Disoriented and confused, Celia found herself lying across the front seat of Rod's truck. The truck was moving. A steady, even motion brushed the side of her head. Rod was stroking her hair while he drove. Revulsion shot through her body. She shook her head hard, trying to make him stop, but he either didn't notice or didn't care. She wasn't even sure she had moved at all. Her eyes fluttered, and she slipped back into the dark.
The next time she came to, the truck had stopped. Her eyes were blurry. She saw the fuzzy dashboard in front of her, but it made no sense. Nausea welled in her stomach, and without warning, she projectile vomited onto the dashboard of the cab. She tried to sit up, weaving back and forth as her head bobbed in a random, jagged pattern. Another wave of nausea swept over her, and this time, she puked onto the floor.
The passenger door opened, and someone grabbed her right arm. They hauled her upright.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Why'd you have to go and do that? Christ," Rod said.
He looked at the vomit and scrunched up his face. "At least you didn't shit."
Releasing the seatbelt, he pulled a water bottle from his belt. Holding it to her lips, he started pouring it into her mouth. "Here you go. You gotta be thirsty. Drink this, baby. You'll feel better."
Celia slurped the water, grateful for the refreshing thirst quencher. Her throat was raw and scraped, and the cool liquid helped to soothe it. She took several big gulps. Something wasn't right. Her head got foggy again, only this time it was a heavy, debilitating fog. She fell forward, and she was out.
When she woke the next time, disorientation welcomed her yet again. She tried to move but found herself bound and unable. Her body was cold and itchy. Her head wouldn't move; something had pinned it steady. Celia closed her eyes and gathered herself.
Don't panic. Don't lose it. You gotta stay calm.
Slowing her breathing, she opened her eyes and looked around as best she could. Plastic sheets hung on the walls and covered the floor. The room felt familiar, but she couldn't place it.
She wiggled and dropped her chin to her chest. Looking down her body, she saw that plastic sheeting encased her. She wiggled left and right to no avail. Then realization struck: she had been shrink-wrapped to the table. She could feel the plastic sticking to her skin. She shivered as she realized that would only happen if she was naked.
Holy shit!
She knew why this scene looked familiar. Rod had re-created the kill room from their favorite TV show, Dexter, the show about the good-hearted serial killer.
Oh my God. This is ridiculous. What the hell is he thinking?
As the reality of her predicament settled over her, she heard a door open. In a scratchy voice, she said, "Rod? Is that you? What the hell, Rod? Are you crazy?"
A figure moved through her peripheral vision. It passed behind her head and stopped near her left shoulder. Celia strained to identify it, but it stayed out of sight. Then it moved to the other side, near her right shoulder. Then came Rod's voice.
"You don't like this, do you? How does it feel to lose total control?" He held his voice low, calm, and steady.
"Rod! For chrissake, what are you doing?" Celia whined. She failed to hide the fear in her voice. Tears gathered in her eyes.
Rod stepped into her sight line. A drab rubber apron draped over him, and a clear plastic face guard, visor up, perched on his head.
Oh shit, he thinks he's Dexter.
Her heart rate accelerated as the danger snapped into focus. Celia thought as fast as she could.
"Rod. No, seriously, Rod, what are you doing? I recognize what this is. Are you gonna kill me?" Even as panic rose in her mind, she tried to keep her voice steady and conversational, like they were only watching an episode of the show.
Make him feel like the old days. Like we're getting along.
Rod didn't respond. He walked to the end of the table, near her feet, and glared at her.
"You hurt me, Val. You really fucking hurt me. Yeah, I fucked up, but so did you. You started doing all that shit behind my back. I couldn't trust you anymore. So, I fucked Willa. Big deal. It's just sex. She ain't my soul mate. You are."
She had never heard anything like this come out of him. Panic rose inside her.
Keeping her voice as calm and steady as she could, she said, "Rod. Come on. Let me out of here. We can talk about it. I know I should have shared things with you, but you would've just made fun of me. That really hurt me." Her head swayed left, within the confines of the plastic wrap, still groggy. "But you're right. We both fucked up. Let me out of this, and then we'll see what we can do."
Rod moved out of her sight line. She heard metal scrape against a wooden tabletop. When he stepped back, he held a cleaver.
Celia recoiled as best she could, being shrink-wrapped to a table. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Rod. What are you doing? You can't kill me. I'm your soul mate. You just said so," she pleaded.
Rod ran his finger along the edge of the cleaver. He looked at her with a crazed, demonic grin.
"I don't know what I can do. You pushed me pretty hard, Val. I'm not really in my right mind. Crazy with love, I guess." He chuckled at his own joke.
Celia twisted under the shrink wrap, trying to break the bond. She remembered one character from the show breaking free from the table and escaping. But that guy had been seven feet tall and weighed three hundred pounds, so it probably wasn't her path. She wiggled her fingers and found a little room around them.
Okay! Maybe I can claw my way out if I have enough time.
She spoke to Rod in a loud voice that betrayed her panic. "Rod. You gotta stop this. It's not too late. Come on, Rod. Why are you doing this?"
A deranged smile crossed Rod's lips. He pressed the flat side of the cleaver against Celia's upper leg, letting the cold metal linger. Getting no response, he twisted the blade and increased the pressure, the edge dimpling the shrink wrap and pressing against the skin beneath. With deliberate menace, he turned the cleaver upright, balancing it on its end so that the point poked through the plastic. If he chose, a single push would drive the blade into her flesh. Celia trembled, forcing herself to remain still despite the terror crawling through her body.
Rod's lips pursed. He purposely spun the cleaver on its point; the motion pierced her bare skin.
"Oww! Rod, don't," Celia screeched.
Rod cleared his throat. "You have a choice to make. You can come home and forget about all this bullshit you've been up to, or not." He spun the cleaver again; it dug a little deeper into her thigh. "Your decision." He issued a maniacal cackle as he continued to spin the cleaver. With deliberate cruelty, he dragged the tip across her thigh, cutting through the plastic and the top layer of skin. The cut started to bleed, and the warm blood dripped down her leg and pooled under the plastic.
"Stop that. You're cutting me," she said as the pain grew. "That's the point. Get it? The point?" He looked at the cleaver once again and laughed.
"What is wrong with you?" Celia cried out. "You're fucking crazy. Stop it.
Just stop it!" Her arms and legs were struggling beneath the shrink wrap.
"It isn't so cool not having a say, is it? Now you're beginning to know how I felt."
Rod removed the cleaver from her thigh. "You think about this, Val. Think about what you want to do."
He moved the cleaver to her upper arm and ran a line across her exposed shoulder. Blood flowed.
"The choices are clear. Come home or get dead. I'll give you some time." He walked to the head of the table and put his face right next to hers. He whispered, "The new tits look awesome, by the way. Feel pretty real too. And the bald pussy? I like that a lot. A little bit of stubble, but you've been busy." He licked his finger as another cackle escaped his lips and ran the moist fingertip around the inside of her ear. He licked her on the cheek. She turned her head as far away as she could, but could not avoid the wet stroke. With a laugh, Rod turned and left the room, leaving Celia alone in extra-inning panic mode.
Her chest heaved as tears ran down the sides of her face. She inhaled in quick, intense bursts. Deliberately, she tried to control her breath. Forcing herself to slow her breathing, she took smaller breaths. After a minute, she began calming down. Her chest obeyed her internal command and moved with restraint. With one final deep inhale, she relaxed. Closing her eyes, she forced herself past the fear and toward a way out.
The first thing she did was check her body—what moved, what didn't. She had already discovered she had wiggle room around her hands. She moved her toes without resistance, but her ankles were bound together and then wrapped to the table.
Her ankles were bound together?
I guess he doesn't have anything else planned; otherwise, he would have spread my legs apart.
She took some solace in that fact. Then her knees moved, and she found a little give in that area. Her butt moved side to side, and she realized that Rod had not done a great job securing her midsection. Not that it helped her in any way, unless she could figure out a way to chew through the shrink wrap with her butt. That image brought with it a slight smile.
Hmm, I may be okay after all. I'm cracking myself up.
Her shoulders had some give under the plastic. Okay, if she could raise a shoulder high enough, she might be able to use her fingers to start a tear in the plastic. It would be a long road, but every little tear would weaken the overall restraint.
Raising her right shoulder toward her ear, she could feel the edge of the shrink wrap with her right hand. Her fingers pulled a bit of the plastic into her hand, and then she used her fingernails to try to tear it apart. After that first tear, the rest would come more easily.
Her fingers poked and rubbed along the edge of the plastic, searching for a weakness. As she worked it, she relaxed her head flat against the table and, closing her eyes, considered what Rod had actually done. He'd kidnapped her, tied her up, and was threatening to kill her.
He's so fucking stupid!
Of course, Rod being stupid didn't change the fact that she was tied up and he could actually kill her if he was so inclined. Celia didn't believe that he would really hurt her like that, but he had slapped her, something he had never done before. Then he'd stalked her, drugged her, and kidnapped her. She could feel swelling along her right side as though he had kicked her. His behavior represented the antithesis of the Rod she had known. Whatever had happened to him over the past few months had changed him for the worse.
Her fingers continued to grind.
Did he really expect her to move back to Houston and share an apartment with him? Surely, he had to realize the absurdity of that. But stacked together, those facts made him more dangerous than she wanted to believe. She had to get the hell out of here.
As her fingers kept pulling at the plastic, she began raising and lowering her hips, trying to loosen the shrink wrap. Her body heat helped loosen it. She fought an uphill battle, but she had to succeed, so she kept pulling and stretching the plastic wrap.