by Amy Crandall
Abigale looked down at her hands, which both shook. But from what? Jitters? Shock? Fright? Pain? She wasn’t able to decide.
She refocused on the door that both detectives had disappeared behind. What did that cop have to tell Collins that she couldn’t be in the room for? Could it be something about her mom? Maybe her dad? Her stomach churned at the thought.
The analog clock that hung on one of the bland walls was beginning to drive her insane. The constant ticking noise that counted every second she was in the room rattled around her brain. Abigale fought the urge to rip it from the nail it was suspended from and smash it on the floor. She pictured the glass face shattering on the tile, the small gears and parts sliding across the floor in a desperate attempt to flee her anger. Abigale would have already done it if she knew Collins wouldn’t make her pay for a new one.
After enduring a few minutes of excruciating silence with only her tortured thoughts and the ticking noise of the analog clock, Collins re-entered, his face ashen.
“What’s wrong?” Abigale asked, her heart climbing into her throat. The tears that had been streaming down her cheeks were long dried.
The detective shook his head, taking a seat at the table. “It’s nothing. I’ll tell you when I have more information. No sense in worrying you yet.”
“Yet?” Abigale said. She reached for his arm, her fingers wrapping around his wrist. “No, I want to know now.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Please.”
Collins sighed, glancing down where she squeezed his arm. He removed her pale, shaky hand from his wrist and placed it back on her side of the table. “I’ll make you a deal. You tell me what I want to know, and I’ll inform you of what’s going on.”
Abigale’s hands curled into fists as the memories flooded back again. “No, I can’t,” she said in a small voice. “Please don’t make me do this.”
The detective took a deep breath. “I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you. Believe me, I don’t want to make you talk. It’s the last thing on my list of things I wish to do right now, but you have no choice. The police department cannot do anything if you don’t tell us what happened.”
“Then don’t. I don’t care anymore.” Fresh tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. Images began surfacing, ones she desperately wanted to bury under five tons of cement.
“Please, Abigale. Don’t you want to see justice for everyone?”
“I don’t care! Just leave me alone!” she shouted, grabbing her head with both hands. Blood…there was so much blood. She couldn’t erase it from her mind.
“Ms. Fern!” Collins said, getting up from his chair as she slipped out of hers. She rocked back and forth on the floor, stuck in a flashback. The doctors had warned her this might happen if she was put under too much stress, and they were right.
“No! No! No! No!” she shrieked. The interrogation room had suddenly disappeared, and Abigale found herself on the floor of a dark space. She recognized it immediately. She was inside his house. The house she hadn’t been inside since the day she escaped. Abigale sat beside a large, dark lump on the bedroom floor, a wet substance sticking to the fingers she had placed on the carpet seconds earlier.
She remembered this moment. It was the instant after the gunshot that had sent her tumbling to the floor. However, it wasn’t her who’d been shot. He made sure of that.
“Please, get me out of here!” Abigale couldn’t hear the detective trying to snap her out of her meltdown. In fact, she couldn’t hear anything besides a deafening ring in her ears. She rocked back and forth, her hands held over her eardrums in a desperate attempt to block out the noise. She refused to look at the lump beside her, where the cold, dead eyes of the loved one he mercilessly killed would surely meet hers.
A horrified scream erupted from the deepest reaches of her subconscious as the image of the body surfaced, and the sound echoed through her tortured thoughts.
Get me out of here!
CHAPTER FIVE
At half past eight, the doorbell rang throughout the Ferns’ new home. Abigale was already by the door, cash in hand, having been designated by her mother to retrieve the food. Opening the front door at the third bell, she accepted a large paper bag from a boy who appeared to be around her age. She flashed a small smile and passed him the wad of cash.
“Thank you,” the sandy-haired boy said graciously. “You have a good night.”
She blushed lightly when the boy winked at her. “You too.”
When Abigale turned around after shutting the front door, Damien appeared in the dining room entrance. A scowl etched itself on his face, but it quickly morphed into a grin when he saw the bag in Abigale’s arms. “Oh, good. The food’s here, Miranda!”
Passing off the bag into Damien’s waiting arms, she brushed past him without a second glance. While she found his scowl odd, she didn’t ponder the meaning behind it for very long, determining that it probably wasn’t her he was scowling at. Abigale proceeded to grab the plates from her mother, who had just taken them out of one of the packed boxes moments before, and set them down on the three placemats at the table.
Her mother distributed the food. As she passed Abigale the rice, her mother quizzed Damien about his school life.
“Do you attend the high school here, Damien?”
Damien shook his head. “No, no, no. I’m actually attending Humboldt State University.”
Her mother cocked an eyebrow. “Really? What are you studying?”
“I’m working toward getting my B.A. in psychology right now. I want to become a lawyer at some point.” He took a bite of a wonton dripping in sweet sauce. “My mother was a lawyer before she…passed away.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry for your loss, Damien,” Abigale’s mother replied. A frown worked its way onto her face. “May I ask how long ago?”
“Eight years ago this December. I moved in with my uncle right after her passing. That’s where I’m staying now while I attend the university.”
Her mother nodded slowly, taking a sip of water from her glass. “I didn’t realize you were living with someone else. You should have invited him to join us, Damien.”
“No!” His sharp tone caused Abigale to flinch. Damien’s face flushed. “I mean, he’s quite incapacitated,” he hastily backtracked. “Rarely gets out of bed these days.”
“Oh, that’s very unfortunate, Damien. Would it be okay if I sent some of the leftovers home with you, so he can have some too?”
“That should be fine. Thank you, Miranda.”
Abigale didn’t speak throughout their entire exchange, keeping her gaze focused on her plate of food. She felt bad for Damien and what happened to his mother, but she had a suspicious feeling about him. What was with his outburst? It seemed like he was trying to hide something…something about his uncle. She also didn’t like the fact he was budging his way right through her new home with his overly helpful nature and easygoing attitude. Her mother was eating up the attention, not even bothering to be somewhat cautious about their hypnotic guest.
“Abigale?” her mother said after a few moments of silence. “Take the finished plates to the sink, please?”
She didn’t bother to argue with her mother. Instead, Abigale stacked the plates, took them from the table, and walked stiffly to the kitchen. She dumped them into the sink and placed her palms on either side of the basin. It had been such a long day, and she was ready to drop.
Then Abigale froze, her fingers digging into the countertop. She still needed to contact Tiffany; she’d told her she would call when they arrived to try and fix things.
Abigale took her phone from the back pocket of her jeans and walked back to the dining room. “May I be excused, Mom?”
Her mother looked Abigale up and down, lingering on the phone in her hand. Then she sighed and nodded. “Yes, you can go, Abigale.”
Before escaping to her new room, Abigale bid a farewell to Damien, who was retrieving the jacket he had hung up near the door
earlier. “You have a good night, Abigale. I really enjoyed meeting you, and I hope you like it here in Arcata.” He smiled. “It is a very…interesting place.”
Abigale didn’t ask what he meant by an interesting place. “I hope I like it here too.”
She averted her gaze before he could suck her in with his stormy eyes again and raced up the steps to her room.
***
Abigale made up her bed before attempting to call Tiffany. Her mother had determined they weren’t going to unload Abigale’s bedframe until the next day, so she was stuck on the floor with a few blankets and a sleeping bag.
I’m not going to sleep tonight, anyway.
Abigale sighed in defeat. She was much too worried about everything, and she still hadn’t heard back from her father, whom she’d called twice since arriving in Arcata. Each time, she was forwarded to voicemail.
She sat on the carpet, which wasn’t very comfortable, and dialed Tiffany’s number. While she waited for her best friend to pick up, Abigale let her eyes wander around her new bedroom. The walls were completely bare, but she planned on fixing that as soon as she could. She had a feeling once her room was completely done up like it had been in San Francisco, it would help her adjust to her new town better. Something familiar was what she needed at the moment.
When Tiffany answered, Abigale jumped in surprise. “Tiffany! Oh, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”
“You have no idea how good it is to hear yours,” Tiffany replied with a sigh. “How are you? How’s Arcata?”
“Wanting to be back home with you. I hate every second I’m here.”
“I’m not overly joyful about it either, Abby. You’re my only friend. How am I supposed to survive school without you by my side?”
Abigale thought she heard a faint sniffle on the other end of the line.
“I know. I feel the same way, Tiff.” Her shoulders sagged. “I miss you and I haven’t even been here a full day yet.”
Another sniffle came from Tiffany’s end of the phone. “We’ll manage. We’ll call each other every night, and I don’t want any excuses from you, got it?”
The playfulness in Tiffany’s tone made Abigale grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the one calling you.”
There were a few moments of silence, then Tiffany asked, “Have you picked out a room yet?”
“Yup. I haven’t actually moved into it yet though. Mom didn’t want to unload my stuff from the moving truck tonight. I have to sleep on the floor until further notice.”
“You have to sleep on the cold floor? Geez. That’s awful, Abby! How will you survive?”
Sensing the humorous tone in her best friend’s voice, Abigale rolled her eyes. “Hmm, I’ll manage. I’m more worried about starting school tomorrow. It’s going to be suicide going into a new school as a junior. Everyone with their cliques and all…”
“I don’t have any advice for you other than to stay out of the popular girls’ way and be yourself. People will come to you. You’re friendly-looking enough.”
“Thanks,” Abigale replied. “With my baggy sweatshirts, buds in my ears, and a permanent scowl on my face, I really do look friendly, don’t I?”
Tiffany laughed. “Okay, maybe wear something other than a baggy sweatshirt. You’ve got the body to pull something else off, you know. Also, try to smile more. People will love you.”
“Thanks, Tiff.”
“Anything for my best friend.” Tiffany was quiet for a moment then said, “Shoot, it’s ten-thirty. Mom wants me in bed now. Good luck with school tomorrow, Abby. Remember what I said. Love you, goodnight!”
“Love you, t—” but Tiffany had already hung up the phone.
CHAPTER SIX
“Mom, do you know where my clothes are?” Abigale called from upstairs. She was beginning to panic. She had to be at the school in less than an hour, and she couldn’t find the boxes she’d carelessly stuffed her clothes into. Were they still packed away in the moving truck? She hoped not. There were way too many boxes to go through in the truck, and she didn’t have that kind of time.
“Downstairs!” She heard the faint reply from one of the far rooms, most likely the kitchen. “I made sure they brought in the necessities!”
And my bed isn’t a necessity?
Abigale didn’t dare say that out loud. Her mother hated it when she mouthed off to her.
She nearly flew down the flight of stairs, just about losing her footing on one of the bottom steps. Luckily, she managed to grip the railing before she completely lost her balance and tumbled down the rest of the way.
“Where?” Abigale called in the general direction of her mother’s voice after she’d calmed her erratic heartbeat.
Right after she asked, she found a large pile of boxes stacked in the right corner of the living room, the top one labeled with her name in black marker.
“Never mind, I found them!”
Sighing, she supported the top-heavy box with her hip and walked back up the stairs to her room. She set it on her bedroom floor and tore through the tape with an X-Acto knife she brought up when she grabbed the box. She placed the knife on the floor next to her and rummaged through the clothing, trying to find her favorite sweater. Touching the soft blue fabric, she pulled it from the box.
Abigale walked to the bathroom with the sweater in hand, stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her. Pulling the sweater over her head, she smiled at the instant comfort it provided. She remembered what Tiffany had said the night before, how she should wear something other than a sweatshirt, and shrugged. Abigale was notorious for not following her best friend’s fashion advice.
She brushed her long black curls, arranging them tidily around her face, then applied a light coat of black mascara to highlight her emerald-green eyes. She wore no other makeup, not wishing to be labeled one of those clown-faced girls who always begged for attention.
She preferred remaining in the background when it came to the high school social life. She wasn’t into receiving a bunch of attention, nor was she into having a bunch of horny teenage boys gawk at her. That was one of the reasons she wore baggy sweatshirts, complete with black leggings. The other reason was that she liked to be comfy.
Her top lip twitched as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Part of her wondered if she were like those clown-faced girls, would some guy take notice of her? Even though she acted like she wanted to be alone, she secretly craved to be wanted by someone. In that regard, she was just like every other teenage girl.
“Abigale, hurry up! I have a job interview to get to!” her mother called up the stairs.
Abigale took one more glance at herself in the mirror. Good enough.
She pushed the door open and headed downstairs with her sneakers in tow.
“Your lunch is on the counter,” said her mother.
Abigale couldn’t help but notice the black pantsuit that hugged her mother’s curves as she walked by. The high heels she wore made her much taller than Abigale, which bothered her. She hated being so short. It always upset her, especially when her mother wore heels.
“You look good, Mom,” Abigale said, ignoring the twinge of jealousy in her gut. She snatched her lunch bag from the kitchen counter, picked up her school bag from the floor beside the door, and stuffed the lunch inside.
“Thanks, Abby. It’s not too formal?”
Abigale looked her mother up and down. The job interview was for a journalist position; the same type of job her mother had given up when she decided to up and move them to Arcata. Abigale mentally scratched off a new job opportunity to be the cause of their move and said, “No, it’s perfect, Mom. They’ll love you.”
Abigale was still cross with her mother about the sudden move but thought if she was super kind to her, she’d tell her everything. There was a reason her mother wanted to leave…a reason Abigale had yet to be informed of. She still thought it had something to do with her father.
Her shoulders slumped forward at the tho
ught of her father. Abigale hadn’t even been able to tell him goodbye before they left. Maybe she’d see him soon. Maybe he’d come visit her once he figured out where they had gone. Unless she tried calling him again.
“Abigale?” Her mother was looking at Abigale with considerable worry. “Are you okay?”
Abigale shoved her thoughts into the back of her mind temporarily. “Yes. Sorry, I was just thinking about something.”
“Mind telling me what?”
“Nope, it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Her mother frowned in suspicion but didn’t say anything more. She wrapped her hand around the handle of the door and pulled. Light flooded into the entrance of the house, and Abigale had to squint as she stepped outside.
It was a cool morning, with a slight breeze blowing in from the west, but she welcomed it. She hated balmy weather. She remembered the trip she took with her mother and father to the Dominican Republic, and how badly burned she got from walking around the beach resort in a bathing suit. Even though she had fun, Abigale was overjoyed when they had gotten back home. However, it was rather unpleasant to go back to school the next day smelling of burn ointment and showing off the complexion of a ripe tomato.
Throwing her bag into the back seat, Abigale climbed into the passenger’s side of the black Jeep and buckled her seatbelt, shaking from nerves. She was about to go to a new school and try to find her place among her new classmates. This, she determined, would be a very interesting day indeed.
***
Abigale’s mother pulled up to Arcata High School ten minutes later. She parked right in front of the entrance, much to Abigale’s dismay, and unlocked the door.
“I’ll see you after school, honey!” she said, flashing Abigale a smile.
Feeling lightheaded, Abigale reached behind her and retrieved her school bag from the back seat of the Jeep. The moment she had dreaded for the past few days had come, and she wanted to lock herself in the vehicle and beg her mother to not make her go. Sadly, she didn’t think her mother would be very impressed if she were to try something like that.
