All Chapters of The Lansing House: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

AsherHe surveyed the room once again, making sure that he’d cleaned up all the blood. The overwhelming smell was bleach, but he knew it would dissipate soon enough with the open window.He pulled the door closed behind him and headed back to his house. His eyes resembled slate; the gray was a dark and dangerous color. His face was void of emotion, like something inside of him had once been bruised and scarred but was now broken.The sun had broken through the darkness on the horizon, and the sky bore glorious shades of fiery reds and oranges as it mixed with the dark clouds that promised rain.He’d told Dakota to stay, and the dog had padded up the stairs to Melody’s room. Asher thought about moving his pillow bed up there because Dakota had clearly chosen his person.He quickly sprayed water into the back of his truck and watched as the red-tainted water ran down it. He quickly swept the water off with a broom before hosing it down again. If he’d missed any blood, it wouldn’t be tha

AsherA week went by, but nothing remarkable happened. Asher went about his duties on the ranch, and in his spare time, he started building the gazebo in his work shed.Dakota jumped into the truck with Maggie in the mornings, and went with Melody, but in the afternoons and nights, he stayed by Asher’s side until they went to bed. Then he went back to Melody and slept in her room, where his pillow bed now rested in one corner.Eden and Maggie kept themselves busy planning Melody’s first birthday party, and an idea came to him. He dusted the sawdust from his jeans, washed his hands, and headed to his truck.Asher didn’t have far to go. He spotted Pastor Mitchells in the coffee shop. Both Amy and Jennifer were there, but he gritted his teeth, and sat down opposite the man.“Good morning, Pastor.”“Asher, it’s good to see you. How is Maggie doing?”“She’s fine, but I wanted to talk to you about something,” Asher said.“Sure,” he replied.“I’ve asked Maggie to marry me,” Asher said. Jenni

AsherIt was 4 p.m. when the sheriff’s cruiser parked outside of Asher’s house. He took a deep breath and walked out of the shed toward the car. Dakota had returned an hour earlier, and now his ears pricked, a growl escaping from his throat.“Sheriff,” Asher said. “Easy, Dakota.”“I need to ask you some questions, Asher.”The Sheriff was in his mid-50s, had ruddy brown hair, brown eyes, and still looked fit for his age. He shaved every single day, combed his hair in a side parting, and you could almost see your own reflection in his shoes.“You want some coffee while you ask me these questions?”“That sounds good. I heard we might get more snow over the weekend,” Sheriff Bill Connely said.Asher led the Sheriff into his house and through to the kitchen. He filled the stovetop kettle and turned the gas on. The coffee machine would take too long for what Asher assumed would be a short conversation.The two men were silent in the kitchen as they waited for the water to boil, and once it

AsherFinn’s name flashed on the phone’s screen, and Asher wiped his hands on the back of his jeans before he answered.“Finn.”“Sheriff Bill Connely’s on his way to your house with a search warrant. Because we’re related, I’m not allowed to join him, but he called deputies in from Fork Valley to assist him.”“Do you know why?”“You’re officially a suspect in Malcolm Walters’ murder.”“Thanks, Finn.”“If there’s anything in the house, get rid of it. Now.”The call ended, and Asher stepped out of the shed. Three cruisers were headed down the road toward his house. It was too late now. A van followed behind the cruisers, and Asher gritted his teeth. It was a crime scene crew.He had no idea if they would actually find anything in the shed, but he knew the house was clean. He’d burned the shirt and hosed off his truck. He doubted they would find any blood on the bed of the truck.He walked to where Sheriff Connely had parked his cruiser, and the man had a grim look on his face.“Afternoo

AsherDeputy Sheriff Mike Olsen arrived an hour later to take him to processing. It grated on his nerves, having his fingerprints taken, and standing in front of the camera; it made him feel like a criminal.“Turn to your right,” he said.Asher turned, and he could feel the bright flash against his skin. It was all in his head, but the flash reminded him of other flashes; flashes in the night, followed by the sound of rapid machine gun fire. Stun grenades. Dead, nameless men.“Turn to your left.”It was a repeat of his last tour, flashing through his mind. Dead friends, dead brothers. Bodies left in the sand. The whir of a helicopter’s blades as they were flown back to base, bruised, bloody, and sometimes broken.“You can wash your hands over there,” Mike said.Asher could feel the darkness clouding his mind, creeping along his spine, settling in his soul. He closed his eyes as he washed the ink from his fingers. He needed to breathe.“Asher?”The darkness pulled away a little, and As