Saturday night, Tom didn't know what to do with himself. He just sat at home, waiting. Tanya, he thought, where are you? When it got dark, he walked out of his house and down the driveway, to the street. he moseyed down their street and stood into the night, waiting, until morning came.
I am hungry. I had been so healthy that, maybe, my body doesn't have a lot of fat stores. I worry, but I hope that my healthy diet has given me the strength to endure this. Still, I think about food. I want food as much as I want water. My hunger and thirst add to the agony of the searing pain from my broken body. Then, my worry grows. Other things start to happen with my body, things I don't understand. My heart seems fluttery, with an irregular heartbeat. Why is my heart pounding like this? It's not like I'm exercising or anything. It's not like I had coffee with my breakfast. Oh, breakfast. I want food. But I feel dizzy and a little nauseous. Oh, my stomach feels so icky. How can I feel nausea when I haven't eaten anything? I am worried. I don't understand it.
I am floating in and out, conscious and then dreaming. Sometimes I do not know the difference. I think I am dying but God helps me to survive one more moment, one more hour. I decide that I am not trapped in a desperate situation, pinned behind the wheel of my car. Instead, I drift above my body. I float off, happily, above the beautiful mountains with snow-capped peaks, above the beautiful Northwest greenery with its azaleas and ferns and grasses. Lady takes me on a serene sightseeing tour of idyllic landscapes bathed in light, away from misery.
I am back in my body. I am tired and dizzy. I don't know what to think. Why don't they come? Why doesn't Tom come? The dizziness grows and then it sweeps over me. I close my eyes and wipe my face, avoiding my left eyebrow, which still has an open wound. Opening my eyes, I run my hand through my hair, brushing it away from my face. Several hairs cling to my hand and I have no way to wipe them off. I feel sick to my stomach. Oh, God, it's bad. I feel my stomach swell up in me as. No! No, no, no! I don't want to throw up! But I am not in control. I face the window below my left side and try to press my face forward a little as I throw up. The vomit lands near the front of the side window. The heaving contraction of my gut and my chest makes everything hurt so badly, I can't think. I throw up again and the vomit splats all over the window at my side. I am spinning. It stinks. I can't handle it.
A detective called. She was in charge of Tanya's case and this was her first call. "I need a print out of all your accounts," she said.
Tom told her, as he'd told everyone so far, that the only card Tanya had with her was her Nordstrom Visa, and that he hadn't set up his online password yet so he had no access to that account.
"Where's the account?" she asked. "And how do you access it?"