Maybe it’s for the best.

Nothing more to her name but a small cell, an even smaller, barred window letting in a pale winter sun, and a strange serenity of waking up from a half-forgotten night out. 

Ash lies on her back on this rock-hard cot, resting the back of her head on her arm. One leg pulled up, the other hanging off, and the fingers on her free hand drumming against her stomach. Her head’s thrumming with the discordant beat of a hangover headache. Not just a hangover, though, is it? Flashes of last night, broken, torn like an abstract painting; red-blue strobes in the rear view mirror, a heavy foot on the gas. Not her car, it was way too fancy for that. Heavy snow crashing against the windshield, a tunnel vision of white dots over dark roads. Then the black ice. The snow drifts pulling the wheels in. A car worth more money than she’ll ever see in her life turning upside down, tumbling into and out of the roadside ditch. It stopped, eventually, when it crashed against a large tree. A fresh blanket of snow fell from its thick branches, covering the wreck as if to hide from the sheriff’s cruiser right behind her. The red and blue lights approach, footsteps crunch through thick snow. 

Hell of a ride.

Ash will be processed properly in the morning. Soon, she thinks, her eyes straining against the light coming through that tiny window of her cell. 

Yeah, maybe it’s for the best. At least in jail she won’t have to try and sell drugs to rich assholes, or steal their cars as payment when they get a bit too physical for her liking. Right after a kick to the balls, that is. Jail might be quiet, much like this holding cell in the local station. No more parties to scout for marks. No more scams and deals and shitty customers. No more boring little towns and their boring little people.

Her fingers stop tapping her stomach. Someone’s coming. Their steps echo through the hallway leading to her cell. The sound mixes with the pain and distorted memories of night. Of crashing metal, breaking glass, crunching snow. She can’t help but flinch and moan a bit. 

Eyes pressed shut tight to block out any more that awful light, she tries to block out the jangle of keys and snapping the lock. Or the grinding and squeaking of the cell door as it opens.

“Just a few more minutes, Sheriff,” she says, without knowing who is actually entering her cell. She assumes it’s Sheriff Stan Owens. She’s too out of it to hear the expensive shoes clacking against the cement floor, or to smell the expensive perfume. By the time she realizes that something is off, the person sits themselves on the cot, forcing Ash to slide over against the wall. Every bit of movement hurts after last night’s crash.

She opens her eyes to look at her visitor, even though she already knows—deep down—who it is. When she does, she instinctively wants to pull back, sit upright. Instead, the Boss puts a hand on her shoulder, firm but gentle, to encourage her to stay right as she is. 

“Easy now,” the Boss says. “Right there is fine, Ashley.”

Ash grunts. The Boss is wearing an expensive coat around her shoulders, her one arm reaching out from underneath it to hold Ash down. Hair and makeup are perfect. Behind her, Sheriff Owens stands by the cell door, putting his keyring back on his belt loop, and then just walks away. 

“Don’t worry, Stan is a friend of mine. He won’t be a problem for you, not this time.” Something wicked hides in her soft smile. 

“Okay,” Ash says, not sure why the Boss would bother to come here herself. Best she starts explaining herself, before the mood changes in this cell. “Deal went bad last night. Things got out of hand—“

The Boss interrupts her with a firm press against her shoulder, sending pain down her body. “What am I going to do with you, niece? Your reckless behavior is costing us clients, not to speak of the exposure assault and grand theft auto tend to cause. I’m of half a mind to just leave you here, Ash. Make you pay for your mistakes.” 

Ash strains against the Boss’s—her aunt’s—hand. Finally, the Boss lets up and slides back, allowing Ash to sit up. She rubs her neck, embarrassed, hungover, hurt. “I know, I know. I messed up. Again. I’d like to tell you that it’ll be the last time, but let’s face it, I’m a mess. I’m not cut out for this shit, you know?” 

A moment of terrible silence. Deafening, threatening. 

“While I find your honesty refreshing, Ashley, it’s also somewhat concerning.” The Boss gets up from the cot. 

Ash remains seated. “What can I say? Crashing an expensive car and waking up a cell affords a certain clarity, I guess.” Maybe that’s true, maybe it’s just the confusion from the hangover and pain, but she goes on to say, “Listen, I appreciate all that you have done for me. Really do. But I don’t think this life is for me anymore. I just need a change of scenery, you know? Move to a different town, or to the city even.” In truth, Ash has no idea what she would do if given the chance. No real education, no cash, no prospects. Does she want to work at a fast food joint for the rest of her life? Or fall back into crime for someone else, someone less understanding of her situation? Ash doesn’t know. All she knows is that she needs to stop this.

Her aunt, her boss—the Boss—takes a few steps forward. Ash braces for the worst, and so is hit quite hard and by surprise when she says, “I understand.”

Ash is about to say something in protest, in self-defense, raise a shield, make a plea. All the arguments deflate right out of her. “You, you what?”

The Boss turns back around to face her. “I’ve not been giving you the chances you deserve. Ever since I came back to town, after I found you practically orphaned, I was so busy rebuilding it all from the ground. I’ve been given an incredible opportunity here, and I was blinded by that. I wanted to keep you out of it at first, you know?”

Ash is at a loss for words. Meetings with the Boss don’t usually go that positively for anyone but the Boss herself. “Yeah, I mean, sure. You have a business to run, responsibilities. I get that. I didn’t mean to imply that you did anything wrong here, or that I don’t get all that you have done for me.”

“Let’s move forward then, shall we?” She reaches out a hand for Ash to take, to help her up. “I want to give you a real chance to make something out of yourself. Right here, within the organization.”

Ash takes the hand, forcing herself up against the pain and sudden onset of dizziness and turning stomach. She clears her throat, finds her balance. “What do you have in mind?” 

“I have a job, and I want you to be in charge of it. Take on some responsibility, prove yourself.” 

“Me?” Ash can’t really believe it. Is this a joke? No, her aunt doesn’t joke, especially when it comes to her line of work. The look in the Boss’s eyes is nothing but serious. “What is this job?” A tremor in her voice, the possibilities beginning to spiral in her mind. 

“Not here, Ashley. As much as I’m sure the Sheriff values our privacy, we wouldn’t want to accidentally implicate him with untoward information that puts him in conflict with his sworn duties.” She walks out of the cell and gestures for Ash to do the same.

But Ash hesitates. If she walks out now, if she follows her aunt out of this cell, there’s no turning back. And her aunt knows that.

“The choice is yours, Ashley. Stay in this cell, let good old Sheriff Owens do his job, and find yourself locked up for good. Or walk with me, and rise to your true potential.” 

Maybe she should think this through better. Maybe she should refuse. But she was just given a chance to prove herself. That’s not something she has had happen to her, well, ever. Time to make something out of herself. 

She takes a step outside of the cell, a step toward her new future.

The Boss smiles. “Good. And don’t worry about that client of yours and his car. It’s all taken care of.” Taken care of could mean all sorts of things, though Ash is pretty sure which of them it is. 

The Boss continues, “You are family, after all. And he was treating you not the way you deserve to be treated. Let me fix that.”

Together, they leave the station without any problems. Sheriff Owens doesn’t even look up from his desk, avoiding eye contact as best as he can, much to the dismay of his deputy, who is not yet on the Boss’s payroll. 

They pull away from the building in which she was locked up just moments ago, and Ash’s starting to get a good feeling about this.

Yes, this is for the best.