by Amy Cross
When I get home, I see that my father's truck still isn't in the driveway. I know he works a lot, but I can't help wondering if he's keeping away as much as possible. After last night, I wouldn't blame him for not wanting to speak to me. Walking up the driveway, I figure that maybe the best thing would be for us to steer clear of one another for a while, at least until our tempers have settled a little. We both might say something we'd end up regretting. As I get to the door, I hear screeching tires nearby, but at first I don't even bother to look over my shoulder. Instead, I'm focused on the fence that runs down the side of the driveway. Someone has scratched a name into the wood, but I swear it wasn't there this morning. It's as if -
"Cassie!" a female voice calls out. "Cassie Briggs?"
Sighing, I turn around, expecting to come face to face with a reporter. Instead, I'm surprised to see Fisher's wife Edie getting out of her car and walking determinedly toward me. Something tells me, this isn't going to be a friendly meeting.
"Stay away from my husband!" she says as she gets closer.
"I'm nowhere near your husband," I reply, stunned by the anger in her eyes.
"I've heard about you," she says, pushing me against the side of the house. "I know you and Fisher had a thing once, okay? I know all about that -"
"Does Fisher know you're here?" I ask, my heart racing.
"Of course he doesn't," she replies, "and you're not going to tell him. Just keep the fuck away from him, and keep away from our house and our baby, do you understand?"
I stare at her.
"Do you understand?" she shouts, as if she's on the edge of some kind of nervous breakdown. There are tears in her eyes, and she genuinely looks as if she might turn violent at any moment. "Are you listening to me? Keep the hell away from my husband!"
"I wasn't going to go see him anyway," I reply. "You don't have to worry about Fisher and me!"
"I'm not worried," she says breathlessly, taking a step back. "I'm not worried one little bit. I'm just hoping that you'll understand the situation here. If you try to sneak your way back in with Fisher, if you think for one moment that you and him can be friends or even more, you're wrong. There's no way I'm going to let some murderous little bitch -"
"Okay," I say, heading toward the door, "you've said your -"
"Fuck you!" she shouts, slamming me against the wall with such force that I'm momentarily stunned. "Fuck you for coming back here!" she sneers. "Fuck you for coming back just when people had started to forget about you! I swear to God, if I ever see you near my house again, or if I see you with Fisher, I'll..."
I wait for her to finish. "What?" I ask eventually. "What would you do?"
"I'll kill you," she replies, her voice trembling. She steps back, and for a moment it's as if she's shocked by her own words. "Just don't come anywhere near us," she mutters, before turning and hurrying back toward her car.
Trying not to panic, I stay with my back against the wall, watching as Edie drives away. I guess I was expecting some kind of confrontation, but not with her, and not like that. Trying to stay calm, I take a moment to gather my composure. I guess maybe the worst of it's over. I can stay away from Fisher if that's what I need to do. Hopefully, if I just keep a low profile and don't draw attention to myself, people will start to forget that I exist. Then again, maybe that's too much to hope for. Walking over to the fence, I crouch down and run my fingers across the letters that have been scratched into the wood. I swear, this looks like it was cut recently, but there's just no way... A shiver runs through my body.
It's impossible, but at the same time, I can't deny the name that has been spelled out in crudely carved letters. It even looks like her work. The question is, does someone else know what really happened, or did Darper Danver somehow survive?
Florence Madison
Standing next to Bobby's grave, with rain pouring down all around, I stare at the knife. Earlier, it seemed like such a powerful, potent weapon, capable of slicing Cassie Briggs open and leaving her dead on the ground; now, the very same blade looks pathetically small, and I can only conclude that I was a fool to think I could murder that girl in cold blood.
I failed.
"You must think I'm an awful person," I whisper, hoping that maybe Bobby can somehow hear me. Tears are rolling down my face, but they're getting lost in the rain. "What kind of mother can't take action against the woman who killed her son?"
Closing my eyes, I wait for a sign. Anything will do. I just want to know that Bobby understands, but all I hear is the sound of rain falling all around.
"I figured you'd be here," says a familiar voice suddenly.
Turning, I open my eyes and see a woman standing nearby. For a fraction of a second, I have no idea who she is, but finally the fog clears and I realize that it's Becky. After everything that happened today, Becky has come home.
"What the hell are you doing in the rain?" she asks, opening an umbrella and holding it over me. "Come on, Ma, don't you remember all those times you told me to stay dry in case I got hypothermia? Do I really have to drive all the way from Philly just to hold a damn umbrella over you?"
"What are you doing here?" I ask, stunned to see her again. It's been almost two years since my daughter was in town, and since then we're spoken on the phone but we've never actually seen one another.
"What do you think I'm doing?" she asks. "I read about that bitch coming back. I knew you'd need more than a phone call." She pauses for a moment as she looks down at the knife in my hand. "What's that all about, huh? When I went to the house and there was no sign of you, I realized there was nowhere else you could be apart from here. Still, the knife's a little unexpected. What exactly were you planning to do?"
"Nothing," I mutter, feeling embarrassed. "I just... nothing. I carry it for protection, that's all."
"You carry a steak knife for protection?" She smiles. "Come on," she adds, leading me over toward her car, which is parked by the gate. "You know, Ma, sometimes you worry me. Just 'cause I don't live around here anymore, don't think I don't worry. You're not only enough to go nuts on me just yet, so let's keep things a little calm, okay? No more wandering around in the rain with a steak knife, even if it is for protection."
"It is!" I say, feeling a little flustered.
"Get in the car," she replies.
Once I'm in the passenger seat, I wait for her to get in. The rain is falling harder than ever, and I feel like a complete fool. I remember being chastised by my parents when I was a child, and this is the same sensation. It's as if Becky has come all this way to deal with her foolish old mother, and to be honest, maybe she's right. Maybe I'm a total idiot. Maybe I'm losing my mind. Fifty-seven would be a little early for dementia to set in, but how else can I explain the fact that I spent most of today following Cassie Briggs and planning to murder her in cold blood. I can only thank God that somehow I saw the light before it was too late. If I'd gone through with my plan, I'd have been just like her. Worse, even.
"Some homecoming," Becky says as she gets into the driver's seat and pulls the door shut.
"This is a nice car," I say, hoping to make polite conversation. "Is it new?"
"I've been doing okay since I got made partner at the law firm," she replies. "Things have been looking good."
"Your brother would have been so proud," I continue. "Really, Becky, he would have been so pleased by how well things are going for you."
"So here's the deal," she continues, with a faint smile on her lips. "I find out that Cassie Briggs is getting out, right? I figure that little slut is totally just gonna come back to Fort Powell, so I get some time off work and I come down to see how things are going. I expect to find my old Ma at home, fretting but stoical. Instead, I find her standing in the pouring rain, holding a steak knife, next to my little brother's grave. Tell me why I shouldn't be bat-shit worried about you right now."
"I'm okay," I say weakly.
"Bullshit."
"Please don't use that kind of language," I reply.
"Bullshit," she says again. "If there's every a time for this kind of language, this is that time. Jesus Christ, Ma, you're soaking wet. You're dripping all over my interior."
"I'm so sorry," I say, reaching out and opening the door. "I'll walk -"
"Jesus!" she shouts, leaning over and pulling the door shut. "You're not walking anywhere! Just..." She pauses. "Forget it. This just isn't quite how I expected to find you today." She stares at me for a moment. "So the knife. The steak knife you apparently carry for protection. What's that all about? And don't tell me it's 'cause you're worried about getting robbed. This is Fort Powell, for Christ's sake. Ain't nobody been robbed around here in a hundred years."
With rain pounding on the roof of the car, I try to work out what to say. The lights of the town are just about visible in the distance, sparkling light diamonds on the rain-soaked windshield, and for a moment I allow myself to empty my mind and just stare at the beauty. The truth is so stupid and foolish, but at the same time, I don't have the energy to come up with a lie. Becky always sees through things anyway. "I was going to kill her," I say eventually, staring at the rain as it hits the windshield. "I was going to catch up to her in a secluded place, and I was going to use the knife to kill her, the way she killed... I was going to make her feel what he felt. I was going to make her feel the blood flowing out of her body."
"And how were you gonna get away with that?" Becky asks.
I shrug.
"You weren't?"
"Maybe not," I reply. "I suppose I would have been caught and I'd have gone to jail, but maybe that would be okay. My life would basically be over anyway, so there'd be no need to sit around any longer, would there?"
"And how do you think I'd have felt?" Becky asks. "Five years ago, I lose Bobby, and then I end up losing my Ma too? Way to go leaving me with no-one. Jesus Christ, do you think I'd have enjoyed visiting you in jail? Are you really willing to let that little bitch rip our family apart?"
"What else am I supposed to do?" I ask, close to tears. "She's walking around in broad daylight as if she did nothing wrong. She obviously thinks she can carry on with her life as it was before. They didn't charge her with anything in the end, you know."
"I know," Becky says, with a hint of anger in her voice. "I guess she lucked into a decent lawyer, and maybe the cops handling the case were incompetent. Believe me, I kept tabs on what was going on."
"She was never convicted of a damn thing. As far as the legal system is concerned, Cassie Briggs is an innocent woman. I wouldn't be at all surprised if she ends up getting compensation for being wrongfully accused, or whatever rubbish goes on these days. She probably thinks she's the victim in all of this."
"Fucking bitch," Becky mutters.
"Please!" I say, trying to ensure that things remain civil. "Can you watch your language, Rebecca? Please?"
She sighs. "Okay," she says eventually, "you know what? I'll try not to cuss and swear so much, and you'll try not to wander around in the rain with a knife. Are we at least on the same page here?"
I take a deep breath. "Perhaps we should be getting home," I say after a moment. "I'm soaking wet."
"How was he anyway?" she replies, staring at Bobby's grave, which is just about visible despite the rain. "Is someone keeping this place properly mowed and all that shit?"
"Please don't use that language around me," I reply. "I don't know what passes in the company you usually keep, but when you're around me, I'd rather you keep your mouth clean."
"Fine," she says with a sigh. "But is someone, like, tending to the place and all that? I don't want my kid brother buried in some kinda jungle."
"There's a very nice man who comes and mows the grass every Tuesday," I tell her. "They really do an exceptional job."
"Good," she says. "That's about right."
"I just..." Pausing, I realize that I've failed miserably. "I got it into my head that Bobby would want me to do something about all of this," I continue. "I kept thinking that he'd be distraught if he knew Cassie Briggs was swanning around as if she'd done nothing wrong. I told myself that a good mother would do something to punish her, but I couldn't..." I look down at the knife. "I couldn't bring myself to do it. I wanted to, but I didn't have the strength. Does that make me a terrible mother?"
"Of course not," Becky says.
"I just hate the idea that she's getting away with it," I continue. "I hate the idea that we live in a world where a murderer can get off and live a happy life, and no-one does a thing about it."
"Who said anything about letting her get away with anything?" she replies. "Why do you think I came all this way? Just to towel you dry and turn around?"
"Then what -"
"The law's failed us, Ma," she continues. "We've been flat out failed. Bobby's in the ground and that b... that girl is walking around like she's done nothing wrong. It's not right, and it's not gonna stand." She pauses. "She's gonna pay, Ma. She's gonna pay big time. I don't just mean spooking her with a steak knife. I mean properly destroying her. I'm a lawyer, right? I know the system. I know how it works. I know what you can do, even if it's stuff you're not supposed to do. You understand what I'm saying here?"
"I'm not sure," I reply.
She smiles. "Killing's too easy," she says. "At least right now. She's gonna suffer first, and I mean really suffer. She's gonna feel pain like no-one's ever felt pain before. She's gonna wish she'd ended up in jail for the rest of her life. You know what I'm saying? She's gonna be begging for death. She's gonna be on her knees, right in front of us, literally begging for us to kill her. And then, and only then, she'll get what she deserves." She grabs the steak knife and examines it for a moment, before placing it on the dashboard. "But it won't be by no dumb little knife. Too quick. Too easy on her."
"Becky -"
"No!" she shouts, the anger boiling over for a moment before she manages to calm herself down again. "You tried, Ma. I get it. You were thinking the right things, but you can't be expected to pull something like this off. I can. I knew the little weasel was gonna get back eventually, so I've been planning for this day for a long time. I know exactly how we're gonna bring Cassie Briggs down, so don't worry. She's gonna get what's coming to her. All you have to do is watch and enjoy." She starts the engine and starts easing the car onto the road. "Don't worry, Ma. I mean it. Cassie Briggs is a dead woman. Ain't no saving her now."
Cassie Briggs
I push the door open and find that my mother is sitting at the kitchen table, tapping away at her laptop.
"You okay?" I ask, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.
"You're wet," she replies, not looking over at me.
"It's raining."
"I figured." She stares at the screen for a moment. "I'm just looking for jobs."
"For me?"
"For me." She pauses. "If I find any for you, I'll let you know. I just need something part-time, to help pay the bills. Your father's never going to admit it, Cassie, but business isn't going so well, and it's not as if your brother's ever going to contribute, is it? Money doesn't grow on trees, and we're not exactly popular around here."
"Because of me?"
She doesn't reply.
"I was thinking of trying to buy and sell stuff online," I tell her. "I think you can make money doing that kind of thing these days, and at least I wouldn't have to deal with the fact that people around here hate me."
"I think I need something simpler," she replies. "The internet's really not for me."
"The grocery store's hiring," I continue. "I asked, but I don't think I'm quite who they're looking for. Maybe you'd have better luck."
"I tried too," she says, with a hint of sadness in her voice. "There are certain groups of people around here who... Well, let's just say that your father and I gave serious consideration to the idea of moving away. We couldn't make it work financially, so..." She pauses again. "Cassie, I don't want to pressure you, but have you given any more consideration to the deal with the publish
er? I know you don't want to do it, but sometimes we all have to do things that make us uncomfortable. That money would change everything. The whole family could move away -"
"Why should we move away from our home?" I ask. "I didn't kill Bobby Madison."
"Then who did?" she replies.
I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.
"Can't you even tell me?" she continues. "I wouldn't tell anyone else. I don't understand what could be so bad, you'd rather let people think you're a murderer." She waits for me to say something. "Being a murderer is the worst thing you could be, Cassie. Whatever really happened, surely it'd be better to just get it out in the open? It can't be worse that some of the things that people have been imagining."
"You don't understand," I say. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I just... Even if I wanted to do some stupid book, I'd have to tell everything I know, and I can't do that. No-one's gonna pay for half the truth, and that's all I could deliver. I know you don't understand, but you have to trust me on this. Unless you think I'm a monster, you need to recognize that I have reasons for keeping this to myself and -"
Before I can finish, the doorbell rings.
"Oh God," my mother says despairingly. "Who the hell is that gonna be?"
"I'll see," I reply, heading through to the hallway. I pause for a moment, braced for whoever I might find waiting outside, and then I open the door.
At first, I don't see anyone. Stepping out, I finally spot two teenage kids laughing from the other side of the road, and it's clear that I'm the object of their amusement. Great. Fort Powell has always had plenty of bored teenagers with nothing to do, and I guess hounding me is considered a fairly amusing hobby.
