Slow Burn by Conrad Jones

his hand. Ash hoped it was Mamood, drunk and keyless, but something told him that it wasn`t.

     “Who`s there?” Ash stood with his back to the wall at the side of the door. If a random bullet was fired it would miss the target by miles. “Who is it?” He peeped a quick glance through the glass, but he couldn’t see anything. Lana appeared on the staircase, hugging her dressing gown tightly around her neck with both hands. If an attacker fired a twelve-gauge shotgun through the door, then she was in the line of fire, and could be hit by the spray of lead shot. “Lana!” Ash hissed. “Get back up the fucking stairs, now!”

    Lana was torn. She was worried sick about Mamood, but the site of her husband wielding a baseball bat did not do anything to allay her fears. Why was Ash being so skittish? What did he think was beyond the front door?

    “Move, Lana!” his voice boomed up the stairs, and she turned and ran to the top of the landing. She stooped to her knees and peered between the balustrades so that she could see the front door. She looked like a child peeking through the rails. Ashwan flicked a light switch near the door. Security floodlights illuminated the front lawn. To his left was the study. It had bow windows protruding out from the main elevation. Ash kept close to the wall as he crept into the study. He navigated his way across the polished oak floorboards, around the leather topped desk, to the widow. He moved the heavy velvet drapes a fraction and peered out onto the lawn. The curved bay windows allowed him a clear view of the garden, and the porch area. The front door was visible, and there was no one there. He swept the grassed areas and caught his breath. There was a rolled object dumped near the double garage, to the right of his vision. It could be a carpet, or a large refuse sack. It could also be a body. Ashwan thought about Mamood, and blood pounded through his brain. He gripped the baseball bat so tightly that his knuckles went white.

     “Who is it, Ash?” Lana`s voice made him jump.

     “For fuck`s sake, Lana!”

     “What`s going on, is it Mamood?”

    “Get back up the stairs, Lana!” Ash shouted at the top of his voice. “Get back up the fucking stairs!”

     “Don`t use that language to me, Ash!” Tears filled her eyes. Ashwan was secretive and sometimes moody, but he never abused her, verbally or physically. Something was very wrong. “Don`t ever swear at me Ashwan Pindar!” 

     Lana stared at her husband, and she didn’t recognise him. The veins in his neck were stretched to snapping point. His temples pulsed visibly with the pressure. She backed out of the study frightened, hot tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks. She had never seen Ash this scared before. What had he seen through the window? Why was he acting so bizarrely? Where was her son? Lana sat on the bottom step and bit her fingernails as her husband opened the front door. He looked around cautiously, and then walked out into the night with the bat cocked ready to strike.

     Ash walked slowly toward the double garage. He looked left and right, scanning the dark beyond the reach of the security lights. Nothing stirred. The roll looked plastic, reflective in some way. As he got closer, the shape of a body took shape beneath the cellophane wrapping. There was blood pooled from the waistline down, blurring the outline of the legs and feet. He moved closer, praying that it was not his son. His life was a charade, a family man on one side, and a gangster on the other. Ashwan`s enemies were many, and his biggest fear was that one day they might come looking for him in his family world. He was staring his fears in the eye as his two worlds collided. The time had come to reap the rewards for the suffering that he had sown over the years.

    Ash could make out a face through the plastic. The facial features were squashed and misshapen by the wrapping. The eyes were wide open, rolled backward into