by Amy Crandall
But where?
She hadn’t ever wandered over to Damien’s house knowingly in the middle of the night. Why would she? They hadn’t been on good terms as of late.
Then a thought came to her. Abigale dropped her phone onto her lap like it was poison.
Oh, God.
There was one night in the past six months that she had no recollection of. One night where she woke up the next morning covered in someone else’s blood. One night she was most vulnerable.
Mike, she thought. Her stomach turned at the thought. What if she’d seen DarkHeart434 that night? What if she really had killed Mike?
Oh, please, no. Tears sprung to Abigale’s eyes, threatening to spill over. She covered her mouth with her hands. Oh, Mike.
Two minutes later, an envelope was slipped under the front door of the house.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
Abigale stepped into her only black dress, a simple strapless design with a frilly skirt, and pulled it on. Standing in front of her full-length mirror, she adjusted the dress to fit her torso. She wore short black heels that put pressure on the balls of her feet. Her black hair was pulled up into an elaborate up-do with a few curls framing her face, courtesy of her mother. Makeup covered the dark circles under her eyes, another one of her mother’s ideas.
Even under the makeup, Abigale could see the grief fresh in her stare. Everyone else would be able to see it too. But that was natural. After all, she was attending a funeral.
Abigale bit the inside of her cheek as her eyes welled up with tears. Jules would have slapped her for crying over her. She needed to stay strong for Jules’ sake. Taking a shuddering breath, she blinked the tears away.
“Are you ready to go?” her mother asked, stepping into the room, her gaze full of pity. She wore a baggy sweatshirt and jeans since she wouldn’t be attending the funeral.
Abigale had to clench her jaw to keep from lashing out at her. They hadn’t spoken since the day Jules died, for more reasons than one. First, she wasn’t sure that her mother actually cared for her, considering she didn’t check on her when she realized her father had accosted her. The second reason was that she didn’t feel she could trust her mother with anything. The feeling had developed while they were still in San Francisco and had only intensified when they arrived in Arcata. Now Abigale wanted nothing to do with her. The way her mother acted the day she’d come home from school was a farce.
Abigale nodded curtly, swiping her phone from off the bed. She coldly brushed by her mother, walking downstairs to meet her at the vehicle. Maybe she was being unfair, but she didn’t care.
Light gray clouds covered the majority of the sky, setting a depressing tone for the funeral. Abigale listened to the clicking noise her heels made as she walked down the sidewalk to the Jeep, ducking her head to avoid looking toward Damien’s house. The dream she had the night before had been enough to keep her from going over there any time soon.
But what if Damien knows what happened?
Abigale pushed away the thought with a shake of her head. No, Damien would have told her if he’d seen her commit some horrible crime, right? Then again, she didn’t know him well enough to be able to make that judgment.
A few minutes later, her mother appeared in the doorway of their house. She held an envelope, gazing down at it curiously. A tremble ran through Abigale when her mother shut the door again, disappearing from sight.
She was just about to head back inside when her mother reappeared with a pale expression. Her eyes narrowed as her mother walked toward the vehicle, the envelope replaced by a set of car keys. Her hands shook as she approached the Jeep. Abigale had a feeling it was because of what the letter had told her.
Her mother slid into the front seat, shoving the key into the ignition. She didn’t say a word as she pulled out of the short driveway and onto the road.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom—”
“I said, nothing, Abigale!”
She flinched, forming fists in her lap. “Fine,” she said coolly, turning toward the window.
They rode in silence for the rest of the way to the church. Abigale spent most of the time staring at the way her knuckles turned white every time she squeezed her hands. It was oddly therapeutic.
Her mother dropped her at the corner of the church property. Abigale got out of the vehicle without a word and marched up to the front steps of the building.
The church was already filled with her classmates and Jules’ family. Abigale stood against the back wall beside an older woman and a young child who held the woman’s hand. Abigale assumed the child was her grandson.
“How did you know Julia?” the woman asked when she noticed Abigale staring.
“Uh, we were friends,” Abigale said. “How did you know her?”
“She used to babysit for me.” The woman frowned. “She was such a nice girl. I wonder who’d do such an awful thing?”
Abigale bunched her fingers into fists again. “I don’t know.”
The ceremony began. The church fell into a deafening silence as a woman stood and faced the crowd.
“I just wanted to thank everyone for coming to this celebration of life for my daughter, J-Julia. She was the b-brightest star in our family, always lightening the room with her wonderful smile. She…” The woman, presumably Jules’ mother, burst into tears. A man jumped up to embrace her, whispering in her ear. Abigale’s stomach flipped at the sight.
Just as the couple headed back to their seats, the room darkened, and a picture of Jules flashed across the projector screen in the right corner of the room. Soon dozens of photos had imprinted themselves in Abigale’s eyelids. And some of them weren’t just from the slideshow. Some of them were of Jules’ bloodied face, her terrified dark eyes staring into Abigale’s soul. They seemed to say, How could you?
Abigale staggered back, hitting the wall. Another image formed in her mind, of herself holding a bloodied knife over Jules’ body. A scream tore through her throat, and everyone in the church turned to see who had done so.
Abigale raced out of the room. She pushed a hand over her mouth as bile burned the back of her throat.
Bathroom. Where’s the bathroom?
She wandered blindly for another thirty seconds before she found the washroom, pushed open the door, and locked it behind her. She bolted for the sink and retched all over the ceramic. Images of Jules’ face flashed through her mind again, her eyes glassy, unmoving.
After she’d thrown up the entire contents of her stomach, her gaze lifted to the mirror. She was still Abigale Fern, but a sinister smirk—one that was not a look Abigale Fern would give—twisted her mouth. Her eyes were dark, full of an anger she couldn’t place. She recoiled from the image, her back hitting the wooden door of the washroom. When she blinked, the image of her chilling expression vanished, and Abigale Fern’s horrified appearance returned.
What’s happening to me?
***
Abigale left the bathroom twenty minutes later, her pulse still racing. It was as if fragments of her memory were returning, but they were distorted and not at all like she remembered them. The fact that she clearly pictured raising a knife to her best friend sent her into a tailspin. Forget about waking up covered in blood, that wasn’t nearly as important as remembering key moments in her best friend’s murder; things only the killer would know.
She grabbed a Styrofoam cup and drained two whole cups of water. She focused on the cool liquid passing through her mouth, not on the horrifying visions she was still experiencing in the back of her mind.
“I was wondering if you had left,” said a voice from behind her.
Abigale whirled around, dropping her third cup of water on the floor. She took in the arrogant smirk and the cruel eyes, her fingernails biting into her palms.
“Donny,” she sneered.
“The one and only,” he said, mocking a bow. “That was quite the performance you pulled in
there. Scared everyone half to death.”
Abigale bit the inside of her cheek, a metallic taste washing over her taste buds. “I wasn’t trying to scare anyone. I just needed a minute alone.”
“Yeah,” he laughed, taking an intimidating step toward her. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re riddled with guilt about something. Care to share, Abby?”
Something about the way he said her name caused a wave of anger to wash over her. She remembered the look he had on his face from other night at the party when he had taken advantage of Jules’ drunkenness. She didn’t feel in control of her thoughts and feelings anymore. Before she could stop herself, she lunged forward, knocking him to the floor, and raked her fingernails down his face, cutting shallow gashes into his cheeks. He screamed and attempted to kick her, but she had him pinned with her newfound strength. Her fists connected with every part of his face that they could. The scariest part was, Abigale had no control over her muscles. She felt like she was watching herself beat up the kid who had caused her friend so much pain.
In a way, he deserved every punch, every bruise, and every scrape she could give him.
He was unconscious when someone pulled her off of his still body. They pulled her hands behind her back and held her there while she struggled and screamed obscenities. “Let me go! Let me go!”
She kicked at the person holding her back while someone checked the unconscious boy’s pulse. He was barely recognizable, and Abigale still had too much adrenaline in her system to feel the pain throbbing from her split knuckles.
“He’s still breathing,” the person announced, standing back up. A crowd had formed around him. Around the boy who’d hurt the person whose life they were all there to celebrate.
Abigale stopped struggling as a wave of lightheadedness overcame her. Her limbs felt too heavy for her body, and she heard her fast heartbeat in her ears. The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, unconscious.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
When Abigale woke up, she was handcuffed to a hospital bed. The bright light hanging from the ceiling took some time to adjust to, as did the ache pulsing in her temples.
When her blurry vision cleared, she saw she wasn’t alone. A dark-skinned man sat in the seat beside her, a man she faintly recognized from the school the day Jules died. His eyes were focused on something on the other side of the room, so he hadn’t noticed she was awake yet. Abigale heard a dreadful beeping sound when the memories of the past few hours came rushing back to her, then discovered it was her heart making the monitor beside her wail.
“Ms. Fern,” said the detective, turning to face her, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Abigale’s throat tightened. “Why?”
“That’s a good question. Why,” Detective Collins mused, stroking the crease of a manila file in his large hands. “What do you remember from the past few hours?”
Running her tongue over her lips, Abigale suppressed the urge to scream I don’t know! Yet in her heart, she did know.
“I beat Julia’s abusive ex-boyfriend to a pulp. You’re here to cart me off to jail.”
The detective chuckled. “No, you’re not going to jail today. The victim decided not to press charges.”
“He’s okay?” Abigale wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that she hadn’t caused more damage. “He hates my guts. Why wouldn’t he press charges?”
Detective Collins shrugged. “I assume it’s because he doesn’t want the hassle. Or perhaps he feels he deserved it. Either way, that’s not why I came to talk to you, Ms. Fern.”
The hand with the IV stuck in her skin clenched. “Why are you here then?”
Giving her a small smile, Detective Collins said, “I came because I don’t believe you were being truthful when I first saw you. You told me you didn’t know who the Facebook account DarkHeart434 is, and yet you flinched when I said the name. I’m giving you another chance to tell me the truth before I pursue the lead.”
“Why?” Abigale said. “I wasn’t lying, and even if I was, why would you give me another chance to tell you? Why not just arrest me?”
The detective cocked an eyebrow. “That could be arranged, but I don’t think you want to go down to the station over this. Am I correct?”
Abigale leaned back against her pillow. “Yes.”
Detective Collins flipped open the file with his thumb. “Can I read a couple of messages to you?”
Abigale tried not to let her panic show. “I guess.”
The detective took a breath and began to read. “‘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.’” He paused. “Does that ring a bell to you?”
Abigale remained silent, her muscles frozen in place. Where had he gotten that from?
“‘I know who you are, bitch,’” he continued. “‘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 looked up from the paper. “Would this be Michael Klasson you’re referring to here?”
Her palms were sweaty.
How did they know about those messages? I deleted them!
“Ms. Fern?”
“I-I’ve never heard those messages in my life,” she lied, avoiding eye contact.
“This DarkHeart434 mentioned you by name though.”
“I said I have never seen those messages in my—”
The door to the hospital room burst open, cutting her off. She took in the angry eyes of her mother, her fierce expression as she glanced between the two. Her eyes seemed to drill into the back of the detective’s head when she saw him.
“Mom?”
Abigale’s mother ignored her, focusing on the detective. “Get your stuff, Abigale. We’re leaving,”
By the look on her mother’s face, Abigale knew she should just do as she was told. Sitting up in her bed, she removed the IV, wincing at the pinch she felt when pulling the tube out.
“Hello, Mrs. Fern. I’m Detective—”
“I don’t give a shit what your name is! What gives you the right to question my daughter without an adult present?” her mother snapped.
Detective Collins appeared taken aback. “We were just having a discussion, ma’am. I apologize if I caused anyone grief.”
“Save it,” she said, glancing at Abigale again. “Let’s go, Abigale.”
Abigale was still woozy from fainting, but she was well enough to tie her shoes without too much trouble. Grabbing her phone from the table beside the bed, she stumbled over to her mother’s side.
“I truly am sorry, ma’am,” Detective Collins said. He closed the file and stood. His tall frame was intimidating, and Abigale shrank within herself as her eyes met his.
“I don’t want to hear your apology. I’ll be calling in your misconduct to the station. That I can assure you of.” Her mother flashed the detective a seething look before stomping out of the room with Abigale at her heels.
“What did he ask you?” Abigale’s mother demanded as they maneuvered through the sea of people in the hallways.
“Nothing,” Abigale replied quickly. “He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask anything.”
Her mother looked skeptical. “Are you sure you didn’t say anything to him?”
“No,” Abigale lied. “I didn’t. Why do you care so much about a cop questioning me?”
Her mother paled. They’d reached the lobby of the hospital, where the seats were filled with sick individuals. Some wore masks to protect themselves and others. Abigale made sure to stay clear of that area.
“I don’t think we should discuss it here, Abigale.”
“Why not? Did something happen?”
They were about ten feet away from the front door when her mother stopped in her tracks. She turned to face Abigale, who was becoming more confused by the minute. “Mom?”
It looked as if her mother was going to
throw up all over the floor. Abigale considered running for the nearest garbage can, but she was still cross with her for everything that had happened, so she stayed put. Plus, her mother was hiding something from her once again, so she didn’t feel like doing her any favors.
“I’ll tell you in the truck,” her mother said, still tinged green. “Come on.”
Abigale followed her mother outside to the Jeep in the parking lot.
***
Abigale’s mother had lied. When the Jeep pulled into their driveway, she still hadn’t been told what was going on. Her mother had been silent the whole way back to the house, and the way she kept looking at her scared Abigale. Whenever their eyes would meet, her mother would pale like she’d seen a ghost. What would have caused her to look at her in that way?
The envelope her mother was holding before the funeral flashed in Abigale’s mind. What had been inside?
When her mother removed the key from the ignition, the cab went silent. The hum of the engine had been enough to occupy Abigale’s thoughts for a little while, but as soon as that had ceased, her roaring thoughts were put into overdrive.
“What did you want to tell me in the hospital, Mom? Did you even know why I was there?”
"I knew why. I got a call from the hospital. I wasn’t all that surprised, though, considering what you did.”
“You mean what I did to Donny?”
The look her mother gave her told Abigale she was dead wrong. “Then what did I do?”
Her mother looked away, focusing on the front door of the house. “You killed him, didn’t you?”
Abigale felt as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. “What?”
When their eyes met again, neither looked away. “You killed him. Michael.”
Her throat tightened. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
Her mother slammed her fists on the steering wheel, and Abigale yelped in surprise. “You killed him, Abigale! How could you?”