Delusions Read online

  DELUSIONS

  By Amy Crandall

  DELUSIONS

  Copyright © 2018 by Amy Crandall.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: August 2018

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-64034-426-6

  ISBN-10: 1-64034-426-8

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  To everyone who read it first on Wattpad (and those who I asked to wait until the story was to my satisfaction): my family, friends, and supporters on the site.

  Thank you for pushing me to finish this three-year project.

  Table of Contents

  THE INTERROGATION PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  THE INTERROGATION PART TWO

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE INTERROGATION PART THREE

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE INTERROGATION PART FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE INTERROGATION PART FIVE

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE INTERROGATION PART SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  THE INTERROGATION PART SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  THE INTERROGATION PART EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  THE INTERROGATION PART NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  AFTER THE INTERROGATION

  THE INTERROGATION

  PART ONE

  June 25, 2015, 4:10 P.M.

  Case No. 20150625-04

  “Can you state your full name and date of birth for the record, please?” Detective Richard Collins asked the woman 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 recognize 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 color, 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. Her 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.

  “Do you mind telling me what happened on the night of June twenty-second of this year?”

  The tears that flooded her vision blurred the light emitting from the camcorder. Abigale couldn’t handle the horrible memories stirring around her mind, 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 willed herself to remain strong. For what reason, she wasn’t sure. 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.

  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?”

  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 deep 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 wished instead of feeling trapped like she was then.

  Like she was now.

  “Ms. Fern!”

  Abigale snapped out of her trance, her eyes darting up to the detective. He looked exasperated. His fingers tapped the manila folder in front of him in a rhythmic, yet frustrated, pattern. “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. 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 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 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. 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. Tears were threatening to surface, and a burning sensation in her throat didn’t help matters.

  Neither did the detective’s burning stare.

  He had stopped pacing. The detective placed his large hands on either side of his chair and used the table to support his weight. He appeared 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 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 simply 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.

  “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, though still didn’t speak. Abigale didn’t want to tell him anything, but even if she did, she could never tell him the whole truth. Not without implicating herself in the process.

  “Please,” she whispered, tears pricking the corners of 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 appeared 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.

  Chapter One

  Abigale Fern knew what was coming before it happened. As the basketball soared through the air toward her, her mind blanked. She reached a hand up to cover her face at the last second, but it wasn’t enough to stop it from hitting her square in the forehead. She landed on her back, her tailbone yelping in protest as it made contact with the gym floor.

  “Abby!” a girl shouted from the other side of the gym, and, through blurred vision, she could make out the lithe body of her best friend racing toward her. Tiffany Tuckerman knelt beside her, taking stock of Abigale’s possible injuries. “Are you okay?”

  Nodding, Abigale raised her head. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then she noticed the rest of her gym class watching her lay on the floor and her cheeks warmed.

  Tiffany followed her gaze, frowning at the students. “What do you think you’re looking at?”

  At Tiffany’s words, most of the students turned away with embarrassed expressions on their faces. Others merely snickered before grabbing their fallen basketballs.

  “Need any help?” she asked Abigale, extending her hand.

  She took it, her vision clearing. Dusting off her pants, she smiled gratefully at Tiffany, who was still threatening the teens that dared to look at the two girls.

  “Just leave them alone,” Abigale muttered, scowling. “They aren’t worth it.”

  With reluctance, Tiffany turned away from the crowd, running a hand through her long blonde hair. She took in Abigale’s frazzled appearance—messy curls tucked into a ponytail and shirt rumpled from the fall—and grinned. “I don’t think you should be joining the basketball team anytime soon. Just saying.”

  On reflex, Abigale landed a playful punch to her friend’s arm. “Jerk. You know I don’t like sports to begin with.”

  “Ouch.” Tiffany laughed. “Is it because of that time you knocked Herald Palmer out with a softball in sophomore year?”

  Abigale rolled her eyes. “When will you let me forget about that? It was an accident!”

  “It was too funny to forget about, Abby,” said Tiffany, with a grin as wide as a dinner plate. “I think it was the worst throw I’d ever seen somebody make in the history of baseball!”

  Biting back the smile wanting to break out, Abigale turned away. “It wasn’t that bad, Tiff.”

  “Sure it was!” Tiffany piped up as the bell sounded above them. When she saw Abigale’s expression, her own softened. “You know I’m just bugging you, right?”

  Abigale’s mouth went dry when she caught sight of a group of girls entering the gym for the next class. They were the popular girls, and the queen bee, Lauren Norris, had a personal vendetta against Abigale. Ever since she had accidentally spilled grape juice on Lauren in first grade, it was as if Lauren had made it her personal mission to ruin her.

  Because of this, Abigale wasn’t the outgoing type. She’d rather sit in her room with her nose buried in a book than socialize with anyone outside her inner circle of friends, which was small to begin with. Over the years, Abigale had Tiffany and a few other friends, but they’d moved away before the beginning of the school year. So now, Tiffany was all she had. Besides Lauren, the rest of the school paid little attention to her, and she liked it that way. It was nice not to have to deal with the drama of having more than one close friend.

  “Abby?”

  Abigale averted her gaze as Lauren passed them, heading in the direction of the locker room. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  Tiffany sighed. It was obvious she hadn’t seen Lauren pass by. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to keep practicing, so I’ll meet you in the change rooms. Is that okay?”

  “Yes. I just have to grab my things from the locker,” she replied, her heart beginning to race. Lauren was in that room. But it was either show up late for class or risk a confrontation. Obviously, she was going to choose the possibility of a confrontation.

  With caution, Abigale entered the room. She let out a sigh of relief when she realized Lauren was nowhere in sight.

  In and out, Abigale. She won’t even know you’re here.

  However, as she approached her locker, she nearly tripped over a student who was sprawled on the floor, playing on their phone. Abigale yelped in surprise, and almost in that same instant, Lauren appeared from one of the change rooms. Blood pumped in her ears when Lauren’s cat-like eyes narrowed.

  “Watch where you’re going,” said the girl on the floor.

  Abigale couldn’t be sure, but she didn’t think the girl even bothered to look up from her phone. Lauren stalked toward her. Her black pumps, which Abigale assumed were about to be exchanged for runners, made an ominous clicking noise against the tile.

  “Abby!” Lauren said, feigning surprise. “So lovely to see you here.”

  “Well, I am enrolled here,” Abigale countered, her fists tightening at her sides.

  Don’t let her have the satisfaction.

  “Unfortunately.”

  The word stabbed a hole in Abigale’s heart. Circulation to her fingers was cut off from how tight she was squeezing them into her palms. “What do you want, Lauren?”

  “What do I want?” Lauren echoed. She placed a perfectly manicured nail to her lips, like she was pondering the question. The group she’d been with earlier came up behind her. Abigale desired to shrink into a corner when she comprehended she was outnumbered. “What I want, Abby, is for you to disappear. As you’ve so graciously pointed out, though, you’re enrolled here.”

  Another stab. “Whatever. I don’t have time for this. I have class.”

  She tried to step forward, but Lauren pushed her back. “We aren’t done talking. How
’s your mother doing? Still cowering from Daddy’s beatings?”

  Abigale’s mouth went dry. They’d been next-door neighbors for years, but she never thought anyone would be able to hear the commotion that reverberated off the walls every night. She glanced between Lauren and her friends, anger pooling in her gut. “My mother is none of your business.”

  Lauren let out a mocking laugh. “So it is true then?”

  The back of Abigale’s head burned. The feeling spread throughout her entire body as she stared at Lauren with a fierce expression. “Leave me alone, Lauren.”

  She stepped forward, pushing past Lauren and her group of dimwits. This time, Lauren didn’t stop her, only laughed menacingly as Abigale scurried out of the room. She didn’t bother to make it out of the gym before tears began rolling down her cheeks.

  ***

  History class dragged on far too long for Abigale’s liking. She twirled her pencil between her fingers as she listened to Ms. Lowen, who was speaking about the history of the U.S. government, something Abigale couldn’t care less about. Over the past two years, she had strived to receive A’s in every subject, so she knew she had to pay attention to the lecture, but she couldn’t. She was more worried about the fight that had occurred that morning between her parents, something that Lauren’s painful words had brought to the surface. The fight the night before continued until the morning, and tension was high when she left for school. A part of Abigale wondered what she would find when she got home. Would one of her parents leave because they’d had enough? They were only making things work because of her. It was merely a matter of time before they divorced.

  “Abigale?”

  Her head snapped up. “Yes, Ms. Lowen?”

  “Would you like to share with the rest of the class what we’ve been discussing?”

  Abigale’s cheeks flushed pink when she realized she hadn’t been listening to anything Ms. Lowen was saying since her comment about how one politician reminded her of her ex-husband. “N-no, Ms. Lowen.”