Silent Run(5)
She wanted to scream in frustration. Of course he needed answers, but she had none to offer. Knowing that her child was missing, maybe alone in the wilderness . . . she couldn’t stand it—the fear was overwhelming.
“Do you remember being in the car after you went off the road?” Manning asked.
“What?” she asked, her panic making it difficult to think.
“The car. Do you remember being in the car after you crashed? If you were conscious at all, you might have spoken to your child. You might have heard her cry.”
She thought for a long moment. “I don’t think so. But wait, wouldn’t the person who saw my car go off the side of the road know if my baby was there?”
The deputy shook his head. “Your car was in a deep canyon. It was pitch-black last night and storming. Your vehicle couldn’t be seen from the road. If the witness hadn’t actually observed your car cross the center line and go through the guardrail, it could have been days before anyone found you. As it was, a good fifteen minutes passed before the paramedics arrived, and another ten to fifteen before they managed to get down that steep hill to your car. I don’t know how old your daughter is, but I have a couple of kids, and I’d say that shoe looks like it would fit a one- to two-year-old. It’s unlikely a child of that age could unlatch the car seat and exit the car.”
“But not impossible,” she said.
“Not impossible,” he acknowledged. “Are you sure you can’t remember anything about that night, nothing? It’s very important.”
“I know it’s important. Dammit!” She drew in a sharp breath, battling a rush of hysteria. She had to think, to focus on what she did know. “Okay, right before I woke up here in this bed, I thought I was dreaming about crashing my car, but it must have been real. I must have been reliving what happened.” She took a moment, retracing what little she could remember. “There were headlights in my rearview mirror, and I felt as if I were afraid, as if someone were following me. I remember needing to go faster, to get away.”
“I don’t suppose you saw a license plate or noticed the make of the automobile?”
“It was dark. All I saw were lights. What about the witness? Did he see anything?”
“He said there was a car behind you, but it continued down the highway after your vehicle went over the side. He didn’t see the license plate.”
“The car behind me must have run me off the road. Otherwise he would have stopped.”
“Not necessarily. It was a hell of a storm last night, and not everyone stops when there’s an accident. Some people don’t like to get involved. At any rate, we’ve broadcast a description of you and your vehicle throughout the county. You also made the evening news, on the local stations, anyway. We took a photograph of you, since you didn’t have any identification. Hopefully someone will recognize you and tell us everything we need to know.”
His words should have made her feel better, but they didn’t. On some basic level she sensed that having her picture on the news was not a good thing. She’d been running from someone. What if that person saw her? What if that person came to the hospital?
“I’ll be back later.” Officer Manning took out his card and set it on the table next to the bed. “If you remember anything in the meantime, call me.”
As the deputy left the room, she forced herself to breathe in and out. Her first instinct was to get out of bed and go to the accident scene, but she felt dizzy, and her head was throbbing with pain. She knew the most logical thing to do was stay put and concentrate on figuring out who she was and what had happened just before her accident. Unfortunately she couldn’t seem to will the details into her brain. She couldn’t recall her child’s face, but she could feel the love branded into her heart.
Putting a hand to her abdomen, she knew that she’d felt tiny kicks and flutters in her womb. She’d heard her baby’s first squeal of life. She’d held her daughter in her arms, arms that now ached with a deep feeling of loss. A sense of helplessness engulfed her. Why couldn’t she remember if her child was with her in the car?
Tears of fear and frustration spilled over, dripping down her cheeks. But crying didn’t make her feel better; it made her feel weak. She grabbed a tissue from the box and wiped her face. Taking several deep breaths, she lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She offered up a desperate, pleading prayer for her daughter’s safety. While she couldn’t see her child’s face, in her head she could hear the terrifying cries of a baby who wanted her mother.