June 25th, 2015, 4:10 P.M.
Case No. 20150625-04
"Ms. Fern, can you state your full name and date of birth for the record, please?" Detective Richard Collins asked the eighteen-year-old sitting across from him. The eighteen-year-old in question, Abigale Fern, watched him warily as he nodded to the other side of the room, where a camcorder stood on a tripod. A small, piercing red light blinked on the device, indicating it was set on recording mode. Her fingers curled into fists. She'd had more than enough experience with cameras and recording devices to last a lifetime. The fact the detective didn't realize what angst seeing another camera could cause her didn't give Abigale faith that they were trying to help her.
Pull it together, Abigale, she told herself. Her knuckles were a shade paler than her natural skin colour, if that was possible.
"Abigale Katherine Fern, born June eighth, 1998," she mumbled. Her knees knocked together under the table. With her gaze focused on the blinking red light, she tried to hide the fear coursing through her veins. Abigale's fingernails bit her palms, imprinting red crescents into her skin as she repeated the words she'd been reciting the past three days.
Pull it together.
"Ms. Fern, do you mind telling me what happened on the night of June twenty-second of this year?"
She shook her head. The tears that suddenly flooded her eyes blurred the light emitting from the camcorder. Abigale couldn't handle the horrible memories stirring around her head, and the guilt associated with those memories. The pale bodies and horrified expressions of loved ones were burned into her eyelids, forever staining her thoughts. Still, she told herself to remain strong. For what reason, she wasn't sure of. She didn't have anyone left to remain strong for. He made sure of that.
Or, was she the one who made sure of it? She got a headache just thinking about it.
"What happened on the night of June twenty-second, Ms. Fern?" the detective pressed.
Again, Abigale shook her head, telling him she wasn't willing to speak of the incident. She wasn't sure what part of the ordeal was worse; living it, or having to recall the events to a cop, and lie, just so they could get their inadequate statement.
"Ms. Fern," his voice took on a sharper tone. He was losing patience. "We need to catch the person who did those awful things to you, but that can only happen if you tell me what occurred from the moment he first made contact with you, to the twenty-second of June. Do you understand what I'm saying, Ms. Fern?"
Silence greeted the detective. Abigale's mind had flitted elsewhere. More specifically, to the darkest night of her life. Her fingernails cut deeper into her palms as a vision came rushing back to her. Suddenly, she was there. Her hands were tied to an uncomfortable chair, the zip ties slicing gashes into her wrists. A picture glared down at her from above, one that she never wanted to see again, as she only associated it with pain and terror. It depicted a swan in flight, its elegant wings extended to catch the air under its feathers. She remembered wishing she could be like that bird; free to do anything she wanted instead of feeling trapped like she was then.
Like she was now.
"Ms. Fern!"
Abigale snapped out of her trance, her eyes flitting up to the detective. He looked exasperated. His fingers tapped the manila folder in front of him in a rhythmic, yet frustrated, pattern. "Ms. Fern," he began. She watched his fingers still. "I need you to tell me what happened. I can't help you if you don't. You do know what it will mean for you if you keep it all cooped up inside?"
She remained silent, waiting for him to continue. Meanwhile, the detective scrutinized her. As she watched him, Abigale felt as if he was dissecting her flaws, so he could find a weak point to exploit her.
He has many to choose from, she thought. A humorless laugh echoed in her head as she thought of all the ways he could charge her with murder. Abigale didn't think she could have murdered anyone, but the evidence and confession from her almost-killer made her second-guess herself. If the cops were to dig into what happened to her friends and loved ones, there was no doubt in her mind they'd go straight to her.
"He will never leave you alone, don't you understand?" Detective Collins said, snapping her out of her thoughts once again. There was an eerily calm edge to his tone that caused a shiver to run down the length of her spine.
"I've seen guys like this," he continued. "You may think you are safe because he's no longer here but trust me when I say that he will return. If you don't tell me what happened that night, you'll never find peace. That's exactly what he wanted to accomplish when he hurt you. Please, don't let him win, Ms. Fern. Let me help you."
Inside, the detective had broken her. In her mind, she cried. She cried for someone to purge her of the memories, of the pain. On the outside, however, she remained passive. Abigale couldn't speak of what happened, not after what he had done to the people she cared about. Even in this room, he still had control over her.
When she didn't answer the detective for the fifteenth time that day, he stood up. His face was contorted in aggravation, and he paced the room like a man making an important decision in front of his conference room.
Abigale lowered her gaze and followed the intricate patterns of the grains in the worn table. She felt tears threatening to surface, and a burning sensation in her throat that didn't help matters as she tried to suppress the urge to break down.
But neither did the detective's burning gaze.
By this point, he had stopped pacing. Abigale watched the detective as he placed his large hands on either side of his chair and used the table to support his weight. He looked like he wanted to say something, but if he was going to, he decided against it.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of silence, she admitted, "I'm scared."
The frustrated look on the detective's face crumbled when Abigale spoke. He took a seat again, folded his hands on the table, and scanned her eyes intently. She couldn't help but wonder what he would think if she had finished her sentence. Would he question why? Or would he simply know? Maybe he'd lock her up without hearing an explanation. Perhaps he'd think she was just scared of the person who put her in this position in the first place, but Abigale wasn't scared of her dead stalker.
She was scared that the detective would find out her horrifying secret.
"Ms. Fern, I know this is hard for you," he paused, pursing his lips together, "but I need to know what happened. You're the only one who can tell me."
She nodded, but still didn't speak. Abigale didn't want to tell him anything, but even if she did, she knew she could never tell him the whole truth. Not without implicating herself in the process.
"Please," she whispered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. She'd always been told she was a good actress, but it made it more convincing to harness the traumatic experience she'd been involved in. "Don't make me do this. I can't do it."
The detective seemed pained by her words. "I'm sorry, Ms. Fern," he muttered. "You have no choice."
Bowing her head, Abigale felt the first of many teardrops roll down her cheek.
Omit what you have to. Those were the words she'd carry with her until the very end.
Omit what you have to.
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Hi everyone! Long time, no talk! Something amazing has happened over the past few weeks. "Delusions" is currently in the process of being published by Limitless Publishing! This is why only a sample of the story will remain on Wattpad. If you would like to read the whole story once it is published, please keep this story in your library and follow me on my social media platforms listed on my profile for updates! I look forward to sharing future updates with you!
To clear up some confusion: This story is going to be told in the past, and these snapshots in the interrogation room are going to be of what is occurring in the present. So, you are going to find out exactly what the detective is talking about with our main character as the story goes on.
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Amy Crandall
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