DELUSIONS (Sample) [PUBLISHED]

THE INTERROGATION, PART ONE

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?"