“Miss, what’s your name, and where do you live?” The woman answered in the same guarded fashion.
“My name is Cynne’ Barns, ma’am, and I live in Windsor Virginia. Listen, if you would like, I can send you a photo online, right now, of Kare…I mean Cassandra, to prove to you I’m telling you the truth! Just give me a minute to hook my digital camera up to the computer. What’s your email address?” she asked as she held the phone with one hand, and fumbled with the camera with the other. After receiving the information, she said, “Hang on just a sec, and open your email, I’ll only be a few seconds.”
Placing her still-open phone down, her hands flew over the keyboard, opening her yahoo mail account. Quickly uploading the picture, she hit *send*, snatched the phone back up and said, “Ok, you should be getting it any second…”
“Alright…”
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the woman gasp loudly, then begin to cry.
“Ohhhh my baby!" the voice wailed. “My baby is alive and well. Oh, thank you Jesus, thank you Lord, thank you for hearing my prayers!”
The relief and joy in the woman’s voice was music to her ears, and unable to help herself, she began to weep for joy herself. She would have never thought something like this would happen to her, she had always believed things like this only happened on television. She was responsible for reuniting a long lost child with her mother!
“Ms. Barns, Cynne’, oh, how can I ever thank you? Thank you, so, so much! God bless you!”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Ames, and your relief and happiness are all the reward I need or want.”
“Please, can you tell me about her? How is she, what is she doing? “
“Well, ma’am, Karen is the name I know her by, Karen Washington. Physically she is mostly well, except for fatigue and frequent migraines,” she replied cautiously, not wanting to traumatize the woman about the attack three years prior. “And, well, there’s this one thing, she doesn’t remember her life as Cassandra Mortenson.
“What do you mean?”
For the next hour she told the woman about Cassandra and her new life, explaining that her loss of memory was due to some type of accident Cassandra had been in, which she never discussed with anyone. The lie made her feel guilty, but she felt it was a necessary evil at the time, and that the news of the vicious attack should be made known to her only after seeing with her own to eyes that Cassandra was healthy, physically. Before hanging up, they made arrangements for Jocelyn to fly out to meet her the next day.
Chapter 6
Crawling up on her bed with a plate of Mongolian Beef, Karen smacked her lips in anticipation. She was addicted to the food from a small, mom and pop Chinese take-out on her block. Every Sunday she would order after she returned home from early mass. The ritual had been going on for so long in fact; the owners always had her food prepared and ready for her before she ever walked through the door.
The incident with the Asian man from the day before completely forgotten, she planned on eating and watching season eight of the X-files on DVD, a gift Brett have given her for Christmas. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh. This was her idea of a relaxing day. This was basically the only free time she ever had. When she wasn’t working at the children’s home, she was doing volunteer work.
Taking her pills from her nightstand, she took her new medication, chasing it down with a big gulp of diet coke.
Clinking the DVD player on, she sighed again, completely content, starry-eyed at the sight of David Duchovny. Balancing her plate on her lap, she dug into her food with gusto.
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Frustrated, Granger paced the sitting room in the Flagstone Inn. He had arrived four hours after getting the call from Raidon Bishop, and he had had to wait ten hours for the man to show up. And he wasn’t a man who was used to waiting on other people.
“I went to Doctor Parker’s office, the shrink who’s been treating your wife since her attack, and I found these in the office.” Raidon said as he nearly hurled the pictures down on the table. Ever since seeing photos himself, he had barely managed to contain his fury.
Stopping to pick up the pictures, Granger wasn’t prepared for the shocking sight. His eyes grew wide, and his ears started ringing. Suddenly lightheaded, he stumbled back into a Queen Ann chair, collapsing as his legs gave out. “How…who…what….?” he stammered as anguish seared deeply into his soul. The photos slid from his fingers to the floor, and he slumped forward. “My God, what happened to her, and WHO did that to her?” he said in a choked voice as rage gripped his entire being.
An almost palpable silence hung over the room.
“You heard me, who did this to her!” he roared, then snatched up the pictures from the floor and waved them in the direction of Raidon. Looking down at them again, he found himself hoping it had all been a big mistake that that wasn’t his lovely wife he was looking at. But deep down, he knew it was. The photos were awful. Her eyes were swollen almost completely closed, and her entire face was more dull purple and yellow in color, than it was the natural, beautiful chocolate color he loved so much. Her nose had been broken, and there was a long, deep gash on her head. In another photo, he saw a large patch of her hair had been shaved, exposing the long row of stitches that had been needed in order to close the wound. There were stitches over her left eye, and above her upper lip. My God, how could she endure a beating like this and live? Thank God she survived…he thought as a raw and primitive grief overwhelmed him. He wanted to find out who did this, and choke the life out of him with his bare hands. After he had broken every bone in the person’s body. No matter what it took, no matter what it cost, he was determined to find the person responsible.
Unable to look at them any longer, he placed them back down on the table. “Who did this to her?” he asked again in a deadly voice, staring at the private investigator menacingly.
Without so much as flinching, Raidon returned the look with one equally menacing. “I thought you could tell ME that, Mr. Mortenson.” he said slowly and deliberately, the implication clear.
Instantly, Granger became more livid than ever. He had never tried to fool himself, he knew he wasn’t the nicest or most likeable man in the world, he was, after all, in a cutthroat business, and was ruthless himself at times. However, he would sever his own hand before he would ever raise it against her, or his son. No one could understand what she had meant to him, and still did. Cassandra was the one woman in his life who had loved him completely and unconditionally, without ever asking for anything in return other than his love. Before their problems had begun, she had taught him what love and compassion was. While growing up, he had never truly received love or affection from his parents, they had both wanted him to be hard, and driven, and feared that hugs, kisses, and praise were seeds of weakness. His father had wanted him to be as hard and ruthless as he was, and his mother had wanted a powerful, wealthy son who made people cower in fear. But Cassandra could soothe him with a touch, her eyes could calm the aggressive inner beast he had used to run people over countless times, in order to get what he wanted. She had made him be a better man, and then…..everything started going wrong. He may never have been the best at expressing his love, but he did love her, even now. “I’ve never laid a hand on my wife, nor any other woman, you understand me?" he said in a deceptively calm voice. “But when I find out who did this to her, I’ll kill him. Now, tell me, where is she? Take me to her, and I mean RIGHT NOW!” he finished with a roar.
Raidon still had his doubts. From the man’s behavior it was evident that, like so many other wealthy, powerful men, this one wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, and his mercurial outbursts had made him seem more like a man who was prone to abusiveness, rather than a loving husband. And he wouldn’t lead an abuser to his victim, no matter how much money was offered. Could I be letting my personal feelings blur my judgment? He thought.
“Well, are you
going to answer me, or will that cost extra?”
Ignoring the remark, he replied, “Mr. Mortenson, as you saw for yourself, your wife endured an unusually viscous attack. Now, in my experience, for someone to do what they did to her, they are almost always fueled by extreme emotions. This wasn’t someone trying to rob her, they wanted her dead. It’s what’s called overkill. Whoever did that wanted to completely destroy her, and smashing her face was their way to destroy their own memory of her. Whoever did this was fueled by two emotions, hate, and jealousy. Are you a jealous man, Mr. Mortenson?” His eyes never leaving Granger’s, he studied the man’s facial expressions carefully. Receiving no answer or reaction, he continued. “Her injuries were indeed extensive. Her jaw had to be wired, then her teeth in the front had to be worked on. She suffered broken ribs, and a plastic surgeon had to reconstruct her nose. The head trauma she suffered was so bad I’m surprised she lived, and even more surprised she’s not some drooling vegetable.”
The force of the words finally hitting him like a ton of bricks, the color drained from Granger’s face, and a heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
“From the doctor’s report, and other sources, she doesn’t remember her past, Mr. Mortenson, she remembers nothing of her marriage to you. The lost memory could be the result of either her head injuries, or the attack was so traumatizing she’s subconsciously chosen to block it out. I’m betting it’s both.”
Up until this point Malcolm had stood by silently, watching the two alpha males sizing each other up. No fool, he knew Raidon was insinuating his boss had perpetrated the cowardly attack on his wife. He also knew the private investigator had a deep seeded hatred for all abusers of women. This was because when he was a child, his father, an abusive alcoholic, had murdered his mother, and then committed suicide. This took place while he was hidden in a safe spot in the house, a hiding place his mother had placed him in, in order to protect him from his drunken father. He had heard the sounds of his mother being murdered, then the suicidal gunshot. Even at the age of eight he had felt responsible for not helping protect his mother, it didn’t matter he was only a terrified little boy. But luckily, he had found some stability with an adoptive African American family, but he had never healed, and kept most people at a distance. All this Malcolm knew because he and Raidon had served together in the army, as Airborne Rangers. Their acquaintance was what had gotten Raidon the job to begin with.
Walking over to the table where the pictures were, he picked them up and shook his head. “Raidon, Mr. Mortenson wouldn’t. …couldn’t do something this awful. Do you think I would protect him if I thought he was capable of something such as this? She’s in no danger from him, tell us where she is. Please.”
Knowing Malcolm as a man of honor, he nodded, then said, “Alright, I’ll take you, but there is one condition. My sister is a clinical psychologist, and luckily she works at Lonesome Pine Hospital right here in town. I want her to come with us, just in case Mrs. Mortenson suffers any…negative reaction after seeing you, or after what it is we’ll be telling her. I’ve already informed my sister of her condition, and she’s prepared to help.” Seeing Granger was less than thrilled with his proposal, he added, “This is the only way I’ll take you to her.”
Granger wanted to refuse, he had always went out of his way to keep his private life from the prying eyes of the public, but he would do whatever needed to be done in order to see his wife again. With a cool nod, he replied, “Alright, let’s do it.”
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Cassandra was glad she had decided to go for an afternoon walk. Breathing deeply, she savored the evening air that smelled of freshly mown grass, and enjoyed the sounds of laughter coming from neighborhood kids playing. She had found and purchased a novel Cynne’ had told her about, and on a whim, had decided to treat herself to a manicure and pedicure.
Sipping her vanilla mocha coffee, she waved and smiled at several people here and there, and stopped occasionally to make small talk with neighbors. Children were running up and down the street playing, while their mothers stood watching them, all the while gossiping about the other neighbors. Several senior citizens sat at the community garden, on picnic benches, regaling themselves with tales of yesteryear. It was what she loved the most about the area she lived in, it had a modern-day, Mayberry feel to it, laid back, unlike the rat race in a large city.
As she strolled down the street she noticed a black Hummer parked in front of her apartment building. It was rare to see such an expensive vehicle in the small, sensible, working class mountain town. As she got closer, she noticed several children looking over the vehicle, admiring the expensive rims. When she got within a few feet of the Hummer the front doors opened, and the children moved back as a man and woman got out and walked towards her.
“Ms. Washington?”
Freezing in place, she immediately recognized the tall, handsome Asian man, the one who had spoken to her at the street fair. Standing beside him was a tall African American woman, who smiled disarmingly. Still, it was unsettling to her that he knew her name. How did he know my last name was Washington? I didn’t tell him my name when he approached me at the street fair! She thought, and her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she took two steps back.
The man stopped and held up his hands. “Wait…wait….we just want to speak with you, that‘s all.”
The rear doors of the hummer swung open, and two more men, one white, one black, stepped out, which further spooked her. Both of them were well over six feet tall, but it was the white man that really caught her attention. His gaze was riveted on her, there was no other word for it, and he had a commanding air about him, a massive, self-confident presence. He was dressed in an expensive tailored suit that softened his rugged good looks. He had a deadly look to him also, and his square jaw sported days-old stubble. His black, wavy hair gleamed in the sunlight, and fell a few inches above his crisp white collar.
When her own gaze met and locked onto his cold, cobalt eyes, she suddenly felt her knees grow weak. Oh God, his eyes, he was the one who hurt me! She thought, wanting to scream it aloud. But she was paralyzed with fear, incapable of flight or words.
Advancing another step towards her, the man spoke in a hoarse voice. “Cassandra, don‘t you remember me?” he said as he reached out to her, almost tentatively.
With inner alarms going off, she finally found her legs and took two steps back fearfully.
“Wait, wait, don’t run, listen to me! My name is Granger, Granger Mortenson, and…I’m your husband.”
Granger! The name rang in her mind. Then, almost as if someone was standing right beside her, whispering in her ear, a voice rang out in her mind. He’ll kill you if he finds you! And he will make certain he finishes the job, this time! The coffee she had only moments before been enjoying slipped from her suddenly nerveless hand, the hot liquid splashing all over her shoes.
Seeing the woman’s distress, Joy, Raidon’s adoptive sister, stepped forward and spoke in a warm, confidential tone. “Mrs. Mortenson, I’m Doctor Joy Bishop. Listen, I know you’re confused right now, but there’s something very important about your past that you need to know about, some things we need to tell you. If you would just allow us to talk to you somewhere else, somewhere where you’re more comfortable, it would make things easier on all of us. It can be anywhere you like, any place you feel safe. We just want to help you, I promise.”
Feeling a sudden, sharp pain wash from the bridge of her nose to the back of her head, her mind screamed, Don’t trust them! Brett is the only one I can trust! Shaking her head violently and refusing to listen, she slowly backed away, stammering, “I….I don’t know what you’re talking about, my…name isn‘t Cassandra, it‘s Karen. Just leave me alone.”
Seeing the look of terror and confusion on her face, Granger’s heart nearly broke. Forgive me for ever believing you just walked away… he thought. Looking around quickly, he noticed several neighbors watching the
m with obvious interest. “Cassandra come with me.” he said in a calm, soothing voice. “We can’t talk like this, not for everyone to see and hear.”
Stepping closer towards his wife, he felt Joy’s hand grip his arm, but he pulled free and held his arms out in a pleading gesture.
Suddenly she turned and bolted, screaming at the top of her lungs.
The scream alerted several teenage boys on a basketball court across the street, and they immediately stopped playing. Turning around to look, their faces became grim. Theirs was a close-knit neighborhood where most people looked out for one another. Dropping the ball, they charged towards Granger’s group to protect their frightened neighbor.
As Granger took off after his terrified wife, several of the young men blocked his way.
“Hey man, leave her alone!” a tall white teenager shouted, while a young black male tried to shove him back.
Remember Me Page 6
