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CHAPTER 14
Hobbling away is exactly what Amy has in mind, and Simon telling her not to do so only increases her sense of urgency. At this point she doesn't feel like she has any other option but to try to escape.
As much as she has tried to hold out some hope of being found, she doesn't see how anyone will ever be able to accomplish it. There is no doubt in her mind that Sheldon has been helping the police search for her, but even with his brilliant mind and his tenacious focus, she doesn't believe that he will ever succeed. If even Amy herself can't figure out where she is or what has happened, then how can she expect anyone else to?
Even if it were possible to hope for rescue, at this point she fears that her time is running out. She is going to have to get out of this on her own, and it must happen now. The question, of course, is how to accomplish such a feat.
As soon as she hears the back door to the house close, signaling Simon's departure, she tries to formulate a plan. He has never locked the door to this room, probably under the assumption that her injuries wouldn't allow her to get very far anyway. With two limbs working against her, she fears that this may indeed be the case.
Still, she has to try. If she allows the fear to rule her, then she will already have lost. Failure is not an option, so Amy does her best to replace her negative thoughts with determination instead. The sound of cars outside has been steady, so the odds of rescue seem favorable if she can simply drag herself to the side of the road. In her current condition, however, there will be nothing simple about it.
Not wanting to waste any more time dwelling on the difficulty of her task, Amy braces her left arm on the bed and swings her legs off the edge. A gentle test of her left ankle makes it clear that it will not hold her weight. She winces against the sharp stab of pain that accompanies her attempt.
Fine. She will damn well crawl, if that's what it takes. The swimming dizziness in her head makes it unlikely that she would have been able to balance herself and coordinate walking anyway.
Amy scooches herself to the edge of the bed and then allows gravity to take her the rest of the way to the floor. She has the aid of her right leg and attempts to catch herself with her good arm, but she can't stop herself from landing on her rear end with a jarring thud. The impact causes her head to pound in protest, a sensation that is intense enough to make her feel lightheaded, as if she might pass out. Doing so would be disastrous, so Amy forces herself to take deep, steady breaths in a stubborn attempt to keep the feeling at bay.
After a minute or so, her head continues to ache, but she thinks she can manage to move again without risk of immediate failure. It's not like she has much choice. Simon could return at any moment, so her pain is going to have to take a backseat to her greater need for freedom.
Moving with only two available limbs is a tricky proposition, but it turns out that landing on her ass has provided a useful lesson. There's no easier way to support her weight than to remain on her behind. Leaning back on her good left arm, Amy pushes off with her elbow and pulls herself forward with her right leg.
Like a human inchworm, she slides herself across the short distance to the bedroom door. Sitting up, it is easy enough to reach the doorknob and swing it inwards.
Tired from even this minor progress, she has to brace herself against the doorjamb to rest for a minute. During her brief respite, Amy gets her first look at the rest of the house that makes up her prison. The little bit of furniture that the former occupants left behind is covered with protective sheeting. The house itself has more square footage than she would have preferred, and even though it's only about fifty feet across, in her current condition it looks like a miles long journey. In the distance, she can see the salvation of the front door beckoning her onward, its bright red color standing out in sharp contrast to the drab white interior of the walls.
Amy fixes her eyes on the promise of freedom that the red door represents and starts to make her way towards it. Progress is slow, but stopping again is out of the question. She doesn't know how much time has passed, much less how much she might have left.
Halfway to the outside world, she is startled by a sound and movement from the staircase on her right. Her heart jumps in panic, and her eyes dart over in search of the source. Squinting to see into the darkness, she can just make out the reflected light that bounces off the eyes of her unexpected guest.
A furry tail flicks out from the shadows, giving away that her new stalker is a cat. Amy breathes a sigh of relief at the same time as the animal greets her with a soft meow. Normally having a preference for cats over dogs, this time she wishes that she could have crossed paths with a more helpful animal. Where is Lassie when you need her?
Ever the epitome of indifference, the cat does nothing more than stare at her. Undeterred, Amy continues to drag her weary body towards her goal. In time the cat darts off, in search of more interesting prey.
—-
"Go home, Dr. Cooper."
Sheldon watches Deputy DiSalvo close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. It's allergy season, so Sheldon figures the man must be trying to hold back a sneeze.
Not wanting to face another day of failure in his quest to get Amy back, he defies the deputy's directive. "I'm not letting this go."
DiSalvo leans back, tipping his chair to a precarious angle. He sighs and says, "Of course you're not."
"If we assume that the clinic thief has Amy, then the area we need to search is small enough that I want to go over it tonight."
The deputy doesn't look convinced. "First of all, that person might have nothing to do with Amy. And even if he does, he could have driven her just about anywhere."
From Sheldon's first moments in Agua Dulce, he has been certain that Amy is not far away. Nevertheless, he'd prefer not to admit that his hypothesis is borne out of intuition. Never one to believe in such hokum as gut feelings, he tries to think of some rational basis to explain why he knows this to be true.
"I don't believe it's a coincidence that someone stole those particular supplies on the exact day that Amy disappeared. As for the vehicle, wouldn't it stand to reason that someone with a car would take her to a hospital?" he asks.
The deputy shoots right back, "Wouldn't it stand to reason that someone who didn't have a vehicle would simply call for emergency assistance?"
That's something that Sheldon has been trying to avoid thinking about all afternoon. Even with his brilliant mind, he has been unable to posit an innocent reason for someone to go to the trouble of helping her off the trail and yet not take her to receive professional medical attention thereafter. The illogicalness of it does not sit well with him. The fact that she has not made contact with anyone is another warning sign that whoever is with her may not have her best interests at heart.
Filled with nervous energy, he keeps his hands busy, unbending a paperclip from the deputy's desk and working it into a straight line of wire. He feels desperate to convince DiSalvo to share in his sense of urgency. "That's all the more reason to find her as quickly as possible." He starts bending the wire back into its original configuration and continues, "Someone walking the trail is not that likely to have a vehicle nearby. Many hikers cover considerable distances on the Pacific Crest Trail. If she was found by some transient individual and that person decided to take her somewhere instead of calling for help, then he can't have taken her very far."
DiSalvo stands up from his chair with a grunt and walks over to pour himself a cup of coffee. That's the man's third cup by Sheldon's count, and while he'd normally relish the opportunity to lecture about the role of excessive coffee intake as a risk factor for developing an ulcer, he can't even begin to muster up the energy to care right now.
Taking his seat once again, the deputy holds out his hand. "What've you got?"
In an instant, Sheldon drops the paperclip and hands his map of the area over. He has spent most of the afternoon trying to narrow down the search possibilities.
"This map covers the area between the entrance to the trail and the clinic that was robbed. It's the region that clearly deserves the most focus. I've crossed off the houses where I was able to speak to a resident on the phone today. The circled houses are ones listed up for sale. If the person who has Amy is a vagrant hiker, then a vacant house might be a tempting place for such a person to hide."
The deputy nods along with Sheldon's thought process. "It's worth looking into, and it's the best lead we've got at this point. First thing in the morning, I'll contact the relevant real estate agencies and arrange to have a look inside these houses."
Such a wait is unacceptable. "I want to go now," he insists.
"Look, I understand your impatience, but it's seven-thirty at night. We won't be able to reach these real estate agents, and we can't just break in to these homes. The fact that no one is living in them does not give us the right to enter them without a warrant. With nothing but speculative guesswork, a warrant would not be attainable anyway. We would need probable cause, and we are very far from having that. I want to find Amy as fast as possible, and I'm telling you, contacting the selling agents is our fastest way to gain legal access to check them out."
It makes sense that a law enforcement officer would not be able to flout the law in the way that Sheldon would prefer. After five days with no progress, his desire to pursue this quickly is intensifying with every passing minute. Maybe waiting until morning would be the sensible thing to do, but he is feeling neither sensible nor reasonable. He can't think beyond the ever-growing need to have Amy back. Maybe the deputy can't blatantly violate the law, but that doesn't mean that Sheldon can't choose to do so.
Perhaps he ought not to divulge his plan. "Fine," he offers in fake concession. "If you think that it's best to wait until morning, then so be it."
DiSalvo raises his eyebrows. "Really? Um, okay, meet me back here at eight in the morning, and we'll take care of this straight away."
The deputy extends his hand. Remembering the man's insistence on politeness, Sheldon forces himself to reach out and shake it. "Try not to get your hopes up too much here, okay? I appreciate your investigative work today, but keep in mind that this is all still utter conjecture. Your deductive reasoning skills are solid, and I know how difficult it can be to try to work out what a person like this thief might have chosen to do, presuming that you're even correct about that person's involvement."
If he weren't experiencing one of the worst days of his life, then Sheldon might've been able to appreciate the compliment. Instead, he merely gathers his coat and map, trying not to raise the deputy's suspicions. He nods in acknowledgement of DiSalvo's praise.
As Sheldon opens the door to leave, the deputy pats him on the back and looks at him with his head cocked. "You're quite talented at thinking like a potentially crazy person. I wonder why that is?"
—-
It feels like an eternity before Amy reaches the front door. She has to maneuver herself up onto her knees in order to reach the high placement of the deadbolt lock. Exerting this much effort in her current condition has left her exhausted, and she wobbles, unsteady on her knees, as she twists the metal lock and then the knob of the door.
Swinging the heavy door inward, a cool rush of fresh air sweeps across her face, and Amy takes a deep breath, enjoying her first hints of freedom. Too smart to relax for more than an instant, she shifts her attention back to the task at hand. Squinting into the distance reveals no signs of Simon's return, but it has gotten too dark to see very far.
The houses on both sides of her are look like they are too far away to hear her even if she shouts at the top of her lungs. Her voice is weak from disuse and exhaustion, but she gives it a try anyway. As expected, she does not see or hear anyone in response to her pleas.
If she can get herself near the road, maybe a passing car will be able to spot her. It might be too dark, but if need be, she will lie in the middle of the road, a desperate human speed bump. Hopefully it will not come to that.
There are five steps leading from the front porch to ground level. Dizzy and addled by increasing levels of pain, Amy has a difficult time trying to navigate herself downward. The first step goes well enough, but when she goes to plant her good foot for the next one, she slips and tumbles down the rest of the way. Instinct causes her to catch herself with her hands. It's a good thing for her injured head but a terrible thing for her sprained wrist.
She wouldn't have thought it possible for things to hurt even more, but Amy cries out at the new barrage to her neural pain receptors. Involuntary tears edge out of the corners of her eyes, blurring her already limited vision in the dark. She curls into a ball and waits for the initial burning agony to fade.
That can't have been the optimal way to get herself down the stairs, but at least she has made it this far. Psyching herself up to resume her escape route, Amy turns her head to gauge the remaining distance to the street.
To her great dismay, her view of the street is blocked by the long legs of a person standing in the middle of her path. The smell of cigarettes and the man's distinctive sigh are enough to let her know who has found her in this predicament.
No. No, no, no.
She tries to crawl away, but it's a futile gesture of defiance. He scoops her up like she weighs nothing at all and walks up the stairs with ease. Devastated and furious, Amy swats at his face and chest, knowing full well that the action is liable to do more damage to her than it does to him. The sound of the front door closing behind them causes her to let loose a hoarse scream.
"God damn it! What the hell, Amy?" he growls.
He steps to the back of the house, quick to cover the distance that had felt like an endless expanse to her just a short time ago. It's useless and doesn't slow his pace in the least, but she continues to bat at him with her weak arms.
When they reach Amy's bedroom prison, he plops her back onto the soft mattress. She would've preferred the hard gravel of freedom to the softness under her back right now.
"Seriously, what the fuck?"
If he expects an answer, he can damn well forget it. Between the pain and the fear, she cannot even begin to compose herself well enough to form words. It's hard enough to choke back the pointless impulse to scream again.
Simon paces back and forth, running his hand through his long hair. "Did you take the Oxycodone again or something? I thought we were over these psychotic episodes of yours."
Psychotic episodes of hers? The gross irony of his words begins to push Amy away from her fear and towards white hot rage instead.
"I mean, I told you not to get up. How do you expect to heal if you do this stupid stuff to yourself?"
How could she do that to herself? Amy swallows hard and gives him the angriest, most defiant look that she can manage.
"Would it kill you to just relax and be grateful for what I've done for you instead of fighting me like I'm the enemy?"
Her growing anger makes Amy feel stronger every second. He is the enemy!
He stops pacing and turns to face her, his arms folded to indicate his own anger. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Through gritted teeth she growls, "I just wanted to go home!"
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