Paradise, NV: A Novel

By Raashan Toomey

Ashley’s life is falling apart and she doesn’t think it can get any worse. Her boyfriend, Marcus, has involved her in the awful betrayal of one of their closest friends. The weight of the guilt that burdens her is already more than she can handle. Having to look the betrayed friend in the eye is threatening to give her a nervous breakdown. She believes that leaving the presence of the friend she wronged will make her feel better, but when a shadowy figure follows her through the dark and dangerous Las Vegas night, she’ll realize just how much worse it can get.
She struggles to keep her boyfriend’s secret, but when his betrayal is finally discovered, Marcus is pressed by his friends to explain why he would do something so horrible to someone he was supposed to care about. He weaves for them a tale of sex, money and murder, no more or less than they would expect of him, given his reputation, but when his story leaves the familiar world of crime and passion and ventures into the secrets of occult wisdom and magic, his friends are left unsure of what to believe. See, his friends don’t believe in magic, but that doesn’t stop it from knocking on the door.
Before her journey through the dark depths of the human soul has reached its climax, Ashley will have to find answers for some of the oldest questions ever known to man. What makes a good man turn bad? Can love make a bad man good? And when forced by fate to battle an enemy whose knowledge of the occult makes him impossible to stop using conventional means, she’ll have to find an answer to humanity’s most ancient riddle, how does one go about learning magic?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raashan Toomey
• Release date: Sep 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310517297

Raashan Toomey

Raashan Toomey grew up in Pacoima, CA. Though he never attended college, at a young age he developed a passion for extensive reading and learning, especially in the areas of history and ancient religions. He, like his work, is an urban voice with an esoteric spirit. Raashan currently lives in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Book preview

PART ONE: ASHLEY

CHAPTER ONE

It didn’t have to turn out the way it did. The tragedy that occurred was not only preventable, it was unnecessarily senseless, due primarily to the fact that it was based in greed and utter disrespect for the ideal of brotherhood, assumed to be the foundation of a civilized society. Can an event so heinous be excused if the society one lives in is already so uncivilized to begin with? Can it be expected that a person will go with the flow, so to speak, regardless of the degree of morality, or lack thereof, inherent in the culture in which the person lives? If greed and violence are the norm, how many people can be expected to carry the label of ‘outcast’ by being different, even if those same people exclude themselves from the culture because of their higher degree of personal morality? Right and wrong, being relative, have different meanings depending on the time, location, and most importantly, the culture where an event takes place. In a city like Las Vegas, which is known as ‘Sin City’, the bar for what is right is set very low.

Ashley Spencer never had a chance to contemplate these philosophical ideas until she was already in the middle of the tragedy, at a point where the deeds were already done and the fruits of causation were already in play.

She sat at the bar, alone in a room full of people, close to the party in proximity, but mentally detached and so distant she was scarcely aware of what her own body was doing. In fact, her body wasn’t doing anything, simply frozen in the middle of all that activity. The smell of a burning filter came from the stick of ash, still shaped like a cigarette, evidence that it hadn’t been touched since it was lit. Her eyes stared off into nothingness. When she became aware of herself zoning out as she was, she grabbed her glass, her vodka and cranberry, and sipped it so slow liquid hardly touched her tongue, a sort of illusion to try to make herself seem normal or at least present to the group she was here with.

Marcus, her boyfriend, was there, ringleader of the celebration, as he always was, proposing a toast to his new best friend KC, whose birthday was that day. KC was there with his girlfriend, Porsha, who had been Ashley’s best friend since Middle school. Ashley’s back was to all of them. She was facing the bartenders and all of the bottles of numbness behind the counter. Ashley turned her head to the right, in the direction of her party, and raised her glass shoulder-level, not high enough to touch the glasses of her friends, who were all standing, but enough to make them feel like she was involved.

KC made eye contact with her, and with his slightly drunken smile, sent a wave of anxiety and the cold chill of remorse surging through her. If his gaze pierced her any deeper he would unearth the lie, vaguely buried beneath a stoic expression. She couldn’t stay here anymore, setting herself up for a nervous breakdown. The half glass of vodka and cranberry that she had hardly tasted before now vanished down her throat in one gulp, the glass itself slamming on the bar when she was done. She grabbed her purse, turned on her bar stool, and stood up.

A firm and familiar hand attached itself to her waist. Marcus, all toothy smile and male bravado, buried the same lie much deeper. How could he be so unaffected? Where does that ability come from? He spent his days and nights hustling and scheming for a dollar, maybe he missed his true calling. He was a natural born actor, able to present any façade to the world, even if it was utterly unrelated or completely contrary to what was going on inside his head. He was an actor without a role to play. Unfortunately, an actor without a character to play is just a pretender in the real world. She hated to think of the man she loved in that way, but had no clue how not to.

Hey, he said, Where are you going? We’re just getting started.

I’m a little tired, Ashley put a hand to her stomach, I don’t think this liquor is agreeing with me tonight. I’m just gonna go home and lay it down.

Okay. Marcus sipped his double cognac, still full. Give me a couple of minutes to finish my drink and I’ll give you a ride.

Ashley conjured a yawn. No, baby, it’s fine. I’m right up the street. I’ll just walk.

It’s after midnight. I can’t let you walk.

It’s only three blocks. I walk it all the time. Enjoy the celebration and I’ll call you when I get home.

Marcus took a moment to scan her face, trying to determine if she was being genuine or if it was some sort of woman’s manipulation to put the initiative on him and relieve her of the responsibility of making herself a burden.

Are you sure?

Ashley nodded and kissed him.

You better call me so I know you got home safe.

She had already turned to leave when she said, I will.

Ashley waved good-bye to Porsha and KC and walked, twice her normal speed, toward the front door of the bar. The door felt abnormally heavy, sparking the fantasy in her mind of transferring the weight that weighed down her soul to a physical, inanimate object, and walking away feeling better about herself, and emotionally as light as a feather. If only dreams could come true. A fantasy is only a fantasy. The reality was that there was nothing that could remove that massive emotional bulk from her metaphorical shoulders and allow her to continue her life unburdened. It was the past, the recent past, but the past never the less, and it was the past that burdened her, and she was certain that the remorse would remain with her forever. It was the kind of pivotal, life-changing moment that is still there when you squeeze a person’s entire life into a two hour movie. This was no movie. Her life would never be the same.

You got a cigarette?

The words came from a million miles away, at least in her mind. In actuality, a man stood a few feet to her right, his face obscured by shadow, his red baseball cap catching all of the light from the bar entrance.

Uhh…yeah, I do.

She tried to find something in the dark that resembled the sparkle of an eye or two, something in his face to reveal his trustworthiness, but no revelation was forthcoming. Her hand didn’t need her eyes’ assistance to slide a cigarette out of the pack and hand it to him. It was instinctual to her; she had been smoking a lot more lately.

The strange man thanked her. Ashley lingered a moment, expecting him to ask for a light. Then she would see his illuminated face in the lighter light, but he never asked. He didn’t even bring the cigarette to his face, so she turned and left.

She hurried across the shopping center parking lot that housed the bar, past numerous closed stores and restaurants and an open grocery store, toward Maryland Parkway. The night air fondled her bare skin. The black skirt she wore like another layer of skin flaunted her curves and exposed her knees. Her blouse covered her chest but drew attention to her bare stomach and shoulders. Looking in the mirror, before she left her apartment, she knew she looked good. She felt sexy and confident about her appearance then, but now, walking alone, late at night in Las Vegas, she felt like a target, short skirt, easy access. One of her attacker’s hands could yank off her blouse, while the other hand snatched off her skirt. She would be naked and being violated in less than two seconds. She had to get off these streets. Her heels slowed her down so she took them off and walked barefoot through the parking lot, not a comfortable feeling, but discomfort was a small price to pay for haste.

Even at that hour the streets were full of cars in Las Vegas, the twenty-four hour city. The multiplicity of vehicles doesn’t make a person safer. It seems to have the opposite effect, everybody focused on their individual worlds, and so no one can see the pretty girl in the short skirt, walking home alone from the bar. The bar was right there behind her, inviting her back to its safety. There was a strong security being around Marcus, who would flip out on any one he felt disrespected him or her, but he might flip out on Ashley too, and she never felt secure then, especially when he was drinking, like tonight.

Pushing down Maryland, she was startled by a car horn, guys cat-calling. At least they saw her. But they didn’t see her as a human being. They saw her as an idea, the idea of a ‘Pretty girl’. That’s why it never occurred to them that she was unsafe. The car sped off, their music and yelling faded away and it was quiet, never silent, not in the city. That loud hum of traffic starts to become background, and less noticeable.

It was a June night, so it was warm, but she felt so exposed out there, she moved with her shoulders hunched tightly and her arms wrapped around her naked abdomen. Her feet were being rubbed raw by concrete. The few blocks to her apartment felt like miles ahead of her. The speeding cars passed her at a million miles per hour, threatening to suck her into their current to be dragged down the street. She was only a hundred and thirty-five pounds.

At the corner of Maryland and Reno is a crosswalk, no stoplight, no stop sign. You just cross this street and hope the cars see you and stop to let you pass safely. There’s no guarantee they will. People die at this intersection all the time. Ashley hoped not to be next. Hopefully the glow of her light skin or the reflection from her glasses would alert the traffic to her presence. She looked to the right and the cars were way back by Hacienda, plenty of time to cross. She looked to her left, one car was speeding towards her, she would only have to let it pass and then cross the street, but behind the car, way off in the distance, back at the parking lot she just left, she saw him, that same man in the red hat. It was too dark to tell if he was looking at her. No time to find out, time for her to go. The car sped past her and she was off, walking briskly across the street. An impatient car on her right slowed down to the slowest possible crawl without stopping, slamming the gas so hard after she passed she had to hold her skirt down.

After safely crossing, the idea of that man in the red hat following her started to spark a chain reaction in her mind. Did she deserve to be followed? After what she had done, being followed and attacked made perfect karmic sense, didn’t it? How could she expect life to just go on normally? She felt evil, emotionally filthy. Karmic retribution was inevitable. She struggled to let that thought go, recognizing it as paranoia. He was probably just walking to wherever he was going, having nothing to do with her. She clung tightly to this idea, but it was crushed when she reached the corner of Reno and Caliente, looked back, and saw him at the crosswalk, coming in her direction. Still, she couldn’t see his face, but she could feel his glare intensely. He was watching her, following her. On both sides of the street were apartment complexes full of people, but none would be able to help her. None knew she was there.

Ashley was almost home, a block and a half left. She started to jog, ignoring the pain in her bare feet. She looked behind her, he was jogging, too. No question now that he was pursuing her, hunting her. As prey, she was obligated to devise a plan, a way to safety, otherwise, she would meet the fate of the preyed upon, and become a lower link in the food chain. Up at the corner of Tamarus, across the street, she saw a car parked in an apartment complex parking lot, a couple of dark feet behind some bushes. The street corner was dark, no streetlights. She could duck in between the car and the bushes and hide, and at his distance, a block back; he wouldn’t be able to see her. She couldn’t be sure if that was true, but had to try. She ran across the street, sure he could see her, and then quietly slid behind the bush and waited, hoping he would think she ran up Tamarus, or into the complex. She was as quiet as she had ever been in her life, watching him reach the street and cross. She barely breathed.

He stood on the other side of the bush and looked around, trying to figure out which way she went. He scanned the parking lot and the apartment complex. He looked further up the sidewalk trying to catch a glimpse of her but couldn’t see her, so started walking slowly up Tamarus. Ashley watched his back as he moved down the street. All he would have to do was turn around and he would have seen her exposed at that angle, but he didn’t look back. She watched him all the way to Tropicana. It took five minutes and she inhaled maybe twice in that whole time. As soon as he made a left on Tropicana, heading back towards the bar, she sprinted home down Reno. She ran full speed into her complex and to her front door.

Once her front door was open, she entered, slammed it behind her and collapsed to the floor, her back against the door. She started to cry uncontrollably. She was supposed to call Marcus, but how could she even speak through her sobs? She would call him when she calmed down. That was her plan, but she instead cried herself to sleep right there on the floor.

CHAPTER TWO

Even before Ashley woke up she heard the footsteps. They stood out in the silence from the other side of the door. The sun was up and blinding her from the east window, so it must have been early, six, seven at the latest. The front door was hot and sticky on her back, her bare legs cold on the tile.

The doorbell rang and recollection flooded her conscious mind with quick flashes of vivid pictures from the previous night. The man in the red hat was at the door. No way to know from here, it could be Marcus. The call she had promised him, to communicate her safe arrival home, was now long overdue. He could have come by to check on her, but the dread in her gut made it hard to be so optimistic. Something terrible had come to visit her. Quietly she stood up, careful not to make a sound; she rested her palms on the door and her face on the peephole. A spherical red baseball cap stared back at her, its owner was short and looking down, Ashley couldn’t see his face.

Her breath was petrified in her chest, her terrified body corpse stiff, the only movement was the quiver of her top lip. An arm emerged from the red hat, rang the doorbell, and vanished beneath the red hat again. Then there was stillness, he stood motionless, waiting, she dared not move or make a sound. Ashley watched him long enough for a single tear to form at the corner of her eye, journey down her cheek to her chin and then plunge, quietly splashing on the tile beneath her. Once more he rang the bell and waited. Tension was building up in Ashley’s calves. Fight or flight reaction to fear. Human rationality meant there was a third option, doing nothing. Did he know she was there, three inches away? Could he maybe…smell her? What would be his next move? Would he leave? Start banging on the door? Kick the door down? He could come in through a window.

Then he turned and left, walked away, shrinking, bringing his whole body into view and revealing nothing about himself. The skin on the back of his bald neck and arms was tan, the kind of tan that could belong to any race. His outfit was plain, black t-shirt and black jeans. He turned out of range and was gone.

Ashley finally exhaled and dropped back down to the floor, terrified. More tears freed themselves from her tear ducts, snot from her nose. It was hard to get air; her body told her she had just run a marathon.

Oh my God, Oh my God, she cried to herself. Where was her purse?

It lay open beside her; she pulled the phone off the top and called Marcus.

Oh my God, Marcus, you have to come here right now. I’m scared…Some weird guy tried to follow me home last night…I know you did, but…No, I lost him and got home safe. I mean, I thought so, but he was just here ringing my doorbell…Hell no…I don’t know…Marcus, just come over here right now, I am so fucking scared.

It was a couple of chain-smoked cigarettes later when Ashley’s doorbell rang again. She was pacing back and forth in the living room, her mind racing. Guilt poisoned her thoughts, making every unconnected thing relate to her prior lapse in morality. Her mistake. That man stalking her, did he know what she did? Was he retribution in the flesh? The sound of the doorbell stopped her mid-stride. Who was it at the door this time? She didn’t have the courage to look through the peephole and see that red hat again. She might have a heart-attack on the spot, so she waited. The doorbell sounded again, this time accompanied by a familiar voice.

Ashley, baby, open the door. It’s me, Marcus.

Ashley slowly approached the door, checked the peephole to verify it really was her man, then opened it, revealing Marcus’ apprehensive face. Porsha and KC were with him, all of them still in the same clothes from the bar. They filed in to the apartment; Ashley shut the door and locked it securely behind them. They waited as she put her face to the door and scanned the complex through the peephole, looking for the stranger. All was peaceful outside.

As soon as she turned back, Porsha was there, arms spread wide for a hug. Two inches taller than Ashley and twenty-five pounds heavier, Porsha’s embrace was a mother’s sheltering refuge to a frightened child. Ashley settled in to the hug, letting the tears start to flow, appreciating the security of contact with another human being.

Jesus, Ash, are you okay? I’ve never seen you this upset before, Porsha released her a little, just enough so she could look Ashley in the eyes. Somebody was following you home?

Ashley nodded, I’m so scared, tears and snot traced the shape of her face on Porsha’s shoulder. Marcus put a hand on Ashley’s waist, her cue to release Porsha and let him hold her.

KC, who was always impatient, and ambivalent to tender moments like these, turned his lanky frame slightly away from the group, pulled his phone from his pocket and asked Ashley without looking at her, So what the hell happened?

Disregarding his friend, Marcus tried to calm his girlfriend, placing his right hand on her cheek, Don’t worry, baby. We’ll get this motherfucker.

Ashley took a deep breath, collected herself before she spoke. He was outside of the bar and he asked me for a square. I thought, no big deal, but when I was walking down the street I saw him behind me. Her voice started to tremble, her eyes threatened to close. I wasn’t sure if he was following me or not, until I started running and he did, too.

She inhaled deeply, fighting that overwhelming urge to sob. Marcus squeezed her hand now for support.

Porsha wanted to know, How did you get away?

I hid behind a bush. I didn’t know what else to do, The images flashed in Ashley’s mind, her staying perfectly still, not breathing for five minutes. He didn’t see me and so he kept walking. I ran home. I thought I was safe until he showed up at my door.

So he was just here when you called me? Ashley nodded an affirmative reply to Marcus’ question.

KC, who had been fidgeting with his phone, looked up at Ashley, So he might still be around here, then. What did he look like?

I couldn’t really see him, she said, All I know is that he was wearing a red hat.

A red hat? KC was instantly frustrated by so little information. That’s it? Was he Black, White, Mexican? What?

I’m not…I mean…I don’t know

Porsha said, So if he takes off that hat, he could be anybody.

He was short, said Ashley, His skin was tan like my complexion, he could be any race.

KC walked back over to the door. I’m gonna go outside and look around, see if I can spot him.

Marcus said, I’ll go with you, but Porsha raised a hand and stopped him.

No, she said, Stay with your woman. I’ll go.

As KC and Porsha walked out the door, Ashley and Marcus took a seat on the couch. Ashley was glaring at him from the corner of her eyes, and he knew why. He understood the unspoken language couples use to communicate. He knew what was on her mind but didn’t want to acknowledge it.

I shouldn’t have let you walk home by yourself. I’ll never-

Ashley cut him off, Why did you bring him here?

Marcus emitted an ominous smile that was meant to be comforting. He rested his hand on her knee. We were all still out together at another bar. Look, don’t worry. We just have to act normal for a few more days until we meet up with Lonnie.

Ashley squirmed away from his hand, turned so she was facing him directly, How can I act normal, Marcus? This is not normal. We’re horrible people.

We’re not horrible people. We’re doing what we have to do. This is survival. You think I wanted it to be this way? I really don’t have a choice, here.

Ashley shook her head, You always have a choice. This time I think you made the wrong one.

We made the wrong choice, he said. He was manipulating her and she knew it. She was a part of this and wished she never would have gone along with it, but there was no question that it was his idea. Only he would even consider something like that.

I don’t feel comfortable with him here.

He lowered his voice to an intense whisper and moved in closer, And I don’t feel comfortable with you acting all fucking guilty for the last few days. You gotta pull it together, or else we’ll get caught. Try to act like nothing’s changed.

I can’t, Marcus. Something has changed. I’m not a liar like you are.

Marcus sat back, taking a deep breath to avoid getting swept up in an argument. Baby, you know this is worth it.

Do I?

She stared him in the eye, daring him to respond. He was saved by the door opening up and their friends returning. KC and Porsha sat down on the love seat in the corner, perpendicular to the couch Ashley and Marcus were on. Ashley’s apartment was sparse, a couch a loveseat and a coffee table facing a thirty-five inch television. On the opposite wall by the kitchen was a bare wooden dining table. Other than those things there were only naked walls and empty space, teeming with silent tension, suffocating the room. KC spoke first.

Nobody’s out there.

No one was sure what to say or do next, and here was Ashley, once again, or really still, trapped in a version of reality, rooted in the past, with no way to break free of it. All there was to do was sit in it and agonize about not being able to change it. All heads in the room hung low, her friends wanted to help her, but there was nothing they could do.

See, KC broke the silence, That’s why I’m moving to Henderson.

Porsha countered, You don’t even like Henderson.

So what, KC sat up; he loved to give a speech. That’s not the point at all. Sure, it’s a right-wing, conformist, beige-colored suburban hell, but you don’t have to worry about getting robbed or raped or murdered. It might make you a polo-shirt wearing zombie or a Stepford Wife, but I figure that if I can just keep to myself I’ll be just fine.

Porsha made a revolted face.

What are you gonna do when the home-owner’s association starts fining you for not keeping up with your lawn or parking your raggedy pick-up on the street? Are you just gonna keep to yourself? You? You don’t think you’ll try to start some kind of suburban revolution?

KC smiled, clearly visualizing the scene, I might.

KC and Porsha bickered back and forth all the time, that was their relationship. On the surface it might’ve seemed as if they were destined for failure, to hear them constantly argue like that, but speaking up for themselves was their mutual nature, they respected each other for it, and never held a grudge. Ashley and Marcus rarely, if ever, argued in front of others, but there were many unresolved resentments that bubbled under the surface, threatening to blow at any time. One resentment in particular occupied the space at the fore of Ashley’s mind. Her relationship with Marcus would never be the same again.

Whatever, said Ashley, I like it here. Even after all this, I don’t want to move. I can’t afford to live out in the suburbs, anyway.

KC nodded, the smile still gleaming on his bearded face. Well, you should maybe get yourself a little purse gun or some mace or something, especially if you’re gonna be walking at night.

So what are you, the security expert, now? Porsha protested. You can’t even keep yourself safe. How can you give safety advice?

KC lowered his face into his hand and shook his head. Here we go again. Let it go, Porsha.

Ashley was just as uncomfortable with the new direction of the conversation as KC was. She, like him, hoped Porsha would let it go, talk about something else. But that wouldn’t be Porsha.

I’m just sayin’, said Porsha, Who has eighteen thousand dollars just lying around the house? It was bound to get stolen.

KC looked away towards the blank screen of the television. Whatever. I can do what I want with my money

No, really, KC… KC turned his head back to Marcus, who was speaking.

Marcus had something to add to this discussion? Ashley wished he would shut up.

Really, why didn’t you keep your money in the bank like a normal person?

KC’s smile was long gone now, replaced with the indignant look of a person done answering questions. I don’t believe in banks, he said.

Porsha laughed, You don’t believe in banks? Well, they do exist. I promise you.

KC cupped the back of his neck with his right hand, working the kinks out of his neck, a sign of frustration.

I know they exist, he said, I just don’t believe in giving my hard earned money to the multi-national conglomerate corporations. It’s a scam. They charge me to hold my own money! Charge me to spend it, and then they use it to make bad loans and gamble on the stock market and to manipulate politicians and fund wars. Fuck that! I do not want to participate, even unknowingly, to their clandestine plot to rob us of our freedoms and implement a one-world government, in which we’ll be slaves! I don’t want to be a slave!

Porsha had heard all this before, it wasn’t that she didn’t believe it, but she liked to make KC squirm, it amused her. I don’t know about anyone stealing your freedoms, she snickered, But somebody, for damn sure, stole your money. Maybe you should have guarded that as close as you guard your so-called freedoms.

You have to admit, added Marcus, the banks can keep your money safe.

By now, KC was offended, he felt ganged up on. He looked at Ashley, who would usually back him up, but she averted her eyes.

They just want to track my purchases and my whereabouts and my internet activities to determine if I’m a troublemaker. It’s important that I remain off the radar.

Marcus asked a question he already knew the answer to, just to make KC say it out loud. You want to stay off of whose radar?

KC knew he was being toyed with now; he crossed his arms, sat back and refused to answer.

Porsha answered for him. The goddamn Illuminati! The Illuminati don’t give a fuck about you, Nigga. You ain’t nobody. You work at Office Depot!

It don’t matter where I work, defended KC, If they knew I had eighteen thousand dollars they would be on my ass.

You don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you? Porsha was having fun at her boyfriend’s expense.

Marcus asked, Where the hell you get all that money anyway?

My grandma’s life savings, took her forty years to pile all that money up in a shoe box. When she was in the hospital, right before she died, she told me it was mine, and to do something special with it. That was my revolution money.

Marcus tilted his head to the side, Revolution money?

Yeah, said KC. I was gonna keep stacking it ‘til I had enough to buy some land, then I would build a commune where people could live free of the strings of the puppet-master government.

Now Marcus, capitalist that he was, laughed at what to him was ridiculous. I get it. You’re a goddamn hippie!

KC was done talking. Talking to Marcus about these things was futile, a brick wall could better understand.

Ashley was also tired of the conversation; it stirred up too much guilt, made her stomach churn. I don’t want to hear about this anymore, she said and killed the topic.

Marcus wrapped his arm around her, her head facing the wall, and kissed her on the cheek.

I know, baby, he said, Your mind is somewhere else. I’m sure you don’t wanna be here. I got some things to do, but I can’t leave you here by yourself. Tell you what, come to my place, take a long hot bath and get comfortable. We’ll watch some movies, comedies, and take our minds off of all this madness. Sound good?

Ashley didn’t smile, but thought it was a good enough idea. Maybe now she would be able to really talk to Marcus about what was going on. Until now she had not been able to tell him how she was feeling. Like shit.

She looked him in the eye and said, Okay.

CHAPTER THREE

Marcus had never held a job as long as Ashley had known him, but somehow he could afford to live in an apartment that cost almost twice as much as hers. She knew how he did it, though. He was a hustler, natural born, you could say. Some months he was doing credit cards and identity theft. Sometimes he sold drugs, weed, powder, pills. Occasionally, when the money was low and the rent was approaching fast, he would take his nine millimeter out into the dark city and rob some unsuspecting person walking the streets, or some local convenience store, but that was rare. Marcus wasn’t by nature a violent person, preferring to use his wits to scratch up a few dollars and keep shelter above his head for another month.

On Sunset Boulevard, just west of Eastern Avenue, sat the Apartment complex in which Marcus lived. His second floor apartment was nothing like Ashley’s. It was cluttered, making it feel small, though it contained a respectable amount of square footage. In the middle of the floor was an old worn out couch, but every inch of wall surrounding it was covered or blocked with something, stacks of CD’s, piles of DVD’s and old video tapes, countless bags of old clothes, shoes of varying styles and sizes. Junk really. Knick-knacks, you could call them, the spoils of different schemes and hustles. Marcus was attached to none of it, all of it was for sale, even the old couch or the medium sized television should someone give him a good enough offer.

The bedroom was just a queen-sized bed in the center of a bare floor in stark contrast to the chaotic living room. Ashley and Marcus made long quiet love on that bed, as they did often. For all of their differences, one thing they shared in common was a respect for the power of sex to escape the tribulations that life offered unrelentingly, at least for a while. If they were enjoying time together or annoyed and fighting with each other, it made no difference, they would have the same sex. Sex for them wasn’t about love or joy or about making up after a fight. They didn’t need a reason for it; it was reason in and of itself. When they made love, usually, no thoughts of the outside world ever crept in to spoil the mood, never, usually, would they allow themselves to be distracted by anything, not even how they felt about each other.

This particular session, however, was unique, because Ashley could not keep her mind in the game. The thought stood there in the back of her mind, staring at her, demanding attention. They should be talking, now, instead of what they were doing, which was nothing. She had never looked at sex, at their love life as being nothing before and the realization that she was feeling that way