You rummage

Your drive to find Vox reaches a feverish pitch as you look behind every book, every box, every object capable of hiding something that's roughly the size of a tennis ball...

But you find nothing. Tears begin to well in your eyes... but hark, you hear a coarse mewl. You think to yourself, is there a 70 year old chain-smoking old woman in this room, or could that be the mythic cry of your quarry?

You extricate yourself from beneath the bed and stand up, scanning the room. Your gaze passes from bed, to desk, to tasteful mid-century modern dresser, to a somewhat creepy tapestry of a deer headed sage, then past the shadowy figure of a hacking geriatric smoker, then hesitantly back to the bed...