Amnesia

  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.

  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 toward 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 laughi
ng. 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.

  CHAPTER 7

  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 helple
ss 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.