Chapter 49

"Call 911"

I STARED UP INTO THE DARKNESS OF THE ROOM SURROUNDING ME AND BLINKED MY EYES TO GET THEM TO REFOCUS.

I HAD NO IDEA HOW LONG I'D BEEN SITTING ON THE BED FOOLING WITH THE LAPTOP. IT MUST BE GETTING LATE. OUTSIDE MY WINDOW, THE WIND HAD SLOWED, BUT THE RAIN HADN'T. RAINDROPS ON THE ROOF STILL SOUNDED LIKE A THOUSAND TAP SHOES DANCING THE GOOSE-BUMPY GRAND FINALE OF "CHORUS LINE".

WHEN I LOOKED AT MY WATCH AND SAW WHAT TIME IT WAS, I JUST ABOUT TOPPLED OFF THE BED. IT WAS 3:45 A.M., AND MY SHOULDERS FELT LIKE THEY'D BEEN NAILED TO THE WALL. UP TO NOW, I HADN'T NOTICED. I SIGHED AND STRAIGHTENED MY BACK SLOWLY. MY HEAD LOLLED BETWEEN MY SHOULDERBLADES AND THE MOVEMENT MADE ME GROAN WITH THE MISERY IT CAUSED.

*DAMMIT, I'M GETTING TOO OLD FOR THIS!*

LOOKING FOR NAMES OF PHYSICIANS WHO PUBLISHED IN MEDICAL JOURNALS COULD TURN INTO A LIFETIME OCCUPATION IF I LET IT, I THOUGHT. SOMETIMES I FOUND MYSELF SEARCHING FOR THE NAME OF DR. GREGORY HOUSE, GETTING HIS NAME TANGLED UP IN MY MIND WITH THE FICTIONAL 'DR. CALLOWAY'. I HAD TO GO BACK AND RECHECK AGAIN AND AGAIN, BECAUSE I KNEW THAT HOUSE HADN'T PUBLISHED UNDER HIS OWN NAME IN YEARS. THE SECOND TIME I CAUGHT MYSELF SCREWING UP, I DECIDED IT WAS HIGH TIME TO GIVE IT A REST … AND GIVE MY BRAIN A REST AS WELL.

THE NEXT PUBLICATION ON MY LIST WAS THE NEW ENGLAND JOURNAL OF MEDICINE … BUT I DECIDED TO LET IT WAIT UNTIL AFTER I GOT SOME SLEEP. TOMORROW WOULD BE SOON ENOUGH TO DIG BACK INTO THIS TIME-CONSUMING QUEST. A COUPLE MORE DAYS COULDN'T MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE AT THIS LATE DATE, AND 'KYLE CALLOWAY' MAY HAVE ALREADY GATHERED UP ALL HIS MARBLES AND RIDDEN OFF INTO THE SUNSET.

*NO HE WOULDN'T, WILSON … DAMMIT … HE'S MORE PERSISTENT THAN A BEAR AFTER HONEY!*

MAYBE I WOULD GET BACK ON THE ROAD TODAY IF THE WIND DIDN'T PICK UP AGAIN. MAYBE I'D SEE MORE OF PENNSYLVANIA, AND THEN HEAD INTO NEW YORK STATE TO WANDER AROUND UP THERE.

MY FAMILY HAD DISTANT RELATIVES NEAR SYRACUSE. MAYBE I COULD LOOK THEM UP. NAH … SCRATCH THAT. WHO WANTS TO VISIT RELATIVES THEY DON'T KNOW? WHO WANTS TO VISIT UNFAMILIAR RELATIVES, PERIOD?

I UNDRESSED DOWN TO MY UNDERWEAR, PLUGGED IN THE LAPTOP TO CHARGE IT OVER THE REST OF THE NIGHT, WENT TO THE BATHROOM AND THEN WENT STRAIGHT TO BED … IN THAT ORDER. I HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN HOW COZY AND COMFORTABLE THIS OLD BED WAS …

I'D DECIDE FURTHER, ONCE I SAW WHAT THE MORNING'S WEATHER WOULD BRING …

It was still raining steadily when I resurfaced in the real world about eight a.m. The room was very pleasantly warm, and my back and shoulder muscles certainly felt better than they'd felt when I'd turned in back in the wee hours.

I sat up slowly and looked around. My clothing was strewn on the floor, my jacket tossed across the carryall on the seat of the chair, and my laptop sat drunkenly on the edge of the table by the window. It could easily have fallen on my arse if I'd gotten out of bed and tripped over the cord.

I sighed. The first order of business was to get into a hot shower and wash away the cobwebs of last night's tedious journey into my computer's vast wasteland. At the same time I wondered if I was just chasing old daydreams by steeping myself in this persistent search for a man I was probably better off without.

The last time I had seen Gregory House was going on five years ago when he walked angrily away from me on the sidewalk in front of Cuddy's battered house. Was I wrong in my belief that he was writing articles and hoping I would discover them? Maybe he'd written the one I happened to see just for the hell of it, and I was the furthest thing from his mind. Was I delving too deeply into wishful thinking?

Then it dawned on me that I didn't know; had no idea. Either way, I wouldn't put it past him to still be screwing with me, even after all this time …

*Stop it! You know you won't have any rest until you find him … or at least find out what became of him after he disappeared into thin air …*

I stood in the shower a little longer than I usually did, worrying over all my doubts and misgivings. I had run away like a coward from the uncomfortable situation in Florida. I would not turn my back likewise on a part of my life that had once meant so much to me.

*Jesus, ouseHouse, House, I miss you. I need your input. I need you to harass me; call me an idiot. Keep me focused on what's important. I'm worried about you, dammit. I need to know how you are and whether you've been taking care of yourself …*

There were a lot of cars and SUVs and pickups in front of the restaurant when I finally showed up for breakfast. I nodded at Howard as I came in the door. He nodded back, but seemed distracted. Diners going in and out were talking about something that was happening down in the town of Whispell …

A hardware and grain store had been broken into overnight … guns, ammo, cash and merchandise stolen, lots of damage; a man had been hit hard from behind and was fighting for his life in a hospital. The perpetrator had gotten away clean. The local constabulary was on it, the State Police had been called in … the incident was the topic of every conversation. The small TV in the corner showed an earnest-looking commentator making the most of his chance to expound on the local news …

I listened to the talking head, but did not comment. I didn't know the area or the circumstances and I did not know enough about the incident to ask an intelligent question. Instead, I walked into the restaurant and sat down at my usual booth. There might have been twelve to fifteen people there, and they all seemed to be talking at once, and speculating on the situation in Whispell. I sat still and kept my head down, trying to mind my own business and not get involved in the local goings on. It was not my place to join in or offer an opinion.

Hildy came back to wait on me, and the first thing she asked was whether I had heard what happened. I told her yes, but nothing specific. Then she told me that the injured man had died in the hospital about thirty minutes ago. There had just been a news bulletin …

"I'm sorry," I said. "That makes it murder, doesn't it?"

"Yeah ..."

Her eyes were teary when she walked back toward the kitchen. Had she known the man? I was still very much out of the loop, and decided to avoid comment because I knew too little about it.

She did not linger by the table to talk when she brought my order, but stayed busy waiting on other tables … she and Gram … talking with the locals about the tragedy visited upon their mostly peaceful town.

I ate in silence and kept my head down.

When I finished, I stopped at the front desk and told Howard I was checking out. I paid my bill in full and dropped off the key. He thanked me and said "come again the next time you're passing through Pennsylvania … sorry for the unwanted excitement …"

I nodded, knowing I would be instantly forgotten the moment I walked out the door.

I went back to #8 and began packing my things, checking the bathroom for my shaving supplies and shampoo. I put my dirty clothes into a plastic bag I'd found in the top drawer of the dresser, tidied up what was left in the carryall, laid the laptop on top and zipped it down. I picked up my cell phone from the dresser and saw that it was in dire need of a charge. I would plug it in in the car.

It took me about fifteen minutes to do all this and load everything into the back seat of the VW. I started Vanna and let her run while I went back inside for a last-minute check. I came back out and plugged my cell phone into the jack and shoved it into the ash tray. When I backed out of my parking space to leave, I almost ran into the front end of an old black Ford van that came around the rear corner of the motel, swerved around me, paused at the road and then turned right, splashing water and mud for fifteen or twenty feet in all directions.

My windshield took part of it, but it was still raining, and between the wipers and the rainfall it would soon clear off again. I decided the van's driver was in some kind of a hurry. It pulled out onto the road about fifty yards ahead of me, and I saw its lights come on as it disappeared around a curve down the other side of the mountain.

I turned my own lights on and followed at a discreet distance. The road was wet and shining and slick with wet leaves from the two-day storm, and looked like they were glued to the blacktop. All along the side of the road and into the woods along both sides, broken limbs lay humped and splintered in the gutters that still ran full of rainwater. Some of them jutted out almost onto the road, and at least once I had to veer to the left to avoid grazing one that stuck out a little too far. I assumed road crews would soon be along to clean up the mess, but I doubted if it would be anymore today.

I drove carefully, monitoring the van that was on the road a short distance in front of me. The driver had turned cautious; on and off the brakes frequently. At some spots, the brake lights seemed to be blinking Morse code as the vehicle maneuvered cautiously down the gradual incline.

*Not much of a driver, that one …*

I fell back even further and gave the thing plenty of room.

I was very glad I did.

Another hundred yards or so, the road turned suddenly into a double S-curve; first right and then a sharp left, and repeat. I slowed down by pumping the brakes, unfamiliar with the lay of the land and no idea how many twists and turns were coming up ahead of me. I lost sight of the van and decided that whoever was in it knew the territory a lot better than I did.

I saw the twist of rotating red and white lights coming toward me up the road from the opposite direction. I knew what it was. The bright warning beacon turned the leaves, trees, and everything it touched into a swirl of warning patterns. I could not hear the siren yet, but I knew when I was being approached by a police car that meant business.

Suddenly I was shocked out of my wits by a large dark green SUV … an Envoy … or Four-Runner … its lights on high-beam, roaring up the narrow mountain road almost straight at me. And then I heard the siren of the police car right on its tail. At the last second the huge vehicle spotted me and swerved to his right to hold the road. I swerved the VW to the right also, skidding sideways on wet leaves at the edge of the berm as the behemoth blew past and continued screaming up the mountain.

I had a passing glance of a big man with a baseball cap and a dark beard driving the SUV. Then one more brief glance at the state cop in the big black and white Dodge sedan in hot pursuit. I heard the Doppler effect of the siren rising and falling as it passed me like a bat out of hell and disappeared around a curve further up the road. The red swirl of his warning lights painted the trees in my rear-view mirror just as it had painted the ones lower down as he careened up the mountain from the other direction.

Then they were gone. I was left sitting, shaking like a leaf, by the side of the road, wondering what the hell had just happened. All around me it was deathly silent, except for the hammering rain and the chug of the VW's tight little engine. There was no other traffic visible, and the rain continued to beat down.

After a minute I finally gathered myself and put the car back in gear. Slowly and deliberately I stepped on the gas feed and rolled along the shallow rain ditch, cutting the wheel to the left until all four tires were back on the macadam and regaining traction. I drove slowly on the winding road, knowing it was wet and hellishly slippery. More than once I found myself holding my breath … like I was seated in a horror movie and the creature was gaining …

*Why the hell didn't I stay put at the motel for one more day?! Dumbass!*

I went around a bend in the road and saw tail lights shining in a direction where they should not be shining. Just up ahead the road came out of the wooded area and emerged into a clearing with an embankment falling off on the right. The drop-off was lined about five yards down with a thick stand of slender pines, hemlocks and young chestnut trees … the kind that bend with you when you grab them to keep from sliding headlong down a steep hill.

*Ahhh … damn …*

The black van was part way over the edge, hung up on its undercarriage; its blunt front compartment nosed downward, breaking through a couple rows of the young trees. Its rear end was up in the air on the driver's side and perched precariously, resting on its transmission. If the trees hadn't been there, the van would have rolled another fifteen feet to a flatland wheat field below and landed onto its side … and maybe kept on rolling all the way down to a creek that ran through the meadow.

Slowly I pulled up close behind it, shifted to "park" and turned on the four-way flashers. I got out, zipped my jacket, ran up to the driver's door as close as I could get. I knocked on the metal briefly, not knowing how precarious its position might be. "Are you all right in there?"

I heard a frightened female voice: "Oh thank God! I'm okay, but I'm afraid to move. My foot is caught under the gas pedal."

"Hildy?"

"Yes. Who?"

"It's James … from the motel …"

"The 'James' with the Volkswagen?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for stopping. Can you help me? Somebody in an SUV forced me off the road. A police car was chasing it, but I don't think they saw me skid on the leaves. I lost control and almost went over the edge. I'm getting scared now …"

"Don't move around and get the thing rocking," I said. "Let me come down and see how bad you're hung up … and if it's safe for me to crawl in there and try to help you get out. Do you have a cell phone? It might be a good idea to call 911 in case I can't get you out, for fear of shaking the thing loose and sending you on a pretty bad trip …"

"My cell phone is in my purse, and it fell off the seat. It's way on the other side … on the floor where I can't reach it. Sorry."

"Not your fault. I'm going back to my car and get my phone … hang on. In the meantime, see if you can slide out of your shoe … oh … and make sure the ignition is turned off, okay?"

Her voice was thin and shaky. "Okay …"

I ran back to Vanna and grabbed my phone off the charger and out of the ashtray. I had already punched 911 by the time I had walked back to the van. I was soaking wet all the way to my knees and my hair was hanging in my face like wet clothes on a clothesline. Couldn't be helped.

"This in 911 … what is the nature of your emergency?"

I was surprised that I was getting such clear reception. "My name is Dr. James Wilson. I'm somewhere on the mountain road about two miles north of the 'Wander Inn Motel'. There's a young woman in a black van that got forced off the road, skidded on wet leaves and is hung up on an embankment. She says she's not hurt, but I told her not to move in case the van breaks through the underbrush and rolls on down ..."

The woman on the line asked if I was hurt and if I was in a separate vehicle. I said "no" and "yes" in that order, and I would stand by until someone could get up here to pull the van back onto the road. I told her I was driving a '67 Volkswagen bug and had no chains.

"I'll send someone to you as soon as I can get it there, Dr. Wilson. You're about five miles or so from here. You can expect it to arrive within half-to-an hour."

I thanked her and hung up, thinking that the facilities in the town of Whispell were getting a bit of a workout today. I hollered to Hildy in the van to see how she was doing.

"I'm okay, James, but I'm getting cold. I turned off the key, and I pulled my foot out of my shoe. I'm just sitting here on the seat, kind of wedged in between the steering wheel and the seat and the engine. The trees are against my door, and I can't get out …"

"You didn't take your seat belt off did you?" I asked.

There was silence for a moment. "Uh … yeah. I did. Should I put it back on?"

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. "Yeah. You should."

"Okay." There was another pause. "James? It's stuck under the edge of the seat and I can't get it loose. Now what?"

"Can't you jiggle it loose?"

I could hear her grunts of effort. "No. It's caught on something. Should I …?"

"No. Let it go. Just sit still."

"Okay … James?"

"Yes?"

"Can I use your cell phone? I need to call Gram and Gramps and tell them what happened. I was going for potatoes and eggs … we ran out because there's so many people there … they'll be worried when I don't come back."

"Sure, but I don't know how to get it to you. Let me see if I can climb over some of this underbrush and get to the driver's side window. Can you roll it down without moving around a lot?"

"I think so. Don't get hurt …"

"I won't."

As I made my way cautiously along the van's undamaged side, it was obvious that getting the cell phone to her would be next to impossible. The vehicle was nosed down and to the right and wedged tightly among a stand of slender young trees that were already bent under its weight. Any kind of excess movement could dislodge it. The front wheels were both turned to the right as far as they would go, and I could see that it wouldn't take much to break through the trees and send it plunging down the embankment into the field.

There was no way for me to get close enough to hand her the phone, and no way to open the heavy rear door almost straight upward. I was too far back and too close to the fulcrum point to extend my hand close enough to reach in through the driver's window, which I saw she had rolled down. The top of her head appeared through the opening, but I could not take the chance of trying to get closer.

I backed off and stood still a moment. "Hildy, give me the number of the motel and let me make the call for you. I'll tell them we called 911 and they're sending a wrecker. Okay?"

Her voice was tearful now. Cold and wet and scared. In a stuttering voice she gave me the phone number and I dialed it nervously. I had to think of a way to inform two older people what had happened to their granddaughter without scaring hell out of them, and yet let them know she was okay … just trapped in an ancient van with nearly bald tires and probably a broken axle … hanging over a cliff …

*Goddamn it, Wilson, get it together!*

It was Howard who answered the phone. I identified myself and told him briefly what had happened. I let him know Hildy was all right, just cold and scared and trapped like a kitten up a tree.

Howard asked me a bunch of questions, which I answered as calmly and as truthfully as I could. I heard him palm the phone and say something to other people who seemed to still be hanging around there. I explained that I couldn't get the phone to Hildy, and her phone was lost on the downward slope of the van. I told him finally that I had called 911 and help was on the way.

His answer to that was: "It sure-as-hell is, James. Thank you very much for calling us." My phone went dead in my hand. I frowned, wondering what in the world he was talking about. I shoved the phone into my pocket and walked as close as I could get to where I could talk to Hildy again.

She calmed down when I told her I had talked to her grandfather and told him help was on the way. "I appreciate everything you've done, James. Really. I guess it was a dumb idea to go out in this weather just for eggs and potatoes. We could have substituted other stuff instead. Live and learn, I guess. But at least I didn't slide into another car or hurt anyone …"

"You doing okay in there?" I asked.

"Yeah … just cold. What about you? Aren't you soaked?"

I looked down at myself. The adrenalin rush I'd felt awhile ago was gone now. The rain had penetrated my jacket and ran down the front of my shirt, and I knew I must be soaked to the skin. I felt a bout of shivering run down my body from head to toes. Power of suggestion. My jeans and socks were also saturated, and I was beginning to feel like a walking iceberg. My hair was a waterfall dripping down my face, into my ears and off my chin. It might have been funny if it weren't so damn miserable. I laughed a little; glad she couldn't see me standing there in the rain like a frozen scarecrow.

"I'm a little damp," I said. And we both laughed shakily.

We waited for the posse to rescue us …

Suddenly I heard the cracking of wood, and whirled around to face the unsteady front of the van. One of the saplings on the downslope had given way under the weight and split in half. The vehicle rocked precariously and tipped a little further into the tilt. I heard two more of the small trees begin to crack and give up the ghost as the front end tipped further. Only the transmission on the edge of higher ground kept the thing from going over.

I heard Hildy scream, and I ran in as close as I could get to the front door of the van. "Hildy, hang on! Don't panic! Hang on! I'm going to stand on the back bumper and maybe I can balance it until the truck comes! Hang-the-hell on!"

I knew my voice sounded hysterical as hers. It was the only thing I could think of, although anything I might do would probably be useless. I ran back to the back of the van and jumped up on the bumper as another tree began to crack.

I held onto the rear door handle and leaned back as the van very slowly began to rock, and then nosed forward in slow motion. The ground beneath the transmission began to give way and I felt myself rising into the air.

Hildy screamed again …

Then all hell broke loose. There were two pickup trucks and a car, all of which skidded to a stop ahead, behind and around the VW. Everything smooshed to a halt behind the van, and about eight husky men piled out of these vehicles, clad in yellow raincoats and high black boots. They carried large-link tow chains and heavy duty ranch and lumbering equipment.

Shouting orders back and forth to each other, they approached the back of the precariously listing van. Two men about the size of King Kong hefted themselves onto the back bumper beside me, grabbed the door handles and hung on, thrusting their butts out and away from their bodies. The van's forward momentum came to a squealing, rasping stop.

Somebody yelled: "SON OF A BITCH!"

Three or four other men scrambled around on the wet ground as they hooked chains and "S" hooks around the back axle, and then signaled to the pickup drivers to move into a position that tightened their tow chains to the limit.

Howard walked past me and shouted to his granddaughter that the trucks would pull the van away from the embankment, and when it was on solid ground, she should get ready to jump out of it.

She yelled in a high-pitched frightened voice: "Okay Gramps … I'm scared …"

I bet she was!

Howard walked over close to me as the chains tightened, and I leaped off the bumper, landing like a bale of wet straw at his feet. We stood together while the trucks very gradually hauled the Ford off the edge of the embankment and pulled it back, worse for wear but still in one piece, parallel with the road. Hildy scrambled out the driver's door, still with only one shoe on, and ran up to her grandfather and threw her arms around him. Two men from the gang that arrived to help, brought blankets; one for her and one for me. Never had an old Army blanket looked so good.

They herded us into one of the trucks, a hellishly huge Ford diesel with a crew cab, its heater running on 'high'. One of the men asked me for my car keys so he could drive the VW back to the motel.

On the way back, Howard called "Nellie" at Whispell 911 and cancelled the call for the wrecker. During the conversation, he found out that the cop in the police car, who had thundered up the road in pursuit of the guy in the SUV, had captured his man. The stolen SUV ran out of gas near the county line, and the cop arrested him without a fight. A sack of money was recovered from the back seat, along with the rest of the stolen merchandise. The suspect was Mirandized and charged with murder.

A cheer went up from those of us in the truck ...

That night there was a celebration in the restaurant of the "Wander Inn", which many from the town of Whispell attended. I was treated like a hero, even though I wasn't one. Gram hustled up baked pork chops and fried chicken, stuffing, corn bread (made with Egg Beaters,) candied carrots … and a couple gallons of thick egg noodles … on the house. Who needed potatoes and eggs when the ambience was right? Right?

I shook more hands that night than I had in about the last ten years. I got hugs from the ladies and grins from the men. Actually, it was kind of nice.

All I'd done was stand around in the rain talking macho bravado to a scared girl trapped in a van that listed halfway over a cliff.

I went back to Unit #8 that night. Clean room. Hot water. Thick Turkish towels, fragrant flannel sheets and no charge.

When I finally pulled out to be on my way the next morning, I was bid farewell by about a dozen people who invited me back anytime.

The sun was shining. The road was dry …

My clothing and jacket were dry too, from a toss in their dryer.

And I knew (with certainty) that I'd never be back …

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