The Return of Cassandra Todd

by Darrel Nelson

  “What’s your story, dear?” Loretta asked, taking Cassandra’s hand.

  Cassandra told it, chapter by chapter.

  When she finished, Loretta had tears in her eyes too. “Do your parents live in town?” she inquired, her voice filled with emotion.

  “No, they divorced several years ago and went their separate ways. Dad ended up in New York and died of a heart attack last year. Mom now lives in LA and is an alcoholic. She had problems before the divorce, and it only got worse afterward.” Her expression clouded over. “She’s in no position to help me.”

  “Are there any relatives you could contact?”

  Cassandra wiped her eyes, folding and unfolding the tissue.

  “They all live back east.”

  “Then we’re going to have to proceed without their help,” Loretta said. “We’ve got to get you and your son to a safer place until things can be worked out. If your husband finds you and forces you to return home . . . ” She paused, letting the ominous silence suggest possibilities.

  “I know where Cassandra can go,” Turner said, anxious to make a contribution. “To a women’s shelter.”

  “Women’s shelters can be a haven for abused women, true,” Loretta said. “But the local one isn’t. My friend Mary Sweet worked there as a volunteer. She quit when a drug-crazed woman threatened her with a knife. The shelter admits addicts, alcoholics, freeloaders, and abusers. It doesn’t have proper screening or accountability.” She glanced at Justin, who was eating contentedly at the table. “That’s not where we want to send that little boy.”

  Turner nodded in agreement.

  “However, you may be on to something,” Loretta added.

  “Mary still counsels abused women privately, in her home. She can help you contact a lawyer, fill out the police reports so charges can be filed, and—”

  “I can’t go to the police,” Cassandra said, cutting her off and glancing at Justin, who was wiping a drop of milk from his shirt.

  “But you’ve got to protect yourself and your child,” Loretta protested.

  Cassandra shook her head determinedly. “Last year a friend of mine went to the police and told them she was being abused by her husband. A restraining order was issued, he was kicked out of the house, and she got sole custody of the children. He was charged with assault. But while waiting for his court appearance, he broke into their home, severely beat her, and took the children and disappeared. She was in the hospital for three weeks. I can’t risk losing Justin. Brad would do the same to me. Or worse.”

  The saturated tissue was back up to her face. Then biting her lip, she slid her shirt partway down over her shoulder. Dark bruises were evident on her back and upper arm.

  Loretta sucked in a sharp breath, and Turner scowled grimly.

  “Justin was playing with Brad’s trophies and didn’t put them back in the right order,” Cassandra explained. “When Brad got home, he went ballistic. I told him I had been dusting them. He said I had violated him and didn’t respect his accomplishments. And if I ever touched his trophies again”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“he’d make me pay.”

  “Over something that minor?” Loretta gasped.

  Cassandra pulled her shirt back over her shoulder. “It wasn’t minor to him. He punched me several times and stormed into the bedroom, waiting for me to come and . . . apologize. If he’d found out it was Justin who had disturbed his trophies, there’s no telling what he would have done to him. That’s when I knew I had to take Justin and leave. And never go back.”

  Turner felt himself growing angrier by the minute. He knew Brad and what he was capable of doing. Brad had been a champion on the gridiron. But what kind of champion beat up women and threatened children?

  “Mary lives in Colorado Springs,” Loretta said. “You need to visit her so she can counsel you and help you decide what to do.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother,” Cassandra said. “Your friend doesn’t even know me.”

  “She knows you . . . because she knows many other women in your position.”

  Cassandra hesitated. “I don’t have any money for bus fare.

  Not until I can finalize things at the bank.”

  “Money is no problem,” Loretta said.

  “You can buy a bus ticket at the depot and—” Turner began.

  “The bus depot is probably being watched,” Loretta said, interrupting him. “You’ll have to drive instead.”

  Turner didn’t own a car, but he knew Harvey and Loretta did. A silver 1992 Buick Century, in mint condition. It had been an inheritance from Loretta’s uncle, now deceased. She had never learned how to drive, but she was still the keeper of the keys.

  “You’re offering the use of your car, Mama Retta?” Turner asked.

  “It’ll do the old girl good to get out on the road again. Harvey just putters around town in it.” At the mention of her husband, she paused a moment. “By the way, I’d just as soon he didn’t know about this for now.”

  “Understood,” Turner said.

  “You can leave tonight,” Loretta said, and Turner noticed she was looking directly at him.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You need to go with them. See that they arrive safe and sound. I’ll call Mary and let her know you’re coming. Let me use your cell phone, Turner.”

  When Turner looked at her questioningly, she added, “In case the motel telephone lines have been tapped.”

  Turner decided not to mention that although there was a time that it was impossible to monitor cell phone conversations, everything changed with 9/11. Technology now existed to trace and listen in on cell phone conversations with the ease of the proverbial fly on the wall. But there was still a chance their pursuers didn’t yet have access to equipment that rivaled Homeland Security’s.

  He handed her his cell phone and then turned to Cassandra, awaiting her response. She looked at Loretta, who held the cell phone poised for action, and then slipped into the bedroom momentarily. She returned carrying a single white envelope. “I’ll do it,” she said. “But if anything happens to me, see that the police get this. It’s very important.”

  “What is it?” Loretta asked.

  “Justice,” Cassandra murmured. “Promise me you’ll send it to the police.”

  Loretta slipped the envelope into her pocket and said, “I promise.” Then she motioned toward the bedroom door as she punched in Mary’s number. “Get your suitcase, Turner, and your school backpack. And remember to pack clean—”

  “I’m on it, Mama Retta,” Turner said quickly, sparing himself the indignity of being told to pack clean boxers.

  CHAPTER 12

  AS THE SUN dipped below the mountains to the west, Cassandra sat with Turner on the couch and waited for the night to deepen. Justin lay on the area rug, his chin resting in his hands, watching the Cartoon Network. The stuffed monkey lay beside him, similarly positioned.

  Cassandra couldn’t concentrate on the TV, not even as a pleasant distraction. It was as if total darkness would come only if she gave it her full and undivided attention. As a result she continually glanced toward the window, willing clouds to roll in and mask the moon and the stars.

  She looked at Turner at one point and their eyes met. She felt an unspoken anxiety and was grateful to have him as an ally. But what was she getting him into? Did she really have the right to impose on him in this way?

  Wanting to do something to keep busy, she went into the kitchen and began sweeping an already clean floor.

  Turner joined her. “My apartment is going to miss you,” he said.

  She smiled at the notion, but in a way she was going to miss it too. Though small and unadorned in comparison to her house in Las Vegas, it had a better atmosphere. And despite the danger lurking outside the motel walls, she felt strangely safe and protected in this shoebox. That was something she was going to miss.

  “I read a survey recently,” she said. “It asked whether or not we would want to know our future if we co
uld, including how and when we die. You know the surprising thing?”

  Turner shrugged. “A made-for-TV movie is in production, based on the results.”

  “No, wise guy. Eight out of ten people said they wouldn’t.”

  “I’m with the eight.”

  “Not me, I’m with the two.”

  Turner made a face. “I bet when you were a kid you snuck into all your Christmas presents early and then carefully rewrapped them so no one would know.”

  Cassandra smiled guiltily. “I don’t handle suspense well. I just had to know what was inside. Just like if I had a choice, I’d like to know how this day is going to end.” She swept a moment longer and then looked pensively at Turner. “I really appreciate your help, Turner. But I’m wondering why you’re doing it.”

  Motioning toward Justin, who was glued to the TV, Turner said, “When I was ten, my parents split up for a while. To this day I don’t know all the issues. I was bounced back and forth between home and the apartment my dad rented. I’ve experienced both sides of the story. I know what it’s like to be caught between your parents’ differences and to have your heart slowly torn in two.”

  “What finally happened?”

  “They eventually worked things out and got back together.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah.” But his grim face told her that wasn’t the end of the story.

  “Where are they now?” she prodded.

  “A few years ago my mom got cancer.”

  “Oh, no.”

  He nodded, his eyes downcast. “I prayed hard for God to heal her. I bargained with Him, went to church, put all the money I had in the collection plate. But she died anyway.” He slumped down on a kitchen chair and rested his elbows on the table. “That’s when God and I parted company. And when my father remarried and moved away, I had to leave our family home. That’s how I ended up here. God took everything away from me.”

  Cassandra set the broom aside and laid a hand on Turner’s arm. “Not everything. Don’t you see? He led you here. You’ve got a job, and you have good people in your life. Loretta’s amazing. And you’re enrolled in college. Look at what you’ve accomplished with God’s help. ”

  Turner stared at the tabletop bitterly. “Where was He when my mother died?”

  “We all lose loved ones, Turner. That’s part of life—part of the plan.”

  Shifting in the chair, Turner said, “Time for a better plan, I’d say.”

  She sat at the table and pulled her chair close to him. “You’re not the only one who’s wondered what God is up to, Turner.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I prayed that Brad’s heart would be softened and he would stop hitting me. I prayed to know how to help him, to know how to save our marriage.” She exhaled and looked around the room. “Yet here I am.”

  Turner looked at her sullenly. “And yet you still think there’s a plan?”

  “I found the strength to do what I needed to do.” She reached over and took his hand. “I don’t know what’s in store for Justin and me. But I believe we were led to you, just like you were led to Loretta and to your job here. And I believe we’ll be led to where we need to go next.”

  Turner squeezed her hand. “I wish I had your faith, Cassandra.” He got up from the table and crossed to the window, where he lifted a blind to look out. “It’s just about dark enough. We can leave soon.”

  She flashed him a look that blended anxiousness, tension, and hopefulness. They maintained eye contact for a long moment, and then she glanced around the room, wanting to take in everything one last time. Truly it would be harder to leave this tiny apartment than it had been leaving her spacious home.

  CHAPTER 13

  UNDER THE COVER of darkness Turner edged out into the walkway, his backpack slung over one shoulder, the suitcases in hand. He glanced at Cassandra, who held Justin securely in her arms. Before leaving the apartment, they had convinced the little boy that this night’s adventure was to see who could be the quietest.

  Despite the tense situation Turner couldn’t hide a smile when he saw Justin put a finger to his lips as a reminder to be quiet. The little boy’s big, blue eyes were filled with anticipation, and Turner could only wonder at the innocence of childhood. But the realities of adulthood were far more pressing, and he, for one, would not draw an easy breath until Lakewood appeared in the rearview mirror.

  He stopped breathing altogether when he saw Twitch.

  The tall, lean man was silhouetted against a streetlight as he crossed the road. He paused to let a car pass and then proceeded toward the motel.

  Turner’s mind began to spin. Perhaps Slick or Twitch had planted a listening device when they showed up at his door. Although unlikely, considering the men hadn’t raided his apartment, Turner was rattled enough to believe that anything was possible.

  Cassandra saw him too, but somehow Turner managed to cover her mouth so she didn’t scream. He thought of retreating back into the room and barricading the door, but strategically that was a bad plan. They would be painting themselves into a corner, discovering too late that the paint was a nondrying variety. The men were not going to go away. They had set up a perimeter around the motel and seemed determined to wait it out.

  The moment called for clear thinking and levelheadedness. But reflex action unplugged his brain and muscles engaged automatically. “Run!” he whispered urgently.

  Hugging the wall as though attempting to blend in with the stucco, Turner and Cassandra scurried to the garage at the far end of the motel. Loretta was waiting inside to open and close the garage door for them.

  Turner glanced in all directions before opening the side door. “One of the men is outside,” he whispered to Loretta, ushering Cassandra inside and closing the door quickly behind them.

  Loretta exhaled sharply. “Then you’ll have to wait. He’ll see you driving away.”

  Turner peered out of the window. “Maybe we won’t have to wait, Mama Retta. Not if you drive us out of here.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “We’ll hide in the car. Nobody will be suspicious to see you drive away.”

  “But I don’t know how to drive.”

  “It’s just like cooking. Follow the recipe, step by step, and everything will turn out fine.”

  “Can you stop thinking about food long enough to make some sense.”

  “It’ll work. I’ll duck down in the front seat and give you instructions. You know . . . the recipe.”

  For the first time since he’d known her, Loretta seemed overwhelmed. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Sure you can,” Turner insisted. “I’ll call Harvey on my cell and let him know you’re going to visit a friend. You have a niece who lives in Castle Rock, right? I’ll have her pick you up at Mary’s and give you a ride home.”

  “But driving a car . . . ?” Loretta said, still unconvinced.

  “Here are the ingredients, Mama Retta. Insert the key, start the engine, put the car in reverse, press on the gas gently, back out. Simple, like baking a cake.”

  “It might be our only chance,” Cassandra said.

  Glancing at Justin, who stared back at her with unblinking eyes, Loretta released her breath slowly and nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it.” She reached into the pocket of her pants and pulled out a small bundle of money. “Here, take this. You’ll need it.”

  Turner hesitated. “I can’t take your money, Mama Retta.”

  “You can and you will. Now be quick about it. We’ve got to go.”

  After pocketing the money, Turner threw his backpack and the luggage into the trunk and helped everyone get seated. Then he quietly opened the garage door and climbed into the passenger side. He had to remind himself that cowering in the front seat with his head ducked as low as anatomically possible was not unmanly. Any dent to his self-esteem could be pounded out once they were clear of Lakewood.

  Loretta started the engine and glanced down at Turner.

  “Easy on the gas pedal now,”
he said, “Just back slowly out of here.”

  Any thoughts Turner entertained of going gently into that good night vanished the moment Loretta put her foot to the pedal. The tires squealed and the car shot backward out of the garage. Loretta spun the steering wheel and did a one-eighty. Then she popped the car in drive and negotiated her way through the parking lot.

  In a voice only slightly below that of a scream, Turner offered instructions, all of which Loretta ignored. His crouched position provided a good perspective on her foot action—one foot pressing the brake, the other the gas. Often both at the same time. An upward glance showed that the steering wheel was a windmill of activity. The fleshy part under her arms whipped back and forth as she steered wildly in an effort to dodge obstructions.

  Turner braced himself as she cranked the steering wheel to the left, forcing him against the console.

  “Wheee!” Justin cried as they descended the driveway leading to the curb and bounced into the street.

  Cassandra murmured vigorously under her breath, and Turner wondered if she was praying.

  He dared a peek out of the window. Parked cars seemed to be in jeopardy as Loretta hugged the edge of the street, staying away from the centerline in case a vehicle came along. Glancing in the side mirror, he checked to see if they were being followed. There was no sign of anyone tailing them, and he began to breathe easier. Strangely, by attracting attention instead of avoiding it, they had managed to avert suspicion. Twitch couldn’t have missed their departure. But since no one in his right mind would expect a serious escape attempt to occur like an episode of World’s Worst Driver, he had probably laughingly dismissed it. Turner could imagine Twitch rolling his eyes before turning his attention back to maintaining a perimeter around the motel.

  They drove two miles before Loretta was able to pull over. Fortunately, her brake foot overrode her gas pedal foot. “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this,” she said, as the tires screeched to a stop.

  Neither Cassandra nor Turner offered words of encouragement.