Ashes of Another Life Read Free Page A

after that, she didn’t take the pills anymore. She got pregnant twice more and died during childbirth the second time. Father said it was God’s revenge for her disobedient nature.”
    “Do you think it was?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t think God would take my mother as a punishment, no. It just doesn’t seem right. But medicine… it scares me to take it, all the same.”
    “I understand. And I think we’ve made progress today, just talking. You’re really opening up, and I appreciate it, but Tara Jane, I have to admit: The nightmares, the loss of appetite, the feeling of being watched. These are all symptoms of PTSD that can be treated .” She stood and began to walk around her desk, signifying the end of their meeting. “Will you do me a favor? Will you think about it, really consider trying the meds, and then come and see me first thing tomorrow?”
    Tara Jane nodded. She pushed out of the chair and steadied herself against the desk, feeling a bit woozy for a moment. She really did need to eat something if the simple act of standing was becoming a chore.
    She sighed. She passed an open window, and suddenly her breath hitched in her throat. She caught a glimpse of something, off in the distance. There one second, gone the next, on the edge of the parking lot. Her spine stiffened, familiar bumps on her skin.
    She blinked hard, but nothing was there. Only parked cars, an empty sports field with green grass swaying, and the lingering sensation that something out there had its eyes fixed on her.

Chapter Three
    The ringing of Casey Wendell’s phone took her by surprise. Her ash-blond hair, hanging in a stylish bob halfway down her neck, swung to the side as she jolted upright, plucked from deep thought. A collage of paperwork stirred, corners flapping. The pen she’d been chewing on clattered to the desk, a pink lipstick stain ringing its gnawed plastic end.
    It was her desk phone, not her cell, so it would be business-related. She took a moment to adjust herself, straightening her jacket as if the caller could see her. She lifted the receiver. “Casey Wendell speaking.” She eyed the open file in front of her. She’d been mulling over the Sweet Springs reports and lost track of time again. She frowned, picked up a photo and let it flutter back down.
    “Ms. Wendell. This is Vanessa Martinez,” said the caller.
    A long silence. Where did she know that name? The coffee machine in the break room was on the fritz again, and with no caffeine to sort out the millions of thoughts in her head, her brain had gone into auto-pilot mode.
    “I’ve been working with Tara Jane Brewer.”
    Recognition dawned on her. Martinez was a budding therapist who visited schools and counseled teens whose needs went beyond “troubled youth.” The courts had placed the latest Sweet Springs escapee in her care, in addition to appointing a psychiatrist, whose name also slipped Casey’s mind at the moment. She really needed some coffee.
    From an open file on the desk, the young girl’s pensive eyes stared up at her. She had already been thinking about Tara Jane when the phone rang. “Ms. Martinez. It’s good to hear from you.” She was suddenly tense, nerves set on edge. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”
    “The girl is fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m just wondering if there’s been any news from her… well, her community .” She sugar-coated the truth for propriety’s sake, but Casey sensed the reluctance in her voice, her tongue tripping over that last word.
    “Ah, yes. The dastardly cult.” She heard Martinez gasp, ever so slightly, then chuckle under her breath. Casey wasn’t one for political correctness when she sensed she could get by without it. “They’re pushing for full custody, and most likely, they’ll get it. It will take a while, but it’s possible she’ll have to go back. She has extended family there, and they want her to come home.” A couple seconds ticked by, then she added, “They