The Light at the End of the Tunnel

by James W. Nelson

  Again the woman’s face changed as she sighed and glanced away, “We gave her some before she went to her next foster home, and each time thereafter as she changed homes, and we made appointments for her to continue…but she refused to talk much.” The woman rose, went to a filing cabinet, opened a drawer, and began digging through it. The chaplain and Nicole glanced at each other.

  The woman withdrew a file, returned to her desk and sat down, then began paging through the file, “Four foster homes.” She shook her head, and looked at four different areas in the file, shaking her head each time, then she looked up, “I don’t suppose you want to talk to any but the family she’s with now, correct?”

  “Correct,” Nicole answered.

  “All right.” The woman wrote down an address on notepaper and attached a business card, “You people appear to be legitimate, so I’ll share this one address. Any further information is out.” She handed over the paper, then pulled it back and laid it on her desk, then reached under the desk and came up with a large purse. She dug for a moment and finally withdrew with a different business card, removed the first card and attached the second, “This is my personal business card. Nothing to do with family services. The number there is my cell phone. If I can be of any further service to you—unofficially—please call.” Then her face changed yet again. The chaplain was pretty sure it was a smile, but he would never go to the bank on that assumption.

  They left the building and while walking to their vehicle, “You make a pretty good liar, Nicole.”

  “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell the truth, and you know there is a very big difference. I said they ‘appeared to be friendly with each other.’ With that many foster kids in the same household, they probably had to choose sides, to a point, at least. Cassandra maybe just chose the wrong side. Women, and girls, have been known before to make mistakes choosing their men. Anyway, Cassandra and Baby Boy—I mean with a name like that…well, most any girl would probably swoon, at least until she discovered the truth. So, to end my tirade, yes, they very easily could have been friendly with each other. And that lady of the house, I wonder if she would have even noticed anything like that. And I think had we asked her such a specific thing she would have told us ‘Sure,’ which wouldn’t have committed her to anything one way or the other. Anyway, we’re looking for Baby Boy-Doe9 and I’m pretty sure little Cassandra can help us.”

  “Whatever, Nicole, you pulled it off. What about your ‘rape’ counseling?”

  “A neighbor girl. A good friend. We talked about her rape for several days—and I could see that you didn’t like the receptionist, Rad, and that you were going to get nowhere with her. Just like that lady at the fancy house.” They reached their vehicle and Nicole turned to the chaplain, “You need to get it together, my dear Chaplain Radford O’Hare. Just because you maybe don’t like someone does not mean you can’t allow them to at least think you are a civil man.”

  “That’s what I have you for.”

  “And you’re lucky to have me.” Nicole finally looked at the paper the receptionist had given her, “Hmmm, I don’t recognize the name of the town.”

  “What is it?”

  “Marble Falls.”

  Once in the vehicle Nicole immediately looked at the index to the Kansas map, “Here it is, about…,” She fingered off three distances between towns, “About 70 miles. Marble Falls, population 169.”

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to find her.”

  “Right. We can stop somewhere, spend the night, and get to little Cassandra’s house about 10 A.M.”

  She sent her smile that always lit up the inside of her minivan the chaplain always thought, “You’re starting to sound like this little girl means something to you.”

  “Well, she does. She’s been hurt, and kicked around. I just hope that our visit will…somehow, help her.”

  “Okay. So which way, Sunshine?”

  Nicole pointed straight ahead, “That way for maybe three blocks, then left. We’ll get back on US#183 and, about 70 miles south.”

  ****

  The next morning, about 10:30 they stopped on a dusty street near the edge of town. A broken and slightly heaved concrete sidewalk led to an older, one-story white house. Nicole again looked at the address, “314. This is it.”

  “Not such a nice house this time,” the chaplain observed.

  “No, but they could still be good people.” Nicole opened her door and stepped out.

  The chaplain followed. Halfway to the house they stopped and Nicole pointed to a swing-set they hadn’t been able to see from the minivan, “There she is.”

  “Maybe a good thing,” he said, “She’s more apt to open up if her foster parents aren’t around.

  ****

  Cassandra, sitting in the swing, the one thing that still worked on the swing set, had heard the sound of a vehicle that maybe stopped out front. Then she heard the engine stop. She stiffened her legs on the ground. Her body, from her mouth to her stomach, stiffened also. She held her doll a little tighter, and waited, hoping it wasn’t somebody from Family Services again. She wished those people would just leave her alone. She wasn’t exactly happy at this home but she wasn’t unhappy, either. At least there were no other children…no, boys…

  She heard two doors close. That seemed strange. Usually Family Services sent just one person, so maybe it wasn’t Family Services. Two people appeared on the sidewalk, a woman and a man. The woman saw her and stopped the man.

  The woman was young, and pretty, and a little shorter than the man, who, with white hair must be a lot older. The woman smiled. That was different. Usually the people who bothered her did not smile, at least didn’t smile honestly. Cassandra, in her short life of nine years, had seen dozens, hundreds, of fake smiles, but the smile on this woman’s face seemed…real.

  She swallowed. Her fists tightened. She tightened her heels on the ground.

  The two started toward her. Cassandra stiffened even more, and held her doll even tighter. Even with what appeared to be a real smile she wasn’t ready to just trust some strange woman.

  “Hi,” the woman called, then shaded her eyes from the sun, “What’s your name, honey?”

  ‘Honey?’ Nobody had ever called her anything but ‘Cassandra.’ If they were from Family Services they would know her name, so, they weren’t from Family Services. She wondered if she should answer.

  The woman touched the man’s arm and he stopped, then the woman came closer, and knelt down, “I’m sorry, honey,” the woman said, “I shouldn’t just ask you your name without first telling you mine.” She kept smiling. Cassandra liked her smile, and liked her eyes, dark blue eyes like her own...she’s so pretty…and nice. She began feeling something in her chest…an emptiness, like when the Family Services people kept taking her away from somewhere, just as she was beginning to kind of like it there…but this feeling was different, like something maybe was going to break in her chest—“My name is Nicole,” the pretty lady said.

  Without even thinking further, “I’m Cassandra.”

  Nicole increased her smile, “That’s a very pretty name, Cassandra, and I’m glad to meet you.” She held out her hand.

  Cassandra stared at that hand. Nobody had ever wanted to shake her hand. Again, without even thinking, she took that hand, and felt the warmth, and held on.

  “May I ask you some questions, Cassandra?”

  She trusted this woman. She couldn’t help it, and couldn’t realize that her heart so wanted to trust somebody. Again, without even thinking about it, “Yes.”

  ****

  The girl had light brown hair and wore a very plain yellow dress. She had stayed sober watching them walk toward her, but didn’t show any alarm. If any emotion showed on her face it seemed to be one of, well, very sober, and not trust for sure, but not distrust, either.

  At mention of the word ‘honey’ from Nicole, a very quick smile had fleeted across the girl’s face. From about ten feet away, where Nicole had touched his a
rm and stopped him, the chaplain could see a scattering of very faint freckles around the girl’s nose and spreading into her cheeks.

  When Nicole knelt down fairly close the girl’s eyes seemed to double in size and again that quick smile fleeted. The girl remained sober but he could see that trust of Nicole was growing by leaps and bounds. Strange, Nicole had affected him that same way, and just as quickly. For maybe three seconds a thought of the three of them together crossed his mind but he dismissed it just as quickly.

  After Nicole introduced herself, which, even from the distance he heard quite plainly, he also noticed that little Cassandra held onto Nicole’s hand. Yes. Trust. The girl likely had not experienced much of that, and again the three of them together slipped through his mind, not so easily dismissed the second time.

  “First,” Nicole said, “Are your parents home?”

  “They aren’t my parents.”

  A straightforward answer. The girl’s face changed slightly. Maybe some of the trust dissipated, as it appeared the girl had tried to withdraw her hand, but Nicole held on. He hoped Nicole could bring that trust back as quickly.

  “So you mean you just stay with them?”

  “Yes. And they’re not home. The man works nights, and he always eats somewhere else for breakfast, and the woman just went to the post office. They both should be back soon.”

  Just the ‘man’ and the ‘woman.’ Not a lot of love lost there. The girl’s face now said she maybe wondered whose side she should be on…her foster parents or Nicole’s. Probably the same kind of decision the girl had been dealing with for a long time. Again the thought of the three of them—but he stopped that thought, and shook his head.

  “We wanted to ask you, Cassandra, about something that happened to you a couple years ago.”

  Almost imperceptively the girl moved back. Again she appeared to try to withdraw her hand, but again Nicole held on. Two years obviously meant something to her. The girl then looked toward the chaplain, with not nearly the amount of friendliness on her face as for Nicole. Surely the men in the girl’s life had never been too good for her.

  “Who’s that?” With her other hand the girl pointed at the chaplain, and her doll nearly fell, but like a flash she grabbed it and again held it tight against her front.

  “That’s Radford, my traveling companion.”

  “You’re not married to him?”

  “He’s a chaplain, Cassandra,” Nicole said, as if being a chaplain should help make the girl trust him, and maybe it did help as the girl’s face returned to just sober again, rather than unfriendliness.

  The chaplain decided to take advantage of the momentary quasi-trust and stepped forward, smiled, squatted, and extended his hand, “Hi, Cassandra, I’m glad to meet you too.”

  Surprise covered the girl’s face. Nicole released her hand, then Cassandra did take the chaplain’s hand, but only for a second, “Hi,” then her attention—and her hand—went right back to Nicole, “So what’s your question?” she asked, and referred to Nicole.

  “All right, Cassandra—“ Nicole began.

  “You can call me ‘Cassie.’” That very quick smile came again, and went again.

  “All right, thank you, Cassie.” If Nicole’s smile could get brighter and warmer, it did, and rapport between the two appeared to be guaranteed. “What about your doll? I bet you’ve given her a name.”

  “It’s Rachel Ray.” The girl’s smile remained a second or two longer.

  “Oh, like that nice lady chef on TV.”

  “Yes, I really like to watch her show.” This time the girl’s smile lit up the yard. She even appeared to relax a bit. The question they wanted answered, though, required not exactly a smile, except Nicole didn’t ask the question he was hoping for.

  “Do you like the people you’re living with, Cassie?”

  “I don’t know.” The girl looked down, for about two seconds, “I guess….”

  “But you aren’t sure…?”

  Come on, Nicole, the foster parents could get back any second! But he knew she was laying groundwork for the future. He also knew they probably didn’t have a lot of excess time.

  “Do you like the woman, Cassie?”

  “She—“ Cassie fidgeted, “She’s, okay, I guess.”

  “How about the man?”

  “I don’t know.” Again Cassie looked down, and then away, “He—he kind of scares me sometimes.” Cassie brought her full attention back to Nicole. The expression on her face with no doubt said she saw Nicole as her savior—again the thought—he STOPPED it!

  “How does he scare you, Cassie?”

  “It’s just how he looks at me sometimes, and sometimes he acts like he wants to tuck me into bed. It—I, it, it’s creepy…sometimes.”

  Obviously the man had done nothing, yet, but the young girl was sensing that he wanted to, and the chaplain was pretty sure that she was sensing correctly…but until the man actually did something there would be no help for Cassie. He wished he could pick her up and carry her away to safety—then caught his thoughts again and dismissed them yet again! Forcefully!

  “Two years ago, Cassie,” Nicole said, thankfully returning to the subject at hand, “You lived with a family who had four boys and two other girls—“

  The girl let out a breath, then took it back in. Nicole had definitely touched a nerve.

  “The boys, at that time, were ten, and twelve—“ The girl drew in to herself at mention of the twelve-year-old, and appeared to try harder to withdraw her hand, but Nicole hung right on. He hoped Nicole had seen the girl’s reaction as well, and Nicole glanced at him, her eyes saying she had, “and two other boys, seven and six, and the girls were—“

  “That boy reaped me.” Again the long ‘e’ sound.

  “Which one, Cassie?”

  “The big one—“

  “What’s going on here?”

  Cassandra jerked her hand free and instantly was out of the swing and running for the house. Nicole and the chaplain stood to face two arrived people.

  ****

  “I repeat,” the newly-arrived woman said, “What’s going on and who are you people?”

  The chaplain stepped forward and held out his hand, “I’m Radford Ohare, and this is my partner, Nicole Waters. We’re both private detectives.”

  The mere mention of officialdom brought a surprised look from the woman, about forty and dressed in slack morning clothes, a stained sweatshirt and baggy sweatpants. At one time the sweatpants likely were white. The woman glanced at the man beside her with more a look of disgust, which changed to a dishonest look of approval when she brought her attention back to Nicole, “Goodness, what brings the law to our charming little house here in Marble Falls?”

  “We aren’t the law,” Nicole condescendingly clarified, very obviously not liking the woman, which the chaplain would very definitely bring to Nicole’s attention.

  The look on the man’s face was a little different. Pretty obvious he was guilty, of something. He was unshaven, not bearded but unshaven, the look that some women seemed to love to identify the bad in boys, to find their bad boys. He suspected this woman had picked the man for that exact reason, because he was bad, but now that she had him she probably wished he would change a bit. But they never did. They would always be bad in that way that women perceive as sexy, but likely wished the men wouldn’t exude the same sexiness to other women.

  “I’ll check on Cassandra,” the man said, then threw a lewd glance at Nicole before he left.

  Nicole looked after him, probably wishing that she also could pick Cassandra up and take her away to somewhere safe.

  “So,” the woman said, also watching as her man disappeared, “What can we do for our two partners in crime?”

  The chaplain, knowing that in this case he maybe would be the best for further communication, stepped forward, “We’ve been hired by the original parents—“

  “Of Cassandra?” A look of, what?—Fear of losing the foster money? Probably�
�took over the woman’s face. “They told us both her parents died, and there were no close relatives!”

  “No, not of Cassandra. It’s a boy that she at one time lived in the same household with up in Nebraska. We’re trying to find the boy.”

  “The boy that raped her?”

  “Well, we think the boy she accused didn’t do the actual rape, as, according to our information, Cassandra just pointed. She didn’t actually name him.”

  “It doesn’t matter. She got raped, and now, thank God, she’s in a safe home.

  Through peripheral vision the chaplain saw Nicole not only lose a breath, but cringe. Neither thought this particular foster home was probably the best in the world, but also there was nothing to suggest it wasn’t, either.

  “So may we speak to her?” Nicole asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ll ask her, but if she doesn’t want to….”

  “We’ll understand.”

  ****

  They finally were invited into the house—which was clean, enough—and then to Cassandra’s room—where the unshaven man quickly departed from the doorway, after giving Nicole another lewd look. The girl’s demeanor had changed, drastically. She was seated at a card table that held both lined and plain notepaper, color crayons, markers, and other items that most young children enjoyed using. Other than the card table and a bed with a little night stand and lamp the room was bare. It did have carpeting, though, and a window that faced the swingset.

  “These people want to ask you some questions, Cassie,” the woman announced.

  Bent over and drawing, Cassandra did not look up, and barely mouthed, “Okay.” The rapport, begun so in earnest earlier, appeared to be gone.

  “May we speak to her in private?” the chaplain asked.

  “I suppose.” The woman gave a huff, then left.

  Nicole approached, and reached out, likely intending to touch Cassandra’s shoulder. But the girl pulled away, stopping her.

  “Cassie—“

  The young girl looked up and scowled, “My name’s Cassandra!”

  Yes, the rapport was absolutely gone.

  “All right, sorry, Cassandra. You started to tell me—“