Wearing the Westlake High School volleyball team shorts and sweatshirt, Celia arrived at the Texas Highway Patrol station. As it turned out, it had been Skylar who found her purse and called the police. She asked the desk sergeant if she could use a phone.
She only knew one number by heart, so she called Max at the office. "Oh, my God! Where are you? Are you all right? Everyone's worried sick."
Max gasped when she heard Celia's voice.
Summoning what little energy she had left, Celia managed a sad smile. "Hi. Yeah, I'm good. It's a long story. I'll fill you in when I see you. Could you do me a favor?"
"Of course. Anything," Max said.
"Please go into my computer and open my address book. Get me the number for Parker Graves. I don't have my phone and don't have any numbers."
"You got it. Hang on." Max put Celia on hold. A minute later, she was back on the line.
Max recited Parker's number. "Where are you? Do you need any help?" Max said, desperate for more information. "I mean, you disappeared without a word. I called the police; they told me there was an APB out on you. What the hell, Celia?"
Celia exhaled and said, "I know. I'm good. Like I said, it's a long story. I'm in a police station right now, safe and sound—unhurt, mostly. Tell Clifford I'll call him tomorrow. Thanks, sweetie, you're the best." Celia hung up and dialed Parker's number.
"Hey, how ya doing?" she said as he answered.
"Oh, my God, where are you? Are you all right? Skylar told us you were missing," he blurted out.
"I'm okay. I was wondering if you might be able to help me out." Her voice was tentative, but she tried to stay positive.
"Anything, of course. It's just good to hear from you." Celia heard a whimper in his voice as he held back tears.
"It's a long story. I'm at the highway patrol station outside Dripping Springs. Any chance I could get you to come pick me up? I'll explain everything when you get here."
"Police station? Are you okay?"
Celia began to tear up. She sniffled and choked out, "Yeah. I just need a ride...and I want to see you."
Parker didn't respond right away. Then, very softly, he said, "That's nice to hear."
A sob caught in her throat. "Come get me."
After a stifled cry, he said, "You got an address?"
She asked the desk sergeant for the address and gave it to Parker.
"Got it. GPS says it's a forty-minute drive. I'm on my way."
They hung up. Celia took a seat in the lobby. Looking down at her legs, she noticed a nasty bruise just above her left knee. Above it, the cut Rod had made with the cleaver still oozed. Dried blood ringed the wound, but it wouldn't need to be stitched up. She grabbed the back of her right shoulder, and her hand came away smeared with blood; again, not deep enough for stitches. The sight of the blood made her wonder what other damage he had managed to inflict, so she headed into the ladies' room.
Pulling off the sweatshirt, she found cuts and bruising around her rib cage, along her hips, and from what she could see, across the small of her back. Her right eye had swollen and looked like it might close. Dried blood smeared across her upper torso. She couldn't remember much, but it seemed she had put up one hell of a fight. He may have kicked her a few times as well when she was unconscious.
He's such a fucking coward.
The blood, the bruising, and the ringing pain broke something loose inside her. Her eyes welled up as she fell against the wall and slid to the ground. Pulling her knees tight against her chest, she let the entire experience flow out of her. The sobs were deep and brutal.
What the hell, Rod? How did that happen?
Guilt built inside her as she considered how Rod must have been feeling over the last several months. When she had gotten the divorce notification, she had been filled with remorse and regret. What had he felt when he got the email? Had that been the motivating factor that triggered him to create and execute this elaborate plan to get her back? Celia didn't think, at the end of the day, he would have killed her, but she didn't know. Considering the way he had acted, anything was possible.
As her breathing slowed, she felt the cold tile against her back. Reaching up and pulling the sweatshirt off the counter, she slipped it on. All in all, she'd gotten out of this mess relatively intact. Some cuts and bruises were a pretty fair trade-off for being dead and buried.
Splashing water over her face, she looked into the mirror. The face looking back at her was so different from the one she would have seen just a year earlier. The journey she had taken had created so many changes in her attitude, her outlook, and the way she approached life. She was a more confident woman, certainly a more accomplished woman, and without question, a stronger woman. All of these changes had been vital. But there was immense guilt in realizing that Rod had been the collateral damage of her transformation. Her growth had resulted in Rod's ultimate destruction.
As she walked back into the lobby, a commotion broke out behind the screen where the desk sergeant sat. Looking back, she saw Rod. The officers were dragging him into the back holding cell. Rod struggled against the officers, then happened to look her way.
His jaw had been wired shut, and a bandage had been wrapped around his head. His eyes begged her for help, and she could almost hear him plead, "Tell them it was a joke."
Celia watched in silence as they hauled him away. Her compassion and guilt produced a deep sense of remorse. Rod had transformed from a decent guy into someone unrecognizable—a complete madman. If she hadn't experienced it herself, she never would have believed how far he had fallen. Their marriage, filled with drudgery and disappointment, had ended in near-fatal disaster.
She remembered the first time she'd seen him, in CJ's, all those years ago. He wore tight jeans, black boots, and a collared shirt with roses embroidered on the breast pocket. His mustache and goatee were neatly trimmed, and his hair fell to his shoulders. Handsome, confident, and funny, he had chatted her up and, over time, had won her heart. Rod promised to be the answer to her prayers, but it turned out that the only answers he had were about how to waste time and money. But still, how he had gone from that sweet man to the maniac she had just seen stuffed into a jail cell, she would never understand. She had escaped; he had succumbed. With a weary sigh, she turned away, knowing there was nothing left she could do for him.