Delusions

by Amy Crandall

  Abigale’s body went rigid. “It’s nothing. I-I’ll tell you when I’ve fully processed it.”

  Jules nodded in understanding. “Okay. I still think you should go to the cops about these messages. He, like, repeatedly says that you’ll soon be with him. That’s some creepy shit right there, Abby.”

  “I know.”

  Jules narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to listen to my advice, are you?”

  “Probably not,” Abigale admitted.

  Jules sighed, exasperated. “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.”

  ***

  Her first two classes dragged by painfully slow. By lunch, Abigale was mentally exhausted, but it wasn’t because of the never-ending pile of work; she was drained because of her conversation with Jules, as well as everything going on with her father and Mike’s unexpected death. The only good thing about the morning was that DarkHeart434 had left her alone. Yet even that made her nervous. The message was still marked as read. Abigale had checked multiple times, hoping that it was just a trick of the mind. When she reached her locker to collect her lunch bag, she’d come to the conclusion that she made a horrible mistake.

  Abigale opened her locker and instantly a sea of red spilled from it. She shrieked in horror, staring down at the two dozen roses that had been stuffed in. In the middle of the pile was a note addressed to her.

  A small crowd formed around her, whispering. Some of them were talking about a secret admirer. Others commented on how jealous they were. Another thought that she was just an attention whore. Abigale didn’t pause to think of how cruel some of her classmates were being. She was too busy hyperventilating over the note lying amongst the pretty, yet horrifyingly nauseating flowers. She bent over and retrieved the paper from the ground and unfolded it.

  While she read the note, a huge crowd of students raced by, some yelling in terror and others silent as stone. The students gathered around her locker followed the mass. Abigale knew something was terribly wrong before Rachel’s hand landed on her shoulder, and her panicked voice yelled, "A girl was found in the bathrooms!"

  A girl was found in the bathrooms.

  A sound tore from Abigale’s throat that sounded more like a dying animal than a human. She dropped the note into the pile of the now trampled roses, still staring at the words written in cursive across the paper. She faintly heard Rachel yelling her name, calling for help, but nobody was listening. They were all headed to the girls’ bathrooms where the paramedics were waiting.

  My dearest Abigale. I thought I made it clear before that you were not to tell anyone about me. I’m sorry it had to come to this, but she was too much of a risk to keep alive.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Amidst the chaos, Abigale spotted Bethany’s panicked face through the sea of students, her brown eyes wide with alarm, her body shaking with fright. Even though Abigale hated to admit it, Bethany could relate to her in one way. They’d lost two loved ones in the span of a week. She wanted to run after her, to tell her how sorry she was about the whole ordeal with Mike, but she was too stunned to move. Rachel had to drag her by the arm to keep her moving.

  By the time they reached the bathrooms, a stretcher was already being wheeled out of the school in the opposite direction of the students. She nearly forgot to breathe as she and Rachel pushed their way to the front of the crowd.

  “Jules!” Abigale yelled hysterically. “Jules, no!”

  One of the paramedics laid a hand on Abigale’s shoulder, gently pushing her back. “Please, step back, miss.”

  “No!” Abigale tried to push past her. “Let me by! That’s my friend!”

  The paramedic gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m really sorry, sweetie. I can’t do that.”

  Abigale tried to push by her again. She struggled uselessly against the paramedic’s grip as two others and the gurney with the body bag disappeared from view.

  Abigale slipped to the ground, muttering Jules’ name deliriously. The paramedic patted her back in comfort, whispering encouraging things to her. She didn’t care if the whole school figured she was crazy. Abigale didn’t care about anything except for Jules.

  “What’s going on, here?” someone said from behind them.

  A man with dark skin stepped forward, scanning the scene intently. “Would you happen to be Abigale Fern?”

  “Yes,” Abigale said quietly.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Fern. I’m Detective Collins. May I have a word with you? It’s about your friend.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” the paramedic said. “She’s in shock.”

  The detective raised an eyebrow. “I think Abigale can make that decision on her own.”

  He looked at Abigale expectantly. She stood, a numb feeling spreading as the reality of what happened sank in.

  Jules was d—hurt because of her, because of what she told her earlier. She’d never be able to forgive herself for that.

  She followed the detective outside. The sun glared down from above, and a lump formed in Abigale’s throat. Sirens blared all around her. People rushed by. News reporters scrambled to get their breaking news story for the day. One approached Abigale and began shooting rapid-fire questions, but the detective was quick to get rid of the nosy reporter.

  “Would you like to talk here, or down at the station?” he asked Abigale when they stopped by a police cruiser.

  “Here,” Abigale said, her voice hoarse from screaming.

  “Okay. How long have you known the victim?”

  “The…the victim? She’s really…she’s really dead?”

  Collins scrutinized her with dark eyes. “Yes. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  Abigale bit the inside of her cheek to keep the tears from spilling over. She glanced at the ambulance that was driving away. Its sirens were off.

  Oh, Jules.

  “How long have you known the victim?” the detective repeated.

  “I…uh…six months.”

  He pulled out a notepad from his pocket and wrote something down. “Has she been acting off lately? Does she have any enemies?”

  “No,” Abigale lied. “She was well-liked by everyone.”

  “That’s not what the note said, Ms. Abigale.”

  “It’s Fern,” Abigale snapped.

  “Ms. Fern,” he corrected himself. “Who is DarkHeart434?”

  It was as if the world had stopped spinning. Abigale felt lightheaded. Her heart skipped two beats at the mention of the mysterious Facebook profile. “W-What?”

  “I said, who is DarkHeart434?” he repeated. “Would it happen to be the victim’s Facebook profile?”

  “How-How do you know about that name?”

  Detective Collins sighed and lowered the notepad. “Please just answer the question.”

  “I don’t know who that is. It’s not Julia.”

  “It seemed like you did know five seconds ago,” Collins pointed out. “Who is DarkHeart434?"

  The words caught in Abigale’s throat. What was she supposed to say? How did the detective know about DarkHeart434? And why did they think DarkHeart434 was Jules? She couldn’t say anything without seeming guilty herself. “I…uh—”

  “Detective Collins!” a voice called from behind Abigale. She let out a sigh of relief when she recognized her luck. Maybe she wouldn’t have to answer the question now.

  The detective in front of Abigale sighed. “What is it, Larson?”

  A lanky man with disheveled brown locks and sky-blue eyes glanced between her and Collins, his expression grim. “Can I talk to you…uh…alone, Detective?”

  “What is it about?”

  The detective, Larson—Collins had called him—stood up straighter. He looked at Abigale, and then back at Detective Collins. “It’s about that Facebook profile. It…well, we looked it up. There is no one that goes by the name DarkHeart434. We believe—”

  “Larson!” Collins barked, glancing between him and Abigale. “This is not any of the girl’s co
ncern. I’ll discuss it with you in a minute.”

  Abigale widened her eyes. DarkHeart434 was, in fact, a very real account. One that she’d been receiving messages from. How could they have failed to find it? She almost said something, like asked them if they’d spelled it correctly, but saw it would only cause more trouble for her. Detective Collins was already suspicious.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” She watched Larson scurry off, noting the way he ducked his head as he left.

  “You can go back inside now, Ms. Fern,” Detective Collins said. “Do you have a number I can contact you by if I have any further questions?”

  Abigale nodded and told him her cell phone number. “Would you…can you tell me who you think did this?”

  The detective eyed her warily. “Sorry, I cannot.”

  She hung her head. “Catch whoever did this, please. She doesn’t—didn’t deserve this.”

  As she walked away, Detective Collins called to her, “Are you sure you don’t know who could have done this?”

  Abigale thought about his question long after she gave him her answer. She’d told him no, but that was a blatant lie. There were many people who could have killed her friend. Her prime suspect, however, was the one who’d killed Mike.

  At the thought of Mike, a sharp pain stabbed through her. She hadn’t killed Jules, but what if she had killed Mike? She was surprised the officer hadn’t mentioned anything about him. Surely they’d know that the two homicides were possibly related? Same grade, same friend group?

  Numbness settled over her like a blanket. She walked by the whispering teens in the hallways, knowing their whispers were about her, and about Jules. Abigale clenched her fists tightly by her sides but kept her head low. There was no use picking a fight with anyone. Not today.

  When she reached her locker, she found that the roses from DarkHeart434 trampled. Petals were strewn across the hallway, and the note was ripped to shreds, no doubt by the shoes of over six-hundred students. She picked up the pieces of the note. A wrenching pain shuddered restlessly in her gut as she thought about DarkHeart434’s words.

  I thought I made it clear before that you were not to tell anyone about me.

  They’d never outright said that she wasn’t to tell anyone, but Abigale guessed that the warning came in the form of Mike’s dead body. Her eyes blurred with tears.

  No. Not here.

  Shoving the crumpled remnants of the note in her locker, Abigale slammed the locker door shut. As she eyed the blood-red petals on the floor, she remembered what the detective had said. “There’s no one that goes by the name DarkHeart434.”

  Abigale pulled her phone out of her back pocket and entered her password. Her Messenger app was still open to the conversation between her and DarkHeart434. She clicked on the username and Facebook opened to show her the profile. In a few seconds, a message popped across the screen.

  This user could not be found.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  Abigale tried everything after the message had popped across the screen telling her that, somehow, the person she’d been corresponding with had suddenly disappeared off the face of the Earth. She tried sending another message. It did send, but by the time Abigale had grabbed her bag and run home crying, it still hadn’t been delivered.

  It was raining again, which seemed appropriate for the circumstances. Abigale raced up the front steps of her house, her wails of pain echoing down the street. She fell against her front door, banging it with as much strength as she could muster. The grieving process had reached the second phase in a matter of hours. Abigale was broken, and she knew it.

  “Mom!” she screamed over the noise of the rain pounding like daggers on the pavement. “Mom, let me in!”

  After beating her fists on the wood for another five minutes, Abigale threw her back against the door and slipped down to the floor, her soaked shirt riding up to expose her stomach. She didn’t fix it, though. Instead, she let the cries of agony burst forth from her.

  “Julia!” she shouted into the street.

  The rain was the only thing that answered her.

  Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, mingling with the cold rain droplets that soaked her from head-to-toe. She was surprised no one had come outside or called the cops to make sure she was all right. She was also surprised Damien hadn’t come out to console her. Then again, she hadn’t seen him since the day her father decided to pay a visit. That seemed like ages ago now.

  “Julia!” she cried again. “Mike!” Abigale clawed at her face. “Come back!”

  They didn’t reply, however. Nobody replied. Instead, Abigale was left alone on the doorstep, soaked and tear-stricken, until her mother got home two hours later. By that time, Abigale had cried herself out and was lying on her side on the front porch, trembling.

  Her mother hadn’t said a word when she got out of her vehicle. She helped Abigale into the house and laid her on the couch. Two minutes after that, Abigale had a warm blanket around her and a mug of hot chocolate in her hand. She stared at the continuous rain pouring down outside as her mother took a seat across from her. The only sounds that filled the air were the rain and slurps of hot chocolate.

  “The school sent out an e-mail,” Abigale’s mother finally said. “I came home as soon as I found out about her.” She paused. “I’m so sorry, Abigale.”

  Abigale continued to stare out of the window, memories swirling around her mind. She and Jules had been through so much together. Abigale thought she’d found a lifelong friend in the confident blonde. Instead, she had found another friend to bury.

  “Abigale,” her mother pressed, “please, talk to me.”

  At the sight of her mother’s pained expression, Abigale nearly burst out crying again. “I just can’t believe it. She’s gone, Mom.”

  Her mother picked herself off the couch and hugged her daughter tightly. The faint scent of cinnamon that her mother always carried around with her caused Abigale to give in to her mother’s embrace and she cried until she wasn’t able to anymore.

  “It didn’t hurt this much when Mike d-died,” she said between sobs. “Why does it hurt more now?”

  Keeping her grip tight around Abigale’s torso, her mother said, “I don’t think you actually grieved when he died, Abigale. I think you put it off, and it’s crashing down on you now.”

  ***

  Abigale didn’t return to school the next day, nor the day after. Her mother didn’t try to get her out of bed but brought meals up to her room. She’d place them on the bed, where they’d stay until she came back up to retrieve them.

  Sitting on the windowsill day after day, Abigale watched the cars that sped past her home. She’d made up a little game where she’d count the different types of vehicles that drove past. By Thursday, she’d counted fifty-six cars, seventy-one trucks, and thirty-five minivans.

  Late Friday night, Abigale saw someone sitting outside in Damien’s yard. Curious, she left her room for the first time in four days to see who it was. Damien’s car hadn’t moved in over a week, and Abigale wasn’t sure if he was still around. She’d been too preoccupied to check before now.

  Cold air nipped at her bare skin. She was dressed in only sweatpants and a frilly tank top. The cool grass was soothing beneath her bare toes. Abigale ran shaky fingers through her greasy hair. She hadn’t bathed in two days, and she prayed it would be too dark for Damien to notice.

  “Damien?” She stood at the edge of the property, waiting for a response from the person hunched over in the shadows.

  They stood and tilted their head in what seemed like curiosity, and without saying a word, walked closer. Abigale’s heart skipped a beat. Coming outside was a terrible idea, she realized.

  “Damien?” she said, stepping back. “Is that you?”

  The figure shrouded in shadows didn’t answer her. As they advanced, Abigale backed up further. “Damien, this isn’t funny.”

  The footsteps sped up, coming toward Abigale with such speed tha
t she tripped over her feet and landed butt-first in the grass. “Damien, stop it!”

  Abigale winced at the throbbing pain emitting from her tailbone when she tried to stand. Before she could retaliate, they were on her, pinning her down to the grass. When she tried to scream, a large hand was pushed over her mouth. She gasped for air and clawed at the person who was holding her down. They’d successfully pinched her nostrils together, completely cutting off her air supply.

  Her lungs burned with an intense fire that could only be quenched by sweet oxygen. Unfortunately, the figure pinning her on the ground had no intentions of letting her go. She struggled until she was too weak to do so. Just as her eyes were about to close from lack of air, the hand was removed from her mouth and, through her blurred vision, she was able to faintly make out an outline of a person’s face.

  They leaned down, their cheek brushing hers, and a gruff voice whispered in her ear, “I thought you were smarter than to come outside alone at night, dearest Abigale.”

  ***

  A scream tore through Abigale when she woke up. At first, she didn’t know where she was. Sweat dripped down her cheeks, soaking her hairline and neck. Her eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. That’s when she realized it was only a dream, that she was home in the safety of her bed.

  Her erratic pulse slowed, and Abigale grabbed the sides of her head, her fingertips digging into her skull.

  Focus, Abigale. It was just a nightmare. You’re safe.

  After she repeated that to herself at least three times, Abigale switched on the light by her bedside table and reached for her phone. There were no messages from anyone, not even DarkHeart434. She was surprised. They would always text when she had a nightmare like that, which occurred almost every time she fell asleep. Except, this time had been different. Although she hadn’t seen the face directly in her dream, the voice sounded familiar. She couldn’t place it. It was like déjà vu. The more Abigale thought about it, the more she figured that she had actually experienced that dream in real life.