Author's Note:
Hello, everyone. I started writing this story back in 2007, and posted it on the Spashley Invision Boards. Since then, I have done many things with my life. I've changed, life has changed me, and things go on. However, to date, this piece is one I am proudest of, and not just because of the content. To date, this story is the longest I have written, one of the best I've completed, and is something I consider to be my masterpiece. Only two characters in this story are mine, but the ones you know (Ashley, Aiden, Spencer, etc) belong to Tom Lynch, and the people who wrote them in the way we know. That being said, these are not the character you know from the show. This is a DARK story, and deals with heavy elements such as torture, crime, violence, and the like. It also has two main same-sex pairings, so if any of that bothers you, please turn back now. If not, then I hope you enjoy. If you've read this before, you are welcome to read it again. If you are a new reader, welcome, and I hope you enjoy the ride.
Chapter One:
Sunset.
The rain pounded in a rhythmic pattern all over the gritty backstreets of Los Angeles. As soon as the first drop hit the pavement, homeless people and prostitutes were cursing Gods they didn't believe in for sending them this hellish waterfall, slight though it was. Some people like the rain, they call it "calming" and "peaceful."
For Ashley Davies, it was bad for business.
"What do you mean you don't have the money? This might be a fix for you, but to me, it's a living. You don't fuck with people when they're trying to make a living," a voice sounded from behind the corner of an alley.
Two bodies were pressed into a tight crevice – one was a short, delicately built brunette with long limbs, dark chocolate brown eyes, and a cheeky smile, and the other was a taller boy with matted black hair that felt sharply over his piercing blue eyes. Despite their height difference and his clear advantage over the girl due to his muscle mass, he was shaking. Partially from fear, and partially from the lack of drugs surging through his bloodstream. The girl would use both factors to her advantage.
"I'm sorry, okay? I got fired from work this week. Boss finally caught me shooting on the job," the boy piped up, his voice matching his body – shaky.
"Then that just makes you fucking stupid, Aiden. You don't get caught shooting up, and you don't get fired. That means your paycheck no longer gets transported to my bank account, and that makes me VERY unhappy," the brunette responded, her voice still slightly gentle in tone, but harsh. The boy glanced down to the pavement, unable to meet the brunette's gaze before shoving his hands deep into his pockets.
"B-but we're friends, Ash..." the boy said, his back hunched from the pain that was shooting through him. Withdrawal was dreadful even for the strongest of bodies.
"No, Aiden. Our friendship doesn't stand the test of time when you don't fucking give me my money. Now, usually you've been pretty good about paying up, because I don't give you advance orders. It's usually a fair trade, and I only gave you the shit without payment first because you looked like you were about to die without it. It's been a week, and you still owe me 500 even, Dennison. That's not a very friendly thing to do, now is it?" Ashley said powerfully, taking a step closer to the boy, causing his lumbering frame to press against the grimy wall.
"N-not friendly at a-all, A-Ashley," the boy stuttered, his eyes wild with fear. Of all the dealers on the street, Ashley Davies was the worst.
She wasn't above disposing of her clientele if they stopped meeting payment, and she definitely wasn't someone to mess around with. Messing with Ashley Davies was one of the quickest ways to find yourself in a body bag. On rainy days like this, they'd never find your body, and the evidence would simply wash away. You'd be nothing but a memory and cautionary tale to her next customer.
"So, when can I expect my money, Aiden?" Ashley said, tapping her foot in a shallow puddle that had pooled just a few feet from where they were standing and soaking the bottom of Aiden's filthy jeans. He mustered up his courage and searched for the right answer, raising his eyes to hers and taking a deep breath.
"A week. Give me a week, Ashley," Aiden said, hoping that this wouldn't be too much of an insult to the girl.
She lowered her eyes, as if in thought and tucked her thumbs into the side pocket of her leather jacket. Her slightly damp brown curls fell over her shoulders as her head tilted down, and she didn't say a word in response. Aiden felt his chest tighten, delaying the sense of relief he hoped would come once she told him that he was in the clear.
"You've already had a week, Dennison. My patience wears thin. You know that..." Ashley said softly, her words barely a whisper and hardly audible over the rainfall, the pattering of water meeting pavement much louder now as the storm worsened. Aiden shivered slightly, but not from the cold. The intonation in her voice let him know that he might not leave this alley. He'd heard it before.
Two months ago, his best friend Glen had been in a situation with the girl. He had racked up quite a debt, and she had given him three days to take care of his fee. Aiden and Glen were both regular customers of Ashley's, and when the girl had given Glen his time-frame for payment, he had rushed to Aiden for help. The boy had been between jobs at the time, and Aiden couldn't have helped feeling sorry for him.
"I have $500 already, Aiden. Just...match that, please? That gives me a grand, and I'm sure I could hit my sister and brother up for a little more. I'll tell them that I'm buying a car or something and need money for a down payment. They both have good jobs, strong jobs – they'll be able to give me a little bit. A grand a piece is what I'm hoping for," Glen told him on that dismal day in the apartment that they shared.
"How much do you owe her?" Aiden asked him, trying to go over his finances in his head. He needed his money for the same thing that Glen did other than rent and food – heroin. The good stuff that Ashley seemed to get for dirt cheap and resell for sky-high rates.
That's how she could afford her cozy house in West Hollywood. Five hundred dollars for one dosage of the stuff, which usually filled only two syringes. Three if you were good at rationing the stuff.
"Three grand, Aiden," Glen said, his voice clouded over with shame.
"Jesus fucking Christ, Glen! How the fuck are you supposed to get that shit in three fucking days?" Aiden said as he stormed around the apartment, feeling a twinge of fear from his friend.
"I don't know, man. If you give me some and Spencer and Clay pitch in I should be fine. If not, I guess I hit the streets and hope to make a little money selling myself. Hopefully some lady will be willing to pay for my services," Glen said, crossing his arms as he leaned against a nearby wall, a chunk of plaster falling from it at his slight contact and onto their stained shag carpeting.
"It doesn't matter how I get it, Aiden. All I know is that she means business, man. I've already had a week, and she doesn't give fucking handouts. That bitch will kill me without thinking twice if I don't pay up by deadline."
"She won't kill you, Glen. She'll just probably get some of her cronies to beat the hell out of you," Aiden said with an exasperated tone, one of his large hands moving to his face and rubbing the dark stubble on his cheek.
"Like that's not bad enough?" Glen said, moving away from the wall and sitting on the floor, uncapping a beer bottle that was lukewarm from sitting out of the fridge for at least two hours and taking a drink before spitting it out onto the grimy carpeting. "Skunked."
"I don't have the money, Glen..."
"I don't have the money, Ashley," Aiden said, his words from before coming back to haunt him now as he was staring into the brunette's hollow eyes. He wondered for a brief moment if they had ever contained warmth or emotion. If she had ever known the touch or love of another that was more than the occasional fuck from a whore she picked up and took in for the night.
Two months ago, this woman had killed his best friend. Slit his throat in a filthy alley just like this one. It had been raining, and Aiden didn't find him until three hours after the fact, when he stepped outside for a cigarette. That alley was just outside their apartment.
He could have turned her into the cops, but the fact that his hands had been all over Glen's body when he found him would make the dark-haired boy look as guilty as sin.
Any jury would put the knife in his hands, because Ashley Davies was a ghost to everyone but her customers. She made damn sure that she could never be brought into an equation.
"Your friend Glen didn't have the money, either, Dennison. Do I need to remind you what happened to him? Your fallen comrade," Ashley said, removing a slender switchblade from the inner pocket of her jacket that was perfectly tailored to her slim frame. Aiden's eyes watched the glimmer of the steel as she activated the razor-sharp blade. His eyes never left it.
"N-no. I'll get the money," Aiden said, swallowing the lump in his throat. She put away the blade and smiled kindly at him, her eyes dancing with delight.
"Good boy, Dennison," she said, all traces of anger gone for the moment. It was almost comical how she could switch back and forth from predator to a girl you might meet on a swing in the park on a sunny day or bump into while shopping for Ramen and Easy Mac in the supermarket.
Someone nice, and quite beautiful when she was smiling. "You have three days. We'll meet here at sunset. I'll be getting a new shipment the day before, so if you have any spare cash, I'd be more than happy to make you another deal."
"I'll see you in three days, Ashley," Aiden said calmly, although he felt that his bladder could give way any moment from that sickening smile she was giving him. She nodded and walked out into the rain.
He pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for her to change her mind, return, and kill him. A few minutes after that, he heard a car engine start and tires squeal away. She was gone.
He put his hood up and walked down the alley to a phone booth just around the corner. He searched his pockets for a good ten minutes until he found two quarters to make a call. He called the first number that popped into his head – the only one that would be of any help to him now. Two rings. Three rings. Then a voice answered with a cheerful "hello."
The boy was so excited, he didn't know how to start in with his problems. He didn't even know how much time 50 cents would buy him with his friend, but time was definitely a factor. He decided that overkill would be a little too much, so simplicity was key.
"Spencer, I'm in trouble. I need your help. Can you meet me somewhere?"