by Amy Cross
"I saw her putting a packet of razor blades in her pocket," I whisper to the guy behind the register as I put some coins on the counter to pay for my candy. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but..."
"M'am," the guy says, hurrying over to Mrs. Briggs, "I'm gonna need to see in your pockets, please."
"There's nothing in my pockets!" she protests, before I see the moment of realization in her eyes as she feels the bulky pack of razor blades. "I didn't put those there!" she says, as the cashier leads her back over to the register. "She put them there! She planted these on me!"
"I have to call Mr. Macken," the cashier says. "You'll have to wait here until he comes."
"I am not a thief!" she shouts, looking as if she's about to burst into tears. "I'm not!"
"I'll let you two get on with things," I say, flashing a smile before I head to the door.
"She planted those things on me!" she tells the cashier. "Don't you have any cameras? Why don't you have cameras in this place?"
As soon as I get outside, I take a deep breath, followed by a good, long suck on my candy lollipop. I can hear Mrs. Briggs still protesting her innocence inside the store, and she sounds awfully upset. That's a nice byproduct of what just happened, but the important thing is that she's gonna be tied up here for at least an hour. Jim Macken'll have to come into town and deal with her, and whether or not he calls the cops, it's all gonna take a while to figure out. Dropping the rest of the lollipop into a nearby trash can, I light a cigarette and take a good hard drag before setting off to my car. While Lucy Briggs is busy explaining why a pack of razor blades was hidden in her coat pocket, I've got a few jobs to do.
Cassie Briggs
"If you're here," I say, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the cabin, "I only want to talk to you. Is that okay? Can we talk?"
Silence.
I've been trying to make contact with Darper for almost an hour now, and there's no sign of her. Sure, I understand that she might be a little wary of speaking to me again after so long, but five years isn't really a huge expanse of time, especially not for someone like her. Plus, her name appeared on the door-frame after I came up here, which makes it seem as if she wants to make contact in some way. Hopefully I'm just mistaken, but I can't take the uncertainty. If she's somehow survived, and if she's here, I need to know.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My heart's pounding, and I'm terrified. I'd hoped - no, I'd prayed - that Darper was gone forever. That was the plan, after all, and also the reason why all the other sacrifices seemed to be worthwhile. It's hard to believe that she could possibly have survived the events that took place five years ago, and I'm still hopeful that I'm being paranoid. Still, there are just enough little hints and clues to get me worried.
"Let's be honest," I continue, "if you're here, you're going to appear at some point, so we might as well get this over with. If you're expecting an apology for everything that happened last time, it's not going to happen. We both know why I came up here, and we both know that you're the one who was responsible for..." I pause as I realize that there's no way I want to start talking about the details. "Don't be a child," I continue. "For once, just come out into the open and talk to me. Tell me what you want."
Silence.
I want to believe that I was wrong. I want to believe that, having made the mistake of coming up to the cabin in the first place, I allowed my imagination to run wild. I can't even begin to imagine what I'd do if I discovered that Darper had truly survived, and in my heart of hearts I'm still convinced that there's no way she could possibly be here.
I just have to be sure.
"Are you mad at us?" I ask. "Is that it? Are you mad that we tried to make you go away? I'm sorry, but you have to understand, you were driving us crazy. You were making us all terrified. It was like you were consuming our every waking moment." I pause, terrified that I might suddenly feel her presence. "It's not that I blame you for everything. It's just that I think things could have been handled differently. We all could have been more understanding. Fisher and Bobby were scared, and I... I just wasn't able to get my head together properly. I let things spiral out of control. I take full responsibility, okay? None of it was your fault. It was all me. I, Cassie Briggs, fucked it all up."
No reply.
I take a deep breath. There are tears in my eyes, but I don't dare to hope. Not yet. She could still spring a surprise. Maybe she's deliberately getting my hopes up, just so that she can leap out and surprise me.
I wait.
"You're not here," I say eventually, feeling a wave of relief wash through my body. Opening my eyes, I look around at the gloom and realize that I was wrong. If Darper had survived, there's no way she'd have been able to resist making her presence known in a more obvious way. After all, she was always so impulsive and impetuous. If there's one thing I know for certain, it's that Darper Danver never had an ounce of self-control. The fact that she didn't respond to me today means that she's definitely not here. God knows how her name appeared on the door-frame, but the only logical explanation is that I fucked up and missed it when I was checking the first time. She's not here at all.
I sit in silence for a moment.
And then, slowly, I hear the sound of footsteps outside, coming closer through the leaves that cover the forest floor.
Becky Madison
"Come on," I mutter, starting to get annoyed as I wait for the lumber truck to get out of my goddamn way so I can drive to the Briggs house. Checking my watch, I see that it's less than ten minutes since I left Mrs. B in the store, so I've still got plenty of time.
When the truck finally parks up, I drive around, but at the last moment I spot a familiar face among the guys who've climbed out to start moving the logs. I stop my car and stare at my rear-view mirror for a moment, watching as none other than Fisher Benhauser starts to drag a log from the back of the truck. I swear to God, I never expected he'd grow up to become such a good-looking guy. Seriously, all that hard physical labor has really given him a good body. Checking myself in the mirror, I take a moment to tidy my hair and fix my lipstick, before getting out of the car and wandering over to the truck.
"Hey, Fisher," I say as I reach him.
He turns to me, and I can see instantly that he remembers me from all those years ago. I was never really part of his little gang with Cassie and Bobby. Since I was a couple of years older than them, I tended to hang with my own friends, but I saw them plenty and we certainly had a few fun moments together.
"Hi," he says cautiously.
"I was just driving past," I continue, "and I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure." I wait for him to reply, but he seems kinda stunned. "You remember me, right? Becky Madison? Bobby's sister?"
"Sure," he says, before turning to the other guys on the truck. "Take an early lunch, okay? We'll get this done in a bit."
"You in charge?" I ask as he comes over to join me.
"Only of this crew," he says, taking off his hard-hat and gloves. "Got a boss back at the office, just like everyone else."
"Still, it's pretty cool," I reply. "Sometimes I think I'd rather do manual work. It seems like it's good for the soul." I pause for a moment. "I'm a lawyer these days. Public defender, actually. It pays well, and the hours aren't too bad, but I get to act like I help people and -"
"What do you want, Becky?" he asks suddenly.
"I'm not disturbing your lunch break, am I?" I reply. "If you like, we could meet tonight instead, maybe grab a drink somewhere?"
"I'd rather talk now," he says stiffly. "I forgot my lunch today, so you're not disturbing anything."
"We could go and get something to eat," I reply. "I'll pay. How about it? A guy like you, doing all this hard physical work, needs to keep his strength up so he can -"
"What do you want, Becky?" he asks again.
"Well, I just..." Pausing, I realize that he's already got his back up a little. "I came back to see my Ma," I explain. "As you might understand, she's not having the absol
ute easiest time right now. Old wounds, and so on, and it's not like she's got any other family. She's all alone down here, and even though I can't be here all the time, I feel like it's my duty as a good daughter to see what I can do now and then." I take a deep breath. "She's a little tense because of Cassie Briggs coming home, you know?"
He nods.
"You seen her yet?" I ask.
"Briefly."
"How did she seem?"
"I think she's glad to be home," he replies, clearly feeling a little uncomfortable. "If you're here to cause trouble, Becky -"
"Me?" I reply, acting as if I'm shocked by the idea. "Trouble? Hell, no. God damn it, though, why does everyone seem to assume that? Can't a girl come and visit her dear old Ma without people assuming she's got some kind of ulterior motive?"
He stares at me.
"The truth," I continue, "is that I'm worried about Ma, okay? When she heard Cassie was back, she seemed to have a little wobble, and I think she's dealing with it badly. I'm trying to keep her going, but it's hard. I feel like I'm having to be strong for two of us, and that's really fucking difficult." I pause for a moment, hoping that he might sympathize, but instead he just stares at me as if he still suspects that I'm up to something. "Do you know what I mean?" I ask eventually. "Helping someone through a tough time is really kinda difficult."
"I hope she's okay," he says finally. "I like your mother. I see her around town sometimes, but I never really know what to say to her. She's a good woman."
"For the most part," I mutter wryly, wondering how he'd react if he knew about Ma's little excursion with the steak-knife last night. "So to answer your question, I'm not here to cause trouble. I was just hoping to bump into you some time so I could ask you about Cassie. I didn't want to go direct to her or her family, 'cause I figured things might be awkward, so I wanted to get the rundown from you. She's okay, is she? She's doing good?"
"As far as I know," he says.
"And she still insists she didn't kill Bobby?"
"There's no point dragging this up again -"
"I'm not dragging anything up!" I say, raising my hands in mock defense. "I just wanted to make sure that I understand everything that's happening and -" I stop speaking as I notice that Fisher's wearing a wedding ring. "Who's the lucky lady?" I ask after a moment, genuinely surprised that he appears to have found someone else. After all, when we were all young, it seemed as if he and Cassie were gonna be the perfect couple.
"I met my wife a few years ago," he replies, clearly determined to give me as little information as possible. "We're very happy."
"That's good," I say, checking my watch. "Well, I have to be somewhere. Got a deadline, you know? I guess I might not see you again while I'm back, so I hope things go well for you, Fisher. I really do."
"You too," he says flatly.
"There's just..." I pause for a moment. "There's just one other thing I wanted to ask you about. It's something that's been bugging me for a while now, and I guess I just wanna see if I can scratch the itch. It's none of my business, but there's this name that I keep thinking about from the old days. I heard you and Cassie mention it a few times." I stare at him, watching his impassive face and waiting to see if there's a change in his expression. "Darper Danver."
He doesn't reply, but there's an infinitesimally small twitch that makes me think he's heard the name before.
"Ring any bells?" I ask.
"Sorry," he says. "No."
"That's funny," I reply, "because I really think I heard you and Cassie and Bobby talking about someone named Darper Danver all those years ago. Are you sure it doesn't mean anything to you?"
"Should it?" he asks.
"I was just wondering," I reply. "I'm certainly not accusing anyone of anything."
"I have to get back to work," he says bluntly. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember every conversation I had a bunch of years ago. There's no-one called Darper Danver in Fort Powell. I hope you enjoy your stay, and I hope you have a safe journey home when you leave."
I open my mouth to reply, but at that moment I spot a car pulling up nearby. Moments later, a pretty young woman steps out carrying a paper bag. Maybe I'm wrong, but I can't help thinking that she might just be Fisher's wife, coming to deliver lunch to her husband. It's just a cute scene, even if it makes me feel as if I've stepped back in time.
"Seeya around," I say to Fisher, before surprising him by leaning closer and planting a kiss on his cheek. I glance at the woman and see a look of shock on her face, and then I turn and walk to my car. By the time I'm back in the driver's seat, I can see that the woman has reached Fisher, and as she hands him the paper bag, she's clearly concerned. They start talking, and it's patently obvious that she's asking her husband about me. I'm sure he'll have fun tell his darling little wife all about the shenanigans he got up to in the past.
Putting the car into gear, I resume my journey to the Briggs house. Today has already delivered two delightful little side-tracks, but now I'm ready to put the main part of my plan into action.
Cassie Briggs
"Do you really think it was a good idea to come up here?" Sheriff Mulcahy asks, standing in the doorway. "You've been out of prison, what, forty-eight hours, and you're already back at the scene of the crime."
"There was no crime," I reply, my heart racing.
"So Bobby Madison stabbed himself, did he?" He stares at me for a moment. "He ripped his own face off, huh? That's some way to commit suicide."
"I didn't kill him," I reply.
"Of course you didn't."
I open my mouth to argue with him, but finally I let out a sigh. Sheriff Mulcahy is just another local asshole who's never going to believe me.
"Whatever," he continues, eying me with evident distaste. "The point is, I was kinda hoping that maybe you'd have a little more tact than to come storming back to the place where it all happened. Whatever 'it's really was."
"I just needed to..." I pause as I realize that there's no way I can tell him the truth. Five years ago, I was able to keep the whole Darper Danver situation quiet. No-one, from the police to the prosecutors to the families involved, ever even heard the name. I paid a price for my silence, but it's a price I'm willing to pay a thousand times over if it means that I'll never again have to deal with Darper directly.
"Needed to what?" he asks eventually. "Poke around? Remind yourself of past glories?" Sighing, he walks across the room and stops for a moment to stare at the dark stain where Bobby's blood soaked into the floor. "This isn't a good place, Ms. Briggs," he continues. "Bad things happened here, and when bad things happen in a place, they don't always dissipate. You end up with echoes, and if you come back, those echoes can affect you. I guess you probably think I'm a crazy old man, but I've been doing this job for thirty years now and I know damn well that it doesn't do any good to rake over the past."
"That's not what I was doing," I say firmly.
"Then what were you doing?" he asks, turning to me. "Or maybe, more accurately, I should ask what are you doing?" He stares at me. "You're very quick to deny things, Ms. Briggs, but you don't often offer any alternatives. Why did you come up here today?"
"I guess..." I pause. "I was just being stupid. I wanted to pay my respects."
"You want to pay your respects," he replies, "you go to the boy's grave, not to the place where you..." He catches himself just in time, before he says what he really things. "Not to the place where he was murdered," he continues eventually. Glancing over at my backpack, his eyes narrow a little. "What did you bring with you?"
"Nothing," I reply.
"Bull-crap," he says, hurrying over to the bag. Although I try to stop him, I'm too late and he hauls it up, peering into the top for a moment before tipping the contents onto the floor.
"You don't have a right to do that!" I say, struggling to stay calm.
"I have the right to arrest you, though," he replies. "This cabin is out of bounds. There's a police notice telling people not to come up here, and
you walked right past that notice."
"I didn't see a notice," I say, kneeling to gather the contents of my bag.
"Ignorance ain't no excuse," he says, stepping toward me and using his leg to push me away. "I could also arrest you for obstructing justice, since you're not giving me straight answers to any of my questions, so how about you just calm down before I pop you back into my car and take you to the station?" He smiles. "You've been back for a day, Ms. Briggs. Isn't it a little soon to be getting into trouble again, even for you?"
Sighing, I watch as he bends down and picks up the notebook that fell out of my backpack.
"What's this?" he asks.
"Just some ideas I had," I tell him.
Opening the notebook, he flicks through some of the pages. "Darper Danver," he says after a moment. "Darper Danver, Darper Danver... What the hell does that mean? You've sure written it a hell of a lot." He pauses, and I see a moment of realization in his eyes. "I've seen that name before. Some asshole has been carving it into trees in the area, and benches, pretty much any surface they can find. Do you know who's responsible?"
I shake my head.
"Then why are you writing stuff down about it?"
"I'm just curious," I say, figuring that my best bet right now is to lie. "Like you, I've seen the name all over the town, and I was wondering what it means." I pause, trying to think of a way to make myself sound myself more believable. "So... don't you know?"
"Why should I know?"
"I just figured, you're the chief of police, so maybe it's something you've looked into." I wait for him to answer, but he's still eying me with suspicion, and it's really hard to work out exactly how much he knows. "Have you?" I ask eventually. "Have you looked into it?"
"I've got better things to be doing," he replies. "Some kid carving his name into a bunch of trees isn't really my priority, if you know what I mean, although if you happen to know this idiot, feel free to tell him or her to quit it. I'm more concerned about people who are causing actual trouble." As he stares at me, it's clear that when he talks about 'actual trouble', I'm one of the main culprits, at least in his mind. "You've got some weird hobbies, girl," he adds eventually, dropping the notebook back onto the floor. "Weird, unhealthy hobbies. You want to get your head straight rather than spending time on crazy stuff like this. It won't do you any good to obsess over things that don't matter. You'll end up going crazy in the head, if you haven't already."