The fearless series thri.., p.59
The Fearless Series Thriller Box Set, page 59
How long was he asleep? When Spencer opened his eyes, bright sunshine enveloped his car. He placed his hands over his eyes to shield them from the bright rays. The dashboard clock said it was seven forty-five in the morning. He took the phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. It lit up, revealing a recent text message. With trembling fingers, Spencer punched in his passcode.
(Ty) Cooper’s fine. Said she kissed you and felt awful for pulling back.
She was embarrassed, so she left the party.
(Spencer) What a relief. Thanks for texting me.
Will check in with her later.
Relief swept through him, but Spencer wondered if he had misread Abbie. She offered reassurances when he beat himself up over the kiss. She showed no signs that it upset her. Then she just disappeared without saying a word to anyone for hours?
Spencer was no Abbie expert, yet he had trouble accepting that things went down the way Ty said in his text. It didn’t sync up with what he knew about her. Where did Abbie really go last night? And why was Ty lying about it?
CHAPTER 28
AFTER
A thick arm grabs me around the throat, almost crushing my windpipe. The pain is excruciating. My arms and legs flail. My body is being dragged. It’s pitch black. I see nothing. With all the energy I can muster, I plant my heels on the ground, desperate to slow down the backward motion. Then the pressure around my neck eases. I scream, but no sound comes out. No one comes to rescue me.
I fight with all my strength, but it makes no difference. Then the silent figure picks me up and hurls me through the air. I’m falling fast, as if going down an elevator shaft, faster and faster. My terror increases tenfold. I’m frightened that when I land the fall will kill me. I stretch out my arms to grab on to something that will break the fall. There’s nothing but air.
I wake up with a jolt. Sweat drips from my body. My breathing, loud and anguished, pierces the darkness. My eyes slowly adjust. I make out a familiar room and then scramble off the bed and flip on the light switch. I’m safe. It was just a nightmare. I’m at Ty’s apartment. I return to the bed, sitting at the edge. The nightmare was the most intense one to date. I wipe the tears that drizzle down my cheeks.
Another terrifying dream. My breathing is so heavy and loud Ty might come banging on my door any second, asking if I’m okay. My physical injuries are on the mend. My cast comes off in a week. However, emotionally, I’m a runaway train, zigzagging all over the tracks with no idea where I will end up. I slip off the covers and slide out of bed.
When I barge into Ty’s bedroom, I’m surprised to discover a faint glow around the room, coming from a night light. I climb into bed without an explanation.
“It’s about time,” he mumbles, half asleep.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
“I know about the nightmares, Cooper. I’ve left the light on for you every night since they started.”
CHAPTER 29
AFTER
I can’t take it anymore. The nightmares and sleepless nights. The fatigue that follows. The paranoia that he’s watching me, still. Since the assault, his presence is everywhere, even if I don’t know who he is. I can’t sit around feeling sorry for myself. But how do I take back control of my life, weaken his grip on my psyche?
A proper sit-down interview with the police might do the trick. When they showed up in my hospital room, everything was still so raw and I was in no condition to be helpful to an investigation.
I’m keeping my expectations low, however. I’ve done some research. Most sexual assault cases never go to trial because victims don’t file charges. Why? Shame. Fear that no one will believe them. Fear that those who do will cast blame, fear of reliving the crime. The chances of a conviction are slim and even more diminished in my case since I can’t recall the attack.
“Are you okay? Ty asks, both hands on the steering wheel.
“Nervous. I wish we had more to go on.”
“You’ll do great,” he says. “It’s the police’s job to investigate.”
My skepticism must be glaringly obvious because Ty frowns at me. “Come on, Cooper. We have to give it a chance.”
“I’m trying. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here in the car with you, heading to talk to the police in some tiny town in which I spent a few hours of my life. A few hours that changed so much.”
We arrive at the Bethany police station, a recently renovated red brick building with white trim and a red cobblestone path leading to the heavy, white double doors of the main entrance. There is a cluster of armchairs and a small coffee table in the reception area.
Everything is neat, spacious, and new. We walk to the front desk and explain to the officer behind the Plexiglas window that we’re looking for Detectives Thompson and Nash. He escorts us down a long corridor peppered with offices and commendations and awards on the walls.
Ty and I sit in a sparsely furnished but comfortable room with a small wooden round table and three chairs. We’re told the detectives will be with us shortly.
Ty looks at me and creases his brow.
“I promise not to shatter into tiny pieces once the questioning begins,” I reassure him.
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks since you came out of the hospital,” he says. “It’s okay if you do shatter.”
The door opens, and Detective Nash enters—a tall, beefy guy with a cordial smile, thick strawberry-blond hair, and a matching moustache. Thompson is right on his heels, thin, fit, and stoned-faced in a pink blouse and matching cardigan sweater. After the shaking of hands and exchange of pleasantries, Nash takes the seat across from Ty and me. Thompson stands next to the window.
Nash produces a pen and notebook. “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell us what you remember,” he says.
“I place my hands on the table. “It’s like I told you at the hospital. I remember nothing about the actual attack.”
“That’s not unusual in cases like these,” he says. “Your attacker drugged you. The toxicology tests confirm that. They found GHB in your system. It acts fast and can last hours. One of the side effects is memory loss.”
I look away from the detective. Does this mean the attacker has done this before, drugged his victims?
“Do you need some water, a little time to collect your thoughts?” Detective Thompson asks.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Let’s focus on what you remember then,” Nash says. “How did you travel to this party and was anyone with you?”
“I rode with my friend Zahra.”
He scribbles something in the notebook. Ty sits ramrod straight in his chair.
“Then what happened?” Detective Thompson asks. She wants me to break down the evening for them.
I describe what I recall about the interior of the house, my interactions, the last thing I remember before falling unconscious, and then waking up in the hospital black and blue.
“I promised Ty I would help him practice runs for his interview with Harvard Medical School admissions,” I explain.
“Then I texted her so we could leave and didn’t get a response,” Ty said. “That’s when I figured something was wrong.”
Nash writes in his notebook again and then looks up. “Did anyone lurk around you, any guys get aggressive during the party?”
He wasn’t aggressive, not the way the detective means, but I can’t help but think back to the kiss with Spencer, one of the last things I remember.
“Was there someone?” Thompson asks.
“No. My friend Spencer texted me and—”
“Is Spencer a guy or girl?” Nash interrupts.
“Spencer is a guy.”
A furtive glance passes between the two detectives, as if to say they’re finally getting somewhere.
“Anyway, Spencer texted, saying he wanted me to rescue him from some girl who bored him. I joined him in the backyard, near a tree. We talked. It got chilly. Spencer went inside, ahead of me. I stayed behind.”
“Why was that?” Nash asks.
I ponder my answer carefully. How do I tell the detectives the truth without casting doubt on an already shaky situation? I’m sure they will interview Spencer. There’s no way to predict whether he will tell them about the kiss. Better to get ahead of that potential storm.
It’s no crime to kiss a boy, is it? In fact, there was a time I desperately wanted the boy sitting next to me to kiss me. All the time. It almost happened once, but almost doesn’t count.
“Spencer and I kissed. I stayed behind because I needed time to process my emotions.” And then I cross my arms over my chest, daring them to make something of it.
They don’t. Detective Nash plows on with the questioning. “Do you recall any strange noises or anyone lurking in the shadows?”
“No, nothing.”
“Do you remember anyone from the backyard?” Thompson asks. She leaves her spot near the window and pulls up a chair next to her partner.
I shake my head.
Nash turns his attention to Ty. “Can you confirm the timeline, when you sent Abbie that text about leaving the party?”
“Around one in the morning or a few minutes before.”
Nash glances at his partner. He fidgets with his pen. Then he says, “Help us clear up some details here. You arrived at the party with your friend Zahra and then agreed to go home with Ty right before you were in the backyard kissing Spencer. Does that about sum it up?”
Someone should just shoot me now. What a terrible picture the detective paints. First, the scenario he just described and then the aftermath—the assault, being thrown from a car at the ER entrance, the alcohol and drugs found in my system. Will they buy into the narrative of mistrust, that I’m a party girl who got wild and ended up in trouble?
I smooth my skirt and clear my throat. “Ty is my best friend. As he confirmed earlier, he needed to prepare for his interview with Harvard, so it was simpler to sleep over. That’s why we planned to leave the party together.”
Detective Thompson slowly nods. Relief washes over me. I need them on my side. Then an idea occurs to me: the roses. I should tell them.
Nash asks, “Do you still have the notes?”
I remove a manila envelope from my purse and hand it to him. He spreads the notes on the table. Thompson leans in so she can read too.
After a while, Nash says, “You have no clue who sent these?”
“None. They seemed harmless in the beginning, although they made me uneasy. The doll was a game changer.”
I explain to the detectives about the doll and the ball at Bedford Hills and exclude my conversation with Christian in New York. No need to rope him into my drama. Poor Ty is already up to his neck in it because of our friendship.
“Oh, I also took photos of the flowers,” I say and reach into my purse again to retrieve my phone.
When I find the right photos on my phone, I hand over the phone to Detective Thompson. Nash leans in as she scrolls.
“These are beautiful roses,” Nash says. “I’ve never seen them before.”
“They’re rare, expensive, and cost hundreds of dollars,” I explain.
“So you suspect this guy, this Humble Admirer, is the one who attacked you?” Thompson asks.
“Maybe.”
My plan has backfired. Nash draws his brows together and clears his throat unnecessarily. Thompson offers a tight smile and swallows several times. The chain of events I’ve described offers no insight or clarity into the case. In fact, it makes me look like a hot mess.
“Well,” Nash says, “we will do everything we can to catch this guy. But we also want you to—”
“You don’t have to sugarcoat it for me, Detective,” I interrupt. “I’m pre-med, and I’ve done my research. If I’m lucky, the rape kit will get tested in weeks or months because of the backlog. Add to that, we have no eyewitnesses to the crime and my memory problem. It will be challenging to build a case.”
The mist gathering in my eyes reminds me that my emotions are still raw. The possibility they may never catch him sends me over the edge.
Ty squeezes my hand under the table. He says, “We have to go. Cooper isn’t feeling well, but we’d be happy to answer any follow-up questions another time.”
Ty thanks the detectives for their time, collects the business cards they offer, and before they make any pronouncements about next steps, I’m halfway down the hall heading to the car in the parking lot, barely able to see through my blinding tears.
CHAPTER 30
AFTER
I can’t ignore him any longer. Spencer, that is. He’s sent numerous text messages and left multiple voicemails over the past few days. I’ve blocked all his attempts at meeting face-to-face. My responses to his inquiries have been brief via text message.
By the time I arrive in the dining hall, Spencer is already seated and fidgeting with his phone. He serves up a warm smile and enthusiastic hello when I appear at the table. I take the seat across from him.
“You really know how to scare a guy,” he says in admonishment.
“That was not my intent.”
He looks down at my arm, alarm in his eyes. “What happened to your arm?”
“I’m clumsy.”
Spencer stares at me, his eyebrows squishing together.
After taking in a deep, long breath, I slowly exhale. It’s only a matter of time before either Detective Nash or Thompson contacts Spencer, so I may as well beat them to it.
“I injured my arm when someone threw me out of a moving car. I can’t give you any details because there are gaps in my memory.”
In a slow, calm tone, I explain to Spencer my ordeal and end by telling him investigators will contact him. He stares back at me, his gaze incredulous, saying nothing. He doesn’t move a muscle and may have stopped breathing for all I know. Then he turns away for a moment, as if trying to think of the right words. When he finally does, his voice is low and tense.
“Abbie, I had no idea something so horrific happened to you. I’m sorry is beyond inadequate. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do?”
He reaches across the table to touch my hand. I instinctively pull back.
Spencer bites down on his bottom lip and swallows hard. He says, “I would never hurt you, Abbie.”
“It’s not you,” I quickly reassure him. “Ever since the attack, I’m not myself. I’m jumpy, paranoid. It’s no fun, but that’s my current reality.”
“I feel responsible.”
“Why would you?” I ask.
“I left you in the backyard alone, vulnerable to that psycho, especially if he was prowling around the area.”
“That’s a huge assumption. We will never know.”
“Do the police have any suspects?”
“Nope. My memory loss took care of that, or rather, my attacker took care of that when he drugged me. The only evidence is the aftermath.”
Spencer shakes his head. “I wish I had the right words, Abbie, but I don’t. Nothing I can say will help you come to grips with such a brutal crime.”
“You don’t have to say anything, Spencer. I’ll rise above it. I’ll be okay. I’m a Cooper. That’s kind of our thing.”
“You shouldn’t have to rise above it.” He cracks his knuckles. “It shouldn’t have happened at all. When Ty texted me to say that you went back to your dorm to put some distance between us because of the kiss, I was never more relieved in my life. It never crossed my mind that you were in serious trouble.”
“Yeah, sorry about the lie. I needed space to process the whole situation.”
“So you’ve been at your dorm all this time?” Spencer asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you need help. How are you managing?”
“Ty stepped up to care for me.”
“At his place?”
“Yes.”
“That’s good.”
Something in Spencer’s tone tells me he’s not happy with this arrangement. He asked those questions on purpose, to confirm what he already suspected.
“I’m lucky to have Ty helping me.” I need to drive home the point.
“What about your parents?” he asks. “Have you told them?”
“No. And I don’t know if I ever will.”
Spencer scratches his temple. “Why don’t you want your parents to know? I thought you were close with them.”
“I am. But telling them will open up a bunch of complications. My dad is a cancer survivor in remission. This news may send him reeling and possibly into a relapse. I can’t risk it.”
Why am I explaining all this to Spencer? I still harbor conflicted feelings about him.
He leans forward and says, “That’s courageous and selfless, putting your dad’s needs ahead of your trauma. Based on what you’ve told me about your family, I don’t think they would want you to keep this from them.”
“It’s not their decision, is it?” I snap.
Spencer leans back in the chair. “Ty threatened to kill me while we were searching for you. During our stint on the crew team, he was one of the calmest dudes I ever came across. Not so when it’s about you. I get it now.”
“Why would Ty threaten to kill you? That’s not like him.”
“Like I said, when you’re involved, he’s a different person. He thought I had something to do with your disappearance.”
This statement offers no clarity to my previous question. “What led him to think that?”
Spencer shrugs. “It was in the heat of the moment. I was the last person to see you. We were both scared to death.”
I steeple my hands together and stay quiet for a beat. Panic, I understand. Making death threats seems extreme for Ty. Heading back to the party inside the house was Spencer’s idea. My decision to hang back was spur of the moment. Spencer couldn’t have predicted that.
