Amnesia

  Of course she tried to justify her hesitance on Peter’s condition. She had heard the ribs crack, perhaps break, saw the blood oozing from his damaged face, and knew he needed the rest. He appeared to verify that as he lost consciousness again soon after she had revealed the forgotten knife. She had heard him moaning a few times since then, almost an entire day later, but he never seemed to quite wake up. Yet her fear for Peter alerted her to the fact that if she did nothing they would die anyway, and she wasn’t about to let that happen.

  She looked back over at his awkward position, his knees drawn up, his torso twisted so he was lying halfway between his side and back. She realized that he hadn’t moved since the attack and desperation flooded her, wondering if it was already too late. It suddenly occurred to her that her hesitancy might have already cost him his life, and her sorrow overwhelmed her.

  She knew that few people could understand why a powerful and beautiful woman like her could ever love a short, pudgy, and seemingly backward, man like Peter, but she didn’t care what they thought. Heaven knows her mother wouldn’t even try to understand. She would simply tell her to distance herself from him as far as she could, after all he would never be the type of man that would make her dreams come true. She needed a man like Darrion Stanton; rich, powerful, handsome and well connected. A man that would build the family dynasty.

  Even she hadn’t noticed Peter Frindle in her Biology lab, he a graduating senior fulfilling his last requirements, her working her way through core classes. It wasn’t until her math class had relegated her to tutoring that he had made his entrance into her life. And he had made quite an entrance at that.

  They had arranged to meet in the lobby between the Science and English buildings, just outside the Subway sandwich shop located there for the convenience of starving students. She had arrived early, thinking to get some studying in before their meeting, the typical thoughts of a second year business student. She sat on the re-upholstered chair, crossed her legs under her to form a makeshift table, and pulled her Art History textbook out of her book bag. She hated this course, and wondered for the hundredth time why she hadn’t followed her mother’s wishes and gone to Stanford, at least they had better instructors there. Frustrated, she blew a lock of hair out of her face, which fell back exactly where it had been. She reached down into her bag, searching for a highlighter, and dropped her notebook, spilling papers across the tiled floor.

  Angrily she slammed her book shut, tossing it toward her bag which then bounced carelessly off the fabric and landed face up on the floor, the page turned to a picture of Van Gough’s famous self-portrait. She got down on her knees to gather the pages, muttering under her breath about the joys of college, as the papers skittered away caught by the wind from the constantly opening and closing outside double-doors.

  A moment later she was joined in her task by a helpful by-stander and finally all the loose paper had been gathered. She stood and turned to her helper, intent on retrieving her work, and nearly collided with the man. He wasn’t much taller than she was and as she looked over at him their eyes locked at nearly the same level. His glasses had slipped down his face revealing eyes wide with wonder and unabashed admiration as he stood staring at her. He had obviously just come from eating in the sandwich shop as a little marinara sauce from a meatball sandwich was smeared on his cheek. She smiled sweetly at him, thanked him for helping her, and stuck out her hand in a grateful gesture.

  Instead of accepting her hand he started to back away from her, still staring into her brown eyes as if spellbound—right into a group of girls coming out of Subway. He twisted his body away, barely escaping toppling them all, instead knocking over the easel announcing the daily specials, which fell to the floor with a crash. Inertia kept him moving however, his arms pin wheeling to keep his balance, as he tripped over the downed sign, heading straight for the door separating the two buildings. He caught himself just before he hit the door, let out a long sigh, and turned to face her. Then he got hit in the back of the head by the door he had narrowly missed as a student burst through.

  By this time the entire room was frozen in place, watching the acrobatics, some wondering if it was real or staged. She knew the truth, however, which was verified by the mortified look on his slightly pudgy face. She immediately felt sorry for the man and her part in his embarrassment, and went over to try to smooth things over.

  “I’m sorry,” she had apologized, “I’m just not cut out for school, I guess.” She sighed in resignation at the thought; frustrated that she wasn’t the successful scholar, and slightly worried that her mother might have been right about her studying in a “field reserved for men.”

  “No, no!” he assured her, “you’re great…I mean…you’ll be fine. It’s just…well…some professors…you know….”

  This time she caught herself before she giggled at his obvious discomfort. She had been around many smooth men the last couple of years, and was used to the effect she could have on them if she tried. But his stammering caused by simply talking to her made her feel warm and comfortable, assuring her that he was unlike the others, who hadn’t seen her as a woman, merely as a conquest. She decided she wanted to get to know this shy man, thinking that she might like what she found.

  However the man she grew to know was anything but the clumsy buffoon others, especially her mother, had supposed. True, he wasn’t an underwear model, or a smooth flatterer, and was not especially well connected. But he had powerful insight and tender emotions, a romantic at heart that was rigidly honest and filled with integrity. He was also quite intelligent, understanding complex issues, especially in mathematics and his field of study, computer engineering, and able to simplify them so that any novice could easily capture the vision.

  Yet it was his deep convictions to his religion that had truly taken her breath away. The normally shy man could stand tall and declare his testimony of God and His plans for man, His children. She could sit for hours listening to his explanations of mysteries, answering her questions so logically she wondered why she had never understood them before.

  She marveled at his insistence that she could know for herself the truth about religion, and invited her to find out for herself. It hadn’t taken much convincing to persuade her, however; she yearned to know what gave him such inner strength and confidence in his message, as well as his conviction that she could feel peace in the ever more frightening world in which they lived.

  He had given her a book, which she had eagerly accepted, hoping that she would find the answers there. At first it was difficult to understand, but she plowed through it, unwilling to let anything stand in her way of finding what Peter had promised.

  Then came the dreadful night when she had returned home and found her mother had destroyed the beloved book, and all the other materials Peter had provided. The argument had been heated and hurtful, ending when she had stormed from the house, tears in her eyes, not knowing what hurt worse, the fact that her mother had dismissed what was important to her, or that she had lost the precious gift given to her by her friend. She didn’t know where to go, so had just jumped in the car and started driving.

  Somehow she had ended up at Peter’s apartment, sobbing like a child, and ran into his arms the moment he appeared. They had stood there a moment, oblivious to his staring roommates, their action movie forgotten, watching the most beautiful, not to mention powerful and wealthy, girl on campus hugging the ordinary, if somewhat plain Peter Frindle.

  Now as she looked over at the broken man, she remembered all that he had to offer, his intelligence, his spirit, his unreserved acceptance, and as recently proven, his willingness to suffer, even die, for her. She knew he loved her, anyone could see that, but what she was only now beginning to understand was how much she truly loved him. But then again, how could she not? He was everything any girl could ever hope for, more than she felt she deserved. Sure she had looks and money, but what was that in comparison to inner conviction and strength. The thought spurred h
er into action, determined that whatever happened to her this man needed to be saved. The fate of the world depended on him and others like him.

  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.