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CHAPTER 11

Amy tries to free her mind from the hazy fog of an unnatural sleep. It feels like attempting to swim out of deep, murky water, and she can't quite breach the surface. She wants to open her eyes, but her eyelids seem heavy, unresponsive to her mind's demands. After some unknown length of time, she can feel more of her thoughts start to take shape, and the foremost one is of pain. Her head pounds with every beat of her heart, and it makes her wish she could fall back into the sweet oblivion of dreamless sleep.

In the distance, she can hear the occasional sound of a passing car as well as the more constant sound of chirping birds. She can also make out the soft, scuffling sound of footsteps on a wooden floor. If she could only make her eyelids obey, then maybe she could figure out where she is and what has happened. It stands to reason that she has been injured, but Amy's addled brain can't imagine what could have caused it.

If she is hurt, it seems probable that the person she can hear moving around is Sheldon. He would be here to fulfill his obligations as written into the Relationship Agreement. The thought is comforting, but hearing his voice would be even better. She tries to make her lips form the sounds that make up his name, but her dry tongue barely moves, leaving her unable to manage anything other than a soft groan.

The sound of the footsteps becomes louder, so perhaps her weak effort was enough to summon him. She feels a warm palm rest on the back of her head to gently tip her forward. He drips some water into her mouth, and the feeling of cool moisture is welcome on her parched tongue.

As she attempts to swallow, the dryness of her throat causes her to cough reflexively. Pain sears through her head, and Amy is grateful to feel herself slipping away once again.

—

Bernadette flops her weary body onto one of the stiff wooden chairs in the waiting area of the Palmdale sheriff's station. Howard, Raj, and Emily take seats near her, looking relieved to be off their feet as well.

It has been a very long weekend. After receiving the news about Amy on Thursday, all four of them had taken Friday off and spent the next three days aiding in the search effort. Hiking sections of the trail, distributing fliers, and talking to as many local residents and hikers as possible has left them all exhausted.

Unfortunately, despite all their efforts, the search has turned up nothing. The process is frustrating, and Bernadette has been having a difficult time trying not to snap at anyone and everyone.

They are too polite to bring it up, but she is certain that everyone here is aware of the odds. Every day that goes by without finding Amy increases the probability that things will not end well. Sheldon must know this too. It may be her imagination, but she could swear that his youthful face looks older with each passing day. The stress is obviously wearing on him a great deal.

Howard rubs his eyes. "God, what a nightmare. I can't believe this is all happening. Sheldon's the most aggravating person I know, but I would never wish anything like this on him."

"I'm happy to do anything that might help, but I'm not sure that I accomplished anything today other than giving myself epic blisters," Raj complains, gesturing to his feet. "I've never walked that much in a single day."

"I bet it was still better than the job you had on Friday," Emily says with a small smile, probably trying to lighten the mood.

Raj's eyes widen. On Friday, he was assigned the unfortunate task of dealing with Mrs. Fowler. Penny had given Amy's mother the news about her missing daughter on Thursday, and when she showed up at the station first thing the next morning, she was displeased by the lack of progress. They needed someone to help keep her occupied, and it was Raj who drew the short straw.

"I can't believe how long it took for me to convince her that Sheldon really exists, and that he had, in fact, been Amy's boyfriend," he says. "She seemed to think that Amy was making up stories about him so that her family would stop nagging her about her dating life."

"There's nothing wrong with a mother being protective," Bernadette responds. "And if you had a daughter that was dating Sheldon, you might opt for willful ignorance as well."

Raj purses his lips and tilts his head. "I suppose so. Still, she is a very… unusual woman."

"I wonder how Sheldon managed to avoid interacting with the parent of his girlfriend for so long," Howard says. The tone of his voice indicates that he admires the feat.

Bernadette gives him a look of warning. This is not the time for wisecracks about in-laws.

The sound of the front door opening captures her attention, and she catches sight of Sheldon and Deputy DiSalvo entering the building. Those two have reached some kind of truce now that the police have officially cleared Sheldon of any wrongdoing. It still shocks Bernadette that anyone could have ever suspected someone like him violence in the first place, but than again, he can be a bit off-putting, and she can see how someone might find him baffling to the point of suspicion.

At least they are all on the same page now. It's just too bad that everyone's cooperative efforts have continued to be in vain.

Sheldon walks straight towards them, and the brief flash of hopefulness on his face fades as soon as Bernadette shakes her head no to his unspoken question. Without saying anything, he seats himself into an empty chair next to Raj. It's a weird thing to notice, but she is surprised to see him sitting down in a public seat like that. There's no special pants, no seat cover, and no furious application of hand sanitizer. He has his elbow braced on the armrest, and he even has his chin resting on his unwashed hand. Slouched over and sweaty from a day of fruitless searching, she has never seen him look so dejected.

He glances over to Raj with a wary expression. "Is Amy's mother here today?"

"No. We convinced her that the best thing she could do to help was to contact members of her family in case they have heard from Amy. It's a long shot, of course, but it has kept her busy for the time being."

At least they were able to give Sheldon that much good news. His brief confrontation with Amy's mother on Friday afternoon had not gone well. Bernadette can't blame him for brushing the woman aside. There are far bigger issues to focus on, and it's surely for the best that he avoided getting into too big of an argument with Amy's mother under the current circumstances.

After a moment of silence, she can see that Sheldon has closed his eyes, and she wonders if it is due to sleepiness or stress. Raj nudges his elbow and breaks the silence, "Dude, you don't look so good. Penny and Leonard said that you haven't been eating or sleeping much. Maybe you should take it easy. You're starting to look like a zombie."

"Yeah, it's like The Walking Dead around here," her husband adds. A joke involving walking and being dead is so tasteless right now that Bernadette is too stunned to speak.

She turns to give him a wide-eyed, threatening look, and he wilts back into his seat. The urge to start hollering at him is nearly uncontrollable. She resists only because she can see the regretful expression that has already taken over his face.

Thankfully, Sheldon is his normal, clueless self. Bernadette sees no change in him in response to Howard's comment. His lack of reaction strikes her as odd, and she starts to wonder if perhaps it isn't due to cluelessness after all. Maybe he is simply choosing to ignore Howard's insensitivity. Or maybe he is too occupied with more important thoughts to care.

—

The next time Amy awakens, her eyes snap open right away. Bright sunshine floods her retinas, causing her to gasp and close her eyes just as quickly as she opened them. The throbbing pain in her head is unrelenting, and it is accompanied by a burning ache in both her right wrist and her left ankle.

She tries to think back. What happened to her? Where the hell is she?

The first thing that comes to mind is the recent end of her relationship with Sheldon. That alone is enough to make her long to go back to sleep, to not have to face her new reality again. The recollection of their breakup makes the pain in her head worse, so she forces herself to think of something other than losing him. What else happened?

She remembers taking time off of work and being out on a hike exploring the Pacific Crest Trail. The desire to hide from her problems had been immature, but also impossible to resist. There was fresh air, beautiful vistas, and even a cute little rabbit.

Oh. That's right. Amy recalls her terrifying slide and the agonizing climb that followed. But how did she get here? And where is here? Is she in a hospital?

She hears the distinctive sound of someone closing window blinds, so she risks squinting her eyes open again. No longer blinded by the light, it becomes clear that she is not in a hospital. It looks like a sparsely furnished bedroom. Aside from the bed she lays on, there is only a small end table and a seventies era upholstered recliner.

Her eyes track across the room, and a man that she doesn't recognize is standing near the window. He looks to be about Sheldon's height, though he seems a bit heavier. The man sports shaggy, dark blond hair and a matching unkempt beard. She thinks he's a bit older than her, but she's not sure.

"Sorry about all that light. I'm guessing you've got a pretty serious headache still, eh?"

Instinctively, Amy tries to sit up so that she can meet this stranger in a less vulnerable position. To her horror, she finds that she can't. And it isn't her body that's refusing to act, not this time. Instead, she finds that her movements are being held in check by a soft nylon rope that is tied loosely around her wrists and ankles, attached somewhere to the bed frame below. The restraints allow a considerable amount of movement, but it's not enough to allow her to get up.

Her heart was already beating rapidly, and it only pounds harder as panic rushes through her. She wants to scream for help, but when she opens her mouth to do so, she second-guesses the inclination and stays quiet instead. Maybe it's best to figure out what's going on before she risks making this unknown man angry. Her heart continues to race despite her attempts to stifle her fears, and she finds herself hoping that this might all be some kind of terrible dream.

The man starts walking towards her, and with every step he takes, Amy feels more and more afraid. Unable to calm herself down, she can't fight the urge to start pulling against the cords that hold her down.

"Oh shit! Not this again. Look, hon, we've been over this a couple times already. Did you forget again?"

Her breathing is starting to feel out of control, and she prays that she won't start hyperventilating. The man sighs and picks up a water bottle from off the bedside table. When he turns and holds it up near her mouth, she freezes.

"It's just water. You should drink. Gotta stay hydrated."

It's not like she's in much of a position to decline, but truth be told, she really does want a drink of water more than almost anything right now. Desperate to quench her thirst, Amy leans up and takes a long, greedy drink from the plastic straw.

When she finishes, he sets it back on the table, and then turns to her with an inscrutable look on his face. He scratches at his beard as if trying to puzzle out what to say. Amy decides to speak first, impatient to ask the question that is foremost on her mind.

"Why am I tied down?" Her voice sounds raspy and shaky, but she's proud of herself for managing to choke out the words in her current state.

He raises his eyebrows and points at his ribcage. "Because it hurts when you punch and kick."

That answer is unhelpful. If anything, it only worries her more. What did he do that made her try to fight him off?

She stares at him, too nervous to voice another question and too afraid of what the answers might be. Eventually, he continues, "You've been a little out of it at times. The drugs seem to make you get a bit weird. I think I fucked up your dose, you know? You aren't as heavy as I thought. I mean, I hauled your ass for at least a mile or so to get you here, so that probably skewed my estimate."

Every word he says only makes things sound worse. She has no idea what drugs he is talking about.

"Anyway, you kept trying to get up. I told you that you wouldn't be able to walk with that ankle, and quite frankly, you would've fallen if you'd tried. I didn't think your head should take another beating, so here we are."

He makes it sound so calm and reasonable, but the reality remains. She is tied down in some unknown location at the hands of a weirdo when she ought to be in a hospital. It's impossible to know the right thing to do. After a few seconds of contemplation, she gathers her courage and decides to get back to the most pressing issue.

"If I don't try to stand up, will you untie me?" The question is a test of sorts. His response should tell her a lot.

The man squints at her with skepticism and brings his face uncomfortably close to her own, close enough that she can smell the scent of cigarettes on his breath and see the variation of color in his brown eyes. He fixes his assessing gaze into her eyes. His proximity makes Amy try to pull back, but lying down leaves nowhere for her head to go, so she turns it to the side instead. In her peripheral vision, she can see him start to smile.

"Sure. You seem a lot better now. Your pupils are the same size and are reacting appropriately to the light in the room. Try not to do anything stupid, though, okay? You'd surely come to regret it."

His voice sounds kind and gentle, as if he finds something humorous about all of this. It isn't funny to Amy, though, and the fact that his words compose a threat is not lost on her.

He begins untying the first knot, and continues to speak while he works. "I've sutured the cut on your head and wrapped your ankle and wrist to help with any swelling. Your head is pretty bad, but your limbs are just sprained. Try to chill the fuck out this time, okay? You're only gonna set back your healing if you get pissed at me again."

"Okay," she agrees, aware that there is no other answer to give, really. It's got to be a good sign that he is willing to remove the restraints, but she wonders yet again what could have happened to make her strike out at him in the past.

Amy doesn't know what to think of the man's strange mix of profanity and medical assistance. For now, she tries to focus on the simple relief of having her arms and legs free.

When he's finished, he sits back in the ugly upholstered chair and waves a finger at her. "You can probably sit up if you use your good arm and leg to support your movements. I'd offer to give you a hand, but I've learned that it's unwise to help you too much when you're fully awake."

Her body aches as she gingerly slides herself up, but it feels good to stretch her stiff muscles. It also feels a lot less pathetic to be sitting up to face this stranger. Her head swims with dizziness, pain, and confusion. There are so many things that she needs to know, so many questions to ask.

It's been made clear that he found her and got her off the trail, and that he has even gone to the trouble of patching up her injuries. Her wrist and her ankle are both neatly wrapped up with a few compression elastic bandages. She'll need a mirror to see how he did at stitching up her head, but she supposes the fact that she's no longer bleeding is good enough for the time being.

Now that she's upright, she takes notice of the clothes she is wearing, a plain white t-shirt and an oversized pair of shorts, neither of which look familiar. Try as she might, Amy cannot remember changing her outfit.

"Whose clothes are these?" she asks.

"Mine."

That curt response doesn't tell her anything useful. Amy swallows hard, waiting for further information.

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows. "You're welcome," he adds, sarcasm abundant in his tone.

"I don't remember putting them on."

He shrugs. "Like I said, you were rather out of it. It really pissed you off when I suggested we clean you up, but you were pretty fucking gross. I had to wait until you passed out to finally get it done."

The idea of this strange man changing her clothes while she lay here asleep is immensely unsettling. She tugs the blanket up higher into her lap, trying not to think of what else it could mean.

"Where am I? Why didn't you take me to a hospital?"

"I don't like hospitals. I used to work in one, so it's a well-informed kind of hate. There's endless bureaucracy and too much information gathering. I blame Obama."

Amy's not sure if he's being serious.

"I prefer to stay off the grid, you see. The government doesn't exactly approve of my lifestyle, and I don't approve of those bastards either, so it's mutual. Anyway, I figured you being all beat up out there, carrying no supplies… Well, I didn't know what your story was. It made it difficult to know what to do with you."

"It was just a freak accident. My footing gave way, and I fell down a very steep incline. I had to drop my pack to climb up."

He looks at her with a skeptical expression. "Oh. Well, to me it looked like somebody had dumped you out there to die. I figured maybe you had a little domestic dispute. Or maybe a bit of a drug problem."

"That's not what happened."

"Back when I was a doctor, I used to get shit like that in the ER all the time. Women would show up beat to hell and then go right back to the same assholes that did it to them. And we used to get the same drug users coming in over and over, unable to ever do much to help them. Whether you were a victim or an addict, taking you to a hospital might've only made things worse. I figured you're better off here with me."

Amy swallows passed the nervous lump in her throat. She tries to keep her voice steady and strong as she repeats herself. "That's not what happened." It comes out sounding much weaker than she intended.

Turning the lever to pop up the footrest, the man reclines back in his seat, appearing unconvinced by her assurances. "Face it, you're lucky that it was me who found you. It could've been some crazy person."

He gives her a wide, toothy grin and picks up a second water bottle from off the floor near his seat. Gesturing at her with the bottle as if he's making a toast, he adds, "As I see it, it's goddamn serendipity."

—