Flee From Evil (2 page)

A greeter wished her a good morning as he opened the door. If only Mom didn’t have to sit near the front—probably to ogle the minister she’d been raving about for years now.

Cassandra accepted the Bible from the gentleman in the back, and walked down the center aisle as the pastor’s voice praised his Creator. Too embarrassed at coming in late, she focused on straightening her pencil skirt and finding her family in the second-row pew.

But that voice …

So familiar, it drew out memories she’d hidden deep—dark memories.

This time more than gooseflesh erupted from her skin. Her knees threatened to buckle. She didn’t want to confirm her fears, but she had to. She pulled her gaze from the carpeted floor, up the steps of the altar, ascending from the loafers, crisp jeans, tidy polo, dark goatee … into the eyes of …

Satan!

~*~

Whoa! That was worse than the knife that nearly killed him so many years ago. Vince knew the congregation noticed too. They shifted in their seats waiting for him to continue what had formerly been an unblemished sermon.

The woman looked up and stole his sanity.

Cass …

Man, she still looked good. Those auburn curls cascading down her shoulders. But it was more than that. Her green eyes blazed as she caught sight of him in the pulpit. He thought she might take the rest of the aisle and hammer him dead.

Instead, she froze. Jaw clenched. Hands balled. She stepped back like she was going to flee the enemy, until a young girl called out to her.

“Mom,” the dark-haired teen whispered forcefully. “We’re right here.”

Cass thawed. Vince could almost see the icicles breaking off her shoulders and hitting the ground. She managed a weak smile, but her eyes were filled with something else. Probably the memories he’d given her. Memories he wished he could cherish, but he’d ruined them. Instead, they held themes of betrayal and hurt.

I am forgiven.
He had to say that to himself in a way he could believe it. He shuffled through his sermon notes and saw those words scribbled on the sides. When had he written them?

A peace washed over him, but the cloud still hung over his head.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death …

He sensed he was headed to that valley again. A different path this time, but shadow and death lurked all the same.

Vince finally mustered speech. “You are forgiven.” He scanned the faces of the parishioners. Some enraptured by his supposed oratory gift, others seemingly incredulous that he’d faltered. He’d never done that before.

His gaze hit on Cass, and he couldn’t drag it away. “You are forgiven,” he repeated. Her jaw tensed and her nostrils flared. Vince swept his attention over her head and around the congregation again. “You are set free.”

Crazy. Seeing Cass at that moment reminded him of how free he really was. Far from the man he’d been before. He no longer bore the same chains. Though he could see Cass still saw him in light of those. He couldn’t tell her. Not today. Because if the congregation knew she was part of his past, after the spectacle he’d just made of himself, they’d also know she was part of
that
past—the one he’d admitted to when he first became a pastor here. He couldn’t do that to her. She was different from all the rest. The one who truly loved him. Maybe not him for him, but she loved him because that’s the person she was. He glanced toward her to confirm the ire in her eyes. Was she still that person?

The service ended. Vince took his place at the exit, greeting the grateful congregants.

“Pastor Vince.” Eleanor Drummond grasped his hand with a shake that could rival a linebacker’s. “Never seen you flounder like that before.” She didn’t mince words. Just stared those chocolate brown eyes into his, as if to read his thoughts.

He gave a weary chuckle. “It happens to the best of us.” His eyes wavered, but he refrained from scanning for Cass, as he continued to wonder why her husband hadn’t attended with her. “Lost my place. Guess God needs to keep me humble.” He squeezed her hand and tilted his smile the way that always weakened the ladies. “Happens to the best of us,” he repeated, his mind whirling with torturous memories.

“Pastor Vince.” Kat Lewis, sporting contrasting blond and brown tresses, pinched the edges of his hair. “Gettin’ a little long, don’t ya think?”

“I have an appointment with you this week.” He winked.

Her husband reached out his tattoo-laden arm to shake. “You flirtin’ with my wife, Pastor.” His growl ended with a note at humor, but left Vince shaken just the same.

“Of course not, Billy.”

Kat smacked her husband on the sleeve of his church-going Harley T-shirt—the one less faded and without holes. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

Billy fished his fingers through his motorcycle-blown hair. “Then maybe you should stop touchin’ the pastor’s neck.”

“That’s my job you big dope.”

Should the church do a Bible study on love and respect in marriage? Vince smiled as he looked between the two parishioners. He couldn’t find a couple more in love than this one. Their love just looked a little different sometimes.

“Wonderful sermon.” Greta Hessing practically worshiped him. Great. He could use an ally. “This is my daughter, Cassandra.”

“Cass …”
Breathe.

Her eyes burned into his.

He sucked in some air. “Cassandra, nice to meet you.” He gave a curt, but friendly nod.

Cassandra’s nod was not so friendly. She gathered a young boy and the teenage girl to her, and trundled them out the door.

Mrs. Hessing’s brows knit as she stared after her daughter. She turned back to Vince. “I’m sorry. I’ve taught her better than that.” She put her hand to her chest. “I guess things are still hard for her since her husband’s death a year ago.”

He schooled the shock from appearing on his face. Cass had already suffered too much with the early loss of her father. He’d been told she’d married well that fall, and always hoped her husband was a man who’d care for her as she’d deserved. Vince certainly hadn’t been that man. And now, more grief.

Vince nodded. “Yes, very hard, Mrs. Hessing.”
Search for platitudes.
“Just keep praying. God will get her through.”

Ugh! He hated platitudes—even if they were true—but he couldn’t reach his heart right now. Must be somewhere nailed to the blue carpet, under his feet.

~*~

How dare he?

Cassandra’s teeth hurt from clenching so hard through that entire service. She now knew what it was like to turn to stone. It had been her only defense as the memories assaulted her, tearing at her weakened flesh.

How dare he act like he didn’t even know her? Although, in a way, she was glad he did. She didn’t need to explain her past relationship with him to her mom.

How dare he become a pastor? What a joke. Vince Steegle a pastor. A beloved pastor at that. Her mother practically worshiped the grass he trod.
Pastor Vince, this
and
Pastor Vince, that.
Cassandra had had no idea her mother’s icon of righteousness was Satan incarnate. Last she knew, he’d aspired to politics.

Cassandra pushed her kids through the parking lot. Sophie almost tripped as she stepped over a curb. Tibo did his requisite twirl and followed behind.

“Tibo, hurry up.” She waved at him like they were crossing a busy intersection.

He caught up.

She rushed them over to the used Lincoln Aviator Tim’s parents had bought her five years before his crash in the Lexus. They sat silently in the car, waiting for Mom, but the woman took her time moseying from person to person, greeting them as if she had nowhere better to go. She didn’t, but Cassandra needed to be free of this place—now.

“Mom, why did you rush us out of there?” Sophie’s voice wobbled from the back seat. Cassandra knew she hesitated to ask. Always so keen to Cassandra’s emotions. So mature for someone so young, having helped to care for her special-needs brother, and transition to life without a father … or his family’s money. Not to mention all the accusations she’d endured from her paternal grandparents. They never said them to her face, but it was apparent in everything they did. They’d never accepted her little Sophie as their own.

~*~

Sophie’s mom just turned the ignition, practically squealing wheels out of the church parking lot. She never even answered the question Sophie had asked, not even the one in Grandma’s eyes when she finally got into the front seat of the car.

What was that about?

Mom had been on edge from the moment she entered the sanctuary, and now her knuckles were white against the pink of her fingers gripping the steering wheel. She must have had a run-in with the children’s church leader over Tibo.

Sophie glanced to the seat beside her where her little brother smiled at the vehicles passing by. “Fire.” He pointed to an emergency engine.

Sighing, Sophie pulled her hair behind her ears then stared at the Midnight Blue nail polish chipping from the edges of her thumb. She didn’t even know why she painted her nails. It wasn’t like there were any interested boys around she could look good for.

Mom’s eyes darted to Grandma then back on the road. Her jaw hardened as if working tighter against the questions she refused to answer. Could Tibo’s teacher have been that bad?

If only Tibo could talk like other ten-year-old boys. If only he could understand even simple directions. If only he could read, tie his shoes, pull his own covers up on a frigid night. He’d shiver to death before thinking to do that.

If only the world could see him for all he was rather than what he wasn’t.

If only …

Another sigh escaped. It had been Tibo who sat on the arm of the chair and played with her hair as Sophie had sobbed her heart out after they’d found out her Daddy had died. Mom had been too busy retching in the bathroom to comfort her. Tibo’s soft fingers had tugged so gently on the strands it felt like a caress. He’d searched her eyes, his brows scrunched, as if trying to figure out where the tears had come from on her face. “Pway.” His single word meant so much. Reminding her that God was with them. Peace and love seemed to pour from him into her, making her believe everything would be all right.

How could he do that? Only Tibo had such a gift.

The car’s tires crunched over the gravel before Sophie had realized they were home. Mom was out of the car even before the engine stopped rattling, Grandma close behind. “What is wrong with you?”

Mom kept walking as though she could outrun Grandma’s determined strides.

Sophie unclipped Tibo’s seatbelt as his name drifted from their conversation. Grandma never wanted to talk about Tibo’s “issues” in front of him. Did she know how far her voice carried?

Tibo’s eyes communicated thanks before he opened the car door. Good thing that latch wasn’t as tough as Dad’s Lexus’s used to be.

Sophie’s mind flashed to the image of the Lexus mangled by the side of the road as they’d passed it that night. Mom screeched her breaks, got out of the car, and took off running toward the crash scene. A firefighter blocked her flailing body as she screamed Dad’s name then fell to the asphalt and cried.

Sophie had turned numb. She’d stayed in the car to make sure Tibo was safe. Just like she did today.

Now, they stepped up the front, wooden steps that creaked with loose boards, and entered the small house—now her home.

“Why don’t you tell me, then?” Grandma’s voice carried through the halls. Mom’s was low and controlled.

Sophie tugged Tibo’s gentle fingers, and led him back out. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Tibo smiled as only he could, obediently following.

They strolled down the street, noting the water to the right, where the Chesapeake Bay emptied into inlets all around Water’s Edge, Maryland.

So beautiful here. But something hung in the air like a dark, city smog. Sophie sensed it as they drove from Philadelphia. So thick, so heavy. It seemed to weigh on her mother even more than her father’s death.

Sophie knew her mother could weather anything in time because she relied heavily on her faith. With Dad’s help, she’d even overcome bouts of panic attacks years ago.

But today, something changed. Could that something crush her?

Chapter Two

Hands held her forcefully to him. His mouth closed onto hers as she tried to scream. It didn’t matter. There was no one to hear.

He laughed as she struggled to free herself from his grip. He tore at her blouse and unbuttoned her jeans. She screamed again, only to receive the same torment as before.

He fell against her in the grass, his weight pinning her as she called out.

Only crickets answered.

“Please …” as if this monster would heed her polite request. “Don’t do this.”

He laughed again as he thrust his weight to subdue her thrashing.

“Why?” Did it really matter?

“Because I can.”