They Called Him Ash

Chapter One

Rumors spread through Crestwood like a fire spread through a forest.

The town was so little, conveniently so, that if words whispered in secrecy through parted lips, the words were plastered all over the town. Myself, I didn't believe in silly rumors. When Cleo would run up to me, her brown eyes shining deviously, and her lips ready to tell me the newest juicy gossip, I pretended to listen.

For her sake, of course.

But this time, she didn't run up to me or her eyes didn't shine with excitement. Instead, as I closed my locker, I peered at her with a cocked brow.

The look of confusion ran across her face as she slowly walked up to where I was standing in front of my locker. Cleo wore her crimson red and black cheer leading uniform, her straightened black hair pulled up into a ponytail with a black and white ribbon tied around it. It was inevitable that Cleo looked worried about something.

"What is it?" I ask, myself beginning to worry also, my eyebrows furrowing downwards. Cleo bit down on her bottom lip, her eyes vacant for a second before turning her gaze onto me.

"Remember that... boy drowning accident six years ago? Ya' know, Theodore Miller?" Cleo asks hesitantly, a thread of wavering in her usual confident tone. Blinking, I pull my bag higher onto my shoulder, now leaning against my locker. "Yeah, how could I forget?" I laugh humorlessly, the tragic event replaying in my head as if I turned eleven yesterday. But what did that have to do with anything?

"Well, do you remember how it wasn't an 'accident'?" Cleo asks, emphasizing the word accident with air quotation marks.

As if instantly, the memory of those intense gray eyes sent a jolt of electricity within me. It was embarrassing to say that this wasn't the first time I have thought about those eyes since the incident. After that fateful day, I had recurring nightmares, about those eyes, about the last words he said to me.

"You should watch out for the danger zone. Wouldn't want you to fall in."

For four months, I had nightmares about the sinister words until my mom was too worried that I would grow as a serial killer, she took me to go see a therapist.

To this day, I still have therapy, concerning my dad passing away and troubles at home. When I turned 13, I decided it was time to get over the incident at the frozen ice pond, and most importantly, get over the boy with the intense gray eyes.

"What does this have to do with anything, Cleo?" I ask, suddenly a trace of anger hidden within my tone. I wasn't angry with Cleo, I was angry at myself. For being so damn attached to that boy who seemed to haunt my dreams when I had better things to worry about.

"Well, he's back," Cleo says, staring at me carefully, probably reading the emotions that crossed over my face, as she would say, "I was like an open book."

"Who?" I ask breathlessly, hoping for whatever she was going to say next wasn't the same thing I was thinking in my head. He was gone. He killed Theodore Miller, and after that, he vanished. He couldn't be back. He couldn't--

"Ash. Ash is back, Rose. And he's right behind you."

Everything in my body turned to ash, ironically so, and my legs felt like jelly as my eyes went wide. Cleo was lying. She had to be, this had to be one of her sick little pranks.

Immediately restoring my calm demeanor, a smirk tilted the corner of my lips as I ached to prove her wrong. "You are such a terrible li--"

Turning around, my words were pulled from out of my mouth, wrapping around my throat as I felt a huge lump beginning to form. My stomach dropped as I came in contact with those intense gray irises, staring back at me with immense fire.

"Ash," his name rolled off my tongue in a whisper. He stood at the water fountain at the end of the hall, between the girls and boys' restrooms, and he was definitely staring back at me.

As if out of some cliche movie, the lights dimmed around us, and the only person I saw was Ash, the kids that were once hassling around in the hallway now gone. Even Cleo.

His arms were crossed over his broad chest, which he wore a simple black tee. His arms... tan, and muscular, evident that he wasn't a little boy. His body, tall and lean, his dark jeans hanging slightly low. He wore boots, mud on the bottom of them, my eyes tracing back to his, and I was taken aback at how fervent they were. His black hair was sloppily tousled on top of his head, as if he had just gotten out of bed, and his eyebrows were thick, serious, overshadowing his eyes which continue to stare at me.

Ash was back.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, Ash tilts his head to the side, as if scrutinizing me from head to toe just like I had did him. Aimlessly tucking a strand of my red hair behind my ear, I pull my bag higher onto my shoulder, as if trying to hide my body from his gaze.

Ash smirks.

"I gotta go," I say to Cleo, blinking once, then twice, and turning around to walk past her before she protests.

My thoughts were jumbled, my eyes blinking 10 times per second as I hastily make my way through the crowd in the hallway. What was so special about this day? Why did he decide to make such a grand appearance in the middle of the freaking school year?

Looking down at my phone as it vibrated, I couldn't help but look at the date.

November 20th

It was two weeks before the anniversary of Theodore Miller's death.