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.

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.