Darper Danver: The Complete First Series Read online

  "Is she down there?" Mrs. Briggs shouts from the kitchen.

  Turning to head back up the stairs, I suddenly spot the name Darper Danver carved into the wall. After a moment, I realize that someone has carved the name not only all over the wall, but also on the stairs themselves. I flick the light switch, and the bare bulb flickers into life in the center of the basement. Turning, I finally see the truth. Someone has written the name Darper Danver everywhere: on every surface, on every wall and all over the shelves, on the floor and the ceiling, scratched into wood and concrete and even glass. It must have taken hours, but every inch of the basement is now covered in thousands of carvings.

  "Fisher, is she down there?" Mrs. Briggs shouts.

  I run my hand across the wall, feeling how the name has been carved into the wood. "Not anymore," I say after a moment.

  Becky Madison

  "I'm sorry," she says with a frown, as she stands in the motel foyer. "Who did you say you were again?"

  "Rebecca Madison," I reply, reaching out and shaking her hand. "You can call me Becky. Bobby Madison was my brother. I heard you were in town doing a story on what happened, so I figured I should introduce myself and let you know that I'd be happy to answer any questions you might have."

  Pausing for a moment, Lenora Mackleberry seems genuinely surprised that I've come to find her. Fortunately, this drab little town only has one motel, so all I had to do was spend a couple of hours sitting around until I spotted her.

  "I'm not really writing a story about the case itself," she says cautiously. "It's more..." She pauses, and it's clear that her mind is racing. "I'm writing, or ghost writing, a book about Cassie Briggs and her perspective on what happened. A chance for her to clear the air, so to speak."

  "She's a murderer," I point out. "How clear can the air get?"

  "You might say that," she replies, "but I think you might be surprised when you actually read Cassie's account of events. She's finally opening up about the unfortunate events that led to your brother's death, and -"

  "You don't wanna listen to her," I say, pulling a pack of cigarettes from my pocket. "Mind if we step outside? I get the shakes if I don't get a shot of nicotine every couple of hours."

  We head outside and take shelter under the awning that covers the front of the building. Rain is still pouring down, turning the parking lot into a goddamn lake. I offer Lenora a cigarette, but of course she turns me down. These New York types are all the same, treating their bodies as temples. I swear to God, it's actually healthy to get a little poison in your system from time to time. After all, how else can the body develop a little resistance?

  "Cassie Briggs is a bullshitter," I say eventually. "She says whatever she needs to say. All she cares about is trying to make the world feel sorry for her." I pause for a moment. "I hope you're smart enough to see through her crap, though. I mean, you have to recognize that she's an unreliable witness."

  "I spent the whole morning with Cassie," Lenora replies, "and I think I got to know her pretty well. She opened up to me, Ms. Madison. She gave me a full account of what happened, from her point of view, and she went into far more detail than ever before." She pauses, and there's a hint of a smile on her lips. "As a matter of fact," she continues eventually, "she told me who really killed Bobby."

  "Who?" I ask, shocked at the idea that Cassie would ever talk so openly.

  "I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge that information," she replies slickly. "Commercial privilege prevents me from spoiling any of the secrets contained in the text, but if you wait six weeks, you should have no trouble locating a copy of the book. It should be in every store and on every website in the world."

  "We're talking about my brother here," I reply, trying very hard to overcome the urge to wrap my hands around this bitch's neck. "If you know what happened up there, you have to tell me."

  "Maybe," she says. "Maybe not. It depends. If you were a participant in the book, I might be willing to reveal certain sensitive information. You'd have to sign a contract, of course, with stiff financial penalties if you leak anything. Is that something you'd be interested in doing, Ms. Madison? I can guarantee you the most prominent possible platform for your views and opinions."

  "I don't want a fucking platform," I reply. "I want justice."

  "And what if you don't like it?" she asks. "What if 'justice' doesn't mean hanging Cassie Briggs from the nearest lamppost?"

  I stare at her for a moment. "She's really done a number on you, hasn't she?" I say eventually, struck by the naivety of this dumb bitch. "You sat down with her for a few hours, and now you think you're an expert on the whole mess. Let me guess. She told you all about how she's an innocent, wounded victim in this whole thing, right? She came up with a big story that explains it all. Hell, she's had five fucking years to think of something. It's only natural that she finally tries to wriggle free."

  Instead of answering me, the bitch just smiles.

  "What's so fucking funny?" I ask.

  "You," she says. "I've got your number, Ms. Madison. You're just a festering ball of hate, aren't you? You've spent five years simmering away, and now you're ready to explode. The problem is, what if all your bile and aggression is being aimed at the wrong person?" She pauses, and then she reaches into her bag and pulls out some folded pieces of paper. "You know, I was going to come and see you eventually. I wanted to get your reaction to some of the images I'm going to be running in the book." She holds one of the pieces of paper out for me. "This one, for example."

  Taking the paper, I turn it around and see that it's a slightly grainy, zoomed-in image of Cassie Briggs walking through the forest. After a moment, I realize that there's another figure in the image, over to the right: my mother, staring at Cassie from a distance.

  "I had a photographer follow Cassie from the moment she got back to Fort Powell," she explains. "For the book, naturally. I can't wait to print this image and let the whole world see a sad old woman wandering through the rain, following the young woman who was accused of killing her son. There are other photos, too, and in some of them she seems to be carrying a knife. How about that, huh?" She pauses. "I guess I should get a direct quote from your mother," she adds eventually. "I hope so, anyway. I'd hate to have to print this picture without getting the old dear's version of events."

  "Leave my mother out of this," I say, staring at the photo. I swear to God, I want to punch this smug bitch and make her feel some real pain. Dragging Ma into this goddamn book is nothing short of cruel, and I'm not gonna let it happen.

  "Cassie Briggs is the real victim here," Lenora continues. "She took the fall for someone else's crime, and I think I can prove every word of her story. Believe me, Ms. Madison, this book is shaping up to be a goldmine. When you add in the movie rights and all the talk show appearances, Cassie's going to come out of this as a very wealthy young woman. Sure, she'll have a few bad memories, but she's going to have a great life. She's been a loser for long enough. Now she's going to be a winner."

  "You can't publish this picture," I say, trying to stay calm. "It'll ruin my mother. She's a proud woman, and this was her at her lowest. I'll do anything, I'll give you money, but you can't -"

  "You can't give me anything," she replies, grabbing the piece of paper from my hand and putting it back into her bag. "You don't have anything I want, or anything I need. You and your mother are just going to be a sad little chapter toward the end of the book." With that, she turns and hurries toward her car.

  I stand and watch as she drives away. I swear, she's lucky I didn't knock that smug grin right off her face. She thinks she's got it all figured out, and I have no doubt at all that she's perfectly willing to humiliate my mother in order to get another page in her dumb-ass book. Taking a deep breath, I try to push past my anger and figure out some way I can fix all of this. Finally, I realize that I need to quit scrapping around and get the job done, which means I've gotta take a risk and go to the one person who can help me put everything right. Reaching
into my pocket, I grab my phone and pull up a number. I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  "It's me," I say when I hear someone pick up at the other end of the line. "We need to talk."

  Fisher Benhauser

  "Going somewhere?"

  Looking over at the front door, I find that Edie has come home. She's been ignoring my calls all day, and I'd assumed she must have gone to spend the evening with her mother, but now here she is, wearing the little black dress she always chooses for our nights out together. For a moment, all I can think about is how beautiful she looks; after all, it's the same little black dress she wore on our very first date, and although there's anger in her eyes, I can tell that she's hoping we can stop arguing. This is her way of trying to put things right.

  "I just..." I start to say, before looking down at the torch in my hands. I just came home for a few minutes to grab some things I might need while I'm out looking for Cassie. "Your hair looks nice," I say eventually. "You get it cut?"

  "No," she says dourly. "I didn't, Fisher".

  "Still looks nice," I mutter.

  "My mother said she'll watch Donovan until the morning," she continues cautiously, with a look in her eyes that makes me think she doesn't trust me. "She thought it'd be nice if we had some time to ourselves. I told her not to bother, but she insisted, so I got dressed up, put on some lipstick and..." She pauses, and it's clear that she can already tell something's wrong. "So do you wanna go get dinner somewhere?" she asks eventually. "You can choose where. I just..." Her voice trails off. "I don't care where we go, Fisher. I just want to spend an evening with my husband."

  Sighing, I try to work out how to turn her down. Tonight, of all nights, I can't be with her.

  "See," she continues, "that look in your eyes isn't what I was hoping for, but it's kinda what I expected. What's wrong? Did you think you'd got rid of me tonight? Did you think I'd be sulking at my mother's, and you'd be able to go off and have fun?"

  "I can't go to dinner tonight," I say, walking over to join her at the door. "Please, you have to understand me, and you have to not be jealous. I just need to go and help a friend."

  "Cassie Briggs?" she asks, with tears in her eyes.

  "It's not like that -" Before I can finish, she slaps the side of my face.

  "Don't tell me it's not 'like' that," she says after a moment. "Don't patronize me, Fisher. I know exactly what's going on here. I've heard what people say about you and Cassie. They say you two were inseparable. They say you were lovers. Everyone expected you to marry her, and when she went to prison, everyone expected you to wait until she got out. So what was I, huh? Did you just want somewhere warm to stick your dick until she came back?"

  "I don't have any feelings for Cassie Briggs," I say firmly, even though I know she's not going to believe me. Edie's always been the jealous type, but I'm sure giving her plenty of ammunition right now.

  "Why don't I believe you?" she replies. "Why do I look into your eyes and see that you're hiding something?"

  "I don't have time to argue with you," I say, stepping past her and heading out onto the porch. "We'll talk when I get back!"

  "I won't be here!" she calls after me.

  Sighing, I turn to her. "I can't explain -" I start to say, before spotting the name Darper Danver carved into the wall. I swear to God, that wasn't there when I left this morning, which can only mean one thing: Darper's been here. She's been to my home. "Go to your mother's," I say suddenly, realizing that it might not be safe for her to be at home right now. "Stay there with Donovan. Don't come home until I come and fetch you, okay?"

  "Come and fetch us?" She stares at me for a moment. "You think we're gonna sit around and wait for you to decide you want us again? We're not coming back, Fisher. Period. You blatantly don't give a crap about your family, you're more interested in running around town -"

  "That's not true," I say, hurrying toward her and grabbing her arm before pulling her away from the house. "I'll explain later, but it's not safe for you to be here. You have to promise me you won't come back to the house until I come and tell you everything's been fixed, okay? This is important."

  "What the hell are you talking about?" she asks. "Is it that bitch? Has she gone nuts again?" She pauses. "Fisher, is Cassie Briggs dangerous? Is she after us? Has she flipped and decided she wants to kill us?" She pauses again. "Oh my God, is she after me? Is she jealous? That's it, isn't it? She wants to kill me and then have you for herself! She wants to get me out of the way!"

  "No," I reply. "It's not Cassie, it's -" Before I can finish, I spot the name Darper Danver carved into the fence that runs along the side of the driveway. "It's something else," I continue, leading Edie further away from the house. "I'll tell you all about it when I get back, but right now I need to know that you and Donovan are safe."

  "We're -"

  "Promise me!" I shout, trying not to panic. "Promise me you won't set foot in that house again until I come back and tell you it's safe!" I wait for her to reply, but she seems too stunned to say anything. "Promise me," I continue. "Please, Edie. If you've ever trusted me about anything, trust me about this." I pause for a moment. "You look beautiful tonight," I add eventually. "I would give anything to be able to come to dinner with you. Anything. The fact is, there's something I have to take care of, and I don't have much time. Tomorrow, when I get back, I'll tell you everything. You might not believe me, but I'll tell you anyway, and I promise, we're going to be okay."

  "I'm calling the police," she replies. "Something's wrong -"

  "The police can't help," I tell her. "I have to go and do something. I have to help Cassie. I know you might not like that, but it's the truth. I should have told you everything from the start, but I'll explain it when I get back, I swear. She's not dangerous, but something's very wrong with her and she needs me." I pause for a moment. "I love you," I say eventually. "You and Donovan, you're my family, and nothing's ever going to change that. If I loved Cassie Briggs, I'd have waited for her when she went to prison, but I didn't. I met you, and I love you, and I need you to promise that you'll be waiting for me at your mother's house when I get back."

  She stares at me for a moment, and finally a steely look crosses her face. "We'll be at my mother's," she says eventually, pulling away from me, "but I can't promise we'll be waiting for you." With that, she turns and walks over to her car.

  I want to call out to her, to make her understand, but finally I realize that I can explain things later. Right now, the most important thing is that she keeps the hell away from the house. Darper Danver clearly knows where I live, and although her focus is undoubtedly going to be on Cassie, I can't run even the slightest risk that Edie or Donovan could be targeted. As Edie drives away, I hurry to my truck and climb into the driver's compartment. Whatever happens tonight, I have to find Cassie. She needs me, and I can't let her down. Not again. Not after she lied five years ago to protect me.

  Becky Madison

  It's getting late, and this goddamn diner is almost deserted. To be honest, I was half-expecting Fisher to show up, but I guess he's too busy playing happy families with his wife and kid. He's probably washed his hands of the whole thing, preferring to act like it's nothing to do with him. I doubt he'll have things his own way for long, though. If Lenora Mackleberry is willing to drag Ma into this crap, there's no way in hell she'll leave Fisher out. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Cassie claimed that Fisher was the one who killed Bobby. If she wants to throw the blame onto someone else, he's the most obvious choice.

  "Hey!" calls out a voice from nearby. "Where were you?"

  Turning, I see to my horror that Nate Briggs is hurrying through the door. He's soaking wet from the rainstorm, and he quickly splashes his way over to my booth.

  "Where have I been?" I ask, trying to work out what's wrong. Damn it, Nate's pretty goddamn intense at times. "I've been around. Why? Does it matter?"

  "I thought we were gonna meet," he says,
leaning down and kissing me on the cheek before taking a seat on the other side of the booth. "Like, at the motel. Wasn't that the plan?"

  Sighing, I realize that he's right. In my anger, I forgot that we'd arranged to hook up again.

  "I don't have time right now," I say. "I'm here to meet someone, okay? You have to leave."

  "I couldn't get it," he continues, apparently ignoring everything I just told him. "The stories about Darper Danver, I mean. I looked, but they weren't there. It's like someone hid them."

  "Then I guess you haven't fulfilled your side of the bargain, have you?" I reply. "Sorry, Nate. I guess -"

  "But I got this," he says with a grin, placing a small book on the table. It looks old, with a cloth-bound hard cover and yellowing pages. The idiot clearly thinks he's come up with gold, but as I open the book and flick through the pages, I can't work out why the hell this is relevant. As far as I can tell, it's just some old account of the town's history.

  "Great," I mutter. "Bedtime reading. Thanks."

  "Look," he says, grabbing the book and finding a particular page, before thrusting the book back into my hands. "I told you my Mom sometimes based her stories on local history, right? Darper Danver was some woman in the Civil War period. She lived in Fort Powell and she was all, like, crazy. People used to tell stories and write ballads about her. She was totally nuts."

  Reading a few lines from the book, I realize that he's right: Darper Danver was a real person. This certainly puts a new perspective on Cassie Briggs' weirdness, but somehow it all just feels irrelevant right now. I guess I might have been interested a few hours ago, when I could have perhaps used this new information to torture Cassie some more, but things have changed. I no longer give a damn about Darper Danver or any of the bitch's other interests.