Delusions

by Amy Crandall

  “The night after the party…when I called you?” she began. “I wasn’t at home.”

  Abigale glanced around at all of the students rushing by them to their next classes. “Maybe we shouldn’t discuss this here, Jules.”

  “No,” she said, fear flashing across her eyes. “I need to tell you. Now. Before I lose the courage.”

  Abigale nodded. “Okay. Where were you?”

  “I…” Tears welled up in Jules’ eyes. “When I woke up…I didn’t know where I was at first. My car was nowhere to be seen and…when I got up, I realized I was outside of the school. I was about to walk back to Donny’s place to see if my car was still there when I saw him.”

  “Saw who?” Abigale’s heart raced, knowing that Jules was about to drop a bombshell on her.

  “Mike,” she whispered, her body swaying slightly. “I saw Mike.”

  Before Abigale could question her further, Jules’ eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  After she left the nurse’s office, Jules told Abigale that her fainting spell was due to low blood sugar. Abigale wasn’t sure what to make of the news at first, and for the rest of the day, made sure to stick beside her in case she fell again.

  They didn’t speak of what Jules had admitted to her before her blackout. Abigale thought she had enough to deal with already. She didn’t need to be grilled about Mike too.

  They avoided the topic for the rest of the week, and things returned to normal at Arcata High School. Students walked the hallways like nothing had happened to one of their own. It disgusted Abigale that people could forget so easily.

  She woke up on Saturday with a sense of dread. It was the day of Mike’s funeral, and she wasn’t sure if she should attend or not. She’d be a crappy person if she didn’t go, but if she found out she did kill him, it would be the most sadistic thing she could do.

  Her mother was called into work for a full day shift, so Abigale was left to her own devices. She sat down on the plush couch in the living room and scrolled through her social media platforms. She clicked on Facebook Messenger and went through her conversation with DarkHeart434. Chills prickled her skin as she recalled the moments the messages had appeared. She was always alone. Always at her most vulnerable. It was like they knew exactly how to unhinge her.

  Abigale’s muscles tensed when she came across the media file she’d uploaded from the USB drive she’d found in her bed. Pain arose from the depths of her mind as she watched herself kiss Mike in the video. The whole thing seemed surreal. There was no way he was dead. At any moment he’d send her a text saying he wanted to hang out.

  Oh, how she wished that were the case.

  Tears were rolling down her pale cheeks when the video finished. She closed the gallery app and tossed her phone to the other side of the couch before laying on the arm of the couch, curled up in a fetal position.

  Oh, Mike. Why couldn’t you have given me a chance to hate you before you went off and got yourself killed?

  She wanted to hate him, she really did, though a part of her rationalized that he was drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight when he tried to take advantage of her. Just like he wasn’t thinking straight when he picked a fight with Damien.

  Damien.

  How she wished he was there comforting her. She debated calling him, ultimately deciding against it. She still wasn’t sure where he’d gone the night Mike died, and it worried her that he knew something she didn’t.

  Abigale was so immersed in her own thoughts that she barely noticed the ringing doorbell until it snapped her out of her reverie.

  Maybe it’s Damien, she thought.

  She jumped up and raced to the front door.

  “Dam—” She stopped in her tracks when she saw who was standing there. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his deep green eyes, eyes much like her own. Eyes she figured she’d never see again. “Dad?”

  Robert Fern gave his daughter a small smile, one that she saw every time she looked in a mirror. His tall frame seemed more intimidating than it had when she’d last seen him. “Hello, Abigale.”

  Abigale was stunned, multiple emotions rushing through her at once: Pain. Anger. Confusion. Betrayal.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she yelled.

  Her father flinched at her sudden outburst. “I know you’re probably confused, Abby. I think it would be much better if I came inside to talk.”

  “Don’t you dare call me that. Only Mom and my friends call me that. You aren’t in either category, Dad.”

  She said the last part with such malice that she surprised herself. Until then, Abigale hadn’t realized how much pent-up anger she had for her father.

  His eyes went cold, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Let me in, Abigale,” he said, taking his hands out of the pockets in his beat-up leather jacket. “I’m not asking again.”

  Abigale set her jaw and positioned herself firmly in the doorway. “No.”

  Something inside her father snapped. She watched it happen. His steely calm look was gone, replaced with a seething anger that caused her to shrink back. Grabbing her wrist tightly, he yanked her forward, dragging her through the front door.

  “Is that any way you treat your father?” Pure venom laced his voice. “Is it?”

  He pulled her down the sidewalk to a parked Dodge pickup. Her wrist throbbed in the places where his fingers squeezed. The pads of her feet stung from the little pebbles on the asphalt that clung to her skin.

  “Dad, you’re hurting me,” she said, trying to dig her heels into the pavement. When she hissed in pain, he acted as if he didn’t hear her, his grip on her wrist only tightening until her arm went numb.

  When he yanked her forward again, she swore he pulled her arm from its socket. He opened the passenger’s side door and tried to manhandle her inside. She wrestled and fought and screamed. She caused such a commotion she was sure someone would hear her. Abigale’s eyes swept over Damien’s house, his front door only thirty feet from her. She screamed again. “Damien! Help! Please, help!”

  “Shut up and get in the truck, Abigale! We’re going home!” her father bellowed. A sharp pain erupted across the side of her face, and she realized he’d slapped her. He’d never laid a hand on her before. Never. It shocked her so much she stopped struggling for a moment.

  That one moment was all her father needed to throw her into the truck. He slammed the door and locked it before she could escape. “No!” she screamed and pounded on the glass. “Let me out, Dad! Let me out!”

  With a sob, Abigale realized that her phone was still in the house. The one time she didn’t have her phone, her father went psycho and made a successful attempt at kidnapping her!

  Kidnap.

  The word tore through her mind like a painful memory. Where was he taking her? He mentioned something about home. San Francisco, maybe? Although something told her that San Francisco wasn’t what he meant by home.

  Her father walked to the other side of the truck, a homicidal glint in his eyes. Abigale suddenly feared for her life.

  Without warning, just as he was about to jump into the driver’s side of the pickup, her father disappeared from view. Abigale stopped screaming. She watched in utter silence, waiting for him to appear again.

  Where did he go?

  Much to her surprise, her father wasn’t the one she saw when the passenger’s side door opened.

  “Damien!” she cried.

  His eyes had a tortured look, like he’d just seen something terrifying. Damien’s shirt was rumpled, and a blood stain was visible on the lighter fabric. His lip was swollen and bloody, like he’d been punched.

  “Y-You’re hurt,” Abigale stammered, reaching for him.

  His burning gaze swept over her, and he shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

  “No, you—”

  “Abigale,” he said softly. Her throat burned as she let him lift her out of the veh
icle. Damien lowered her onto the grass a few feet away from the truck.

  “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” he asked, looking her up and down. It wasn’t a lustful once-over, but a mere analysis. He gripped her shoulders like she was a fragile doll.

  Abigale broke down into sobs. “I-I don’t know what happened! H-He was just suddenly t-there! I tried to get away and—”

  “Shh,” Damien murmured, pulling her into his lap. He held her close to his body, smoothing her curly hair with one hand. “Sweetie, it’s okay.”

  His words only caused her to cry harder. “I screamed for you. I thought for sure that you didn’t hear m-me.”

  He pressed his lips on the top of her head. “I heard you, sweetheart. I heard you. You’re safe now. You’re okay.”

  He continued to whisper soothing things to her until Abigale stopped crying. She gripped his shirt with her fist while she sat there, motionless, her cheeks still wet from tears.

  “Where is h-he?” Abigale asked after a while. Damien shifted uncomfortably.

  “He’s knocked out by the driver’s side. I think I punched him a little too hard.”

  Abigale swallowed hard. “Good. He deserved it.”

  They sat there in silence for a few minutes longer. A slowly increasing fear crept into the back of Abigale’s mind. What if she went back to her home and her father came after her again? He wouldn’t be knocked out for much longer. What would stop him from trying to take her again?

  “Can I…stay at your place? At least until he gets up and leaves?” Abigale asked. She sounded broken, not like herself. She thought it was understandable, considering she was nearly taken hostage a week after her new boyfriend was murdered.

  “Of course,” Damien said. “C’mon. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

  He helped her to her feet, holding her protectively when she glanced back at the Dodge. The funny thing was that she’d never seen that truck before that day.

  Instead of buying a new truck, maybe he should have invested in a new phone to contact his only daughter with, she thought bitterly.

  “You coming?” Damien asked, gently pulling her away from the truck.

  Abigale nodded. “Yeah, I am.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  When Abigale peered out the window later that night, her father’s Dodge pickup was gone. For the majority of the day, she had lain on the couch and binge watched a TV show. Damien had sat with her legs across his lap.

  “Abigale?” Damien asked once the tenth episode had ended.

  She turned her attention to him, focusing on the purple tinge to his knuckles and lip. Her heart lurched when she remembered why he had those bruises. “Yes?”

  “Who was that guy?”

  He doesn’t know.

  Removing her legs from his lap, she pulled herself into an upright position. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  Mouth pressed into a thin line, he reached forward, taking her hands in his own. “Don’t you think I deserve to know who I knocked out?”

  Abigale swallowed back the lump in her throat. “I guess so.”

  He waited as she gathered up the nerve to tell him. His eyes, full of patience, calmed her frightened thoughts.

  “H-He’s my father.”

  Damien paled. “What?”

  “It’s not what you think,” she said. “Mom and I moved here to get away from him. She never told me why. This was the first time I’ve seen or spoken to him since coming here.”

  “So…you still don’t know why?”

  Abigale shook her head. “No. I’ve been pushing Mom about it, but she hasn’t budged. We left at three the morning after she told me where we were going. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye to my best friend. The whole thing doesn’t add up.” She paused. “His behavior today doesn’t add up.”

  He squeezed her hands gently. “I’m sorry. That must be so tough on you. Maybe your mom will finally tell you what’s going on when you get home.”

  “Maybe.”

  When he spread his arms out, she didn’t hesitate. Abigale leaned her head on his chest, his heartbeat loud and steady, and he held her close. The lingering scent of his cologne caused her toes to curl inside her socks. She felt at ease for the first time in a while, but she quickly realized how eerily quiet the house had been all day.

  “Where is your uncle?” she asked, lifting her head from his chest.

  “He’s sleeping.” A scowl crossed Damien’s face. Abigale squinted at him. He was hiding something.

  “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

  When Damien looked at her, goosebumps sprouted across her skin. The breath she’d been inhaling caught in her throat, and she felt as if her lungs had frozen solid. His countenance was so hard, so unforgiving, that she didn’t know what to say or do.

  “I said,” he repeated in a low voice, “he’s sleeping, Abigale. Leave it alone.”

  “Fine,” she said, her voice brittle. She pulled away from him as the next episode of the crime drama they were binging began and sat on the other end of the couch with her arms banded around her suddenly frigid body.

  They barely spoke again until the moment she looked outside.

  Abigale’s eyes now drifted to Damien, who stood a few feet away from the window, watching her with a guarded expression. "Are you sure?" he asked, taking a step closer.

  She nodded. “He’s gone.”

  He. Her father. She shuddered.

  Damien regarded her with concerned eyes. “Want me to walk you to your door?”

  Abigale took in his exhausted appearance. His swollen lip had gotten worse, and his gait didn’t seem quite right to her. “No, I can manage.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Abigale nodded once more, flashing him the smallest of smiles. She knew her mother would be home, and since she hadn’t seen Damien since the day she’d caught them together, she was sure her mother wouldn’t appreciate her being around him until ten at night.

  His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Okay. Be safe. Get some sleep tonight.”

  He leaned forward to kiss her, but Abigale jerked away. “You too.”

  Just as she was about to walk to the front door, Damien caught her wrist, pulling her back. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his other hand resting on her shoulder.

  Abigale avoided his piercing gaze. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Kissing you…it was a mistake. Mike…he just died. I need time to grieve, Damien.”

  He pushed her chin up gently, forcing her to look at him. Damien’s expression was one of heartbreak. His jawline became more prominent when he gritted his teeth. “I understand,” he replied in monotone.

  “Please, don’t be upset,” Abigale said, pulling away from him. Tears threatened to surface when she realized she’d missed Mike’s funeral. “I need time.”

  Even though she sensed him burning a hole in her back, she didn’t turn to look at him again. Abigale walked out of the house, a chill hitting her body full force. Holding her hands against her bare arms in an attempt to keep warm, she raced over to her house.

  The light was on in the dining room when she entered. She approached the room with caution. She figured it was her mother, but a part of her was worried that her father had decided to break in and await her return. Rounding the corner, she let out a small sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

  Her mother sat at the dining room table with a bottle of whiskey in her grip. Her clothes were rumpled, hair disheveled. She was a wreck. She took a large swig of the bottle before she noticed Abigale standing there.

  “Mom?” she asked hesitantly. She’d never seen her mother drink, so it was surprising to see her in the state she was in.

  Her bloodshot eyes met Abigale’s. “I suppose I have some explaining to do, don’t I?”

  Abigale took a seat across the table from her. “You’ve had some explaining to do ever since we got here.”

  Abigale’s mother sighed, setting the open bo
ttle on the table. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her housecoat. “I suppose I have, haven’t I?”

  By the look on her mother’s face, Abigale knew she was about to hear something horrible, something she’d never be able to bury. The thought scared her, but she needed to know everything. She needed to know why her father showed up at the door completely unlike himself. And she desperately needed to know why they moved to Arcata in the first place.

  “Your father found us?” The way her mother said it made it sound like she was searching for confirmation.

  “What do you mean by found us?”

  “He called me today while I was at work,” she said, completely ignoring the question. “The way he talked, I knew he’d seen you.” Her muscles tensed. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” Abigale lied, rubbing her wrist subconsciously. “Why are you drinking, Mom? Why are you so scared? This is Dad we’re talking about.”

  Eyeing the bottle, her mother took another large gulp. “I never told you why we left. I was trying to protect you. I never wanted you to find out.” She squinted at Abigale. “Where have you been, anyway?”

  “Answer the question, Mom,” Abigale snapped impatiently. “Why are you so scared?”

  Her mother appeared surprised at her sudden outburst. Then her expression sobered, and she glanced at the bottle again. “I found out he was sleeping with someone else,” she admitted, a tear sliding down her cheek.

  Abigale froze. He was cheating?

  “I got angry, just as any woman would if they found out their husband was cheating on them. I threw things at him, called him horrible names. Something inside him snapped.” Her mother shivered at the memory. “He started choking me. Threatened to kill you if I dared try to leave him. Then he called me today. I thought…when you weren’t here when I got home I thought he’d done it. That he’d gone through with his threat.”

  Abigale’s heart squeezed with guilt. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  She acted as if she didn’t hear Abigale. “I needed to get us both out of there. The second he left, I started packing. The only reason we stayed one more night was because I knew he was going to be with her.”