by Amy Crandall
Donny winked at her and guided Jules away, back into the throng of people dancing in the middle of the room. Abigale was about to follow them when someone’s arms wrapped around her from behind. Startled, she yelped, almost kicking the person behind her where it would hurt.
“Abbyyyy,” a deep voice drawled in her ear. Their breath tickled the back of her neck, and she relaxed.
“You scared me half to death, Mike.”
Mike’s chin dug into her shoulder as he held her tighter against him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, pressing kisses along her exposed shoulder, and she went rigid again. He pressed the length of his body against hers, his belt digging into her lower back. Her breath hitched in her throat when he gripped her hips.
“Mike…” she said, her tone unsteady.
His lips had settled into the crook of her neck, and she felt vulnerable. Exposed. A lump rose in Abigale’s throat, realizing what was going to happen next if she didn’t stop it. “Mike, stop.”
He spun her around, his lips landing on hers. Panic welled up in her gut. His kisses were forceful, not at all like how he’d kissed her the night before. She tried to pull away, but he only tugged her closer.
“Mike,” she said between kisses, “stop.”
Either he didn’t hear her, or he pretended not to as his hands roamed her body. She tried to push him away, but he was much stronger than her. Tears formed in her eyes as his hand slipped under her shirt. This wasn’t like Mike at all.
When his hand slipped up further, she shoved him as hard as she could.
A terrifying smile lit up Mike’s face. “You want to play hard to get then, babe?”
He advanced again, roughly kissing her like she was worth nothing more to him than a thing to play with. Abigale stomped on his foot with as much strength as she could muster. He broke away from the kiss and cursed in pain. Shoving him away again, Abigale took a step back, trying to catch her breath. She noticed her cup of beer on the floor beside him. The drink had sprayed across the wall and on the hardwood. She’d dropped it during Mike’s assault.
The tears in Abigale’s eyes apparently snapped Mike out of his drunken state for a moment. Pain clear in his eyes he pleaded, “Abigale…”
She didn’t want to hear his excuses. She felt used and violated, her innocence stripped from her. Abigale turned away from Mike, her mind whirling. How could he? Tears streaming down her cheeks, she pushed past the crowd in the hallway and out the front door. A gust of wind blew past her, chilling her to the bone.
The horrible truth dawned on her as she glanced around at all of the vehicles around her. She didn’t have a ride. She had to walk home. Abigale’s cries grew louder as she walked on the sidewalk, reliving the night over again. She thought about going back to see if Jules was okay, but she didn’t want to chance seeing Mike. She never wanted to see his face ever again.
His eyes, bloodshot and wild-looking, haunted her thoughts. She knew they’d live in her dreams for weeks to come.
Abigale was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn’t see the sleek black car pull up beside her. The driver rolled the window down, their face concealed in shadows.
“Do you need a lift?”
“No,” Abigale said, waving the hand away. Then she caught a glimpse of the driver and smiled. “Damien?”
“The one and only,” he said, flashing her a smirk. “Get in.”
She glanced down the road from where she came and shuddered. The feeling of Mike’s hands still lingered on her skin. She hesitantly got into the car.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
For the first few minutes, neither of them spoke. Abigale made a point not to look at Damien as he drove, and stared out the window. At one in the morning, many of the houses in Arcata were dark inside. She longed to be in her own bed, sleeping, even though that meant the nightmares would come. Shuddering, she looked over at Damien.
“Why were you walking around alone?” he asked.
“I—I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”
Damien turned to her again, his piercing eyes seeming to hold her in place. “I said, you’re lying. Why were you wandering around at one in the morning, Abigale?”
She scowled. “I could ask you the same question, Damien.”
With an annoyed sigh, he said, “I needed to get out of the house. I couldn’t sleep.” He paused, a smile flickering across his face. “I wasn’t stalking you, Abby.”
The way he said it made Abigale shiver, although she couldn’t figure out if it was a nervous one or her body’s way of telling her that she needed a jacket. She guessed the latter. Wrapping her arms around her torso, she rubbed herself, hoping the friction would warm her. Damien noticed her discomfort and pulled over onto the curb.
“What are you doing?” Abigale asked.
Damien shifted into park and pulled his hoodie over his head. He tossed it to her before pulling back onto the road. “Put it on.”
“But you’ll get cold,” said Abigale. He wore a dark t-shirt under the hoodie, and she knew it wouldn’t keep him warm for long. She tried to give the hoodie back to him, but Damien gave it right back to her.
“I’m fine. You look like you need it more than I do.”
Abigale stared at the hoodie for a moment before relenting. Instant warmth flowed through her when she put it on, and she let a sigh escape her lips. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Not long after that, they pulled up in front of Abigale’s house. When Damien stopped the car, Abigale stepped out, eyeing the front door warily. By the appearance of the street, her mother hadn’t made it home yet. Good. She didn’t want to have to explain why she’d snuck out to a party she didn’t even enjoy.
The beer she’d drunk was beginning to have an effect on her. She found it harder to concentrate, and her heart beat faster than usual. However, it may not be the beer at all, but the fact she’d just been driven home by a guy she had feelings for.
Instead of driving off to park his car in the neighboring driveway, Damien stepped out of the vehicle as well. He met Abigale at the front step of the house. “I just wanted to make sure you got in okay.”
Abigale nodded. “Thank you. For driving me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t seen me.”
Damien smiled, reaching for her. Her pulse sped up when his fingers intertwined with hers. “You’re welcome. I’m still curious as to why you were out here in the first place. You know it’s not safe.”
“About that, I—” Abigale’s words were cut off by the screech of tires on pavement. She whipped around to see what was causing the racket, and her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers tightened around Damien’s when a familiar car pulled up to the front of her house and Mike hopped out of the driver’s side. No, stumbled. His eyes were more bloodshot than when she’d seen him earlier. He was completely wasted.
“Abby?” He sounded confused. Her body went rigid as he came closer, his eyes narrowing at Damien. Then he saw their interlocked hands. Mike stopped walking, his eyes reflecting murderous tendencies. “What are you doing with him?”
“Nothing, Mike,” Abigale said, ripping her hand away from Damien’s. “I was just going inside.”
Mike gritted his teeth, his jawline sharper than usual. “Was he coming along too then? Were you going to get it on with him after you rejected me at the party?”
Damien stepped in front of her protectively. “I was driving her home. Seems like you left her alone at the party, Mike.”
Abigale sucked in a breath. What was Damien doing?
The two men were face-to-face, one just as angry as the other. Abigale stepped in between them, putting her hands against their chests. “Stop it, both of you.”
Mike shrugged her off, entirely focused on Damien. “I knew you were going to be trouble when I met you at the theatre last night. Stay away from her. She’s mine!”
; Damien’s gaze turned as murderous as Mike’s. “She is not your anything. Go home before you get hurt.”
Mike swung his fist, making contact with the side of Damien’s face. A sickening crunch followed, and Damien stumbled back. Abigale jumped in front of him and put her palms in front of herself defensively.
“Please, Mike!” she pleaded. “Just, go home.”
Mike looked between her and Damien, his expression hard. His fists were clenched at his sides, but Abigale knew they wouldn’t be for long. If she didn’t do something, it would turn into an all-out brawl.
Shaking, she reached for him. Flashes from the party echoed in her mind. The loud music ringing in her ears as he laid his hands on her. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she swallowed back her sob. She rested her palm on his chest and reached up to cup his cheek. “Please,” Abigale said in the calmest voice she could muster. “Go home.”
Mike visibly relaxed, but his fists were still white from clenching so hard. Damien groaned and got up from the ground. This drew Mike’s attention away from Abigale, and his rage returned. He pushed her out of the way and she hit the wall with so much force that she got an instant headache. Mike grabbed Damien’s shirt in his fist and swung back, ready to punch him again.
“No! Stop!” Abigale cried. She raced toward the two, but it was too late. Damien ducked out of Mike’s grasp and landed a punch to his stomach. He groaned in pain and hunched over. Damien brought his knee up and kicked him in the groin, dropping him to the ground. He then proceeded to climb on top of Mike and punch him again, and again, and again. Abigale watched with sickening horror as Mike was beaten to a bloody pulp. The rage Damien exuded was nothing like she’d ever seen, and it scared her. She snapped out of her stupor when the neighbors across the street turned their living room light on. Panic overcame her, and she surged forward.
“Damien, stop! What are you doing?” She grabbed his arm, but he shoved her away with one hand and continued his assault. Mike was coughing up blood, his arms raised in a feeble attempt to defend himself. His bloodshot eyes met Abigale’s, and she felt like the breath had been stolen from her lungs.
“Damien!” she yelled, grabbing onto his arm again. “Stop! You’re going to kill him!”
Damien froze. His mesmerizing blue eyes met hers, but instead of their usually cocky gleam, they were filled with a fury unlike she’d ever seen. Abigale slid across the grass away from Damien and the heap beneath him, horror filling her gut. The lethal look disappeared from his eyes when he peered down at Mike once more. He slid off of him, and Abigale crawled over, crouching next to Mike, who was trying to pick himself up off of the ground.
“Mike?” she whispered, helping him to his feet.
He shrugged her off. “Stay away from me.”
Despite the irony of his words, tears formed behind her eyelids. “Mike?”
He gave her a defeated look, backing away from her. “Just promise me you’ll be careful with him, Abigale. He’s bad news.”
Mike stumbled to his vehicle, climbed into the driver’s side, and sped off. Abigale realized too late that he was in no condition to be driving.
Damien was still on the ground when Abigale turned back to him. He averted his eyes from her angry gaze.
“What the hell were you thinking?” she snapped angrily. “You could have killed him!”
He peered up at her, his expression hard. “No, I couldn’t have, Abigale. He’s fine.”
Damien stood. Dark spots flecked his shirt, and she instantly knew it was Mike’s blood. Swallowing back a sob, she said, “Just go.”
Damien shook his head. “No. You’re distraught. I should stay to make sure you’re okay.”
“Are you joking?” Abigale said. “You’re the reason I’m distraught!”
Damien’s jaw clenched. “I’m not the only reason. What happened at that party, Abigale? You could barely look at the prick when he showed up.”
Abigale flinched. “It’s none of your business.”
“Oh, but it is,” Damien said, taking an intimidating step toward her. “He did something. Don’t you dare try to deny it.”
“Go home, Damien,” she said, her voice wavering as he took another step. “I mean it.”
He laughed humorlessly. “Are you scared of me, Abigale? Because I protected you from him?”
As he approached, Abigale backed into the porch steps. That distant, murderous countenance he’d had when he was attacking Mike was beginning to make an appearance again.
“Yes,” she whispered, climbing the steps. She didn’t take her eyes off of him. “I am scared of you.”
Damien pinned her against the front door of the house, his grip on her arm harsh. Abigale was frozen in place, scared to do anything for fear he’d snap. His eyes searched hers, trying to dig up her deepest, darkest secrets just by looking at her. Then he did something she wasn’t expecting.
He leaned in, and he kissed her.
And she did something she herself wasn’t expecting.
She kissed him back.
THE INTERROGATION
PART SIX
June 26, 2015, 3:18 A.M.
Case No. 20150625-04
It was dark. Abigale peered into the unyielding black. She was searching for someone, anyone, to help her. Her wrists were bound to the chair with zip ties so tightly that it cut off the circulation to her fingers. She strained against the bonds, knowing somebody was there, watching her. More specifically, that he was watching her.
“Hello?” she called into the darkness, her tone raspy from screaming. Abigale’s breath hitched when a floorboard creaked a few feet away from her. “Hello? Please, if anyone is there, help me!”
Silence followed her desperate plea. She began to hyperventilate. Her fast, shallow breaths were the only sound in the small room. “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?”
A cool hand grabbed onto her neck from behind and squeezed, cutting off her ability to breathe. She gasped for air, making animalistic noises that sounded like something being tortured. Her throat burned with a fire that couldn’t be quenched. Abigale wanted to claw at the fingers around her throat, but she couldn’t cut through the zip ties by strength alone.
A voice echoed in her ears and the hand around her neck vanished as fast as it had appeared. She gasped and sat up in her chair. Detective Collins and Agent Ross were staring at her. The detective appeared worried, but Ross’ face was blank. He was a mask of calm, and it bothered Abigale. She wiped her eyes and blinked away the blurriness that resulted from her short rest.
“Ah, you’re awake!” Agent Ross said with mock enthusiasm. “Did you sleep well?”
Abigale glanced around the interrogation room, wondering if she was still in a dream or not. It didn’t feel like it, but neither did the dream she just had.
“Yes,” she lied, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. She didn’t want to show the FBI agent any fear, as it would only translate into weakness. “It was a great dream, actually.”
Agent Ross looked at her skeptically, taking a seat across from her. He slapped a file down on the table between them. “Good,” he said. “Because we have much to talk about.”
Abigale focused on Detective Collins, but his face was blank of any emotion. Her shoulders slumped. “What is it we have to talk about, Agent Ross? I already told you I didn’t kill Jules. I don’t know what more there is to talk about.”
Ross studied her expressionlessly. “Nothing to talk about,” he mused, his gaze darkening. “We have a lot to talk about, Abigale, believe me.”
Abigale swallowed nervously. The agent was right, as much as she hated to admit it. She still hadn’t discussed what had happened only four days prior. She shuddered as memories rushed back to her: The musty smell of the room mixed with the metallic taste of her own blood in her mouth; the utter darkness that threatened to swallow her whole; the pain she felt when she tried to break free of the vice-like grip the zip ties had around her wrists. It was enough to unhinge a perfectly stable person, an
d it had unhinged her.
“Abigale,” snapped Agent Ross.
She flashed back to the present with a jolt. “What?”
The agent looked her over with an impatient gleam in his dark eyes. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?” Abigale turned her attention to Detective Collins, who was leaning against the wall, staring at the pair intently.
“I asked you if you can recall the events that occurred on May seventeenth of this year.”
Abigale frowned. “What happened that day?”
Agent Ross sighed, glancing at Detective Collins with his impatient expression, like, do we seriously have to deal with her? Then he looked back at Abigale. “The night Michael Klasson was attacked. I’d like you to tell me what happened.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The agent reached for the file he’d thrown onto the table earlier. Flipping it open, he jabbed a finger at an enlarged photo of a person lying on the pavement. “How do you explain this, then?”
Abigale closed her eyes, the photo still burning into the remnants of her mind. The night he was attacked was the last time she’d seen him. She still wasn’t sure how he—
“Abigale!” Agent Ross slammed his hand down in front of her, startling Abigale into opening her eyes again. “I would like you to explain to me how a wild night of partying ended in this!” He pointed at the photo again, and Abigale slapped a hand over her mouth when she felt bile rising in her throat.
“I told you,” she said, “I don’t know!”
An evidence bag landed on the table. Abigale’s pulse skyrocketed. Blood stained the familiar canvas.
“How do you explain this, then?” he asked, his voice menacingly calm.
Abigale felt the fingers around her throat again, squeezing the life out of her. The bag…she’d gotten rid of it. It should have been in the landfill by now. How did they have it? “I—what is this?”
“Why don’t you tell me, Abigale? It was picked up from your house. It’s too bad you didn’t conceal it better when the garbage truck came by to pick it up. He reported it to us immediately. A day after the party.”
