The Light at the End of the Tunnel

by James W. Nelson

  ****

  They at last pulled into an alley. Cassandra was looking in all directions but managing to hide her search. Instead she relaxed the arm Mandy was gripping, and, consequently, Mandy relaxed her grip too. She didn’t want to get Mandy in trouble by running, but Mandy would have to fend for herself, and that’s what she was doing by always obeying that awful woman driver. She wondered about Mandy’s mother too, why she never stood up for Mandy, or even for her own self.

  The woman driver turned into the back of a fairly nice house and stopped, then looked back, “This is your time, little girl, you’re going to make us a lot of money today—“

  “How much?” Cassandra surprised even herself by asking such a question, but the shocked look on the woman driver’s face said she was right doing it. Mandy glanced at her too, and her grip relaxed even more.

  The shocked look disappeared quickly, “I’m not sure exactly what you will make, little girl. You can find that out later. But you do know that you have to do something to earn it, right?”

  “What do I have to do?” Cassandra was pretty sure what she had to do, but wanted the woman driver to tell her, so that she could act interested, and willing…Mandy was hanging onto her arm hardly at all.

  “Well, there’s a rich man in that house who’s waiting to see you, and he wants to be real nice to you.”

  “What’s he gonna do?”

  The woman driver had stayed cool for a bit, but Cassandra could see that her questions were beginning to bother her, and yet the woman answered once more in a non-threatening, matter-of-fact, way, “He’s going to make love to you.”

  Make love? What’s that? She didn’t know what to make of that. She had no idea what ‘make love’ meant. She had a vague idea what the word ‘love’ meant, but she doubted there was much real ‘love’ ahead for her, not today, and not in that house. She wanted to ask one more question but didn’t. Instead she smiled, “Okay.”

  And the woman driver smiled back, “We’ll go in then.”

  She expected her to tell Mandy, again, to hang onto her, but she didn’t. The woman driver must be trusting her.

  Mandy slid the side door open and stepped out, then released Cassandra and instead offered her hand to help her down. She smiled and took the hand. Mandy did not smile back but she felt sure Mandy was trusting her too, and when her feet hit the ground she threw Mandy’s hand and dug her feet in.

  “Stop her!” The woman driver’s voice came harshly, doubly harshly because Cassandra had gotten her to trust her.

  She ran down the alley, reached the street and turned in the direction they had turned earlier. She could hear Mandy behind her but she kept going flat out. They reached the busier street. She ran a block, then most of another block, then ducked into a shop. She saw all kinds of clocks, and no customers. Mandy came in almost right behind her. A television high on a shelf was playing a daytime soap opera.

  “Stop, Mandy! I’ll scream…!”

  “No you won’t.”

  “What’s the trouble here?” The shopkeeper, a man with a gray moustache and white hair, and glasses, who just appeared out of nowhere, asked, “Is this your sister?”

  “No!” Cassandra exclaimed.

  “Yes!” Mandy said.

  “Well, I hope one of you is telling the truth.”

  “Mandy, come with me,” Cassandra said, “We’ll both get away.”

  “Get away…?” the shopkeeper said, obviously confused. For just a heart-rending second or two the man reminded Cassandra of Geppeto, the kindly wood carver in Pinocchio, one of only three Disney movies she had seen.

  “I can’t,” Mandy said, “What about my mom?”

  “We’ll go to the police and tell’em, and then we’ll go back for her.”

  “Police? Go back for her?” The poor shopkeeper was really confused. Cassandra so wanted to tell him everything, but somehow knew he would not believe her. Because he was not Geppeto!

  “We can’t get away,” Mandy said, “And even if we did they’d just separate us and put us in foster care. Is that what you want? To go to foster care?”

  “Who are you girls?” the shopkeeper asked.

  Cassandra looked at him. His face now was like the faces of all the other adults she had ever known. He didn’t care about her. Nobody cared about her!—Nicole….

  “They’re my kids!” The woman driver towered and filled the doorway, and hung onto that big purse, “I’ll take care of them, sir, and thank you for helping them.”

  “Ah, I didn’t do a thing, ma’am, but you’re welcome.”

  The shopkeeper watched them leave. Cassandra glanced back. The man was reaching for a wall phone, then she couldn’t see him anymore. She wondered if he would call the police. And then what would he say? Maybe just that she was trying to run away from her mother. He probably wouldn’t call anybody and just go back to wherever he had been before she and Mandy arrived. The three returned to the minivan. Nobody saw the Amber Alert bulletin cut into the soap opera, and of the four people, nobody, maybe not even Cassandra herself, would have recognized the significance of it.

  ****

  Cassandra wasn’t too sure about what had just happened. And, of course, she hadn’t known what to expect, just that it would probably be bad, or at least not fun, and, even though fully dressed again, she still felt cold down there.

  The woman driver had taken her and Mandy into the house, Mandy, mainly, to hang onto her, then they had entered a bedroom right away, “You’ll have to change, honey,” the woman driver had said, “Our man wants you in this…outfit.” The woman held out a dress. It looked like just a dress, but pretty short. “I saw an outfit like this in an article describing the new Halloween costumes, and suggested it to our man, and he readily agreed. Mandy, you help her get undressed.”

  So the big woman driver just stood there and watched. And when Mandy started to pull her panties down, Cassandra tried to stop her—

  “Get those panties off!” the woman driver said, loudly, “Our man doesn’t want panties, so get’em off!”

  Cassandra remembered her stomach suddenly feeling empty, like there was nothing there, but she had released her panties and Mandy finished pulling them down and then off, and finally she had stood naked, feeling…she didn’t remember feeling anything. Except she had felt really cold. It was like her stomach no longer existed, like she no longer existed.

  “Get her dressed, Mandy. Here, all she wears is this little pink dress, plus these black high heels—he wants her in high heels.”

  So Mandy had helped her get the dress on, but it was so short. It barely covered her butt, and she felt really cold there. And the high heels. She, of course, in her short life, had never worn high heels. They were a little big for her; she hoped she would be able to walk in them.

  “One more thing, Mandy.” The woman driver handed over a pink ribbon, that Mandy carefully tied under Cassandra’s hair and then made a bow on top of her head.

  “Ahh, she’s so sweet…give us a couple twirls, honey.”

  Cassandra turned around, and around again, and almost lost her balance, and because of no panties she had felt that really cold, cold on her middle, and like she was still completely naked, and, with no panties she really was. It was a strange, strange, feeling, and her stomach remained empty, and paining her.

  “All right, honey, let’s go.” The woman driver opened the door and gestured. “Oh yes, I nearly forgot.” The woman opened her huge purse and pulled out, “Here, honey, wear these white gloves too.”

  She put them on, then looked up at the woman.

  “Oh,” the woman smiled and showed her teeth, “You are one darling little baby.”

  For a second or two Cassandra focused on the woman’s teeth—they weren’t white; they weren’t pretty at all—then she moved to the door, stepped into the hall, and stopped. The woman driver pointed, “Right up those stairs, honey, and smile!”—Nicole!—“Act like you’re happy!”

  Strange how she co
uld think of Nicole right then, again, a woman she had seen only once and would never see again. But during that one meeting Nicole had looked into her eyes and Cassandra had seen something she had never before seen…Nicole cares about me! I just know it!

  She moved to the stairs and started climbing. The shoes felt so loose. Her bare bottom felt so cold, and…naked—she was naked! And she felt the woman driver staring at her every uncertain step, watching…her nakedness. She hated that woman! She reached the top of the stairs and walked toward the first door.

  “Right there, honey!” the woman driver called out, “Just knock.”

  Cassandra sent her a glance, then faced the door, and knocked.

  A man came to the door immediately and opened it, an older man, like the man, Franny, at her last foster home, only maybe older, “Hello, sweetheart,” he said.

  I’m not your sweetheart! “Hello.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dorothy.”

  “Dorothy?”

  “Yes!” Cassandra knew that had come out too loud and hard. She had to be nice to this man or he would tell the woman driver, and then she wouldn’t know what to expect. The woman driver might even hurt her, “You know.” She smiled, “’Dorothy,’ like the Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz.’”

  “Oh, of course. I liked that movie. And I like that name ‘Dorothy.’ My name’s—“

  And he said a name, but she blocked it. She didn’t want to know his name.

  He closed the door and stepped back to the bed and sat down on the edge, then held out his arms and smiled, “Come here, sweetheart.”

  I’m not your sweetheart! She felt so angry, and upset, and her stomach felt so empty, and she just didn’t know why this was happening to her, but she walked to the man, right into his arms, and let him hug her.

  He held her in the hug for what seemed like a long time. She almost didn’t mind it. She even kind of started hugging him back. She didn’t remember the last time someone had hugged her, really, honestly, hugged, her, maybe never. But Nicole would hug her, Nicole would hug me tight! There had been plenty of fake hugs, though, hugs for show, if someone important was watching, but no real hugs. She started to feel warm, like she was in a safe and wonderful place; she actually started to feel…loved by this man—‘make love,’ that’s what the woman had said—but then his hand started to move down her back, then both his hands, down, to her butt, then one hand stopped to just feel her there through her dress, but the other hand kept going, down, down to the bottom of her dress, then onto her leg, and started up again, and then she stopped remembering…

  ****

  “Wasn’t so bad, was it, honey?” asked the woman driver.

  Cassandra didn’t answer. I hate you! I could kill you!

  “Well, you might as well start getting used to it, baby girl,” The woman driver continued, “Because as long as you’re with me, that’s what you’ll be doing, only there won’t be any more new fancy getups like that—what did they call it in that advertisement?—a ‘runaway diva child costume.’ Oh my god! I loved it, and I loved you in it, honey! Cause that’s what you are, baby-girl, a runaway, and a diva! But I wonder what dirty-minded person comes up with these ideas for Halloween costumes for really young girls, I don’t know. But I’d like to meet’im! Or her… Anyway, there won’t be anymore, not unless we run into more old guys with deep pockets who just like girls between the ages of seven and ten.” The woman driver glanced back, then reached back with her hand.

  Cassandra ducked it.

  “You’ll come to enjoy it, baby-honey-girl, I’ll bet you even enjoyed it today.” The woman swung her hand again.

  She ducked it again, and remembered. The man had not hurt her, and in her mind she thanked him for that. He had only held her, and hugged her—things she hadn’t minded, and kind of even liked, because she felt he really did like her. She only minded it when his hands moved on her, feeling and touching her everywhere! Then she didn’t like it!—but she didn’t dare try to stop him, and he didn’t actually hurt her, not like when that boy reaped her!

  “Come on, not even a little bit?”

  She finally looked at the woman driver but would not smile, and knew her lips were really tight.

  “Oh, I love that pout. If we had a camera that look you have on right now could sell big time—“ She turned back to watch her driving, “Little girl smiles and pouts are selling like hotcakes on the web—little sweetie-pies and baby beauty queens—oh my god, I love that too, except I don’t know anything about computers—Mandy! We’re going to get you a camera and a computer!...Then, ladies, we’ll start moving into some real money. But we don’t have a lot of time, as little Cassandra won’t stay nine forever.” The woman driver looked back again, and sent an evil expression.

  Cassandra turned quickly away and faced the window, but saw nothing of the world passing. Her mind and heart said she wanted to scream, and cry, but she had not cried for such a long time she didn’t even remember ever crying, not ever, and wondered if the crying part of her body even worked!

  “Mandy!” the woman driver half shouted, “Don’t you ever let go of her again! And honey-girl, you straighten up that face! You got more work to do tonight! And you will start liking it…or making me believe you like it—or else…!”

  She could not think of one happy thing to think about, so her mind simply went blank.

  Chapter 46 Lights Out

  Les Paul was finally ready for something different. He had thought about it all day, and had dismissed those ancient memories, memories so ancient that he had finally convinced himself that they weren’t his at all. He still wondered why he would have such memories if they weren’t really his—doesn’t matter! They’re not mine!

  He doubled his fists and thought so hard that he attracted the attention of the other boys.

  “Hey, Baby Boy,” Edsel said, “Ya gettin’ anxious?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, ya still plannin’ta do the old lady tonight?”

  “No. I’m takin’ the young girl.”

  Edsel stopped and grabbed Les Paul’s arm, “You said I could have her!”

  He slapped the hand away, “I changed my mind. Tonight she’s mine!”

  “No!” Edsel grabbed Les Paul’s arm again and spun him around, then kneed him in the stomach, then socked him on the cheekbone.

  Les Paul started to go down. He had never been in a fight yet in this life, had never been hit…but then those deep, dark, far back, memories began to flash! Before his hands even touched the ground his feet sprang to below him and stabilized him and both his fists came up together and nailed the older boy in the groin.

  Edsel screamed and went down. Les Paul stood and kicked the boy in the head, then went to work with his fists pounding and pounding until the third boy pulled him away, “Baby Boy, for Christ’s sake! You’ll kill him!”

  He immediately slowed his emotions. That’s what psychopaths did, they controlled themselves, they fooled people into believing whatever they wanted them to believe. He then squatted by the boy he had just beaten and felt for the pulse in his neck. He had to feel a few places. He didn’t know exactly where to feel but he had seen people on TV do it, then he found it. The pulse sounded okay, “He’s fine! Let’s go!”

  “What about Edsel?” the other boy asked.

  “He can go back without us.”

  “What if he tells?”

  “He won’t! He should know I’ll kick his ass again if he does!”

  “But can we just leave him lying there?”

  “Why not? He’ll wake up and go back or he’ll be there when we come back, and then we’ll get’im up—let’s go!”

  “Okay.”

  So the boys went on. They didn’t see Sikorsky watching from about eighty feet back in the direction they had just come.

  Two more blocks passed and they came to that little darkened house with the one dim light in back. Les Paul continued leading the way into the house, down the short
hall and stopped where a dim light appeared under a door.

  He knocked.

  The woman driver opened the door and was still hanging onto that huge purse. What the hell is in that purse? She then stepped back, “Welcome, boys,” she said, “Come on in.” The two boys went in. The woman driver stepped to the hall, “You said there’d be three of you.”

  “There were,” Les Paul said, “The other guy…got selfish, and impatient. I had to put’im down.” He still wondered what on earth could be in that purse that, evidently, she never let get out of her sight.

  The woman driver’s face turned into a mask, “Well, you’re still payin’ for three.”

  “Fine,” he said, and glanced a grin at the other boy, “I’ve got all the money, and I want the young one tonight.” He began looking around, and finally saw her, scrunched into the corner. She no longer was just a cute little seven-year-old but now a red hot nine-year-old—if she would just smile—a memory hit his head like a board! He ignored it! He forcefully pushed it away and refused to let it in! He didn’t know he could control those memories—from now on I will!—But he kept seeing it! Not really a memory but he knew what was trying to get into his head: The memory of his own wife and darling little girl child—he squeezed his fists and gritted his teeth!

  When the girl in the corner met his eyes she flinched, and noticeably tried to scrunch herself further into the corner. To hell with those ancient memories!—daddy—that now he knew he could control…but his head was beginning to hurt—daddy—He was going to love raping that girl, and seeing the fear on her face!—daddy—He saw his hands going from holding her in a love embrace to moving around her throat—But my head really is HURTING!!!!

  ****

  Sikorsky alone had followed the boys closely, but was returning.

  “Sikorsky’s coming!” Nicole said, “Let’s meet him.”

  “What about that boy?” the chaplain asked.

  “Forget him, Radford! If he’s dead he’s dead! If he’s just hurt he’ll live till later! Let’s see what Les Paul is up to!”