Still Missing (21 page)

Apparently the shrink said my actions were "consistent" with the trauma I'd endured, and the Crown had officially decided not to put forth any charges. Guess the pipsqueak was good for something, after all. But still no word from the doctors about when I'd be released.

Gary told me the RCMP was paying close attention to my case because they needed to learn everything they could about The Freak, not only to help solve cold cases but for future investigations as well. Sometimes we took a break from talking about the mountain and instead he caught me up on world events, or we just sat and did crossword puzzles together. It had been days since the shrink's assessment.

"You have to get me out of here," I said when Gary waltzed in with two coffees one morning. "The shrink said I was fine to go home, the doctors are just dicking around, and I'm going
crazy
. I'm being treated like a goddamn prisoner. I'm supposed to be the victim here--this is bullshit."

He set the coffees down on the bedside table and with a decisive nod strolled back out the door. Within a half hour he was standing at the foot of my bed.

"You just have to hang on for one more night. You'll be out in the morning."

Pulling myself up into a sitting position, I said, "You didn't shoot someone, did you?"

"Nothing that drastic, I just lit a little fire under them."

Something told me there was more to it than that, but before I could press for details he picked up the crossword book from the bedside table, lowered himself into the chair, and said, "Hmmm. Maybe you're not so smart after all--couldn't finish this one, huh?"

"
Hey
, you came in and interrupted me, I was doing just fine."

As he stretched out his long legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles, I caught a suppressed smile on his face and realized he'd just done a great job of changing the subject.

Mom told me in the hospital my house was rented out, and I was so glad to hear it wasn't sold I didn't think about having nowhere to live until Gary said I was getting released. I thought about asking Christina if I could stay at her place, but her ship still wasn't back in port, then Mom called and said they were coming back up to get me. I knew it would be a huge scene if I told her I didn't want to stay in the trailer, so I figured I'd just deal with it when I got home.

The morning of my release Gary warned us photographers were probably waiting outside and suggested we go out the back, but Wayne and Mom had come in the front and Mom didn't see any. Of course the second we left, a swarm descended upon us. Mom walked in front of me and pleaded with the media to "give us some time." But you could barely hear her as we fought our way through the surging crowd.

We pulled into a gas station just outside of Port Northfield, and Mom went inside to pay while Wayne pumped. I hid in the backseat. When Mom got back in the car she tossed a newspaper over the seat and, shaking her head, said, "Someone has a big mouth."

MISSING REALTOR RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL!
Underneath the front-page headline was an old business photo of me. While Wayne pulled away from the gas station, I read on in shock. An "unidentified source" had informed them I was being released from the hospital today. According to Staff Sergeant Gary Kincade of Clayton Falls, I wasn't under investigation, I was a brave young woman, they were working hard on identifying the deceased perpetrator....

I'd never told the cops my baby's name, but someone had told the newspapers I'd had one, because the article quoted a specialist's opinion on the effect my baby's death might have had on me. I chucked the newspaper onto the floor and ground my feet into it.

Good thing you were able to fit me in today, Doc. If I'd had to deal with this latest shitstorm by myself for much longer, you'd have been visiting me in the nut house. Then again, it's probably a hell of a lot safer in there. I'm sure you've seen me in the news again. Who the fuck hasn't?

A couple of nights ago I pulled out the older photo The Freak had of me. Didn't seem to be any tack marks and I still couldn't for the life of me think why I'd have had that one at my office. But no matter how much I've tried to focus on where else it might have come from, the only image that ever comes to mind is The Freak holding it up like a prize.

The next morning I headed out for a run. At the end of my driveway I turned right onto the road, and as I ran past a white van parked on the side I called to Emma, who was ahead of me, to wait before she crossed the next road.

Focused on making sure she'd stopped, I barely noticed the van's side door opening. As I passed by I caught a flash of a large body wearing black clothes and a ski mask lunging at me. My ankle twisted as I sidestepped and my foot came down on some loose gravel. I hit the sidewalk hard, biting my tongue as my chin connected and scraping my hands on the rough pavement.

As I struggled to get up, a hand grabbed my ankle and began to drag me back. I clawed at the pavement while trying to yank my leg free. For a moment I was let go and got to my knees, ready to run. Then a large hand slapped over my mouth and an arm circled around my rib cage, lifting me up and slamming me back against a solid torso. The hand over my mouth pressed my head into a shoulder while the arm squeezed the air out of my chest. The body began to move backward. My heels dragged on the pavement. Emma raced down the road barking.

I wanted to scream, wanted to fight, but I was paralyzed with fear. All I could see was The Freak smiling, all I could feel was his gun pressing into my back.

We were at the van. The man shifted his weight to one leg and gripped me tighter like he was about to step up. I remembered The Freak closing the door on me, crossing around the front, getting in--

Focus, dammit! You have seconds, only seconds. Don't let him get you into the van.

I bit the hand covering my mouth and kicked back with my legs. Heard a grunt. I jammed elbows in wherever I could, slammed up into what I thought was a chin. I was shoved so hard I sprawled and landed on the hard edge of the curb, hitting my temple. It hurt like hell, but I rolled onto my back. As the guy reached for me, I started screaming as loud as I could and managed to land a kick in his stomach. He groaned but kept trying to grab me.

I rolled from side to side, punching at his arms and yelling, "HELP! SOMEONE HELP!"

I heard growling and barking. The man stood back up.

Emma had hold of his leg, and he was kicking at her.

"YOU DON'T TOUCH MY DOG, MOTHER-FUCKER!"

Still on the ground, I braced with my elbows and kicked him hard in the groin. Doubled over, he stumbled backward, groaning and gasping for air, then fell to his knees.

On my left a woman screamed, "Leave her alone!"

The man staggered to his feet and tried to get past me to the van but Emma still had hold of his pants. I grabbed the other leg. He shook both of us free and climbed in. Emma narrowly got out of the way as it took off down the road, tires squealing. I tried to see its license plate, but my eyes wouldn't focus and it was moving fast.

My breath sounded like I was strangling. I eased up onto my knees and looked over my shoulder. I could just make out my neighbor from across the street running toward us with a phone in her hands. My vision blurred and I collapsed back to the sidewalk.

"Is she okay?"

"The police are on their way."

"Oh, my God, what happened?"

I wanted to answer the voices but my body was shaking uncontrollably, my breath came in quick hard pants, and I still couldn't see clearly. Emma's fur brushed against my cheek and her warm tongue licked my face. Someone pulled her away, then a woman's voice said, "Can you tell me your name?"

"Annie. My name's Annie."

"Okay, Annie, help is on the way, just hang in there."

Sirens. Uniforms. Somebody put a blanket over me. I answered questions in fragments.

"A man...black clothes...white van."

More sirens, then the uniforms changed.

"Where does it hurt, Annie?"

"Try to take some deep breaths."

"We're going to stabilize your neck."

"Can you tell us your birth date?"

Hands on my body. Fingers on my wrist. Numbers shouted out. As I was placed on a stretcher and strapped on, I recognized a voice.

"She's my niece, let me in." Then my aunt's concerned face looked down at me. I grabbed her hand and burst into tears.

Aunt Val rode with me to the hospital.

"Annie, you're going to be okay. Mark's calling your mom so she can meet us at the hospital--he's taking Emma to our house." I don't remember much after that, just the feeling of going fast and her hand in mine.

At the hospital I started hyperventilating again--too many people yelling, babies crying, bright lights, nurses asking questions--so they put me in an observation room to wait for the doctor, but I could still see cops talking to the nurses and my aunt in the hallway.

I started counting ceiling tiles. A nurse came in and made me squeeze her hand, then took my blood pressure and checked my pupils. I kept counting.

When the doctor finally arrived and asked all the same questions again, I still kept counting. When they took me for X-rays I counted the machines. When they brought me back to the room and the cops came in with their questions--what was the man wearing, how tall was he, what make was the van--I counted faster. But when a large male nurse came in and suddenly reached for my arm, I started screaming.

Everyone was told to leave the room. The doctor ordered a nurse to get the Crisis Response Team "down here right away." I closed my eyes and counted the beats of my racing heart while they talked over me. Someone gave me a shot. More talk, I didn't follow it. Fingers pressed to my wrist, counting my pulse. I counted along.

I heard heels running down the hall, then Mom's voice, but I checked out.

One, two, three...

When I opened my eyes, Mom and Aunt Val were at the window with their backs to me, talking low.

"Mark was driving me to get my lab tests and we saw the crowd. She was just lying there...." My aunt shook her head. "I had to fight to get close to her. The press was there in minutes, must have followed the ambulance. Just look at them all out there now."

Mom said, "What did you tell them?"

"The press? I didn't tell them anything, I was more concerned about Annie, but Mark may have answered a few questions."

"Mark?" Mom sighed. "Val, you have to be careful what you say to those people. You never know how--"

I cleared my throat and they turned to look at me. I started crying.

Mom rushed over and put her arms around me. I sobbed into her shoulder.

"I was so scared, Mom, so scared."

By the time the doctor came back I'd calmed down. It helped to find out I didn't have any broken bones but did have assorted bruises, cuts, and scrapes, not to mention a killer headache. I'd gone into shock from a combination of pain and terror. No shit.

Their main concern was possible head injury from the blow to my temple, so they wanted to keep me overnight. The Crisis Response Team also wanted to assess me again in the morning. Through the night a nurse came in every couple of hours to wake me in case of concussion, but I was usually up anyway, tensing every time footsteps came down the hall, jerking at every loud noise. Sometimes I just stared at Mom's tiny sleeping form on the cot beside me and counted her breaths.

My last stint in the hospital taught me being difficult just earned you a longer stay, so I played along when the Crisis Response Team came in to assess my emotional stability the next morning. They mostly wanted to know what kind of support system I had waiting for me when I got out. I told them I was seeing a shrink regularly and they gave me some crisis hotline phone numbers and a list of support groups.

They decided I was stable enough to talk to the cops, so I filled them in as best as I could--no, I didn't see his face, no, I didn't get a license plate, no, I don't know why the fuck some asshole tried to grab me.

I'd thought they would set up some around-the-clock stake-outs, but the most they could promise was some drive-bys and a special alarm installed to ring direct to the station. They reminded me to take my cell phone everywhere, avoid parked vans--no shit!--and to be "aware of your surroundings" but try and keep living my life while they conducted their investigation. What life? This shit
is
my life.

The doctors said I was okay to go but should have someone keep an eye on me for the next twenty-four hours. Mom insisted I come home with her and I was still so freaked out, not to mention stiff and sore, I jumped at the idea. Mom spent the day watching TV on the couch with me, bringing me ice for my bruises and countless cups of tea. I didn't mind her fussing.

Later Uncle Mark brought Emma over and Mom even let her inside the house, telling her to "guard Annie." And guard she did. Even though Uncle Mark had kept her for the last day, she was skittish with him, barked at every noise, and talked trash to Mom whenever she came in the room. Wayne just stayed clear to give her time to settle down.

That night Mom slept in my bed with me just like when I was a kid, but she was the only one getting any rest. Hours later, when I still couldn't sleep, I crept to the hall closet with my cell in hand and Emma following close behind. Gary, the one cop I really wanted to talk to, was the only one who
didn't
show up the morning the guy grabbed me, or the next day. I'd asked for him in the hospital, but they said he was out of town again. Back in the closet, I tried to call him but his cell phone went straight to voice mail.

My body aching, I curled up in the closet, but this time I still didn't feel safe and all I could think was,
Am I ever going to feel safe again?
Eventually I fell asleep, the image of the white van chasing me into my nightmares.

When I first got home I often went into the cop shop in Clayton Falls to look through mug shots, but after months of examining photos of bad guys and never finding The Freak, I just got too discouraged. The cops' photo of The Freak has been all over the TV and papers, even on an RCMP Web site for unidentified bodies, but to me it just looks like a picture of a dead guy. Shit, even if it did look like him, The Freak was just too damn good at being invisible.

They know the cabin and surrounding property were bought and paid for in cash a couple of months before I was taken, but there's no evidence the guy who bought it exists--no credit card info, driver's license, or anything. The Freak must have had fake ID. He even set up a bank account under the fake name so property taxes could be paid, but nobody at the bank remembers him either.

The original owner never met the buyer because it was a private sale handled through lawyers in Clayton Falls. Only one signature was needed and the lawyer must have had his head stuck up his ass because he can't describe the buyer at all. His excuse is that he registered sixty titles that month, and I wondered if he even asked for ID.

Gary called me a couple of days after the guy grabbed me on the street--I was still at Mom's--to tell me the alarm was now installed and he was sorry he hadn't called sooner. He'd been working on a case in a fishing camp up north and only had radio access. We went over everything together, then he asked me about the damn photo again and when I told him it still hadn't come to me, he just grunted and moved on. He said that because The Freak had stalked me they originally thought he might be local, but now he figured the guy could have been staying in a hotel and driving to Clayton Falls.

"I've spent every weekend for the last month showing a photo of the body to every hotel or motel in a one-hour radius," Gary said. Clayton Falls is in the central part of the island, so that's a lot of area he's been covering.

"Why don't you just fax the hotels? And how come
you're
doing it? Don't you have constables you can send?"

"First off, if I fax it, odds are it'll just end up in the trash. Over the winter a lot of the staff gets laid off, but now that the tourist season is picking up, they're coming back, and I want to talk to them in person. Second, I don't send anyone else because most of them are working on active cases. I'm doing a lot of this on my own time, Annie."

Impressed and feeling sheepish that I was sitting in front of the TV every night while he was out there pounding the pavement, I wondered if that's why he wasn't married.

"Guess your girlfriend must really hate me," I said. He was quiet for a few beats, and as I felt my cheeks grow warm I was glad he couldn't see my face.

"I know you got frustrated with the process before, but now with this second abduction attempt, I think you should come down to the station and look through some more photos."

Still feeling like an idiot for my unanswered girlfriend question, I said, "So you think whoever grabbed me is connected to The Freak?"

"I think it's important we consider all possibilities."

"Meaning?"

"A couple of things about this case don't fit the typical profile, like your photo, for one--we still need to consider how he got it and why he needed it when he had so many he'd taken himself. If you can identify a suspect for us, the rest will hopefully fall into place."

I told him I'd do it the next day.