Disclaimer etc see Chapter 1:
A/N: I can't stress this enough: thanks very much for all the amazing feedback on this story.
Somewhere south of Raleigh, North Carolina,
December 12, 7 p.m.
He found himself in that odd state when his body craved rest and was only held up by his racing mind. The voices from the meeting wouldn't leave his mind. They resounded in his mind a thousand times, and each time he felt the sting of their accusations. He had been on the road for over two days now. The encounter with Ann already seemed like a distant dream. More than once he had wondered whether he was going crazy. The longer his frantic drive went on, the less he could imagine what he would do once he stopped. It was as if the more pressure reality put on him, the more his grasp on it loosened. He wondered whether that was what it felt like to lose one's mind. But far more gravely than the harsh blame of the voices was the guilt that hadn't left him ever since he had realized the scope of his mistakes and the lives it had cost. For the first time in years he didn't know what to do anymore; he didn't know how to live with it. He couldn't live with the knowledge of having lost his family through his own fault.
He could live with having taken lives in self defense as part of his job, and he could live with cases lost due to his actions, but he couldn't live with having caused the loss of lives of people who trusted him with their lives.
He drove through the city, making random turns. Random facades were flying by, neon lights were casting brief rays of light over him, but he didn't see them. He just drove on, trying to escape the guilt that would continue to follow him every moment of his life.
The neon sign proclaiming cheap accommodation caught his eye. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so he pulled over.
Somewhere, sometime
It was the most beautiful dream. It was warm and soft. She wanted to stay there, not leave this place. She had never felt anything so good. She pulled the soft blanket closer, holding onto it, not wanting to let go of the dream. But a voice insisted on intruding--a female voice. She wouldn't leave her alone. Unnerved, she opened her eyes, finding a ceiling above her. It wasn't the concrete ceiling of her cellar prison. She turned her head, noting that the ground was still soft. That wasn't a dream.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yes," she managed, now slightly confused, trying to get the mental timeline in order. They got away, she was running through the forest, it was cold, the roadside. Images started flashing in her mind.
"Relax, you're safe. You're in St. Agnes Hospital in Annapolis. You're home now. Can you tell me your name?"
She looked around. She really was in hospital; she was safe.
"Do you remember your name?" The woman repeated the question, not leaving her time to process.
"Samantha." The name came spontaneously, like a reflex reaction.
"Okay, Samantha. Do you recall your last name?"
Last name? This was ridiculous; she knew it. Of course she knew her name. It was right there, but she couldn't grasp it.
"I don't know," she conceded.
"It'll come back to you."
"How are you feeling?"
"Okay, sore, my head hurts."
"Do you need something for the pain?"
"No, thanks. I'll be fine."
"That is to be expected. But you're going to be fine. You broke your arm and cracked two ribs.
"My head."
"The after-effects of a severe concussion. Samantha, I need to ask you a question: did you take anything--any drugs, pills?"
She was confused. Did she think that she was taking drugs?
"No, but I can't, I'm not sure, I remember. We just wanted…"
"Fair enough."
"The police want to talk to you. Do you think you'll be up to it?"
"Yes." She wasn't, but she needed answers badly. Too many pieces were missing, too much time missing. She didn't know exactly why, but talking to the police was good. That much she knew for certain.
"They'll be with you in a minute." The nurse left her alone.
She made it, she was alive. They had tried to kill her, but in the end she had won.
It seemed like hardly any time had passed when a two middle-aged men entered the room and stepped up to her bed.
"Detective Tucker and Detective Wong. We're with the Annapolis police department." The man showed her his badge. She couldn't read it; it was all starting to blur in front of her eyes.
"Can you tell us your name?" Hadn't someone asked her the same question just now. Something was wrong here. Didn't anyone pay attention to what they were doing?
"Samantha," she said, now sure that this was, in fact, her name.
"Samantha, do you know anything else--the names of relatives, friends, or maybe a phone number or an address?"
She drew blank on that one. Didn't anyone know that her head was hurting?
Were you together with anyone last night?
Together. No. Not like that. Danny. She had been with Danny. It had been cold, they had been somewhere outside. The image of a night sky above her entered her mind. Last night, a week ago? She couldn't tell. It all seemed at the same time.
"Do you know what happened to you? What were you taking?"
"I wasn't talking anything." That much she knew for certain. But something was wrong with her head. Accident? Car wreck maybe?
This was all wrong. She wanted to tell them, but couldn't. The words wouldn't come to her. She struggled, but fatigue overtook her quickly.
Olan Inn, somewhere south of Raleigh
December 13, 7.45 p.m.
The room was cheap and worn, but seemed reasonably clean. He sat down on the bed and took off his jacket. He wouldn't be wearing a suit in a while--no need anymore. As much as his body craved sleep, the prospect was still impossible. He got up again and started pacing up and down, trying to find some outlet from his restlessness. He switched on the TV, but never sat down to watch. He didn't know how long it had been on and how often he had paced that length of the room when suddenly the newscast on TV caught his attention. A face--her face. The footage was blurry, but it was Samantha. He raced over and turned up the volume:
…went missing almost two weeks ago while investigating a double homicide with a possible drug connection…
The expression on her face--fear, pain. For a split second she looked straight at the camera. Lost, hurt and confused. The image etched itself into his memory. Pain and fear on her features. It tugged at his heart and made him ache. He has hurt her--not physically, but the hurt look on her face is his fault.
The FBI has not yet released an official statement. BTV will keep you informed. Now to the weather forecast for the coming week…
She was alive. When he had given up, stopped hoping and tried to accept it, she was still alive. He felt like he'd betrayed her by giving up on her, by not doing more to find her. But even without him, she'd made it. She was alive. The thought replaced the dark echo of voices in his head. Although the relief couldn't assuage his guilt, the load had suddenly become more bearable. Another thought shot through him. What about Danny? The report didn't say anything about him being found as well. But he'd missed most of the report. He started switching channels compulsively, trying to find a news broadcast, but nothing. No more reports on the rescue.
St. Agnes Hospital, Annapolis
December 13, 8 a.m.
Her headache woke her up again. She was in a different room, this one with a window. It was overcast, but it was definitely day outside. For the first time she noticed that her left arm was in a cast. The doctor--what-was-his name?--had mentioned that she had broken it. It was all fuzzy. She recalled snippets, but no coherent movie would form in her mind. She turned her attention back to her physical state.
The police had been there, something about drugs. The memory was hazy; no details would come to her. She was just about to press the call button when there was a knock at the door, followed by the entrance of a woman around Samantha's age. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, but Samantha could not place her.
"Good morning, Samantha. How are you feeling?"
"Tired." Samantha tried to feel something else, but nothing. She wasn't in any pain, but she was probably on pain medication.
"That's good. Any pain?"
"No. What happened?" She felt stupid for asking, but she really didn't know. It was as if there was a chunk of her memory that was missing. She had vague memories, but not nearly enough to piece together a coherent story.
"First of all, you got very lucky. You suffered a broken arm and twisted a ligament of your right ankle. Other than that, minor cuts and abrasions." The doctor seemed to want to add something but stopped. Samantha knew that this could not be it. She recalled not having been able to stay awake, but there had to be something else that was wrong.
The doctor didn't look at her when she continued.
"The police brought you in, thinking that you had taken an overdose of drugs. Considering your appearance at the time, they thought you were probably a drifter. The fact that you didn't have any identification on you seemed to confirm that, as did the blood tests, which revealed high dosages of several illegal drugs--most GHB, but also Ketamine and Rohypnol as well as various sedatives." Samantha was about to interrupt her, trying to tell her that she hadn't taken any drugs, when the doctor continued. "But yesterday evening we were contacted by the FBI, informing us that you had been subjected to these drugs involuntarily. They are the reason why you might feel confused at the moment and have trouble remembering. All these drugs affect the memory and, in large enough dosages, lead to unconsciousness. There is no way to tell exactly how long and to what amounts you were exposed because GHB is only effective in the body for 72 hours. Based on the amounts we did find, you were probably severely sedated most of the time."
Samantha didn't reply; there was no right answer to this. Although she now had an official explanation for her lack of memories, the calm of that was by far outweighed by the questions that it raised. What had happened to her during that time? What had been done to her? The questions frightened her almost as much as the answer to them. The doctor could sense her questions. She pulled up a chair and sat down near Samantha's bedside.
"We examined you and didn't find any sign that you were sexually assaulted."
Samantha was relieved beyond words.
"What I can tell you is that you were probably restrained. You were found severely dehydrated and hypothermic. You were unconscious for nearly twenty-four hours. We're still running some more blood tests. Once those are complete, I'll be able to tell you more. Also, the police will want to talk to you again. But I've told them that you're in no shape to answer their questions at the moment. Now, try to get some rest. If you need anything, simply use the call button to alert the nurse."
There was one more question on her mind that demanded an immediate answer.
"What is today's date?"
"December 13."
"Thank you." Samantha suddenly felt extremely tired. The conversation had both been physically and mentally taxing.
