EPILOG

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

Chapter 27

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

Chapter 26

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

Chapter 25

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

Chapter 24

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

Chapter 23

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

Chapter 22

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