Nineteen

After the kidnappers left with Nicole, Stephanie and Arnault lay in a dazed heap at the bottom of the basement stairs.

Arnault was the first to pull himself together, assess the situation, and get up. His left ankle gave out a burst of pain when he put his weight on it. But his main concern was Stephanie, who was breathing in short gasps. She’d been standing near the bottom of the steps when he fell, and he’d knocked her over, partially landing on her.

He bent over her. “Are you all right?” he said.

“I don’t know.” She spoke slowly in a semi-whisper, as if each word hurt. “I think I just got the wind knocked out of me”

He reached down to help her up. “Let’s get you on your feet.”

Steph started to extend her arm but quickly drew it back. “I can’t. It hurts too much. I don’t think I can get up.”

Ignoring his own injury, Arnault lifted her and carried her to the bed. When he put her down, she cried out in pain.

“Where does it hurt?” Arnault said.

“My ribs. And every time I try to breathe, there’s a shooting pain down my back.” She let out a dry, hacking cough that made her fold up into a ball. “Oh, God, that hurt!”

Arnault was worried her lung might have collapsed when they fell. “I’m going upstairs to call an ambulance and find Nicole.”

“Uh-huh,” she breathed.

Holding onto the railing, he slowly made his way up. His ankle throbbed with every step, and he kept having to stop.

At the top, he tried his phone again. Still no luck. He banged on the door and shouted, “Nicole!” But there was no response. After repeating this several times, he got the pouch with his tools out of his pocket, kneeled on the top step, and went to work on the lock. It was seconds before he stood up. “I’ve got the door unlocked,” he called down to Stephanie. “I’ll be right back.”

Stephanie didn’t answer, or if she did, he couldn’t hear her.

In the laundry room, he checked the washer, not surprised to find it empty. Limping through the house, he called “Nicole!” while keeping an eye on his phone, which still had no signal. Nor was there any trace of Nicole. It was his worst fear. The kidnappers had taken her. All at once, he remembered the slip of paper she’d handed him before she climbed into the washer. He went through his pockets until he found it. The address she’d written was in the Melrose district of Hollywood. She’d said this was where the kidnappers were holed up. They’d probably taken her there. He had to get some squad cars to that address.

But his first priority was Stephanie. A collapsed lung was serious; it could be fatal. He went outside and tried the phone again. Still the same “no service” message in tiny letters at the top of the screen. Cell phone service was always spotty in the canyons. If he couldn’t get a signal here, he’d have to go down to his car and drive around until he could connect.

First, he returned to the basement door, which he’d left standing open. He didn’t think he could climb down the stairs and back up again. Instead, he pulled his flashlight out of his pocket and pointed the beam into the basement so he could see Stephanie.

“I can’t find Nicole,” he called, “and my phone won’t work from here. I have to get you an ambulance and send squad cars to an address where they might find Nicole. I don’t want to leave you here alone. Is there any chance you can get up the stairs if you lean on me?”

She looked up at him and shook her head, then put it down again, apparently too short of breath to answer.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I make these calls.”

Once outside he used the flashlight to search the yard, hoping to find something sturdy to take his weight off his injured ankle. He was in luck. A dead fruit tree near the fence had dropped several branches. He selected the sturdiest one and broke off twigs near one end to make it easier to hold. He hobbled to the side of the house and started the steep trek downhill to where he’d parked.