Flee From Evil Page 9

  The way Kat’s brows drew together unnerved Cassandra. Like she saw more than she should.

  “Awww. No big moment?” Sophie seemed disappointed.

  “Sometimes the best love comes in being there for the every-day kinds of things.” Tim had certainly done that for her—when she needed him the most. “And you know your father.”

  Sophie’s smile spread across her face. “Yeah, he was the best.”

  Cassandra swallowed hard. Yes, he was. She’d never find someone like Tim again.

  ~*~

  Lew shifted up his ’69 Camaro and swerved left around the puttering station wagon filled with screaming brats. Straight line, free of cars, in the fast lane of the interstate. Some woman in an SUV, talking illegally on her cell phone, swayed in front of him. Lew sighed and jammed his brake pedal.

  Speed. He just wanted a little rush and couldn’t wait to get to the old dirt road that made his heart beat again.

  Alive.

  It had taken him ten years to restore this baby. One paycheck at a time, and livin’ on Ramen Noodles, but it was worth it. He smoothed his fingers along the dash, letting the roar of the engine flow through his arm, rumbling into his backbone.

  Sweet music.

  He swung across three lanes and exited the Hagerstown off-ramp. Almost there.

  He pulled onto the local road. And cursed! A wide-load flatbed crept along the two-lane route, like if it made one false move, half the double-wide home would tumble off. He inched left to watch for vehicles in the on-coming lane. A line of them. His fingers tapped the wheel. When would this beast finally turn off? He inched over again. Two sedans, a big space, then a bunch of other cars. He could fit.

  The sedans passed. One. Two. He swerved out, saw his chance and gunned into the emptiness. A dually truck came barreling toward him as the wide-load faded to the right. Lew could make it. A smile crept up his lips as he punched the clutch and shifted higher. A horn blared. He squeezed the gas pedal for more juice and swung in front of the wide-load, the dually passing to the left. Lew’s pulse thrummed in his neck like the beat of a hard-driving classic-rock tune.

  Yes!

  Lew scanned the tree-lined drive for the hidden entrance. He’d discovered this road two years ago on his way to a dirt-track race event in Hagerstown. A god-send. It wouldn’t be too long before somebody developed this property and made his “road of salvation” a yuppie townhome haven.

  There it was. Taking the turn at full speed, his back wheels skidded sideways along the pavement. The car consumed the dirt path ahead as he entered. Lew loved the feel of gravel under his tires. Controlled chaos. Not having as much grip, it took a skilled driver to subdue. And Lew was its master.

  Once.

  The dirt path through the overhanging trees stretched in front of him. Thread the needle. Curving to the left, the wheels sluiced in the dirt. A tree closed into view. Lew maneuvered the steering wheel. The tires gripped.

  He cleared the tree.

  The control of the road washed over him as he skidded right and barely missed another trunk. Now to the straightaway. The long stretch of path that led to the pit—the gaping chasm of earth left by the abandoned quarry. Probably the reason it had never been developed.

  Lew’s mind ran over the shifting, turning, feeling he’d need to evade that pit at high speed. Otherwise he’d jettison into ...

  Death.

  Something about that word intrigued Lew. Invited him. What would it be like to fly off that precipice, floating over the crevice of earth? Weightless, as his classic Camara arced forward, then plummeted to the jagged rock below. Lew imagined an instant of elation as his stomach rose from the lack of gravity. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, then …

  Nothing.

  Why did that appeal so much to him right now? Almost like a drug he couldn’t take, dangled in front of him, calling him, teasing him.

  Then visions of Billy crashed into his mind. The smile draped by that fu-man-chu that looked like a chocolate milk mustache had dripped to his chin on either side. He’d slap Lew on the back and tell him how much he appreciated his help at the garage. Could Lew really believe his son loved him after a lifetime of neglect? All those prayers that he’d change one day.

  Lew ground his teeth. He’d never live up to Billy’s hopes. The kid would always want Lew to be something more, ever since he’d gone through rehab ten years ago and got religion.

  The trees whizzed by as the end of the road zoomed forward. He could see the far edge of the quarry and the tiny trees that dotted the ridge. How far would the Camaro fly before it made its downward trajectory? Lew’s heart raced faster than the tires spun. Just a few seconds more and he wouldn’t need to measure up to anyone’s standards again.

  The little blond boy came to mind—Tibo was it?—and the feel of his delicate arms around Lew. If only he could roll back the years with his own son. He’d change things. Would his boy have looked at him like little Tibo did?

  You can’t change the past.

  Lew’s chest constricted. He gulped air, shifted higher, squeezed the gas. More power, more speed. He wanted to bridge the gap as far as he could. One last moment of glory.

  Boy, that kid’s deep brown eyes sunk into him. He couldn’t shake it. It was like the kid had found something good when he looked inside, and then grabbed hold.

  Ha!

  Lew’s throat clogged.

  The edge drew nearer. He’d conquered the corner before, spun to the edge and straightened just in time to hug the road and drive on. But this time he’d conquer the pit … and his destiny.

  The trees opened to display the road to the left. He sucked in a lungful of air. Would that help him float? He gunned the engine and …

  Swoosh!

  The back tires sluiced as he made the hard left. His heart pounded his ribcage. He needed to gain control. The rear wheels tasted the edge before they gripped and propelled him forward and down the road. He slammed his brakes, shifted to neutral and pulled his parking brake.

  Lew’s chest heaved for air, competing for space with his pounding heart. His eyes burned. He gasped for more breaths as he peered around at the trees clapping their leaves in the breeze, like they mocked his failure.

  What was he thinking?

  Why couldn’t he do it?

  Coward!

  He shook out of the competing voices, shifted into drive, and cranked the stereo. Zepplin played on the classic rock station. He spun the volume control higher to drown out the noise in his head, then drove the rest of the maze of dirt roads until it was time to go home.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vince pulled up to the ramshackle house. These community projects always energized him—fixing up the home of someone in need. The early July sun beat down on all the Water’s Edge Community Church volunteers busy on ladders at the front, or digging in the gardens, or mending the fence.

  Times like these he was proudest of his congregation.

  Billy Lewis tilted the circular saw up from the lumber he’d cut and waited for the piercing buzz to fade. “Hey Vince.”

  “Looks like you all got a jump on me. Didn’t you say to be here by 10:00 a.m.?”

  Billy glanced around. “Oh yeah.” Why did he look like he’d been caught with his hand in the till? “I forgot to mention, some of us thought it might be a good idea to get a head start.”

  Vince scanned the yard filled with workers. “It seems like the whole crew is already here.”

  Billy grabbed another two-by-four. “Well, you know church folk. Eager to do the Lord’s work.” His smile seemed a little pained.

  Lew lifted a wood board from the stack beside Billy, rolled his eyes and scoffed.

  Wait. Lew was here? How did Billy get him to come? Tibo Whitaker, wearing a tool belt filled with real tools, shadowed him wherever he went, and the man didn’t even seem to mind.

  Vince found his eyes automatically searching for the boy’s mother. Was she here? Not anywhere he could see.

&n
bsp; Billy jabbed a thumb in his dad’s direction. “You’ve met my pop, right?”

  Lew pulled a hammer from Tibo’s belt, mussed the kid’s hair then pounded a nail through the plank at the frame of the large front window.

  “Sure.” Vince shoved his hands in his worn jeans pocket. “At The Dock.”

  “Yep. Lilly-White and I are old friends.” Lew spoke through the nails in his teeth as he pounded the wood.

  Tibo watched the man as if in awe.

  “Lilly-White?” Billy’s eyes questioned Vince.

  Vince shrugged. “That’s what he calls me.”

  Billy doubled over laughing, almost banging his head into the circular saw. He stomped his foot and pulled in a long breath.

  Lew’s brow tilted as he eyed his son.

  Tibo turned and tilted a brow, too.

  Composing himself, Billy straightened his tool belt and slapped an arm around Vince’s shoulder. “Well, Lilly-White, let’s see what job we can find for you to do.”

  Billy’s brown-eyed gaze trailed the line of the roof where three guys banged shingles into place. His brow furrowed and head shook. Vince was glad he nixed that idea, not being too keen on walking slanted surfaces high off the ground.

  “How’d you get your dad here?”

  Billy’s mustache bent. “Really don’t know. I was talking about some of the kids that were coming to volunteer and as I described Tibo, he cut me off and said he was free to help. At first, I didn’t connect it, but they seemed to know each other when we got here.”

  Vince’s gaze drifted to the little boy hammering with a plastic tool next to Lew, again wondering about the possible presence of the boy’s mom. “They met at The Dock a few nights ago when Mrs. Whitaker was there with her whole family. They seemed to take an immediate liking to each other.”

  Billy tilted his head. “Why do you always call her Mrs. Whitaker?”

  “That’s what she wants.” Vince toed a rock in the grass.

  “Oh.”

  Vince turned. “So what do you have for me to do?”

  Billy narrowed his eyes then led Vince to the side yard where a few parishioners hammered panels into the fence. He began to turn Vince toward the garden.

  “Wait.” Vince noticed fence panels missing in several other spots. “I can take care of those.”

  A burst of air exited Billy’s mouth.

  “Really, Billy. Adam Grant showed me how last time.”

  The man grimaced.

  “You didn’t like how it turned out?”

  The grimace took over Billy’s face. No words.

  Vince glared.

  Billy swatted his back. “Okay, fine. You take care of those panels over there.” Billy’s eyes rolled to the heavens as though beseeching God.

  “I can do this.”

  Billy’s nod was not convincing. “Right.”

  Vince would show him. He’d attach the panels better than a pro. Now where was an extra hammer?

  He spotted a box full of tools by a patch of garden. Kneeling in the dirt were two teens—a boy and a girl. He took a second look. Cass’s girl, wearing short-shorts and a low-cut T that invited the eye whenever she bent over the dirt. And the eyes of the guy next to her had accepted that invitation more than once. Had he been the one to bring them there? Vince scanned again for Cass and figured the guy had. Was Vince disappointed or relieved?

  He strode to the gardeners. “Sophie, isn’t it? Mrs. Hessing’s granddaughter.”

  She twisted toward him. “Oh hi, Pastor Vince.” This is my friend, Sky.” Her expression lit as she turned to the kid. “He’s been coming to church with us lately and brought Tibo and me here today.”

  “Yes. I thought I’d seen you all together.” Why did Vince’s muscles stiffen? He usually loved an opportunity to impact another young life.

  The guy never made eye contact. “Well, we better get back to work.” He grabbed the hand shovel Sophie offered, fingers lingering a little too long on hers.

  Sophie’s smile lengthened as she let go. “Yeah, lots of work weeding this mess.”

  Vince turned to settle a glare on the boy, but Sky seemed determined not to meet it. He glanced once as though Vince’s eyes could scorch.

  They could!

  What was wrong with Vince? Why did this kid make him feel protective of Cass’s daughter? He sucked in a breath, determined to right his home-repair reputation.

  After nailing one fence panel into place, Vince inspected it. Crooked. He looked around. How did the other guys do it so well? He blew out an exasperated sigh.

  “Here. Let me show you.” Lew pried the nails out with a hammer to undo Vince’s mess. “Use this board to line the other ones and make them parallel.” He gave Vince the nail.

  Vince placed it and hit it with the hammer.

  “Watch your hands, Pastor,” a voice called from the roof. “You don’t want to get ‘em broke.”

  Vince smirked at the guy knowing he was referring to one of the many trips to the emergency room he’d had since he became part of the home improvement team. “Ha ha, Jorge. Don’t fall from that roof, now.”

  The guy stood, teetered with a grin, “Whoa, whoa—” until Adam Grant pulled him down, both men chuckling.

  Lew’s lips tilted. “Well, at least ya try, Lilly-White. I’ll give ya that.” Lew showed him how to line the panels some more with a patience Billy never gave him. But then again, Billy was all about getting the job done on time.

  On occasion, Vince would peek at the teens now planting petunias, Tibo driving a toy truck through the grass beside them.

  “Pretty girl, that one.” Lew nodded toward Sophie. “Daughter of that woman you were staring at the other night, isn’t she?”

  Vince met Lew’s all-too-knowing gaze. He didn’t figure Lew would appreciate a lie. “Yes.”

  “I think she’s got it bad for the boy.”

  Vince grunted. He glanced over to see Sky playfully tugging the hem of Sophie’s form-fitting T-shirt. His eyes lowered as his smile slid up.

  Something burned inside Vince.

  “Hey, Lilly-White, relax. They’re kids having fun.”

  Vince knew all about that kind of fun. It didn’t make him feel any better. The Sky dude inserted a finger into her belt loop, pulled her closer and whispered in her ear. She giggled as Sky’s gaze met Vince’s heated stare. Sky let go as if touching hot coals.

  “Hey, Vince.” Billy’s calloused palm waved in front of his face. “I’d like to be finished by the end of the day.”

  Vince snapped to. “Yeah, sure, right.” He stood and picked up a few fence pickets over by the gardeners.

  Sky gave him a sideways glance. “So how’s the fence going there?” His gaze landed back in the dirt.

  “It’s doin’ fine, Sky.” Vince swung the hammer back and forth. “You see,” he watched the hammer sway, waiting for Sky to turn his way again, “the trick is …”

  Sky looked up at the pause in Vince’s words.

  “You gotta make sure your hands don’t go where they’re not supposed to,” Vince pointed his eyes to Sophie then back again, “otherwise, your fingers might get broke.”

  Sky’s eyebrows shot up just before he scooted some distance from the girl, and resumed his work.

  Vince grinned as he turned. At least he’d accomplished something today. He twirled the hammer in the air and—Ouch!—dropped it on his toe. Lew shook his head and snickered as Vince picked it from the grass.

  ~*~

  Sophie inspected her nails as Sky revved his car into life. He’d become a little distant after chatting with Pastor Vince. Having faded out when it turned to building stuff, she hadn’t heard what they talked about. All she cared about was making the garden beautiful so the family could smile at the lush colors surrounding them.

  “How ‘bout we go for ice cream cones?” Sky turned his upper body toward her as if to stress the idea.

  Oh, ice cream sounded awesome after a long, sweaty day in the sun. “Sure.” Good
thing Mom had picked Tibo up for a therapy appointment. Sophie wouldn’t have felt right getting an ice cream since he couldn’t eat any, and she doubted The Ice Cream Stop had non-dairy desserts.

  Sky shifted and drove the few blocks to the place. He ordered chocolate on a waffle cone. She ordered mint chip—with extra sprinkles—on a sugar cone. They sat in the car facing each other as they consumed the creamy confection.

  Sophie couldn’t help but notice the way his tongue traveled the edge of the cone, and his full lips bit into the top. His warm brown eyes lifted to catch hers. A smile grew on his face.

  Feeling her cheeks heat, she dropped her attention to her hollowed out cone, and crunched into it. “You’re staring at me.”

  His chuckle sent chills through her arms. “Just returning the favor.”

  She giggled while finishing the last of her cone. The napkin stuck to her hands when she tried to wipe off the ice cream, so she reached into her purse to find a Wet-one.

  “Got one of those for me.” Sky plucked bits of napkin off his fingers where they stuck.

  “Sure. Give me your hand.” Sophie grabbed his left one.

  He yanked it back, but she resisted. “Come on, let me clean you up.” She smirked at what seemed like a little boy reluctant for a bath then noticed his expression had grown dark.

  He tugged harder, bringing attention to his palm, marred on every inch with circular scars. Were those cigarette burns?

  Gasping, she released him.

  He tucked the hand between his knees.

  “What happened, Sky?”

  “What?” He stared at his legs.

  “You know what I mean. Those scars.” She was too upset not to yell.

  His gaze was glued to his jeans.

  “Sky. What was that?”

  “I already told you.” He barely moved his jaw to form the words.

  “Did your mom do that?” How could someone torture their own child?

  His nod was so short she barely saw it. “It’s how she punished me when I was bad.”