Unforeseen Fury

1

October, 2006

The bluish glow of the television screen flickered rapidly against the living room’s drawn blinds and tedious stucco walls, highlighting the haggard, forty-yard stare of a man with a noticeably shaped physique, his muscled, bullet-scarred arms sporting well-drawn tattoos, souvenirs from his fifteen years of proud service with the United States Marine Corps. On the cusp of turning thirty-three, Josh Donaldson had already experienced enough action in his relatively young life to last three lifetimes. The Congressional Medal of Honor winner had continued to exist after two horrific tours in Iraq only to see his peaceful family ripped mercilessly to shreds following the death of Mallory, the only woman he had truly ever loved, resulting in a downward spiral of depression.

With an uncertain future looming in front of him, the battle-hardened ex-recon marine, honorably discharged from what he considered to be his second family, found it quite difficult to leave the reasonable stability of life at Camp Lejeune Marine Corps Base, North Carolina, pack whatever belongings they could squeeze into the worse for wear 1986 Ford van he’d managed to talk the used vehicle salesman into selling to him for an song and move south with his two young daughters Caitlin and Jessica to begin a new life in the working-class, slightly seedy neighborhood of Centreville, a hop, skip and a jump from downtown Orlando.

His elite military skills had made Josh a natural fit for Securecore, a private security firm specializing in uniformed guard patrols and assorted investigations. On his days off, he enjoyed catching up on current events. The diplomatic, sweet-appearing face of first-rate reporter Tiffany Johnston came into view as the KBNL Channel 5 news update got underway. Streaks of intense afternoon sunlight struggled to penetrate the nearly formidable blinds covering the large picture window that on most days provided a rather uninteresting view of life on the outside street and neighboring one-storey stucco homes and often uncut, cluttered lawns.

Behind Johnston the historic roof of the State Capitol Building in Florida’s scenic capital city loomed high and dominant over the surrounding cityscape. Her long-time cameraman Jack, a chunky tech school graduate with scruffy facial hair and a penchant for overindulging in Twinkies, turned his expensive piece of recording equipment ninety degrees, giving the viewing audience a visual picture of what was brewing.

Well over three-hundred demonstrators – a mixture of ordinary-looking men, women and children, most of who were dressed lightly to combat the burning late-summer heat, marched peacefully though vocally around the well-kept lawns of the state legislature. These incensed fathers, mothers, uncles, brothers, sisters, aunts and even clergymen were expressing their disdain for the highly-controversial Emergency Child Protection Act, signed into law mere minutes earlier by Governor Miles Simms.

Critics had been warning for months that the legislation would give state child protection workers near draconian powers to seize children suspected of being abused or exploited for a period of up to seventy-two hours without court oversight.

The widowed father felt his blood pressure rise faintly as the demonstrators showily waved homemade placards bearing slogans such as End Government Theft of Children and Protect our Children from Overzealous CPS workers. A sudden tinge of rage circulated throughout his body as the onscreen images triggered memories of the brief though unpleasant encounter he’d had with Child Protective Services a few months back, not long after he, Jessica and Caitlin had moved to Disney City, when Mallory’s lunatic sister Betsy, who’d harbored a vendetta against Josh from day one, filed a false report claiming neglect. The arrogant attitudes displayed by some of these overpaid government busybodies made his blood boil.

Johnston briefly fixed her flowing back hair before turning the microphone to a balding, somewhat hefty intense though kind looking middle-aged man standing at the head of the demonstration. A former businessman, Bob Henderson, president of Florida Families for Justice, had spent five long and harrowing years clearing his name after having his entire life torn apart by false allegations of child abuse.

A seasoned veteran of the news business, Johnston knew exactly the tough questions to ask the subjects she interviewed.

Mr. Henderson, now that this legislation has been passed through the House of Representatives, what are your primary concerns, particularly pertaining to child apprehension powers by child welfare authorities?

Henderson, who had helped to organize today’s protest, was old hat at dealing with the media. A professional smile formed on his lips as he spoke with the confidence of an experienced public speaker.

To put it simply, this unjust law will give these vultures a wider range of arbitrary powers they will take pleasure in abusive. Mark my words. It’ll be open season on everybody, but particularly low-income families and single parents.

Josh nodded agreeably, felt an empathetic connection with this fellow hardworking father, who, upon being cleared by the courts, had vowed to dedicate every ounce of energy in his body to fight for justice for those who’d been victimized by the state’s out-of-control child protection bureaucracy.

It slipped his mind as to where he had heard it, but fairly recently it had been revealed to Josh that many child protection agencies throughout the United States operate under a cloud of secrecy, enjoyed near total immunity and, in many cases, answered to no one.

Johnston continued with her interview.

"Your organization has been working hard to ensure that social workers who overstep professional boundaries be subject to stricter accountability, Johnston stated.

To date, how have these efforts been paying off?

Henderson responded with a semi-despondent smile.

To be totally honest with you Tiffany, change will not come overnight but it is inevitable. The most important thing is, we’re getting the word out there. This terrible system is a total mockery of the American constitution and if it cannot be reformed, it must be abolished.

Thank you Mr. Henderson, Tiffany said as Jack focused the camera on her curvy five foot four, one-hundred and thirty five pound frame.

Governor Simms, who pledged to crack down on child abuse during his last election campaign, has so far refused calls from the opposition Republicans to allow a one-year sunset clause for this legislation. Reporting from Tallahassee, I’m Tiffany Johnston with KBNL News.

Feeling a bit bored, the powerful man with deep, concentrated eyes flicked through the three-hundred channels that came with the satellite dish he’d recently purchased. An old episode of Three’s Company compelled a laugh, allowing him to momentarily take his mind off of the love of his life that he’d only see again one day in Heaven. For the past year or so, the highly-decorated ex-marine had made a daily ritual of browsing through photo albums, reminiscing of times past which would be no more. Just as that old sentimental feeling got a hold of him, the familiar sound of a school bus caught his ear. It couldn’t be four o’clock already. Where had the time gone?

The driver, a somewhat shaggy, stoned-looking man in his mid-thirties, eased the well-traveled tires of Central Orlando School District bus number fifteen up to the bus stop at the corner of Kent and Decatur streets, his precious cargo already standing in their seats and the aisle, anxiously awaiting the weekend which lay ahead. The second the driver opened the door, the students from nearby Park Street School began shuffling out onto the sidewalk.

A young girl began walking towards her home. Dressed in plain clothing, Caitlin Donaldson carried herself with a tone of maturity and perceptiveness rarely seen in the majority of sixth graders. A younger child, no older than six or seven, followed behind her big sister. Adorned in slightly more expensive brand-name clothing, Jessica Donaldson wore her slightly wavy brown hair in cute pigtails, had the kind of adorable, innocent-looking little girl face that could melt even the hardest heart.

The girls’ father stepped out onto the patio deck of 2 Kent Street. He’d received a bonus at work yesterday and after paying the phone and light bills, was pleasantly surprised to actually have a bit of disposable income for once, which he was using this evening to treat the two most beloved people in his life to dinner and a movie. Josh smiled joyfully as his children approached the lawn. Overall, they’d adjusted to the very difficult move to a completely different school, a completely different city. Both girls were getting along exceptionally well. Just recently, young Caitlin, ever the intellectual overachiever, became the newest member of the school’s juvenile debating team.

The hardworking single parent got ready as Jessica ran past her older sister right into his hard-as-steel loving arms.

Daddy, I made ninety in my spelling test, the grade one student exclaimed jubilantly to her father.

Josh scooped the little girl up in his arms. My God in Heaven, he thought blissfully to himself, the way they’re going, my daughters are going to be Rhodes scholars someday!

You did great Jessica, he congratulated her.

The Iraq War veteran detected a hint of sadness in his elder daughter’s downcast hazel eyes. He set Jessica down, hoping to God that nothing bad had happened in school today.

What’s wrong darling? he asked with concern in his voice. Did something bad happen in school?

Caitlin hung her head disappointingly like a star runner wrought with defeat after losing the big race.

I got my science project back.

And… Josh responded, eager to hear the conclusion.

I only made eighty.

It pained the ex-marine when Caitlin, a budding perfectionist, was so hard on herself.

My God, if I had a made a mark like that on a science test when I was your age, my parents would’ve both taken heart attacks! Don’t beat yourself up kid. You’re battin’ a thousand.

Caitlin smiled awkwardly. In times of hardship in her life she could always count on her father’s supportive words to keep her going.

Josh opened the house’s creaky late 1970s/early 1980s – style front door.

I guess if you gals have any homework to do, better get it done before we leave, Josh said in a tone that implied he was joking.

It’s the weekend silly, Jessica replied with a funny, little girl laugh.

I guess we’ll go see Ice Age 2, Josh suggested as he went behind the two loves of his life into the house.

I read about Ice Age on MovieRating.com. It’s going to be awesome, Caitlin affirmed.

2

Empress Cinema’s towering sign stood watch over the busy restaurants, coffee shops, nightclubs and adult entertainment venues which lined both sides of Colonial Drive, one of Orlando’s most hectic drags on a Friday night, as far as the eye could see, it’s dazzling flashing amber lights satisfactorily complementing the city’s multi-speckled skyline.

The second-hand Ford car Josh had recently begun leasing pulled itself along at a snail’s pace in the bumper-to-bumper traffic that snarled Colonial Drive for at least a good half-mile or so.

Josh tapped the steering wheel, impatience brewing inside of him. Then, as if by some divine miracle, the seemingly unmovable line picked up tempo. Josh stepped on the gas pedal just slightly. Drove for two minutes before hanging a right onto the movie theater’s increasingly filling up parking lot.

A lengthy line nearly stretching out almost into the sidewalk greeted Josh and his daughters as they approached the movie theatre. While Caitlin and Jessica amused themselves by glancing at the large, colorful movie poster boards stationed along the west wall of Empress Cinemas, which was part of a strip wall, their father checked the time on his cell phone. Oh great. Six-forty-five and the movie begins at seven. One attendant working this evening. It seems everybody’s cutting back these days, Josh grumbled to himself. At that moment, the manager and another attendant opened the two other ticket counters and the line automatically started moving. The Donaldson sisters were excitedly beholding the vibrant advertisement for Ice Age 2.

Come on girls, let’s get in there.

The manager of Empress Cinemas, a trim, courteous youth of no older than twenty-four, smiled politely as a tall, muscular, world-weary-looking man with two little girls in tow drew near.

Two children and one adult for Ice Age 2, the pleasant customer said to the manager as he dug out his wallet, slapped a $20 bill on the counter.

This is the first evening we haven’t been sold out, the young man stated as he speedily processed the tickets and handed Josh’s change back to him. Enjoy your movie guys.

The yummy aroma of freshly popped popcorn pulled Caitlin and Jessica like a magnet towards the concession stands, where the eldest sister spotted a familiar face. Barely a month apart in age, Caitlin and Laura Paxton had become fast friends from the moment they met on the first day at Park Street School. Laura, her younger sister Megan and parents Tom and Hannah were purchasing some snacks before heading into Theater 3 to also watch Ice Age 2.

Hey Laura, Caitlin said joyfully as she meandered over and hugged her best friend.

Are you going to see Ice Age 2?

We certainly are.

The Paxtons lived the quintessential American upper/middle – class dream in the affluent Orlando suburb of West Heights. Despite obvious socioeconomic disparities, Caitlin and Laura had formed an inseparable bond. Through their daughters’ friendship, Josh had gotten to know Tom, a civil engineer and Hannah, a stay-at-home mom and even met them for coffee a few times.

Hi Josh, Tom Paxton rang out as he grabbed a weighty tray of popcorn and soft drinks.

Josh and Jessica walked over.

I see your brood talked you into going to an animated G-rated film as well, the former Special Ops soldier, who had a passion for war films, joked.

Caitlin looked up at her father in a way that Josh sensed she was about to ask for something.

Daddy, can Laura and I hang out tomorrow? Feeling put on the spot, Josh smiled embarrassingly.

I’m sure Laura’s family going to be busy tomorrow.

Hannah, who was expecting the couple’s third child, looked at her eldest daughter.

Did you forget? We’re going to Aunt Ellie’s house tomorrow.

Oh, how could I? Laura said with a sullen shrug of her shoulders. We get to spend the entire day listening to stories of what life was like a hundred years ago.

Perhaps they could get together sometime during the week, Josh suggested.

I don’t see why they couldn’t, Tom replied. Anyway, we better get in there or else this shows gonna start without us.

The Ford car cruised unhurriedly through considerably diminished traffic past the sights and sounds of Colonial Drive. Following the movie, the famished Donaldson family had stopped into Reg’s Bar and Grill for some badly-needed burgers and fries. The neon-greenish light of the radio illuminated Josh and Caitlin, a slumping Jessica, worn-out from the excitement of the day, on the verge of falling asleep in the backseat.

Barely audible soft, adult contemporary music emanating from the stereo complemented the hushed atmosphere inside of the vehicle.

Memories of grasping Mallory’s frail, pasty white hand as the adoring wife and mother made a slow descent towards death’s door continued to haunt Caitlin. Not a single day went by without the spunky preteen questioning how a supposedly loving God could cruelly take a person in the prime of their life, especially someone as outgoing and affectionate as her mom. Perhaps with time she would come to grips with this tragedy and understand why it happened.

Daddy, I just wish things could go back to the way they used to be. The young girl became choked up as she spoke.

Josh reached over, placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

You’re not alone my dear. It was extremely hard not to get emotional when he reminisced about Mallory’s soft, soothing voice, her warm, tender touch. Your mother was a beacon of strength and stability in our lives. No matter how rough life got, especially when I had to serve overseas, she always understanding and worked day and night to make our house a home.

Sporadic tears rolled down Caitlin’s rosy cheeks.

Mom’s in Heaven with God looking down on us.

She most definitely is, the bereaved widowed husband replied.

Jessica, who’d been half listening to her father and sister’s conversation, decided that now would be a good time to get off what was on her mind.

Daddy, will you marry another woman so I can have a new mommy, she asked in such an innocent, little-girl type of way.

Who knows?

Josh looked briefly over his shoulder.

But I’ll always be here to guide and protect both of you.

3

Brilliant early Saturday morning sunlight pierced through the bedroom window, penetrating the tough-looking woman’s eyes as she groggily arose from her slumber. The constant stress of working seven days straight pounded away inside of Lori Mancuso’s head. A scanty bra and panties exhibited the child protection worker’s toned, wiry frame as she pushed herself out of the queen-sized bed she shared with her soul mate, a somewhat reticent up-and-coming fashion designer named Cheri. Mancuso got to her feet. Ran a comb through her horribly disheveled hair before donning a housecoat.

To those who knew her, the 38-year-old veteran of the social work profession was undoubtedly one of the most ardent militant feminists they’d ever encountered. Her views regarding those accused of child abuse, especially males, as well as who should and should not be allowed to breed children, often sent shivers down the spines of her more sensible, restrained CPS colleagues.

If Mancuso’s bitter resentfulness toward life, spurned on largely by a childhood of sexual abuse at the hands of her father, wasn’t bad enough, the deeply disturbed woman had a truly sinister, ominous side. In addition to wielding her fast power like a cruel medieval conqueror, the heartless bureaucrat made a handsome second black market income selling babies and small children to wealthy couples both in and outside of the state.

The infectious aroma of rich coffee brewing in the kitchen downstairs struck Mancuso’s still half-asleep senses the second she descended down to the house’s main level. Cheri had been up now for a good hour cooking a sumptuous breakfast to get them started for their big day of shopping ahead.

The quiet, much-younger woman with neck-length burgundy hair stood over a frying pan giving the flavorsome ham-and-cheese omelets one last flip as her partner trudged into the kitchen, immediately reaching into the cupboard for a mug and pouring herself piping hot coffee. Mancuso sipped the strong brew while rubbing Cheri’s back as the fashion designer placed the eggs onto two plates.

That smells awesome Cheri, she uttered with seductive playfulness.

Cheri smiled as she set the plate on the oak-finished kitchen table next to two glasses of orange juice.

Thought the least I could do was treat you to one of my amazing omelets before we went out.

The lesbian couple had established a pleasant existence in the high-priced, ritzy neighborhood of Fairview Shores, set amongst a myriad of small lakes, golf courses and expensive shops and inhabited by many of the city’s upper crust. Her less-than-idyllic childhood instilling a deep distrust of men, Mancuso found solace in the eye-catching, bookish-looking Cheri, who had recently come out of the closet, much to the disdain of her deeply devout United Pentecostal family.

Though they led busy lives, the two women always found time to spend with one another. Both had a passion for exercising, especially Mancuso, who was becoming an expert in Muay Thai Boxing and even planned to compete in an upcoming tournament.

Not long after they’d begun eating, Mancuso put her hand on Cheri’s in a warm embrace that was a testament to their intimate relationship.

My love, I realize we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately but I promise I’ll make it up to you.

The kindhearted stroke was sincere, the quieter member of this same-sex partnership felt in her heart. Having been raised in an often strict though by no means authoritarian religious environment, where the boundaries of adolescent dating were laid out in black and white, the 23-year-old Cheri had always been a tad naïve about the birds and the bees, hard enough for any hormone-raging heterosexual youth, much less an impressionable teenage girl confused about her sexuality. She’d put all of her trust into the older mature and worldly woman who’d taken her under her wing not long after she’d been all but disowned by her fundamentalist kin. If only she could see that this seemingly upright pillar of the community was an authentic wolf-in-sheep’s clothing living a heinous double-life.

I understand Lori, she replied with accepting eyes. We have vacation time coming up, remember?

Oh Cheri, Mancuso responded with a contented smile. I love you more than anything else in this world.

Cheri sipped her orange juice, nibbled at her cooling omelet, eyes gleaming with an almost childlike infatuation.

I really don’t know what I’d do without you.

The embrace strengthened, as if the two lovers had crossed the threshold into a covenant that could never be broken.

The feeling is mutual, Mancuso proclaimed with all of her heart.

An early evening sun hung like an enormous orange fireball in the stifling air, its vivid light casting a colorful pall over Centreville’s tiled roofs, lawns and pot-holed streets. While other children who lived in the neighborhood ran through sprinklers to escape the oppressive 90 - degree temperatures that had been plaguing much of south and central Florida over the past few days or rode their bikes, the Donaldson sisters wrapped up a fun-filled day, which included swimming at an outdoor community pool and a trip to the city zoo, hanging out on the patio of their home, Caitlin texting Laura and Jessica amusing herself with a few of the more than thirty dolls from the assorted collection that adorned an entire shelf in the room she shared with her big sister.

In the kitchen, the girls’ father had his hands full scrubbing the tomato sauce stains off the plates and pots that’d held the spaghetti dinner his children had helped prepare. Josh hummed along to the lyrics of the popular 1980s’ Rick Springfield song Jessie’s Girl playing on the radio, at times difficult to hear over the creaky drone of an aging air conditioner. Blotches of spaghetti sauce stuck harder than crazy glue on Jessica’s plate were nearly completely wiped off when all of a sudden the phone rang. Setting his dishcloth aside, the energetic ex-marine reach for the cordless, was just a bit hesitant to answer the second his brother-in-law’s number appeared.

Josh had never seen eye-to-eye with Steven Markham, the arrogant Harvard-educated liberal who unfortunately was married to his baby sister Muriel. Over the years the newly married couple, who resided in Boston, had been together, the two political opposites had engaged in some fairly heated debates, most notably on impassioned topics such as America’s involvement in Iraq and gun control, in which the left – leaning Democrat was a huge proponent of.

Hello, Josh answered the phone flatly.

Hey Josh, the college professor was calling from the couple’s home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Your sister thought we should give you a quick call. Hell, we haven’t spoken in ages.

If Muriel wanted to talk to me so bad, why didn’t she just call me herself? He wondered to himself.

So Steve, Josh knew it was best just to go through the motions with his soon-to-be brother-in-law through ill – fated circumstances. How does my baby sister like Beantown?

So far it’s been a good fit for her. You hold that thought. She’s just upstairs drying her hair. I’ll go grab her for you.

The girls had been out on the patio deck a good hour or so and their father was hoping to get them ready for bed once he had finished talking to his sister. Caitlin and Laura were still in a conversation about some boy at school they both had a crush on. Jessica was halfway through dressing an antique china doll – one of her favorites – when she accidentally knocked another one of the patio railing.

Oops, the youngster uttered to herself as her eyes gazed down into the long grass growing wildly around the base of the latticed patio. Spotting the doll, a limited edition from the early 1960s, she began climbing down the railing, went to set her foot on a beam but lost her balance, falling roughly onto the lawn. The shock of the hard tumble was so immense that it took a good half minute for the little girl to realize that her arm was actually broken. Jessica screamed hysterically as razor-sharp pain from the break in the elbow quickly progressed throughout her body, the chilling shrieks piercing