Free The Light at the End of the Tunnel by James W. Nelson

she could feel it, and she didn’t mind.
    ****
    The chaplain also watched closely his
partner’s growing abilities, especially the martial arts. She
worked daily with Sheldon, who at first she had not liked. But his
attitude and abilities—and the fact he never hit on her—soon
impressed her, and also impressed the chaplain. Even though neither
he nor Nicole had claimed the other to anyone, the men at the
training facility stayed away from Nicole except for the
training.
    Nicole, after just a month of training, was
getting so good at Taekwondo—her yells and screams, and kicks and
punches—that there likely wouldn’t ever be any more threats by
three young men while they were eating, or even four. Five maybe
would be pushing it. Luckily, the chaplain was pretty sure she
would never use her new-found skills on him.
    As for taking on three or four men, surprise,
of course, would be part of it. They wouldn’t be expecting a babe
like Nicole to know anything about self-defense. Most guys
appreciated how the chicks on television and the movies could kick
their way through a half dozen bad guys, but, hey, that was the
movies. Chicks and babes weren’t so tough in real life. But with
Nicole, likely all three of those guys bugging her that night at
the restaurant would have been on the floor looking up before they
even realized what had happened. Then things maybe would have
changed a bit, but still, she would have hurt at least two of them
before—through sheer numbers and male strength—they hurt her.
    He often caught himself using the word ‘babe’ when he watched her, or thought of her, and he
wondered what she would think if she knew. But hell, she was a babe. So he admired her. Big deal.
    He wondered about Les Paul too. The child
would be over two years old now. Certainly a two-year-old wouldn’t
be able to cause much harm anywhere, would he?
     
     
    Chapter 16 Still Alone

    On October 18, Cassandra also became two
years old, but her foster family was not experiencing the so-called ‘terrible twos,’ as at least one member of Les Paul’s family
was. She yet had not said a word, and crying simply never happened.
She was just a good and quiet little girl who gave nobody
problems…she… existed . But nobody came to hold her, to quiet
her nonexistent cries and fears, or talk to her, or give her love,
so, Cassandra also did not give love.
    Her foster mother stood over her crib one
day, just looking at the child lying there, wondering… she sees
but does she hear? Is she deaf? Is that why she doesn’t ever speak,
doesn’t ever make even a sound?
    Deaf and dumb? The thought horrified the
woman. She wanted a bright child, one she could speak to, and dress
cutely, and take places. She wanted a child she could be proud of.
She had thought taking on a young foster child would be the easy
route to adoption.
    How wrong she was. “Cassandra, can you hear
me?”
    Yes, Cassandra heard her, but did not move
her eyes to look at this woman, this woman looking down on her. She
didn’t like this woman; she didn’t know what like meant , of course, but her brain knew, and knew this woman
should never be encouraged. This woman would never give her true
love. No warmth existed in her voice and none in her arms the rare
times she was held or carried, and when this woman fed her, it was
just the spoon to the food to her mouth. No ooohhhs and ahhhs , not ever, no comforting words or sounds.
    Cassandra wouldn’t immediately comprehend ooohhhs and ahhhs anyway, but had the woman ever made the sounds Cassandra would have heard them, would then
have instinctively recognized the sounds and the smiling face and
the warm hands and arms as a good thing, and, eventually, would
have begun giving back everything she received.
    But none of those things happened.
    “Cassandra,” the woman said, “If you don’t
start doing something, and soon, I’m going to take you back to
family services….” She hesitated, and said lower, “I