Looking for Cassandra Jane (The Second Chances Novels) (18 page)

“Not now!” I spoke loudly and with more strength, moving slowly back toward the bathroom where I knew there was a lock on the door.

But just as I turned to run he leaped up and grabbed me by the arm. I screamed as he pulled me toward him.

“Dear Jesus!” I cried, the words no more than a hoarse whisper, “Dear Jesus, dear Jesus, save me! Send your angels to protect me!”

What actually happened directly after that prayer is little more than a fuzzy blur in my memory, but this is what I think may have happened. I suspect that when George heard me utter that prayer, something in him suddenly lost interest in the horrible sinful act he was about to commit against me. And after a few unimaginable, horrifying, and humiliating seconds, he released his death hold on my neck, backhanded me across the face, and shoved me away. As I tumbled to the floor I grabbed the blanket for cover, and clutching it toward me, cowered in the corner until he finally stumbled back up the stairs, cursing all the way, slamming the door behind him. Still in a shocked state of horror and disbelief I whipped on my jeans and sweater and without any shoes dashed out my back door and across the frozen lawn and then ran and ran until I reached Sara’s house. I pounded on her door, crying and screaming hysterically, until she finally came and opened it up. I then collapsed in her arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

I don’t remember telling Sara exactly what happened, although I must have. By then I felt so exhausted and confused and hurt and humiliated it was hard to think straight. And to be perfectly honest I suppose I even wondered if I might not have brought the whole atrocious thing upon myself. Was it something I’d said? The type of clothing I had on? Perhaps in some way I’d enticed that horrible nasty man down into my room and I didn’t even know it. I kept those troubling thoughts to myself—between me and God.

The next thing I knew Sara had taken me up to her bedroom, wrapped me up in a warm, fuzzy blanket, and gone to get help. I wasn’t exactly sure what kind of help she meant to fetch. The police? Her parents? What? And I remember sitting there shaking uncontrollably and just wanting the whole dreadful business to go far, far away—to be completely gone. Or maybe I could just disappear instead.

“Oh, Jesus,” I prayed, “can’t you
pleeease
just come and get me right now—just take me home?” But to my dismay, before Jesus removed me from the planet, Sara returned.

I was relieved to see she’d brought neither her parents nor the police. (Apparently her parents were out partying at the Elks Lodge and it never even occurred to her to call the police.) Instead she had Sky in tow, which in its way was humiliating enough.

He sat down next to me on Sara’s fluffy pink bed (the kind I used to fantasize about having) and looked into my eyes. “Are you okay, Cass?”

His words felt like a sword that just cut right through to my soul, and I felt tears of shame filling my eyes. And I was too embarrassed to return his gaze. Had Sara told him of the humiliation that had befallen me? And if so, what would he think of me now? Did he know that I had just minutes ago been struggling with a man who’d been intent upon having sex with me? (It’s strange to think of this now, but the word
rape
never even entered my mind just then.) All I cared about at that moment was: What did Sky think of me? Did he think I was a horrible sinner?

“Cass,” he said again, only this time he lifted my chin with his hand and forced me to look into his clear blue eyes, “are you okay?”

Tears were spilling down my cheeks now and my chin trembled as I shook my head. But still no words would come.

“Sara says that someone tried to hurt you.”

I nodded my head vigorously.

“She said a man tried to take advantage of you in your bedroom. Is that right?”

I could feel my face twisting with emotion as I nodded again.

Sky’s brows drew together and he exhaled loudly. “Poor Cass.”

Those two sympathetic words just made me crumble and I began to sob all over again. “I don’t know what to do,” I cried. “I don’t know what to do.”

Sara was sitting behind me now, stroking my hair and telling me not to worry and that Jesus was going to make everything okay. Sky was still frowning. It honestly seemed that he was as troubled by all this as I was, and that was somewhat comforting.

Finally he spoke. “Cass, did this man force you to fornicate with him?”

Now I wasn’t entirely sure what that word meant, but I strongly suspected it had to do with sex. And as far as I knew I didn’t think I’d actually “had sex.” Still I wasn’t totally sure about this word. “I—I don’t know for certain what you mean,” I said. “But if you mean am I still a virgin—well, yes, I think so.”

Sky let out a sigh of relief, but Sara said, “You’re kidding, Cass, you’re still a virgin?” I looked at her from the corner of my eye and nodded stupidly. Then she laughed, sort of nervously, like she wished she hadn’t said that.

“Still, what that man did was wrong and sinful,” said Sky in a stern voice. “Do you want us to pray for you, Cass?”

I wasn’t exactly sure why he wanted to pray for me (I mean it seemed they should be praying for that awful sinner George) but I just nodded and sat there in silence as the two of them “covered me in prayer.” And the fact is, I truly did feel better when they finished and even said a hearty “amen” myself.

It did seem like Jesus was healing me and making me clean again, just like Sky had asked him to. Now I wasn’t exactly sure about the how or the why of it, but I did feel something positive happening inside. And I began to feel hopeful that what had happened to me that night (as horrible as it seemed) might not, after all, turn out to be the end of the world as I knew it.

But then I’d been wrong about these sorts of things before.

Fourteen

S
ara and Sky agreed that I should not return to that “den of iniquity” (the Glenn’s New Year’s Eve party). Sky decided I would spend the night at Sara’s following our prayer session.

About a dozen of us were there that evening (only the most devout) and we piously hit our knees and bowed our heads (while others in town drank, danced, and exploded fireworks). Our plan: to pray for the city of Brookdale until well after midnight and into New Year’s Day. As much as I wanted to participate in this important vigil I shamed myself by drifting off right there, facedown on the Hanson’s avocado green shag carpeting.

I realize now that my unfortunate experience back at the Glenns had probably drained what little strength and energy I’d had left, but when I awoke the following morning to find the sun already up, I felt like a miserable failure in the area of prayerful petitioning and I silently repented and begged God to forgive me.

The other kids were all gone by then and Sara said we should probably tiptoe on up to her room and keep quiet because her parents had come home somewhat plastered last night, and apparently her dad hadn’t been terribly pleased to see their family room filled “with a bunch of praying fanatics” as he’d loudly called them, and she expected her dad might be slightly disagreeable if not fairly well hungover by the time he got up. And so she and I just crashed on her bed and slept much of the day away.

Sara was right about her dad. He was in a foul mood that day and he seemed to have his sights set on our little fellowship group. “What’s this nonsense I’ve been reading about in the paper?” he demanded when he discovered us making sandwiches in the kitchen. He waved the newspaper in her face. Apparently it contained an editorial rebuttal to Sky’s letter on the previous day. “It sounds like you kids are nothing but a flaming bunch of lunatics. Just how far do you plan on taking this crazy Jesus freak business anyway? Next thing I know you’ll be off joining some group of holy rollers and speaking in strange languages.”

“Oh, Dad!”

“Don’t you ‘oh, Dad’ me, young lady,” he snapped right back at her. “I don’t like the way you and your little Jesus freak friends are turning into such raving fanatics. I think that editor’s hit the nail on the head. You kids probably are starting a cult!”

“Dad!”

“You better keep still and listen to me, missy!” He shook his finger under her nose. “All this religion nonsense isn’t healthy. Good night, Sara Louise, it wasn’t all that long ago that you were barreling down the road into some other kind of serious trouble.” He glanced at me as if he were concealing some deep, dark secret, although I already knew all about Sara’s speckled past. “And now here you are, going off half-cocked and head over heels into this crazy religious crud. Why, I think you’d fall for just about anything that came down the—”

“No!” I could hear the hurt in her voice. “This is
real,
Daddy!”

“Oh, and how in tarnation do you know what’s real and what isn’t? For pete’s sake, Sara, you’re just a kid.”

“Jesus said we should all have faith like little children,” she retorted. “And it sure wouldn’t hurt you any to—”

“Yeah, and that’s the other thing that really steams me. I swear, every time I turn around I find you looking down your nose at me and your mother. As if you suddenly think you’ve turned into Saint Sara or something.”

“Well, Daddy,” she said quietly but firmly, “it’s not as if you guys are exactly living a great life.”

“Don’t you go telling me how to live, missy!” He shook his fist at her and I cringed. “Don’t you go forgetting that I’m the one that works all week long just to pay for the food you and your Jesus freak friends are always shoving in your face. I’m the one putting a hanged roof over your head. If you think I’m such a big ol’ sinner then why don’t you just try getting by without me?”

She slapped her sandwich down on the counter. “Fine, Daddy, if that’s the way you want it, I will!”

He laughed. “Yeah, let’s just see how long you can make it on your own out there—you think this Jesus of yours is going to feed and clothe you and put gas in your car?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do!”

I set down my sandwich too, then backed away, wishing I could just disappear into the bright-colored poppy wallpaper that decorated their kitchen wall. Their argument had completely diminished what little appetite I’d had. I mutely followed Sara up to her bedroom, where she began throwing clothes into a large suitcase.

“What are you doing, Sara?” I asked with wide eyes.

“I’ll show him,” she said. “I’m almost eighteen. I can make it on my own.”

I blinked. “Really? You really think so?”

“Sure. Why not?”

I watched as she haphazardly threw a few things into her bag.

I suspected though (by the way she was packing) she wasn’t really serious about leaving. After all, I knew what it meant to pack your bags to really leave—you have to do it more carefully than that. But I kept these thoughts to myself and in just minutes she was finished and I followed her downstairs, wondering exactly where it was she planned to go.

I knew she sure couldn’t stay with me. In fact I wasn’t overly eager to go back to the Glenns myself. For one thing I knew there’d be a huge mess to clean up. And then I wondered if I should inform the Glenns of their creepy friend George’s advances toward me last night. Although to be honest that whole episode seemed a little like a foggy dream by then and I could almost convince myself that it had never happened at all. Anyway, that’s what I wanted to believe. And it’s funny to think that’s exactly what we do sometimes—believe what we want.

“Where are you going?” Sara’s mother called. She stood by the front door, shaking her head with a firm mouth, as we reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Daddy wants me to move out,” said Sara in a wounded voice.

“Oh, of course he doesn’t.”

“Yes he does. He said that I’m a religious fanatic and that I should go live on my own.” She sniffed. “And I’m almost eighteen. So I’m going now.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Sara. Your father’s just upset because all of those cars were blocking his driveway last night and he couldn’t even get our car into the garage and then…well…you know how he gets after an evening of”—she glanced over at me with curiosity—“well, you know what happens when he—uh,
overindulges.
He’s always a little cranky the next day, but you know it’ll blow over before long and then he’ll apologize to you about the whole crazy thing.”

“But he’s putting down my beliefs.” Sara’s lower lip protruded slightly.

“Now you know how he can be about religion.” Her mother shook her head, then reached for her purse. “Just go put that silly suitcase away, dear. Here, I’ll give you a few bucks, and you and your friend—uh, what’s your name, dear?”

“That’s Cass, Mom. You’ve met her a dozen times.”

“Oh yes, Cass. Anyway, maybe you two can go take in a movie or something.”

Sara took the money, then scowled. “Mom, I already told you we think all movies are a sinful waste of both time and money.”

Her mother laughed. “Oh well, whatever. You girls just go and have you some fun and let your poor father get some rest.”

And so Sara left her bag sitting next to the stairway and we headed out to her car. “Do you want me to take you home?” she asked after starting the engine.

I just shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m trying to decide if I should tell the Glenns about what happened last—”