The Ashes

By Corri Lee

Whatever became of Emmeline? The fact that there's a whole new book suggests the events of 'The Brides' didn't lead to her permanent demise, but what kind of life is there after death?
'The Ashes' answers that question, rounding up the 'Blazed' trilogy with an emotional rollercoaster full of twists, lies and misconceptions. As one door closes, a window opens, but where?
Is there a way out of Hell for the self-depreciating artiste? You certainly won't find out in the synopsis.

Contains strong language and adult themes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Corri Lee
• Release date: Aug 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311685858

Corri Lee

Self-publishing author and self-confessed fantasist, I vent my ideas into novels that I strive to make emotionally provocative and addictive. Music is referenced heavily and is a huge influence in the way I write. Those who know me well will see the pieces of my personality that I put into my words. Those who don't will see outrageous story lines, gut wrenching twists, raunchy love affairs, and heart stopping romance.Jaws will drop. Eyes will burn. Cheeks will blush. Pages will turn. If just one of those reactions is evoked from every reader, then I know that my time isn't wasted.I write in the hope that my work will be enjoyed and the word will spread. Not for the *unlikely* financial gain, but for the knowledge of knowing that I made a mark on the world by just 'being'.

Book preview

There were bright flashing lights.

There were harried voices.

And then there was nothing but blackness and quiet and calm. I didn’t realise just how much I’d been craving the silence and stillness until I was floating there, blissfully numb and unencumbered by the burdens of life.

That serenity lasted for less than a minute.

I chased the light that appeared in the distance, as small as a pin head. Despite the lack of everything around me, trying to reach it was like wading through treacle—my body weak and languid. Every time I managed a step forward, something pulled me back again, like a thick rope threaded through several points in my body relentlessly yanking me back into the darkness.

I was within touching distance when I was hauled so mercilessly back into the perpetual nothingness that the light vanished completely and left me suspended in limbo.

My selflessness hadn’t thrust me to toward Heaven. Neither had it thrown me down into the Devil’s lair. No, I was destined for the worst Hell of all; a life of denied penance.

I killed Natasha Valentine in cold blood and while I might have considered slitting my wrists in her kitchen to be some sort of act of spiritual redemption, the universe had other ideas for me. Maybe the powers that be understood how little I valued my own life or maybe they just had a sadistic sense of humour, but I wasn’t going to be allowed to die in the early hours of that morning—that would be too easy. I was going to be forced to live with the consequences of my actions.

The resuscitation team who scraped me up from a puddle of my own blood wouldn’t give up on me, no matter how many times I flat-lined. My destiny to live was as ironclad as the fact I’d resent them forever for not letting me pass quietly.

The final time my heart kicked back to life, I remember a searing wave of pain like nothing I’d ever felt before. It coursed through my body like venom and I tried to scream with it, begging someone—anyone—to make it stop. Whether or not that plea was heard, the agony levelled and I became still, a soul trapped in a body that couldn’t move of it’s own accord.

I went into a coma, I think. It was impossible to tell when I felt tired while I was already sleeping. It was disorientating, to hear garbled voices around me but not see the source one minute, just to slip into a dream the next. I’d have dealt with either one individually better than them both combined.

For a while, I thought I might still die. Nothing about the hushed, indiscernible voices around me sounded positive. It took a while before I realised that the fact I heard them more often meant I’d probably survive. If I’d been able to, I would have cried. Maybe they’d have understood that my death was better for everyone, not a cry out for attention or misguided deed of self-revulsion. I was beyond help or redemption. Keeping me alive would be a disaster.

The more reality began to seep in, the more sounds I started to notice. Most prominent was the monitor tracking every selfish beat of my black heart. Every beep was mocking, reminding me that I was living when I shouldn’t be.

Beep. That was a beat you don’t deserve. Beep. There was one of the many millions you stole from her. Beep. And one you didn’t even want. Beep. These beats are wasted on you.

What kind of life could I possibly have now? One straight out of hospital into a prison cell, most likely. My friends would hate me. My family would be shamed and have to tackle the negative publicity my actions attracted. I’d become a pariah, never again loved or accepted. And Blaze...

I’d loved the green eyed god from the very start, though it had taken until far too recently to say the words aloud. The lives we led didn’t allow for us to fall in love but it had happened anyway, and the price of that disobedience and rebellion had ripped us apart for a while.

The day after he’d presented me with an emerald engagement ring, my sister had brutally revealed that he already had a wife. Later learning that the wife was dying and he was waiting for her money drove me to New York, where he was far away physically but emotionally still living in my pocket.

Except his wife wasn’t dying at all. Her multiple sclerosis wasn’t killing her; it was a con to pin down an entirely too trusting man who wouldn’t be with her any other way. She’d refused to divorce him and we’d come up with a plan...

One I’d rendered redundant by killing her.

I knew that Blaze hated and resented Natasha, but not enough to wish her dead. More than anything, I didn’t think he could possibly love me enough to accept that I was a murderer. I’d do time for my crime—more than enough for him to move on. Even if he didn’t, I’d never ask him to live with my deplorable act.

How could I live without him now I’d found him—live with knowing it was my own fault he was gone? No stretch in prison would feel long enough, no amount of injuries inflicted in prisoner brawls painful enough to compensate for what I’d done.

Why couldn’t they have just let me die?

Even the voice in my head that had goaded me into picking up that pillow seemed to have disowned me. She’d been very keen on me killing the bitch until it was done, then endorsed the idea of me following suit with a chef’s knife. Since then, she’d been so quiet.

I hated that. I hated that even my own inner demons had abandoned me after I’d committed the worst of sins. I was truly alone in a world that had no place for me, yet forced to exist in it anyway.

Will she be okay?

That voice! God, I knew that voice and it made my pulse leap. Blaze was there, at my bedside, worried for my fate. It pained me to admit that he may have just been there to make sure I’d survive long enough to pay for what I’d done.

When will she wake up?

When she’s ready.

I knew that voice, too; the voice of suicide attempts past. Dr. Catherine Downes had been in charge of the mental health unit I was shoved into at seventeen, the last time I’d opened my veins. Her approach towards her patients was ruthless but admittedly effective, though I couldn’t make sense of why she’d be there now.

We did the best we could, Blaze. We won’t know if there’s any significant damage done until she wakes up.

Significant damage? I’d cut myself; what could they possibly need me awake for?

No... Wait. My medicated haze started to pass, making me aware of how heavy my body felt—heavy and confined. My hands burned like fire beyond the intensifying ache in my wrists. Moving my eyes under my lids exacerbated a pounding headache and even willing my arms or legs to move sent a shooting pain down the length of my spine.

It was terrifying and claustrophobic, and my heart rate gave me away.

Is she— A chair to my left scraped loudly. I could feel Blaze jump to his feet next to me. Is she waking up?

I kept my eyes shut and tried to calm down, hoping to pass off my excited heart as a reaction to a dream. The harder I tried, the faster it got. Maybe I could tip myself over into a heart attack...

God, what’s happening? Help her!

Why don’t you get yourself a coffee?

Coffee?! The tension between him and Dr. Downes hit me like a heat wave. There’s nothing you can do to her that will faze me.

You’re not the one I’m worried about.

I had no idea why that made him curse and leave, but it did and I was grateful. I wasn’t ready to see his anger and disappointment yet, probably never would be. It was something I’d actively seek to avoid. The idea that I’d open my eyes to him and that incendiary look of love that I’d once mistaken for hate would be gone... That was a fate worse than death.

He’s gone, Emmy. I opened one eye and immediately closed it again, the bright lights too harsh to withstand. The aches and pains were getting gradually worse, making my whole body coil up like a spring being wound tighter and tighter. Morphine.

No, I don’t—

I wasn’t actually asking. I know you, remember? Yes, she knew me, and knew the cathartic joy I found in pain I felt I deserved. A few seconds later, my muscles started to relax and the hurt ebbed away. It was almost blissful, if not for the fact I could stand to open my eyes to the face of my darker days.

Dr. Downes gave me one of her notoriously critical eye-rolls and sat down next to my feet. Oh dear.

Yeah, yeah... Knowing I stood to gain nothing by refusing to speak, I looked at the room around me—at the equipment I’d heard—before finally focusing on my own body.

Jesus. My arms were full of canulas and covered in tubes, my wrists wadded up with thick bandages that couldn’t stanch the blood. I followed the one line, a red tube, up to an IV stand holding two empty and one slowly siphoning packets of blood. What, are you stockpiling it for me now?

She looked up at the AB- serum and nodded knowingly. Almost. Your family started regularly donating after your last little mishap. That packet seeping into to you right now is fresh out of your sister.

Figures. Death would have made me happy. My bitch of a sister, Tallulah, would do anything to keep me miserable. How long have I been here?

A few hours. My eyes widened. It felt like so much longer. Blaze found you just as you passed out from the blood loss. You came out of surgery roughly ninety minutes ago. Did a good job this time, didn’t you?

I bristled, annoyed by her backhanded compliment. Yes, I had done a good job and it would have had the desired effect if he hadn’t found me. It was his fault...

Screwed up, did he? My brow lifted, her question coming too quickly after blaming him for my being alive. Yes, that was a monumental screw up. He blames himself, you know, for taking you to meet his wife.

Yeah well, that didn’t exactly help. I closed my eyes and sighed, letting my head sink back into my pillow. I’m in trouble, aren’t I? It was stupid to even ask. Of course I was in trouble; I’d killed a woman.

Oh, yeah. Your pretty friend, Esme, is quite annoyed to have had her beauty sleep interrupted.

Beauty sleep? That was what she was bringing up? Surely I have bigger problems than that?

Oh, sure. Dr. Downes shrugged uncaringly and ran a finger down her clipboard. But nothing that won’t keep for eight months.

Eight— Agony shot through me like a lightning bolt as I surged upwards to sit, mortified by that kind of timeframe. I couldn’t possibly be... I’m not pregnant?!

She laughed and took a pen from her breast pocket, scribbling on my notes. No, you’re not. But that was an effective way to determine whether you’re suffering any kind of restricted movement, yes?

Sagging back down, I glared at her. That was cruel. Her methods were always brutal but scare tactics were a new part of her repertoire. I didn’t like them. Why would my movement be restricted?

Um... She tapped her neck with the end of her pen, encouraging me to take an inward look at my own. I hadn’t realised it, but my head was held still by a plastic collar. What the hell? Can you move your legs?

I don’t... I tried wiggle my toes. They moved but it hurt like crazy.

You had a lucky escape, then. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Downes clasped her hands over the clipboard and leaned ever so slightly towards me. "For now. Very soon, you’re going to have to talk about why you did this. I don’t care if it’s me you talk to or somebody else, but your friends and family aren’t going to let you get away without an explanation. Was it Blaze?"

Trick question. I could say yes and she’d be on my case until I admitted that there was nobody to blame but myself. But even if I said that from the off, she’d be on my case until I gave a reason why and I couldn’t. I didn’t know why I’d killed that damned Natasha. It just happened...

Why are you even here? Evading the question completely, I narrowed my eyes at the Cardiff based psychiatrist. How is it that you’re in London on a general in-patients ward when you should be in a Wales psych unit?

Sitting back coolly, Dr. Downes looked at me shrewdly and stood to pace around the small space surrounding the bed. Don’t think I don’t know that you’re deflecting but as you’re asking; I was called in by your parents. I’ve only just arrived. And you’re in intensive care.

They called you all this way... For me?

Because they care for you. She promptly answered the next question I would have asked: Why? You might not ever understand this unless you become a mother yourself, but it’s hard to entrust a stranger with your child’s well being. Your parents are lucky enough to be in a position where they don’t have to. They trust me to ‘fix’ you, and for triple pay and reimbursed travel expenses, I’m not going to tell them that you’re beyond repair.

Am I? Was I too much of a broken mess for even her to fix?

Emmy. She smiled at me patiently and patted my leg. We both know that the only one with the power to decide that is you. Face up to what you’ve done or spend the rest of your life trying to end it—the choice is yours. Just remember that we have a duty of care and as long as someone is hanging around to bring you to hospital, we’ll always try and keep you alive. Though the more times you try it, the more people there’ll be watching over you.

Wasn’t that the truth? Five years on from my last suicide attempt, people had only just stopped hovering around in case I did something reckless. I’d just repaid that eventual trust with murder and self-harm. I’d be lucky if I was allowed to go to the bathroom without company.

But why does anyone even care after what I’ve done? How can anyone forgive me?

Is forgiveness really what you want?

I thought about that and decided I just didn’t know. If I had it, there was no guarantee I’d accept it and there was no way it’d ever compensate for killing someone. What did it matter if I was forgiven or not? I wouldn’t be near enough anyone to know it if I was, not in prison.

My eyelids started to get heavy. The morphine was making me drowsy. Dr. Downes urged me to rest and it was all the encouragement I needed to drift off into an unsettled sleep.

I just don’t understand it. We would have gotten through it, no matter what Natasha did. She didn’t need to go this far.

Crap. I’d half-opened my eyes before I realised I’d woken up during another conversation I didn’t want to interrupt. Thankfully, I got away with it—they were so engrossed.

Emmy tends to act before she thinks. You have to have noticed that by now. The consequences wouldn’t have occurred to her until the deed was done. Oh, Daniel... My dearest childhood friend. I could feel him holding my hand; he’d defend me through anything. What are you going to do?

Talk to Henry. See if he can make it go away.

He’s rich but he’s no magician, Blaze.

You’d be amazed by things he can make disappear.

But this?

Blaze sighed. I felt it on the skin of my arms and reacted with goose bumps, as much for the sound as the sensation. It was so soft and full of resignation. It was the kind of sigh that made me want to hold him.

Don’t take this personally, Blaze, but I don’t think this was about you. She most likely felt as though her wants and stability were threatened, so she lashed out in the worst way possible. Let’s be honest with ourselves; last night was extremely uncomfortable for everyone involved.

I shouldn’t have taken her there... She didn’t want to go...

It’s not like she went with a premeditated plan for blood-shed. You know she doesn’t work like that. She’s just impulsive—too impulsive.

Or was I? I’d had those dreams of killing her for months, even before I knew she existed. I’d been plotting her death all along.

I wouldn’t let my father—the multi-billionaire mega-mogul, Henry Tudor—buy my freedom and innocence. I wouldn’t live a lie. I’d face up to what I’d done, it was the least I could do. Better that life than one living indebted and feeling dirtier than I already did.

They’re probably going to give her the option to stay here for a while, or travel back to the unit in Wales. Would you be okay with that?

No, are you kidding? They may as well lock her up. Oh, God. He hated me...

But what about Natasha?

I... Damn it, I don’t know. I need her to pull through before I can think about the future.

Pull through. Shit, was she still alive? Were we lying in the same hospital, hooked up to the same machines? She could still be with us, it wasn’t like I’d done a thorough examination of her before I’d fled to the kitchen. But that still made me an attempted murderer. Would people find that as unforgivable?

There was a quiet tapping on the door. It opened, letting in the noise from the corridors. It sounded like visiting hours, though I had no idea what sort of time it was. Being disorientated was nothing less than I deserved.

Henry.

Blaze stood to my right. I heard footsteps, the door closing, and then silence. It was obvious from the way the atmosphere stopped thrumming with his presence that he’d left—he lit up any room he walked into—but the hand still holding mine assured me that I wasn’t alone.

Daniel might have been the only person I could talk to. He also might have been the only person who could make me feel worse than I already did. Deciding whether to reach out for his guidance was tough enough before he spoke, whispering to me while he thought I was unconscious.

Oh, Emmy. He pulled my fingers to his lips and kissed them. Why do you keep doing this to me? Why do you keep trying to leave me?

You should be so lucky. I opened an eye cautiously and forced a smile. I’d haunt you, Danny Divine. You’ll never get rid of me.

Emmy! Pushing to his feet, Daniel leaned over me and peppered kisses across my forehead between dry sobs. He was gentle, extremely conscious of my injured neck, but the way he held me still was firm and authoritative. You’re in so much trouble.

How much? He leaned away to raise an eyebrow at me. Are we talking a slap on the wrist or a period of imprisonment?

Well, you flat-lined three times last night, making it a grand total of four times I’ve had to look at your corpse. On the one hand, I’m grateful you’re not on a morticians slab—on the other, I’ve a right mind to make it a nice round five and finish you off myself.

I knew he was joking but his chide told me nothing. Seriously, Dan. What am I looking at?

Returning to his seat, he straightened the blanket around my waist and fussed over my hair of all things. Heavy guard. Probably another round of intense mental therapy. Henry will throw money at anyone and everyone to get you the best treatment and your relationship will be irreparably damaged forever.

Shit. It was the worst, I knew it. Which of your hands wants to kill me?

Neither. Jesus Christ, Emmy. Daniel slumped back in his seat and stared at me like I was a stranger. I suppose I was; I couldn’t even be sure I knew myself after what I’d done. Why did you do it?

I... How did I even start to rationalise it? I don’t know. It felt like a dream. I didn’t realise I’d actually done it until it was too late.

A sleep-walking suicide attempt?

No, I— Why did he assume I’d meant that part? Natasha...

Don’t think about her. Was he crazy? How could I not think about her? I’d see her dead grey eyes gazing up at me for the rest of my life. We need to get you back on track before you think about her.

I’m so sorry. A heavy weight pressed down on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I struggled to stay awake—struggled to make any sense of all the beeping and chaos around me. Reality slipped away, a welcome reprieve, and I returned to that quiet, tranquil place of nothingness.

There I stayed for who knows how long. The only thing that told me I hadn’t died was the lack of a light to guide me—that or neither Heaven nor Hell wanted me. It was actually kind of nice, to just drift with nothing but my own thoughts for company. It gave me time to get my head straight, decide what I’d do the next time my eyes opened.

Admit everything. There was no better way. I’d just have to come out with it to the next person I saw and take responsibility because, one way or another, I was going to be forced to deal with the consequences. Maybe it would make it easier if I was honest about it.

But despite gearing myself up for the admission, the next time I awoke, I was alone. Totally alone. The machines had gone, the lights were dim and not even the cruel voice in my head had reappeared like she normally would in times of self-inflicted loneliness.

And then I became aware that the tubes and wires were gone, as was the collar that had supported my neck. It was eerily dark outside and the hospital was deathly quiet. In fact, I thought I’d been moved to another room.

I really needed the toilet. The room had it’s own bathroom, just a few paces away. I underestimated how tough it would be to get there, though. My body felt like lead, my arms and legs so heavy I could barely lift them. Through determination not to wet myself alone, I used the strength in my elbows to sit up and look around.

My head spun. The pain in my back and wrists was so immense it was a struggle to breath through but I had to, to stop myself from being sick. Now my need for a bathroom was twice as urgent, I had just enough drive to straighten to a sitting position and dangle my legs off the side of the bed.

I was naked for all but a blue gown with an open back. The air touching my skin chilled me down to the bones and made me shake mercilessly. The only way to describe the way I felt was ‘fluish’, a feeling that only got worse when I saw the sign hanging from the headboard.

‘Do not resuscitate’. Damn it, so close. I was way too uncomfortable to be having some kind of outer body experience or spiritual parting from my physical being. When did you ever hear of ghosts needing to pee?

So I must have been in bad shape to have that kind of order literally hanging over my head. Really bad shape. Why hadn’t my body quit when it was supposed to?

There again, it kind of did when I lowered myself to the floor and ended up sprawled out across it. Unable to support my weight, my legs folded at the first second and sent me plunging down with a wince and a curse.

Okay, so I’d be crawling to the bathroom. May as well get all my bending over out of my system before it became a little dangerous. Whispers about prison showers came to mind.

Holding on to all my expulsive urges, I gripped the sheets on the side of the bed to pull me upright. Disaster. The only thing I achieved was toppling the bed over and on top of me. Oh, God. Maybe I’d die after all.

Emmeline? Shit!

I’d reflexively curled up into a ball when I saw the bed coming toward me and had fully expected some kind of major head trauma, so to be surrounded by metallic clattering and to still be cowering several seconds later was more than a little shock. I shifted the hand I had over my eyes and looked sheepishly at the person who’d sprung in front of me to take the impact on my behalf.

I wanted to cry so I did. The person I’d avoided on the occasions I’d woken up was spread out protectively in front of me, trying to right the madness I’d created. His chest heaved with exertion as he straightened the bed and stood briefly to hit the emergency assistance button on the wall.

And then he turned to face me and I cried harder because he looked so sad and betrayed. Frozen still, Blaze stared right into my streaming eyes for too long before sinking down to his knees and letting his head hang wearily.

I thought you were dead. We all thought you were dead. You shouldn’t be alive right now. I didn’t answer, too afraid to say something that would have him launching at me to finish the job and arranging me back on that mattress like I’d passed naturally. Who’d have blamed him? You wouldn’t stop bleeding. You went into hypovolemic shock. You had a fucking heart attack right in front of me. How are you still alive?

I swallowed down a hard lump in my throat, dashing my tears away in some bullshit semblance of dignity. I’m sorry.

You’re sorry? Sorry you’re alive or sorry you were so close to dying we’ve been arranging your funeral?

I’m sorry I’m alive. I turned away, so ashamed of myself. I hadn’t thought as far ahead as heart attacks and DNRs when I decided to die, believing that I’d be alone to bleed. Putting my friends and family through hell wasn’t my goal, and I hated that it had played out this way.

Graciously, Dr. Downes burst through the door with a couple of nurses, who made no delay in scooping me up off the floor, flashing bright lights in my eyes and strapping inflatable blood pressure cuffs around my arms. Being harassed reminded me of how sick I’d been feeling, and I disgracefully wriggled out of their reach to throw up over the floor next to me. It was excruciating and sent a fresh burst of white hot pain through me. Maybe this was the curtain call...

Eyes open, Emmy. I dopily obeyed the doctor’s command and willed myself to look at her. I’d only ever seen her so serious once before, when she’d been the only one to convince me to calm down enough to have a nasogastric tube fitted. I win this round, Tudor. You’ve caused a lot of trouble today. Anything to say for yourself?

Yes, actually. You should really do something about the stability of these beds. It could have killed me.

She laughed and urged the nurses to back off. She’s fine. Let’s get her in for a full CT and MRI, get some bloods to lab and tell her family she’s awake.

I’ll tell them. The medical types parted, clearing a direct path of sight to the man they’d blocked out when they arrived. Dr. Downes frowned at Blaze and looked between us carefully, gauging the lingering tension.

No... Reaching out, she gripped his arm above the elbow and pulled him toward me. She shouldn’t be on her own. Should you, Emmy?

Crap. It took the length of just one stolen heartbeat to figure out that she was trying to force us into opening a dialogue. Boxed in, I offered the only answer I could think of—I need some ‘personal’ assistance.—and tried not to fall to pieces when I was lifted up into the arms that had once provided such comfort, yet now only gave guilt and worry.

Carried and set down on the toilet, Blaze turned his back on me to give me some privacy. I hated that he was so quiet and stoic when he would have usually baffled me with a poetic sentiment and reassurance. I had no idea where I stood—whether he was angry and which way that ire was directed. All I knew was that the silence was intolerable.

Well... I muttered, leaning limply against the support rail on the wall. This is awkward.

Don’t, Emmeline. He shook his head, turning