by Amy Crandall
“I was just wondering where the washrooms were?” Her voice was edged with a nervousness she wasn’t able to contain.
The man pointed to the opposite end of the convenience store, his expression never wavering. “Down the hallway and to the right, sweetheart.”
She tried not to appear repulsed by the pet name and thanked him before nearly sprinting to the back of the store. When she pushed through the door to the single unisex bathroom, she immediately wrinkled her nose. It smelled worse than her father’s breath after eating her grandmother’s deviled eggs, which were always full of onions. Pinching her nose with her fingertips, Abigale reluctantly stepped inside and locked the door.
***
A few minutes later, she was out of the washroom. The stench of the backed-up toilet still lingered in her nostrils, almost causing her to gag. Walking down the potato chip aisle on her way to the front of the store, she grabbed a bag of Doritos and approached the counter. As she fished for her wallet in the pocket of her jeans, the man ran her chips through the till.
He told her the amount in an overly-friendly tone and she hastily passed him the exact change. However, instead of grabbing the cash from her outstretched hand, his fingers latched onto her wrist, pulling her forward. “You look a little young to be wandering around by yourself, girly.”
Her heart pounding, she attempted to yank her arm away. She glanced down at the hand that wrapped around her wrist and then up to his chest, where his metal-plated name tag shone in the fluorescent lighting.
Markus, she noted.
She looked back up at his face. His eyes scanned her from the other side of the counter, and goosebumps crawled up the arm he squeezed.
“Let me go,” Abigale said, her voice quivering.
“Are you here alone? That’s not very smart of you,” he said, squeezing her wrist tighter. Panic rose from the deepest part of her soul when she was jerked forward, her ribs slamming against the counter.
She winced, using all of her strength to pry her arm free. “I said, let me go!”
“Abigale?” In the same instant that her mother walked into the store, the man released her wrist. Taking advantage of the freedom, Abigale grabbed her chip bag and raced out of the store, right past her mother, who shot the store attendant a look of silent fury.
She saw everything, Abigale realized with relief as she rubbed the spot under her ribs where the counter had jabbed her.
She climbed in the Jeep’s passenger seat and locked the door. The only sound in the cab was from her Doritos bag, which crinkled in her shaking hands.
Abigale stared at the set of glass doors covered with posters of all kinds. If her mother hadn’t walked in, Abigale wasn’t sure what would have happened. She’d seen enough horror movies to know that anything that could have happened would not have been good for her well-being.
After what seemed like an eternity, her mother climbed into the Jeep and stuck the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life and they sped off to the intersection.
“Mom?”
“You don’t have to say anything. I saw it all from the pump,” her mother said, shaking her head.
Abigale’s stomach churned. She couldn’t stop thinking about the employee’s beady eyes and sweaty palms. She would definitely have nightmares that night.
“What did you say to him?” Abigale asked.
Her mother glanced her way before replying, “It doesn’t matter, Abigale. It’s done.”
“Please tell me,” Abigale hadn’t seen the type of anger her mother had displayed in a long time, and it made her nervous. “I want to know.”
Her mother’s lips twisted into a frown. “I threatened to contact the police if I ever saw him again.”
“Why didn’t you call them now?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want me to bring attention to something as petty as this when we’re moving a hundred miles from here? You’ll never see him again anyway. It’d be more of a hassle than it’s worth to get the authorities involved.”
Abigale leaned back in her seat. “Yeah, I guess when you put it that way…”
Her mother looked at her with slight worry evident in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
Nodding, Abigale threw her chip bag up on the console. “I’m fine. He only grabbed my wrist.”
But the way my stomach is churning feels like he did more than that.
“He still laid his hands on you, Abigale. It’s okay to be shaken up about it.”
“I said I’m fine,” Abigale snapped, turning away from her mother’s sympathetic gaze. “I’m going to take a nap, okay? Wake me up when we get there.”
Her mother never replied.
***
Startled by the blare of a car horn, Abigale jolted awake and nearly hit her head on the Jeep’s roof.
“Shit!” she said, rubbing her scalp with a shaky hand. Her mother gave her a disapproving look. Abigale apologized for swearing and turned to the window, where the first glimpse of Arcata was coming into view.
The mass of tall trees transformed into rows upon rows of charming, petite homes. At first glance of Arcata, Abigale wanted to run as far away from it as she possibly could.
“It’s so beautiful here,” her mother commented, looking around at the emerging department stores. “Don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Abigale muttered under her breath. “It’s wonderful.”
If her mother wished to say something, she didn’t. Instead, she completely ignored what Abigale had said and continued down the road, seeming about as delighted as a bookaholic in a library. Abigale pulled out her phone. She didn’t want to look around just yet. It was too depressing.
Tiffany hadn’t texted Abigale since she’d left San Francisco, and she figured she probably wouldn’t hear from her best friend for a long while. She didn’t blame her one bit. If the roles were reversed, she would do the same, but the silence still made her feel dejected.
A few minutes later, her mother pulled into the driveway of a two-story home that appeared to be much larger than their small one-story in San Francisco. It was a simple home, with tan siding and windows trimmed in a dark shade of brown. The wooden front door had a frosted glass pattern cut into the center. Like Tiffany’s, she noticed.
“Is this it?” Abigale asked, and stuffed her phone into her back pocket.
Her mother nodded and flashed her a bright smile. “Yup! Do you like it?”
She shrugged. “It’s nice.”
Abigale knew her answer wasn’t what her mother was looking for, but she didn’t want to lie and say it was the best house she’d ever seen. It was definitely nicer than their last one, but she wasn’t about to say that out loud. She didn’t want to give her mother the impression she was happy with the move. She wasn’t, and that would never change.
The two climbed out of the car. Abigale caught sight of the U-Haul truck down the street, edging closer to the house. The U-Haul truck was just another ugly reminder of what had occurred in the past few days, and she was going to be much happier when it was gone.
“Why don’t you go inside? I’ll talk to the driver about where I want all the boxes, okay?”
Abigale nodded, and her mother threw her a set of keys. “The silver one should unlock the door,” she told her, beaming.
Instead of returning the smile, Abigale turned and walked up the concrete steps to the house. She didn’t want to know how much this place cost her mother, or how they were able to afford it.
While she was fumbling with the keys, a door slammed. Someone from the house beside her had just walked outside and was heading in Abigale’s direction.
Great, she thought to herself. Friendly, over-helpful neighbors.
Chapter Four
Abigale didn’t stick around to meet the neighbors. Before going inside, however, she decided to see how the scene unfolded from her doorstep. The person who had walked out of the house, a boy who appeared to be fresh out of high school, strode right up to her moth
er and extended his hand. When her mother shook it firmly, his eyes drifted up to where Abigale stood. She remained on the front step like a fool, her mouth suddenly dry as she caught sight of his dark blue irises, which reminded her of water at the sea floor. She was completely entranced.
When she regained her senses a few moments later, she stepped inside the house and slammed the front door shut. A hot blush filled her cheeks when she realized how peculiar she must have seemed.
She leaned against the inside of the door for a moment, peering out through the distorted glass. Abigale was curious about her new neighbor, but she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was his eyes or the fact he kept looking up to the house like he was searching for something, or someone. As far as she was able to tell, he couldn’t see her from the outside, so she was safe from further humiliation.
Her mother pointed to the stack of boxes slowly piling up on the sidewalk as the driver of the U-Haul truck unloaded them. The boy followed her mother’s gaze to the boxes and nodded. They exchanged a few more words before the two walked over to the ever-growing stack. Abigale turned from the door and looked onward to the rest of the house.
The interior was bland and rather bare for her taste. The last owners had left nothing besides a few chairs and table in the dining room, a couch and side table in the living room, and a microwave, fridge, and stove in the kitchen. The walls of each room were painted a creamy white that resembled the shade of her old bedsheets from when she was a kid. The floors were a mixture of tile and plush brown carpet.
Walking through the first floor, Abigale agreed this was definitely a nicer place than her home in San Francisco, which had been barely large enough for her and her mother and father. Here, her mother could have had at least two more children and they all would have been able to fit inside comfortably.
After walking back through the living room door, Abigale looked up the stairs to the second floor curiously. She assumed her bedroom would be on that floor. She didn’t feel right walking through this house she was to call her own, but she forced herself up the stairs anyway.
She counted the number of stairs she climbed. Nineteen steps to climb each time she wished to live in solitude. She could live with that.
The stairs led to a larger room, most likely a space for her mother’s office that had two doors on opposite sides leading out. She first walked to the right door, which opened to a vacant room. The room behind the left door had the same layout.
Abigale walked back into the first room. This would be her bedroom, she determined.
“Abigale?” The front door slammed shut. “Can you help me with this please?”
She exited her new bedroom with reluctance, reaching the first floor just in time to see their new neighbor, Mr. Piercing-Blue-Eyes, help her mother with the box she was about to drop.
“Thank you,” her mother said breathlessly while he set the box down near the stairs. “You don’t need to do all this, by the way.”
“It’s not a problem, really.” He then turned his attention to Abigale, who’d halted at the base of the staircase when she saw him. “I like helping out.”
For some reason, Abigale felt there was a double meaning to his words.
“Abigale!” her mother said, finally realizing she was standing there. “I would like you to meet our new neighb—”
“Damien Thackston,” he interrupted, extending a hand to Abigale. She shook it tentatively.
“Abigale Fern.”
She bit down on her lip as those eyes met hers again. They were so intimidating…so analytical. She felt as if he was probing her, trying to dig up anything he could about her. It sent chills throughout her body. The dizzying trance Damien held her under broke when he let go of her hand and backed away.
“Well, now that everyone has been introduced,” her mother said in a chipper tone, oblivious to Abigale’s uncomfortable feelings, “Damien, would you like to stay for supper? We’re getting takeout from that Chinese restaurant a couple of streets down from here.”
Abigale gave her mother a pleading look, praying she didn’t hear what she thought she just heard. She didn’t want her first night to be spent socializing with a boy she wasn’t sure she wanted to know any better than she already did. There was something about him that made her feel alive and ready for anything, but there was another part that screamed danger. She wasn’t sure she liked either half.
Damien’s eyes darted from Abigale to her mother and back to Abigale again. A smile slowly spread across his face. “That would be lovely, Mrs. Fern.”
“Please, call me Miranda.”
Abigale wrinkled her nose in disgust. Her mother didn’t even let Tiffany, who’d been friends with Abigale since elementary school, use her first name, but now she was letting a complete stranger do so?
“Are you okay with that, Abigale?”
Abigale could sense the forceful tone in her mother’s voice. She had no choice but to say she was fine with it, or there would be consequences later on.
“Sure.”
“Great! I’ll look up the number. Abigale, why don’t you help the nice man outside carry in the chairs for the dining table?” her mother asked sweetly, giving her a look that wasn’t as sweet.
Again, Abigale knew she didn’t have a choice in the matter. She gave her mother a curt nod before walking to the door and slipping her Asics sneakers over her feet. She exited the house with Damien close behind.
“I’ve got it,” she muttered to him without turning around.
“I know.” Despite this, Damien remained standing a few feet away.
Abigale bit her lip but didn’t say anything else. She picked up one of the dining room chairs and carried it up the sidewalk. Damien, sensing the chair was too lopsided for one person to carry, grabbed the chair legs and helped Abigale carry it in the house. She gave him a begrudging look, knowing she would have dropped it if he hadn’t helped. He returned the grin as they set the chair down in the dining room.
“Three to go,” he said.
They walked outside again. The sun was already fading from the sky, and it was only eight in the evening. Abigale sighed and grabbed another chair from the U-Haul truck driver, giving him a smile.
Damien helped her get the last three chairs into the dining room. By that time, her mother was on the phone with the restaurant. While she placed their order, Abigale took a seat at the table.
“How old are you, Abigale?” Damien asked casually, leaning his hip on the dining room wall. She ran her eyes down his lean profile, noting the pectoral muscles that strained against his fitted dark t-shirt.
Abigale looked away, trying to hide the blush that had blossomed on her cheeks. “I just turned seventeen in June. Why?”
Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a sensation of dragonflies erupted in Abigale’s stomach. She shifted in her seat. “I was just curious,” he said.
She nodded, her focus glued to the grains in the table. “How old are you?”
She made the mistake of glancing up at him and staring into his eyes again. Her mouth went dry for the third time that day, but she couldn’t pull away. Damien seemed to ponder the question for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he should tell her his exact age. Then he sighed and pushed his thumb through a belt loop in his jeans. “Twenty-one.”
Before Abigale could react to the four-year age difference, her mother strolled back into the room with a smile. “Dinner shouldn’t be too long now. Make yourself comfortable, Damien.”
THE INTERROGATION
PART TWO
June 25, 2015, 7:15 P.M.
Case No. 20150625-04
The detective leaned back in his chair. Abigale stared at the table. For the past three hours, they’d sat there, repeating the same dance over and over. No matter how hard Detective Collins pushed, he couldn’t get her to utter the words. She felt like someone was pressing down on her airways every time she tried to speak. All she could do was tremble as she relived that night…that terrifying night she wis
hed to forget.
“Ms. Fern,” the detective said for the thousandth time that evening. “Please, I need to know what happened.”
His voice was sincere, gentle even. A stark contrast to his frustration earlier. Abigale lifted her gaze, shaking her head, and met the kind eyes of the detective. She refused to speak, knowing she wouldn’t be able to get the words out without breaking into numerous pieces.
The detective sighed, leaning back in his chair. It made a noise that reverberated off the walls and rang in her ears. “Please, Abigale. I can’t help you unless you tell me what—”
Another detective burst into the room, stopping him from finishing his sentence. The scruffy detective looked between Abigale and the detective, his sky-colored eyes widened in alarm.
“What is it, Larson?” the detective sitting across from Abigale asked, a hint of concern lacing his voice.
The person at the door, Detective Larson, glanced at Abigale again, who was suddenly alert, poised to spring like a cat that had cornered its prey. “Uniforms visited the house. They…” he paused, wincing at Abigale’s widening eyes. “Maybe I should tell you this outside, Collins.”
Collins nodded and stood. The chair screeched against the hard floor, causing Abigale to grind her teeth. “I’ll be back soon, Ms. Fern. Make yourself comfortable.”
It was humorous of him to say because Abigale was anything but comfortable. When the pair of detectives left the eighteen-year-old girl alone in the interrogation room, she felt even more unsafe than when she was back in his house. She felt vulnerable, like she was being watched around the clock with no one to protect her.
Her eyes darted around the room, lingering at a picture of a vast ocean. It was the only piece of art in the room, and it glared down at her from above like it had been for the past five hours she’d been there.
