Flee From Evil

by Connie Almony

  Cole waited for the rest of his sentence, but it didn’t come. In fact, he didn’t need it. His own bitterness churned against the lowering censors from the excess alcohol in his coffee. He glared at the man on his chair. “How does one help others like your brother?” His sarcasm grew as did the curl of his lip. “House him. Pamper him. Find jobs he can’t do with people willing to make it easier for the crippled guy?”

  Henry jolted. Tears hung on the edges of his eyes. “My company developed prosthetic limbs for amputees. At one time, it was the leader in research and development, giving the wounded lives closer to what they’d been before the loss.”

  Cole sensed more. “And now?”

  “I gave control to my two sons when I retired early. They believed it wiser to cut costs than to build lives. They ran the company into the ground, peddling defective products that did more harm than good. They even gave bonuses to prosthetists who pushed inferior products.”

  Henry shifted, placed his mug on the table, his gaze never rising from it.

  “Several months ago, a young veteran died when a seriously defective screw caused him to fall down a steep concrete stairway. Since the news coverage, other complaints have come in which have begun to lead to mass recalls.”

  Cole’s breathing slowed as he took in the guilt that poured from this man’s features, his posture, his mind.

  Henry stared back. “You must hate people like me who profit from other’s loss.”

  “You profited?”

  “My company made me a wealthy man.”

  “Oh.”

  “But it will all be lost in the lawsuits, when they find the willful neglect of the higher ups in my company.” His laugh was bitter. “My sons.” He shook his head. “And I will not fight to keep it.”

  The story was beginning to come together. “What’s your company’s name?”

  “Rose Prosthetics.”

  Cole tensed. He’d heard about the accident in the news. The victim was a decorated veteran and the head of a large family. His wife widowed, children orphaned, and all because this man’s sons felt it more important to make a larger profit off the backs of the desperate. Bitterness swelled, peaked, then dissipated in one instant at the man’s despondency.

  Henry eyed Cole. “I can see you know the story.”

  “I do.” Cole finished the coffee, his muscles dragging rather than holding him up. It’d been an exhausting evening, climbing those trails and rescuing Henry. Only now he wasn’t so sure if he had been the rescuer? Yes, Cole had brought him to his home, but Henry had lent him his arm most of the trail leading there. He wasn’t really sure who’d helped whom more.

  Cole stood, leaning heavily on his crutch, wavering with the effects of the drink. “Mrs. Rivera will be down to show you to your room.” He turned away.

  “Why don’t you use prosthetics, Cole?”

  Cole stopped. The question stabbed him. The answer was none of this guy’s business. Couldn’t he see Cole’s soul was too ugly to care about? The world should know this now more than ever.

  “They could make your life much easier.”

  “Or kill me.” Cole felt the man flinch without even seeing him. He regretted the words.

  “Not all products are like what my sons built. We did a lot of good for a lot of people before they destroyed the company.” He seemed to search for words. “My daughter is nothing like them. She’s developed a new socket design that attaches closer to the bone from the outside. It could dramatically change the maneuverability for amputees who want to remain active. It’s simple, but incredibly effective.” He sucked in more air. “Only now, no one wants anything to do with the Rose family. She can’t get any funding to develop the product. My lack of oversight of what my sons were doing has not only ruined her career, but also the future of a product that could help veterans like yourself.”

  “That’s too bad.” Cole couldn’t control the self-pity that overtook him. “I’m sure she’s as nice as a fairytale princess too.” He thumped down the hall to his first-floor apartment and slammed the door.

  ~*~

  Three months later …

  Carly Rose pulled up the long drive to the man’s house. The forested lane opened, revealing—

  Whoa! That was no house. It was more like a very expensive ski chalet. For hordes of guests. What did one man need with all that space? Carly’s family had some money, but this guy must be loaded.

  She scanned the circular drive. A young man in jeans and a t-shirt rubbed at the gleaming black limo inside an otherwise empty five-car garage. He leaned back and smiled at the shine he’d elicited.

  Carly parked beside the front entrance and tried to blow the stray hair from her face. Soaked from the solid hour she’d just spent in the rain explaining to the roadside-assistance guy how to change her flat tire, the hair wouldn’t budge.

  Hoping Cole Harrison got the message she’d be late—very late—she glanced in the rearview to find a thick black smudge across her cheek. She rubbed. It held fast to her skin. Well, at least it matched the smears from the tire across her rain coat and blue jeans.

  Thank goodness this was only an information session. Cole Harrison had finally agreed to try out her prototype prosthetics. It had taken her father much cajoling of the man over breakfast those many months ago, and repeated phone calls since. Why had Mr. Harrison resisted using prosthetics for so long? And why had he relented now? She shrugged. If he liked them, maybe he’d invest in a new company, giving at least part of the Rose family a chance at redemption.

  “Am I okay here?” she called to the guy in the garage as she closed the door to her car.

  His head bobbed, swinging his dark hair into his face. “Yup.”

  She poked the doorbell, straightened the still-damp shirt under her drenched raingear and waited. Her toe tapped with the nervous energy that buzzed through her. She fingered the gold cross at her neck.

  A fiftyish woman opened the door. “Come in.” She motioned for Carly to take off her coat. The woman called to the young man with a Hispanic lilt to her voice, “Beautiful, Manny. Mr. Cole will be very pleased.”

  Funny. When talking to her father, Carly got the idea that Cole Harrison was not one to be easily pleased. She’d asked her dad why he thought Mr. Harrison would invest in her designs and he’d answered with a far-away look and said, “I don’t know, Carly. What other choices do we have?”

  Choices. Was the only choice to start a new company? Did Carly want to run a business? That would mean more time with sales figures and less with clients. She didn’t want to end up like her brothers, not caring for the people she served.

  “Mr. Harrison will be right with you.” The woman never asked Carly’s name. He must not get many visitors out here.

  Carly’s gaze rolled over the expanse of the foyer, down several long halls decorated with gold-framed portraits and ornately carved tables, and into a living room housing couches littered with embroidered throw pillows.

  The woman pointed. “Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  Carly might have been soaked on the outside from standing in the rain, but the exertion of changing tires left her parched. “Water.”

  The woman nodded and hustled away.

  Carly took a turn about the living room, running her finger along the mantel above the fireplace, noting the crystal set atop it. Pricey. Her eyes drew up to catch her reflection in the mirror above. Wet, straggly blond hair, wrinkled top, black smudges hither and yon—she looked like a mongrel dog. Or maybe the forest animal the mongrel caught up in his teeth. She chuckled. A step up from the ordinary that usually identified her.

  Rhythmic thumping and clanging sounded from behind. It stopped. “You’re quite the Beauty.”

  Carly pivoted to see the source of the sarcasm-laden tone, catching sight of the man missing alternate limbs, leaning on a metal crutch. Dark circles ringed his eyes and a scar split the left side of his closely-shaved head.

  His gaze scanned her at
tire with a smirk. “Your father never mentioned you were so … lovely. A fashion plate.”

  She stifled a comeback about his own appearance, but chose the higher road. “My father never mentioned you were such a wit.”

  His eyes widened and his lips almost twisted into something one might call a smile.

  “Did you get my message?”

  He hobbled closer. “Yes. Something about waiting on roadside assistance to change your tire.” His gaze rolled over her. “It appears you didn’t wait.”

  She pulled a packet of papers from her case and sat in an armchair. “How about we get started?”

  “Certainly.” He dropped into the overstuffed sofa.

  “I have a number of questions I need you to answer, forms for you to fill out and I’ll need to tour the manor’s exercise facilities.”

  “Of course.”

  “Once you’re fitted with the prosthetics, we’ll begin rehab.” She organized papers on the coffee table.

  “Who’ll be doing the fitting?”

  “I will.”

  He stared. Was he looking at her or the wall behind her? His arrogance dripped from him like an oozing sore.

  “I assure you, I am skilled both as a prosthetist and a physical therapist. I wanted to know all aspects of my field in order to get my designs right.”

  “Would you like to see your room?”

  Was he even listening to her?

  “Yes. As I mentioned, I’d like to tour the manor’s exercise rooms. I assume that’s where most of the rehab will take place.”

  “Not for rehab. Your apartment.” His eyes were a steely blue, softened only by his thick lashes. It seems those and his eyebrows were the only hair he allowed on his entire head.

  “My apartment?” Her heart beat against her chest. What had her father signed her up for? How desperate was he to land this investor?

  “Yes, upstairs, where you’ll be living for the next several months.”

  Carly placed the pen atop some papers and fingered her cross necklace.

  “Didn’t your father mention my expectation that rehab be daily? He said you live two hours away.”

  Carly thought of the lonely drive up the forested mountain road. She suspected there were few, beyond the wildlife, who actually lived within two hours of this place.

  “I won’t have you working with me exhausted after a long drive,” Cole’s eyelids hung as though he were bored, “possibly losing tires along the way.”

  She took in several cycles of breaths, gauging his expression. Could she trust this man—to live with him—in such a remote location? He was a complete stranger to her. An obviously bitter one. She thought about her father’s excitement at the prospect of an interested investor. She knew her father’s car hadn’t met the tree only because of a storm. He’d gone out looking for death. And this hairless man offered him a chance at life.

  Why?

  “You’ll have several rooms to yourself—a bathroom, kitchenette, patio and office. But I will expect you to eat dinner with me every evening.”

  Her eyebrows shot up of their own volition. “With my imprisonment here, this is beginning to sound like a dark retelling of a Disney flick.”

  His blink was heavy. “You mean Beauty and the Beast?”

  She shrugged.

  His lips curled higher. “I guess that makes me the Beauty.”

  Insolent man.

  His tone grew serious. “I suggested you live here for a number of reasons. First,” he ticked off a finger from his intact hand, “you live too far away. Second,” he ticked off another finger, “we will need lots of time for rehab sessions. Third,” his ring finger joined the others, “I’ll want to process how things are going with the product at dinnertime. After all, I may be sinking a load of dough into it eventually.”

  Carly looked around, wondering how much of that “dough” he’d actually miss.

  “And lastly,” he placed his hand on the stump of his left leg, “given your family’s recent dealings,” he hesitated, likely for effect, “you will need to earn my trust.”

  Her fingers balled. “Earn your trust?” The words came out in force. She almost growled, holding in the names she wanted to heap at him. Maybe she was the beast. But he was right. He had no reason to trust her family and more reason not to. Both as a client and an investor.

  She wished she could wash away the stain of what her brothers had done to her father’s business. It didn’t matter he’d had an impeccable reputation for years. All people would remember is how it ended. She had to change that with something new. Cole Harrison was the means with which to do that.

  But would she be safe living under the same roof as him?

  He must have read the question on her face. “You may call a locksmith to come and change the locks to all your rooms—my expense.”

  She speared him with her eyes. Carly never liked people answering the thoughts she hadn’t voiced.

  “And Mrs. Rivera will be here with you, not to mention the rest of the manor staff.”

  “Yes, I will.” Did Mrs. Rivera appear at his word? She placed a tray with plates of cookies, a soda and a glass of water on the table between them.

  She looked harmless enough.

  Carly would do anything for her father. Especially after her brothers had destroyed his dream. She needed to rebuild it, even if it meant taking some risks. Someone needed to look out for him. “When do I move in?”

  “As soon as you wish.”

  ~*~

  Cole liked this woman. She’d taken every inch of him in when she first turned his way, and never flinched. Must be a hazard of the trade—seeing limbless, disfigured wretches on a regular basis.

  Not a trace of pity in her eyes. Good. He deserved none. He wasn’t the hero.

  Carly also had a spark of something else. A hint of spice. Cole liked spice. Too bad spice didn’t like him back. Nothing could.

  Should he have Jurvis look into her? His man-of-business, who sensed the housing bust months before it happened, had a financial sense none could match. Jurvis could smell a parasite a mile away.

  Not necessary. Cole could figure this one out. Either her products worked or they didn’t. He’d give her the opportunity to prove herself. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  Besides, Carly intrigued him. The only time she’d flinched during their meeting was at the moment he’d mentioned her looks. What had she been thinking? Did it bother her that she was plain? Had her vanity been pierced? He regretted his sarcastic jabs once the totality of them tumbled from his lips. It’s what made the men of his Marine unit hate him.

  All, but one.

  He’d vowed to become more likeable after the IED, but it was too late. His looks had been the only thing that attracted people to him before, especially women. Now his appearance matched what had always been inside—useless flesh.

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  Acknowledgments

  “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.”—Matthew 6:33 NIV

  I call this verse “step one.” If you start here, everything else is perfect. So I’ll begin by thanking my God. He is the alpha and omega, the beginning and end. The all in all. Without Him, there is nothing good. I like good, so I will thank Him for it.

  I also want to thank my family, my husband and my kids, who encourage and inspire me as well as put up with all my author idiosyncrasies. I must thank my mom, dad, sisters and their families. This story, in particular, has a lot of loved ones in it. I always say I don’t ever want to write Christians doing wonderful things unless I know Christians who’ve done that wonderful thing. I’m grateful to know many generous people. I cried when I wrote about their extraordinary acts in this novel, knowing the true story of the real generosity.

  As always, my critique partners deserve a boatload of thanks as well: Mildred Colvin, Gail Palotta, June Foster, and Vanessa Riley, and my editor, Nadine Brandes. Who knows what kind of gunk I’d be writing
if it weren’t for the crafting help I get from these skilled wordsmiths. Don’t forget to search out all of their novels.

  For my last novel, An Insignificant Life, I gathered a wonderful Launch Team to help me spread the word about my books: Chris Granville, Noela Nancarrow, Dana Michael, Robin Bunting, Jen Smindak, Susan Snodgrass, Sherry Hoover, Ann Ellison, Rachel Trautmiller, and Cami Pernell (and those who want to remain anonymous). I want to thank you all for your tireless efforts in making these novels known. It has been wonderful getting to know each of you a little better every day.

  Thank you to the wonderful young woman who has contributed visual details to the last two covers—Jordan Almony. I hope to see more of your artwork in future covers.

  David Crowder was the muse for this one—particularly the CD Church Music. Something about this band seemed to encapsulate the feel of a “redneck church” pastored by a former country clubber … not to mention the unusual friendship of Vince and Billy, whose joint love for Christ surpassed any other thing that would usually divide them.

  Lastly, I want to give a shout out to the Young Life ministry for teens with special needs, called Capernaum. Our local group is led by the awesome duo, Kelly and Kristin Caprarola. This ministry has brought great joy to those often neglected by the rest of the world (and sometimes, even the church). A portion of the current sales of Flee from Evil will go to this wonderful ministry.

  Reading Group Questions

  One of the themes in Flee from Evil is about forgiveness. I wanted to write about real people who knew what God wanted them to do, and yet struggled with forgiving at the same time. Have you ever had a hard time forgiving someone? What happened that helped you forgive?

  Another theme in this story is about how God can turn any evil into good (Romans 8:28)—not just what happens to you, but even the bad things you’ve done. Share how God has used bad things for His glory in your life.