Almost Dead

by Blake Pierce

  “Ms. Rossi. The children’s mother,” Cassie explained, praying that she would be believed.

  Now his eyebrows rose.

  “The children’s mother? This is a serious matter. Do you have any photographic evidence that this took place?”

  “None,” Cassie confessed, feeling ashamed. “I didn’t have time to video the whipping on my phone, unfortunately.”

  “No photographs at all? How about voice recordings? Or have the children provided you with any written information?”

  “I unfortunately have nothing,” Cassie said, realizing she’d been an idiot. She’d had plenty of time to photograph Nina, sitting in her nightgown and bare feet on that hard, cold floor in the secret room.

  “Are you absolutely sure you have no recorded proof of any of this whatsoever?”

  Mr. Dellucci laced his hands and placed his elbows on the desk. He looked very serious.

  “I don’t. I’m so sorry,” Cassie said, and suddenly she feared that this intervention would not go the way she’d planned it to. It seemed that photographic evidence was practically a requirement for reporting this, and she’d obtained none.

  She didn’t understand its importance. There must be many people who were unable to get this concrete proof, especially if they were visitors to someone’s home or had witnessed it in the abuser’s presence. It couldn’t be non-negotiable—could it?

  “I could take a photo later and send it to you,” Cassie offered. “Venetia, the eight-year-old, was severely beaten last night and the belt would have left marks.”

  She remembered her actions last night, and raised a hand to her face.

  “This cut was caused by the belt buckle, although you can’t really see that was what it was,” she said, touching the wound. It had scabbed over now, but it was still stinging and tender.

  “I see.”

  Mr. Dellucci was writing rapidly. She hoped that the visible injury on her face would help to back up what she was saying, even though there was no way of proving that this was how it had occurred.

  “What is your role in this family?” the manager asked, and Cassie hesitated, thinking about what she should say, because they were in dangerous territory now.

  “Is it important for you to know that?” she tried.

  “It is required,” he explained. “We have to complete a comprehensive dossier.”

  Cassie nodded reluctantly. She guessed that in the absence of any footage, all possible information would have to be included.

  “I’m the au pair. This will remain confidential, won’t it?”

  Mr. Dellucci nodded.

  “How long have you been working for this family?” he asked.

  “Only three days. I’m leaving tomorrow, because Ms. Rossi’s mother is going to be looking after the children, but that concerns me too. She’s a family member who presumably shares the same views on raising children, and I’m worried she might turn a blind eye to the mother’s abuse.”

  Cassie hoped she was sounding calm and reasonable. The tape recorder was on the desk and the manager was scribbling down detailed notes. She must make sure they contained enough information, so she provided more detail.

  “Ms. Rossi was violently whipping Venetia with a belt last night. I happened to see so I intervened and managed to stop it. That’s why I was fired. I’m concerned about what will happen to the children from here onwards, and feel that Social Services needs to make surprise inspections in order to check on their well-being. You see, they’re afraid to say anything, which is understandable. I’m sure you see it all the time.”

  Mr. Dellucci inclined his head.

  “You have childcare experience? Qualifications?”

  Another surprising question. She hadn’t thought that this visit would involve such a thorough background grilling, but if it would help the children, she had to be honest with the Social Services manager.

  “I have limited childcare experience. I helped out at a daycare for a month back in the States. No qualifications.”

  “So what work did you do in the States?”

  “I waitressed, mostly.”

  “I see. Tell me, have you or your family ever been involved in any abuse? Were you a victim of it in the past?”

  Cassie leaped at this question eagerly. Finally, a chance for her to explain.

  “Yes. My elder sister and I grew up in a one-parent household with an abusive father. I know what it’s like to be afraid of the person looking after you, and their friends, and what it feels like to be beaten by someone who is bigger and stronger and angrier than you are.”

  “Thank you,” the manager said. “That is very helpful.”

  “Can you do anything?” Cassie asked. “I’m so worried about them.”

  “You need not worry. I will do whatever I can to assist in this case,” he said.

  Relief filled Cassie.

  “I really appreciate that you’ll be able to help,” she said. “It’s a huge weight off my shoulders.”

  Mr. Dellucci stood up.

  “Thank you for visiting us.”

  Cassie hurried back to her car, buoyed by the success of her trip. The manager himself had promised he would do his best to help out. With the eye of the authorities focused on the Rossi household, Cassie hoped that Ms. Rossi would find it more difficult to continue with her awful abuse, and hopefully their grandmother would be given some firm guidelines to follow.

  If the children developed a good rapport with the social worker, they would open up about their past and present situation. This way, the authorities would be able to monitor any changes, and be aware if the problem was starting up again. When she got home, Cassie decided she would speak privately to the girls and explain how vital it was that they should trust the social worker.

  Cassie might be getting fired, but it didn’t matter anymore. The children would be safe and their guardians would be monitored.

  She could leave with a clear conscience now, knowing that she had done her utmost to improve their lives. From here, Social Services would take over, and with the manager handling the case, Cassie was sure it would receive the necessary attention.

  Feeling as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders, she climbed into her car.

  The drive home took longer than going out had done. The weather had closed in and a sleety rain was falling, making visibility poor. Cassie passed a couple of fender-benders, with traffic crawling by.

  She passed the time by thinking about what she should say to the children. It was vital that they should fully disclose their situation to the social worker. How could she explain to two frightened little girls, that the authorities would have power over their mother?

  All they knew was that their mother had power over them.

  She drove through the home’s ornate gate, making sure it closed behind her. Then she parked in her allocated bay and hurried to the front door with her head bowed against the cold, slicing downpour.

  She dropped her front door keys and bent to pick them up, but as she did so, she realized that the door was opening.

  Cassie straightened up, and her heart jumped into her mouth as she found herself facing Ms. Rossi.

  She hadn’t expected her to be home. Maurice had said they would be busy all day, and that was why he’d given her his business card. Now, the tall businesswoman was standing in the doorway, blocking Cassie’s way. She was wearing a pair of exquisite white leather boots, studded with colored beads, with silver stiletto heels that looked as long and sharp as knitting needles.

  Cassie stared at her nervously. Why was she standing here, in the doorway? Had she just arrived home or was she heading out? For a moment she wondered if Nonna had arrived earlier than expected. Was Cassie going to be in trouble for having gone out and not waited at home? Well, she had been fired already so there was very little the other woman could do.

  Ms. Rossi’s face gave nothing away. She looked stern but calm.

  “Where have you been?” she asked. “Tell me
. I am interested to hear this.”

  Her tone of voice warned Cassie that trouble lay ahead. Her hands felt icy cold as she realized that Abigail must have betrayed her, because it was clear Ms. Rossi already knew.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  As she prepared to face the onslaught of Ms. Rossi’s anger, Cassie resolved not to lose her nerve. Ms. Rossi could just be trying to bully her into making a confession. If so, all she had to do was stand up to the pressure and keep her secret.

  “I was running a few errands,” she said, trying to sound casual and unconcerned.

  “Really?” Ms. Rossi smiled, and Cassie’s stomach knotted tighter. The knowing smile was not a nice, or kind, expression.

  “That’s not what my friend Mr. Dellucci said when he called me just now,” she continued in the same calm, smug tone.

  Cassie’s hand flew to her mouth in horror.

  Her gut feeling was right. She had been betrayed, but it had come from a different, and completely unexpected, source. Mr. Dellucci had sold her out. The man who had been entrusted with the children’s well-being had deliberately chosen to inform their mother, instead of acting on the tip-off Cassie had given him. She felt as if her world was collapsing around her. How could this have happened?

  “It’s fortunate that I have good relationships with the authorities,” the businesswoman continued.

  Her smile widened, giving Cassie a clear indication how this relationship worked. Ms. Rossi was paying people to turn a blind eye. This was corruption, pure and simple, and it shocked her to her core.

  “Luckily he took the time to call and explain that you had wasted his time with pointless and unfounded accusations, while rambling on about your own childhood. He called to warn me, because very often, people who have suffered past abuse can become abusers in turn. He asked if he should come round and perform a surprise inspection this afternoon, as you’ve spent a lot of time alone with the children.”

  Cassie berated herself for not having realized something was very wrong from the time her visit wasn’t registered in the recording system. She hadn’t received a number, so there would be no official record of her complaint. She wished she’d been more suspicious when the conversation went off track and he started asking her those irrelevant questions. Now the finger of blame was pointing right back at her. Their collusion had stripped her of all her power—in fact, even of her credibility, and she had no doubt that the two of them could very easily manufacture a case against her if they chose to do so.

  How could a social worker turn his back on children in need? She felt shocked to the core by the unfairness of his choice, especially after she’d described the horrors in such graphic detail. He’d decided that the extra money, the bounty bestowed on him by this wealthy, influential woman, was more important than the needs of innocent and helpless children and that the bribe justified his ignoring their plight.

  After a pause, which Cassie guessed was deliberately timed to make sure her words had sunk in, Ms. Rossi continued.

  “I told him that since you were leaving tomorrow, there would be no need for the inspection. Even so, I decided to come home so that I could warn you in person that you are wasting your time trying to cause trouble. Who would you like to try next? The police, perhaps?”

  She stared triumphantly at Cassie, who dropped her eyes. Angry and humiliated, she realized that she’d failed these children, and all her efforts had been in vain.

  “Trust me, the local police are my friends. I doubt you would find it possible to open a case against me at all—and my lawyer would immediately intervene with a very strong counter-accusation of theft. Theft committed by you, while I watched the footage.”

  Cassie clenched her teeth. She wished she could leap at Ms. Rossi and grab her by the throat and throttle her, to stem the taunting flow of words. She had never met anyone so evil. She’d met flawed people and arrogant people and abusive people, but never anybody who had gone to such lengths to ensure that she was immune from any consequences, and could continue tormenting her children without the smallest stain on her reputation. Too late, Cassie realized that Maurice’s words had been accurate. This woman would not hesitate to ruin anyone who stood in her way, and she had the means and influence to do it.

  “I have had my say. Now go inside,” the businesswoman ordered her. “I do not want you to be alone with the children so you may go directly to your room and stay there until my mother arrives. The cook will bring you lunch.”

  She stood aside and Cassie walked in. As she passed Ms. Rossi, she was tempted to slam a hand into her chest and send her stumbling back on those ridiculous heels. But she knew that the children would suffer for anything she did. Her efforts to help today had most likely earned the two girls long hours of pain and fear, while Ms. Rossi vented her anger on them.

  Cassie stomped up to her room and did some packing, seething with rage and helplessness. She couldn’t bear the fact that she was being forced to leave. She felt like a rat, trapped in a maze, unable to think her way out of the situation—if there was even a way. She looked again at the number Abigail had given her earlier and wondered if she should try and get hold of Mr. Dellucci’s superior. Perhaps she could explain to that person what was happening and ask him or her to investigate the entire department.

  With a reluctant shake of her head, Cassie abandoned the idea. What chance did she have of persuading an unknown person, who had a history and working relationship with the entire department? Who were they likely to believe—their trusted colleague, or an unknown stranger? In any case, Mr. Dellucci had already prepared an alternative version, that Cassie had wasted his time with a rambling complaint and was likely the abuser herself.

  Plus, there was no guarantee that the department wasn’t rotten from top to bottom. Didn’t they say a fish rots from the head? Ms. Rossi could well have made payments to many different levels to ensure they turned a blind eye to her abuse.

  Anger boiled inside her as she realized what it must have taken. No doubt, there had been special back-office meetings arranged, strictly one on one. She could imagine the plausible story given by this woman, decked out in her jewels and finery.

  “I’ve been targeted by a disgruntled employee. Naturally, you can appreciate they are looking to cause a scandal. After all, it’s so easy for an individual to threaten a business owner’s impeccable reputation, when they feel unfairly done by. I know you understand, and that you would be my first port of call if I suspected anything was amiss with my children. Your department does such wonderful work. As a token of my gratitude, please accept this gift from me, personally—your job is thankless and I would like to show appreciation.”

  Money, power, charm. Cassie gritted her teeth as she thought about the unfairness of it all. Why were the wealthy able to get away with such things? It was because they knew exactly what to do. It was as if a hidden set of rules applied, and everyone understood how they worked.

  No wonder Mr. Dellucci had been so persistent in asking whether she had photos as he’d needed to confirm for sure that no records existed. She was sure now that if she’d said yes, he would have asked to see her phone, and immediately destroyed them, so that no evidence remained of his “good friend’s” wrongdoings.

  Cynically, Cassie was sure that the department pursued other cases, involving poorer people’s children, with all the might of the laws at their disposal, while the rich removed themselves from the process with ease.

  Packing felt like an acknowledgment of her defeat and Cassie found herself unable to continue. Shoving her suitcase out of the way, she slumped down onto the bed and lay staring at the ceiling, racking her brain for some other avenue that could provide a miracle for the children at the last possible minute.

  Her fruitless thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door. The cook had brought her a dish of macaroni cheese.

  “Thank you,” Cassie said.

  The cook set it wordlessly on the desk and then turned back to the door without
a smile or a greeting, or even meeting Cassie’s eyes. She understood now that staff in this house had learned to be deaf and blind in order to avoid trouble and keep their jobs.

  She glanced at the plate, knowing that she’d end up throwing the food away, because the morning’s debacle had robbed her of her appetite.

  Just before the cook closed the door, Cassie heard the buzz of the gate intercom. She guessed this must be Nonna arriving.

  It was a very long shot, but Cassie’s only remaining hope was that Nonna would have sympathy for the children’s predicament. At any rate, Cassie could try and explain to her what was happening. A kind grandmother might be the answer she was seeking, arriving at the eleventh hour.

  Cassie put on her shoes and ran downstairs. The front door was open, and a white van was parked outside.

  The driver was helping Nonna out of the passenger seat, holding a large umbrella to shield her from the rain, while two maids unpacked her luggage from the back of the van.

  Cassie’s first impression was that Nonna was far frailer than she’d expected. She looked shrunken, sickly, and confused. She leaned on the driver while she shuffled across the paving.

  “Dove andiamo?” she asked querulously.

  Although Cassie hadn’t heard the phrase spoken before, she had practiced the correct pronunciation from her phrase book as best she could. This meant “Where are we going?”

  She frowned, confused, wondering why Nonna would be asking that. Perhaps, with her very basic grasp of the phrase, she had misunderstood the elderly woman’s words.

  “We’re at my home, Mama.”

  Swathed in a white fur coat, Ms. Rossi hurried out into the rain and took her mother’s other hand. Cassie stared, shocked, as she continued.

  “Remember, I told you that you were coming to live here? I mentioned it when we visited you last time, and the time before, and when I called you yesterday.”

  “I do not remember. Non ricordo,” Nonna insisted and Cassie gaped in horror.

  Nonna wasn’t just frail because she was old, although Cassie guessed she must be in her seventies. She was frail because she was sick, and suffering from advanced dementia. In this condition she wouldn’t even be able to assist with the children’s homework or routine care, and she would certainly not be helpful in an emergency.