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.
"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.
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