My Abigail: A Psychological Thriller

Chapter 12: Zenith

A few days later...

We sat down in our seats at the movies. I couldn't help but shake as I thought of what was going to happen. The popcorn sat in her lap, and the large drink we shared was in the cupholder. I wanted to leave. I needed to stay. I wanted to take her with me. I needed to run away from her.

Maybe her and I could escape from everything, go somewhere nobody could find us.

He will always find you, I reminded myself. As long as you're with her, there is no escaping him.

"I'm excited to see this movie," she said. I could hear the glee leaping from her voice. "I've heard that the ending is totally unexpected."

"Yeah. I guess."

"I think I know what's coming, though," she said proudly. "I think I know exactly what to expect."

"I'm not so sure. People have lots of surprises."

She giggled. "Sure. But I can always tell when they're tricking me." Her face grew suddenly serious and she turned in my direction. "I know what you're planning."

I stared straight ahead as my muscles tensed and my heart ran as fast as a racehorse. It took every ounce of my willpower to not turn and smile. I knew she would see right through my mask.

"I'm just kidding!" She punched me lightly in the arm and laughed. "You looked so serious. Geez."

I was spared from answering as the curtains opened and the movie began. In my mind's eye, I saw the curtains standing open on my own story and wondered how much longer they would stay like that. She and I were on stage, wrapping up the final act.

Maybe those curtains would never close. Like myself, they were a mystery. Perhaps they were meant to stand open, reminding me of what I'd gone through and what I'd done. This was a rash decision, but I insisted on carrying through. I had to do this. For myself.

It was our stage.

"Caleb?"

I turned and saw Abigail intently watching me. Worry was carved into her expression. She reached out a hand and held my own.

"What's wrong, Caleb?"

I shook my head. "It's nothing you'd understand."

"Why not?" She sounded hurt. "I know I'm a bit... weird. A freak, I guess. But I still understand you. Haven't I proven that?"

I sighed. "Yeah. You have. Do you really want me to tell you what's wrong?"

"Yes," she whispered. "But you gotta keep it down. The old couple over there is giving us a dirty look."

I laughed, and I genuinely felt happy for a split second. But then that faded and I begun the process I'd learned too well.

For the next five minutes, I spun a story of a broken home and a boy with an uncle and aunt that fought all the time. I told a tale of despair and broken relationships and lost love. Hearts that would never mend, and friends that would never come back. Children that would never come home. Parents that would never stay there.

That boy was me, but he wasn't real.

It was a familiar thing to do, and I was very good at it by now. I'd done it many times to her. She never expected a thing. I was thinking of the truth, but it wasn't anywhere near what I said.

She was struggling not to cry. I was struggling to lie.

"That's what happened?" she said. "Your aunt and uncle are... that's what's wrong?"