Flee From Evil Page 13

  He never had the chance.

  Kat’s hard chopping brought Vince back to the present. “There’s more. I know it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She waved the knife at him again. “That woman is not just mad at you. She’s deathly afraid of something.”

  Could it have to do with Sophie, the teen who happened to be the right age, and didn’t seem to have the same coloring as her mother or brother? The thought that the girl could be his, made his stomach churn. “Afraid?”

  “I told her about your father and the fire that took your house.”

  “Why’d you do that, Kat?” He wearied at the thought of her burdened by his life.

  “I thought she needed to know.” She resumed chopping onions. “While I recounted the story, she seemed to drift away.” Kat shook her head, brows crunching together. “And when she came back, she had a panic attack.”

  Vince straightened. “What?”

  “That’s what she called it. I thought she was having a seizure or something, but when she could finally breathe right, she said it was a panic attack, and that she hadn’t had one in a long time.” She put the knife down as if to focus the words. “I think talking about you prompted it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Why was Cassandra driving up this meandering road toward the estates that lined the water in the richer neighborhood surrounding Annapolis? She had to see it for herself. The house where Vince used to live, and the water’s edge where they spent so much time alone together. That little patch of grass surrounded by the marshy reeds. Private. Intimate.

  Dangerous.

  Vince would ride his little motor boat to their spot, and pull her out with his strong hands. His chest and back, always tanned, gave his skin a richness that made her want to run her fingers along his muscles, the scent of summer sun surrounding him. They’d sit and talk, the lapping of the waves on the shore framing their words. She felt protected, secure, even loved, as they spoke of their futures.

  What a lie.

  He told her he’d go to law school and try his hand at politics—make the world a better place. She told him how she wanted to design a mentor program in poor neighborhoods to give hope to kids who hadn’t seen much success. Vince had smiled as if he’d approved of her convictions. She’d convinced herself they were speaking of the same goals.

  His kisses were always gentle, careful, searching her tentatively. He’d never said the word love, she realized, but thought he’d communicated it in so many other ways, like the way he touched her as if she were made of delicate china. Cherished. Valued.

  She knew he didn’t think much about God, but wondered if that could change. Oh, how she had wished it would. So when he’d asked her to take off the cross she’d always worn around her neck—the one her father had carved from wood, and hung on a leather cord—she told him he could keep it. His lips had trailed her collar bone before the request. She hadn’t realized it then, but now knew he couldn’t bear to look at it, the intent of his actions weighing on his mind. Cassandra had offered to tie the cross around his neck, but he pushed it into his shorts pocket instead, never to be seen again. When her father died of a brain aneurysm that fall, she felt most at a loss of the prized possession she’d given to the man who couldn’t really love. It had been the first of prized possessions she’d given him that night.

  Magnolia Estates was carved on the grand sign, lined by flowering trees and lush gardens. Cassandra turned into the subdivision, a red car accelerated past as she left the main road. For some reason the volume of its revving engine made her shiver. Was that the same car she kept seeing around Waters Edge? Why did it seem to be everywhere she was? Like it was stalking her. Probably the bright color and racing stripes just made it stand out.

  Cassandra shook her head and continued through the familiar streets, gargantuan houses sprawled up the incline, dangling from cliffs as if clambering to get a better view of the water below. She inched along the road, Vince’s old property just ahead, and found a large, but understated building—very unlike the one he had lived in—possessing the property. Her eyes stung as she imagined the young man she used to know, choking on smoke, trying to find his way out to safety, standing before his home watching all that he ever owned crumble to the ground in smoke and ash.

  Cassandra jerked at the knock on the window. She rolled it down.

  “Can I help you with something?” The woman spoke as if Cassandra’s stationary vehicle had blocked her power walk.

  “I was just wondering about the family who lived in the house that used to be here.” Cassandra didn’t know how else to explain her presence.

  “You mean the one destroyed by the fire?” The woman’s skin hardly moved when she spoke, like it had been injected with too much botox.

  “Yes. Did you know them?”

  “Of course. They were our neighbors.” Was she offended?

  Curiosity peaked at the relationship with Vince’s family. “Do you know what happened to them?”

  Her face registered some form of concern. Whether it was from feigning the expression or the overuse of plastic surgery, it didn’t go very far. “After the house burned down with the father inside, the young man discovered his father had lost everything in some bad investments. He stayed with us for a few weeks, but we prompted him to leave. Good thing, because it turns out he later began to deal drugs as a form of employment.” She huffed. “Imagine what would have happened had he brought that kind of trouble to my children.” She sighed as if her family had escaped a close one. No thought to the young man who’d lost everything and had nowhere to go.

  “Thank you.” Cassandra shifted and punched the gas before her lungs constricted any more. She couldn’t feel sorry for Vince. It was his fault she suffered. His fault all her goals had been destroyed. His fault she once again had nightmares that left her gasping for breaths and searching for safety within her own mind. She wouldn’t feel sorry for him. She needed to hate him instead.

  The trees hung over the drive as she maneuvered the curves down the hill and into a main road, back to the smaller houses surrounding Water’s Edge Community Church. Vince’s current neighborhood. She’d drop off her completed report and recommendations for the special needs program at his house, figuring it would be safe to do that while he was at work. She pulled into the drive of the split-level home, grabbed the envelope and walked up the front sidewalk. After opening the storm door, she placed the manila envelope at the bottom, near the hinge.

  Just as it swung shut, she heard a loud creak, a man’s yell, and a thud. Without thinking she ran to the backyard. Vince lay prostrate on the ground below the skeleton of a deck, wood planks littered around him as if fallen or thrown.

  “Vince!” She ran to his body, her heart pounding in her throat. “Vince!” Her voice squeaked as if she might care.

  His worn T-shirt clad chest expanded, then his mouth released a breath. When his eyes lit open, Cassandra felt caught by them. “Are you all right?”

  His hand covered the one she’d placed on his arm. She pulled it away.

  His lids lowered again as if in agony. “Yeah.”

  She sat back on her heels, hoping her heart would settle.

  Grimacing, he pushed to sitting.

  “You’re in pain, let me help you.” Cassandra reached out a hand.

  Vince shook his head. “I’m okay.”

  She waved the hand to emphasize the offer. He grasped it, hands more calloused than she’d remembered. Vince leaned heavily as she tried to pull him to standing. Crying out, he fell back and pulled her to his chest. His blue eyes stung hers as they met. Ten beats of her heart passed, his breath warming her face. He turned away, swallowed, and let go of her hand. It was as though he’d released the lock he had on her—on purpose. Unsettled, she removed herself from him.

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  Cassandra knelt into the grass. “What hurts?”

  “I think I pulled something in my knee.”<
br />
  “Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”

  He chuckled and shook his head.

  “Really Vince. Clearly it’s serious. You should have it looked at.”

  “I know, but give me a minute. It’s throbbing right now, and I need to catch a breath.”

  Cassandra sat beside him where he lay staring at the cloudless sky as though speaking with his eyes to someone above. His chest rose and fell over and over again. She was about to say something when she noticed, just where his T-shirt lifted slightly from his shorts waist, a large scar in the shape of a ragged cross. It drew her in. She hadn’t realized she lifted the hem of his shirt to get a better look until he jerked and grasped her fingers. His eyes bore into hers.

  “What is that, Vince?” She knew it hadn’t been there when they were young.

  “That’s how my drug supplier let me know he wasn’t too happy with me selling to his own personal clients.” The words seemed to weary him further. His eyes closed, and only then did she realize it was because her fingers had been tracing the scar.

  It was ugly and deep. “He could have killed you.”

  Vince peered into the sky again. “Almost did.”

  “Were you selling to his clients?”

  His chuckle was humorless. “No. He was a crackhead. Paranoid. The longer I worked for him, the more he accused me of.” He took in labored air. “Eventually, I got arrested. He’d set me up. Little did he realize the cops working the arrest wanted him more than me, so they talked me into turning states evidence against him. I got a reduced sentence.”

  Cassandra’s head swiveled back and forth as she watched him stare anywhere but at her.

  “Didn’t improve much after you left, did I?”

  She ached at the despondency in his expression. Somehow the life he’d lived seemed more empty than filled with evil, as she’d once thought.

  “How long were you in jail?”

  “Six months.” A small smile tickled his lips. “The day I stepped out of my cell for the last time, I wondered how I’d support myself. Didn’t even know where I’d live.” He glanced at her. “My mother hadn’t contacted us since she left when I was five. I had no family who cared.” He looked to the sky again as if it housed someone dear. “The mechanized door clanked open and there stood Billy Lewis, my mechanic, whose life I’d entangled in drugs. But he’d finished his third try at rehab, and started going to church while I was locked up.” Vince’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.“He and Kat took me in. He got me a job selling used cars through a guy he knew.” He smirked at Cassandra. “That’s right, I was a used car salesmen. And good at it too, I might add.”

  How fitting. Cassandra almost burst out laughing at the thought.

  “I went to church with them. Pastor John took me under his wing, like a son, and I eventually decided to finish college—of course no longer at an ivy league school—and become a pastor, like him. John said I had a gift with words.” He smirked, his eyes catching hers as if to say he knew what she was thinking about that gift.

  Cassandra smiled in spite of herself. “You’ve led a full and varied life, Vince Steegle, that’s for sure.”

  He groaned as he pushed to sit. “I guess we better try this standing thing again.”

  Cassandra flinched, having forgotten why they were there. She braced herself as he put his arm around her. Stepping forward, she pushed up as he leaned on his uninjured leg. They stood together, Vince gasping, face mottled.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Cassandra waited as he seemed to breathe for composure, leaning against the lower portion of the structure wanting to be a deck.

  He turned pleading eyes to her. “Would you mind getting me a clean shirt from inside the house? I don’t want to be stinking up the emergency room.”

  “You’ll be all right if I leave you here?”

  “Yep.”

  Cassandra entered his front door, picking up the envelope she’d placed there, and leaving it on an end table by the couch. Looking around, she noticed the sparse furnishings, so unlike the opulence in which he’d grown up. A few pictures here and there, featuring faces she recognized from church. Vince and Pastor John with golf clubs. Vince and Billy holding hammers. There was even one picture of Vince on Billy’s custom-painted Harley, looking awkwardly preppie astride the hog. Cassandra chuckled and placed the picture back on the shelf. She entered his bedroom, found the dresser, and opened the third drawer down, as he’d instructed, to retrieve a polo shirt. Scanning the choices, she found a royal blue one and ran her hand over it. This would go perfectly with his eyes. Cassandra gasped at the thought. She can’t think of him that way ever again. After yanking out the brown shirt, she exited the house.

  Vince pulled the sweaty T-shirt from his back as he saw her coming, wiped his forehead with it, received the polo, and put it on. Cassandra tried not to notice, but her eyes pulled in that direction as if by magnetic draw.

  ~*~

  Vince glanced toward Cass as she drove him to the hospital. If only he could read her thoughts. Why? He didn’t need to know any more than he already did about how much she hated him. But fear him? Kat’s words, and the look in her face the other night, played in his mind like a haunting tune. What had he done to cause Cass panic attacks. Could he hate himself anymore? He peered up to the heavens. I know I’m forgiven, Lord. But somehow I can’t wash this guilt away. As long as she suffers, I should too.

  Her features remained stern as she maneuvered toward the emergency room entrance and stopped. Cass rounded the car. Vince opened the door, and she lent her shoulder for him to lean on as he hopped into the waiting area.

  “Pastor Vince.” Cheryl sat behind the desk today. “Where’ve you been? We haven’t seen you in almost two weeks.”

  Cass turned a questioning look his way.

  “I’m kind of a klutz.”

  “Only when handling tools,” the cheery voice added from the desk. She winked.

  Cassandra’s brow rose. He knew what she was thinking. How he’d always sweet talked the ladies. It was that ability that made him feel impervious to Cass in the first place, and take the bet Drew had offered. Little did Vince know at the time, she’d be the one to entrance him. Her, and that God of hers. Somehow his Creator spoke to him through her even when Vince had refused to listen.

  Cass helped Vince to a hard plastic seat, and walked to the desk. “Do you have forms for him to fill out?”

  Cheryl waved a file she pulled from a rack in front of her. “Already done.” She smirked. “We keep them ready for him when he comes. Just have him sign the bottom, here and here.” She indicated the lines. “And we’re good to go.”

  Cassandra’s gaze swiveled to meet Vince. He shrugged and smiled. She handed him the forms.

  Then he realized … “What were you doing at my house anyway?”

  Cass sat next to him. “I was dropping off my recommendations for the special needs program.”

  He signed the forms in his lap. “Why didn’t you just take them to the church?”

  She didn’t even move.

  “Oh.” Dumb question. “You thought I’d be there.”

  Her continued silence confirmed it.

  He whispered, “I’m not going to hurt you, Cass.”

  She stared at the wall in front of her. “I’d have to care for it to hurt this time.” She turned her hardened eyes toward him. “Why weren’t you at work?”

  “Took the afternoon off to add to the deck.”

  She almost smiled. “You gonna build it all by yourself?”

  “Mostly.”

  “Why don’t you get some help?”

  Vince’s knee seized. He shifted to relieve the pain. “I need to do it on my own.”

  “Ah. Some male-ego, test of courage thing, huh?”

  “Something like that.” It felt so comfortable, talking with Cass this way. Like a lifetime of hurt hadn’t separated them. “So, while we’re waiting, why don’t you tell
me about your program?”

  She leaned her head against the wall, closed her eyes, and sighed hard. “I may have had some delusions of grandeur.”

  He’d loved that about her, her idealistic visions. “You always did.”

  She leered at him.

  “But in a good way.”

  Her eyebrows jumped. “Good delusions of grandeur?”

  “Why don’t you tell me, and we’ll see if we can make your idea work.”

  Cassandra shifted her body to face Vince. “It’s like this. Some programs have separate classrooms for special needs children, and others have buddies who assist the disabled in a regular classroom.”

  Vince smiled at the familiar way she spoke as much with her hands as she did her lips. “Which is best?”

  “Neither. It depends on the child.” She pulled her hair behind her ears, and sat straighter. “Some kids, like Tibo, enjoy a lot of social interaction with all kinds of kids. In fact, I think it’s good for non-affected students to spend time with them, so they become familiar. Not something to fear or be separate from.”

  “Okay. So what’s the problem?”

  “Well, there are other kids, like Isabella’s son, who might become over stimulated in a normal classroom, and might act out because of it.”

  “Did you speak to Isabella?”

  Cassandra’s nod was solemn.

  “Would she come back if there were a classroom for Sean?”

  “She swears she won’t, but I think we need to be ready for the next family like hers, so we don’t lose them too … And they lose us.”

  Vince warmed at Cass including herself as part of the church—his church. “I agree. So what do you recommend?”

  Her eyes were timid, hesitant. “Both.”

  “You mean a separate classroom and a buddy system?”

  “Yup.”

  “That would take a lot of manpower.”