Replacement

Chapter 8

His body shook with several realizations.  Someone else was in the basement.  It was a woman.  If he tried to do something about it, Ashton would be absolutely no help at all.  He clenched his jaw, knowing that if he went down there to try and help her, the only thing he would accomplish would be speeding up his own demise. 
          Was Ashton about to be replaced as well?  Was that how this game was going to work?  Was Samuel...about to kill him?
          His mind raced, thinking a thousand things.  The person down in the basement was a woman.  Maybe Samuel was getting sick of a man.  Maybe Ashton had done something wrong...
          He moved away from the door, padding over to the laundry room.  His thoughts were a jumbled mess.  A soft blinking caught his attention.  He glanced to the camera...
          "Out of memory..." He breathed excitedly.  Ashton shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out the paper.  He would have to hide or dispose of it discreetly after.  He rushed to the keypad for the backdoor, punching in the first set of numbers on the list.  Just touching the keypad, especially after being told not to, sent electricity through his fingers.  But he didn't know how long Samuel would be out.  Hopefully, he'd hear him come back, so he could get to the kitchen fast if he had to.
          "Okay, first try, 8,8,5,6," he mumbled to himself.  It beeped before the letters above the keys spelled out "denied" in little black font.  "Next...8,8,6,5..." He whispered.  Denied.
          This was going to take forever, but if he could get out, he had a chance at saving both himself and the girl in the basement. 
          After a few minutes of punching numbers, a word he hadn't seen yet flashed on the screen.  "Approved".
          The door opened to the outside, a fresh, cool breeze wafted into the house.  Ashton looked at his paper.  The numbers he had entered were 6,5,5,8.  If that was the passcode for the back door, more than likely, it also worked for the front door.  At least that was his best chance.  If he got it wrong...

          Click.

          Ashton's body froze in terror.  He was home.  His fingers clenched the handle, pulling the back door closed as quickly and quietly as possible.  He jumped, his body unable to calm its shaking as he bolted for the kitchen.  The front door closed as Ashton took deep breaths, clutching the counter.  He moved uneasily to the entryway of the hall, poking his head out to see him.  Samuel was removing his shoes, looking significantly more annoyed than when he'd left.  He stepped into the hallway, smirking at the basement door and making his way to the kitchen.  Ashton backed up, allowing him in.  Samuel eyed him suspiciously.
          "What?  You look like you have something to say," he noticed.  Ashton panicked, searching his brain for something to say...anything!  "Oh, by the way, I figured out the passcode and might be able to escape this Hell Hole"?  "I know you're keeping a girl locked up downstairs"?  "Any extra day I spend here brings you closer to killing me and replacing me with said girl"?  The pickings were slim and nauseating.
          Out of impulse, Ashton took Samuel's collar, pulling him into a quick kiss.  He felt his captor stiffen slightly when he did so.  Being forward so suddenly was probably a bad idea.  Catching Samuel off guard might be a death sentence.
          "Welcome home..." He said quickly, backing away.  Sam blinked.  Ashton could almost see the cogs getting jammed in his brain.  He was confused?  Why?  They'd slept together twice already, what was a kiss?
          "Okay, then," he said, still somewhat befuddled.  He passed Ashton, gently pushing him out of his way.  He reached into the fridge pulling out a bottle of water and taking a sip.
          Ashton rubbed his feet together nervously.
          "Umm...I keep hearing a noise..." He said, hoping not to get in trouble.  He was curious about the girl and hoped Samuel would clue him in about her.  Sam smirked into the bottle.  His teeth bit the opening, scraping against the ridges.
          "Oh, that's just a little mouse caught in a trap.  Or, more appropriately, a rat.  Don't worry, we'll get rid of it soon," he promised, taking another drink before closing the cap and placing it back. 
          "How...will we do that?" He asked.  Samuel looked at Ashton then and he was reminded of how he looked when they first met.  The cold, crazed gleam in his eye from when he'd killed the officer was unwaveringly present on his face.
          "How do you get rid of pests?" He asked with a sharp edge to his tone.  Ashton couldn't speak.  His heart was in his throat and it was pumping madly.  The girl was going to die...
          He was petrified; paralyzed with intense, inexplicable fear.  But there was something else in him he couldn't quite explain.  A sense of pride.  He wasn't going to be replaced.  He would live.  He was special to Samuel. 
          "Were you worried?" Sam asked with a dark smile.  Ashton's eyes widened.
          "You're not nearly as innocent as you let on.  Between the two of you, you'd save yourself.  If I told you it was possible to save her life if you took her place back down in the basement, would you do it?" He asked, throwing his arm around Ashton's shoulder. 
          Ashton, still, couldn't speak.  He hadn't realized that part of himself.  He'd never known how selfish he was.  On the other hand, why was she any more worthy than him to stay alive?  It was better not to think like that, anyway.
          "You don't need to worry about it regardless.  Molly...she's a little liar.  You're just stupid sometimes," he smirked.  Ashton scuffed his feet on the floor.  That was the closest thing to a compliment Samuel had ever given him.  Suddenly, his mind clicked.
          "Molly...Withers?" He questioned.  Samuel raised an eyebrow.  Before he could answer, a high pitched scream broke the quiet. 
          Sam's smile was stretched from ear to ear.  "Well, she really belted that one out, didn't she?" He chuckled.  He left the kitchen, going straight for the basement.  Ashton knew it was wrong...he knew it was selfish and cowardly...but nothing in the world could get him down those steps.  He moved to the living room, throwing open the DVD cabinet.  He fingered through the DVD's, trying hard not to think about what was happening downstairs.  He couldn't.  He just couldn't.
          He finally found the disk marked "Molly Withers" and placed it gingerly into the player.  A nice looking blond girl with a serious look appeared on the screen with a microphone. 
          "Tragedy struck last Thursday when a father lost control of his car and veered off the road in the middle of the night and crashed into a tree.  A branch from the tree went through the windshield, killing the mother, 30 year old Leslie Amore and young child, 5 year old Sadie, inside.  The father, Samuel Amore, was extremely tired while driving, which caused the mistake of a lifetime.  The officer on the scene, Officer Miller, said Mr. Amore was in such shock from the incident, he hallucinated lights coming towards him, but there had been no other drivers on the road.  No evidence of contact with another vehicle could be found on his car, though the incident has left Mr. Amore extremely shaken up.  It's clear that this was truly an unfortunate and avoidable incident.  Our station would like to remind its viewers that driving while tired can sometimes be just as bad as being under the influence.  I'm Molly Withers; McDaniel News."
          The video ended.  Ashton stared at the black screen.  What?
          "Sam..." He mumbled, watching the video again. 
          "...killing the mother...lost control of the car...no evidence of contact with another vehicle..."
          Over and over he replayed the video until he felt his eyes glaze over.  He couldn’t understand.  It didn’t click.  If this was the truth, why was Samuel so angry?
          "I didn't lose control on my own," a deep voice said ominously from the hallway.  Ashton turned, his skin crawling with the image before him of Samuel, blood dripping from his clothes, face, and an axe he held loosely in his grasp. 
          "They discredited me.  Said I did it because I was just so tired.  A drunk driver drifted across the road and nicked the side of my car with my family inside.  I swerved to avoid the car and...hit a tree.  Tree branch killed them.  It wasn't my fault," he said, placing the axe down and dragging his feet down the hallway towards the front door.  Ashton stood slowly, holding his arms in nervousness.
          He peeked out, seeing his body slumped over itself, his back against the door.  His alarm went off on his phone and he turned it off, throwing his phone down the hall with little enthusiasm.  His knees raised to his chest and he dropped his head down.  Ashton approached slowly, inching his way over. 
          "Come here, Ashton..." Samuel demanded in a raspy voice.  Ashton did not move from where he stood.  Samuel looked up, outstretching his hand.
          "Come here, I said..." He growled.  Ashton rubbed his arms, his knees shaking. 
          "But...you're..."

          Too close to the front door...

          "Ashton please!  Please come here!  Please!" He shouted.  His urgent cry jolted the young man, sending him sailing across the hall.  He dropped to the floor and wrapped his arms around Samuel who gripped him tightly. 
          "I miss them...I want them back...why did you leave me?" He cried into Ashton's shirt.  This was too much.  His family hadn't left him.  They were taken from him.  Ashton shouldn't have felt sympathy for someone who had undoubtedly just committed murder.  He was embracing a true to form killer, someone completely and utterly drowning in his own grievance through violence. 
          But those cries struck his heart like something familiar he just couldn't remember.
          "I haven't left you, Sam," he whispered.  Samuel clutched him harder.
          "You left...you left me alone..."
          "No, I haven't left you at all, I promise.  I'm here," he assured, stroking Samuel's hair.  He needed help.  He desperately needed help.  Maybe the two deaths could be kept quiet and Ashton could convince him to get medication.  Perhaps he could ask his father...
          Ashton sighed.  This was so complicated.  He slid his hands under Samuel's arms, trying to pull him up. 
           "Sam...did you kill Molly?"
            "...need a blue sky holiday...the point is they laugh at what you say...she was a fucking bitch anyway..."
          "That's a yes.  Okay, uhh..." He stood up, grasping his hair, backing up.
          Why the fuck was he so calm?  Samuel had just admitted to killing someone.  Ashton was trapped with this lunatic and the idea of death was starting to sit with him about as well as a bad smell.  He took a step away from the broken man before him.  If there was ever a chance to get one over on him, it was now.  Samuel sat, completely out of his mind and defenseless.  An axe lay just next to Ashton.  He needed only to reach out and take it.  This could all be over.  He could do it.  He could leave this place.
          "Ashton...come back, please..."
          Ashton did.  He helped him stand, moving him towards the bathroom, completely bypassing the axe in the hallway.  When he stood in the shower, he slumped down again, forcing Ashton in with him to scrub the blood from his skin.  He shampooed his hair, gently scrubbing the black locks, watching the suds trickle down his body.  He barely moved and Ashton wondered if he just needed to sleep.  The images of Miller's bloody face continued to haunt Ashton, so even if Samuel didn't sleep, he would stay with him. 
          "What the hell is wrong with me?" He thought, placing the soap back in its plastic holder.  When he turned back to Sam, he was grabbed, the other man's wet body warm against him, the steam from the hot water wafting off his skin. 
          His fingers traced up Ashton's back, pulling him into a strange, desperate kiss.  Strange or not, Ashton wanted it.  He wrapped his arms around Sam's neck, scooting into his lap as they say down, the warm water coating them in a strangely comforting blanket.  Sam's strong hands gripped his hips, squeezing and touching every part he could reach. 
          Through the hot kiss, Ashton panted, his body being controlled masterfully.  He didn't have the perfume on.  These touches belonged to him.