Nabbed in New Zealand

by Christine Edwards

  I’m unable to look Judge in the eyes. There are no words because I feel such shame for the tragedy that my actions have brought on him. My only thought is to help him, to somehow stop the profuse bleeding.

  I tear off my parka and cover him with it, trying my best to keep him warm on the frozen ground. He’s only in a thermal, jeans, and boots and has already begun to shake badly, most likely from shock. There’s no way he can walk the short distance back to the house because blood is pouring out of his wounded leg.

  I kneel beside him, and his normally tan coloring suddenly matches the paper-white snow. He tells me in a shaky voice, “Should have warned you about the possibility of mountain lions out here. Held back though, petal. Didn’t want to scare you on our hike together.”

  Don’t lose it now, Valla! Stay strong for him!

  Pulling off my sweater, I wrap it around his leg in hopes that a tight tourniquet will stem the pronounced bleeding.

  He winces at my near nakedness in the freezing cold. “No! You’ll freeze.”

  “I won’t lose you.” Steely determination flows though my voice. Our eyes clash as a wealth of conflicting emotions pass between us. I finish tying the sweater tightly around his leg as he cringes in pain. Please, please let this work! I have nothing to bandage his gashed and bleeding hands with, but the wounds don’t appear to be life-threatening.

  “Keys,” I demand.

  “Jeans pocket.” He gives a strangled moan.

  Trying to control my shivering, I reach into his pocket to fish them out. The moment they are in hand I stand and race like a Jamaican sprinter back up the mountain, wearing only a thin camisole and jeans.

  In the few minutes it takes to reach the garage, my skin is already tinged blue and the Range Rover must warm up before the interior heating begins to work. I reach Judge in moments but it’s a grueling struggle to get him up and onto the wide backseat. He’s injured so badly and so weakened from the notable blood loss that I have to get his strapping body propped up in a single-leg standing position near the open door and then haul him inside from a kneeling position within the back seat. Thank God he’s still conscious enough to assist.

  Once I have him lying on his good side, I’m gasping for breath and I can tell that he’s in agony from the wound. He’s silent, though, in control as always, grinding his teeth. I brush my palm across his cheek right before I jump into the front seat and get the truck in gear.

  “Petal ….” He tries to talk but the word is followed by a guttural, jumbled moan.

  Doing my very best to sound reassuring, I say, “Shh, rest now, Judge. I’m getting you to the closest hospital. Don’t worry.”

  No response.

  Once I safely round the next turn, I quickly glance back to see that he’s completely passed out.

  Shit, shit!

  I hope the Rover has good snow tires because I nearly floor it as I race like a falcon in flight, hell-bent on reaching any sort of medical center.

  Hold on, Judge …. Please hold on.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ***

  Hurry Up and Wait

  After a ten minute free-for-all sprint down the mountain that could rival some Indy Car races though Monaco, I find myself at a lone intersection with one tiny general store. I throw the car into park and race inside. The elderly, female attendant gasps at me in shock. Her reaction is more than justified, since I’m covered in Judge’s blood and wearing only a lacy tank in the middle of winter. I must look deranged.

  “Animal attack! Hospital!” I shout out, jarring her out of her locked stance.

  A shaky hand reaches out toward the window. “Straight down this road, four miles on the right.”

  Wordlessly, I whirl around and fly back to the still-running Rover.

  “Miss …?” I hear her frantically call out to me several times as I jump in and throw the truck into gear. Time is running out.

  ***

  Everything is happening so fast now.

  “Mountain lion attack!” I shout to anyone at the ER entrance who can possibly help us before I’m even out of the truck. The doctors and assistants come running. They swiftly pull Judge out of the vehicle and onto a long stretcher with steel legs and rolling wheels. He’s still out. They ask me if I’m also hurt and I cringe as I quickly let them know that it’s all his blood. Oh, Judge!

  They race him into the operating area and I refuse to let go of his hand. A kind nurse comforts me by wrapping me in a soft blanket. She assures me that the surgeon on call is first rate and will take excellent care of him. I sob uncontrollably, but I finally manage to let go so Judge can be taken care of properly.

  Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll be a better person, just please let him make it! Don’t take him away from me!

  The waiting is torture. I stare numbly at my feet as I sit inside the tiny waiting room. The second hour comes and goes. Nurses and staff occasionally pass by and give me sympathetic looks, asking if I need anything. Finally the head surgeon comes in. I’m holding my breath and trying in vain to read his impassive face. At the sight of him, I feel the shakes start up again. He’s wearing a white lab coat but his green scrubs underneath it are still noticeably bloody from the operation.

  Oh, Judge! What have I done?

  “Well, miss, we’ve done all we can for now,” he informs me in a somber tone. What the fuck does that mean? Before I can ask questions he continues, “He’s resting and will hopefully fight off any infection that may occur. We’ve taken that precaution and are pumping him full of antibiotics as we speak. I placed one hundred and ninety-eight stitches in his upper thigh, and as you know he’s one hard-as-nails bloke, very fit. Can’t say that many others would have fared as well as he did with that amount of blood loss. It’s a good thing you knew enough to stem the bleeding and get him to us in time.”

  I practically fall to his feet in gratitude. I reach out and grasp his right hand. “Oh, doctor, thank you. Thank you so much!”

  He is a kind man, not much taller than myself, with soft, pale blue eyes and dark brown hair liberally specked with gray.With a reserved, almost shy smile he says, “You’re welcome. That’s what I’m here for.”

  “May I please see him now?”

  “Yes, yes of course.” His brows knit together, and his lips turn down into a slight frown. I’m about to ask him what’s the matter when he adds, “Before you do, there are police here who have been waiting to speak with you. I’ve held them off as long as I can. However, you are the missing American woman from the Kaikoura Beach campground, correct? The one whose image has been flooding the telly all week, right?”

  Oh no! Think fast and watch what you say!

  In a hesitant voice I begin, “Yes, that’s me, but it’s quite complicated. As you can see, I’m all right.” I glance at my boots in awkward embarrassment.

  He gives me a long, perplexed look. “All right, Miss Denier, please follow me then.”

  We walk down the hallway of the small hospital and stop at a door leading into what I can only assume is an office or a conference room.

  Before I head inside to face the police, the kind surgeon turns to tell me, “Miss Denier, you do understand that he would have died from his injuries had you not acted promptly? You saved Mr. Judge’s life.”

  Tears well up in my eyes as I choke out, “Thank you, doctor, but it was my fault he was injured in the first place.”

  He softly touches my elbow. “I seriously doubt that, young lady. Take care of yourself now.” With that, he turns and walks down the empty hallway.

  Hesitantly, I turn the knob of the door and step inside. The three officers stand stock still, staring at me expectantly. I’m still coated in blood and obviously freaked out.

  The one closest to me speaks first in a slow, calm manner. “Miss Denier, please sit.” He’s tall and lanky with cropped red hair and a gray suit. He appears young to be a detective, perhaps in his early thirties. There is something about his watchful stare and slow, measured movements
that makes me nervous. I wonder if I could ever get a lie past people that deal with criminals for a living.

  I have to at least try.

  I pull out the simple padded chair and perch nervously on the edge of it while gripping the seat with my fingers.

  I watch him lean closer, casually sitting not three feet away. My heart slams impossibly faster. “Can we get you anything warm to drink?”

  I clear my throat. “No, no thank you. I had something earlier.”

  “All right then. Let’s begin, shall we?” I watch him reach into his interior breast pocket and flip open a small pad. Black pen in hand, he looks directly into my eyes as he continues, “We are here to speak with you in regards to your abduction five days ago from a camping area at Kaikoura Beach. Would you please confirm for us that you are indeed Valla Denier from Charleston, South Carolina, in the United States of America?”

  One of the other officers has a recording device and he moves it closer to me, awaiting my answer.

  Here goes everything.

  I suck in a shaky breath. “Yes, I am she.”

  “Would you please give us a complete statement of what happened to you that night and during the past few days that you have been missing? Every police department in New Zealand has combined their resources to find you, miss.”

  Although Judge told me what was going on, it doesn’t truly hit home until now.

  I begin by telling them about how I was nabbed that night, giving all the details that I can conjure up from my memory, how I was dragged against my will into the woods and then drugged. However, I change course and decide to fabricate how I encountered Judge. Now I’m cursing the fact that we didn’t solidify our plan earlier. It would have been so much easier if we had just gone to the police when I had wanted to with a pre-planned story. I hope it’s not too late.

  Let them believe me.

  I soldier on. I sound suitably frightened as I recount the story, but the fear comes from the need to convince them, not the memory itself, as I hope they believe. “I awoke in the back of my abductor’s truck but continued to feign sleep. We drove for a very long time before he pulled into a deserted gas station and went inside, leaving me behind in his truck. I never saw his face. I sat up and pulled the door lock up with my teeth and was able to turn around and use my fingertips to open the back door. I fell out onto the ground. Brocan Judge happened to pull into the station at the same time, nearly running me over in the process. He jumped out of his vehicle and pulled the gag from my mouth as I began frantically pleading with him to get me away from there, that there was a madman inside who had kidnapped me. I was afraid he would kill us both. Judge had seen me earlier that day at a café near Kaikoura. I was hysterical as he picked me up off the ground and locked me safely into his truck; then he went inside to confront my kidnapper. The man must have seen what was happening through the store window and fled on foot. I was on the verge of a full-on panic attack, begging him to get us both out of there, to take us somewhere safe.”

  “And what occurred after that?”

  “He reluctantly took me to his home on the mountain that night. He said we would head for the police station first thing the next morning. I think he was able to get the plate number—I’m not sure—but as you know a severe storm came that night and we were snowed in for the first three days. You are aware that he lives in a very remote area of Mt. Tasman?”

  “Yes, we know this. Why didn’t either of you contact the police by phone?”

  “I had no cellphone and he accidentally left the charger for his phone back in his office. I should have emailed; that’s my fault. The satellite dish for the cable was damaged from the wind and ice nearly as soon as I arrived, so we were not aware of the exhaustive search. I had just stepped outside to take a few photos this morning before he drove me into the police station when the mountain lion came after me. He raced to divert it, saving my life.”

  With brows drawn, the lead investigator asks in confusion, “So let me get this straight, Brocan Judge is not your abductor?”

  With complete confidence, I square my shoulders and say, “Not at all. Actually, he is my savior. He rescued me from a crazed kidnapper and a mountain lion.”

  “Do you remember what the man who abducted you looked like? Any distinct facial features or tattoos? Do you know where he was headed with you?”

  “I really haven’t a clue. I was drugged, so the time and distance were all a haze to me. I never got a good look at him. He was far taller than me and incredibly powerful. He had a distinct smell, like he smoked cigars or something.”

  “Did he say anything at all to you? Was he a New Zealander?”

  I lower my head in apparant defeat. “No, I’m sorry detective, he was silent. I was certain that he was going to murder me.”

  He looks both confused and frustrated with my vague statement. “We’ll need you to come in today to give us a full formal statement along with any details that you can recall from your abduction, so we can pursue any and all leads. As you can well imagine, Miss Denier, we certainly do not like it when tourists encounter trouble here in New Zealand.”

  He gives me a look that announces his skepticism over my story, but to my relief he doesn’t grill me any further. “There is little that can be done now aside from offering you a lift back to the airport after you give us your formal statement. Mr. Brocan Judge is a very upstanding citizen here in New Zealand, a prominent business man as well as a generous contributor to many local charities. So long as he confirms your story, we will begin looking for your abductor. I sincerely hope that he remembered to write that plate number down. It will aid us tremendously.”

  “Yes, of course. Anything that I can do to help, detective.” I nearly pass out from relief.

  As they follow me out the door, the officer with the recorder says, “The Kiwi media will have a field day with your story, Ms. Denier, so you had better rest up. Once you are ready, Officer James will drive you to our station so you can give a formal statement.” He nods to the third uniformed officer, who observed but remained silent during the meeting.

  “I need to make a stop at Brocan Judge’s room first before we go. I’d like to thank him and say goodbye.”

  Officer James escorts me there and waits outside for me in the hallway as I make my way into his private recovery room. Our eyes collide as I step inside. I’m relieved that he is conscious and appears to be lucid.

  In an exhausted, strained voice he says, “Petal, come here to me, darlin’.”

  I’m unable to hold back one second longer, and cross the distance on trembling legs before falling to my knees beside his bed and grasping his outstretched hand. I lower my face to nuzzle against it. Despite my best efforts, the tears begin to track silently down my cheeks. I lift my head and stare into his eyes. “Judge, oh God, I’m so thankful you are alive. Please forgive me for running again. I was so scared …. Not of you, I mean, but of the confusing feelings that have emerged so rapidly between us. I found those letters in your dresser, from another woman, and it made me wonder whether or not what we had was ever special or if it was just another conquest for you, like a challenge. If that is the case you need to tell me. We can part ways amicably, but I deserve to know. I’ve fallen for you and it’s stonger than anything I’ve ever known.” I swipe the tears away with one hand and finish, “I’m so glad you are going to be all right.”

  His blue eyes are filled with pain, but I don’t give him time to reply. There is too much at stake beyond our relationship. “Judge, you have to listen to me. The police are here. You have to tell them that you found me at the small gas station near your place, that I fell out of a truck. You may or may not have taken down a plate number, all right? Let’s agree that it was an old, silver SUV. I said that you forgot your charger for your phone and we were snowed in up on the mountain so we could not contact them. I told them that we were headed to give a statement this morning and I was taking a few last minute photographs when the cat attacked. I’m so
sorry to put you in this position but it’s the only way they won’t press charges against you or your crazy friend, Tane.”

  Those mesmerizing blue eyes never stray from mine as he says, “Shhh, baby, I have an excellent attorney. Don’t worry about anything, darlin’.”

  I lean forward to kiss his palm.

  “Are you in much pain?”

  “Nah, the’ve got me well doped up. Now look at me, baby.”

  I tilt my head up.

  “You are everything to me now. I can explain the letters you found. It was a brief relationship where one of us wanted, needed more than I could or was willing to give. Her need for pain kept escalating to a point I was not comfortable with. I had to cut her loose. I’ll tell you all about it when my strength is back up and my head is clear. But the fact that you told me you’ve fallen for me seals the deal. There is nothing you can do or say that will change that fact, sweet petal. Stay with me. I love you, Valla. You’re my angel come to life.”

  My breath hitches. For once in my life I’m completely and utterly speechless.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ***

  Hold Tight

  “Here, let’s get your arm around my shoulder before you try to get out.” I do my best to move ever so slowly, not wanting to accidently bump one of his numerous injuries.

  “All right, mate? I got you on this side. Just lean most of your weight into me.” Tane handles him with notable care.

  It’s stressful to watch him strain to keep his weight on both Tane and I but he absolutely refused to have anything to do with a wheelchair or a walker, even though the physician recommended it.