by Amy Crandall
“Do you know who?” Abigale asked, shock seeping into her system like syrup. She never thought her father was capable of anything like her mother was describing, but considering how he acted earlier that day, she would have believed anything.
“No,” her mother said, crying now. She took another swig of the whiskey. “He never told me who. In a way, I’m glad he didn’t.”
Abigale sat back in the chair. “He never contacted me when we left. Did you have something to do with that?”
“No, I didn’t. I was surprised he didn’t try to contact you, to try and pit you against me. Although I think I accomplished that all by myself.” She paused. “I should’ve told you sooner, Abigale. I’m sorry.”
Abigale ignored the apology. “Did he tell you where he was going when he called you?”
“He never told me where he was. He only called to threaten me. He told me he knew where you were.”
“Why didn’t you try contacting me?” Abigale asked, anger slowly rising in her gut. “You knew he was dangerous. Why didn’t you try and protect me, Mom?”
“I called you,” her mother said, more tears falling. “I called you five times and you never picked up. I found your phone on the sofa when I got home. I thought for sure he had you.”
“So you sat down and had a drink?”
Abigale’s mother winced. “It’s not like that.”
“It sure as hell seems like it, Mom! You could’ve gone to the cops if you suspected I was kidnapped!” Abigale stood from the table, her fists clenched. “Nice to know you care.”
Her mother hung her head in shame. Abigale walked out of the room, retrieved her phone from the couch, and raced upstairs to her bedroom. Tears rushed down her cheeks the moment she locked her door.
THE INTERROGATION
PART SEVEN
June 26, 2015, 5:46 A.M.
Case No. 20150625-04
Abigale was transferred to another room after they found her staring at her own vomit splattered across the floor. The stench alone was enough to knock a person out, but Abigale was too numb to care. She knew what Jules had seen that morning had been bad, but she hadn’t realized until then exactly how horrible Mike had looked. The photograph depicted a scene straight out of a well-done horror movie, except it was real. Abigale knew it was Mike’s body in the photo not from the bloodied face, but the clothes. Clothes she’d seen on him the night before. His eyes, wide-open in terror, were the same shade of green she’d peered into for months.
Detective Collins placed a hand on her shoulder like a concerned friend, but his expression was blank of any emotion. Abigale figured he must have spent years perfecting that look.
“Come,” he told her. He noticed the photo on the table and swiftly pocketed it. “Please, Abigale.”
“What if I did do it like Ross said?” Abigale whispered, her gaze still locked on the vomit. “What if I killed Mike? Did I kill him?”
The detective was silent for a moment, then said, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve arranged for a lawyer to come in. You mentioned you wanted one, and frankly, I think you need one with that ruddy agent on your case.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Abigale tore her gaze from the floor, her eyes locked with his. “Did I kill him?”
Detective Collins sighed. His lips formed a tight line. “I can’t tell you for sure that you killed him. What I can tell you is that there is something shifty going on, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it before Agent Ross gathers the evidence to convict you, which he will do.”
“But in your opinion, did I kill Mike?”
“Ms. Fern, I’d advise that you don’t ask such questions until your lawyer gets here,” Collins replied. His authoritative voice chilled her, and not in a good way.
When he started toward the door, Abigale followed. She briefly glanced at the wooden table, the rickety chair she’d been seated in, and then the annoying analog clock that had screwed with her mind for what seemed like forever and sighed. Relief flooded her body, calming her senses for just a moment. She hoped she’d never see the room again.
Five minutes later she was seated in a room nearly identical to the last room, but a photograph of a barren wasteland decorated the bland walls. It reminded her of how her heart felt; barren.
How ironic.
Agent Ross sat across from her again. Detective Collins stood behind him, surveying the scene as he always did. Abigale was used to the routine by now; it had been over twelve hours.
Her eyelids felt heavy, but she forced herself to concentrate on the man sitting across from her. He didn’t say a word, but his eerie stare gave it all away. The agent was trying to break her down by simply analyzing her facial expressions and fidgety behavior, which made her fidget even more.
“So you’ve exhausted so many sources that you’ve had to resort to staring at me like a creep?” Abigale meant to make her words sound cocky, maybe a little intimidating. In truth, she was the one who was intimidated.
She didn’t like the feeling.
Agent Ross narrowed his eyes. “I’m actually waiting for you to confess to your crimes, Abigale. To tell you the truth, I didn’t think you’d last this long.”
“Want to know my secret?”
The agent folded his hands across his lap, his eyes still trained on hers. “Please, enlighten me.”
Anger surged through her veins, but she refused to snap. That was what he was expecting. He wanted to prove that she was unstable. “My secret is that I’m telling the truth,” she said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t kill anyone.”
“You keep saying that, but you haven’t truly answered any of the questions I’ve approached you about. You dodge the subject and expect me to forget. You’re hiding something. I’ve dealt with people much more deceiving than you, Ms. Fern. I know how to detect lies.”
Abigale clenched her fists under the table. He’s not worth it, she tried to tell herself.
Detective Collins’ dark eyes reflected pity. A moment of relief surged through her. He believed her. He was on her side.
She almost smiled.
Trying to steady her breathing, she turned back to Agent Ross. “I’m not lying to you, and I don’t appreciate it when false accusations are made against me.”
The agent sighed. He opened the manila folder lying in front of him on the desk and read from a page of text. “‘I know who you are, bitch. If you don’t stop harassing me, I’m going to track you down and do exactly to you what you did to Mike.’” He glanced up at Abigale. “Does that sound familiar to you?”
Abigale’s heart skipped a beat, despite the humorous monotone voice he’d used. “W-What do you mean?”
His eyes flashed with an emotion she recognized all too well; victory. “You sent these exact words to the Facebook profile DarkHeart434, did you not?”
Her mind flashed back to that day. The cold, stiff form in the body bag being wheeled out of the school. The cries of horror from the girls’ bathroom. The horrible chill that had crawled down her spine when she realized what had happened. “She wasn’t—she wasn’t DarkHeart434. You know that.”
“Yes, but at the time you didn’t know who DarkHeart434 really was. You assumed it was her.” He jabbed a finger at another photo he pulled from the file.
Abigale’s stomach turned. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no! I didn’t kill her!”
Agent Ross stood from his chair. “Then why was a text addressed to DarkHeart434 written in a note on her chest? Explain this to me, Abigale!”
Abigale burst out crying. “I don’t know!” she yelled hysterically. “I’m being s-set up!”
“Quit making petty excuses. Confess! You’re only making this worse for yourself.” Agent Ross shoved the photo in her face. “Look at her! Julia Holland is dead. You stabbed her because you thought she was making threats to you over Facebook!”
Abigale’s sobs filled the room. She cried for Mike, for Jules, for her mother, and her missing father. She cried
for herself, for her broken self with no family or friends to comfort her. Abigale Fern was alone in a big, cruel world, and the worst part was that things could have been different if her damned mother hadn’t moved them to Arcata. If her father hadn’t cheated and beat on her mother, she would still be in San Francisco with Tiffany.
“Look at her!” Agent Ross yelled over Abigale’s sobs, taunting her with the photo by waving it in front of her. “You did this! You robbed a poor, innocent girl of—”
“Agent Ross!” Detective Collins shouted. “Can’t you see she’s had enough for now? You’re scaring the crap out of her! If this is how Quantico runs things, then I’m glad I’m not a part of any of it. She’s eighteen, for crying out loud! She was stalked, beaten, and kidnapped, and you’re shoving pictures of her dead loved ones in her face and trying to charge her with multiple murders!”
Agent Ross was shocked at Collins’ sudden outburst. Abigale was too. Her sobs faded away and she removed her hands from her eyes to get a better look at him. The detective gave her a sad once-over before looking back to Ross.
The agent straightened up, his expression cold. “May I speak to you outside, Detective?”
Collins appeared reluctant to, but he nodded. “Of course.”
Agent Ross glanced back at Abigale once more. His face showed a flash of regret as he dropped the photo onto the table. The rest of the papers from the manila folder were scattered across the surface. He didn’t say anything to her, but Abigale knew he was sorry.
Agent Ross bowed his head, shame written all over his face. “I’ll be back.”
“Try to get some sleep,” Detective Collins added.
“Yeah,” she muttered. Through tears, Abigale watched them leave the room. She knew she was going to be charged with murdering her two best friends in Arcata one way or another.
And that scared her more than anything else.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
Abigale sat on the edge of her bed early Monday morning, staring down at her phone. The day before, she’d received another message from DarkHeart434. She’d been too angry with her mother, with herself, to look at the taunting message until then.
She hadn’t left her room since she’d talked to her drunk mother. She’d eaten the food her mother placed outside her bedroom door and spent twenty-four hours staring at the walls of her room. Sleep was a foreign concept.
She bit down on her lip hard. The message DarkHeart434 had left her was disarming. Abigale was happy she hadn’t checked it the day before.
DarkHeart434: So you finally found out about your father? Oh, my poor, dearest Abigale. I wish I could say I feel sorry for you. Truth is, I’m happy your world is falling apart. You deserve it.
Below the message was DarkHeart434’s signature trademark: a red rose emoticon. Vomit burned at the back of her throat. Whenever DarkHeart434 was angry with her, she knew something awful was about to happen.
Maybe I’ll end up like Mike, she thought miserably. Barely recognizable and buried six-feet in the dirt.
Another voice echoed in her head, a fierce one. No! You're stronger than this. Fight back! Show them you are not one to be messed with!
Setting her jaw, Abigale furiously typed a message on her phone. She sent it without a second thought.
Abigale: I know who you are, bitch. If you don’t stop harassing me, I’m going to track you down and do exactly to you what you did to Mike.
She was bluffing, of course, but she was done playing DarkHeart434’s games. Abigale wanted her life back, and maybe she needed to scare them into backing off.
Two seconds after she’d sent the message, it was marked as read. However, DarkHeart434 didn’t reply. Panic seized her when she realized the weight of her text. What if it made DarkHeart434 angrier? Had she just signed her own death warrant? Or someone else’s?
Swallowing back her fear, Abigale shoved her phone into her back pocket. She was worrying herself over nothing. That was what she told herself as she grabbed her backpack from the floor. She didn’t know why she was going to school that day, but something told her she needed to. Maybe it was her mind trying to tell her to get away from her mother, who was sitting on the couch in the living room when Abigale reached the bottom step of the staircase.
The vacant look in her mother’s eyes was gone, but the skin under her eyelids was puffy, like she’d been crying for an hour. “Abigale, I—”
Abigale slammed the front door before her mother could finish. She was still angry with her, with the fact that she didn’t bother to check on Abigale until after her shift when she knew something was horribly wrong.
Walking down the driveway, she spotted Damien’s car parked in the driveway, looking as pristine as it always did. This time, however, he was sitting in the driver’s seat. She didn’t approach him. After the events on Saturday, she’d had enough of Damien Thackston for a few days.
Abigale walked along the side of the road, her pace slower than usual. She thought about her father and her last image of him. His eyes had reflected those of a pure madman. At the thought of his fingers around her throbbing wrist, anger filled her. She pulled out her phone and dialed the number she’d dialed so many times when they first came to Arcata.
When his voicemail answered, Abigale yelled in frustration. She nearly threw her phone down on the damp pavement. Tears stung her eyes as his voice echoed through the phone, telling her to leave a brief message and that he’d call back as soon as he could.
That was the smallest lie he’d ever told, Abigale thought with a sneer at the remembrance of what her mother had told her days earlier. She ended the call without leaving a message. He wasn’t worth the effort anymore. He’d cheated on her mother and yanked Abigale around like a ragdoll. He yelled constantly at her mother when he thought Abigale had been sleeping.
As far as she was concerned, her father was dead to her.
***
Twenty minutes later, she was walking through Arcata High School’s double doors. Her first mission of the day was to track down Jules. After months of lies and cover-ups, Abigale was ready to admit everything to her new best friend. She’d determined this the night before when she’d been watching shadows of passing cars dance on the walls of her room. Since she couldn’t trust her mother and she was trying to distance herself from Damien, Abigale decided Jules would be the best person for her to discuss her ongoing predicament.
She found Jules at her locker, pulling a binder out of the massive pile of textbooks stacked on the floor of the locker. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun, and she wore a baggy sweater and leggings. It was a change for Jules, who was always dressed to impress.
“I need to talk to you.” Abigale’s throat was so dry that her voice came out hoarse.
“Holy sh—” Jules jumped up to face her. “You gave me a heart attack, Abby!”
“Sorry.”
Jules’ light blue eyes scanned over Abigale’s face, zeroing in on the dark circles under Abigale’s eyes, which were more prominent than usual. “It’s all right. No offense, but you look awful. Are you okay?”
“I haven’t been okay for a long time,” Abigale admitted. “I need to explain everything. There’s something I haven’t told you. A few things, actually.”
Jules nodded as if the news didn’t surprise her. “Okay, what’s going on?”
Abigale eyed the people around them and stepped closer to Jules. “Not here. Let’s go to the gym.”
***
The gymnasium was vacant just like Abigale had hoped. The two of them took a seat on the top set of bleachers. Jules appeared more concerned than ever, her worried gaze making Abigale fidget in her seat.
“We’re alone. Now tell me what’s been bothering you, Abby.”
Abigale pulled out her phone and opened the Messenger app. “There’s someone who’s been contacting me ever since I moved here. At first, it was through notes, then Facebook messages. I got the first note from this person the first evening I was al
one at the house. They broke in and I found it in the pizza I had ordered.”
She scrolled to the top of the conversation between her and DarkHeart434 and passed the phone to Jules. Her friend’s face morphed into a mask of horror and disbelief as she scanned through the conversations.
“This is…terrifying. You’ve been dealing with this for—” Her words caught in her throat when she read over one of the messages. Her eyes drifted up to Abigale’s, utter fear reflected in her irises. “He was eavesdropping on us that day?” The message from the day Jules was over was displayed across the screen. “That’s why you rushed upstairs with a knife.”
Abigale nodded. “Yeah, that’s why.”
Jules scrolled through the rest of the conversation. “W-What did he mean by this?”
She showed Abigale the message she was referring to.
DarkHeart434: My dearest Abigale. I told you to choose, and you did. I’m sorry you had to wake up like that. You’ll see me soon enough, though.
Abigale shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Abigale,” Jules said fiercely, “what did you wake up like the morning after Mike was killed? What did he mean by choosing? What the hell is going on?”
Abigale shuddered as she remembered her clothes, which had been soaked in blood. “I don’t know. Honestly, I can’t figure out most of the things DarkHeart434 says.”
Liar.
Jules gave the phone back to Abigale. “Have you contacted the cops about this? Have you told anybody else but me?”
“When the messages first started, I told my best friend from San Francisco. We don’t talk much anymore though. I stopped telling her when the messages got more serious.”
Jules pursed her lips, like she was thinking hard about something. “What did he mean about your father?”
