Flee From Evil Page 2

  Cassandra’s nod was not so friendly. She gathered a young boy and the teenage girl to her, and trundled them out the door.

  Mrs. Hessing’s brows knit as she stared after her daughter. She turned back to Vince. “I’m sorry. I’ve taught her better than that.” She put her hand to her chest. “I guess things are still hard for her since her husband’s death a year ago.”

  He schooled the shock from appearing on his face. Cass had already suffered too much with the early loss of her father. He’d been told she’d married well that fall, and always hoped her husband was a man who’d care for her as she’d deserved. Vince certainly hadn’t been that man. And now, more grief.

  Vince nodded. “Yes, very hard, Mrs. Hessing.” Search for platitudes. “Just keep praying. God will get her through.”

  Ugh! He hated platitudes—even if they were true—but he couldn’t reach his heart right now. Must be somewhere nailed to the blue carpet, under his feet.

  ~*~

  How dare he?

  Cassandra’s teeth hurt from clenching so hard through that entire service. She now knew what it was like to turn to stone. It had been her only defense as the memories assaulted her, tearing at her weakened flesh.

  How dare he act like he didn’t even know her? Although, in a way, she was glad he did. She didn’t need to explain her past relationship with him to her mom.

  How dare he become a pastor? What a joke. Vince Steegle a pastor. A beloved pastor at that. Her mother practically worshiped the grass he trod. Pastor Vince, this and Pastor Vince, that. Cassandra had had no idea her mother’s icon of righteousness was Satan incarnate. Last she knew, he’d aspired to politics.

  Cassandra pushed her kids through the parking lot. Sophie almost tripped as she stepped over a curb. Tibo did his requisite twirl and followed behind.

  “Tibo, hurry up.” She waved at him like they were crossing a busy intersection.

  He caught up.

  She rushed them over to the used Lincoln Aviator Tim’s parents had bought her five years before his crash in the Lexus. They sat silently in the car, waiting for Mom, but the woman took her time moseying from person to person, greeting them as if she had nowhere better to go. She didn’t, but Cassandra needed to be free of this place—now.

  “Mom, why did you rush us out of there?” Sophie’s voice wobbled from the back seat. Cassandra knew she hesitated to ask. Always so keen to Cassandra’s emotions. So mature for someone so young, having helped to care for her special-needs brother, and transition to life without a father … or his family’s money. Not to mention all the accusations she’d endured from her paternal grandparents. They never said them to her face, but it was apparent in everything they did. They’d never accepted her little Sophie as their own.

  ~*~

  Sophie’s mom just turned the ignition, practically squealing wheels out of the church parking lot. She never even answered the question Sophie had asked, not even the one in Grandma’s eyes when she finally got into the front seat of the car.

  What was that about?

  Mom had been on edge from the moment she entered the sanctuary, and now her knuckles were white against the pink of her fingers gripping the steering wheel. She must have had a run-in with the children’s church leader over Tibo.

  Sophie glanced to the seat beside her where her little brother smiled at the vehicles passing by. “Fire.” He pointed to an emergency engine.

  Sighing, Sophie pulled her hair behind her ears then stared at the Midnight Blue nail polish chipping from the edges of her thumb. She didn’t even know why she painted her nails. It wasn’t like there were any interested boys around she could look good for.

  Mom’s eyes darted to Grandma then back on the road. Her jaw hardened as if working tighter against the questions she refused to answer. Could Tibo’s teacher have been that bad?

  If only Tibo could talk like other ten-year-old boys. If only he could understand even simple directions. If only he could read, tie his shoes, pull his own covers up on a frigid night. He’d shiver to death before thinking to do that.

  If only the world could see him for all he was rather than what he wasn’t.

  If only …

  Another sigh escaped. It had been Tibo who sat on the arm of the chair and played with her hair as Sophie had sobbed her heart out after they’d found out her Daddy had died. Mom had been too busy retching in the bathroom to comfort her. Tibo’s soft fingers had tugged so gently on the strands it felt like a caress. He’d searched her eyes, his brows scrunched, as if trying to figure out where the tears had come from on her face. “Pway.” His single word meant so much. Reminding her that God was with them. Peace and love seemed to pour from him into her, making her believe everything would be all right.

  How could he do that? Only Tibo had such a gift.

  The car’s tires crunched over the gravel before Sophie had realized they were home. Mom was out of the car even before the engine stopped rattling, Grandma close behind. “What is wrong with you?”

  Mom kept walking as though she could outrun Grandma’s determined strides.

  Sophie unclipped Tibo’s seatbelt as his name drifted from their conversation. Grandma never wanted to talk about Tibo’s “issues” in front of him. Did she know how far her voice carried?

  Tibo’s eyes communicated thanks before he opened the car door. Good thing that latch wasn’t as tough as Dad’s Lexus’s used to be.

  Sophie’s mind flashed to the image of the Lexus mangled by the side of the road as they’d passed it that night. Mom screeched her breaks, got out of the car, and took off running toward the crash scene. A firefighter blocked her flailing body as she screamed Dad’s name then fell to the asphalt and cried.

  Sophie had turned numb. She’d stayed in the car to make sure Tibo was safe. Just like she did today.

  Now, they stepped up the front, wooden steps that creaked with loose boards, and entered the small house—now her home.

  “Why don’t you tell me, then?” Grandma’s voice carried through the halls. Mom’s was low and controlled.

  Sophie tugged Tibo’s gentle fingers, and led him back out. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  Tibo smiled as only he could, obediently following.

  They strolled down the street, noting the water to the right, where the Chesapeake Bay emptied into inlets all around Water’s Edge, Maryland.

  So beautiful here. But something hung in the air like a dark, city smog. Sophie sensed it as they drove from Philadelphia. So thick, so heavy. It seemed to weigh on her mother even more than her father’s death.

  Sophie knew her mother could weather anything in time because she relied heavily on her faith. With Dad’s help, she’d even overcome bouts of panic attacks years ago.

  But today, something changed. Could that something crush her?

  Chapter Two

  Hands held her forcefully to him. His mouth closed onto hers as she tried to scream. It didn’t matter. There was no one to hear.

  He laughed as she struggled to free herself from his grip. He tore at her blouse and unbuttoned her jeans. She screamed again, only to receive the same torment as before.

  He fell against her in the grass, his weight pinning her as she called out.

  Only crickets answered.

  “Please …” as if this monster would heed her polite request. “Don’t do this.”

  He laughed again as he thrust his weight to subdue her thrashing.

  “Why?” Did it really matter?

  “Because I can.”

  Cassandra broke from the sheets that bound her, and clasped them to her breast as though they could protect her. Her heart pounded against the fist at her sternum that held the bedclothes like a shield. Her hand almost moved with the hard beat against bone.

  She labored for air and swung her gaze around the darkened room. Not her home. Where was she?

  Mom’s. Cassandra’s childhood bedroom. Her pulse slowed, but the breath labored on.

  As her eyes adjuste
d to the light, she took in the same furniture, the same walls—the colors she woke to the morning after …

  The pictures! They were different. She peered at the comforter over her legs. Different too. She bunched it under her arms and trod down the hall to the living room. Also different. Thank goodness her mother had redecorated after her father’s death that fall. Maybe Mom wanted to escape memories as well.

  Cassandra dragged the bedspread across the living room and stubbed her toe with a clatter. Tibo’s cars had been lined up straight out from the wall. Rather than curse the pain the toy pick-up had caused her pinky toe, she grinned at the thought of her sweet little boy and his kooky obsession making straight lines with his belongings.

  The vision of her small son’s smile made her muscles release. Her memory traveled to the words of his newest speech therapist who was certain she could improve his language. That was what they all said having heard him mutter what seemed to be full, grammatically mature and contextually appropriate sentences under his breath, only to never be repeated no matter how many times a person asked him to. More was going on in her son’s mind than he was able to display. She knew it. But how to unlock that information was the question no one had the answer to.

  After rubbing the appendage that took the hit from the small vehicle, she stretched her comforter over the couch, and doubled back to the blow-up mattress where her son slumbered. Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his warm temple. He stretched and curled again, pulling the sheet from his shoulder. Cassandra lifted the cover to his chin as he cooed in his sleep.

  Peace. It seemed to pour from him and into her. So unlike what she’d seen from other children with autism. She thanked God for that one reprieve, but wondered—as always—if it would last.

  Taking Tibo’s gift of calm, She headed back to the living room, snuggled into the brown, microfiber couch, balled into a fetal position under the plush comforter, and sighed.

  She thought back to what woke her. Why those dreams tonight? She hadn’t had one in almost eight years. Tim had comforted her through them before, until one day they were no more.

  But now, she no longer had Tim to hold her. Only memories of Tim. And memories of … things she didn’t want to remember.

  She’d slept in that bedroom a week now, since they moved back. So, why the nightmares tonight?

  Images of Vince Steegle slid through her mind, tainting both past and present. Some held hints of hopes she’d had of a future with him, which only proved to be a lie. She needed to shake free, but knew she couldn’t as long as that man was so near.

  Could she live here with her mother? She had no other choice. Despite her in-laws vast wealth, there was none available to her. Not for her, nor the children who had called their son Daddy.

  There was nowhere to go. No jobs that would allow her the care of a high-maintenance, special-needs child and the bills that came with his therapies. There seemed no options but to live with her mom who could help her watch over Tibo, and give her a place to live at no cost. She glanced at the once diamond ring setting, now sporting a piece of glass fashioned to look like the stone her husband had given her. The means with which she’d paid the remainder of her bills before leaving Philadelphia.

  Could her family home be the respite she’d hoped to have for her and her kids? Not if it meant enduring the mention of her mother’s pastor … unless Cassandra told her mother what he really was.

  No. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t even speak the words.

  Cassandra closed her eyes on a breath and prayed, “Father why have you exchanged good for evil?”

  We know that all things work for the good of those who love Him.

  Could she believe that? Cassandra knew Tim would.

  But after years of finally learning to love her best friend, Tim was now dead.

  ~*~

  Vince swung the pitching wedge and connected with the ball. It lofted to the edge of the circle he’d cut into the field beside the church. He’d have to make his little green larger the next time he brought his mower to the grounds. Couldn’t seem to hit anything today.

  “Rough morning?” John sauntered up behind him, and thrust his hands into his navy pants.

  Vince nodded.

  “Good thing you have this little patch of heaven to help you think.” That’s what Vince had called this field next to Water’s Edge Community. His own back yard wasn’t much more than a postage stamp, so he couldn’t practice chipping there. It was nice to clear his mind this way after a long day. Only this day had just begun.

  Vince swatted at another ball in the line. Shank.

  John groaned. “She must have been important to you. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you flub a shot like that before.” Evidently, Vince’s reaction to the latecomer yesterday hadn’t escaped John’s notice.

  Vince pulled another ball with his club.

  “Do you wanna talk about it?”

  Vince shook his head.

  “It might help to unload your burdens.”

  Vince drew in a breath and leaned on the club. After several heartbeats, he met John’s fatherly gaze. “I know, John. I don’t think I can right now.” He wasn’t sure what he thought or felt. What could he say? He didn’t even want to tell the story since it was only partly his. Telling it would reveal things Cass wouldn’t want known. Could he talk to anyone about it?

  “I take it you hurt her pretty bad.”

  Vince’s shoulders slumped. He almost dropped the club in the grass.

  “I’m sorry, Vince. I didn’t mean to lay more guilt on your shoulders. I just want you to know you can come to me. I won’t judge. I know you’ve been forgiven alrea—”

  “Not by Cass.” Vince gasped at his own use of her name. He hadn’t meant to say it. He hadn’t meant to reveal it, even though it was obvious John already knew. But to confirm it with his own lips felt like sacrilege.

  “She’s Greta Hessing’s daughter. I’ve known Cassandra since she was a little girl.”

  That stilled Vince. It hadn’t even dawned on him that this had been Cassandra’s church before it had been his. Now he knew he couldn’t tell John. He felt like an extra heel having hurt a member of the man’s flock.

  “She’s a very sweet and caring person.”

  More knives turned into his flesh at how he’d victimized someone so good, so vulnerable.

  “Her faith has always been strong, even in the hardest of circumstances.” John jangled the change in his pocket. “She’ll forgive you eventually.”

  Vince’s head rocked back and forth. His guilt was too thick to penetrate. He pushed out the breath that seemed to strangle him. “I don’t think I could if I were her.”

  John dropped a hand on Vince’s shoulder. “Let’s just thank God she’s better than you.” He pushed up a little smile that lightened the air around them.

  “She is that.” Vince swallowed hard.

  John squeezed Vince’s shoulder, leaving him with that fatherly strength before turning back to the building. Vince always loved how John not only knew what to say, but also knew when not to say anything at all. He’d leave Vince in the field to work out his frustration with the golf ball then hash it out later in prayer to his Creator. And if he needed to talk, Vince knew John would listen. Though this was not a story Cass’s childhood pastor should hear.

  So for now, the golf balls would know his self-inflicted wrath.

  ~*~

  “I thought I told you to stack the manure bags in the garden center.”

  Kevin Perkins’ gaze slid from the paint cans to his supervisor who was full of the stuff himself. “I was just—”

  “Don’t mouth me. And no excuses.” The squat man’s left eye twitched when he got excited. “It’s growing season, and we need the garden section stocked.”

  Growing season. Kevin peered at the little man’s patch of facial hair. For some reason it made him think of a growing fungus. Kevin squeezed his fists tight. He’d like to rip out that weed.

&nbs
p; “Excuse me.” A red-haired lady interrupted. “Is there someone who can help me choose paints?”

  Kevin shifted to leave.

  Squat man’s voice cracked. “Sure. Kevin’ll help you.”

  Kevin’s eyes burned like fire. If only they had projectile capability. He plastered a you-know-this-is-a-fake-smile on his face, but it dropped as he got a better look at the woman in front of him—Cassandra Hessing. The girl who thought she was too good for everyone in high school. Too self-righteous with all that religion. But not too self-righteous when it came to dating rich boys.

  His gaze dropped to the rock on her finger. That’s right, she married into that pharmaceuticals family. Mega-wealth. Figures. Kevin had heard the guy died. Probably leaving her dripping in dough.

  He waited for her to recognize him. Didn’t know why. Not like she ever paid attention to him then. His eyes roamed down the buttons of her blouse and up again. He’d thought about her night and day for at least three years after graduation.

  Cassandra’s lashes lifted as he caught her eye. A flicker passed through them. “Did you—?”

  “I don’t know why you have to start painting right away. It’s like you’ve been on fire all day.” The older lady next to Cassandra, stared as if waiting for a response.

  “Grandma, please …” The tone of the teen girl with them seemed to placate the woman.

  A young blond boy palmed every last paint can Kevin had just stacked. “No touch.” He kept repeating the phrase with every contact.

  Better not knock them over.

  Cassandra tugged him away like she was protecting the boy from Kevin’s heated glare. “He has autism.” Her words came out as if to accuse Kevin of stabbing the kid. So much for happy reunions.

  The diamond ring flashed from the florescent lights above as she pulled a curl from her eyes. Her daughter didn’t seem to have inherited much of the curls and none of the red. Coal black. But her blue eyes grabbed him in just the same way Cassandra’s did.

  Cassandra shifted. “Can you help us or not?”