Remember Me (6 page)

In a good mood once more, he chuckled at his own craftiness. Picking up his own drink, he gave her the million-dollar smile he knew she loved so much, did a silent toast to her, and took a sip. She looked so happy, he feared if her smile grew any wider her perfectly made up face would crack.
Picking up her drink, she raised the glass and waited. “Here’s to our brilliant plan!” her bubbly voice rang out.
Raising his glass once more, he clinked it against hers.
“Yes, here's to us, getting our perfect mates.”
                                                             
Chapter 5
Raidon smiled at the thought of how much information the three ten-dollar bottles of ’Ole Granddad’ corn liquor had bought from the grounds keeper. After a few belts, the old man had spilled everything he knew about the woman (known to him as) Karen Washington, including the fact that she would be attending a street fair she and several others had put together, the proceeds to go towards the Children’s Home he was employed by.
He couldn’t believe the woman lived just twenty minutes from his own home in Coeburn, the fates must have meant for him to find her. Never before had he took on a job where he found someone quickly, and with so little trouble. In his mind, he already had a color picked out for that new Corvette….
Snapping out of his brief daydream, he scolded himself for the rare lapse in concentration, and paid attention to the business at hand. He was seated in his black Hummer, and was watching Cassandra and her female companion. They were looking at some colorful scarves being sold by one of the vendors. When Cassandra turned to speak to the man in the booth, he got a full frontal view of her, and quickly snapped several pictures with his digital
camera. Connecting the camera to his laptop, he downloaded the photos. Opening his email account, he composed a brief message to Granger,
Target found,
uploaded the photos and attached them to the document, then clicked *send*. Closing the laptop, he looked at her once more, and planned his next move cautiously, keeping in mind what the old man had said about her losing her memory. He knew from experience that the best way to see if she really didn’t remember who she was to catch her off guard.
Getting out of the Hummer, he walked slowly in her direction, and stopped roughly twenty feet from where she stood. Her back was to him, as she continued to haggle with the vendor good-naturedly. Clearing his throat quietly, he called out “Cassandra Mortenson, is that you?” hoping that his tone sounded like one of pleasant surprise. Not only did she not turn around, there was no reaction at all from her, leading him to believe that she didn’t recognize the name. The friend that was accompanying her did turn and give him a strange look, however. Their eyes locked, and he slowly made his way towards them. Only then did Cassandra turn and looked at him, curious as to what had captured her friend’s interest.
Stopping directly in front of her, and careful to respect her personal space, he looked down at her and gave her a pleasant smile, hoping his body language was as sincere as his true intentions of not wishing to alarm her.
She was looking at him
uncertainly;
while her friend narrowed her eyes and gave him a look that seemed to say,
Don’t start any trouble
.
Still smiling at the lovely woman, he tried again. “Cassandra, don’t you remember me? I’m a friend of Granger‘s, your husband…” he trailed off as a flicker of uncertainty and fear crossed her face for a brief moment, then was gone, replaced by a look of confusion.

Granger
!
The
name rang through her mind. Fear, stark and vivid, suddenly glittered in her topaz eyes. Her heart began picking up speed, and a sense of dread washed over her like a tidal wave. Stepping back from him, she stammered,
“I
…I‘m…sorry. That’s not my name.”
Feigning complete astonishment and disappointment, he shook his head back and forth. “Wow, I can’t believe it! I really did think you were this woman I know, her name is Cassandra Mortenson. I’m telling you, you could be her doppelganger!” he said, dropping the name one last time to see if it would
elicit
a reaction.
“Look, she told you she wasn’t this …Cassandra chick. Step the hell off and leave her alone.” the friend said, stepping directly in front of her friend, ready to defend
her;
heedless of the fact she barely came to his chest in height.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing at the militant midget, he smiled down at her. He admired her chutzpah. Holding up a hand in a placating manner, he backed away, fearing any further contact could make Cassandra bolt. “Look, I’m very sorry
ladies;
I honestly didn’t mean to upset you.”
Turning to leave, he heard the friend ask Cassandra if she was all right. “That, name Granger…I…I feel somehow like I should know it.” he heard the woman reply.
Climbing back into the Hummer a couple of minutes later, his thoughts were troubled.
When I mentioned Granger’s name, that was pure, unadulterated fear in her eyes, and it wasn’t my imagination. There’s more to this than a woman simply running away from her husband and child…
he thought.
Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed Granger’s number.

               
*******************************************************

“Sir, this just came in from Raidon Bishop.” Malcolm said as he handed Granger a printed photo.
Taking the picture from him, he wilted back in his leather chair, his heart racing. It was Cassandra, all right.
She’s still so beautiful
was the first thought that crossed his mind, and following that,
Oh, thank God nothing bad happened to her.
She looked a little heavier, but from the looks of it, it only added and complimented her natural voluptuousness. Looking more closely, he noticed her nose seemed a little different, a little slimmer perhaps. He had been around enough women to recognize a nose that had been surgically altered. “Where is she?” he asked without even looking up, his voice rough with anxiety.
“Raidon didn’t forward that information, sir.”
Just as he was about to demand that he find out immediately, his cell phone rang. Snatching the small device off the desk he growled, “Yeah, Granger here.”
“Did you get the photos Mr. Mortenson?” Raidon asked as he followed Cassandra and her friend, careful to keep out of sight.
“Where
is she?” he demanded harshly, not bothering to answer the man’s question.
“Sir, before I tell you, I feel I should tell you that, for whatever reason, your wife doesn’t know who she is. Who she was.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want to hear that bullshit! Where-is-she?” he snapped, spacing his words out for added emphasis.
“She’s living and working in Windsor Virginia. She calls herself Karen Washington. What little I’ve found out, well, your wife may have not left you of her own free will.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded belligerently, scowling more ominously than ever. Everything had always pointed to the fact that she had left of her own free will.
She had left her engagement and wedding rings on the bedside table, packed most of her clothing, and had had her own savings transferred to an overseas bank account. There were no signs of any struggle, none whatsoever. She
had
left with everything she would need to live elsewhere, alone.
“It’s nothing concrete, Mr. Mortenson, just a gut feeling I’ve got, and my instincts rarely lie. Sir.”
“Just call Malcolm and tell him where the closest airport there is, private landing strip, farmer’s field, anything! We’ll be there before morning.”
Hanging up, he looked at his aide and said, “See to it that my plane is gassed up and ready to go on a moment’s notice.”
“Sure thing, Chief. And sir, for what it’s worth, I’m glad she’s Ok.”
“Me too, old friend, me
too.” He
grunted.
Turning, Malcolm left quickly and quietly.
She may not have left of her own free will? What the hell does that mean? What the hell happened!”
he wondered as he looked at his wife’s photo, determined to find out exactly what had happened to her.

            ******************************************************

Cynne’ sat in front of her computer, chewing absently on a thumbnail. It was one of the rare occasions in her life that she had been shocked into silence. Looking at the missing
person’s
bulletin for the hundredth time in disbelief, she could deny it no longer. Her friend, Karen Washington, was, in fact, this missing woman who was staring back at her from the computer monitor. Cassandra Mortenson. The name that stranger had called Karen by earlier. She had sensed something out of the ordinary about the guy from the very beginning. Nothing threatening or sinister, just felt he had…been putting on an act. So she had committed that name to memory, and when she had arrived home, looked it up on a website designed to help locate missing persons. As it turned out, not only had her friend been missing for three years, but she was also married to a very wealthy man, Granger Mortenson, and they had a son. She had read about Granger Mortenson before, in a business magazine. The man was in the Fortune 500, and from what she had read, the man was a force to be reckoned with.
Getting up to pour herself another cup of coffee, she thought back to the conversation she had had with Karen (or Cassandra, as she was now firmly convinced) shortly after their encounter with the good-looking Asian man.
“Karen, you know, it’s a very real possibility that you could be this Cassandra he was talking about. After all, you don’t know or remember anything at all about your past. I really think you should check it out,”
she had remarked casually as they walked back to her apartment.
“Cynne’, you’re forgetting that Brett found my identification, with my picture on it, at the scene of the…the attack. You also know for a fact that that private detective he hired dug up proof that I’m an orphan, and not married. He personally showed me the documentation.”
had been her friend’s reply.
Clearly becoming agitated, Karen had then complained of another oncoming migraine, then dug around in her purse frantically for the prescription medication Brett had given her for that very purpose. Finding the bottle, she had smiled, tremendously relieved, and popped two into her mouth, followed by a swig of lemonade she had bought at one of the food stands.
But she herself wasn’t convinced in the least about the veracity of Brett’s claims, and specifically those of the private detective he had hired. After all, how difficult could it have been for Brett to pay the man to fabricate a false past, or identification? Hence her search online as soon as she h
ad arrived home.
“Oh my God..”
she muttered. Forgetting the coffee, she placed the pot back down and hurried back to the computer. Scrolling down the page, she saw, at the bottom, a contact number for Ms. Jocelyn Ames, Karen’s mother.
Grabbing her phone, she flipped it open and began punching the numbers in as she glanced back and forth at the screen. Her hands were shaking so badly by this point, she dialed a wrong number on her first two attempts. Cursing under her breath, she closed her eyes, took several deep breaths to calm herself, opened her eyes, and very slowly punched the correct number in.
“Hello….?” a woman’s voice answered after the third ring. She had a pleasant, southern, country drawl, much the same as Karen herself.
“Hi, I…uhhh…am I speaking to Ms. Ames?”
“Yes, speaking…“
“Ms. Ames, I’m calling you about your missing daughter."
“
My daughter?”
the woman answered in a much different voice that suddenly sounded lifeless and guarded.
Always quick on her mental feet, she was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that this woman had been searching, fruitlessly, for her daughter for over three years, and had surely suffered many disappointments. Quickly trying to reassure her, she blurted, “Ma’am,
please don’t hang up! I assure you, this isn’t a prank, I’m your daughter’s best friend! I mean…I’m positive my best friend is your missing daughter!”
“Miss, what’s yo
ur name, and where do you live?” T
he woman answered in the same guarded fashion.
“My name is Cynne’ Barns, ma’am, and I live in Windsor Virginia. Listen, if you would like, I can send you a photo online, right now, of Kare…I mean Cassandra, to prove to you I’m telling you the truth! Just give me a minute to hook my digital camera up to the computer. What’s your email address?” she asked as she held the phone with one hand, and fumbled with the camera with the other. After receiving the information, she said, “Hang on just a sec, and open your email, I’ll only be a few seconds
.”
Placing her still-open phone down, her hands flew over the keyboard, opening her yahoo mail account. Quickly uploading the picture, she hit *send*, snatched the phone back up and said, “Ok, you should be getting it any second…”
“Alright…”
After what seemed like an eternity, she heard the woman gasp loudly, then begin to cry.
“Ohhhh my baby!" the voice wailed.
“My baby is alive and well. Oh, thank you Jesus, thank you Lord, thank you for hearing my prayers!”
The relief and joy in the woman’s voice was music to her ears, and unable to help herself, she began to weep for joy herself. She would have never thought something like this would happen to her, she had always believed things like this only happened on television. She was responsible for reuniting a long lost child with her mother!
“Ms. Barns, Cynne’, oh, how can I ever thank you? Thank you, so, so much! God bless you!”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Ames, and your relief and happiness are all the reward I need or want.”
“Please, can you tell me about her? How is she, what is she doing
? “
“Well, ma’am, Karen is the name I know her by, Karen Washington. Physically she is mostly well, except for
fatigue and frequent migraines,”
she replied cautiously, not wanting to traumatize the woman about the attack three years prior. “And, well, there’s this one thing, she doesn’t remember her life as Cassandra Mortenson.
“What do you mean?”
For the next hour she told the woman about Cassandra and her new life, explaining that her loss of memory was due to some type of accident Cassandra had been in, which she never
discussed with anyone. The lie made her feel guilty, but she felt it was a necessary evil at the time, and that the news of the vicious attack should be made known to her only after seeing with her own to eyes that Cassandra was healthy, physically. Before hanging up, they made arrangements for Jocelyn to fly out to meet her the next day.
                                                 
Chapter 6
Crawling up on her bed with a plate of Mongolian Beef, Karen smacked her lips in anticipation. She was addicted to the food from a small, mom and pop Chinese take-out on her block. Every Sunday she would order after she returned home from early mass. The ritual had been going on for so long in
fact;
the owners always had her food prepared and ready for her before she ever walked through the door.
The incident with the Asian man from the day before completely forgotten, she planned on eating and watching season eight of the X-files on DVD, a gift Brett have given her for Christmas. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes and let out a contented sigh. This was her idea of a relaxing day. This was basically the only free time she ever had. When she wasn’t working at the children’s home, she was doing volunteer work.
Taking her pills from her nightstand, she took her new medication, chasing it down with a big gulp of diet coke.
Clinking the DVD player on, she sighed again, completely content, starry-eyed at the sight of David Duchovny. Balancing her plate on her lap, she dug into her food with gusto.
********************************************************
Frustrated, Granger paced the sitting room in the Flagstone Inn. He had arrived four hours after getting the call from Raidon Bishop, and he had had to wait ten hours for the man to show up. And he wasn’t a man who was used to waiting on other people.
“I went to Doctor Parker’s office, the shrink who’s been treating your wife since her attack, and I found these in the office.” Raidon said as he nearly hurled the pictures down on the table. Ever since seeing photos himself, he had barely managed to contain his fury.
Stopping to pick up the pictures, Granger wasn’t prepared for the shocking sight. His eyes grew wide, and his ears started ringing. Suddenly lightheaded, he stumbled back into a Queen Ann chair, collapsing as his legs gave out. “How…who…what….?” he stammered as anguish seared deeply into his soul. The photos slid from his fingers to the floor, and he slumped forward. “My God, what happened to her, and
WHO
did that to her?” he said in a choked voice as rage gripped his entire being.
An almost palpable silence hung over the room.
“You heard me, who did this to her!” he roared, then snatched up the pictures from the floor and waved them in the direction of Raidon. Looking down at them again, he found himself hoping it had all been a big
mistake that
that wasn’t his lovely wife he was looking at. But deep down, he knew it was. The photos were awful. Her eyes were swollen almost completely closed, and her entire face was more dull purple and yellow in color, than it was the natural, beautiful chocolate color he loved so much. Her nose had been broken, and there was a long, deep gash on her head. In another photo, he saw a large patch of her hair had been shaved, exposing the long row of stitches that had been needed in order to close the wound. There were stitches over her left eye, and above her upper lip.
My God, how could she endure a beating like this and live? Thank God she survived…
he thought as a raw and primitive grief overwhelmed him. He wanted to find out who did this, and choke the life out of him with his bare hands. After he had broken every bone in the person’s body. No matter what it took, no matter what it cost, he was determined to find the person responsible.
Unable to look at them any longer, he placed them back down on the table. “Who did this to her?” he asked again in a deadly voice, staring at the private investigator menacingly.
Without so much as flinching, Raidon returned the look with one equally menacing. “I thought you could tell ME that, Mr. Mortenson.” he said slowly and deliberately, the implication clear.
Instantly, Granger became more livid than ever. He had never tried to fool himself, he knew he wasn’t the nicest or most likeable man in the world, he was, after all, in a cutthroat business, and was ruthless himself at times. However, he would sever his own hand before he would ever raise it against her, or his son. No one could understand what she had meant to him, and still did. Cassandra was the one woman in his life who had loved him completely and unconditionally, without ever asking for anything in return other than his love. Before their problems had begun, she had taught him what love and compassion was. While growing up, he had never truly received love or affection from his parents, they had both wanted him to be hard, and driven, and feared that hugs, kisses, and praise were seeds of weakness. His father had wanted him to be as hard and ruthless as he was, and his mother had wanted a powerful, wealthy son who made people cower in fear. But Cassandra could soothe him with a touch, her eyes could calm the aggressive inner beast he had used to run people over countless times, in order to get what he wanted. She had made him be a better man, and then…..everything started going wrong. He may never have been the best at expressing his love, but he did love her, even now.
“I’ve never laid a hand on my wife, nor any other woman, you understand me?" he said in a deceptively calm voice.
“But when I find out who did this to her, I’ll kill him. Now, tell me, where is she? Take me to her, and I mean
RIGHT NOW!
” he finished with a roar.
Raidon still had his doubts. From the man’s behavior it was evident that, like so many other wealthy, powerful men, this one wasn’t used to not getting what he wanted, and his mercurial outbursts had made him seem more like a man who was prone to abusiveness,
rather than a loving husband. And he wouldn’t lead an abuser to his victim, no matter how much money was offered.
Could I be letting my personal feelings blur my judgment?
He
thought.
“Well, are you going to answer me, or will that cost extra?”
Ignoring the remark, he replied, “Mr. Mortenson, as you saw for yourself, your wife endured an unusually viscous attack. Now, in my experience, for someone to do what they did to her, they are almost always fueled by extreme emotions. This wasn’t someone trying to rob her, they wanted her dead. It’s what’s called overkill. Whoever did that wanted to completely destroy her, and smashing her face was their way to destroy their own memory of her. Whoever did this was fueled by two emotions, hate, and jealousy. Are you a jealous man, Mr. Mortenson?” His eyes never leaving Granger’s, he studied the man’s facial expressions carefully. Receiving no answer or reaction, he continued. “Her injuries were indeed extensive. Her jaw had to be wired, then her teeth in the front had to be worked on. She suffered broken ribs, and a plastic surgeon had to reconstruct her nose. The head trauma she suffered was so bad I’m surprised she lived, and even more surprised she’s not some drooling vegetable.”
The force of the words finally hitting him like a ton of bricks, the color drained from Granger’s face, and a heavy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
“From the doctor’s report, and other sources, she doesn’t remember her past, Mr. Mortenson, she remembers nothing of her marriage to you. The lost memory could be the result of either her head injuries, or the attack was so traumatizing she’s subconsciously chosen to block it out. I’m betting it’s both.”