Oh my God. You guys. I am so happy. I am SO happy. I have good news. Very, very good news.
But first I have to back up a little to fill you in.
When I made that last post a few hours ago, I was feeling more depressed and dejected than I'd ever felt here. After I'd written it, I collapsed onto the bed and considered my bleak options. I've been crying so much lately, it was a miracle I had enough tears left over to soak the pillow, yet again.
I honestly kind of just wanted to die, and, short of that, the next best thing would have been to fall into the oblivion of a deep sleep. I've barely slept at all since I've been here, and I suddenly felt as if I could drift away for hours and hours on end.
The only problem was the noisy radiator, which right next to the bed. The heating pipes were always rattling, and today they were working overtime. Whenever I started to nod off, it seemed, the clattering of the pipes would reach a crescendo and jerk me back into the miserable land of wakefulness. I put the pillow over my head, but all this achieved was to mute the tinny ringing, but it still left the faint tapping ticks.
And it was then, as I lay there with the pillow over my head, verging once again on sleep, that a phrase arrived in my dreamy consciousness: can you hear me?
I was convinced that my thoughts were slipping into a dream. But just before I drifted fully into unconsciousness, I became hazily aware that the phrase—can you hear me?—was somehow connected to the ticking of the heat pipes.
I burst awake. I slapped the pillow on top of the radiator, put my ear to it, and listened.
A there is was. Our code. Tapping away, over and over again:
t... h... i... s... i... s... k... y... l... e...
c... a... n... u... h... e... a... r... m... e...
t... h... i... s... i... s... k... y... l... e...
c... a... n... u... h... e... a... r... m... e...
I searched for the first small, hard object I could find, which happened to be the handcuffs key. With my ear to the radiator, I furiously tapped the key against the radiator:
a... m... o... k... w... a... s... s... o....
s... c... a... r... d... l... u... v... u... s... o...
m... u... c... h... r... u... o... k... ?
Kyle immediately tapped back that he was safe. He was in the basement, he tapped, handcuffed to a heating pipe. He was even getting three meals a day.
I was filled with such immense relief that Kyle was alive and safe that I suddenly felt like I could survive anything. I would write whatever the cop wanted, however he wanted it written; I wouldn't sleep until I finished it. Anything so that Kyle and I could be freed and together again. No matter what the cop said, there was no way he could keep us apart once he'd let us go.
I tried to describe my situation in this room as best as I could through this slow, arduous process of tapping out our code. But I didn't care how long it took, or how many times we had to start a phrase all over to be understood. I was so blissfully content to be connected to Kyle that even if we were both just tapping out meaningless nonsense, I would have kept my ear to the radiator for hours.
I didn't mention anything about the weird way the cop peed in front of me, or how he'd lain on top of me after tackling me to the bed. But I did tap out that he'd destroyed all of the phones, including his, and that he'd shot the U-Haul's fuel tank. This was the first time Kyle had learned about anything that had been happening, and I could tell he was upset. But he mostly just wanted to make sure that I was okay. I admitted that the cop had been withholding food when I refused to write, but I said that otherwise I was safe. Kyle was relieved, but still deeply worried about my safety.
j... s... t... d... o... w... u... t... h... e... s... e... z...
I promised that I would. Then Kyle asked,
h... a... v... u... r... m... e... d... s... r... i... t... e... ?
This was something I'd been trying not to think about. In fact, up until then, I'd been in a state of denial about going without my meds this whole time. The cop must have taken my shoulder bag after putting the garbage bag over my head; he had to have taken my phone out of it before destroying it. But it didn't matter. Because my meds hadn't even been in my bag that night. Kyle was always reminding me to keep them on me, but I'd left them at home the day of our ride up the coast. And I just couldn't bring myself to admit this to Kyle. I knew how much he'd worry, and his knowing wouldn't do anything to improve the situation. So, completely lying, I tapped:
y... e... s... h... a... v... t... h... e... m...