nodded again. “Each one is special.”

“Mabel died. She died because she was loose in the car. I didn’t have her restrained.”

This was taking more time than I liked but I simply could not hurry the woman along. I had work to do out the back, but it was administration so could wait.

She squirmed. “I was driving too fast too. I’d taken something. A black car came out of a driveway. He should have waited. But we all make mistakes. He was probably in a hurry.

“I slammed into him. Poor Mabel, she went out the windscreen. The car skidded. I landed up wearing a tree.”

“That’s terrible.” My voice was soft but my gut was churning. “Do you have a date this happened?”

The woman stared at me as though I had asked her if the moon was made of chewing gum.

“I’ll have to search our records to find out what happened, if Mabel was brought here.”

“Where else?” She was horrified.

“The date, please.”

“The fourteenth.” Her teeth chattered as she spoke.

It seemed the woman was caught up in her misery. Gratitude swamped me. It would not do for her to realise I too, was struggling with what she was saying.

“The fourteenth? What month?”

“April.”

That was not right. No. It was perfect. She could not be talking about what I had feared.

“Give me a moment. I’ll check our records.”

The computer was waiting. Our program was a simple thing; a name, a date and a result. But nothing came up. I searched around the date. Still nothing. I even entered the date I feared with no better result.

“I’m sorry. Our records are pretty good but I can’t find anything that matches your dog.”

“You’re lying.” She spat the words out.

“No.”

“Yes!”

She stood up abruptly. Her crutches clattered to the floor. Pure rage was staring at me.

“I’m sorry,” I bleated.

“You sure will be unless you find Mabel.”

“But,” I tried to protest.

“But you have a store room. A room where you store the ashes awaiting collection.”

How did she know?

The woman reached down and gathered up her crutches. I had not realised how hard they could hit until one landed on my head. I was barely conscious as she dragged me down the short corridor to, yes, the waiting room.

“Find her!” The woman screamed as she threw me into the room. A poke in my gut with the end of the crutch pushed me backwards. I slithered down onto the floor, cracked my head on the leg to a shelf, and everything went dark.

Now I was kind of conscious again, locked in the waiting room, wondering what I should do next.

The panic subsided as I looked around my prison. I was probably safer in here than out with that woman. I am an old man now. Not exactly robust any longer. All my strength was put to use in the incinerator room, hefting bodies. I had some muscles in my shoulders, but clearly not enough to save me from a demented woman.

I took a deep breath even though it hurt my solar plexus. It was obvious what needed to be done. I had to find Mabel. Even though my records said the dog was not here, I was going to find her. Surely, I had an unnamed box somewhere in this room.

That would satisfy her, surely. I hoped.

But would it satisfy me. The woman scared me initially, not because of her violence, but because she said had hit a car coming out of a driveway. Her dog cannoning out the windscreen.

The poor pup had cartwheeled and bounced several metres before stopping. There was plenty of blood. The dog did not move. Someone, me?, said she was dead. She certainly looked dead.

The woman, and the man, me, both landed up in hospital but I did not stay for long.

When I got home, I discovered my incredible wife, had managed everything, as she usually did. The insurance was sorted, my business associates notified, and the dog was at the vet.

Mabel’s recuperation cost a great deal but she was such a wee champ of a dog, both I and my wife thought she was worth it. We waited several weeks, always expecting the woman to return and claim her, but no one turned up.

Three months after the crash, they officially adopted her, got her microchipped and set about living with a dog they called their own.

Now, it appeared, the original owner, severely crazed, had returned. Or, if not the one who claimed our Betsy, another made from the same warped fabric.

Common sense was beginning to push it’s way past my panic. The woman I married was wonderful, but more than that, she was practical. When I did not arrive home for dinner, she would come looking for me. Even if I was unconscious, she would think to check in this room.

I did not keep a close inventory of the ashes in this room. I remembered a lot of them, though. Like the mastiff, shot while defending his owners. They had also died that day. Or, the three stray puppies, poisoned by local teens. Those little, nameless ones shared a box.

Hmmm. There was no name on that one. It would be about the same size as the woman expected, too. Well, I did not know what exactly she expected, but their ashes took up the same sized box as a staffy cross would.

I staggered across to the older shelves. Why had I kept those ashes at all? The public outcry had been why. Cremated them as a PR exercise really, and landed up unable to just dump their remains. Still, I never regretted my action.

There was the box. Indistinguishable from the other cardboard boxes, blue and grey stipes. The only identifying thing on it was a post-it note saying 3.

I lifted it carefully and staggered to the door.

“Lady,” I coughed, then tried again. “Lady, I have Mabel.”

Was she still there? Had she left me to go and harass someone else?

I called out again. My voice sounded awfully feeble even to me.

But there was a noise, coming from the front of the building. Someone was approaching.

“Lady,” I called yet again.

The door kicked open.

“Give it here, you thief.”

She grabbed the box. Distrust twisted her crazy face still further. “It doesn’t have her name on it.”

I was pleased that I was able to actually speak without too much stuttering. “We didn’t know her name. That’s why she wasn’t on the computer. You can see, she’s been here quite a while.”

I was alert enough to dodge the kick the woman aimed at me but not quick enough to stop her closing the door.

There was no click. She had not given the door the final shove it needed to lock.

I waited. There was more noise from out front. Finally, the sound I was waiting for; the swoosh of the main door opening and closing. It was safe for me to emerge.

I had to use the walls to keep me upright but I got to reception and over to the phone. The woman had cracked the computer monitor. That was an annoying cost, but at least the landline phone was intact.

“Darling, could you please come and get me,”

My beautiful wife walked in a couple of minutes later.

“Oh my God, Frank, what happened?”

I grinned. “Betsy’s previous owner came by. She believes she has Mabel’s ashes. We never need to worry about her turning up again.”