Chapter 20 rewrite

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 was aware of the paradox, and he didn’t care.
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, with no retainer. 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. For that matter, He would give up all the money just to be able to see his wife and son again.
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.
"That looked like 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, but there was a car parked in front of the two-car garage. "There's Mark's car," Susan pointed out.
"Jackpot,” Edmond said softly, as though he were afraid Mark would hear. “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 rewrite

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, and that they were not in any mood for games. 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." There was a pause, while the other young woman tried to decide if Susan was serious or not. "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." They shook hands. “Pardon me for not standing,” Edmond said.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 still 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. Of course, more people meant that Susan’s car would be more crowded. Finally, Susan made a decision, "No, I think we'll be all right. 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. “Be careful with that, though. It’s pretty strong stuff; don’t use it unless you really mean it.”
Edmond nodded, Susan thanked her, and they went out the door, hoping that this wasn’t another wild goose chase.

Chapter 18 rewrite

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; the knife seemed sharp enough that she might not feel it actually cut her, but at least 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; Mark would know something was up if he came downstairs and she wasn’t tied up. She wanted to the blade 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 left 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. It wasn’t like Mark checked on her very often. She didn't think she would ever forgive Mark for this. Even if she didn’t bleed to death, Mark would undoubtedly become suspicious if he found her lying in a puddle of blood. 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 facing several cardboard boxes. There was a space in between two of the boxes just about the right size to conceal the knife from a cursory inspection. 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 blade 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, and trying not to worry, fret or figure. Eventually she drifted off into a troubled sleep.

Chapter 17 rewrite

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 none of them seemed to be likely places to hold a kidnap victim. It was 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. He tried not to get caught up in nostalgia; the last time he bought gas was just a few hours before the accident. Everything in his life had changed that day.
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. “I don’t buy it. 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 to pay 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 rewrite

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,” Mark replied
Lena stated ruefully, “I missed church.”
“I’m sure they’ll get over it.” Mark smiled. “I’m certain that God will forgive you, too, 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 stopped coming to work 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 to the North or to the South of 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.
Feeling brave, 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’s heart sank. Even if anybody noticed their joint disappearance, there was a good chance that people would think that the two of them had planned to run off together, and that she had forgotten, or been embarrassed to, put in for vacation time for it. She 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. Of course, if he insisted on helping her shower, that might be reason enough to use the knife. She decided to wait until next time.

Chapter 15 rewrite

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. Edmond spoke up, “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 that way. She walked back to the car with her head down. “There is no sign of her.”
“We need to find a way in,” Edmond responded. 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, in spite of the numerous broken windows. 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. In the back of Edmond’s mind that sparked a memory: He remembered hearing once, “Where there is breath, there is hope; where there is hope, there is God; where there is God, there is no need.” He pushed that out of his mind; dismissing it as silly optimism, even though he was aware that they needed some optimism at that point.
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 it was to pull it open from the outside. With both of them pushing, it opened just about enough for Edmond to roll the wheelchair through, but as soon as he tried to move forward, he lost his grip on the aluminum, and it started closing back up again. Edmond began to visualize himself being incarcerated for trespassing. That was not an appealing prospect. He had never been in jail before, but this weekend that thought seemed to just keep coming up. 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 for a few minutes.
“Once we get out of here, then what? Do you have any other ideas?” she asked.
“Let’s go back, and do some more research on the Internet,” Edmond said. Susan nodded. Finally, they got in the car, with the wheelchair situated, and Susan started the car. She put the car in gear, and soon the Poppengale plant was just a speck in her rearview mirror.

Chapter 14 rewrite

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 just 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. He felt for her, but finally, somebody else was feeling what he had been feeling.
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."
They went out to the parking lot. It took a little while to work out getting his wheelchair folded up and in the back seat of her little bitty red 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 put her head down, and bit her lip again. After a long pause, she jerked her ehad upright, and 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 café. 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 Mark’s family 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 sort of work 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 Multnomah 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 looked a the address. "That's close by," she said, "We could probably be there in fifteen minutes or less." They went back to her car, and headed towards the old plant.

Chapter 13 rewrite

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 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 actual 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 exterior doors (if she could find them!) might have deadbolts that required a key to open, even from the inside. As far as that goes, the basement door might be locked, she couldn’t be positive. Surely there was a window she would be able to get out, though, assuming that she could get out of the basement. 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 definitely be some form of 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 any 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 rewrite

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 had finally seemed that he was going to get a break, but 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. He lost consciousness, and 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 person 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 better 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 Lena. She was a sweet person, and she deserved better. He just hoped that he could find some way to help her. 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 rewrite

Lena hesitated a moment, and decided it was better to speak up. She didn’t think that Mark really wanted to hurt her, so she said, "I'm hungry."
He 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." He led her down the hall the other way, and turned into the third door on the right. 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. He handed her the knife, sprayed the pan with non-stick spray, and then started frying the fish. Lena started making some salad, and then paused. "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 sliced tomatoes, etc. She briefly considered hiding the knife on her person, but Mark might notice it 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 pretty darn good too. The tomatoes were the vine-ripened kind, and they had more flavor than the usual store-bought tomatoes.
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 really didn't mind. The silence felt a little awkward, but, then again, the whole situation was more than awkward. There really wasn’t anything she wanted to discuss with him, anyway, except for, possibly, when would he let her go, but she didn’t think she would like to hear what he had to say on that subject. 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 was this mysterious person that he was so worried about, 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. In order for her to develop an attachment to him, wouldn’t there have to be more contact than just an occasional meal together, shared in silence?

Chapter 10 rewrite

Edmond sat in Starbucks and sipped his coffee. Well, technically, it was a frappuccino. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, 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 the cost of it was a sizable portion of the cost of 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. That didn’t really surprise him too much. Part of the reason for his isolationism had been the fact that he didn’t like getting stared at in public, and, since the accident, it was hard for people not to stare. Finally, though, one of them, a pretty redhead with green eyes, came over to him.
"Are you him?"
Edmond, surprised by the question, suppressed a smile. He had expected a question more along the lines of, “What happened to you?” even though most people were too polite to ask that. "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. She and I come here a lot."
"Have you seen her?"
Susan shook her head. "Not today. 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 Mark nor Lena 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." She started to back away.
Edmond looked deep into her eyes, and tried to engage her, get her to look deep into his. “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 have happened to her friend, even though part of her was very much afraid that what Edmond was saying might actually be true.
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 rewrite

Edmond woke up. His stomach was growling. He hadn't eaten much lunch (somehow the sushi just hadn’t appealed to him), and it was now well past dinnertime. 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. Normally, he would have preferred to just sit at home and heat something up, but he found himself wanting to go out somewhere; maybe he would just accidentally run into somebody who knew something about where Lena was. He certainly wasn't going to 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. It was hard for him to order dinner, because at this point, he was simply hungry; he had no real appetite. He didn’t particularly want to eat, he just realized that he needed to. It didn’t matter too much to him what he ate, as long as it filled his belly. Eventually he settled on one of the daily specials.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 how hard 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. He had felt very frustrated in Chicago, because he realized that something needed to be done; now he was in Portland, and he was just as frustrated, because he didn’t know what 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...
He called the hotel concierge to ask about nearby coffee shops. He tried to come up with the best possible wording to try to find out where someone like Lena might choose to hang out, without giving away why he wanted to know, and without sounding like a pervert. “This is Edmond Randolph in 304. I’m a writer, here from Chicago, and I’m doing some research. Can you tell me where there would be a coffee shop close by that would be popular with people in their twenties?”
The concierge had several suggestions, but one in particular that he felt was close by and popular with IT professionals. Edmond asked him to make the appropriate transportation arrangements.

Chapter 8 rewrite

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 succumb 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 concerned that he might have killed her. How much longer would he have let her lie there? What if she had O.D.’d on whatever drug he had given her? Would he have called for an ambulance, and taken a chance of going to jail, or would he have just let her die, and then tried to hide the body? 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. The hallway was long, but the door to the basement and the bathroom door were close together. There were pictures hanging on the wall. Many of the pictures showed either a mother with a young son, or a family of three. The little boy looked so sweet and innocent; if Lena hadn't been concentrating on holding her bladder, she would have wondered how that little boy had grown up to be a kidnapper.
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 to stay with; not husband material, I guess. 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 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 he had parents in the local area, though (unless they weren't local anymore--she really didn't know where they were). 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. She tried to come up with some explanation for how he might think that this experience might convince her to even continue to like him. She remembered learning about Stockholm Syndrome in her college psychology class. In 1973, in Stockholm, some bank robbers in Stockholm held some of the bank employees hostage for six days. During their captivity, the hostages develop feelings of sympathy, possibly even affection, for their captors. The hostages actually spoke out in defense of the criminals after their release. What if she developed such an ailment? 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 not a beating, that really didn’t seem to be the way Mark wanted to operate (although, in his current mental state, anything was possible), but he would undoubtedly find some way to punish her. She guessed she had done the smart thing, after all.

Chapter 7 rewrite

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 started to hook 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 the only wall outlet close to the bed had an alarm clock plugged into it. One the one hand, he could move the alarm clock to the other side of the room, and then when it went off, he could get in the chair and wheel across the room to shut off the alarm, or, on the other hand, he could leave the alarm clock where it was, and either work out an extremely difficult method of getting from the chair to the bed, or just not 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 felt exhausted. It did not take long for him to fall asleep. 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, because 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 her trouble at least that got his mind off of his own problems. Maybe God had good reason to hate Edmond.

Chapter 6 rewrite

Well, at least now Edmond knew that someone interrupted her lunch yesterday. He couldn’t be sure that this individual was responsible for her disappearance, but it made sense. Of course, he didn’t know who this someone was, but it fit with his theory of a possessive boyfriend. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t any closer to finding her, and he was running out of things that he could check. He decided to go by her apartment building.
He would have liked to check for her car, but she had never told him what model car she drove. He had a pretty good idea that she didn’t drive it very much, because she was fortunate enough to be able to walk most of the time. That knowledge didn’t seem to be particularly helpful. It occurred to him to talk with the manager of the apartment complex, but there were two problems with that: they would probably think he was a nut; and they might not be there until Monday morning, anyway.
He had the driver drop him off in the parking lot. He drove his wheel chair up and down the aisles. He looked for a small car, because he figured that’s what she would drive, that looked like it had been sitting for some time. The futility of that frustrated him. He’s looking for a car, based on guesses. It was entirely possible that she walked to work so that she could save gas to burn in her Humvee after work.
He was really worried. She had been gone over 24 hours now. It was entirely possible that she was dead. He tried not to think about that. Somewhere inside of him he felt that she was still alive, but he had no way of knowing for how long... Somehow he had to find her, but he didn’t even know where to look.
“Are you okay?” a male voice asked. Edmond looked up. There was a young man standing nearby with a set of car keys in his hand. “You look sick.”
“I’m okay,” Edmond replied, “I’m just worried about a friend.” After a pause, he asked, “Do you live here?”
“Yes, I do,” the young man responded, with a quizzical look on his face.
“Maybe you know her then.” He pulled out a picture. “Her name is Lena Sandoval.”
The young man started to nod, but caught himself. “And you are?”
“My name is Edmond Randolph.”
“Oh, yeah, she told me about you. I like your ‘Wounded Statesman’ blog. I thought you were in Chicago, though.”
“I live in Chicago, yes. I came out here because of her, and now I can’t find her. I’m afraid something has happened to her.”
“I think she’s here. I saw her SUV…”
“She sometimes walks different places, though.”
“Let’s check her apartment.”
They headed to the building, and got on the elevator. On the way up, Ed asked the young man his name. “Oh, I’m sorry, my name is Jay.”
They got off on the eighth floor. Jay walked him to apartment 806, and they knocked on the door. “Man, I can’t believe she would just leave you hanging like that, man.”
“I don’t think it was her fault.”
They waited a few minutes for her to come to the door, and then knocked again. After a few minutes, Jay decided she wasn’t home. “I’m sure that was her vehicle in the parking lot, though.”
“Do you know if she has any friends in the building she might be visiting?”
“I’m sure she does, but I don’t know who they are.”
“Can you show me her car?”
Jay nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
Her car was a black 2005 Range Rover with a noticeable layer of dust on it, confirming one of Ed’s theories, but blowing the other one completely out of the water.
Jay said, “You can see why she walks so much.”
Edmond shot a puzzled look at Jay. “I thought she had a good paying job.”
Jay laughed. “Not that good. If she drove this to work every day, she wouldn’t be able to afford to drive it on weekends. As it is, I think she only drives it one or two weekends a month.”
There was no way of telling when she had driven it last, and nothing to indicate who else might have been in it. It was possible that the dust had accumulated since last weekend. Even if it was two weeks worth of dust, that may not be out of the ordinary; Edmond had no way of knowing. Basically, seeing the car didn’t help; it was just another dead end.
“Let me try calling her.” Jay pulled out a cell phone, and punched a few buttons. After a couple of seconds, he frowned. “That’s strange; it went straight to voice mail. I’ve never known Lena to turn off her phone. As a matter of fact, the people she works for don’t like for her to turn off her phone, she's supposed to be on 24 hour call, in case something happens to one of the websites that she maintains.” It occurred to Ed that the battery might be dead, or whoever had Lena had turned off the phone, but he didn’t want to voice either of those ideas. Now what?

Chapter 5 rewrite

Lena opened her eyes slowly. Her body felt like one big muscle ache, and she couldn’t move her arms or legs. She couldn’t see much, either; it was very dark. She could feel that she was lying on a rough, cold floor, probably concrete. There was a mélange of odors that she wasn’t familiar with, or maybe she was, just not together. Her brain felt fuzzy. She realized that she had been drugged. One more reason why she hated taking drugs. She didn’t take aspirin if she could possibly get around it. She tried to look around, but, between the double vision and the limited lighting, she couldn’t tell anything about where she was. There was stuff around her, some shapes that looked like boxes, and some other miscellaneous items, but nothing that she could identify with any real certainty. She tried to get a sense of how she was; as near as she could tell, through the lingering effects of the drug, she wasn’t really hurt. Nothing seemed to be broken. There might be few bruises here and there, but, mostly, there was just the one, big body ache. She tried to remember how she wound up here, but her memory was foggy. The last thing she remembered was getting into the car with him. It had surprised her when he showed up at the park; she had mentioned to him that she liked to eat lunch there, but he had never shown up there before. In fact, he had never even suggested that he would like to meet her for lunch. He had seemed rational at the park, although a little excited. He said that he needed to show her something, but when they got close to the car he just went quietly nuts. It had frightened her, and she tried to pull away, but he grabbed her and shoved her into the car. He had insisted that she try some new kind of energy drink, with no explanation, but she thought maybe it would calm him down if she drank it. The next thing she knew, she was here, wherever here was. As the drugs faded, her body ache abated, but was gradually replaced by a pounding headache. She wondered briefly what he had given her, but knew that she wouldn’t be able to figure it out, with her limited knowledge of the effects of specific drugs. Whatever it was, it left a bad taste in her mouth. She tried to focus on whatever clues there were that he would come to this. Two months ago, he had seemed so romantic, doting on her every want and need. He had taken her to a flower show, and it was clear from his reactions that he wasn’t interested in the flowers. He had gotten her some very nice and thoughtful gifts. Some of those gifts had been somewhat expensive. Lately, though, he had been becoming much more possessive, which caused her to pull away. It had turned into a vicious cycle: he kept trying to push closer, and the more he pushed, the more she pulled away; the more she pulled away, the harder he pushed. It had gotten to be too much; she had been planning to tell him over dinner that she didn’t want to see him any more. Apparently he had figured that out, and decided to take matters into his own hands. She tried to mentally make a list of people that would notice that she was missing. Her boss had offered to give her Friday afternoon off, but she had declined. Of course, when she didn’t come back after lunch, he would probably just assume that she had changed her mind. She hadn’t made dinner plans with anybody, because she had planned on having dinner with Mark, so that she could break it off; none of her friends would notice her missing right away. She didn’t have a roommate, so there was no help there. Her hands and feet were tied securely. Escape seemed unlikely, and a rescue was even less probable. Suddenly she was wracked with hunger pains. Her stomach had just realized that she was awake. She had eaten a small lunch at the park before, but she had no way of knowing how long ago that was, other than the feeling in her belly telling her that it had been yesterday. At the same time, the drugs were giving her a distinct queasy feeling. If she didn’t get something to settle her tummy soon, she was liable to make a big mess, right here on the floor, and she was just going to have to lie in it. She tried not to think about it, but it was like trying not to think about a pink elephant. The more she tried to keep her mind off of it, the more she thought about it. The more she thought about it, the queasier she felt. Finally it occurred to her to try not to think about escaping, and that ended the cycle.Then her bladder woke up, and all she could do was cry.

Chapter 4 rewrite

Getting off the plane and working his way through Portland International Airport turned out to be considerably less difficult than getting on the plane at O’Hare. Finding transportation suited to his needs was a little on the difficult side, but it had proved to be doable. Riding down I-405 towards a hotel near Lena’s apartment building, he tried once again to formulate a plan. He had come all this way, and he still didn’t know what he could do. He remembered that she had mentioned a sushi bar nearby, maybe someone there would remember her and be able to help. “Excuse me,” he called out to the driver, “do you know where there is a sushi bar near the hotel?” The driver nodded. “Yes sir, there’s one about a mile this side of the hotel. I’ll point it out as we get close.” “Thanks.” Shortly thereafter, went from I-405 to Sunset Highway, and headed down a surface street, Murray Boulevard, then onto Cornell Road. They past several people on bicycles along the way, but Edmond didn’t notice. Not too long thereafter, the driver pointed out a sushi bar on the right. About a mile and a half later, he turned right into the hotel. After a certain amount of flummoxing around, he was back in his wheelchair, with his baggage, in the lobby of the hotel. Once again, he had to endure the stares of those around him; one more reason why he would have preferred his isolationism. Still, there was something he had to do, and he going to do it, even if he still wasn’t clear how to go about it. His plan was to get settled into his room, and then get a ride to the Sushi bar. The desk clerk averted his eyes, but got him checked in, and then had a bellhop take Ed’s baggage to his suite. Ed glanced around the room; it was bigger than his apartment. That was a little depressing. It was also much brighter than his apartment. He didn’t like that either, but he reminded himself that he wouldn’t be staying here long. He hoped. He tipped the bellhop, and he got a sense of where things were in the room, stuffed the room key card in the wheelchair saddlebag, and left. At the sushi bar, he looked at the sushi. He had never eaten sushi before, but Lena had told him that she really liked it, and he felt that he had to eat some now, or no one would talk to him. The waitress noticed the look in his eye, after she walked past him three times to deal with other customers, and also noticed that he hadn’t touched the sushi that she had set in front of him. “What’s the matter, hon?” Ed wasn’t used to such familiarity, but he understood it. “Is this your first time eating sushi?” Ed nodded, and pulled out one of the pictures that he had printed out. “Lena wanted me to try it.” That wasn’t a lie, she did. Of course, she had intended for him to try it in Chicago, but here he was in Portland. “Lena? Oh, yes, I’ve seen her in here. I didn’t know that was her name, though.” Ed looked up. “About how often does she come in?”
“She comes in here on Fridays a lot, but she wasn’t in here last night.” “Alone?”
“Oh, no, almost never. She almost always comes in here with friends.” The waitress paused. “Say, what is this? Who are you, and why are you asking so many questions?” Ed wasn’t sure how to respond, and the long pause before he did certainly wasn’t helping his credibility. “My name is Ed Randolph. I’m a friend of Lena’s, and usually we at least chat briefly on Friday afternoons, but yesterday I didn’t hear from her, so I’m a little worried. I wish I could find her.” “I don’t know what to tell you, Ed, she comes in here pretty frequently, but not often enough that I would really know when to expect her. She was in here last week, so probably not for the next few days, but I don’t know for sure.” Ed nodded. “I understand. Thanks for your help.” He eyeballed a sushi roll, and finally put it in his mouth. It wasn’t as bad as he had expected. “When I see Lena, I’ll tell her that you were in here. And that you tried the sushi.” Ed nodded. He wanted to say thanks, but not until he swallowed, and he wasn’t entirely sure that he wanted to swallow. Next stop would be the park, except he wasn’t sure which park, and he wasn’t sure how well his wheelchair could handle park turf. There was a park right across the street from the sushi bar, but he didn’t think that was the one. It was hard for him to judge, but he really didn’t think that this was within walking distance of where she worked. He had located two parks that were much closer. Neither one of them seemed particularly enjoyable to him, but he’d been content to sit in a dark musty apartment for a very long time. From what he had been able to find out on-line, one had a moderate grassy expanse and a couple of tennis courts, while the other one was larger, had more trees, also had tennis courts in the western part of the park, but had high-tension wires running through the eastern part of the park, and somehow didn’t seem to have as much grass. The larger park was easier to get to from where she worked, so he decided to check that out. When he arrived at the park, he was relieved to see that it hadn’t rained recently, so he wasn’t likely to get his wheelchair stuck in the mud; he might still get stuck, but at least it wouldn’t be because of the mud. He managed to roll around on the ground fairly easily. He wasn’t sure what he should be looking for, but here he was. Maybe signs of a struggle? He noticed some guys tossing a Frisbee, and noticed that they were kicking up dirt and leaving footprints that might look to him like there had been a struggle there if he hadn’t seen for himself what had happened. “You look disappointed.” He looked up. A young, blonde woman with a big dog on a leash was standing, looking at him. She spoke again, “Is the park not what you had expected?” “No, actually, it’s pretty much exactly what I had expected. I had hoped to see a friend here, though.” He pulled out the picture of Lena. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?” Ed laughed, for the first time in a long time. “No, she’s a lot young for me, but when I say friend, I mean friend, I don’t mean girlfriend.” The woman smiled. “Yeah, I’ve seen her here before. In fact, she comes here a lot.” The dog came over and started sniffing at Ed. “Are you here a lot?” he asked, absent-mindedly stroking the dog’s fur. “Yes, I just live over there.” She pointed to a house nearby. “Even when I’m not here, I’m usually at home, with a view of the park.” “Could you tell me when was the last time you saw her?” “She was here yesterday. She likes to bring her lunch here, and eat in the park.” Ed nodded, “Yeah, she told me that. I was hoping she was having lunch here today.” The blonde woman shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her here on a Saturday. Just Monday through Friday.” “Did anything unusual happen yesterday?” “Yeah, now that you mention it. There was a guy that showed up here; I’ve never seen him before. He talked to her for a little while, and they left together. She didn’t seem happy about it.” “Can you describe the guy?”
”He had brown hair, medium build. Sorry, there’s not much else I can tell you.” “Thanks. I appreciate the help. I also appreciate the trust.”
She nodded towards the dog. “Bruno’s a good judge of character.”He nodded, then headed back to the car.

Chapter 3 rewrite

He had lived on his own, sequestered in his cluttered little apartment, by his own choice, for years. There had been a few details to work out about the arrangements in the beginning, but it had worked to his satisfaction up until now. Suddenly he was in a situation that no one believed him about; he could not get one solitary person on the outside to treat this seriously. It may very well be up to him, but wasn’t sure what he could do, even if he left his apartment. He went back through her E-mails. She mentioned that she lived within walking distance of work, and that often saved her gas money, when the weather was nice. She had also mentioned a park near her work. She had said that it wasn’t very pretty, she would have liked it better if it had more trees and grass, and a few benches. Still, it was a good place to take a brown-bag lunch and sit in the sun, let the wind blow her hair. It almost made him wish that he had a spot like that. If someone had kidnapped her in the park, people leaving work would think she just took off at lunch because her car wasn’t in the parking lot. They might have no idea that she was even missing. In other E-mails, she mentioned how much respect that she had learned for him from reading his opinion, even if she didn’t always agree with him. She seemed to think that he felt much to sorry for himself. She talked about how loss is generally offset by a gain of some sort; in his case it would seem to be his ability for writing, something that he had never used in his old job as a forklift operator. She talked to him about her parents, back in the Philippines; they weren’t much older than he was. She seemed to be willing to share almost any detail of her life with him, she even E-mailed him sometimes to say that she was sick, or that her allergies were bothering her. Sometimes it seemed too much; he had sent her messages that said simply, “TMI” a couple of times, and she seemed surprised at what he considered too much information. He had grown very fond of her over the past ten or eleven months. She had become almost like family, even though he had never met her, just through the daily communication. One missing E-mail might not seem like that big of a deal to some people, but to him it was huge, and he felt confident that she knew that. He checked his PayPal tip jar. There was more money than he had expected. He had money in the bank, too. Was he really considering doing something? In some ways, the idea frightened him; he hadn’t seen the sun in years, but staying in the apartment suddenly seemed unbearable. What if the police were right? What if it were just a fluke that she hadn’t E-mailed him? If he flew out to Portland, and nothing had happened to her, she would think he was a stalker. That would definitely cost him a friend. But he couldn’t just sit at home and do nothing. He logged onto a travel agent website and booked a one-way flight to Portland, noting that he was in a wheelchair and had special needs. He checked the balance on the checkcard that he used to pay Peapod; it looked like it would be enough to pay for his needs in Portland for a few days and still buy a return flight ticket. Of course, that would mean finding the physical card; he only used it on-line up until now, and hadn’t needed the card since he entered the information into the computer. He loaded up his printer with the best quality paper he had, and printed out several copies of the picture he had of Lena. The enormity of what he was doing astounded him, yet he felt he had no choice. He needed to get packed, and to gather up what little cash he had, and get to the airport. It would really be a waste if he had made all these preparations and then missed the flight. Somewhere in the midst of all the preparations, he came up with the joke he needed for The Gag Reflex: Dr. Bob: I crossed a lightning bug with a cockroach. Reporter: What did you get? Dr. Bob: I don’t know, but every time it lights up, it runs and hides under the refrigerator. He had no idea why that popped into his head, but there it was, and he able to finish that blog. Soon the limousine service was at the door, and he gathered up his things, and took a long look at the small, dark apartment that he had not left in almost ten years. Suddenly it seemed outright claustrophobic. He opened the door, and the limo driver, after recoiling slightly, picked up his bags and they left. It was a long, quiet ride to O’Hare. There was so much he hadn’t seen in so long, but right now, none of it seemed important. It seemed like the road construction crews were working on the same parts of the same roads as the last time he was out. When they finally reached the airport, he tipped the driver, and also tipped a skycap to check his bags. Wheeling his chair to the check-in counter, he picked up his E-ticket and boarding pass. Airport security was ridiculous. Did they really think that he was hiding explosives in his shoes? Not that mattered. He couldn’t walk, anyway, what difference did it really make if he was wearing shoes? When he finally got through security, then he went to the gate, and they had to get a special wheelchair for him. Regular wheelchairs don’t fit down the aisle of a commercial airliner. He hadn’t realized when he left the house how much he would have to endure just to get on an airplane. Up until he arrived at the airport, he had thought his hardest time would be dealing with the outside. Now it looked like the airport might be the worst of it. It was a long flight. He was hungry. When did they stop serving meals on long flights? It seemed like with the fare increases over the last ten years, there should have been more amenities on the flight, instead of less. There was satellite radio, but that really didn’t impress Ed much. Maybe if he had been traveling for pleasure, it would have been different. He really didn’t feel like listening to music, and radio talk shows even less. Eventually the captain came on the public address system, announcing that they would be landing soon. Ed hoped that getting off the plane wouldn’t be as bad as getting on it had been.

Chapter 2 rewrite

He heard the squeal of tires, glass shattering, the screams of his wife and son crying out in fear and in pain, and then he woke up. He lay there for several seconds, piecing together reality. It was the drunk driver nightmare again. Maybe nightmare was the wrong word, since this was not a creation of his subconscious; this was reliving, in a dream, the worst moment of his entire life. The dream happened less frequently than it used to, but it would probably never completely stop. There was something different about it this time, though. He fought his own memory, trying to place what had changed in the dream, and it came to him: Lena was in the car. It didn’t make sense; Lena had just recently turned twenty-seven, making her the same age as Edmond Jr. would have been, if. Yet, in the dream, she was an adult, and Eddie was just a teenager. At least, it seemed that way to him. He hadn’t actually seen her in the dream, more felt her presence, and yet, somehow he knew. Why was she in the dream at all? Maybe because at some subconscious level, he believed that she was in serious danger. He glanced at the clock. 2:14 AM. If she hadn’t E-mailed by now, then she wasn’t going to. He reached for his wheelchair. It hadn’t finished recharging, but he felt that he had to check his E-mail. He unplugged the wheelchair, pulled himself into it, then pulled the charger onto his lap. He wheeled over to the computer, and plugged the charger into an outlet close by. Logging onto the computer, he found that there was, in fact, still no E-mail from Lena. He looked back through the last few E-mails he had received from her, trying to find clues that might explain this curious silence. There had been a guy that she had been seeing. She never mentioned his name, and she objected strenuously when Ed had tried to apply the initials “BF” to him; insisting, “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend that I hang out with sometimes.” Still, it was pretty clear that the guy thought he was Lena’s boyfriend, even if Lena didn’t think so. Lately, he seemed to be getting a little possessive. Lena didn’t think it was serious, but combined with the out-of-character lack of E-mail; it had Edmond worried. He looked up the number for the Portland Oregon police department. He decided to call them, even though he wasn’t sure what he could tell them. He wasn’t even sure if she lived in Portland itself, or one of its many suburbs. Still, he had to try. “Portland City Police Department.”
“Yes, my name is Edmond Randolph, and I’d like to report a missing person.”
“What is the missing person’s name?”
“Lena.”
There was a pause on the other end. “Does Lena have a last name, sir?”
“I don’t know her last name.”
This time, there was a long pause before the voice on the other end resumed. “How long has Lena been missing, sir?”
“A few hours.”
“Do you have Lena’s address?” “No.” Edmond was beginning to feel foolish, but he didn't know what else to do.
“How exactly do you know Lena, sir?”
“We met over the Internet. I’m a blogger in Chicago, and she reads my blog, and has been E-mailing me daily for almost a year, but yesterday, she didn’t send any E-mail.” Edmond knew that he had no real information, but he was certain something had happened, and that the police should get involved. He briefly considered describing his dream, but he decided that wouldn’t really help his case.
“Mr. Randolph, is Lena a legal adult?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Our policy concerning adults is that we don’t consider them missing for at least forty-eight hours. Mr. Randolph, she may have just gone away fro the week-end, and forgotten to let you know. Maybe she has lost her Internet connection. I wouldn’t worry about her, Mr. Randolph. Most of the time, these people show back up in a day or two.”
As he hung up the phone, Ed felt very frustrated. It was clear that whoever he had spoken to thought he was a nutcase. They were polite about it, but they weren’t going to do anything for Lena. He couldn’t really blame them. He was no less concerned for Lena’s safety, though. It occurred to him that there might be a way to trace her E-mails. He googled the phrase, “E-mail tracker” and got several hits. Going down the list, he discovered that some of these trackers were free, while others were pay by the use. He decided to try one of the free ones first, and if it didn’t work, then he would cough up some money to see what he could find out. The first E-mail tracker he tried identified an IP address for her latest E-mail, and then indicated that the address was registered to the Portland Public Library. The next-latest E-mail was also sent from the library. If she didn’t E-mail him from her home computer, then he didn’t know if he could ever find her. The third most recent E-mail was sent from a company called Total Web Design. That must be where she worked. A quick internet search turned up a phone number for Total Web Design. A quick phone call resulted in a recorded voice saying that office hours are from 9:00 AM to 5:00 PM Monday through Friday. Great. That would be 11:00 AM Chicago time, two days from now. He went back to the E-mail she had sent on Sunday. Surely that one wasn’t sent from the library or from work… Bingo. The IP address translated to an apartment building on NW 143rd Avenue. Now we’re getting somewhere. He started cruising Anywho dot com for Lena’s on NW 143rd Avenue. Unfortunately, Anywho expects you to know at least a partial last name. He checked for Lena A. nothing. Lena B. nothing. He kept trying different last initials, in hopes that something would pop up. When he got to Lena G, there was a hit for a Lena Gibson, but she was listed as being 79, and she was in the wrong block of NW 143rd Avenue, anyway. At Lena S, though, there was a Lena Sandoval in the right block. Just to be sure, he continued on through the alphabet, but he got no more hits. So, unless Lena was an Internet ‘handle,’ or her phone was registered by her first initial, he now knew her last name, and what apartment complex she lived in. He wasn’t sure what good any of that information did, though.

Chapter 1 rewrite

The only light in the room was the glow of the computer monitor. Edmond liked it that way, though. The light only reminded him of everything that he had lost. Heavy drapes kept the light from the setting sun from disturbing him. There was enough light from the monitor to see the keyboard, and that was all he needed. Somewhere in the back of his head was the realization that this was bad for his eyes, but it seemed oddly fitting that, after all that had happened, he should lose his eyesight, too. Checking the RSS feed from CNN, he got the last bit of information that he needed for his political blog, “The Wounded Statesman.” That would allow him to finish that up. He still needed one more joke to round out “The Gag Reflex.” That blog title was a bad pun, but it seemed to draw in a lot of people, and it had a certain appropriateness, since a lot of the jokes in that blog were bad puns. “Maybe there’s joke in my inbox,” he thought. One of his readers, a young woman named Lena, had promised to E-mail him a joke today. Opening his E-mail account, he scanned the subject lines. As usual, there was a lot of spam. That’s an occupational hazard, when one posts one’s E-mail address on one’s blogs. Still, he depended on the income from the blogs, which meant that he had to respond to the concerns of his readers, which, in turn, meant that his E-mail address had to be posted on his blogs.
Checking the delete box next to each of the spam messages, he got rid of all the nonsense. Picking through the remaining subject lines, he didn’t see anything that looked like there would be a joke in it. He started working his way through the E-mail messages, hoping against hope that he had misread one or more of the subject lines. He got through all of his new E-mail without finding any jokes, at least, not any that he would be willing to publish.“That’s odd,” he thought. There was nothing at all there from Lena. Lena sent something every day; but today in particular she had promised to send him something, and it wasn't there. A lot of days what he got from her was just one of those religious things that gets sent around—“Remember that God loves you!” (as if God loved Edmond) but she always included some personal message with it. She might tell him a little bit about her day, and ask him how his day had been going, but always something. There were a lot of readers that just forwarded on to him any mildly amusing or religious tripe chain E-mail that they had received, but Lena always made it personal. That’s why she was his favorite cyber-friend. He really didn’t know a lot about Lena; he wasn’t even sure that was her real name. She had told him that she had immigrated to the US from the Republic of the Philippines just a few years ago, and she had E-mailed him a picture, so he knew that she was very pretty. Part of him wished that he could meet her in person, but he knew that he could never allow that to happen. She would probably have nightmares for the rest of her life. Maybe he just missed it. He clicked the ‘search E-mail’ button, and typed in ‘Lena,’ but the only messages that popped up were the ones he had already read. There was one from yesterday, and the one from Wednesday; one each day, going back almost a year. 347 messages, but not one from today.

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. Checking the time on the computer monitor, he realized that it was about time for Peapod to show up with his weekly grocery delivery. Backing the motorized wheelchair away from the keyboard, he turned and headed for the door. There was a realization that he had allowed his apartment to become way too cluttered, it was hard for him to maneuver through the mess. Still, the magazines and papers were important to him, even if most of them he hadn’t bothered to look at in months. Besides, getting someone to take the trash out for him was a real chore. Getting the kid down the hall to do it once a week got rid of the stuff that really needed to go out, but he didn’t think he could get that kid to make three or four trips a week, and even that would take several weeks to get rid of all the clutter.
Once again, it hit him that there was a tremendous irony of having a security peephole in the apartment door. He would have to be able to stand to see through it, and he hadn’t been able to stand in years. He reached up and put the chain across, and then unlocked the door and opened it to the length of the chain. “Peapod,” the delivery person called out. He closed the door, took the chain off, and then swung the door wide. The delivery person came in, well used to the routine by now, took the groceries into the kitchen. He flipped the light on, and put everything away, never really looking at Edmond. Edmond blinked rapidly several times, having been working in the dark for a while. He fished in his pocket for a tip, because putting the groceries away wasn’t really part of the job. He didn’t blame the Peapod guy for not wanting to look at him; he didn’t like looking at himself, that’s why the lights had been off. The light shone across the clutter, and showed the wheelchair tracks in the carpet. It was clear that Edmond had lived alone here for quite some time. The light also shone in Edmond’s face, at least, what you could see of it, behind the thick beard. Edmond couldn’t see the mirror over the sink in the bathroom, either, but it was just as well, the facial hair covered much of the scarring.
He handed the Peapod guy his tip on his way out. Locking the door, and turning the light off, he returned to his computer. His mind went back to wondering why there was no message from Lena yet today. Granted, there was a two-hour time difference between Chicago and Portland, but she had always sent him something before this time of day. Maybe she got held up. He tried to push his concern to the back of his mind, but he couldn’t shake the thought that she was in trouble, and he was the only one who knew about it. It was hard to come up with a joke for his gag blog when all he could think about was a pretty little Filipina that he had never met.