Don't Turn Around

by Hunter Morgan

  Maury liked the idea that someone knew who he was. Appreciated him for what he could do. So many couldn’t understand the skill, the intelligence it took. Danni understood.

  He picked up the new colored pencils he’d purchased. One more drawing couldn’t hurt.

  Casey’s office phone rang. “Casey McDaniel,” she said, glancing at a police report on her desk. A battered woman who had come into the ER this morning.

  “Miss McDaniel, Detective Martin with the state police.”

  Casey lifted her gaze from the sheet of paper in her hand. She hadn’t expected to hear from Detective Martin.

  “Just wanted to let you know one of our troopers paid a visit to Mr. Gaitlin.” He paused.

  “And?” she said into the phone.

  “He says he’s not harassing you.”

  There was something about his tone of voice that irritated her. “Don’t most stalkers say that, Detective?”

  He was silent. Now he was annoyed with her.

  Perfect, she thought. Now I’ve got the police angry with me. “I’m sorry, Detective. That was inappropriate.” She had seen Tiffany Reynolds, the abuse victim, in her hospital room half an hour ago. The twenty-two-year-old mother of three had a broken nose and possibly a ruptured spleen. She was getting a CAT scan now. “I appreciate you having someone speak with him.”

  “You should know, Miss McDaniel, that Mr. Gaitlin filed a complaint against you.”

  She sat back in her chair. “He what?”

  “He filed a complaint saying you’re harassing him by calling the police.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “These things happen, ma’am.”

  “So now what?” she asked.

  “His claim will be investigated. You might be contacted by a third party, a state investigator. Nothing will come of it, most likely, but we have to keep these checks in place. You understand?”

  “I understand.” Casey exhaled, feeling a little defeated. “And what about Mr. Gaitlin?”

  “The trooper suggested he keep his distance from you.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “It’s all we can do for now, ma’am.”

  Casey’s gaze fell to the police report on her desk. Tiffany’s boyfriend had been questioned. The police had been to their house several times in the past six months. He denied laying a hand on his girlfriend. In his statement, he said she had been taking amphetamines and was hallucinating. The police had requested a tox screen. The results hadn’t come back yet.

  “Thank you for your time,” Casey said, feeling slightly disembodied. She remembered standing in the doorway of her father’s study a few nights before she accepted the ride home with Billy. She remembered trying to tell him that she was afraid of her ex-boyfriend. Her father had asked her to make him another martini.

  “Have a good day, Detective,” Casey finally said into the phone. She hung up, feeling as if she could cry. Instead, she headed downstairs to Tiffany’s hospital room.

  “You gotta get a job, Charlie.” Angel pulled clear tubes shaped like candy canes filled with lip balm from a box. She stacked them on a shelf. “We can’t make the rent, pay for the gas in my car, and buy groceries. I can’t even pay Shonda this week for watchin’ Buddy, and he’s been there more this week than he’s been home.”

  Charlie munched on chips from a bag he’d taken from a display near the cash register. Angel would have to remember to put fifty cents in the drawer later.

  “Quit ridin’ my ass. I’m lookin’.”

  “You can’t just look. You have to put applications in. You have to follow up.” She eyed James, who was one aisle over. He was pulling the trigger on a plastic pistol over and over again. Click, click. Click, click. It was getting pretty annoying. “You can’t stay out all night, then sleep ’til three, then start thinkin’ about lookin’ for a job.”

  Click, click. Click, click.

  “You know, Angel, you used to be fun,” Charlie said, his mouth full of chips. “What happened to you?”

  “What happened?” she snapped, yanking the candy canes out of the box faster, slamming them down on the shelf. “You moved in.” She glanced across the aisle. “He moved in.”

  “Ah, Christ a’mighty, here we go again.”

  “He don’t work, either!”

  Click, click. Click, click. James walked around the end of the aisle toward them. He had two plastic pistols drawn firing both. Click, click. Click, click. “Man, she ridin’ you about the job thing again?”

  Charlie tipped back his head, poured the chip crumbs from the bag into his mouth.

  “You didn’t tell her our idea?” Lowering the plastic weapons, he looked at Angel. “He didn’t tell you?”

  “Tell me what?” She glared at Charlie.

  “Keep your mouth shut.” Charlie crumpled the bag in his hand. “She don’t need to know.”

  Angel picked up the empty cardboard box. She had to go into the back room for another case, but she was afraid to leave the two brothers alone for a minute. They’d steal half the stuff in the store in the time it’d take her to get back. God, she needed to get Charlie out of her house. She needed to get both of them out.

  “You better not be doin’ anything illegal,” she warned. “No drugs. You swore you wouldn’t. Too many people needin’ my place, Charlie. I told you that.” She hugged the cardboard box as she looked at James. “You’re supposed to be lookin’ out for your brother, not encouragin’ him to get into trouble.”

  James scowled, tucking the pistols into the front pockets of his jeans.

  There went another dollar.

  “We’re not selling weed out of the house. You think we’re stupid?”

  She wanted to answer, but the bruise on her cheek had just finally faded. She didn’t want to piss off Charlie too bad today. She just wasn’t up for the fight. Maybe it was the holiday spirit. Maybe she was just tired. “You talkin’ about a real job or you two rippin’ off old ladies again?” She started to walk toward the cash register. “I hope this isn’t that heater inspection scam idea of yours again, because—”

  “Come on, baby.” Charlie grabbed the hem of her shirt. “You worry too much. You want me to bring in some money? I’m going to bring in some money. Maybe some serious money down the road.” He winked at James as he put his arm around her. “Maybe get you something nice for Christmas.”

  Holding the box between them, she looked at him. She hated it when he sweet-talked her because she couldn’t resist him.

  “You know I love you, baby,” he crooned.

  She groaned. Every time he said it like that, it was like all her troubles melted away.

  “You love me, don’t ya, baby?” He leaned toward her for a kiss.

  He could be sweet when he wanted to. She gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I love you, baby. Now get out of here. I gotta get some work done.”

  “How about if we pick up Buddy, James and me? I’ll put him to bed. Make James stay and watch him when I come to get you after work. That way, you can go home, put your feet up.”

  She smiled. She still had another five hours. She’d be exhausted by closing time. “That’d be nice, Charlie.”

  “Let’s go,” Charlie told his brother. “Let my Angel get back to work.”

  She headed for the curtain to the storage room, her back to the brothers. “Leave the chips!” she hollered.

  She heard the crunch of bags as they each grabbed one on their way out the door.

  Chapter 18

  Casey pushed the grocery cart through the fresh-produce section, tossing in broccoli and a bag of carrots. She had a list, but she’d left it on the kitchen counter this morning…or on her desk at work. Somewhere.

  She tried to remember what they needed. Tried not to think about the envelope in her purse.

  She’d had a lousy day at work and ended up leaving early, but she had plenty of personal hours.

  She’d had a bad start this morning with an argument with her father. H
e’d gotten it in his head that he wanted to take the DART bus to the local senior center to play cards. He’d seen an advertisement on TV. He didn’t play cards. He’d never been to the senior center. When she’d suggested she look into it and they discuss it later, he’d accused her of smothering him. He wanted to go play cards today. Fortunately, she discovered after two phone calls, reservations had to be made twenty-four hours in advance for the bus to pick him up. With that information, she’d been able to stall him, but she had a feeling that wouldn’t be the end of it.

  These last couple of days, she had noticed an improvement in his cognitive skills, as well as his memory. Nothing definitive, but she was seeing small glimpses of the person he had once been. She wondered if he was noticing too, if this was what was giving him the confidence to even consider leaving the house without her, but she was afraid to ask.

  After her argument with her father, she’d arrived at work to bad news. Her abused client, Tiffany, had gone into surgery two days ago for a ruptured spleen. There were complications now. An infection. The doctors weren’t sure if she was going to pull through.

  And to top off the day, Gaitlin had sent her another one of his stupid drawings. This one came to work, again. It was in her bag now, practically burning a hole in the leather.

  She passed the organic foods section and grabbed a tin of Irish oatmeal. A bottle of salad dressing. She didn’t know what to do about Gaitlin. She had a call in to Adam’s office. He had promised her the last time they had spoken, right after the fund-raiser, that he was close to having Charles arrested again. She was beginning to wonder if that was true or he was just paying lip service to her. After seeing him in action at the fund-raiser that night, she had learned that he was definitely a player. Was he just playing her?

  Casey stopped the cart, then leaned over the packaged chicken. She liked breasts; her father liked thighs. She was just going to bake it. Both?

  A male voice behind her caught her attention and she immediately lifted her head to listen. She knew the voice. Better have eyes in the back of your head, he had said.

  She whipped around. Charles Gaitlin stood next to her, leaning over an open cooler. “Five-ninety-five for the bag,” he called to someone.

  Casey felt her heart leap in her chest. Her face grew warm. Walk away or face him? She turned to him. “Are you following me?” she demanded.

  He looked up, a bag of frozen meatballs in his hand. “Scuse me?”

  “Nah, don’t get ’em,” another male voice said. The same voice, but not the same man. Casey watched a second Charles Gaitlin approach the frozen-meat cooler. That was impossible, of course…unless he had an identical twin. But on closer scrutiny, she realized that the two men looked similar, but not identical. They had to be fraternal twins, or at least brothers.

  She stared at the two men. They were dressed similarly in dirty jeans and sweatshirts. The second one, the one wearing a navy down vest over his shirt, was Charles.

  He halted at the meat case, a box of generic cereal in his hand.

  “What are you doing here?” she said. “The police told you to stay away from me.”

  The brother looked at her, looked at Charles. He seemed to be amused. “Charlie’s got a right to buy food,” he said. “He wasn’t doin’ nothin’ but mindin’ his own business.”

  Casey grabbed her purse and pulled out the envelope. “And what about this?” she asked, shaking it at them. “I don’t suppose you know anything about this, either?”

  Shoppers were starting to stare. Casey could feel them watching her. Hear them whispering. Her voice was high-pitched; she was on the verge of losing control.

  “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about,” Charles grunted. “I didn’t send you anything. I told the police that.”

  “Harassment,” the Charles lookalike said. “I’m tellin’ you, Charlie, you’ve got serious harassment here. You’ve definitely got a case.”

  Casey suddenly felt as if the walls of the store were closing in around her. The shoppers’ voices, though the words indistinguishable, were getting louder. The room spun. Wobbled.

  She walked away from her cart, stuffing the envelope back into her bag. She headed straight for the doors in the front of the store. She went out into the cold fumbling for her keys. Locating her pepper spray. She made it into her car and locked all the doors. Then she just sat there shaking all over.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She knew this feeling. She hated this feeling.

  Her heart was pounding so rapidly that she felt as if it was going to burst from her chest. She was breathing hard, yet she couldn’t catch her breath.

  An anxiety attack, she told herself. It’s just an anxiety attack. She was still functioning. Still thinking. It wasn’t like before. Not like the breakdown. That had happened only once.

  But it felt like only yesterday….

  Breathe, Casey told herself. Don’t give in to it. Breathe.

  She’d been walking back from the campus library. Because her father was a professor at the university, she’d had borrowing privileges. She’d been working on a paper for her American government class. She’d heard Billy’s car pull up beside her. He’d been following her around for weeks. Showing up at her school. Even at church. Calling over and over again. Hanging up when anyone else in the house answered the phone.

  That night she’d kept walking. He had put down the passenger window of his white LeSabre. He had talked to her through the open window.

  He had wanted her to get into the car.

  It had started to rain and she didn’t have her backpack with her. If the books got wet, if they got ruined, she’d owe a ton of money to the library. Money she didn’t have…

  Casey took a shuddering breath as she gripped the steering wheel in front of her. It had all seemed so logical in her sixteen-year-old mind.

  She was suddenly cold. She was shaking so hard because she was cold. She opened her eyes, carefully slid the key into the ignition, and started the car. The engine was still warm. She’d only been in the store ten minutes. Hot air blasted her face.

  The image of Billy’s car faded in her mind.

  She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel again. She wasn’t ready to drive yet, but she was feeling better. More in control.

  Billy, the car, her breakdown—that was in the past. Long in the past. She wasn’t a sixteen-year-old anymore. Charles Gaitlin couldn’t hurt her. Not if she wouldn’t let him. She had to take legal steps to protect herself. That was what she always recommended that her clients do.

  She glanced at the clock on the dash. It was only three-forty. If she hurried, she could get to family court before it closed.

  Taking a deep breath, she glanced in her rearview mirror and carefully eased out of the parking space. Billy might have won, but Charles wasn’t going to.

  “So there’s no way I can file for a restraining order?” Casey pushed the hair from her eyes in frustration.

  “Not here. Not you.” The young black clerk leaned over her desk. “To get what you’re askin’ for, an emergency order of protection from abuse, this guy, the respondent, he’s got to be your daddy, your husband, your baby’s daddy, something like that,” she ticked off on her long, curled fingernails stenciled with snowmen. “And if he was one of them, you’d have to be able to convince the judge that he could hurt you. Usually they got to threaten you.” She sat back in her chair matter-of-factly. “Most women who come in here, they got bruises. They got broken arms. Busted-out teeth. And tears. They always got plenty of tears.”

  Casey should have realized before she raced over here that she couldn’t file a PFA. She knew from experience with her clients who it protected and from what. But hearing someone say it out loud still angered her. “Ah, so if he’s my boyfriend and he breaks my arm, then I can legally require that he stay a certain distance from me? What if he kills me? Does he have to stay fifteen feet from my coffin at all times?”

  The young woman frowned, crossing her arms
over her large breasts. “I ain’t sayin’ it’s right,” she said under her breath. “Just sayin’ how it is.”

  Casey sat in the chair for a moment staring at the floor. The clerk was right, of course. She looked back at the young woman. “Okay, tell me something. If I file this petition anyway, even though you and I know it won’t go through, what happens?”

  “You got to say what the relationship is. If I see it ain’t your boyfriend, your daddy, or your husband, I can’t accept your petition.”

  “What if I lie?” she asked desperately. “What if I say he’s my boyfriend?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I ain’t never heard that one. I wouldn’t suggest it, though.” She pointed one long nail at Casey. “Contempt of court is what you might get, wastin’ the court’s time. You might be the one endin’ up in jail, ’stead of that pond scum who won’t leave you alone.”

  “So what do I do?” Casey opened her arms. “What does someone like me do? What would you do?”

  The clerk snickered. “Me? I got two brothers size of refrigerators. Linebackers when they was in high school. I’d sic Tashawn and Dontrelle on ’im, is what I would do.”

  Casey almost smiled. She didn’t condone violence of any sort, but right now, a big brother would come in pretty handy. “So what if I don’t have a big brother?” she asked. “What other options do I have?”

  “Might try the court of chancery, where you can sometimes get a restrainin’ order, but that’s expensive. You got to have a lawyer, and really I don’t think what yer talkin’ ’bout applies. They take mostly civil matters, people walkin’ ’cross your property thinkin’ they have the right and other nonsense like that.” The clerk leaned forward. “And you said you already been to the police, sugar?”

  “They won’t do anything. They say they can’t, not without any proof.”

  “Figures.” The clerk scowled. “Always seems that’s the way it is. Least in my neighborhood.”

  “But it’s not the police’s fault.” Casey gathered her coat and bag to go. “They’re just following the law; unfortunately, the law isn’t on my side this time.”