Read CAPTURED INNOCENCE Online
Authors: Cynthia Hickey
CAPTURED INNOCENCE
CAPTURED INNOCENCE
By Cynthia Hickey
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Arise, O Lord, Deliver me, O my God!
strike all my enemies on the jaw;
break the teeth of the wicked
- Psalm 3:7
Written and Published by: Cynthia Hickey
Cover Design: Cynthia Hickey
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
The
night breeze carried whispers of her name.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
A chill coursed down her spine, prickling her skin with goose bumps.
Jo
celyn Nielson pulled her ratty brown sweater tighter across her chest and risked another peek over her shoulder. She paused, and the echoing footfalls stopped. Maybe she’d imagined the sound in the first place. She didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. No one paid her undue attention. She raised a hand to her throat and took a deep breath. Her gaze swept the sidewalk.
A few older women window shopped, pointing, and gasping at prices. A young man stood on the corner to hail a taxi. His shrill whistle pierced Jo’s ears. A group of teenage girls giggled as they ambled along the sidewalk and stopped under a streetlamp. They looked in compact mirrors or punched numbers into their brightly colored cell phones.
Jo examined their low rise jeans and designer tops. She smoothed the skirt of the full dress she wore and plucked at the sleeve of her button up sweater. Twenty-five, and she dressed like an old maid. She sighed. Someday—when she felt safe. Safe enough to believe her ex-husband wouldn’t find her, then, she’d go on with her life. She’d wear pretty clothes again.
Quickening her pace, she stopped beneath the street lamp and checked her watch. Eight o’clock! She was late picking up Alex from the babysitter. Again. Why had she covered the other waitress’s shift?
She pressed her hand against her forehead
. Because I need the money, that’s why
.
She darted to merge with the group of teenagers who assessed her with scornful looks and turned their attention back to each other. She walked with them for two blocks, marveling at their ability to chatter so animatedly and ignore her presence. When had she ever been so carefree?
A few
minutes later, she left them and stopped in front of a dark alley. A short cut, it would shave fifteen minutes off her walk. She took another glance at her watch then scanned the sidewalk behind her. Her ears strained to hear sounds of pursuit. Nothing.
Taking a shaky breath, she stepped into the dimness of the alley.
Every horror movie of stupid heroines ran through her mind. She shrugged. Making up the time she’d lost was more important. She couldn’t afford to find another baby-sitter, and she’d been warned many times about being late.
The night wind
tore down the alley. Jo’s long hair whipped from her pony tail and around her face, obscuring her vision.
An aluminum can rattled.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
She froze
, then spun and shoved her hair from her face. Her eyes scanned the darkness behind her.
The
streetlight cast a yellow glow over the entrance to the alley. The figure of a man stood in silhouette, legs parted, hands held loosely at his sides. A trench coat flapped around his knees.
She gasped and ran--away from the light. Away from the stranger. Her breath rasped
, and her heart pounded against her ribcage. The sound of her own frantic footsteps masked those of any would-be assailant.
A brick wall loomed.
Panic rioted through her as she whirled, searching for a place to hide. She ducked behind a dumpster and risked another glance down the alley. Her blood pounded in her ears.
There was no one to be seen. No sound of stalking feet. No can
s rattled. Only the wind blew and whistled across several open lids of other dumpsters lining the alley.
Jo
turned toward a scurrying sound. Red beady eyes stared at her from under a cardboard box. She screamed. A rat darted from its hiding place.
She
rose, poised for flight like a wild animal who’d caught an unfamiliar scent. Her gaze darted from one corner of the alley to another, anxiously trying to find a way around the brick obstacle.
“Jocelyn.” A soft, sinister voice sliced through
her quickly unraveling nerves. It couldn’t be him, could it? There could be no way he knew where she’d run to.
A cat leapt from the dumpster
, and the lid rattled like distant thunder. Jo collapsed back onto a pile of garbage bags someone had neglected to dispose of.
“Jocelyn
.” The voice came again. Clearer. Louder.
She scrambled to her feet. Her shoes slipped on the rotten vegetable matter that oozed from the ripped bags.
A rancid smell assaulted her. Her hand plunged into a gooey substance. She shook it clean. A sob caught in her throat.
“What do you want with me?” Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “Please leave me alone.”
The rising wind tangled her skirt around her legs. With one hand on her sweater, she tried holding down her skirt with the other.
The man seemed to have disappeared. He no longer called her name in that eerie sing-song way. His shadow no longer stretched down the alley.
She spotted a small gate to the right of the brick wall. She eased toward it, straining to listen for footsteps in pursuit. She glanced over her shoulder every few feet.
A bang, a crash, and a thud somewhere in the dark spurred her faster. She ran
and resisted the urge to look back. Reaching the end of the alley, she turned right. The two blocks to her apartment building seemed like two miles.
H
er shoes tapped out a beat as she half-ran, half-walked. Several people glanced her way, and she ducked her head to avoid their faces. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she swiped them away.
One man reached out to stop her
. “Are you all right?” Jo halted and glanced up. Blue eyes locked with hers. The man stepped toward her. She squeaked in alarm and darted away from him.
“Wait,” he called after her. “
Let me help you?”
Jo glanced back.
Her eyes were drawn to the tall man, lean, with massive shoulders. A scream bottled in her throat. She sprinted around the corner and burst through the gate to the fence circling her apartment building.
She put a hand to her chest. She wheezed like a squeaky screen door. Jo patted her pockets for her inhaler
. Stupid! She’d left it upstairs in her apartment.
Risking
one more look down the street, she rammed her key into the lock of the security door. Slipping inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, concentrating on regulating her breathing. Precious seconds ticked by before her breathing slowed. “I’m a fool,” she whispered to herself.
Taking the alley as a shortcut
.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she used the railing to pull herself along, and came to a noisy stop outside her babysitter’s apartment door. She took a deep breath
. She still wheezed, but with less pain, and rang the bell.
“You’re late.” Mrs. Leonard frowned at her, her severe face drawn into disapproving wrinkles.
“I’m so sorry. I was held up at work.” Jo transferred her attention to her five-year-old son who stood next to the babysitter. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late.”
Alex gazed up at her with dark brown eyes, so like her own. They never failed to brighten Jo’s day, no matter how hectic it had been. “That’s okay, Mommy. You’re here now.”
Jo bent and kissed her son’s cheek. “You’re so sweet. I don’t deserve you.”
“You’re squeaking,” Alex
said.
“I ran. Didn’t want to be too late picking up my little man, did I? I’m okay.”
Mrs. Leonard continued to stare down her nose at them, as if in silent agreement about Jo’s statement of her unworthiness. Jo took a deep breath and straightened to meet the older woman’s eyes.
“I told you what I would have to do if you were late again.”
“I understand Mrs. Leonard, but…”
“You are not setting a good example for your son, Ms. Kingsley.” Mrs. Leonard folded her thin arms across her flat chest. “Punctuality is a worthy trait.”
“Please.” Jo hated the pleading tone that crept into her voice. “Alex is such a good boy. You’ve said he doesn’t cause you a bit of trouble.”
“That’s beside the point. This happens too often. My time is valuable. I have a life besides caring for your son.”
Jo’s heart skipped a beat. “I’ll pay you extra. I can’t afford to lose you or my job. You have to realize I would never abandon my son.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll pay you an extra ten dollars a week to cover any evenings I run late.”
How will I ever afford it
?
Mrs. Leonard sniffed. “I don’t like it. Being consistently late
isn’t good parenting.”
Alex grasped the older woman’s hand. “Please.” He raised his eyes to hers and smiled.
A smile twitched at the corner of the other woman’s mouth. “All right, Alex.”
Jo relaxed her shoulders and took her son’s hand
. At least the woman had a soft spot for her son. “Let’s get you to bed, sir.”
Her son
chattered non-stop as they climbed the two flights of stairs to their small one bedroom apartment. He regaled Jo with tales of what he’d learned in Kindergarten before the bus dropped him into Mrs. Leonard’s care.
“What did you do with Mrs. Leonard today?”
Alex frowned. “She makes me do my homework first thing. Then I can watch cartoons. Sometimes I help her fold laundry.”
“Laundry? Really?” Jo chuckled and unlocked the door to their apartment. She pulled the chain on the overhead light and grimaced as cockroaches scurried for cover. The landlord had promised her he would spray.
She spotted her inhaler on the kitchen table and grabbed it to take two puffs of the medication. She felt her bronchial tubes relax. “Come on, Alex. We have to see Mr. Every.”
“I don’t like him,” Alex said. “He’s mean. Like a stranger.”
She looked at her son. “I agree, but we’ve got to be polite. Okay?”