Amnesia (14 page)

She kicked at him again, the panic building anew knowing that if she didn’t get free they were both dead, and assuredly not painlessly. Her struggling was of no avail, and he was already back on his knees, reaching for her with his other hand. She let go of Peter, hoping he could stand on his own for a few seconds, and turned to face the evil man, anger flaring inside her, burning through the panic of a moment ago.

She had taken all she would from this man, and she was tired of being afraid of him. She had been grabbed from behind and thrust into the back of his minivan, then brought, hooded, to this nightmarish place. She had been tied up for days, with little food or water, and no bathroom visits. She had been nearly raped by him, and watched helplessly as he pummeled the man she loved. Now that she had found the promise of happiness and joy, he appeared to again take it from her. She had never been timid, having much of her father’s aggressiveness in her, and now it was her turn to set herself free.

She started to kick at the man’s face with her other foot, landing a couple of good hits, but having little affect. Instead he reached up and grabbed her other foot with his free hand, ripping it out from under her, sending her crashing down on the planks of the front steps, bruising her tailbone. But she wasn’t done. She reached up with her left hand and smacked him across the face, but that only brought on a leering smile, similar to what she had seen last time. Furious, she slapped at him with her right hand, which amazingly caused him to pull back, shock and a streak of fresh blood coloring his face. Confused at the change, she stared dumbly at her right hand, and saw that she still held the sharp knife, completely forgotten in the race to escape the house.

Scardoni released her right foot, and wiped at the blood with his left hand, smearing it across his face. He turned to look at her again, this time deciding to be rid of her once and for all. He reached for the knife in her hand, determined to use it to vanquish the girl and all the trouble she had been. Instead, he broke the spell she was under, bringing her back to reality. He saw in her eyes something he had never expected, which sent panic through him. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Fear was his tool, how he controlled others. Without that he only had brute strength, which was usually sufficient. But for some reason her look promised that even that wasn’t adequate this time. It was odd, he thought, that he didn’t see hate either, it was more a look of certainty and almost calm. It was enough to scare him, and he started to back up, but it was too late.

The knife
in Beverley’s hand
came hurtling t
oward him, the sharp
blade glinting off the pale light bulb in the ceiling, time slowing as he watched the arc heading toward him, knowing he couldn’t stop it. Stupefied, he knelt there; wondering what death would be like, knowing of a certainty that he wasn’t going to like it. Then came the blow, the steel entering his body easily, pushing past the skin, stopping only when it dug into the bone. He let go of her
other
ankle and looked down at the knife, now sunk up to its hilt in his body, his drunken mind wondering why he wasn’t dead yet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl scramble away, taking her boyfriend with her out into the night.

Beverley had felt eerily calm as she stared at the knife in her hand, knowing exactly what to do. She knew she couldn’t kill the man, even though the world would probably be better without him. But she wasn’t a killer, and didn’t want to debase herself over this vermin. She simply needed to buy time to get away, and somehow knew how to do it. Still, it hadn’t been easy stabbing the man; she never wanted to sink to that level. But she realized she had no choice. She aimed carefully for the upper arm, where no permanent damage would be done, but pain and blood loss should slow him down. The blade fell precisely where she aimed, bringing with it the effect she needed; he let her go.

Quickly she stood, gathered up Peter, and headed toward the lights and sounds of cars through the trees, never looking back. Together they made it across what used to be a lawn, and broke through the trees, bursting through the quiet into blazing lights and noisy cars. Across the highway was a huge Wal-Mart superstore, lights turning night to day in the large parking lot. Down the street to their left was an Albertson’s, eating establishments, two strip malls—in other words people.

Glorious people: teenagers out on dates, or looking for something to do, mothers and fathers picking up last minute shopping, trying to keep tired children in tow, retired grandparents spending their time together, forgetting the world who had all but forgotten them. People who would protect her from the despot behind them, giving them hope to live again. Freedom filled her nostrils, and she felt like screaming and laughing. Never before had she understood the principle of freedom, and what it really meant. She knew that she would never be so quick to take it for granted again. She was giddy from the relief that washed over her.

Eyeing the store across from them, knowing that there would be a phone there to contact her daddy to come and help her, she headed across State Street, anxious for this episode to finally be over. She pulled Peter close, knowing that it was still a long walk for him, and stepped eagerly out onto the road. Too late she realized her mistake; tires squealed and a horn honked, grabbing her attention. Snapping her head to the left she saw the lights of a speeding truck barreling straight toward them.

Curt Meyers and Shirley Haywood were in love. It was no surprise that this was so; they had grown up next to each other, being best friends since their parents had moved into the new cul-de-sac, their houses opposite each other. Boise natives, they had never been away from each other, minus the two years Curt had spent in England proselytizing for his church. They had attended school together since elementary. Curt, being a year ahead, paved the way for her, offering insights into teachers, classes and friends. They had been the epitome of “high school sweethearts.”

Of course they hadn’t always realized they were in love. They dated others, went to separate proms, fallen in and out of love, the normal bane of teen-dom, and had done it all separately, living their own lives. Yet their paths seemed ordained to keep crossing, until the fateful day after Curt had returned from England. They had looked at each other and knew that they were meant to be together.

Today had been a good day for them both. Curt was working for a developer, chasing down details and subcontractors for the homes his boss was building. The summer was winding down the hot dog-days of August and soon he would be returning to school, working on his degree in architecture. This would be his last year and he was anxious to get back into it, the promise of an internship awaiting him later in the year.

Shirley, having completed her bachelors in Social Work the year before, was also looking forward to returning to school. She was scheduled to finish her masters this year, when she would finally be able to become a caseworker. Her greatest desire was to rescue children from the nightmares in which they had been forced to live, giving them the opportunity to thrive, offering them a hope for the future. Her summer internship was already over and she was enjoying the three-week break before classes resumed. She had seen quite a bit of nastiness this summer and was glad for the vacation.

She had spent much of the day with her older sister Carrie, who had recently moved back in with her. They had gone shopping at the mall and were enjoying getting reacquainted after the separation imposed by the elder’s marriage. She felt their relationship growing, the distance of the past three years narrowing as they put their troubles aside, reverting to teenage years. They had visited every clothing store, trying on several outfits at each retailer’s, but spending no money save a lunch at a Greek Gyro shop.

Tonight had been especially jubilant for Curt and Shirley. The bonus Curt had received in his paycheck had pushed his savings past the anticipated mark, enabling him to present his beautiful sweetheart with the solitaire engagement ring she so richly deserved. He had done it right, of course, taking her to the Boise Temple grounds, walking around the glowing structure, ending their stroll before the lighted fountain. He sat her down on the marble bench and lowered himself to one knee. He then opened the newly purchased velvet box to reveal the ring inside, took her hands in his and softly requested she join him in the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.

At first she didn’t answer, too caught up in her emotions to speak, eyes overflowing with the evidence of her joy. Finally she threw her arms around his neck, saying over and over the single syllable “yes, yes, yes” crying freely, feeling as if her heart would burst with happiness. They sat there together for some time, reveling in the spirit of peace and happiness that they felt, unwilling to let it end, softly speaking of dreams and hopes, knowing that together they could have it all. All too soon their time had passed, and they needed to leave.

Their first destination, of course, was to see Mr. and Mrs. Haywood. Curt was old fashioned enough to want to ask Mr. Haywood for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Perhaps it was simply a romantic notion, completely irrelevant to their wedding plans, but it was a show of respect and propriety. It allowed an opportunity to forge a new relationship between parents and their future son-in-law.

Curt walked Shirley back to his old beat up Suburban, holding her close, their hearts filled with euphoria. He opened the passenger door for her, let her climb in, and then slammed the door shut, ensuring the obstinate door latched tightly. He went around to the other side, climbed in, and started the engine. He checked his mirrors, put it in gear, and started to take his foot off the brake when he was interrupted by a head of dark curly hair thrusting itself into his field of vision, its attached soft lips finding his own, driving all other thoughts from his mind.

A long moment later the kiss ended allowing his heart to calm back down, and he pulled out of the parking lot, heading north toward the Haywood home. On the way the two spoke excitedly, creating elaborate wedding plans, discarding them, then creating all new ones, again to be discarded. They both knew they weren’t serious thoughts, rather just euphoric gibberish as dreams collided and meshed, hearts blending together as the two began the process of becoming one.

Reaching the intersection at State Street, they turned left, the big rig slowly gaining speed as it straightened out, pulling into the rightmost lane, preparing for the turn he would make later on. For a moment he gazed at Shirley, seeing how beautiful she was, as if he had never seen her before, or rather never noticed her loveliness, wondering how he could have possibly missed it.

Shirley’s scream shook him from his reverie and he quickly brought his attention back to the road in front of him, seeing instantly the object of her concern: two bedraggled people, draped across each other for support, stepping into the middle of the road.

He slammed on his brakes, the heavy truck resisting the command to slow, inertia carrying the vehicle on. Wheels locked from the pressure on the brake drums and the tires grasped for traction on the asphalt. He saw one head jerk toward him, bewilderment and fear registering in her eyes. He pleaded with heaven to slow them down, knowing that he was going too fast. He could never stop in time.

Shirley was screaming for him to stop, her mind seeing the same horror as his, that the laws of nature wouldn’t allow it. She pushed her own feet against the floor of the truck, her whole body pulling backward, unconsciously and irrationally thinking that throwing her weight against the movement would help slow the truck. It was too late; nothing would stop them before they reached the pedestrians.

Sudden inspiration touched Curt’s mind, not a voice or vision, just an instant thought that directed his actions, his body responding before his mind even realized what was happening. He took his foot off the brake and put back on the accelerator, jamming it to the floor, sending a mighty stream of gasoline into the carburetor. The engine roared, leaping forward at the command, fighting gravity and weight to increase speed.

Simultaneously Curt swerved sharply to the left, pulling into the left lane, the speed driving them around the pair in the road, missing them by mere inches. He quickly swerved back in to the right lane to avoid any cars behind him, amazed that he hadn’t hit anything, and then braked again coming to a stop several yards away. He threw the truck in reverse and slowly backed up to the two, seeing at once the desperation in their plight, knowing that they needed whatever help they could get. He stopped again a few feet from the two just in time to see them both collapse, the strain of their ordeal too great to carry on. He blew out his breath, not realizing he had been holding it, knowing that whatever was wrong he would do anything and everything he could do to help.

Shirley was out of the Suburban even before it stopped moving, racing back to the helpless duo, frantic to render whatever assistance she could. Horror filled her at the sight. The man was groaning in pain, his face puffy and swollen, evidence of earlier damage, clutching at his chest as if in mortal danger. The girl was covered in blood, her hands and ripped clothing stained a gory crimson. She had no idea what had happened to them, but knew that they needed medical attention immediately.

She went to the man first, a summer of experience rending aid to victims of all sorts and sizes telling her to look for broken bones. She found everything intact, except for tenderness in his chest which might be a snapped rib. He was breathing raggedly and she suspected internal damage. She looked up to see Curt lowering the back window and door of the truck to put the pair inside, already aware of the need to get them to a hospital. Together the two managed to lift the hurting man inside, laying him on top of a sleeping bag left there from an earlier camping trip.

They then turned their attention to the girl lying barely conscious on the ground. She seemed to be generally unharmed, aside from several wounds on her wrists and lower arms and scratches and bruises on her face. Still she was in pretty rough condition. Being much lighter they were able to lift her gently into the Suburban, speaking encouraging words to her that all would be well.

“You’re okay now,” Shirley was saying, the kindness in her voice soothing the emotional wounds so recently inflicted. “You’re going to be alright. What’s your name hon?”

“Beverley,” was the single word answer wheezed from the girl, who was starting to doze off, exhaustion finally taking its toll.

Shirley crawled into the back next to the girl, grateful Curt had put the seats down allowing her room to fit in at the girl’s head. She looked up and saw Curt in the driver’s seat, restarting the ad hoc ambulance after closing the back door. It was hot in the truck, she realized, the only working window the passenger side front window and the large tailgate window, which had already been rolled down. The air conditioning had stopped working ages ago, and the heat was nearly unbearable. She prayed that the two would be all right, that the trip would be short, and that they would all be safe. She leaned down close to the girl, stroking her hair to comfort her, telling her that all would be well.

“My name is Shirley and this is my boy—fiancé—Curt. We just got engaged tonight! He’s a wonderful man and he will take care of us. What is his name?” she asked, indicating the unconscious man beside her, trying to keep Beverley talking, something she had been taught in one of her classes.

“Peter.” Beverley tried to lick her dry lips, but didn’t have enough saliva to moisten them. Shirley reached over to the gallon of water Curt always kept in the truck for emergencies, and found that it was hot. She didn’t think Beverley would care much, however, gently lifting her head and putting the liquid to her lips, allowing it to slowly drizzle down her throat. More of the water spilt over her face and chest than went into her mouth, but no one seemed to notice.

“Where,” Beverley uttered a moment later. Talking seemed to drain what little energy she had left.

“We
’
re taking you to the hospital. St. Luke’s is just down the road.”

“No!” Beverley tried to rise as panic entered her chest. Memories of her abductor talking about doing things at the hospital jabbed at her already pain ridden heart. She knew Peter needed the help, so did she for that matter, but not there, it just wasn’t safe.

Startled, Shirley looked up at Curt for reassurance before continuing. The concern was evident in her voice, confused at the reluctance to get the help so badly needed. “You guys are in pretty bad shape, love. I really think you need a hospital”

“No,” Beverley repeated, opening wild looking eyes. Strain and desperation contorted her voice into a high pitched quavering squeak. She had to make them understand. “Not safe. Doctor….” She trailed off, exhaustion consuming her. She slipped into a fitful sleep, struggling even in her dreams.

“What do you think?” Shirley asked Curt, completely nonplussed.

“She’s obviously pretty shaken up,” he answered. He paused for a moment, thinking. “I have an idea,” he said then pulled the truck around racing down State, then turning right up Veterans Parkway.

He headed south down the road, then across Chinden Avenue up Curtis. He completely avoided St. Alphonsus hospital, instead travelling on to Franklin where he turned left. He knew that his two new charges needed help, yet he also recognized the deep-seated fear that vexed them. He was way out of his element, but had a childhood friend that would know what to do. He just hoped he was home; he worked screwy shifts, often covering for others, or just working overtime.

Turning right on Orchard, he traveled several blocks then pulled into the apartment complex hidden from the road. He pulled to the right, and then parked halfway down the row in the middle building. Hopping out of the truck, Curt sprinted up the three flights of stairs two at a time, and pounded on the door on the left, praying that Bill Lowell was inside.

“Curt?” was the only thing Bill said upon opening the door. He had just finished washing the dishes from his lonely meal, and was still holding the dishtowel drying his hands. Then he noticed the concerned expression on his friends face and added, “What’s wrong?”

Curt breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that he had made the right choice. “I have some people down in the truck. They’re hurt pretty bad, but refuse to go to the hospital. Come on, they need our help.” He spun on his heels and headed back down the steps, knowing without looking that his friend was right behind him.

As they reached the truck, Bill noticed that Shirley had already opened the back door, letting some air in the stuffy car. She stood at the tailgate, worry creasing her face. “She’s still out,” she reported, “but he has moved. His moaning is weaker though, and I don’t think he’ll last much longer. What do we do Bill?”

Training built into the police officer the ability to suppress curiosity during an emergency, allowing him to sidestep all the tiresome questions that would surely come later. His mind raced through possibilities, settling on one that seemed appropriate. As he thought of the doctor he had so recently met, he felt an unexpected anticipation of his own at being able to see her again, although he wished it wasn’t at the expense of these two victims. He grabbed his cell phone, dialing her number, surprised that he had it memorized after only writing it in his report the one time.