Mean Streak(67)

She repeated, “I don’t know. Not his name. Not the location of his cabin. I’m sorry. I know you were expecting me to give you a full explanation, but the truth is that I don’t remember much.”

Jeff leaned down and whispered in her ear. “This isn’t a test, Emory. Don’t become upset. If you can’t remember, it’s okay. What matters most is that you’re back.”

“Your husband’s right, Dr. Charbonneau,” said Sergeant Detective Sam Knight.

He had introduced himself as the lead investigator on her missing person case. He had a grandfatherly countenance and a laid-back manner. Because she had liked him immediately, she hated lying to him. Although, stripping the facts down to their bare bones, she didn’t know the name of the man she’d spent four days with. Nor could she lead them to his cabin or locate it on a map.

Knight gave her an encouraging smile. “Take your time. We’re in no hurry. Let’s take a different approach. How ’bout telling us what you can remember, not what you can’t.”

“I remember parking my car near the overlook on Saturday morning and setting out to run. But beyond that, my recollections are indistinct. I don’t even know if they’re sequential. They’re piecemeal.

“I remember waking up with an excruciating headache. I was dizzy and sick to my stomach. I threw up at least once that I remember. But time had no relevance. I drifted in and out of consciousness. Until I woke up this morning.”

That was a lie, and everyone must have suspected it was because no one spoke for several moments.

Then Knight said, “Going back to Saturday, you told us you ran the Bear Ridge Trail. Any particular reason why?”

At least she could answer this one truthfully. “I’d marked it on a map I had of hiking trails. The map showed it to be winding but eventually ending at an overlook on the other side of the peak. That was to be my turnaround.”

“Bear Ridge branches off into others. Might be helpful for us to see your map, so we’d know exactly where you went.”

“I’m not sure I took the path I charted. As it turns out, my map wasn’t that reliable or accurate. It designated Bear Ridge as being paved. It was, but badly. Long sections of it are reduced to little more than a gravel path. I think I must’ve fallen in loose gravel and hit my head on a rock or boulder.”

Jeff gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s a miracle that you survived.”

Unanimously they had marveled over her basically sound physical condition. She had assured them that being admitted to the hospital was unnecessary, but her protests had been overruled. The detectives, Jeff, and the ER personnel had insisted that she have a brain scan, and when it confirmed that she’d suffered a concussion, it was decided that she be kept overnight for observation.

She had disagreed, but by then the two doctors with whom she shared the clinic in Atlanta had arrived, and they concurred with the local medical staff. She was staying in the hospital overnight. Period.

The cut on her head had been examined. It was healing. Nevertheless, it had been thoroughly cleaned with a strong antiseptic, and she was given antibiotics to counter any incipient infection.

Her sprint to the Floyds’ house had aggravated her stress fracture. She explained it as an unfortunate outcome of her strenuous run on Saturday. An ice pack had been strapped to the foot and it was now elevated on a pillow.

She was getting fluids through an IV. That precaution was entirely unnecessary, but she couldn’t refuse it without assuring them that she’d been adequately hydrated for the past four days.

She didn’t have to fake her headache. She wasn’t suffering the stabbing pain of her recent concussion, but the dull throb of a classic tension headache, one exacerbated by intense and contradictory emotions. At her request the window blinds had been closed. She’d said that blocking out the light helped relieve the headache, when actually she feared the sunlight beaming in would spotlight her lies.

Lying went against her nature. Being untruthful to her colleagues and to the detectives shamed her. It was even harder to lie to Jeff. From the moment he’d entered the service station and taken her into his arms, he’d been reluctant to let her out of his sight even long enough for her to receive medical treatment.

He reached down now and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, not knowing that it evoked a memory of another man’s touch.

Doc? Are you going to wake up or sleep through?

Unable to handle both that recollection and her husband’s adoring smile, she looked toward the foot of the bed where her associates stood shoulder to shoulder. “Jeff told me about the award you offered.”

They believed it to be news to her. It wasn’t, but having known about it since yesterday didn’t diminish her gratitude. “I can’t…” Her throat grew so thick she could barely speak. “I don’t know how to thank you for your willingness to do that.”

Dr. James said, “We would have doubled the amount in order to get you back. As it is, in celebration of your safe return, we’re donating the original twenty-five thousand to Doctors Without Borders.”

Completely overcome with emotion, she sniffed. “I need a tissue.” Jeff grabbed the box off the side table and extended it to her, then kept his hand on her shoulder while she blotted her leaky eyes. After a moment, she gave an embarrassed laugh. “I’m not usually such a waterworks.”