EPILOG

The X-rays showed nothing serious. Edmond would have a lump on his head for awhile, but there was no skull fracture or concussion. As the doctor was giving him some advice on how to take care of his head, Susan and Lena showed up. Edmond eyed Lena suspiciously. "Don't you have to be at work in a few hours?"
Lena laughed. "I'm going to call in sick. I think they'll understand."
Susan nodded. "Me too."
Edmond looked at them. "So, now what?"
Lena looked at her watch. "First thing, I think we all need some sleep. Later on, though, I'd like to show you Old Town, and some of the drawbridges on the Willamette River."
"The Willamette River?"
"The river you crossed over, coming from the airport."
Ed shook his head. "I don't remember crossing any river."
It was Lena’s turn to shake her head. "You must have been in a daze. The airport is on the other side of the river from where I live. You HAD to have crossed it."
Edmond stared at her. "Okay, whatever."
"Anyway, you came all this way; I want to show you around. How soon do you have to go back?"
"I didn't buy a return flight yet. I could blog from here for a few days."
On the ride back to Portland, Lena mentioned that Edmond's visit was an answer to prayer. Edmond didn't say anything, but he realized that, not too long ago, he would have argued with her that prayer ever changed anything, but now, he found himself seriously considering her words.
Susan dropped Edmond off at his hotel as the sun was coming up, then dropped Lena off, and headed home herself.
When Edmond got back to his room, he surprised himself, and he took some time for prayer, "Jesus, I know I haven't spoken to you since the accident. I've been angry with you, and I thought you were angry with me. I still don't really have much to say, except I'm sorry for the way I've been acting. Thank you for keeping Lena safe, and thank you for allowing me to meet her. It has been an honor and a privilege. Thank you."
When Lena got home, she also spent some time in prayer before lying down. "Lord Jesus, thank you for sending Edmond. I didn't think anybody had even really missed me yet. And I really didn't think that Edmond would have come to my rescue. I know that he hasn't left his apartment in years. Lord, if the only good that comes from this is that Edmond gets his life back, then I'm grateful. Thank you for using me that way. Amen."

Chapter 27

Edmond's eyes snapped open. The first thing he noticed was that he was, indeed, still in his tipped-over wheelchair, lying on his left side. There were flashes of red and blue, which didn't make sense at first, but, looking around, he saw that the front door was open, and there was a police car and an ambulance outside. Then he saw her. Lena was sitting a few feet away, and a paramedic was bandaging her wrist. Susan sat beside her. Finally he noticed that another paramedic was kneeling right in front of him, with smelling salts. Why was he not the first thing Edmond noticed? He couldn't be sure, but the way his head had been working since getting hit, he wasn't surprised.
Edmond tried to find his voice, but, even though he was now conscious, some things still didn't respond well. He finally managed to croak out, "What happened?" only to find that the medical personnel were once again more concerned about making a diagnosis of his case than answering the questions that were most important to him.
"Mr. Randolph, can you move your legs?" the paramedic asked him.
Edmond shot him a look of ire, and then shouted, with heavy sarcasm, "Oh no! I can't! I'll probably spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair!"
The EMT looked embarrassed, briefly, and then pointed out, "Mr. Randolph, I'm just trying to ascertain if you suffered any further spinal injuries."
Edmond grimaced, and moved his right arm around. "I don't think so," he said.
The paramedic grabbed at his wheelchair, and pulled it upright. Edmond had a knot on the left side of his head where it had hit the floor, but otherwise, he seemed to be okay. "We would still like to take you to the hospital for X-rays."
Edmond nodded, and wheeled his way over to Lena. "Are you okay?"
Lena nodded, "Yeah, I'll be fine." She gestured towards her left wrist, "I managed to cut my wrist pretty good trying to cut my way out of the ropes." She took a very serious look into Edmond's face, and Edmond didn't see the revulsion that he normally saw in people's eyes when they really looked at him for the first time. "Thanks for coming."
Edmond looked away. He still wasn't sure how all this had worked out, but he certainly didn't feel that he deserved any credit.
Edmond brought up memories from when he had been knocked unconscious. He wasn't sure how to explain them. "I smelled you..." he started to say.
Lena smiled. "I'm sorry; I haven't been able to get to a shower in a few days."
"No, I didn't mean that, I mean that, when I was unconscious, I smelled perfume, and I, well, I just knew that you were nearby."
The paramedics loaded Mark into the ambulance. Edmond looked around only in time to see Mark's lower body, but he knew who it had to be. He turned back to Lena. "Did you kill him?"
Lena shook her head. "No, I, uh, stabbed him in the arm. I really didn't have the heart to kill him, even though I was afraid he was going to kill you. The arm was good enough, though, he dropped the gun, and really didn't put up much of a fight after that. Susan came back with the cops pretty soon after that."
Lena again looked deep into Edmonds eyes. "That was pretty remarkable, that you came all this way, just because you thought I might be in trouble."
"For all the good it did," Edmond groused.
Lena's eyes went wide. "For all the good it did? Are you blind? Do you think any of this would have happened if you hadn't come?"
"All I know, is that I thought something was wrong, I came out here to try to rescue you, figured out where you were, got myself knocked in the head, and you got yourself loose. You ended up saving me."
Lena shook her head. "You know, part of the reason that I have read your blogs is because you seemed like such an intelligent man. I guess that's just when you're writing, though." Lena paused and looked deep into Edmond's eyes. "Don't you see that I wouldn't have even tried to escape if you hadn't come? I couldn't tell when Mark was awake or asleep, or even if he was here. When you showed up, that was the first time that Mark was distracted enough that I thought I might be able to get away. I'd still be tied up in the basement if it weren't for you.” Lena paused. “If nothing else, I understand that you risked your life for me, and I'm very grateful"
Edmond looked away, still unconvinced. After a moment, he looked back at Lena. "I just feel like I didn't really do anything, you know? It seems to me that I could have stayed home, and you would still be all right now."
Lena sighed. "Maybe. I don't know. I'm still glad you came, though. I feel much safer knowing that you're looking out for me. Do you think that you would be better off if you had stayed in Chicago?"
Edmond looked at her angrily. "I wouldn't have this bump on my head, that's for sure. I'd probably be sitting at home eating canned beef stew." Edmond thought about that for a minute, then looked back at Lena and Susan. "I probably wouldn't even miss spending time with friends, because I wouldn't have thought that I had any."
Lena leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Give me a call when they've finished X-raying your head. I want to buy you and Susan dinner. I guess we're all going back to Portland in Susan's car, anyway."
A second ambulance arrived, and the paramedics put Edmond into it. It occurred to him that he didn't have the slightest idea how to call Lena. That was okay, though, after all the obstacles he had made it through this week-end, he was sure that something would work out.

Chapter 26

Edmond smelled Lena’s perfume. There was an awareness of the ridiculousness of that, since he had never met her, and had no idea what perfume she normally wore, but on some level, he was sure that he smelled perfume, and that it was hers. He was also aware that he was not conscious. He couldn’t remember why he was unconscious, but he knew that he was. He struggled to try to remember what had happened—was he asleep? —but the circumstances eluded him. Part of him wondered why the familiar nightmare had not entered his mind, but he didn’t want to think about that too much, since the dream might consider that an invitation. He tried to look around, but he couldn’t see anything. He thought he heard distant voices, but he couldn’t understand them, or identify where they were coming from. He couldn’t even be sure if they were male or female voices, but somehow he got the distinct impression that he was the subject of the conversation, though, or, at least, one of the things being discussed. He strained to hear what was being said, but it was futile, all he could hear was a drone of indistinct voices. He was lying on his left side, and he couldn’t seem to get up. Slowly, he became aware that he was trying to push up with his left arm, which seemed to be okay, but it shouldn’t be; his left arm hadn’t been okay in a long time. He tried to remember how long, but he couldn’t be sure when ‘now’ was, so he really had no way to gauge how long it had been since he had last been able to use his left arm effectively. On some level he became aware that his left arm was pinned beneath the weight of his body. He tried to think of another word for that, he didn’t want to think in terms of his ‘body;’ that suggested that he worse off than just being unconscious. His legs also felt all right, but he knew that they shouldn’t either. He hadn’t been able to feel his legs in far too long, also. Maybe he could get up if he pushed with his right arm, but his right hand couldn’t seem to find the floor. It just seemed to feel around in midair, even though he was sure he was reaching lower than the left side of his, um, torso. He tried to determine if he was still in his wheelchair. If he was, that could be part of the problem. The chair was heavy, and there was no way he could push himself and the chair upright with his limited mobility. He would have to slither out of the chair, stand the chair up on its wheels, set the brake, and then pull himself into the chair. He had done this before, and although it wasn’t easy, it was normally doable. In his current condition, he wasn’t so sure. It all turned out to be academic, though, because he couldn’t feel the chair, but he couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t in it, either. He couldn't be sure about anything. He felt a growing sense of urgency, and frustration. Nothing seemed to be as it should be; left was down, and up was right. Everything was all mixed up and confused. He didn’t know where he was, or when he was, and he couldn’t be sure why he was so befuddled. Nothing made any sense. Somehow he knew, though, that if something didn’t change soon, if he didn’t find a way to move, that there was a very good chance that he would never wake up. He could make out something flashing, which added to his sense of urgency, but he couldn’t tell what it was, and whatever it was, it wasn’t helping him to shake himself out of his reverie. He could not wake up; his eyes simply would not open. He tried to scream, but his mouth and throat would not respond, either. Suddenly he wasn’t sure that he was breathing. He tried to fight the feeling of panic, but he was lost in feelings of frustration and anxiety, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to die. Then it came to him; he had confronted Mark about Lena’s disappearance, and Mark had slugged him. That was why he had lost consciousness, and that meant that he was at Mark’s mercy. For all he knew, he was at the bottom of a hole in the backyard right now, with Mark hurriedly shoveling dirt over his limp form. He really did need to wake up, and wake up now.

Chapter 25

Mark was a little surprised at himself. Normally he could control his temper better than this, but he hadn't expected anyone to even start looking for Lena until tomorrow, and here this guy has already found where Mark had hidden her. He didn't think anyone would ever link him to Lena's disappearance, much less track down this address. Lena hadn't known about this place before, so none of her friends could know, and yet, here this guy is, and he knows. At least he seems to considerably less than threatening. The Poppengales had used to bring a cat to the beach on summer vacations, and there was still a scratching post in the living room as a leftover from Missie. Mark grabbed the scratching post and shoved it in between the front and rear wheels of Edmond's chair. "Who are you?" he shouted. "How did you find me?"
Edmond looked at Mark with a coolness that surprised himself. "My name is Edmond Randolph. I am a blogger. Lena is one of my readers, and she let me know something was wrong on Friday. As far as how I found this place, I just searched for properties under the Poppengale name.” Edmond paused, and leaned forward in his chair. “Where is Lena?"
"Never mind where Lena is. Who else knows that you are here?"
Edmond considered the question for a moment. "A lot of people. I notified Tillamook County Sheriff's office before coming here. Also, several of Lena's friends know. Jason should be here soon." Mark looked at Edmond intently. He wasn't sure whether to believe him or not. He wanted to believe that Edmond was working alone, but how could a man in a wheelchair have tracked him down this quickly?
Edmond began trying to maneuver his wheelchair, but if he tried to move forward, the back wheels ran into the scratching post and couldn't go any farther. If he moved backwards, the front wheels caught on the scratching post also. He reached down with his right hand, and tried to pull the post out from between the wheels, but he couldn't seem to manage it; Mark had managed to jam the post in pretty hard. It seemed like he had a better chance, if he leaned back in the wheelchair and backed up at the same time, to maybe get the front wheels over the scratching post. Mark decided that he needed to take action before Edmond found a way to maneuver himself free; he bent down and started trying to disconnect the battery. "No, you don't," he screamed. "You're not going anywhere!"
Edmond calmly reached into his pocket and came up with the mace. One long spray into Mark's face at short range, and Mark was in no mood to disconnect any wheelchair batteries. Mark jumped back, and Edmond tried again to lean back in the chair and back the front wheels over the post. Mark screamed insanely and took a wild swing at Edmond; by blind luck, it connected solidly. The blow was strong enough to tip over the wheelchair. Ed reflexively tried to catch himself with his left arm, but that arm just didn't work the way it had the last time he had tried to catch himself with it. His right arm flailed briefly before the realization hit that he needed to get his right arm under him, but there simply wasn't time. His head hit the hardwood floor with a thunk that most people would have found sickening, but that sounded delightful to Mark. Between the mace and the pain in his right fist, Mark just wanted to curl up into a little ball and wait for daylight, but he knew that he needed to do something about this cripple and his wheelchair before Edmond recovered consciousness. Mark went to the bathroom and washed his face, and then went to get his gun. One way or another, this blogger was not going to cause him any more trouble. The only real question was how best to dispose of the body.

Chapter 24

Susan was able to see the door open, and then close again. She couldn't tell for sure whether Edmond went inside. If he didn't, then he should be back to the car soon, if not, then in fifteen minutes she would go for the cops. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard, making note of the time. Then she got out of the car, leaving the door open, and looked around, trying to get a better vantage point of the door, but without allowing herself to be seen from inside the house. She couldn't see Edmond at all. She got back in the car, closing the door as quietly as she could.
What could she do for fifteen minutes? If she sat and watched the clock, it would drive her crazy. She wished she had brought her MP3 player, at least then she could listen to music. She closed the door as quietly as she could, and turned on the radio, keeping the volume low. Her usual presets didn't work this far from Seattle, so she put in a CD. The CD was an old album that she didn't listen to very much. The singer sang something about a ghost in a wishing well, and went on to sing something about heroes often failing. She hoped that this song was not being prophetic about the current situation. She hit the button to play the next track.
The next track just depressed her more. She ejected the CD, and looked for another one to put in. While she was looking, she discovered one that Lena had given her, by a group she'd never heard of; The Martin's. She decided that this was an appropriate occasion to listen to this CD; she put it in.
It was religious music, but, unlike the other CD, it was very upbeat, and hopeful. The singer was telling Susan to count her blessings. Right now, Susan didn't feel very blessed. She was far from home, with someone she'd just met, well, not really even with him any more. She was worried about her friend, who might already be dead. Edmond might be dead now, too, for all she knew. And it was her job to sit here for another (she glanced at the clock) eleven minutes and then go for help. Still, there was something to what The Martin's were singing. She was, in fact, basically okay. She was breathing; she had eaten three times during the day; in fact, she couldn't remember the last time that she had missed a meal. Right now her stomach was churning, but that was not because of a lack of food, or even because of the quality of what she had eaten that day, it was only because she was worried about her friend. She had gas in her car, thanks to Edmond, so she wasn't stranded out here near Tillamook Bay. Unlike Lena, she had spent last night, and would probably spend tonight there, as well, although perhaps a little later than usual. She had a good job, with a good salary that paid her rent, and allowed her a few extravagances, although she would probably have a hard time staying awake at work tomorrow. A lot of things in her life had gone right, she was just so afraid that something in Lena's life had gone so very wrong. Maybe there was a chance that she could help make that right.
The next few songs on the CD didn't really register with Susan, but they helped to pass the time, and, before she knew it, fifteen minutes had passed. She got out of the car once more to look around, before leaving, hoping that things had gone well and Edmond and Lena were on their way out, but, no, she still didn't see any sign of Edmond. Again closing the door as quietly as she could, she put the key in the ignition and turned it, silently praying that she was not already too late.

Chapter 23

Lena woke up, and it was very dark. She couldn't see anything in the basement at all. Turning over, and reaching behind her with her fingertips, she could feel the cardboard boxes. That was a little reassuring. It gave her a sense of familiarity; there was at least something here that she knew.
Again, thoughts ran through her head. If it was night, then there was a good chance that Mark was asleep. If she cut herself loose now, then she might be able to escape before Mark woke up. On the other hand, Mark might be right at the top of the stairs. For all she knew, he was sleeping during the daytime now, just to make sure she didn't escape at night. It occurred to her that thought was somewhat paranoid, but then she worried that maybe it wasn't paranoid. It was hard for her to be sure, one way or the other; she couldn’t be sure of her own objectivity.
She decided to at least check the knife. She pushed with her feet, and felt for the space between the two boxes with her hands. She felt the space, but too late to stop; she overshot it. She had to struggle to work her body the other direction on the floor. Finally, she found the space. Then she started working the knife out of the space. This was much easier in theory than in actual practice. The knife handle was slippery, and seemed as inclined to slide deeper between the boxes as to slide towards her. Finally, the knife was in her right hand. She experimented a little, turning the knife so that the sharp edge was on the outside, and the smooth edge against the ropes, trying to determine how hard would it be to cut through the ropes without slicing her own wrists in the process. It always looked so easy in the movies (of course, even ridiculous things looked easy in the movies); she suspected that it probably wasn't nearly that easy. She discovered that it was nearly impossible. There was a good chance that she was going to lose some blood if she ever actually tried to cut the ropes; maybe she would lose a lot of blood. With her wrists bleeding, how far would she be able to get in her escape attempt, before she passed out from loss of blood? Would she be able to get to a phone? She considered briefly her two visits upstairs. She didn't remember even seeing a phone. Maybe there weren't any. Mark had a cell phone; it stood to reason that his parents did, too. Why pay a phone bill at a house where you rarely spend any time, if you normally carry a cell phone anyway? Lena had no idea what Mark had done with her cell phone, but she had a pretty good idea that he had put both of their cell phones somewhere that she would have a hard time getting to, especially if she were in a hurry. Lena decided that if she did escape, she would have to try to reach a neighbor's house. Whichever house was closer, and looked more likely to have someone at home. After all, this is a beach house, on a Sunday night. There was a good chance that even if the neighbors had come to the beach for the weekend, that they would have already headed back to wherever they stayed during the week. She and Mark may very well be the only people on the beachfront this evening.
Lena prayed silently for God's direction. She asked him to help her to know when was the time that she should make her attempt, or even if she should make an attempt. She asked Him to take care of her; and she thanked Him for keeping her healthy and whole so far.
She started to slide the knife back between the boxes, but just as she did, she heard something upstairs. She paused, knife in hand, and listened. There was a kind of a pounding noise, and maybe some voices, but it was very muffled and she couldn't be sure what it was. Was this the visitor that she had imagined Mark was worried about, or had he brought in an accomplice?

Chapter 22

Lena woke up, and it was very dark. She couldn't see anything in the basement at all. Turning over, and reaching behind her with her fingertips, she could feel the cardboard boxes. That was a little reassuring. It gave her a sense of familiarity; there was at least something here that she knew. That was something, she guessed.
Again, thoughts ran through her head. If it was night, then there was a good chance that Mark was asleep. If she cut herself loose now, then she might be able to escape before Mark woke up. On the other hand, Mark might be right at the top of the stairs. For all she knew, he was sleeping during the daytime now, just to make sure she didn't escape at night. It occurred to her that thought was somewhat paranoid, but then she worried that maybe it wasn't paranoid. It was hard for her to be sure, one way or the other.
She decided to at least check the knife. She pushed with her feet, and felt for the space between the two boxes with her hands. She felt the space, but too late to stop; she overshot it. She had to struggle to work her body the other direction on the floor. Finally, she found the space. Then she started working the knife out of the space. This, too, was much easier in theory than in actual practice. The knife handle was slippery, and seemed as inclined to slide deeper between the boxes as it was to slide towards her. Finally, the knife was in her right hand. She experimented a little, turning the knife so that the sharp edge was on the outside, and the smooth edge against the ropes, trying to determine how hard would it be to cut through the ropes without slicing her own wrists in the process. It always looked so easy in the movies (then again, a lot of ridiculous things look easy in the movies); she suspected that it probably wasn't nearly that easy. She discovered that it was nearly impossible. There was a good chance that she was going to lose some blood if she ever actually tried to cut the ropes; maybe she would lose a lot of blood. With her wrists bleeding, how far would she be able to get in her escape attempt, before she passed out from loss of blood? Would she be able to get to a phone? She considered briefly her two visits upstairs. She didn't remember even seeing a phone. Maybe there weren't any. Mark had a cell phone; it stood to reason that his parents did, too. Why pay a phone bill at a house where you rarely spend any time, if you normally carry a cell phone anyway? Lena had no idea where Mark had put her cell phone, and she was pretty sure that he had his somewhere where she would have a hard time getting to it. Lena decided that if she did escape, she would have to try to reach a neighbor's house. Whichever house was closer, and looked more likely to have someone at home. After all, this is a beach house, on a Sunday night. There was a good chance that even if the neighbors had come to the beach for the weekend, that they would have already headed back to wherever they stayed during the week.
Lena prayed silently for God's direction. She asked him to help her to know when was the time that she should make her attempt, or even if she should make an attempt. She asked Him to take care of her; and she thanked Him for His blessings.
She started to slide the knife back between the boxes, but just as she did, she heard something upstairs. She paused, knife in hand, and listened. There was a kind of a pounding noise, but she couldn't be sure what it was. Were those voices? She couldn’t be sure. Even if they were, she couldn’t tell what the significance of them was. Mark may have brought in some accomplices.

Chapter 21

Edmond finished his examination of Mark's car, and the area around it. "Why don't you wait in the car?" he asked Susan. "If I'm not back within fifteen minutes, see if you can get in touch with the police." He started to roll towards the front door.
"What should I tell them?
Edmond stopped the chair, and looked back at her. "Tell them the truth, that we think Mark may have kidnapped Lena, and that we came out here to check it out. Mark let me in, but you haven't seen me in fifteen minutes. So now you think Mark has kidnapped me, as well. Of course, if Mark doesn't let me in, than you don't need to worry about what to tell the cops."
Susan nodded. Part of her wanted to help rescue Lena, but the wisdom of Edmond's plan was clear to her. If Mark overpowered Edmond, then at least she could get the police, and they would have something to investigate. Right now, all they had was suspicion, and the police wouldn't be likely to take their suspicions very seriously. Even if they did, all they would really be able to do would be to ask Mark about Lena, and all Mark would have to say is that he didn't know anything about where Lena was. They wouldn't be able to get a search warrant based on the little scraps of evidence they had; she couldn't blame law enforcement if they didn't even try. On the other hand, if they both went inside, they both might not ever be seen again. She got back in the car.
Edmond wheeled up to the front door and looked back. From the door, he could see that there was a car parked on the other side of Mark's car, but it was impossible to tell if there was anyone in it. He hoped that it would look the same from Mark's angle, if he could get Mark to open the door. He paused, and thought about what to say when Mark came to the door.
After a few seconds, Edmond knocked on the door. There was no response. He waited a few more minutes, and knocked harder. Still nothing. Finally he started banging on the door. Then he heard some movement inside the house. Eventually, there was a voice at the door, "Who is it?"
"ICE," Edmond answered.
The door opened a few inches. Edmond could just make out a man in a bathrobe standing next to the door, looking out.
"Why would ICE be here, at my house?"
"Your neighbors complained that you have an illegal alien working here. A Filipino maid."
For a brief instant, Mark imagined that one of the neighbors had seen him bring Lena into the house. He had thought for sure that none of them had... Even if they had, why would they think she was working here? Then it occurred to him, if this guy were really an Immigration and Customs Enforcement agent…
"Do you mind showing me your badge?"
Even as dark as it was, Ed had seen the look on Mark's face. Lena was here, there was no doubt in his mind, but he was going to have to change tactics. Edmond shook his head. "I'm not really from ICE; I'm just here looking for Lena Sandoval."
Mark blanched. He started to shut the door, but Edmond maneuvered his wheelchair so the left front wheel blocked the door. At the same time, Mark realized that he had given himself away. Mark became very angry; he threw the door wide open and started yelling, "You want to come in, old man? Fine, come on in." He grabbed the wheelchair and pulled Edmond inside the house. Realizing that his voice might be carrying farther than he really wanted it to, Mark lowered his voice and said, "You wanna see Lena? Maybe we can arrange that. Maybe the two of you can share a cell, at least until I can figure out where to dispose of your corpse."

Chapter 20

Mapquest said it would take an hour and forty-three minutes. Somehow, it seemed much longer than that. The strain of the weekend took its toll on Edmond, and he fell asleep. Susan envied him a little. She would have liked to have taken a nap, too, but she knew she couldn't. Besides, it didn't seem like Edmond was having a peaceful sleep.
Once again, Lena's hands were over his eyes. Again, the next thing he knew was the doctor trying to gauge the damage to his legs, when what he most wanted to know was if his wife or son were still alive, and if not, how much did they suffer before they died. He hoped that they had been killed instantly, so that they wouldn't have to suffer, and yet, he hoped that they were still alive. He spent hours in surgery, suffered weeks of rehabilitation, followed by time spent waiting for his body to grow stronger, so that they could perform the next surgical procedure. Then the day came when the insurance company said they weren't going to pay anymore. He sued, of course. There are plenty of lawyers in Chicago that will take a case like his. Some of them are actually very good. Edmond's lawyer had been good enough to win him more than enough money to pay for the rest of the medical procedures he would need, until he paid the legal fees. Then the realization hit: he wouldn't be able to go back to his job. He needed a new line of work. That's when he took up blogging. At first, it was just ranting against the insurance industry, and lawyers. That resonated with a lot of people, but he ran out of things to say; he started to get repetitive. He started a political blog, where he would lambaste the politicians that allowed lawyers and insurance companies to treat people the way he had been treated. Eventually, he started a joke blog, just because. He actually found very little to laugh at in any of his blogs, but, people responded to them, and he was able to sell advertising, and subscriptions, and he soon found himself making more money than he had made working a job. The money really didn't mean anything to him, though. He would gladly have given it all up, to be able to get back the life he had before the accident.
He woke up in a fit of anger, only to realize that he was angry about something that had happened long ago. Something he thought he had moved on from, but clearly he hadn't really; maybe he never would.
"Are you okay?" Susan asked, glancing his way for just an instant, and then putting her eyes back on the road.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Edmond responded, a little gruffer than he intended.
"You looked like that was a pretty rough sleep."

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."
"That's okay, I understand." Susan paused, "Did you have a bad dream?"
Edmond nodded. "You might say that. It's more like reliving some past experiences. I'm getting used to it."
Edmond and Susan arrived at the address. There were no lights on in the house. "There's Mark's car," Susan pointed out.
"Well, at least we know that he's here. Of course, it doesn't necessarily follow that Lena's here."
Susan nodded. She parked her car next to Mark's, but on the far side from the front door of the house.
They struggled with the wheelchair again, and Ed wheeled around Mark's car. He looked in and around the car, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "I don't see any blood," he told Susan.

Chapter 19

The Internet café had closed by the time Edmond and Susan got back to Portland. They went to Susan's apartment, and used Susan's computer. Her roommate started to give Susan a hard time about it being awfully late to have a man in her room, but she saw the looks on their faces and realized that they were very serious about whatever it was they were doing. Then she realized that this must be the Edmond Randolph that Susan had mentioned earlier.
"What's going on?" she asked.
Susan replied, "We're afraid that Mark has kidnapped Lena."
"Surely he wouldn't do that."
Edmond spoke up, "Let's hope not, but right now, both of them seem to be missing. Lena's vehicle is at her apartment building, Mark's is not at his."
Susan made some quick introductions, "Edmond, this is Marguerite, Marguerite, this is Edmond."
"Just call me Maggie. Marguerite is way too long, and it sounds way too formal."
Edmond surveyed Maggie's long, curly black hair for a moment, and her expressive dark eyes. "Maggie it is, then. Nice to meet you."
Edmond started checking more county records on line, getting farther and farther away from Portland. Finally, he found a listing for the Poppengales in Tillamook County. He copied down that address, and kept searching the Northwest corner of the state. He didn't find anything else that looked likely. He went to Mapquest and got directions.
Susan looked over his shoulder. "That's a long drive," she sighed.
Edmond nodded his head. "A little over an hour and a half. Not much longer than what we drove from here to the place near Mount Hood."
Edmond craned his neck so that he could see her face. She was tired; he could see it. Still, he was anxious, and he believed she was, too. They had just spent three and a half hours on a red herring, and neither one of them wanted to do that again. That was why he had checked every county in this part of the state, but there was no guarantee that Mark had even taken Lena to one of his parent's properties.
"If you don't feel up to it..." his voice dropped off. He really didn't know what to do next if she didn't. He was not willing to wait until the morning to check this out. He would have to find some other way out to Tillamook Bay.
Susan took a deep breath. She didn't want to let Lena down. "No, I'm okay. Let's do this."
Maggie asked, "Do you want me to go with you?"
Edmond was unsure. A part of him felt like more people would be better, but, at the same time, he wasn't sure what to expect at the bay, and he didn't want to endanger any more people than absolutely necessary. Susan bit her lip, and looked at Edmond. Edmond returned the look, but there was no answer in his eyes. Finally, Susan made a decision, "No, I think we'll be alright. If I'm not back by morning, though, you know where we went, gesturing at the computer screen, still showing directions to a house near Tillamook Bay.
A thought struck Edmond. "Do you have any kind of a weapon?"
Susan shook her head, but Maggie said, "I carry mace in my purse."
"Can we get that from you, just in case?"
"Sure." Maggie got her purse, dug out the mace, and handed it over.

Chapter 18

Back in the basement again, Lena was thankful that she had been able to keep the knife pinned in between her arm and her back without cutting herself, while Mark tied her hands. At least, she hoped she hadn't cut herself; she didn't feel any blood. It occurred to her that she shouldn't try to keep the knife on her, but she probably shouldn't cut the ropes just yet, either. She wanted to have it close by, but not on her person, in case Mark searched her, or decided to watch her take a shower. At this point, she was starting to think it would be worth it to let him watch, just to be able to shower. Still, if she did get a shower, she would have to put the same clothes back on, and these clothes could just about stand up by themselves. She had never in her life worn the same clothes for so long...
She discovered that, with her hands tied together, the knife didn't slip out of her sleeve nearly as easy as it had slid in. By holding her arm as far out from her body as she could, and shaking it as hard as she dared with a sharp knife in her sleeve, she was able to get it to slide far enough down her sleeve that she could just reach the handle with the tips of the fingers of her right hand. Each time she tried to get a grip on it, though, it slipped farther back up her sleeve. She couldn't risk having it cut her, it might hit a main artery and she could bleed to death before Mark even realized that there was anything wrong. She didn't think she would ever forgive Mark for this. Finally, she managed to work the knife far enough down that she could actually grip it with her hand. Carefully, she slid it out of her sleeve. Now, what to do with it?
Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the dim light, and she looked around to try to find a good hiding place. She needed something easily accessible, and at the same time, someplace where the knife would not be easily seen. Right now, the best place seemed to be under the stairs, but she couldn't make much of anything out, yet. The stairs were a good distance from where she was; unless she cut herself loose first, it would take her several minutes to get over to the stairs, and several more to get back. She might leave a trail on the floor, too; she wasn't sure how clean it was.
By rolling onto her stomach, and then pushing with her left shoulder and her left knee, she managed to turn over. She found herself face-to-face with several cardboard boxes. There was a space in between two of the boxes just about the right size for the knife. She scooted herself along the floor until the space was at her waist, then flipped back over again. She felt for the space between boxes, and then deposited the knife in it. Then she made sure that could get the knife back out when she was ready to use it, and scooted back to her original position, hoping that she hadn't disturbed the dust on the floor too much.
Of course, questions remained, such as: Would she ever actually get the chance to use the knife? Would she recognize that chance if she got it? What would that chance look or sound like? Would Mark notice the knife missing before she got the chance?
She tried to stop the thoughts in her head. If something did happen, she wanted to be well rested, not that it seemed likely under these circumstances. She lay awake for a while, worrying and fretting and trying to figure out what she could do, but eventually drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Chapter 17

Edmond and Susan returned to the Internet café. He started looking for information about the owners of Poppengale Manufacturing. The owners were Robert and Mary Poppengale, and they had lived in the Portland area for a long time. They still owned several properties nearby, even though they spent most of their time in Singapore now.

Edmond went to the Multnomah County tax assessors website, and started searching for properties belonging to one or both Poppengales. Most of these properties were either in Portland itself, or in nearby suburbs, like Beaverton, but that didn’t seem to be likely place to hold a kidnap victim. It seemed much too risky. How would Mark explain Lena to the neighbors, if they happened to see him carry or drag her into the house? He couldn’t chance being spotted bringing her into whatever building where he was keeping her; he would need a location with a certain amount of isolation.

Edmond expanded his search, and started searching neighboring counties. In Clackamas County, he spotted a cabin near Mount Hood. That seemed perfect. He pointed it out to Susan. “I’m not sure I have enough gas to make it that far,” she intoned. The sound of her voice made it clear that she was anxious to go check it out, but she was legitimately afraid of becoming stranded.

“I’ll buy you some gas,” Edmond answered. Susan nodded, and Edmond typed the address into Mapquest. Once Mapquest calculated the directions, they printed them out, and they left.

At the gas station, Edmond whistled. “Since when does gasoline cost that much?” Susan glanced at the sign, and then back at Edmond with a puzzled look on her face.

“What do you mean? Is gas less than $4.47.9 in Chicago?”

Edmond looked at her for a long time. “Maybe not. I don’t know for sure. The last time I bought gas, I paid $1.36.9.”

It was Susan’s turn to stare. “That must have been a long time ago.” Edmond nodded. “Seems like a lifetime ago,” he said softly, looking back at the sign in amazement.

Soon they were on I-84 headed east. Following the directions, they exited the Interstate, and followed state route 35 south, and eventually came to a local blacktop, which led to a winding lane, and then a dirt road. “There are no tire marks on the dirt road,” Edmond pointed out.

“Maybe he came a different way.”

“Why? because he was afraid of leaving tire marks?” Edmond shook his head. “Still, we’ve come this far, we should go ahead and check it out.” Susan turned onto the dirt road, and they continued on until they reached the cabin, but, as Edmond had expected, the cabin showed no signs of being lived in, or even having been visited in recent history. “It must be nice to be able to afford property taxes on buildings that you never use,” Edmond growled, frustration evident on his face.

“So, this is a dead end.” Susan half asked.

Edmond nodded. “For us it is, anyway. I’m afraid we need to go back, and check other counties.” Susan turned the car around, and retraced her car’s tire marks back to the lane.

Chapter 16

Lena heard Mark coming down the stairs again. She was almost glad to see him. She felt well rested, in spite of the sleeping conditions, and she needed to use the washroom. She was also pretty hungry. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in the basement this time. For that matter, she didn’t know how long she had been in the basement the previous time either. As Mark untied her, she asked, “What day is this?” “It’s Sunday.” “I missed church.” “I’m sure they’ll get over it.” Mark smiled. “I’m certain that God will forgive you, just blame it on me.” At least Lena knew that by now somebody would have missed her, although possibly not anybody who would actually do anything about it. There was a good possibility that no one would actually start looking for her until tomorrow morning when she didn’t show up for work. There was some groundwork being laid for a search party, though. She wondered what Mark was going to do. He had a job; she wasn’t sure that he actually needed the money, but if he didn’t show up for work, would they just write it off as the spoiled little rich kid deciding to quit pretending he was supporting himself? Would anybody catch on that he and she had both disappeared at the same time? He led her to the bathroom. Once again, she took care of her business, and then spent a few seconds looking out the window. There was actually a significant drop between the house and the beach. She judged it to be at least 30 feet. She still couldn’t tell for sure what was up the beach or down the beach from the house, but there was no sign of any close neighbors. She washed her hands, and opened the door. Mark led her back to the kitchen. Once again, she fixed salads. This time he grilled steaks. Lena almost smiled to herself at the thought that Mark must have decided that he wanted steaks because he thought he had something to celebrate. While he was grilling, she went to the silverware drawer, and got out everything she would need to set the table, including 3 steak knives. One of those knives went in her sleeve while Mark was preoccupied with the steaks. When the steaks were done, the table was set, and they each had a bowl of salad. Once again, they ate in silence. Lena didn’t normally eat steak, she tried to stay away from red meat, but this time, the knife in her sleeve made her feel that she had something to celebrate. She decided to broach the subject of work tomorrow. “Are you going to leave me here alone while you go to work tomorrow?” Mark shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ve put in for a couple of weeks vacation time. My boss thinks I’m in the Caribbean.” He laughed. “I guess I should work on my tan. It might be suspicious if I came back from a two week vacation in the Caribbean looking white as a ghost.” Lena contemplated whether she smelled badly enough to ask about the shower. She wasn’t entirely sure, one way or the other. She felt like she should need a shower, if this really was Sunday, but she really wasn’t smelling herself. Of course, she was aware that one can become acclimatized to smell, especially if the smell builds up gradually, so that might be why. Of course, if he insisted on helping her shower, then he would discover the knife in her sleeve. She decided to wait until next time.

Chapter 15

They arrived at the address. There was a large building with lots of windows, most of which were not transparent, and many of which were broken. Faded lettering on the side of the building could conceivably have read “Poppengale Manufacturing” at one time, but, clearly, that was a long time ago. The doors were chained from the outside. “If he brought her here, he must know another way in.” Susan nodded, and drove around the building. Every set of doors that they found was similarly chained. “Then again,” Susan said, “his car isn’t here, so maybe he has left her here, and chained the doors from the outside, as he was leaving.” Susan parked the car and got out. Edmond waited as she walked to the building and attempted to look inside through one of the broken panes of glass. Mostly she just saw darkness. She tried calling out, “Lena!” but there was only a silent response from the darkness. There was no indication that there was anyone in the building. Anyone alive, anyway. She tried to think about that. She walked back to the car with her head down. “There is no sign of her.” “We need to find a way in.” They drove around the building again, and noticed a section of aluminum wall that had been pulled back, like kids had been using the plant as a playhouse. Susan parked the car, and they maneuvered the wheelchair out of the back seat, and got Edmond situated in it. It took both of them, but they were able to pull back the aluminum enough to get the wheelchair through. Susan followed. Even on the inside, the most obvious thing was the darkness that filled the building. After a few minutes though, as their eyes adjusted, the light coming in through the pulled back section where they had entered and the broken window panes made it possible to see. There were many places where it was clear equipment had been bolted down, but, evidently, when the manufacturing went to Singapore, all of the conveyers and other miscellaneous apparatus had been ripped out; either shipped to Singapore, or sold locally and replaced. For all intents and purposes, they were in a large, empty warehouse. They were partially frustrated, and partially relieved, when they realized that the building was empty. They hadn’t found Lena, but, at least they hadn’t found her corpse. That meant that there was still hope. They went back to the place where they had come in. For some reason, it was much harder to push open the aluminum section from the inside than from the outside. Edmond began to visualize himself being incarcerated for trespassing. That was not an appealing prospect. Susan looked around and saw a long pole that might give them some leverage. It turned out to be pretty heavy though, so she dragged it over to the opening. Pushing one end out through the opening, and then pushing up on the remaining end, they were able to get clearance for the wheelchair. Susan strained against the pole as Edmond wheeled out. Fortunately, she didn’t need anywhere near as much room to escape. After struggling with the pole, it seemed much harder to make the transition from Edmond sitting in the wheelchair outside the car, to Edmond sitting in the front seat of the car, and the wheelchair in the backseat of the car. They stopped to rest a couple of times. Finally, they got in the car, with the wheelchair situated, and Susan started the car. “Now what?” she asked. “Let’s go back, and do some more research on the Internet.” She nodded, and put the car in gear. Soon the Poppengale plant was just a speck in her rearview mirror.

Chapter 14

Somehow, Edmond fell back to sleep, quite possibly due to sheer exhaustion. He had pushed himself harder in the previous 24 hours than he had pushed himself in years. He awoke to pounding on the door. He opened his eyes to realize that there was light streaming in the window. This was totally unexpected. He managed to pull himself into his wheelchair, make sure he was covered up, unplug the charger, and then roll to the door. He was aware that he probably had the worst pillow hair of his entire life, but the noise at the door sounded urgent. He opened the door, not sure what to expect. Susan Russell was standing in the hallway, looking like she was on the verge of tears. "Mr. Randolph, I am really worried now. Lena had invited me to church, and then she didn't show up. I'm not really much of a churchgoer, myself, but she is. She particularly wanted me to come this Sunday. I asked some other people at church, and they tell me she never misses church. She's there every Sunday unless she's out of town, and she always lets people know that she's going to be out of town. I didn't know who else to go to. I'm sorry I didn't trust you last night. Please help." The words just seemed to pour out of her. She obviously had given a lot of thought to what she was going to say, but she was so distraught that the sentences didn't come out the way she had planned. "Okay," Edmond said, "can you give me a few minutes to get cleaned up?" She nodded. "Why don't you wait in the lobby? I'll be down soon." She nodded, bit her lower lip, and then turned towards the elevators. He looked after her for a moment, and then closed the door and started getting ready. Finally, he thought, a real break. When he wheeled into the lobby, she looked pensive. "I apologize for taking so long," he said. "Some things take longer than they used to." She looked at his wheelchair, and nodded. "I understand." "Do you know Mark’s last name? where he lives?" he asked. She nodded. "His last name is Poppengale. He lives over on SW 37th street." "Did you drive?" "Yes." It took a little while to work out getting his wheelchair folded up and in the back seat of her little bitty car, and him in the passengers seat. Fortunately, he didn’t need a lot of legroom, since he didn't have any feeling in his legs, anyway. Soon, though, they were on their way. It didn't take very long to get to Mark's apartment, but, when they got there, no one answered the door. Polling the neighbors, they discovered that no one remembered seeing him since Thursday evening. "Any idea where else he might have gone?" "None," Susan responded. She bit her lip again. After a long pause, she said, "Wait a minute! Mark's parents own some kind of business here in Portland." "Where's the nearest place to get Internet access?" Ed asked. Soon they were at an Internet terminal. Edmond googled the terms Poppengale and Portland and got a string of hits. Poppengale Manufacturing had its own website, but there were also a number of websites that had been set up to protest the Poppengales. It seems that the Poppengales had manufactured in Portland for a lot of years, but then the plant unionized, and suddenly it was cheaper to manufacture in Singapore than in Portland. The Poppengales shut down the Portland plant, handing out thousands of pink slips, and opened up a new plant near Bedok, in Singapore. "What happened to the old plant, here in Portland?" Edmond asked. "I have no idea," Susan responded, "This is all new information to me. I didn't know what Mark's parents did, and this all happened before I moved here." Edmond was able to find the address for the old plant, and accessed Columbia County records on line to find out who the current owner was. It was still listed as Poppengale Manufacturing; apparently no other company had bought the property. "I bet that's where he's got her," Edmond pronounced. Susan nodded, and they went back to her car.

Chapter 13

The concrete was cold and hard. Lena struggled to find a comfortable position, but her bindings made it difficult to move, and there wasn't much hope that she could ever really be comfortable on this hard floor, anyway. She couldn't sleep on her back, because her hands were tied behind her back. Lying on her side minimized her contact with the cold, hard floor, but then her neck wasn't comfortable with the downward slope to her head. At least her belly was full, and her bladder was empty. She tried to fall asleep.
Part of her wanted to take a shower, but she couldn’t be sure how Mark would react to such a request. She had showered yesterday morning before work (or was that the day before yesterday?), but a lot had happened since then. She felt sticky and dirty. She may not look all that bad; her reflection in the mirror hadn’t looked awful. Still, maybe if she worked up a good stink, then Mark would be more inclined to let her go. Then again, he might insist on washing her himself, and she definitely didn’t want that. The issue of personal hygiene could become very complicated. She decided that she would allow herself to get a little funkier, and then try to negotiate some personal time alone in the shower.
It seemed to her that, if Mark was planning on winning her over, he was going about it completely the wrong way. She had actually liked the guy, or maybe just felt sorry for him, but now she felt an actually hatred growing inside of her. She didn’t want to hate him; he had genuinely been nice to her at one time. Not so nice that she wanted to continue to date him, but, still. She was grateful that he hadn't raped her, but, if he kept her tied up in the basement whenever he didn’t feel like dealing with her, then she would soon hate him almost as much as if he had.
She realized that Mark hadn't watched her very carefully when they were in the kitchen. Perhaps he thought that as long as he had the gun, there was nothing she could do. Her options were definitely limited, but, what if she had grabbed two knives, and then had hidden one when he wasn't looking? Then she would be able to cut herself loose, and maybe try to escape. Of course, she wouldn't be able to tell where he was in the house, or whether he was awake or asleep, or even if she would be able to find her way out of the house. So far, she knew where the kitchen and the bathroom were. The doors might have deadbolts that required a key to open, even from the inside. Surely there was a window she would be able to get out, though. If she got caught, there was no telling what he would do to her. If he came back downstairs and found that she had cut her ropes, there would be retribution. At the very least, he would watch her more carefully in the future, and be careful not to give her another chance to escape. She couldn't afford to waste whatever opportunity she got. It would have to be an all or nothing effort. That meant that, if he caught her trying to escape, she would have to be prepared to plunge the knife into him before he got the chance to shoot her. She didn’t have that much hate for him, at least not yet, but she was determined to not let him keep her here ant longer than absolutely necessary. The waves of nausea that hit her had nothing to do with the drugs that he had slipped her.

Chapter 12

Edmond got back to the hotel, and plugged his wheelchair into the charger, and then climbed into bed. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours, frustrated that it finally seemed like he was going to get a break, and then it just evaporated in his face. He finally drifted off to sleep, and soon found himself driving. His feet were working the gas and the brake, and, for some reason, that didn't seem at all abnormal to him. He turned, and spoke to his wife. He saw his son in the back seat out of the corner of his eye. Looking back at the road, he saw the green light ahead, and the intersection was clear. As he pulled into the intersection, though, there was a sound of screeching tires and broken glass, and the car lurched to the left as they were hit by another vehicle from the right side, a vehicle that was traveling absurdly fast. His left arm somehow became entangled in the door. He started to look to his right, to try to get a sense of what was happening, but Lena's hand was over his eyes, and she whispered to him, "Don't look, don't look." Part of him wanted to see, but he found himself trusting Lena, and somewhere deep down inside him, there was a knowledge that he knew what he would see if he looked, and it was something he had seen too many times already. The next thing he knew, he was in the hospital, and the doctor was trying to assess how severe the damage to his spine was. He asked about his wife and son, and the doctor looked away, and then, said, "We need to concentrate on getting you better, now." It was the sort of non-answer answer that told one exactly what the answerer was trying not to say. Not that Edmond really needed confirmation; he didn’t just suspect the worst, he knew. Edmond woke up, and realized that his ear was wet. In fact, the whole pillow was wet. Then he understood that it was because he was weeping uncontrollably. It was the same nightmare he'd had many times before, but he had never gotten to the part in the hospital before, he had always awakened right after the crash. There was an understanding that Lena had made the difference this time, in fact, in retrospect, he realized that he had even felt her presence beside him in the hospital, as the doctor sidestepped his question. If only he knew where to find Mark... He swapped pillows, placing the wet one on the other side of the bed, and putting the dry one under his head. He grabbed some tissue from the nightstand, and wiped his eyes, and then blew his nose. If he had been able to develop a level of trust with Susan, he might be on his way to finding Lena, now. Of course, his wheelchair battery would probably be dead by now, and he would be stranded. At least he would be close, though. He reflected momentarily on the apparent absurdity of his situation. Two days ago, he had been in his apartment, just like any other day, not suspecting that he would leave anytime soon. Yesterday (or was it the day before? he wasn't entirely sure whether this was Saturday night or Sunday morning) his life changed forever, because of someone he had never met. Now he couldn’t even go to sleep without dreaming about her. The good news was, that the recurring nightmare that had plagued him for years was becoming less troubling, because of her. She was a sweet person, and she deserved better. He just hoped that he could find some way to make that happen. It wasn’t going to happen tonight, though; he was going to have to try something else in the morning. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. The thoughts just wouldn't stop running through his head, though, even the ones that he knew were useless. In fact, all of the thoughts running through his head now were useless.

Chapter 11

Lena hesitated, and then said, "I'm hungry." Mark looked at her, and said, "I suppose you are. I've eaten twice since the last time you ate, and I don't think you finished your lunch yesterday." There was a long pause, and then Mark asked, "So, what would you be willing to do for a meal, now?" Lena crossed her arms, and glared at him in silence. Mark laughed, "I guess that means you haven't fallen in love with me, yet. That's okay; you will. In the meantime, though, I think we need to keep your strength up. Come on, let's go in the kitchen." In the kitchen, Mark got out lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, carrots, garbanzo beans, mushrooms, and some Pollock. "Is fish and salad okay with you?" Lena nodded. Mark got out a knife and a frying pan, sprayed the pan with non-stick spray, and then started frying the fish. He handed her the knife, and Lena started making some salad. "Am I making salad for one or two?" "I'm okay," Mark said, "On second thought, go ahead and make two salads. I don't want you to have to eat alone." Lena's mind began to work. Mark had said that his mother would be out of the country for months, and yet, he had felt the need to keep Lena tied up in the basement. Obviously he was afraid that somebody would come by, but whom? Then again, here she was in the kitchen, so maybe whoever it was had already come and gone. Would they be back? She had to assume not any time soon, but, maybe later today, or tomorrow. Mark would probably try to keep her from figuring out who it was, and what their schedule would be. She looked at the knife in her hand, and wondered if she had a chance to plunge it into him before he shot her. She remembered hearing the expression, "Hot lead faster than cold steel." and decided against trying anything. He had his back to her, but she probably didn't really have much chance to sneak up behind him. Poking around in the cabinets, she found some salad bowls, and started putting chopped lettuce into them, followed by tomatoes, etc. She briefly considered hiding the knife on her person, but Mark would notice them missing. She set out the two bowls of salad and waited for the fish to be ready. After a few minutes, Mark turned off the burner and transferred the fish to a plate, and set it in front of her. She wasn't really a big fan of fried Pollock (it tended to be kind of greasy), but, as hungry as she was, this fish was delicious. The salad was good too. They ate in silence. This was probably another reason why Mark kept getting dumped. He never had been much of a conversationalist. This time, she didn't mind. After they finished eating, he put the pan, the knife, and the bowls in the sink, and then he led her back to the basement, and tied her up again. Apparently, he was still afraid that somebody might be coming by. Who were they, and would they help her if she found a way to get their attention? Then again, maybe he wasn't expecting anyone, and he was just being careful. In any case, she didn't think this was the way that Stockholm Syndrome worked.

Chapter 10

Edmond sat in Starbucks and sipped his coffee. Well, technically, it was a frappuccino. He wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it tasted sort of like coffee, and a lot of other people had been ordering them, so he figured he would try it. It wasn't bad, but, for a man who was used to drinking Maxwell House, black, it was different. And, considering it cost almost as much as a can of Maxwell House, he didn't think he'd be drinking frappuccino much in the future. As he sat, though, a couple of young women kept looking over at him. Finally, one of them came over to him.
"Are you him?"
Edmond suppressed a smile. "Him who?"
She giggled. "Edmond Randolph. The blogger."
He nodded. "Yes, that's me. And you are?"
"My name is Susan Russell."
"May I ask how you know me, Susan?"
"Lena Sandoval told me about your 'Gag Reflex' blog, and then Jay called me earlier, and let me know that you were in town."
"You know Lena?"
"Yeah, we work together. We come here a lot."
"Have you seen her?"
"No. Jay told me that you were looking for her. I don't know what's happened to her. It's not like her to miss Friday and Saturday night. Sometimes she misses one or the other, usually because of her allergies, but almost never both."
Edmond nodded, taking it in. Part of him wanted to grab her and shake some real information out of her, but he didn't want to wind up in jail. He didn't imagine that Portland jails were particularly wheelchair friendly. Not to mention if he spent the night in jail, he wouldn't be able to charge his wheelchair, and he'd be stuck in the hotel room tomorrow, waiting for it to charge. Funny that he thought of it as being stuck in the room; he'd been stuck in his apartment for years, and that had never bothered him. Now being stuck indoors, even in a nice hotel room, seemed like a prison sentence.
"I think maybe she and Mark went somewhere, but I would have thought that she would have told me."
Edmond's ears picked up. "Who is Mark?"
"Mark is her boyfriend." She paused, "Well, not her boyfriend, exactly, she keeps saying that they're friends, but they do hang out a lot. More than most friends, I think." "I see. Yeah, she's mentioned Mark to me, but never by name. Why do you think that they are off together?"
"Well, nobody's seen him, either. I know some people over where he works, and he took yesterday afternoon off, just like Lena did."
"Lena wasn't at work yesterday afternoon?"
"No. It was kind of weird, though, Tim offered her the afternoon off, but she said she needed to finish up a project, but then she didn't come back after lunch. Tim just laughed about it, and said that it was a woman's prerogative to change her mind."
Edmond nodded. It all seemed to fit together. Now, if he could just get a line on Mark, he might be able to accomplish something.
"Neither one of them are answering their cell phones, either."
Edmond leaned towards Susan, and asked quietly, "Do you know Mark's last name?"
Susan gulped. "I think maybe I've said too much."
“Susan, I’m not a stalker. I’m worried about Lena; I’m afraid something has happened to her. I’d like to talk to Mark about where she is. If the two of them went off for the weekend somewhere, well, that’s their business. I don’t want to interfere with that, believe me. I don’t want to interfere with Lena’s personal life at all, I just want to make sure that she’s okay.”
Susan shook her head. Part of her didn’t want to accept that something bad might happen to her friend. Once again, the mental image of a jail cell kept Edmond from grabbing her and shaking her. He had to force himself to remain calm.
Edmond told her where he was staying. “If you change your mind,” he told her, “come and talk to me.”

Chapter 9

Edmond woke up. His stomach was growling. He hadn't eaten much lunch, and it was now well past dinner time. He considered trying to go out somewhere (but where?), and he thought about calling room service. He checked the charge on his wheelchair, and it was still kind of low. If he went out, he might get stranded somewhere. He would like to go out somewhere; maybe he would just accidentally run into somebody who knew something about where Lena was. He certainly couldn't find anything out here in the room. At the same time, he wasn't sure he could learn anything if he did go out anyway. Everywhere he had gone, he had just hit dead ends.
He called room service.
He stopped to consider. He had met this guy, Jay. That seemed to be as close to Lena as he was going to get. Of course, he only had Jay's word that his name was even Jay. He didn't know of any reason why the guy might have lied about it, unless he were the kidnapper, and thought that Lena might have told Edmond enough that he could figure out that this was the guy he should be looking for. That didn't really make sense, though. Ed didn't know anything about any of Lena's friends, and if he had a name of the kidnapper... No, Jay was almost certainly telling the truth. He really had no reason to lie, even if he was the guilty party.
When the food came, Edmond ate slowly, and thought some more. No matter what he thought, though, he couldn't reach any real conclusions. Something had happened to Lena, it appeared that she had been kidnapped, but he couldn't really be sure about that. If she had been kidnapped, he thought it was the guy that he thought of as Lena's boyfriend, even though he knew Lena didn't think of him that way. If that were the case, he didn't have a clue who the guy was or where he might have taken her. He was beginning to think that he should have stayed in Chicago, for all the good he was doing here. He knew he couldn't have stayed at home, though, even though he had never actually met Lena, she had come to mean a great deal to him. Something of a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary life. He had to do something to help find her, even if he didn't know what else he could do.
By the time he finished eating, there was enough of a charge on the wheelchair that he felt confident that he could go out for a little while. He could plug the chair back in when he got back, and it would be fully charged in the morning. But where would he go? He should find someplace where young people hung out, like a Starbuck's. That might be just the thing. He wasn't sure that it would help, but he had to try something. This whole adventure was an exercise in desperation, anyway. The worst thing that could happen is that he spend too much money on some frou-frou latte or something...

Chapter 8

Lena heard someone coming down the stairs. She wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or not. She had managed to hold her bladder, and keep down her last meal, but she felt certain that pretty soon, she would succomb to one or the other. Her head was almost clear, now, but she still ached. It wasn’t easy for her to move, tied the way she was, but she managed to crane her neck to see that it was Mark that she had heard. “Well, you’re awake, finally,” he said. “I was beginning to think that I had overdosed you.” He didn’t seem particularly upset that he might have killed her. Lena contemplated asking him what he wanted with her, but she was a little afraid to find out. Besides, her bladder was about to burst. “I have to go to the bathroom.” “Well, I guess we can’t have you making a mess in Mom’s basement.” He pulled a gun from behind him somewhere, and waved it in her general direction. She almost wet herself. “Don’t try anything stupid. You’ll regret it.” He untied her, and led her up the stairs. When he reached the top of the stairs, he turned right and led her down to the second door on the left. He let her into the bathroom, and allowed her to close the door behind her. She pulled down her pants, and plopped herself down on the toilet and let go. She felt very relieved. She looked around for a window. There was one, but it was small. She might be able to fit through, but how far could she get before he started shooting at her? She finished her business, pulled up her pants, and went to the window. There was a view of beautiful coastline, and not much else. There wasn’t even any indication that there was another beach house nearby. She didn’t think that she would even get far enough for anyone to be able to hear her screaming for help. She washed her hands and opened the door. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, as Mark began tying her up again. “Because I’m tired. I’ve done everything right. I’ve been a perfect gentleman, not just with you, but with the other girls I’ve dated. But, eventually, each of you decides that I’m just not good enough. Just about the time that I feel comfortable in a relationship, I get dumped. You are not going to dump me, Lena. You are going to stay here until you learn to love me.” If Lena hadn’t been afraid of what might happen if she argued with him, she would have pointed out that it had been a while since he had been a gentleman with her. At first, yes, he was romantic and charming and, well, nice. He had been gentle. Somewhere along the line though, he had, in his words, gotten comfortable with the relationship. He stopped treating her like a lady, and treated her more like, well, property. As if he owned her. As if she belonged to him. As if her feelings no longer mattered. If this was his usual pattern, no wonder he kept getting dumped. He said that she had been in mom’s basement, though. She hadn’t realized that his parents were local, though. In all the time that they had been dating, she had never met them. Obviously his mom wasn’t home, but she would come back eventually. He couldn’t keep her here forever. Nervously, she broached the subject, “When will your mom be back?” Mark laughed. “She’s out of the country. She won’t be back for months. By the time she gets back, you and I will be married.” He’d lost it. You don’t convince somebody to marry you by kidnapping them. Unless he’s counting on Stockholm syndrome, but she didn’t think that was going to work. What if it did? She could wind up in a marriage with him… Her stomach began churning. The nausea intensified; for a minute, she thought she was going to hurl, but the thought of hurling took her mind off of the possible wedding and she was able to marshal the self-control to keep the contents of her stomach to herself. Almost immediately, she regretted it. She tried to imagine the look on his face if she had puked all over him, but, then, she couldn’t help but imagine the beating she would receive afterwards. Maybe she had done the right thing, after all.

Chapter 7

Jay made a few more calls, and then turned and eyed Ed suspiciously. “No one that I know has seen Lena, and she didn’t mention that you were coming to anyone. A lot of us read one or more of your blogs. Lena would have known that we would have liked to know that you were coming.” Edmond considered the statement for a moment, realizing that every second he didn’t answer just made him seem more suspicious, but also aware that it seemed like he had lied already, because he let Jay think that Lena had invited him to come visit . “The truth is, Lena didn’t know I was coming. She had communicated with me very regularly for several months now, and yesterday she didn’t. Call me paranoid if you want to, but I am very much afraid that something bad has happened to her. I couldn’t get anyone here to pay any attention to me from Chicago. I didn’t know what else to do but fly out here.” It was now Jay’s turn to consider. He, understandably, felt that he had been misled, but, at the same time, he thought it over, and came to the conclusion that the old guy in the wheelchair hadn’t actually lied to him, just knowingly allowed him to think something that Edmond had known wasn’t true. All the same, he didn't like it. “I’ve gotta go,” he muttered, and strode towards his car. “Jay,” Ed called out, “thanks for your help. I’m sure Lena would appreciate it, too.” Jay muttered something under his breath and waved a hand in what could have been an obscene gesture. The charge was getting low on Ed’s wheelchair. He needed to get back to the hotel. He headed towards the apartment building lobby to call for a ride. Back at the hotel, he hooked up the charger and tried to think. He’d done a lot of digging, but he hadn’t really turned up anything. Someone interrupted her lunch yesterday, and that seemed to be the last time anyone had seen her. He had only a vague description of that person, who might, or might not, have kidnapped her. That description could be Jay. He hoped it wasn’t Jay, but, then again, maybe if it was, now that he knew somebody was looking for her, maybe he would let her go. Then again, he might just kill her, and hide the body somewhere. Ed didn’t know what to think. He was afraid that he might have made things worse by talking to Jay. He wanted to lie down, but there wasn’t a wall outlet close to the bed. He wouldn’t be able to let the chair charge and go from the chair to the bed. That was bad. That meant that, either he was going to have to work out an extremely difficult method of getting from the chair to the bed, or he wouldn’t be able to charge the chair overnight. He called room service and asked them to bring up an extension cord. That should solve the problem. The guy from room service didn’t really get it at first, but Edmond showed him how he needed to plug the chair in to charge it, and explained that he needed to be able to climb into bed from the chair after plugging it in. Once that was done, Edmond got into bed, and realized that the toll of not sleeping well the night before had caught up to him. It was only 4:00 PM (6:00 PM Chicago time), and he was out. He did not sleep well, though; he had too much on his mind. Still, he slept better than he had the night before.
He dreamed that Lena was calling to him, "Edmond! Edmond! You're my only hope, Edmond!" He woke up troubled, and dimly aware that he really didn''t know what Lena's voice sounded like, he had never spoken to her. It also occurred to him that he would rather dream about Lena than the accident, but then he felt guilty, because she was in serious trouble, and here he was thinking that at least that got his mind off of his own problems. Maybe God had good reason to hate Edmond.