Michael Ashford + Playlist
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   The nausea Miriam felt at moving so quickly started to ebb slowly and as it did she opened her eyes to find the owner of the too-loud heartbeat standing over her. His face and voice were achingly familiar, but she now noticed other things about him as well, his scent, the minuscule mannerisms, the subtle lines to his furrowed browâ the differences in ten years.âKayl?â Her confusion apparent, brows furrowing to center, the childhood nickname was out before she could stop it, emotions unraveling faster and faster with each new discovery of this faceâ his face, which sheâd only had memories to cling to for all this time. Confusion turned to disbelief which turned into an overwhelming joy. This was her brother.Â
    She had forgotten how blue his eyes were, a mirror to her own, and all the smallest details of him that sheâd deemed not as important suddenly became the hinge to her existence. She sat up, nearly knocking their heads together as she wrapped her arms human-tight around him. He was real. This was real. How long had it been?
    It was a test of restraint to pull away, to hear the blood in his veins and not wish to sink her teeth into him, she could feel her fangs poking at her gums, feel the thirst, but she forcibly kept the monstrous part of her in check. âYouâre here.â
        Ashford was certain he was sleeping. Heâd either fallen asleep while driving and had yet to wake up or was back at the station, never actually left and was having one of those dreams where heâd find his family again, safe and sound before they were ripped from him all together. Michael wrapped his arms around her, too quickly and too tight â afraid that if he let go she might simply disappear.
                                   â Is it really you? â
       How much the man wished for her to be, itâd been one long decade. One lonely and painful decade without his family, his little sister that heâd missed so much â far more than anyone else. But it just didnât seem possible. The idea that she was too young, just like he remembers her before leaving. Maybe a tad older but not more than two years or so. It wasnât just humanly possible. And though the burning question remained at the back of his mind, the man ignored it. He didnât care if it didnât make sense at all. She was here, alive â just like heâd wished for so long. The logic of it could really go fuck itself.
               â I thought everyone was dead. â
          Words whispered, fail to be heard as the rain intensified. Ashford reached over, hands cradling her face for a second before he was pulling her back for another hug. The man felt like he was five, waking up on a Christmas morning. Honestly, he couldnât be happier.
                â I thought you were gone. â
   There was existence and then there was nothing, and again she was rifling around through the not-place. The not-place, a term sheâd cleverly (self-proclaimed) came up with, encapsulated all that was neither here nor there, but somewhere. One moment she had been with Rafael dealing with a coven of witches and the next she was feeling pain as if she were human again, only worse, like she was just freshly turnedâ and in Rafaelâs eyes, perhaps she was still just a fledgling, but to humans, ten years was a long time to be something. The pain reached deep within her and if her heart wasnât long dead, if it wasnât just some ornamental thing, then maybe she would describe the pain to be as deep as that, but this extended further, like marrow, like every undead cell in her body. Then she was againâ snapped into place all at once, joint to joint, sinew and all, her bond firmly tethered to her maker. Scent and sound and awareness flooded back to her senses and she rose to her feet, disoriented and gasping for air she didnât need.
    She was home?
    The sky trembled, rain drops falling through the leaves of the forest, the ground beneath her was wet as she moved between the trees towards the edge where she could smell asphalt and oil, then the rain slowed to a drizzle, stopping completely as she made it to the road.Â
   Miriam Ashford appeared from the trees seemingly out of nowhere, feet carrying her into the middle of the street where headlights turning the corner caught her stumbling around. She felt sick and dizzy, but not enough to let herself be run over. With an inhuman quickness, she reached the other side of the streetâŠ
                      and promptly collapsed.
       Another long night â one spent as well back at the station. He should move his belongings back there because by the look of it, he would end up living there if someone wasnât around to tell him to go home. But tonight, hadnât been the case, yeah a few hours after midnight were spent there but when his body yelled at him that it was in needs of a goddamn bed and not his office desk, it was when Ashford decided to go back to his place. Even if it was for a few hours, he dreaded the idea of being back there, but he needed to go.
It was a bad idea to drive though, the man was far more exhausted than heâd realized and each time he closed his eyes the prolonged time was far more than a simple blink. And the fact that it was raining it didnât help.
     It was when nearing a corner that Ashford doze off â for more than a few seconds and by the time he opened them, the car was close to hitting someone. That wasnât what woke him up though, it was the way the person moved out of the way â way too fast to be human. The cop hit the brakes, the car swerving for a moment before he was able to regain control. And soon when it still he quickly jumped out of it, running back to where the person had run off to only to find them collapsed.
      He hadnât hit them, he was sure of it â yet here they were. The fear that he might have just killed someone else ate at him, but Michael didnât let it consume him, instead he rushed to the personâ side. â Hey, are you okay? â He called, crouching down next to them and moving the hair from their face, only to be taken aback from what he saw. Miriam? There was an uncanny resemblance between this girl and his late sister â and though there was a voice screaming in his head that this was her, Ashford payed no attention to it. It was raining and dark â and on top of that he was still sleepy. He must be imagining thing, because this couldnât be his sister. Besides, his sister would be far older than this. This girl was just a kid. â Hey â kid, are you alright? â
âYou got it,â Isabel said, giving him a wink before she got to work â not that there was much to pouring whiskey. The short tumblers were already neatly arranged, right under the rack of bottles that lined the wall. âNow,â she said, turning ever so slightly to look at him from over her shoulder. âYou a Four Roses or a Jim Beam kinda guy?â
âOr is it Glenfiddich?â
â Surprise me? â It came out rather like a question than a statement yet it was soon followed by a low, â Glenfiddich. â His eyes on the bartender for a moment before he let his head fall into his hands, eyes closed shut. He understood why he was being put off the case, hell he wouldâve done the same to one of his coworkers if he was the boss too. But it was not fair, it had been four years since the event. Even before Beckettâs time here, a long time since he had a breakdown about it as well. He was doing fine, he deserved a second chance⊠or a third. It wasnât as if any of the other detective hadnât killed too. They had, at least one of them had. Though never once with his bare hands like the man had. Guess thatâll follow him the rest of his life â or career. Whatever ended first.
Eaves dropping was easy and fun, especially when the person was talking far too loudly about issues she did not particularly care for or about. As a matter of fact Eli tended to stay out of quote on quote higher authorityâs way it left less problems for all parties involved but something about him was interesting. In response the brunette almost scoffed out a short laugh and offered a smile. âSounds like youâve got your hands full,â
His hands followed on the brunette, irritation clear on his eyes yet didnât mentioned how they should mind their own damn business. It was his own fault for voicing his problems out like heâd just been. â Oh, you donât know the half of it. â
   âYes.â Iliya nodded, a very serious expression overcoming her features as she took up an official tone. âI believe those are good first steps, Detective Ashford. Might I also deduce, that the culprit might be also selling it off on their own. Is there a black market for bikes in this town?â
Ashford couldnât help but realize one that; and maybe if he wasnât such an ass he would tell her. But she had the look of a detective, he didnât know if she had been bluffing about it earlier but was sure that if she put her mind to it, she could become one. Not like heâd say anything about it. â Youâre right, they might be selling it off on their own. But I donât think there is such thing as a black market for bikes in this town or anywhere else for the matter. Though if someone have been desperate to sell one, weâll surely stumble across few couldâve-been buyers and they would lead us to the thief. â
Status: Self Para
Timeline: April 19th, 2019
Location: Michael Ashfordâs apartment
Word Count: 1228
Trigger Warnings: mention of murder / death / child abuse, suicidal thoughts
Note: the mention of child abuse is brief and none-descriptive though the suicidal thoughts are a bit descriptive. this is found in the last para of this, so please do not read if you are triggered by those mentioned above.
There was a muddle of bad dreamsâthe body of a lifeless child, teeth bloodied grinning up at him, a monster chasing him down endless halls. Fire breaking out, his family burning up. The never-ending screams of his parents as they perishedâand finally one clear thought: I wish I were dead.
Michael Ashford woke up in cold sweat. His hands trembled, and his chest heaved as he tried to gasp for air as if he was just finding out what breathing was. But the man doesnât acknowledge any of this as he makes a run for the bathroom, barely making it before his throwing up whatever his last meal had been. His mind running miles per seconds as he tried to decode what the fuck had been his dreams this time. For some part, he understood half it but the other half, it didnât made sense. Specially his parents dying, the man had arrived at town weeks after their death, yet the image in his dream had seemed so real, felt so real as if heâd been there. It was almost impossible to believe that it was just his mind playing a series of bad tricks on him.
Though it was the logical thing. Why wouldnât his dreams even be fucked up now after what heâs done?
The image of the dead kid makes its way to his head again and Ashford wishes he wouldâve still be passed out or at least hangover enough to not remember anything, but he isnât. And the scene is playing itself like a broken record on his head and he canât stop it. The body of the little girl that laid in a trashcan is very clear now, but this time around he seems to be remembering more details that he hadnât seemed to notice when heâd arrived at the scene. Like the little shoe she was missing, heâd seen it laying around two blocks from the crime scene or how her socks had been tainted red with what the detective assumed was her blood. Or how one hand was still clenched tight holding a piece clothing of Mick ( who everyone would later learn was her murderer ).
Anger raged within him as these little things kept coming back to mind, yet he couldnât seem to remember what his motherâs voice sounded like. He felt bad that he didnât feel bad at all yes, he was angry for what had been done to that little kid. That they had been deprived of their life at such young age, yet his real worries were more of his personal life than anything else. That often help with the cases, donât get too attached and you can get the job done. But when it came to something like this, if you didnât sympathize with the death of a kid maybe you were as bad as the one whoâd hurt them. But that wasnât true, Michael cared. Hell, he felt like it had been his sister the one whoâd been hurt. But it had been so long since he allowed himself to sympathize with the victims that it wouldnât be until months later that heâd realize that.
Standing up and making his way out of the damn bathroom, the man hoped he wouldnât have to go through any of that again. The nightmares, the odd dreams and the echoing of what they were once he woke up that left him a trembling mess. So far â despite everything, he was doing good. It was only when he sat back on his bed that it came all crashing down. Heâd killed a man. And maybe it wasnât the dreams that he had that left him a wreck. It was this. Knowing he had too, deprived someone of their life. Yeah, it had been the man that hurt the little girl and that in the eye of everyone, his coworkers and best friend âof those who only knew, it made him a hero. But that was the last thing he felt like when at night he was all alone, and all the detective could think and dream of was about the man, lying bloodied and lifeless under him as he kept beating him.
It had been more than just taking vengeance for what the man had done to the girl. It had been far more than that and Ashford hadnât allowed himself to think about it and it was eating at him. The man had let out all his anger, years and years of suppressed anger out on Mick. He beat the guy even when he asked Michael to stop, he beat the guy even when his body had stopped moving. He had kept on beating him with his bare hands even when he felt the man cave in and break under all the blows that it had received. And he had kept on beating him when his own hands were full of blood and covered in brain matter. Michael hadnât stopped even when the disgusting and hunting smells that left him know that the man was dead had hit his nostrils. Now he realizes he shouldâve because even though itâd been months, the cop could swear the smell had followed him home and stuck with him all this time.
Ashford had killed someone, and it didnât matter that he was considered a hero, it didnât matter that heâd done the right thing in the eyes of some. He had still killed someone. It wasnât like heâd pulled his gun on them and when they ran, Ashford shot them. No. Michael could had lived with that, but he beat the guy to a pulp. Heâd killed him with his own hands and it was to this days that the detective felt that it didnât matter how much he showered or scrub he his hands, he wouldnât be able to wash away all that blood. He was sure that if he looked at his hands right now, heâd see them covered in blood in this very instant.
I wish I were dead.
The thought came back, as haunting as his nightmares had been. Making its ways to his head and deafening any other sound and thought. It was then that the idea struck him, he could end it. End his own suffering, end the raging thoughts of that unfaithful day. Pick his gun, put a bullet in his brain and done. It would be that easy, and far better than having to relieve those moments each day. But that wasnât in him. Michael was stronger than that, he knew so. But the longer he stayed in bed the louder the thought grew. I wish I were dead. â Iâve got to see Laura. â I wish I were dead. â I need to see my wife. â He repeated every time those five words came to mind. Michael had moved out of Lauraâs place so long ago, he wasnât even sure sheâd like to see him around. But he needed to see her. She would ground him, she would be the constant ease that would push away those thoughts. Make all his demons vanish. I wish I were dead. The words echoed once more as he lastly got up and ready to go back to Lauraâs. Because otherwise he wouldnât make it through the rest of the night.
Dolores spent most of her most of her working hours in the dead of night, staying long hours that many may not have willingly taken but with the sun as her enemy there wasnât much of a choice given. In fact she was sure most of her nights were spending the witching hours inside of a police station than out socializing or planted firmly on her couch watching tv to pass the time. Besides it wasnât too bad, the quiet helped her concentrate and ignore many distractions sheâd experience while the place was flooded with people.Â
She was far too consumed by the papers in front of her that it took her a moment to notice the lights had gone out and there was an unsettling lack of the gleaming red that shouldâve appeared in itâs place. It should turn back on soon enough or at least she thought it would and only continued to use the light of her phone to read, not particularly phased. Her eyes fell upon him once she noticed the light from his flash light illuminating the hallway and room around her much better than the little one on her phone could. âIâm almost always here late,â The blonde shrugged off not bothering to ask the same of him. She was sure if he was at work so late at night or she supposed almost the morning now he had his reasons. âI thought we were the only ones here. Everyone else left hours ago?â
Ashford wouldnât admit how worried he was grown â afraid â as he kept staring at the end of the hallway. His coworkerâs words echoing for a moment before he payed attention to her. For a second then grateful that someone else was here as well. â I know but â Iâm sure someone⊠something is down there. â His voice had dropped an octave when he spoke again. Michael had dealt with criminals, cold blooded criminals that could make your skin crawl with just mentioning their names and that had never affected him in any way. But there was just something about what was there with them â because he knew there was something else there. That made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. It wasnât something normal and though the cop was a little skeptic when it came to the stories about the paranormal creatures in town. He couldnât deny that sometimes â like now â he thought that maybe they were real.
He moved his flashlight towards the back of the place, hoping to catch a glimpse of what it was but it soon disappeared as soon as the light was shone that way. This only frighten him more â not that he would dare to admit out loud. â Tell me you just saw that. â Heâd moved closer to her now, hoping she had because if not the man was sure sheâd think he was going crazy. And honestly, Ashford wasnât even sure if he was anymore. â Whatâs wrong with the power? â The cop couldnât help but ask, only then realizing the power was still not back on. How eerie was everything just now. He should move and probably check what was going on, but whatever was with them in there had caused him to freeze in the damn place unable to move.
She narrowed her eyes at the way he bit the words out, but she curbed her own tongue â knew better than to give what she got. The near-immediate apology surprised her: the usual dipshits that mistook her for a verbal punching bag never came close to one. âItâs okay,â she said, âI just didnât wanna assume.â Better to get what passed for facts, anyway.
âDepends. You a whiskey neat kinda guy?â
â Yeah, figured. Still sorry, shouldnât have reacted like that. â The man couldnât help but apologize again, she was just doing her job. Being nice even forming a damn conversation and here he was being an ass. Idiot. â Damn right, I am. â He let out a a dry chuckle then. â If is strong enough to almost get me fired the next day, then give it to me. âÂ
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