Amnesia (13 page)

She wriggled her body down the wall, blindly reaching for the knife she had kept hidden. Fear sharpened her senses, her ears listening intently for any sound of the returning villain. She slid further down, groping with fingers numbed by days of poor circulation, the blood supply restricted by the biting ropes. At first she couldn’t find the knife, and she nearly gave in to panic, until she finally found it, slicing her finger on the keen blade.

She pulled the handle into her palm, arching the blade toward the ropes that bound her wrists. It took a few tries to find the ropes, the wicked implement delivering nasty nicks to her exposed flesh. Finally she was able to situate the blade correctly, and she began the process of cutting through her binds, her heart racing from fear and hope, nearly positive she would be caught in the act, yet glimpsing freedom with every stroke.

She wondered yet again what the man had wanted from her. He never spoke to her of his plans, although she had overheard a few words from his telephone calls in the other room; words like “hospital,” “terrorize,” and “terminate.” She knew that there had been no ransom demand, although at first she believed the man was after her father’s money, and that had only added to her distress. If he wasn’t holding her for a payoff, than what could he possibly have wanted? After that a steady stream of horrific scenarios had passed through her mind, each one worse than the last. Whatever he wanted, she felt certain she would not survive.

At last the rope broke through, sending a wave of exultation through her. The strong relief spurred her into greater activity, ripping the filthy gag out of her mouth, and swallowing huge lungs full of air into her aching chest. Along with the oxygen, she breathed in faith that she would make it.

Turning the knife on the ropes at her ankles, she quickly sawed the cord there, and for the first time in nearly a week, her body was unrestrained. She slowly rose, crying out in pain as blood returned to her legs and feet bringing with it the feeling that had left days earlier. She fell heavily, throwing her right arm out to catch herself, and twisting it in the process, forcing another cry from her parched lips.

She lay on the floor for a moment, teeth clenched, waiting for the pain to subside before continuing in her endeavor of freedom. Despair again threatened to overcome her, and she fought at it savagely, unwilling to journey that ignoble road again, determined that she would not give in to the needling whispers of failure. Peter needed her now, just as she had needed him. She wasn’t surprised to realize that she had always needed him, his strong testimony, his gentle ways, and his loving heart. No, she wouldn’t allow her trivial frailties to fail him. He would never give up.

She sat up again, leaning against the wall for support, rubbing her throbbing feet and legs, coaxing the circulation to return, and wincing at the pain that she produced. Her shoulder hurt badly now as well, but she valiantly ignored it, willing her body to obey her desperate mind. Gradually the discomfort subsided, and she again attempted to rise, using the wall to brace her still weakened legs.

Agonizingly she became vertical once more, and blew out the long breath she unknowingly held. She stood there a moment, distrusting her legs after the last try, concentrating on keeping herself upright. She began to stretch her muscles again, automatically following the drills gleaned from years of dance practice. She had hated those exercises then, but was abundantly grateful for them once she was able to move about, albeit clumsily.

She bent to retrieve the knife, and felt a wave of vertigo pass over her, mute testament of her poor condition. She stood again, back against the wall, letting the feeling pass, and then gingerly stepped away from her support toward the injured man. She knelt beside him, quickly cutting away his binds, trying to determine the extent of his injuries, afraid of exacerbating them by moving him. She decided that it didn’t much matter, because leaving him alone was not an option she was willing to consider, and she gently rolled him onto his back.

He groaned loudly at the movement, his body resistant to the motion, pain contorting his features. His eyes fluttered open, the agony forcing him into wakefulness, and he stared up into the face of the girl he so loved.

“Come on,” Beverley coaxed quietly, “We have to leave. Now.”

Gingerly he shook his head. “I…I can’t. Hurts….” He closed his eyes again, the energy to talk almost too much for him. However, Beverley wasn’t about to give in now, and continued on insistently.

“I know, but you can’t stay here. We have to leave now, before he comes back.” The urgency in her voice frightened even her.

“You go. I won’t make it,” he wheezed out. Then, knowing that he might not see her again if she did leave, he opened his eyes to gaze into hers and continued in a coarse whisper, “You are too precious. You must go now. Leave me. I would just slow you down.” He closed his eyes believing the decision had been made. He should have remembered to whom he was talking, and just how stubborn and defiant she could be.

“Peter Frindle!” She nearly screamed his name as the wonderful words he spoke drove conviction into her already burning heart. “I am not leaving here without you! You are just as important as I am, no, much more important. I don’t care what it takes, we are leaving here together or we don’t leave at all, and I’m not willing to do that. So you may as well get used to the idea. Besides,” her voice cracked with emotion, her voice dropping in pitch and volume, her chin tucking in toward her neck, “I need you.”

There was a pause, as the two stared at each other, the sheer absurdity of the situation casting a surreal
effect
on their thoughts. Alone in a dilapidated house, brought there by a crazed kidnapper, both nearly delirious from heat exhaustion and dehydration, he with substantial injuries requiring hospitalization. And here she was declaring her love for the man before her. Yet it was exactly what he needed to propel him into action.

Beverley stood, holding his left hand and elbow, encouraging him to rise. He cried out in pain as he began to move, his own legs as hurt as were hers. He squeezed his chest tightly with his right arm in a vague attempt to immobilize
his wounded ribs. He made it to
his knees, and hesitated, coughing at the exertion, sending spasms of pain through his body as the contraction of the diaphragm expanded his chest cavity.

He gulped in air, trying to steady himself for the next move, pulling his left leg under him. Taking a few deep breaths, leaning hard into his savior, he pushed up on the leg, bringing his right leg under him, and slowly straightening. He winced sharply at the last movement, stifling a moan, and breathing heavily. He turned toward her, their height bringing their eyes to the same level, and he threw his left arm around her, pulling her close.

Somewhat surprised at the move, yet needing the connection as badly as him, she slipped her own long arms around his wide torso, careful not to hurt him. Together they stood, simply holding each other, allowing the strength of their newly declared love to ease the ache and weakness that riddled their bodies. Emotions were thick between them, their need for each other strong in their hearts, the dependence on each other vivid in their minds.

The world slipped away from them for a moment as they stood there, holding each other tightly, as they glimpsed eternity. Joy of the discovery of their love swept through them, bringing with it a confidence that they would make it, if they were together. Gratitude also filled their souls; gratitude that they had each other, that they didn’t have to face this nightmare alone, and appreciation that the Lord had brought them together, despite the myriad of obstacles that had mounted to keep them apart. Yet a loving Father in Heaven knew that they belonged together, and painstakingly provided pathways through the barriers, allowing them to grow together, fusing their hearts and futures in an unbreakable bond, ties that lasted well beyond the grave.

In a rare moment of ideal clarity, she saw all of it as if a long forgotten memory, as if a veil had been momentarily lifted revealing images usually clouded from view. It was like waking from a dreary dream into a peaceful home she so dearly missed and to which she longed to return. In that instant, she realized, or perhaps remembered, that this was the man that was sent to her to lead her back to that heavenly home. Time had lost all meaning, replaced with a warm comfort that this vision was more than the normal euphoria of love, but rather a promise from long ago, made to her on condition of following the right paths and making the right choices. The decision before her now was crystal clear, and she openly embraced that choice in the embodiment of Peter Frindle.

Beverley, the more unreserved, took advantage of the moment, and confirmed her earlier words by slowly moving her head towards his, placing a gentle, yet passionate, kiss on his slightly parted lips. Forgotten for the moment, were the fears, the pain, and the shyness, as the two physically bonded in that tender embrace, neither willing to let the moment pass, afraid they’d never find another. Breaking off the kiss at last, Beverley looked longingly into Peter’s eyes, somewhat breathless from the exquisite passion, despite the tenderness.

“I love you, Peter,” she whispered, the wonder evident in her eyes. As she said them, she knew that such simple words could never convey the depth of her feelings. There were no words to describe that, she decided. She only hoped he could sense how much more deeply she felt than those words, too often tossed about so casually, could possibly convey. She decided he did, as she looked meaningfully into his hazel eyes.

“Oh Beverley, I’ve loved you since that first day in the Education Building. You might have missed the look by my stunning acrobatic performance though.”

They both giggled, bringing on a new bout of coughing from his damaged chest, reminding them both that they had to get out before it was too late. They turned and moved slowly toward the door and down the hall, holding each other tightly, as much as to retain the contact as to keep each other standing.

The uneven floor and sagging walls made their progress stilted and slow, Peter needing to rest every few steps. His breathing had become more labored as they progressed, coming in ragged pants, each lungful causing obvious pain deep in his chest. Once they almost went down, slamming into the wall, shaking the entire dwelling, wrenching Beverley’s arm and pounding Peter’s bruised body. Still, they pushed on.

Beverley was starting to get worried, as their pace was so slow. Something in the back of her mind was telling her that time was not on their side, almost like a small voice urging her to hurry. Yet how could they go much faster with Peter’s injuries? She pushed them harder toward the door, not understanding the prompting, but heeding it nevertheless. She knew it was taking its toll on her companion, but he said nothing, pushing himself beyond what he already was doing, never questioning her reasons.

They had made it down the hall, and halfway through the main room, the small house feeling like a sprawling mansion. It was then that she heard someone stumbling and cursing in the front yard and knew that they would never make it. She pleaded even harder in her heart for God to help them escape, although her faith was beginning to ebb.

Peter, it seemed, had also heard the returning villain, and was pushing himself even harder, the exertion causing him to shake. He tripped on a protruding floorboard, and went down with a crash. Hurriedly Beverley helped him back up, the torture he felt evident in his face, his eyes clouding as he struggled to come to grips with the pain. She slipped under his left arm, grabbing his hand with her left hand, and circled his torso with her right arm, giving him all the support she could muster. Fortunately, the one good thing that came from the fall was that they were now much closer to the door, just a few more steps and they would be free.

Fate was not on their side this time. The door crashed open, the scarred monster staggering in, barely keeping his legs beneath him. He looked stupidly at the two standing before him, confusion twisting his features. The smell of alcohol was heavy, and it was obvious that the substance had robbed him of his senses. He took two steps toward the couple, and tripped over some unseen object, sprawling on his front, looking somewhat like a lizard. The bottle he held in his right hand flew from his fingers, skittered across the floor, and crashed into the opposite wall, shattering as it hit. Stunned, he laid there for a moment, trying to sort his thoughts into some reasonable order, recognizing that something wasn’t right, but unable to see exactly what it was.

Shock and fear had paralyzed Beverley as their enemy burst through the entryway. She knew the moment she saw him that something wasn’t quite right, but didn’t know what it meant. Panic seized her, freezing all movement, logic overruled by instinct. She just stared at the man as he entered the house, watching him closely, praying for some divine intervention. Then it came, he fell for some reason, crashing heavily on the floor in front of her. Adrenaline shot through her system, lending speed to her flight and she quickly half-dragged Peter toward the open door.

She had just gotten Peter through the door and had almost followed him through when the steely hand clamped around her ankle. Frantically she shook her leg, the torn pant leg waving in the movement. She looked down at the hand, seeing the white knuckles from his grip, and then allowing her gaze to follow the arm back up to his face. Reason had returned to the eyes, and although the alcohol in his brain still made his body sluggish, she could see the murder in his eyes.