The Return of Cassandra Todd

by Darrel Nelson

  “Won’t the smoke give away our location?” Cassandra asked.

  “No one will bother us tonight,” Turner replied.

  Cassandra looked at him questioningly. “Are you going to tell me or what?”

  “Let me check your ankle first.”

  She sighed impatiently as he carefully undid the wrapping and removed the splint. Her ankle was still swollen and had bruised noticeably. He got up and left the cave for a moment, returning with a clump of soft, green moss. He dipped it in the water that had collected in the hole he had dug earlier and then placed it on her ankle.

  Cassandra sucked in her breath but didn’t flinch. “That was smart of you to dig the hole,” she said. “It collected enough rain water for us.”

  “And now it’s helping me make a cold compress. We’ll leave it on for fifteen minutes, and then I’ll wrap your ankle for the night.”

  She reached up and touched some mud in his hair. “Turner, what happened?”

  “It’s a long story,” he replied, sitting beside her.

  She nudged him with her elbow. “I’ve got nothing but time.

  I need to know.”

  While Justin poked at the fire with a stick, Turner explained how he had led Twitch into the forest. Cassandra covered her mouth to hide a gasp when Turner recounted Slick’s fate. She looked at Turner in horror. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  “I’m so terribly sorry. I never should have gotten you involved.”

  “And I knew I shouldn’t have told you about it.”

  “Of course you should have. You could have been . . . ” She left the word killed dangling in the air. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she nestled against him. “I’m so sorry,” she said once more. “And I’m just so grateful you made it safely back to us.”

  Justin threw the stick into the fire and climbed into Turner’s lap. The three of them snuggled together and fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.

  As the interior of the cave grew dim, Turner stated the obvious. “We’re going to have to stay the night. It would be foolish to try to return to the cabin in the dark.”

  “If the Flintstones can live in the Stone Age, so can we, right?”

  He laughed. “I brought some blankets and matches, so we’ll be okay. I just need to get some more firewood.” He went back outside and scoured around for some dry pieces of wood. Carrying several armfuls back to the cave, he stacked them inside in case it rained during the night. The natural draft from their quarters kept the smoke outside, but enough heat stayed in to make the interior warm and cozy.

  It was dark now, so Turner retrieved the flashlight from the backpack and switched it on. He picked a section of the floor that was the least rocky and spread out the blankets. Returning to the backpack, he got Justin’s attention and then pulled out the stuffed monkey. The little boy squealed excitedly when he saw it. He clutched it to his chest and started to climb under the blankets.

  “You need to peepee first,” Cassandra said.

  “Justin or the monkey?” Turner said, ducking a playful swat from Cassandra.

  He took Justin outside and waited until the little boy had sufficiently watered a clump of mountain grass. Then he brought him in and tucked him under the covers. Justin snuggled with the stuffed monkey and did not ask for a bedtime story. He was asleep almost instantly.

  Watching Justin sleep peacefully made Turner realize how tired he felt. But he needed to take care of Cassandra before he could give in to his exhaustion.

  He rewrapped Cassandra’s ankle and helped her climb under the blankets beside Justin.

  “Turner, thanks so much for all you’ve done,” she said, reaching up and pulling a chunk of dried mud from his hair.

  “You’re amazing.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” she said in surprise.

  “There are two people in this cave who would disagree with you.”

  She waved her hand dismissively and yawned. “Thanks, again, for everything Turner.” Her eyes began to droop and she yawned again. “I’ll never be able to—”

  “Shh! No more talking,” Turner said, pressing a finger to her lips. “You need to get some sleep.”

  “No, I’ll stay awake . . . and talk to you . . . for . . . a . . . while . . . ” Her eyes closed midsentence, and she began breathing slowly and steadily.

  “Sleep tight,” he said softly, pulling the blanket up tighter around her.

  He watched her sleep for a few moments. Then he added a few more pieces of wood to the fire and lay down on the blanket beside her. The last thing he remembered was the flickering glow of the fire on the walls, lulling him sleep.

  Nighttime landscape surrendered to dreamscape, which mercifully was barren of images of the day’s dramatic events. He was simply too exhausted to dream.

  CHAPTER 33

  THE FIRE DIED out during the night, but it had served its purpose. No predators—animal or human—paid a visit. Turner knew because he checked the area for tracks at first light.

  He retrieved the plastic bag from the tree and prepared a simple breakfast. They sat on the blankets and ate the remainder of the food. Cassandra took the last of the aspirins and washed them down with bottled water.

  Justin was still hungry, and Turner noticed Cassandra slip him her last piece of apple, claiming that she was too full to finish it.

  Turner put another cold compress of moss on her ankle before rewrapping it, making sure the splint was secure, but comfortable.

  As he gathered up the blankets and jackets and stuffed them into the backpack, Cassandra said, “I fell asleep on you last night. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “And I’m even sorrier about what you had to go through with those men.”

  Justin was attempting to stuff a colorful rock into the backpack and so was pleasantly distracted. Turner looked at her and said, “The oily haired guy talked about some documents and financial records you took. He told me some concerned people wanted them back. Exactly what was he talking about?”

  “Brad kept records of his business dealings. When the economy turned bad, he borrowed money to keep his business afloat. But he borrowed from the wrong kind of people.

  Interest was unreal. And illegal. The documents are proof of loansharking.”

  “So where are the records now?”

  “In a locker at the Greyhound bus depot in Denver.”

  “And the key?”

  “It’s in your apartment, hidden in the hollow handle of the dustpan in the closet.” She smiled wryly. “I figured it would be safe and undisturbed there.” Then she grew serious. “If anything happens to me, Loretta is to send the letter I gave her to the police. It spells out everything.”

  Turner put on the backpack and shifted it to get it centered on his back. “Nothing is going to happen to you.” He helped her up. “I promise.”

  She balanced herself on her good ankle and smiled at him appreciatively.

  “I’ve got something for you,” he said. “I made it this morning.” He briefly stepped outside the cave and reappeared with a spruce branch, stripped of its needles and curved at one end.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Your crutch.” He placed the curved end under her right armpit and assessed it for length. “Made to measure, I’d say.”

  She tested it out and found that she could hobble to the mouth of the cave if she was careful. “It’s great,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They looked at each other long and hard, and then Turner turned to check on Justin. The little boy was busy lapping at the tiny trickle of water that oozed from the side of the cave wall. He made contented slurping sounds and licked his lips repeatedly.

  “Ready to go, little man?”

  “Ready,” Justin replied, wiping his chin and heading for the entrance. “Let’s run.”

&nb
sp; “No running for Mommy,” Cassandra replied, gingerly exiting the cave. “Let’s just walk and see what fun things we notice, okay?”

  “Okay,” Justin replied. He headed for some stringy moss that hung from a nearby tree, resembling tattered shreds of cloth. Picking a piece off a branch, he held it up and stared at it in fascination. “Look, Mommy. The tree has funny hair.”

  “Old Man’s Beard,” Turner observed. “It’s common up here.”

  “It does have funny hair, doesn’t it?” Cassandra said, chuckling. Her amusement was cut short by a sharp pain when she put too much weight on her injured ankle.

  “Lean on me,” Turner said.

  She paused to take several deep breaths. “You’re not going to start singing that song, are you?” She managed a weak smile.

  “You wouldn’t want me to do that. You’re in enough pain already.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Let me just take my time.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  The pace was too slow for Justin, so he was allowed to run a short distance ahead and then run back, repeating the procedure until they eventually reached the grassy slope.

  “Let’s slide down it again,” he said excitedly.

  Because they had already negotiated the grassy slope, they were able to do it more easily this time. Turner clung to Justin, who seemed determined to take a running start, and made it safely to the bottom. The backpack made him top-heavy, which worked to his advantage. It snagged on the rocks and tree roots and slowed his progress.

  He got Justin situated and then assisted Cassandra, who made sure she kept her injured ankle elevated during the descent. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” she said.

  “Can we do it again?” Justin asked excitedly.

  “Sorry, little man,” Turner said. “We need to get your mommy to the doctor. But how about you and I go for a canoe ride when she’s all better?”

  Justin cheered and pretended to paddle as they continued down the trail. Running ahead, he turned in a big circle and rushed back, making swishing noises.

  Now that they were almost to the cabin, Turner felt a sense of relief. He would get Cassandra and Justin comfortably situated and then walk out to the main road, hitchhike to the police station, and arrange for Cassandra and Justin to be picked up. Then they would file a police report and deal with the inevitable investigation into Slick’s death and the search and rescue efforts for Twitch. Afterward they’d go to the doctor so Cassandra’s ankle could be X-rayed and wrapped properly.

  As they descended the last section of the trail, Turner watched in amusement as Justin ran a few steps ahead and then turned and raced toward him, sounding like a motorboat. His excitement was infectious, and both Turner and Cassandra laughed at his antics.

  When they entered the clearing, Turner halted abruptly and the laughter stopped. A Ford Explorer with a National car rental sticker on the bumper was parked beside the cabin. The front door of the cabin suddenly opened, and a figure stepped out onto the porch.

  Cassandra came up behind Turner and grabbed hold of his arm. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped.

  “Daddy!” cried Justin, running toward the cabin.

  CHAPTER 34

  TURNER SAW THE look of horror on Cassandra’s face as Brad scooped up Justin and tossed him playfully in the air. She squeezed Turner’s arm so hard that her fingernails left imprints. Then she released her grip and grimly stepped into the open.

  “Look, Mommy,” Justin chirped. “It’s Daddy.”

  “Surprise,” Brad said humorlessly. His expression hardened as he glared at them, and Turner saw accusation in Brad’s countenance and a determination to fulfill the threat he had uttered on the phone. You’re a dead man!

  Despite his providential escapes, Turner could see no way out this time. Brad had them securely in his clutches. There was no avenue of retreat and nowhere to run.

  But if Turner expected to see Cassandra cower apologetically, he was mistaken. Looking at her husband defiantly, she said, “I’m not going back with you, Brad.”

  Brad feigned offense. “Is that any way to greet your husband?”

  “That’s as good as it’s going to get.” She held out her hand to her son. “Come here, Justin.”

  Brad held Justin tighter and scanned the yard. “Where are the other guys?”

  Images of the forest maze and coursing mud flashed through Turner’s mind. “They’re gone,” he replied.

  Brad looked puzzled, as if realizing he was now alone in this. He clenched his jaw and his eyes darted back and forth.

  His expression conveyed indecision but not sadness.

  “Are you going to stay with us, Daddy?”

  Brad looked at his son. “I need to talk to your mommy and this man.”

  Turner recognized Brad’s contemptuousness in the reference to him as this man. And he realized he was still a nonentity to Brad, just as he had been in high school.

  “Brad, put Justin down,” Cassandra warned.

  “All in good time.”

  She winced as she took a step closer. “Now!”

  “Let me explain it to you this way, dear.” He spat the word dear. There was no affection in his voice and none reflected in his countenance. “I have something you want, and you have something I want.”

  She wet her lips and maintained her composure. “Justin is not a bargaining chip.”

  Brad tossed Justin playfully in the air again. “Hey, tiger.

  Want to go for a ride with Daddy and get some ice cream?”

  “Ice cream. Yeah!”

  “Brad . . . no,” Cassandra said, her façade cracking.

  He looked triumphantly at her.

  “Put him down, Brad,” Turner said, squaring his shoulders.

  Brad’s false smile disappeared. Still holding Justin, he leaped off the porch in a burst of rage and pointed at Turner menacingly. “You stay out of this!” he screamed.

  Justin’s eyes widened in terror. “You’re scaring me, Daddy.”

  “Brad, let him go,” Cassandra pleaded.

  Brad trembled convulsively and refocused his eyes as though suddenly remembering he was holding his son. Inhaling slowly, he recovered his smile and ruffled his son’s hair, all the while glaring at Turner from the corner of his eye.

  Turner had never stood up to Brad before—not in the tripping incident in the cafeteria or the dead-cat-in-the-locker stunt or any of the other countless incidents. But this time was different. Brad was bargaining with a little boy who meant something to Turner, and Turner wasn’t going to allow Justin to be used as a pawn in this contest any longer. “I know where the documents are,” he said evenly.

  “Turner!” Cassandra gasped.

  “You let Justin go, and I’ll give them to you.”

  “Turner, no!” Cassandra cried. “Once he gets them, he’ll take Justin anyway.”

  “He won’t get them until you and Justin drive away in the Explorer. He won’t be able to follow you.”

  “But what about you?”

  Turner didn’t answer.

  Brad scowled. Obviously Cassandra’s concern for someone else was a blow to his ego. It was a reversal of their high school roles, and it appeared to gall him. But because of Cassandra’s wisdom in creating some bargaining leverage, Brad hesitated and considered the situation.

  “What’s it going to be, Brad?” Turner asked.

  Brad stroked Justin’s head as if he was holding a stuffed teddy bear, the prize at a carnival game. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you, Pancake?” His voice turned icy. “You were no match for me in high school, and you’re no match for me now.” He lifted the edge of his shirt, revealing a gun tucked in his belt.

  “Brad,” Cassandra pleaded.

  “Into the cabin,” he said, ignoring her.

  When Turner hesitated, Brad exploded again. “Now!”

  Justin began to cry, and Cassandra made a move toward them, but Brad motioned he
r back. “Into the cabin!” he yelled. Then to Justin, he snarled, “Stop crying!”

  The little boy cried even harder.

  In an effort not to anger Brad further, Cassandra hobbled up the front steps and motioned Turner to follow.

  Once inside Brad held Justin toward Cassandra. “Lock him in the bathroom.”

  “No, Brad. Not that.”

  “Do it!” he screamed, in a tone to match Justin’s wail of despair.

  She clenched her teeth defiantly. “If you think I’m going to—”

  She never had a chance to finish. Brad pulled his gun and struck her over the head with it. Dazed, she fell to the floor.

  Justin screamed in sheer terror. “Mommy!”

  Turner lurched forward to try wrestling the gun away. But Brad pointed it in Turner’s face and hissed, “One more step and you are a dead man.”

  Turner believed him. And he knew he would be in no position to help Cassandra or Justin if he was mortally wounded.

  “Let me make sure she’s okay,” he said.

  “Stay away from her,” Brad warned. “Now find something to wedge under the bathroom door so Justin can’t open it. Do it!”

  Turner slowly removed the backpack and went to the porch, returning moments later with a wedge-shaped piece of wood.

  Brad nodded and said, “Down the hall, to the bathroom.”

  Once there he shoved Justin inside and slammed the door. “Wedge it tight so he can't get out,” he ordered.

  The terrified boy pounded on the door and rattled the doorknob, but Brad held it closed tight. “Right now!” he commanded, leveling the gun at Turner.

  Grimacing, Turner wedged the piece of wood under the door and backed away. He glared at Brad and trembled with anger as Justin’s cries rose in intensity. And for the second time in as many days, he sent a silent petition for help heavenward.