Chapter 12

The three men sat in the emergency room, waiting for Neal to get the all clear from the medical staff; not that they had anywhere to go - in particular. They were eagerly waiting for word from Sara's captors regarding her whereabouts and time was running out. Neal glanced at his watch once again, noting it was past ten o'clock.

'Why can't we just go?' he mumbled impatiently.

'Where to exactly?' Peter countered, injecting a dose of reality into the situation.

Neal gave him a look of pure annoyance and turned his attention back to Clinton Jones who was busy checking his phone.

'Anything?' Neal asked.

'The federal agents are on the plane, waiting for the passengers to board. Apparently, our guys checked in ten minutes ago' Jones answered.

Neal stood and began to pace. 'They're not going to tell us where she is, are they?' he asked rhetorically as he looked from Peter to Jones.

'We don't know that for sure' Peter answered, standing to fetch his best friend and try to get him to sit down again – to no avail.

The doctor who had examined Neal reappeared and stood before the two men, bringing a flashlight to his patient's eyes and peering in.

'How are you feeling now?' he asked.

'Good' Neal answered, curtly. 'Can I go now?'

The doctor gave him a smirk. 'Dizziness?'

'No' Neal lied; he was feeling better but he still felt like he might keel over at any time.

'What about drowsiness?'

'I'm fine!' Neal said a little too loudly.

'Alright' the doctor said, exasperated by his patient. 'You can go. But no driving for the next few hours and come back if the symptoms persist.'

Neal nodded, more than anxious to get out of there although where he was headed, he hadn't a clue. His musings were interrupted by Jones who spoke up.

'The passengers are boarding the plane' he announced as Neal glanced anxiously at Peter.

Peter took Neal's phone out of his pocket and handed it back to its rightful owner, Neal glancing down at it by reflex.

No new messages.

WCWCWC

Sara drifted in and out of consciousness. There was no longer any noise in the room where she sat, still tied to the chair. Were they finally gone? Maybe if she could just focus for a minute she could try to call for help…

Her stomach lurched and she fought back the bile; she would suffocate if she threw up and yet, her body was failing her miserably. The gag they'd shoved deep in her mouth pulled insistently at her jaw, making it ache and she felt tears streaming down her face – angry, frustrated tears. Her body swayed uncontrollably as she tried to move on the chair. Maybe if she tipped it over and tried to make some noise, she could attract some attention.

It was her last coherent thought before she blacked out again.

WCWCWC

Neal watched from the passenger's seat of the car as Jones paced nearby, talking on the phone. He and Peter were ready to take off the minute they got word – something they weren't even sure would ever come.

Jones returned to where the two friends sat and leaned into the open car window to give the latest report.

'Apparently, the plane is scheduled to take off in less than five minutes. The Homeland Security agents are sitting right behind our two perps, waiting for us to let them know Sara's safe before they move in' he explained.

All three men were familiar enough with this type of situation to know that if the plane took off without a word from the kidnappers, the chances were slim that they would be getting in touch with Neal at all. They also knew that if the Feds stepped in and made the arrest, the two men would never divulge Sara's location. They had a small window of time and Neal stared, unblinking, at his phone, praying for some word as to where his wife had been secreted away.

Finding her was only the beginning; he had no idea what state she'd be in when – and if – they finally located her. Had the kidnappers left her alive? If so, how badly hurt would she be? The words of the North Korean man kept playing over and over in his mind – had Sara been sexually assaulted, raped? Neal shuddered at the thought and glanced over at Peter who seemed to surmise what was on his mind.

'We'll deal with whatever happens...' he said in answer to Neal's worried look.

WCWCWC

The two men sat side by side on the plane, listening as the engines finally started up. Huyn looked over to his beefy friend, eyes questioning. He was still nursing his left hand, which Sara had successfully bitten down on before they'd gotten the brilliant idea to gag her. The larger man reached for his phone, preparing to send a text as the plane began to taxi off the runway.

'We should just let her rot' Huyn whispered.

'We're not being paid by the body bag' the larger man murmured back.

They had what they'd come for and in a few hours, they'd be landing safely back home, away from the long arm of the U.S. law. What could possibly go wrong?

WCWCWC

Neal's phone came to life as all three men stared down at it expectantly. Unknown number, Neal noted as his breath hitched and he clicked on the text message.

'Rossmore Motel, room 12' it read as Peter pulled out his phone to locate the address.

'Tell them to hold off until we have her!' Neal called out to Jones as the agent ran towards his vehicle. 'And call an ambulance!'

Peter handed Neal his phone as he began to back the car out of the emergency room parking lot. The motel in question was a mere six blocks from the warehouse Neal had just visited and Peter hit the street with a loud screech while Neal rode shotgun, calling out directions.

They arrived in less than fifteen minutes, Peter gunning it and hoping he wouldn't be stopped along the way for speeding – which he was definitely doing. The part of town the motel was located in was practically deserted and the sign for the motel was partially lit in a dingy, faded red, inviting everyone to come on in and visit the 'osmre otel'. The place was dark and dilapidated and a few youngsters, who were definitely up to no good, reluctantly stepped aside as Peter sped into the parking lot, eyes searching for room 12 – although the poor lighting made it almost impossible to see.

Neal's car door was open before Peter even brought the car to a halt and the older man watched as his best friend ran off and began a frantic search for the room where he desperately hoped to find Sara safe and sound.

'Neal! Wait!' Peter called out as he brought the car to a full stop.

He didn't have a clue what Neal would find when he got to the designated room – if anything. This could all be a sick joke; the room could be empty or worse yet, Neal might be about to walk in on his wife, unconscious and beaten – or worse.

Peter followed Neal as he frantically went from room to room, trying to make out the numbers on the doors – most of which were missing. Peter changed direction, heading the opposite way in the hopes of covering more territory.

'This is room 10' he called out as Neal did an about face to follow Peter's lead.

They finally arrived in front of a door with a lonely looking '2' hanging crookedly on a rusty nail. Without hesitation, Neal gave the door a good sturdy kick, feeling it start to give under the weight of his foot. He felt Peter's hand on his arm and took a step back as the two of them ploughed together into the old, weathered door, watching as it finally gave way. Despite the almost total darkness in the room, they could see a form lying on the floor, misshapen somehow, and Neal moved decisively towards it while Peter felt around for the light switch. Bright fluorescent light flooded the room, revealing Sara's body lying on her side, still tethered to the chair, her hands and feet restrained.

'Sara!' Neal called out, breathlessly.

She lay there, hair covering her face, body contorted as it lay motionless, still attached to the hard, unyielding chair.

Neal was instantly on his knees by her side, trying to ascertain if his wife was breathing. The gag the kidnappers had shoved deep inside her mouth was much too large and had left Sara with her mouth wide open, partly blocking her nose and therefore, her airway. Neal made quick work of removing the rag and stared at her pale face as Sara took in one single lungful of air.

'She's alive!' he called out to Peter who stood nearby, hovering with his phone in his hand.

Her breathing seemed to stop momentarily and Neal pushed the hair back from Sara's face to take a better look, noticing bruises on both her cheeks as he reached out tentatively to touch her neck and check her pulse. His jostling of her body seemed to cause her breathing to resume and he heard a soft gasp of air as she began taking shallow, uneven breaths.

Without hesitation, Neal got to work freeing his wife from the shackles on her wrists and ankles. He could hear Peter in the background, no doubt talking to Jones and letting him know it was safe for the agents to proceed with the arrest. The next thing he knew, Peter was by his side, pocket knife in hand, helping Neal remove the ties attached to Sara's wrists and ankles. Her wrists were bloody, the zip ties having cut right through her delicate skin and Neal took a deep breath to steady himself, suddenly feeling dizzy at the sight. Sara's breathing continued, shallow, the only sign that she was still alive. Her leg fell listlessly to the floor as her ankle was freed from the confines of the zip tie and Neal glanced up at Peter, unsure about moving her despite his longing to cradle her in his arms.

'Let's put her on the bed' Peter suggested as Neal's arms reached around under Sara's knees and shoulders to gently lift her off the ground.

She felt like a rag doll in his arms, totally limp and unresponsive and Neal gingerly lifted her off the ground and carried her over to the nearby bed – which looked like it had seen better days. The lumpy mattress sagged under her weight and Neal kneeled next to the bed to get a better look at her face, white as a sheet except for the red welts where she'd obviously been struck repeatedly.

'Sara… it's me. Open your eyes, sweetie, open your eyes' Neal urged as Peter lingered by the door to the room, waiting for the ambulance to arrive.

'She's not moving….' Neal said, his voice wavering.

'The ambulance will be here any minute' Peter answered as he continued to pace.

'Her breathing… it keeps stopping and starting again' Neal observed, unable to tear his eyes away from his wife's battered face.

'She's probably deeply sedated' Peter explained, trying to keep Neal from totally losing it.

'Oh, my God!' Neal cried. 'She's… she's… Sara… come on baby… look at me...please' he repeated softly, to no avail.

Neal took her small wrist in his hand, encrusted in dry blood, kissing it gently as he held back tears. He ran his hand through her hair, noticing her eyes still firmly closed as she let out a soft, barely audible moan at the gentle touch of his hand. He could see dried up tears on her cheeks, intermingled with blood from the lacerations on her face and he began to check her out more thoroughly, to see if she had any other visible signs of injury. Her ankles were swollen and red, no doubt from unsuccessful efforts to free herself and he noticed some bruising on her lower belly as he gently lifted up the bottom of her t-shirt, thinking of the pain she must have endured to cause such damage to her frail body. Sara was a slight woman – although she wore her clothing and her stiletto heels like armor, always looking so much more fearless than she actually was. Now, lying on the bed without the benefit of said armor, she looked so vulnerable – a stark reminder that she was a mere mortal and not the feisty, invincible Sara Ellis she liked to present to the world.

Neal was overcome with a multitude of emotions – relief at having found her, apprehension at the extent of her injuries, terror at the thought of what she might have endured. He let his head drop onto the bed next to her and let out a muffled sob.

TBC