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CHAPTER 13

Deputy Jack DiSalvo takes a healthy swig from his cup of coffee. If he's going to have to deal with Dr. Cooper on a Monday, then he is going to need the boost.

"I didn't expect to see you this afternoon. Don't you have a job you should be at?"

"I do, but I'm a man with priorities. Until I find Amy, searching for her is my job. I can't worry about uncovering the mysteries of the universe until I uncover Amy."

Having read Sheldon's godawful attempt at writing a love letter, Jack finds his choice of wording telling. Full of scientific jargon, overly formal anatomical terminology, and obscure references to literature, it had taken a lot of internet searches before he was able to decipher the letter's true meaning. The man had used a hell of a lot of words to convey the simple fact that he did indeed wish to 'uncover Amy'.

He wishes that he had anything helpful to provide as an update, but their investigation has yielded no new leads. Ever since they verified Sheldon's alibi, Jack has found himself feeling bad for the guy. His distraught behavior coupled with the letter he wrote have made it clear just how much he loves that woman.

Jack has also read all of Amy's letters, and having done so, he almost feels like he knows her too. While there was a great deal of sadness conveyed in her written words, he could still sense the life and love that she possessed. Sheldon is correct that his love for her was not unrequited, and he has come to agree that Amy would not have taken her own life.

Still, the question of what happened to her remains. He would like nothing better than to find her alive and well, but in reality, he knows that the odds are growing ever worse. At least Dr. Cooper looks a bit better today than he did over the weekend. His hair is combed, his clothes are tidy, and he looks rested enough that Jack doesn't have to worry about him passing out from exhaustion.

He gestures for Sheldon to sit. "Well, I'm afraid that we still have no leads. I'm not even sure what more we can do."

As much as he hates to admit it to himself, Amy may no longer be among the living. Wounded and lost, she may have followed the mammalian instinct to tuck herself away into some comforting little spot to await the inevitable. It may be a long time before someone finds her body. He glances over at Dr. Cooper, who looks disappointed by the continued lack of new information. Jack's not sure how to try to break it to him, how to tell him that it's best he start bracing for the worst.

"Dr. Cooper, we don't intend to give up on this search, but from what we know, uh… I hope that you understand that, uh…" He can't make himself choke out the words.

Sheldon does it for him. "You think that she's dead."

"It's a possibility."

"She's not," Sheldon snaps back. Under his breath, he continues to mumble, "She's not. She's not."

"Look, like I said, we aren't giving up." DiSalvo holds up two small folders and waves them at Sheldon. "Over the weekend, the only new things that have been assigned to me are a domestic dispute and some crazy drug addict breaking into the local medical clinic." He lets the files flop back onto his desk. "Amy's case remains my top priority. I've got personnel still out looking for clues on the trail, and we're questioning new hikers and townsfolk every day."

"I want to continue to help too. I need to. There are plenty of people left to talk to and—"

"Sheldon, about that… We are happy to have your help, but I've gotta tell you that we did have a few complaints from the locals that you talked to this weekend. It seems your interpersonal communication skills could use a bit of work."

"I don't see how."

"Well for starters, you could try introducing yourself and explaining the situation before you thrust Amy's picture in their faces and demand answers."

"But answers are what I need, not useless chatter."

Jack scratches his chin and reaches for his coffee cup. Something even stronger would be nice. "If you want people to help you, you've got to be polite, or at the very least, don't act like a lunatic. Introduce yourself. Let them introduce themselves. Be patient and listen to what they have to tell you."

"But other than information they might have about Amy, I don't care what they have to say."

"Of course you don't. Most people don't care that much about people they don't know. I'm telling you to fake it like the rest of us do."

Sheldon looks perplexed, but eventually he shrugs. "It's a waste of time, but fine. I'll try to pretend that I care about the uninteresting blather of uninteresting people."

He supposes that's about as good of a response as he could hope for from this particular man. There is something innocently clueless about Sheldon, even given his arrogance. It makes Jack wonder how Amy ever would've been able to forge a relationship with someone like that in the first place. Perhaps she had found his guileless nature to be a great enough mitigating factor to overcome his less desirable qualities.

"Um, great, I guess." Jack clears his throat and continues, "So—"

He stops speaking when he notices fellow deputy Susan Keene standing in his doorway.

"Hey, DiSalvo," she greets him. "I've got an update about our clinic thief. I'm sorry to interrupt, but…" Susan pauses mid-sentence and stares at Sheldon. "Are you that guy whose ex-girlfriend is missing?"

Fidgeting in his seat, Sheldon responds, "She's not my ex-girlfriend. She's a girl, she's my friend, and she is my girlfriend, but she's not my ex. We've just had a minor misunderstanding." He stands up and snags his jacket from off the back of his seat. "I ought to get moving. I have a long list of things to check on today."

Susan's eyebrows wrinkle in consternation. "Um, okay, sure, but you might want to stick around for a minute. You might find this information relevant to your interests."

She sets down a photograph, a grainy still-frame image from a security camera. Intrigued, both men lean in to look at it. As usual, Sheldon cuts to the chase.

"Who is this, and what does this person have to do with Amy?"

"We think this is a man, but it's hard to say for sure. Anyway, around ten o'clock at night last Wednesday, this guy keyed in the code to the alarm system and picked the lock on the entrance to the medical clinic in Agua Dulce. How he knew the code is a mystery."

"What does that have to do with Amy?"

"I'm getting to that." Susan furrows her eyebrows in annoyance, and Jack is amused that Sheldon has managed to exasperate his colleague within minutes of the two of them meeting. Apparently, he has already forgotten their discussion about patience and polite listening skills.

She continues, "We assumed that this was a drug addict looking for a fix, and sure enough he did break in to the back area where medication is stored. What's weird, though, is that when we checked the surveillance footage and compared it to the inventory this morning, the things that he stole were not what we had expected."

Susan sets down another paper next to the fuzzy picture. "This is the list. The only drugs missing were Oxycodone pills and some injectable lidocaine. In addition to that, the thief took some elastic bandages, antibiotic ointment, and—get this—suturing supplies. I don't know about you guys, but to me that looks like—"

"That thief was planning to tend to someone who was seriously wounded," Sheldon finishes for her.

—-

When Amy next finds herself face to face with Simon, the lighting in the room has changed from bright sunshine to the muted light of dusk. She rubs the tiredness from her eyes, displeased with herself for succumbing to the weakness of sleep yet again. Simon is perched in the same chair as before, looking her over in that unsettling way of his.

At least her sleep is no longer dreamless. Instead, her subconscious mind is now filled with visions of Sheldon. In those moments, he is the one who sits across from her, or sometimes even closer. Amy closes her eyes, trying to adjust to the harsh truth of her situation once again. It's so tempting to turn her head away, to try to return to the comforting Sheldon in her mind. But she knows that she mustn't. She can never find true rest until she gets herself home.

"What time is it?" she asks, still unable to make herself face him. She wants to sound strong, but her voice is weak and husky.

"I don't know. Probably around seven or seven-thirty at night. You've been sleeping for quite a while. It's good for you, though."

Amy forces herself to look at him. Seeing Simon's brown eyes makes her long for the light blue eyes of the man in her dreams. His shoulder-length blond hair and unkempt beard make her miss Sheldon's tidy haircuts and youthful, clean-shaven face.

"Please tell me it's still Monday," she says.

He shrugs. "If you say so. My life doesn't exactly require keeping track of the days of the week. All I can tell you is that it is the same day as the last time you were awake."

It takes a great deal of effort and discomfort for Amy to maneuver herself into an upright sitting position. She leans against the backboard of the bed, frustrated with her body for being out of breath after such a simple task. In spite of her best efforts, she can't hold back a few soft moans of pain as her injuries protest the motions.

From this position, Amy spots the water bottle and several pills laid out on the end table. She opts for ibuprofen once again, knowing how essential it is for her to keep her mind clear. Of course, even if she manages to accomplish that, she knows getting her body strong enough to get out of this situation will be an altogether different kind of challenge.

"You moan a lot," Simon says, interrupting her thoughts. "In your sleep too, I mean. Must've been having some interesting dreams."

Heat rushes into Amy's cheeks, and she sets down the water bottle before looking away from his smirking face. She is well aware of her tendency to have lurid, racy fantasies about Sheldon while she sleeps, as hopeless as those dreams may be. There's no question in her mind that she has been dreaming about him a lot, but her more erotic dreams tend to wake her up. Perhaps Simon is referring to some other kind of dream.

"I think you were calling for that girl of yours again. Sheila? 'chelle? It sounded like the two of you were having a great time," he says, finishing with a chuckle.

Okay, so it had definitely been that kind of dream. There is no way that she is going to discuss this with Simon. Amy continues to stare at the opposite wall, hoping that he will catch on to her obvious discomfiture and talk about something else.

Whether oblivious or uncaring of her irritation, he continues to press her, "So come on, you can tell me. Is she hot? How long have you two been doing it?"

Simon might have the gender of her dream lover incorrect, but the fact that he's been able to decipher the nature of her dream at all annoys her. Amy replies through gritted teeth, "We haven't. That's not how our relationship works or how it will ever work." The truth of her words only rankles her more.

Desperate to get him off of this subject and on to something that might be useful to her predicament, Amy changes the topic herself. "You know, my friends and family will be wondering where I am by now. I was supposed to return to work today, so my colleagues will be noticing my absence as well."

His grin fades, and he stares at her with his head tilted at an inquiring angle.

She continues, "I need to call my boss, my mother, and my friends. They will be worried."

Simon looks unaffected by her concerns. His response is nonchalant when he says, "You know I can't help you with that."

That's not the answer that Amy has been hoping for. It is, however, the one she most fears. Swallowing down a nervous lump in her throat, she asks, "Why not?"

He looks at her as if she's asked a stupid question. "Do I seem like the kind of guy who's dumb enough to carry a cell phone? As if I'd willfully carry around something that shows my every move and allows for endless data collection about my life. And they'd make me pay for the privilege, for fuck's sake!"

Of course. How could she forget? This guy is a few cards short of a full deck.

"Maybe you can place a call on my behalf from a payphone?"

"Amy, when's the last time that you even saw a payphone? It's 2015. It's not gonna happen."

She can't tell if 'it's not gonna happen' is for the legitimate reason given, or if his statement is a refusal to help her altogether. Stuck here against her will, Amy feels like a captive regardless of the specifics of his intent.

Unwilling to give up, she keeps trying to reason with him. "But I need to find a way to contact them. They'll be worried. They need to know that I'm okay. I'm sure they'd be happy to come pick me up, and then I can be out of your hair."

Simon looks thoughtful at her words, but only manages a soft grunt in reply.

There is one thing that Amy is certain will provoke a more extensive response. "If they don't hear from me soon, they're going to report me as a missing person, if they haven't done so already. You don't seem like the sort of person who would enjoy talking to the police."

He rubs his bearded chin. "Well, shit. I hadn't really given that part much thought, but yeah, I'm no fan of the law. Hell, they're no fan of people like me. It would sure be unfortunate if they became involved."

Part of her wonders what he means by that. It sounds like yet another threat, and if she allows herself to think about it too much, she knows she'll want to curl into a little ball and start sobbing. That won't do at all, so she stuffs the fear aside yet again.

Instead of digressing, she swallows hard and decides to try to encourage him by taking on a lighter, more joking tone. "Yeah, um, the police might misunderstand. I mean, they might think you're a criminal or something."

He looks at her askance. "Well of course they would. I am a criminal."

It takes her bruised brain a moment to process those words. She has been holding out hope that Simon is merely an eccentric weirdo. Hearing him admit otherwise releases the hold she has been keeping on all of her fears, and her mind starts galloping down a very unpleasant path.

Adrenaline surges through Amy's veins, making her want to get up and run. Her heart pounds in anticipation of action, but her battered body makes such a move impossible. She can only sit in place, staring at her captor with wide eyes.

"Don't look at me like that. It's all your fault anyway," he grumbles. "I suppose you're right, though. We're going to have to figure something out."

He stands up with a sigh and walks towards the door as if to leave. At the last second, he turns to her and says, "Quit worrying about it and try to rest some more. I've got to go out and see what the options are. It shouldn't take long."

With one final chuckle and a creepy smirk, he adds, "Don't go hobbling off without me."

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