24. Jessica

24

JESSICA

R yan was insane. There was no other explanation for any of it.

"It could have been worse," I said to no one. I kept talking to myself as I walked as a way of keeping myself going. "It could have been so much worse."

Of course, this felt pretty shitty. But I was on my feet and walking, and I knew that was a big deal. Ryan could have done something so much worse. So much worse. I shuddered, simply admitting to myself how lucky I was at this moment.

I let my mind spin out any random little bad-case scenario it wanted to because I needed the distraction. I had been left on the side of the road—not even sure which road, really—somewhere in what I assumed was the central part of Monterey County. Could have been farther south, could have been anywhere in the middle part of the state.

When my phone had power, I had one bar of connection. One bar, and that hadn't done me any good. I couldn't text, and it wouldn't let me make a call. Not even an emergency one.

I don't know how long I had stayed right where Ryan had dumped me, but I had tried to call Dylan, and when I realized nothing was getting through, I tried the emergency call.

Damn it. I thought those were supposed to take priority. I stood there and watched as my phone shut down. I was scared and alone. It was dark, and the air smelled like feet. I never realized that fresh vegetables sometimes didn't smell so fresh. I think I was near broccoli fields.

I was sorry for myself and replayed the whole afternoon over and over again in my head. At no point could I figure out how I could really put the blame of all of this on Ryan. Well, this part, standing on the side of a country road in the dark, that was his fault. But my being with him, that was on me. All me. All stupid me.

Wondering if there was a place I could sit down that wasn't on the dirt or in the road, I realized that no other cars had come by. If I sat down, what would I be waiting for? My phone was dead, and no one knew where I was. I would have bet that Ryan didn't even know where he had left me.

Since I wasn't left at an intersection, I had only two choices, two directions to choose from. I looked up at the sky to see if I could orient myself to the north. I couldn't remember a time when I had seen so many stars in the sky. Out in the middle of nowhere without light pollution, the night sky was completely different.

It took a while, but I spotted Orion's belt and realized I didn't know if that meant west, or north, or what. It took a few more minutes before I gave up. I couldn't find the big dipper. There were simply too many stars that I could play connect the dots with to make the shapes that looked something like the constellations I was seeking.

Not that I exactly knew how to navigate by stars. If I had a sense of direction, I thought I might be able to figure out where my chances of finding help would increase. When that whole theory didn't work, I was back where I was, lost without a clue of what to do next.

I figured my chances were fifty-fifty either way, so I got up on the side of the road and started walking. There was the glow on the horizon, the lights from a town. I had no idea how far, but I had a goal.

I looked over my shoulder and saw brighter lights. Okay, maybe I needed to head in the other direction. Bigger town or a closer town. I changed directions and started walking. And that's where I was while I tried to distract myself from the increasing burning sensation in my feet.

I needed to think about anything other than the blisters forming. My sandals were not meant for walking. They were thin and really only designed to keep the bottoms of my feet off burning sand. The thick plastic piece between my big toe and second toe was clearly designed by Satan himself.

Thoughts of Ryan dismembering my body were almost a welcome distraction. Almost.

It felt like no matter how long I walked, the stupid lights on the horizon kept getting farther away. I wasn't going to make it. Leaning over, I braced myself against my knees and tried to draw in even breaths, but the despair overwhelmed me and tears flooded from my eyes.

My feet were on fire and being stabbed all at once. It was a pain that I could barely describe other than oh, God, it hurt, it hurt so much.

A car sped past me, horn blaring.

"Asshole," I mumbled.

My head snapped up. That had been a car. I don't know where the rush of adrenaline came from, but suddenly, I was able to run. And I ran, waving my arms and yelling.

"Wait! Help! Help!"

But the car didn't stop. I kept going even as their tail lights got so far away I could no longer see them.

I continued in the dark. What else was I going to do? I wasn't ready to give up. Not when I thought that's exactly what I imagined Ryan wanted.

He dropped me off hale and hearty, so if I showed up dead, it wouldn't be his fault. I started to laugh. It was maniacal. I was losing it. I actually thought it was funny, the amount of shit it would cause Ryan if I showed up dead. It would almost be worth it.

No, not almost. Not even close. I had Dylan to live for. I wasn't giving up without a fight, even if that fight was with the searing pain in my feet. But I was still laughing. I guess I had done my fair share of crying for the night.

Lights pin pricked in the distance and grew steadily brighter.

I stood in the middle of the road and waved my arms frantically. I realized it was dumb to stand in the middle of oncoming traffic. I was desperate and planned on moving out of the way as they grew closer.

The lights suddenly grew exponentially brighter, and the distinct whoop-whoop of a police car sounded.

I don't know how I didn't collapse with relief. I stepped off the road and began sobbing in earnest.

"What are you doing out here? Are you alright?" The police officer's voice boomed through a loudspeaker as the car pulled off the road.

I was under a bright spotlight, frozen in space with relief. It was all I could do to shake my head and continue to cry. I could barely speak. "No, I'm lost."

The police officer got out of the car. He held a strong flashlight on me. I couldn't really see him. "What's going on here?"

Words and concepts of what I had just been through left me. I cried. I pointed up the road, and then down at my feet. It wasn't until he shined his flashlight on my feet and stifled an expletive that I looked. My guts roiled, and I felt bile burn the back of my throat.

"Good God, woman, how long have you been walking?"

"I don't know. My phone battery died. I don't know where I am. How did you find me?"

"Some kids called in, said there was a crazy person walking in the middle of the road. Do you have someone you can call?" he asked.

I started to nod but then shook my head. "I didn't have a signal before it died." I showed him my dead phone.

He took the phone from me. "Let's get you taken care of. What's your name?"

Somehow, those words brought me back to reality. I was able to tell him my name, where I was from, and a variation of the truth. My ex-boyfriend and my current employer were fighting. I left with the ex thinking it would save my job. He dumped me out here.

"You need medical assistance. Can you make it to the car? I'm going take you in."

"Am I being arrested?" My addled brain couldn't fathom why the police would take me in or why he kept my phone.

"No, but there isn't a twenty-four-hour clinic around here. Someone at the station can help you get your feet cleaned up while your phone charges, and you can call someone to come pick you up," he explained.

"Oh, thank you." The next few steps were so painful, I almost blacked out. I rode in the back of the cop car, curled up on my side, trying not to throw up from the pain in my feet.

By the time we arrived at the station, the officer had plugged my phone into the charger in his car, and they had a wheelchair to help get me inside.

"This has enough power that you should be able to call your boss. Is he going to come pick you up?"

"I hope so," I admitted as I took the phone and thanked him.

"Maybe don't get in a car with your ex again, okay?" He looked down at me sternly.

I couldn't agree more. I held my breath and hit dial on Dylan's number.

"What!" he barked.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." I hung up the phone. I didn't know what to do. Why was Dylan mad at me? My heart cracked, and I thought maybe I should have stayed out there, lost in the fields.

My phone rang. It was Dylan. I took a deep breath and answered it, expecting him to yell at me for hanging up on him and for whatever else I had done wrong added to the very long list of wrongdoing I had growing in my head.

"Jessica, why did you hang up on me?" Dylan sounded, I don't know, off somehow.

"You're angry with me. I was bothering you," I said.

"No, sweetheart, no. I'm angry, but not with you. I've been frantically trying to find you. Ryan refuses to tell me anything. Are you safe? Where are you?"

"I'm in a police station in Soledad."

"Soledad? How the hell did you get there? Never mind. I'm on my way. Are you okay?"

"I will be as soon as you get here," I said. "My phone is about to die again. I have to charge it. Get here soon."

"I'm in the car. I'm on the way," he said before my phone cut off again.

I looked up at the officer. "He's on the way. But it's going to be a bit. He's coming from Monterey."