The Return of Cassandra Todd

by Darrel Nelson

  “I get the feeling you’re leading me on a wild goose chase,” Slick said, stepping menacingly toward him.

  Instinctively Turner backed away, glancing around for some means of escape or, failing that, some form of self-defense. The ground became even softer, and he felt something shift underfoot. The trail was unstable where he was now standing in the ankle-deep water. “The cabin is just—”

  “Give it up,” Slick warned, leveling his gun at Turner.

  Turner took a slow, deliberate step away, hoping to lure his adversary forward.

  To maintain the distance of intimidation, Slick stepped closer. “I’m going to give you to the count of three to tell me where she is,” he said. “Then I’m going to blow your right kneecap to smithereens.”

  “I told you, she’s in a cabin near the lookout tower.”

  Slick’s eyes narrowed. “One.”

  Turner backed farther away. “It’s abandoned. She and the boy are waiting for me there.”

  “Two.”

  As Turner took another step back, Slick advanced and his foot sunk up to his ankle in the soft mud, causing him to momentarily look down.

  Instantly Turner peeled off the backpack and launched himself forward. He managed to grasp the barrel of the gun and point it heavenward, where, for the first time in years, his silent plea for help was also ascending.

  The gun went off, and in his shock Turner almost lost his grip. The two men struggled briefly, shifting their footing for better leverage. Turner was no match for his assailant, and he realized it was only a matter of seconds before Slick wrenched the gun free and blew off a kneecap . . . for starters.

  But Slick never got control of the gun and neither did Turner. Without warning the trail suddenly gave way beneath them, slumping down the mountainside. The large pool of water rushed forcefully behind, lubricating the slope and turning it into a soupy torrent of sludge.

  Turner found himself falling. He mingled with the mud and debris as though being pureed in a food processor.

  Slick was several feet away, sliding out of control and flailing his arms and legs in an effort to regain his footing. He rammed into a protruding boulder and grunted loudly as the gun sailed into the air. Vainly attempting to fight the force of the current, he momentarily disappeared around the boulder.

  Turner twisted sideways and barely managed to miss a sharp, broken tree stump that protruded from the mud and threatened to skewer him like a shish kabob. He sent a second plea heavenward when he realized the current was carrying him toward a cliff that dropped off into eternity. He saw himself going over the edge, and in that moment an image of Cassandra and Justin, huddled together in the cave, came to him. But there was no time to process the sadness and regret because everything was happening too chaotically.

  He tried to fight against the current but it was too powerful. Realizing he only had seconds to live, he twisted around so he was pointed headfirst down the slope. He began doing a variation of the breaststroke, pulling harder with his left arm than his right in order to angle his way toward the edge of the mudslide. The cliff was rapidly approaching, and he fought the urge to panic. Pulling even harder, he managed to work his way over far enough to grasp a scraggly bush that grew on the edge of the cliff. As he clung to it desperately, he felt like his arms were being pulled from their sockets. The extra weight of sediment added to his burden, but he managed to hold on. The mudslide continued on its way, careening over the cliff and disappearing into the emptiness below.

  Glancing into the space that yawned beneath him, Turner frantically clung to the bush. He looked across as Slick came bobbing along in the murky flow, arms flailing, legs kicking, before disappearing over the cliff. Slick’s scream lasted a long time.

  The relief Turner experienced at being spared Slick’s fate was quickly overshadowed by the reality of his situation. Maintaining his grip with numb, muddy fingers, while weighed down with multiple coats of mud, was becoming increasingly difficult.

  Pleading for strength, he grabbed another section of the bush and pulled himself sideways, inching his way out of the current until, at last, he rolled onto dry ground and lay gasping for breath.

  “Thank You,” he said softly, addressing the sky. He began to tremble and tears filled his eyes. He wiped them with the back of his gritty hand and realized how much effort that took. He was exhausted and craved sleep. But with Cassandra and Justin still waiting for him, he couldn’t afford that luxury.

  He forced himself to his feet and slowly climbed toward the trail, glancing frequently at the layer of mud and debris that remained from the death ride. Now that the pool had drained, the mudslide only oozed along, belying the deadly flow it had been. Gratitude filled his heart as he considered how lucky he was to be alive. He glanced heavenward in the realization that when the urgency of the situation was over, he was going to have to reevaluate certain things in his life.

  When he reached the trail, he noticed that a little water remained in the pool. He took a drink and then washed himself off. Removing the layers of mud revealed several rips in his clothing and a few superficial cuts on his hands and arms. But considering what had happened to Slick, he wasn’t going to complain.

  Because the backpack had been swept away in the mudslide, he was going to have to return to the cabin and get more painkillers for Cassandra. It was important that she be able to help herself as much as possible on the trip down from the cave, considering the slippery footing. Hopefully he would only have to carry her when absolutely necessary. To lose his footing with her on his back would only spell more injury.

  Taking one last look at the wounded trail, he turned and retraced his steps toward the cabin.

  CHAPTER 31

  ALTHOUGH THE PAIN in her ankle kept her from sleeping soundly, Cassandra dozed off and on. Justin remained in her arms, for warmth, and sucked his thumb.

  Dreamlike images crept into her mind each time she closed her eyes. She saw herself in her home in Las Vegas, secretly packing a suitcase and hiding it in the trunk of her car. Then she was talking to the compassionate waitress in the diner. Next she was on the Greyhound bus, headed for Denver. And then she was desperately trying to rearrange Brad’s trophies because Justin had disturbed them.

  The images came rapidly, but not in chronological order. They zoomed in and out of focus like an old celluloid movie. But each one triggered an emotional response that was distinct and clear.

  Another image swirled into her head, and she saw herself in the den, opening the wall safe. It was Brad’s personal safe, and she had never been allowed access to it. But she had come across the combination one day when she was cleaning the den. It was written on the back of his business card and had dropped to the floor when he was putting things away. She memorized the code and then slipped the card in among a pile of papers on his desk. Now as she saw herself looking inside the safe in the hope of finding some cash, she discovered it contained only their passports, the mortgage agreement, several of Brad’s sports medals, a handgun, and a large manila envelope that lay at the bottom of the pile. She picked up the mortgage agreement and glanced sadly around the den. Tears came as she considered the hope and promise the agreement had originally stood for but the disappointment and failure it now represented.

  She saw herself replacing the document in the safe and then pocketing her passport. Next she reached for the manila envelope. Lifting the flap, she discovered it contained a small ledger and several business documents. She flipped through the ledger and saw it consisted of columns of numbers, listed under headings such as Repairs and Maintenance Expenses. There was even a column that read Loans. She knew the figures weren’t household expenses because they were too large and detailed.

  She remembered snippets of telephone conversations when Brad thought she wasn’t listening, and the hushed voice he used whenever certain numbers came up on the call display. Occasionally a business associate would drop in, and Brad would hustle him into the den and close the door. Heated words
were often exchanged, although they were too muffled for her to hear clearly. But in time there were enough clues so that she could begin to connect the dots. Her husband was involved in illegal business dealings.

  The ledger was evidence of that. And by taking it with her, it would give her leverage if she needed to bargain with him. It was a trump card that she would play if she had to. And only after she and Justin were safely out of Brad’s grasp for good would she tell him where she had hidden it. But should he find her first and do her any harm, the letter she had given to Loretta would be mailed to the police, outlining the nature of Brad’s business dealings and indicating the location of the manila envelope. As she had told Loretta—the envelope represented justice.

  She forced her eyes open and stared around the interior of the cave. The images faded, and she tried to replace them with happier thoughts. She visualized the new life she wanted to make for Justin and herself. They would probably live in a nondescript apartment for a while, far from Las Vegas and the memories it held. She would find a job and do whatever it took to give her son a good education and every opportunity to succeed in life.

  As she sat basking in the glow of these future aspirations, a troubling thought crossed her mind. What about Turner? What was to become of him . . . of them? At this very moment he was out there risking his life for them. When it was all over, could she simply walk away? Would it end with a parting handshake and “Thanks for everything, good-bye forever”?

  There was no question she found him attractive. But it was his kind and gentle nature that was even more appealing. With him she did not have to measure her every word or keep Justin quiet so he wasn’t disruptive. She was free to be herself—to laugh and joke and speak her mind without fear of reprisal. Turner listened to her concerns and validated her feelings. Being with him was everything her marriage was not, and the idea of their relationship ending was something she wasn’t certain how to handle. It was not a simple matter of packing her suitcase and leaving in the middle of the night.

  Shaking the troubling thought aside, she offered a silent prayer once more for Turner, her former classmate now transformed from boy to man, who had providentially come back into her life in her greatest hour of need.

  CHAPTER 32

  THE RETURN TRIP to the cabin took Turner only thirty minutes, but it was still late in the day when he arrived. There was no way he was going to be able to get Cassandra and Justin down from the cave before sunset. He simply didn’t dare risk negotiating the trail in the darkness. They were going to have to spend the night in the cave.

  That prospect didn’t worry him personally because he had slept in caves and dugouts many times during his scouting and Camp Kopawanee years. But he was concerned about Cassandra and Justin. Sleeping on rocks and enduring the cool mountain air—not to mention Cassandra’s injured ankle—would mean a sleepless night for them.

  The sun peered through a crack in the clouds as he descended the last leg of the trail. He cautiously approached the cabin in case Twitch had miraculously found his way back. But there was no sign of him.

  As he stepped onto the front porch, he made a mental inventory of the supplies he needed for the hike to the cave. He would use pillowcases as duffle bags and carry as many amenities as possible.

  He grimaced when he saw the interior of the cabin. Furniture and other items lay strewn about, and he wished he had time to straighten things up. But that was too low of a priority on his to-do list.

  Rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, he collected the bottle of aspirin, a small first aid kit, some matches, a flashlight, three water bottles, and a sharp knife. Then he searched through the closets and found an old backpack with a metal frame. Rejoicing in this discovery, he gathered up some blankets and three jackets that were hanging on a hook in the front closet. He put on one of the jackets, then stuffed the backpack full of blankets and tied the other jackets to the frame with some string he found in a drawer.

  The backpack was bursting at the seams, and he wondered how he’d get the bulky load up the embankment. He remembered seeing a length of rope on a closet shelf and decided to bring it along. The rope would come in handy when he reached the vertical face.

  He went to the Buick to get the few remaining food items and supplies he had purchased in town. He put them into a plastic shopping bag and tied it on top of the jackets. As he turned to leave, his eye caught the stuffed monkey. There really wasn’t room for it, but when he thought about the privations Justin had already suffered, he picked it up and crammed it into a side pocket.

  Then he slipped the backpack over both shoulders and headed for the trail that led to the cave. The clouds had thinned and the sun dipped toward the mountain peaks, and he calculated it would be dark in an hour.

  As he proceeded up the trail, he shifted the backpack to keep it centered. It reminded him of the times he’d carried Cassandra. He could still feel her arms around his neck and the warmth of her body pressed against his. The memory was a stark contrast to the deadweight he felt now.

  He passed the outcrop of rock that overlooked the cabin and continued on. As he rounded a curve in the trail, he startled a squirrel that was holding a pinecone in its paws. The squirrel dropped its bounty and scurried to the top of a nearby tree in an impossibly short amount of time, pausing long enough to scold Turner for the intrusion.

  Turner smiled grimly and pressed on. The cave was still some distance ahead, and he longed to be able to travel with the squirrel’s speed and agility.

  Ahead, a small stream trickled down the hillside and crossed the path. It conjured up images of Slick being swept to his death and he—Turner—barely avoiding the same fate. He shuddered at the thought and struggled to repress the frightening images that were resurrected. Gritting his teeth determinedly, he continued toward the embankment.

  The trail rose for a distance and then leveled out once more.

  A short time later he rounded a curve in the path and came to the embankment. He took off the backpack and studied the task ahead.

  Scaling the rock face would be safer than attempting to climb the adjacent slope as they had done before because the grass was still too wet and slippery. He uncoiled the rope and tied one end to the backpack and the other end to a short length of stick. Then he tossed the stick to the top of the embankment. It caught in a crevice, and he tugged on the rope to make certain it was secure. Satisfied, he drew in several deep breaths and began the ascent, walking up the face, hand over hand.

  He paused to catch his breath and then hauled the backpack to the top. After untying the rope and coiling it up, he shrugged into the shoulder straps and continued up the trail.

  Ten minutes later he rounded a bend and saw the cave ahead. He called out a greeting so his arrival wouldn’t startle Cassandra or Justin.

  “Turner! Turner!” came the muffled reply.

  Turner felt something stir within him when Justin appeared in the mouth of the cave and rushed toward him.

  Cassandra tried to call him back, but Turner said, “I’ve got him.” He hugged Justin against his leg. “Hello, little man. You take good care of your mommy?”

  Justin nodded wearily.

  Holding him by the hand, Turner stepped inside the cave. Cassandra was sitting on one of the natural rock benches. She looked tired and miserable, and pain registered in her eyes. But she immediately slid off the bench and stood up, holding out her arms toward him.

  Turner dropped the backpack and stepped into her embrace. They held one another close and didn’t speak for a moment. Justin joined them and turned it into a group hug.

  “I—we—were so worried about you,” Cassandra said at length. “What happened?”

  Turner nodded toward Justin. “Not now. We’ll talk later.” He held her at arm’s length and looked into her eyes. “How are you holding up?”

  She embraced him once more and Turner could feel her body tremble. “We’re okay,” she replied. “Now that you’re here.”

  “I
brought some coats. Let’s get you into them and warmed up.” He removed the jackets from the backpack and handed them to her and Justin.

  “Mine’s big,” Justin laughed, as Turner helped him put it on.

  The little boy looked small and vulnerable in the oversized coat.

  “But it’ll keep you snug and warm, little man.”

  Turner helped Cassandra into her coat and did up the buttons. He rubbed her arms lightly to help warm her up.

  “That feels good,” she said.

  “I’ve got something that will help you feel even better.” He fished the bottle of aspirin from the backpack and shook out three tablets. Then he handed them to her, along with a water bottle.

  She accepted them gratefully and sat back on the bench, waiting for the aspirin to work.

  “Now, let’s eat,” he said.

  “Great. We’re starved.”

  He reached for the plastic grocery bag and set out the food.

  Justin grabbed a cookie and had it halfway to his mouth when Cassandra stopped him. “We need to say grace, sweetie.”

  She looked across at Turner. “Especially today.”

  Turner nodded and waited respectfully until she finished.

  She no sooner said, “Amen,” than Justin bit into his cookie.

  “You should eat something more healthy first,” she said. But as she watched him savoring every crumb, she added, “Those cookies do look good. Maybe I’ll have one too.”

  They each had a cookie and then another. After the appetizer, they had crackers and cheese, veggies, fruit, and then another cookie each for dessert. When they had eaten their fill, Turner put the leftovers in the plastic grocery bag.

  “I’m going to hang this in a tree for the night,” he said. “We don’t want any b-e-a-r-s snooping around.”

  “Do you think there are any in the area?”

  “I haven’t seen any signs of them, but you can never be too careful. I’ll be right back.”

  He walked a short distance down the trail and hung the plastic bag high in a tree. On the way back he stopped at a fallen log. Rolling it over, he found some dry kindling and also some chunks of bark underneath. Carrying them back, he used the matches to start a fire just outside the mouth of the cave. The flames would discourage any bears or mountain lions from sniffing out the food and coming inside the cave for appetizers.