All the Things You Are

by Declan Hughes

  ‘Because …’ he begins, and turns away, turns away and looks at his reflection in the glass of his side window.

  Because.

  Because Dave thought Danny would be grateful that he’d thrown the fire bottle, grateful that he’d burnt the Bradberry house down, grateful that he’d relieved him of his tormentor. Dave thought the guys would be on his side, and Danny would be grateful: grateful then, grateful forever. For the briefest of moments, after the house had gone up in flames, and they had revived Danny and ran, ran through the Halloween streets, for one brief, glorious, exhilarating moment, Dave had felt like a hero, like a star. And then, as the guys’ fear and panic filtered through, he understood that he had got it wrong, that they were appalled at what had happened. And a screen memory returned to him, a memory that would stay with him, the fleeting glimpse as he turned from the blazing house of the two young Bradberry children in the upstairs window. And even he knew that wasn’t right. And without sharing in the panic or the fear, he quickly saw what he had to do. It was simple: he and Gene had swapped costumes, so he was wearing the same letter as Danny. And who had more incentive to take the ultimate revenge on Jackie Bradberry? And since Danny had knocked himself out, there would be a moment he couldn’t account for.

  Ralph never put that in his fucking book, did he?

  ‘Jesus, Danny, why’d you do it?’ was all Dave had to say.

  Because it was Danny’s fault, wasn’t it? Danny’s fault Dave had felt the need to protect him, to help him, even though Danny had never asked him, had never trusted him to step in with Jackie Bradberry the way he had with Gene. Danny’s fault they had been there at all.

  Things were never the same between them afterwards. There were many times Dave had wanted to tell him, to explain. But what would he have said? That he had done it, then blamed Danny? No, he had to keep it hidden, even as Danny drifted away.

  And Dave has had to live with it all these years, until fate brought Claire Bradberry his way, brought her his way and then took her away again. Fate in the form of Danny Brogan.

  ‘Because Danny Brogan made your life a misery,’ he says, tears in his eyes suddenly, brimming himself, hands shaking. ‘And destroyed the happiness we should have had. And now he is going to pay.’

  Dee looks at Dave, and nods, and kisses him quickly, a brush on the cheek really. She is in it with him, and she will see it through. And then, at last, she will be free of him. Free of it all. Dee opens the car door and makes her excited-to-see-you face and runs across the lawn toward the children as if she is their friend, sent to rescue them from harm.

  I’m Beginning to See the Light

  Detective Nora Fox has worked her way through the cuttings on Dee St Clair’s table, which document the Bradberry fire of thirty-five years ago, and include references to the girl that got away, the three-year-old daughter who alone survived the inferno. She has found paper photocopies of a number of paintings in different styles, but all with the same image: two small children, their faces rigid with fear, in the window of a house, flames encroaching upon them.

  Turning to Dee’s laptop, she has found within her email program folders that seem to be set up for Danny Brogan and Claire Taylor; indeed, while she is inspecting them, an email arrives for Claire, asking if her drama class on Wednesday is definitely on, only Jenna has extra French and may have to skip the last half-hour. Nora doesn’t know how you do this – she has a notion there’s something called a Trojan, a rogue program that infiltrates another computer and relays the data so a third party can spy on it, and if necessary, manipulate it. The Forensic Services Unit have enough technical expertise to figure it out. But however you do it, it’s been done, and it’s on Dee’s computer.

  Nora runs through it in her head. The Four Horsemen – Danny Brogan, Dave Ricks, Gene Peterson and Ralph Cowley – may have had some involvement with the Bradberry fire. From the information she got from Cass Epstein at the Department of Children and Families, it seems certain that Dee St Clair is Claire Bradberry, the surviving child. Judging by the news clippings, she has not forgotten what happened to her birth family.

  Nora studies the pictures of the children with the flames flicker-ing around the window. There’s a tiny signature in the bottom right corner of each, not even a signature, just initial letters. The second letter is R, the first … could be an O, could be a closed C … could be a D. D-R … Dave Ricks.

  She goes back to the computer and enters Dave Ricks in the Search box and reads the three most recent emails. Halfway through the third, she is on the phone.

  ‘Fowler?’

  ‘Ken, you’re still there.’

  ‘I was on my way home. But everyone’s on the streets for Freakfest, I’m like a one-man band here.’

  ‘Don around? I can’t raise him.’

  ‘He’s still here somewhere.’

  ‘OK, well, grab him and sit on him, I’ll be back in fifteen. I think the Brogan case is breaking, and it’s gonna be tonight. And Ken, tell Don we could be talking emergency response here.’

  ‘I’ll tell him.’

  Nora looks again at the final email Dave Ricks sent Dee St Clair. The last lines read:

  We’ll keep it loose, improvising from scene to scene – because they’re human, and we don’t know how they’re going to act – but if we can get everyone there at once, well, what a grand finale there will be! What a fitting anniversary, what a Halloween spectacular!

  Me, Myself and I

  ‘Donna’s just texted,’ Claire says, voice thick and teary with relief. They’re on the 12-18, about five miles out from Cambridge. ‘She says the girls are fine, to come on over.’

  ‘Well then,’ Danny says. ‘That’s what we’ll do. And let’s hope the Madison police are nowhere near.’

  ‘They don’t know about Donna, do they?’

  ‘I don’t think anyone knows about Donna. Donna flies under the radar. I’m not even sure what name she calls herself these days.’

  ‘She went back to Brogan,’ Claire says.

  ‘Did she? How do you know?’

  ‘I saw some mail in her house when I dropped the kids off, a few months back. Funny thing was, she saw me notice it, and she kind of shrugged, and she said something pretty cool, or at least, I think it’s pretty cool now, at the time I don’t think I really got it.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said, at a certain stage, you stop trying to be someone else. You’re who you are. You’re yourself, the sum total of all you’ve done and been all your life. And what you’ve got to do is, accept it. And you know something, Dan, that’s what I feel now. And one of the things I’m going to do, at last, maybe I’ve been running away from it, in denial or whatever they say, I’m going to look at my adoption papers. I’m going to find out who my birth parents were. Not saying I want to meet up with them or anything, that might be a whole other trip. But … just so I know. Because I am who I am. And it’s going to be all right.’

  It’s never going to be all right, Danny thinks. He hasn’t told Claire any of it yet. The fact that Dave Ricks threw the fire bottle, not Danny. The fact that Dee is connected to Dave, used to be married to him. They have to be behind it all, the blackmail, the murder. They have to be behind it. But whatever they’re behind, they can’t change the facts. And the facts are, Claire’s birth certificate proves she was born Claire Bradberry. He has to tell her. He has to tell her now.

  ‘Claire, there’s something I need to say to you. About … about the Bradberry fire.’

  ‘The Bradberry fire? Wow. Which one was that again, where all the kids got killed?’

  Which one was that again? He looks around at his wife, her innocent eyes shining now, this wife of his that he’s not even married to, and drinks in every detail. This may be the last time she ever smiles at him.

  And then his phone rings. Does he answer it? Of course he does.

  ‘We know you didn’t kill anyone, Danny.’

  ‘I’m sorry? Who is this?’<
br />
  ‘Detective Nora Fox, Madison PD.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

  ‘I didn’t want you to hang up on me. When I say we know, I mean we have compelling evidence that the murders were carried out on behalf of Dave Ricks and Dee St Clair.’

  ‘That’s what I figured, except without much in the way of evidence.’

  ‘There’s an immediate danger to your own safety, and to that of your family, sir. There’s reason to suspect some attempt may be made to intercept you, or in some way harm you. You’re not considering a return to the house on Arboretum Avenue, are you? If you can let us know where you’re at, we can arrange officer escorts.’

  ‘That sounds serious.’

  ‘I believe it is serious.’

  Danny considers, but still doesn’t fully trust the cops.

  ‘We’re fine, Detective. We’re all meeting up at my … the whole family’s meeting up.’

  ‘I want to urge particular caution in relation to fire, sir.’

  ‘Fire?’

  ‘Yes. You know of course that it’s the anniversary of the Bradberry fire tonight. We know that you, and Dave Ricks, and your other friends, including one of the deceased, Ralph Cowley, may have had some involvement with that incident.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘It’s not a reinvestigation of the Bradberry fire, sir. It’s, in the communications between Dave Ricks and Dee St Clair, several references are made to a blaze, to, if all the arrangements are correctly in place, a spectacular.’

  A spectacular. The word sends a chill down Danny’s spine. That’s exactly what they called the Bradberry fire when they were planning it, back when it was a prank, before it became a catastrophe.

  ‘And there may be an element of revenge involved, sir. You see, there was one Bradberry child who escaped the inferno on that night in 1976. And we have conclusive proof that Dee St Clair was that child. Dee St Clair was born Claire Bradberry.’

  ‘No,’ Danny says. ‘No, that’s not true, I know that’s not true.’

  ‘It is true, sir.’

  Danny is aware that Claire is watching him closely. He can’t stop now.

  ‘I’ve seen … documents … belonging to someone else. Stating that … someone else … is that person.’

  ‘Sir, Dee St Clair has been spying on you and your wife for many years now. She intercepts all of your emails, sometimes replying to them. It appears, as well as murder, she and Mr Ricks have been extorting money from you. It doesn’t seem beyond her to have forged a birth certificate or two, does it?’

  Detective Nora Fox is asking again where Danny is headed as he closes the call, palms his phone and stares at the screen, smiling like a man who has forgotten how it’s done.

  ‘Who was that?’ Claire says.

  ‘Nobody,’ Danny says.

  ‘I see. And what did nobody want?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Danny reaches for Claire’s hand. She takes his and squeezes it.

  Nobody wanted nothing. After all these years.

  And in spite of all that’s happened and all that looms ahead, in spite of the danger and uncertainty, the heartache and the shame, Danny Brogan thinks that everything is going to be all right.

  When No One Cares

  Dee has found the girls’ Nintendo DS players and hugged Irene and tried to talk to Barbara and persuaded them that their parents are on their way back to the family home, the ‘forever house,’ as Irene calls it. By ensuring that both Dave and Charlie, the scrawny Irish guy who clearly thinks the world of himself but looks to Dee like a weasel with bad teeth, keep completely out of sight, she manages to persuade the girls into the back of Dave’s SUV. Then, having texted Claire on Donna’s phone to let her know Barbara and Irene are waiting to be collected at Donna’s house, she takes off for Madison.

  Charlie T is stationed up at the gates of Donna’s house, ready and waiting in a Halloween mask, a red El Diablo with horns. The only car visible in the drive is Donna’s.

  Ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, and then a blue Toyota Corolla comes rolling in through the gates and crunching down the gravel to park behind Donna’s vehicle. Charlie T has the gate swung shut in seconds, and keeps Danny Brogan and Claire Taylor in his sights as they rush toward the house, Claire forgetting even to close the passenger door. They are in the porch now, ringing the doorbell. Charlie T is closing in on them from behind. The door opens on Dave Ricks in a full face werewolf mask, his arms outstretched.

  ‘Trick or Treat!’ he says.

  Claire screams, and Danny flies at the werewolf, two hands around his neck, wrestling him to the floor, slapping his head on the tiled porch. Charlie T fires a shot in the air, doesn’t like doing it in case there are any pain-in-the-ass good citizens mooching about, but even if there are, it’s Halloween, who can tell a gunshot from a firecracker? The second shot does the job.

  ‘Get off him, now!’ Charlie T shouts.

  As he closes in on Claire Taylor with the Steyr, Danny Brogan releases Dave Ricks, who scrambles to his feet. And here they all are, in the porch together.

  Trick or Treat!

  ‘Where are the girls?’ Claire says. ‘Where are Barbara and Irene?’

  ‘Who is it in there?’ Brogan says, pointing at Dave’s mask. ‘Is it Dave? Dave? What the fuck are you doing? Have you lost your fucking mind?’

  Charlie T has given Dave the chloroform rags and is waiting for him to use one on Brogan, but Dave seems shaken, he’s just standing there, swaying. Amateur hour. Brogan’s swearing and shouting, throwing all kinds of shapes, and Charlie T sees it’ll take the pair of them to subdue the fucker and then the missus might get away. Only thing he can do is smack Brogan between the eyes with the butt of the Steyr, then again on the back of the head. Down he goes, that’s the way to do it. Claire starts up again with the screaming, but Charlie T moves in quickly behind her and restrains her hands with one arm. He extends the other hand to Dave Ricks, and Ricks passes him a cloth, and Charlie T presses it over Claire’s nose and mouth and holds, as she squirms against his hand and wrestles with his arm and kicks back at his shins, hold on, hold on. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred. Fourteen hundred and she goes limp in his arms.

  The House I Live In

  Making her way slowly and circuitously across town, traffic re-routed as State Street is closed for Freakfest, the city’s annual Halloween party, Detective Nora Fox pulls up in the street outside Brogan’s and goes in, and of course the place is jammed. Even so, at the door she catches the Dolly Parton lookalike, what’s her name, Karen Cassidy, catches her eye straight off where she stands at the bar, and Nora gives her the chin uplift, meaning hello, we need to talk, and the pint-size bottle blonde not alone does not acknowledge, she turns her back on Nora, and is very, very busy mixing some drinks. Nora, for want of a more felicitous expression, has had enough of this shit, and powers her way through the partying hordes like a football tackle in a bad mood. By the time she gets to the bar, she is in a bad mood herself, so when Karen Cassidy emerges from behind it with two exotic looking drinks, a sparkler fizzing in each one, and says, ‘I told you before, lady, I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ it’s nothing more than reflex for Nora to pluck the sparklers out of their glasses and douse the fizzing ends in the drinks.

  ‘The name is Detective, Dolly,’ Nora says.

  A little crowd is gathering around them now.

  When Karen looks like she’s going to do something very stupid indeed, like toss one of the drinks in Nora’s face, Nora grabs her by the wrists and pulls her face close.

  ‘Listen to me. They’re going to burn your boss to the ground, him and his wife and his kids, and they’re going to do it tonight, do it now, and you won’t raise a finger to stop them, all because of some misplaced bullshit sense of loyalty and protectiveness. I know there’s someone he stays with, another family member, someone who minds the kids for him. Tell me who it is.’

  ‘Who is “they”?’ Karen says.

&nb
sp; ‘People from his past. People who’ve already murdered two men. People who don’t care what they do, to Danny, to Claire, to those kids.’

  And Karen bites her lip and squints through her false eyelashes and says, ‘Donna, his sister. In Cambridge. I’ll get you the address.

  Once everyone is in through the gates of the Brogan property on Arboretum Avenue, Dee leads Barbara and Irene into the house, telling them they’re going to find their parents. Then Dave Ricks and Charlie T secure the gates with chains and rocks. There’s a picnic table with benches attached in the garage. Dave and Charlie T haul it out and set it up in the middle of the backyard. Then they carry Claire and Danny out of Donna’s car. They are both still unconscious, although Danny is showing signs of life. Dave and Charlie T sit the Brogans up at the table, facing the back of the house, so they have a clear view of the tower where Claire has her den, and they tie their hands and feet to the bench and the metal struts that affix the seat to the table. Then Dave gets a can of gasoline from the trunk of his car and starts to anoint the backyard with it.

  Meanwhile, Dee is ushering the girls toward the tower, which is the only room that has any furniture left, although of course that’s not why she wants them up there.

  ‘Where’s Mommy?’ Irene says.

  ‘Where’s all our stuff?’ Barbara says.

  ‘This way,’ Dee says, sending them ahead of her up the spiral staircase, and sure enough, they go because they think they will find their stuff, and their mommy, and their daddy, and once they’re up, Dee shuts the trap door on them and runs the bolt on it. The sound of Irene can be heard almost immediately, wailing and howling from above.

  It’s difficult to discern what emotion flickers across Dee’s face as she descends the stairs, what new Dee face this might be. Grim Resignation, perhaps. It is as if she has been playing a part her entire life, and this is the final performance. When she emerges from the house, Dave Ricks hands her a full-face witch’s mask with pointed hat, and Dee pulls it over her head quickly, as if it is a relief to be able to hide inside it.