All Your Secrets

by Ayre, Mark

  “You know it.”

  “It’s dangerous. I can’t promise nothing bad’ll happen.”

  “And I can’t promise I won’t get drunk and throw up everywhere, but I’m still willing to give this thing a shot if you are.”

  James smiled, trying not to feel guilty for dragging Owen into this, however content his companion might be to put his life at risk.

  “It involves breaking and entering in the dead of night.”

  “Best time for it.”

  “Meet me at midnight, same place we went before the fair?”

  No hesitation.

  “Deal. What are you going to do first?”

  “I got to see the girl I thought I loved.”

  His eyes widened. “Nina?”

  “Megan.”

  Part of him still wanted to leave. To high tail it out of there and never look back, but it wasn’t the right way. He was terrified of, and for, Megan. He hated her, but if anything happened, he would hate himself even more. It was all going to come out now. Even if he tried to hold it back, someone would follow the leads. Jane or Davis would unravel it, and she would die.

  Even now, James couldn’t let that happen.

  Outside Megan’s temporary home. His heart had not stopped thudding for hours, and it was draining, pumping all that blood around his body at such speed. He looked at the window behind which she was no doubt trying to sleep and wondered how long it would be before Davis came to call. No matter how little she might have enjoyed their last tryst, this would be worse.

  Out of the car, he strode up the driveway against his own inner monologue, held his fists to the door and paused.

  It was late. He didn’t want to wake Megan’s landlady. She seemed a sweet old lady. Probably had no idea what a venomous, evil, lying little—

  “Megan.”

  She had swung open the door and stood before him, wearing a baggy T-Shirt and pyjama trousers with ponies on. Her hair was a mess, and she was the most gorgeous girl in the world. Their eyes met, and as ever it was a punch to the gut. His breath left him, and he could only stand speechless on the step.

  “James, I told you I need space.”

  A deep breath, a wave of love. His mind made up.

  “You’re in danger. We need to go.”

  If he thought she would need persuading, he was wrong. She nodded and rushed back upstairs. Five minutes later they were on the road. James driving, Megan beside him, nervously playing with the chain of her bag and biting her lip.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Hotel.”

  Emotional turmoil. He couldn’t keep up with his feelings. One minute he hated her, the next he felt nothing but love. One second he wanted to ask why she lied, the next he was thinking of getting down on one knee and requesting her hand in marriage. It was making him dizzy, and tired. Concentrating on the road was becoming a struggle.

  As the car shot along, James expected questions. He waited for Megan to ask how he knew she was in trouble, who she was in trouble with, why he was helping her. Every mile that slipped by his hands gripped tighter to the steering wheel, always waiting. But she said nothing, and she did it with such perseverance he snapped.

  “I know you lied,” he spat. “You arranged for Nina’s phone to be stolen so you could set up Tahir. You convinced Harris to meet you at the bar that night, not the other way around. If I know, Davis and Jane will soon find out, then you’ll be dead.”

  Looking to her. Waiting for denial or tears or anger or anything, but she stared ahead, said nothing. He gripped the steering wheel tighter still, as though he were trying to pull it off. Searched for calm as a child seeks a lost teddy, but found nothing. Felt the anger build towards explosion.

  “You had me running around like a headless chicken, trying to protect you. Putting my life on the line to find the murderer to clear your name. You could have got me killed.”

  She pondered this, still playing with that chain. The way it rattled through her fingers was almost soothing. James loosened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to focus.

  “You’re right,” she whispered. “I could have got you killed. I deserve to be punished. Why didn’t you leave me at home? Why are you taking me to some fucking hotel?”

  He stared at the road as though trying to use telekinesis to destroy it, but didn’t need to avoid her eye. She looked out the window, unable to turn back to him. She was angry at him for protecting her when she didn’t deserve it. It should have made him madder, but he felt the anger deflating.

  “I’m a mug,” he said. “I build all this hate for you, and it burns so strong. Then I look you in the eye and it’s like boom, a shot of love to heart. I can’t breathe for wanting you, for needing you to be safe, no matter what you’ve done. How messed up is that?”

  Megan wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to. She stared at him a while, then turned away, sobbing. He heard her press her forehead against the glass and chanced a look at the back of her head. He wanted to kiss her hair, and he wanted to drive them into the nearest tree. He did neither, putting his focus back on the road and keeping his mouth shut until they reached the hotel.

  “Come on.”

  “Wait.”

  Her arms reached out but didn’t quite touch him as he opened his door. Closing it again he turned back to her.

  She didn’t know what to say, and he wished he hadn’t looked at the devastation on her face. It broke his resolve, and he reached forward, putting his hand on the back of her head and bringing her towards him. When she pulled back, he fought for the words he needed to say.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what you did.”

  For a long time, there was nothing. He looked at her, and she looked at him. Tears traced her cheeks, and she thought to keep her breathing steady. Finally, she took his hands, and he clutched hers, waiting.

  “I killed Harris,” she said, her voice stronger than expected. She said it, her eyes never leaving his and, as she spoke, he saw the truth.

  Leaning against the door, still clutching her hands, he gave the smallest of smiles.

  “I’m a liar,” he whispered. “I’ve done so many terrible things and lied about them all. You’d think I’d be well practised, and maybe I am, but I never feel comfortable doing it. Makes me sick, to be honest. Makes me hate myself.” He titled his head, looking at her. “Gives me experience though. Experience enough to know you’re lying now.”

  She was shaking her head but sobbing too hard to say anything. He shhed and held her close, wrapping her tight into his arms for several minutes.

  “You didn’t do it.”

  “I did. I did it.”

  “No,” he said, looking past her shoulder to the lights of the hotel. “Let’s get inside.”

  The slightest of pauses then:

  “You’ll come with me?”

  “Yes,” he said, easing her back as though afraid she might snap at the middle, tipping her chin, so her eyes met his. “But only if you tell me the truth.”

  She wanted to dip her head, but he wouldn’t allow it. His finger held firm and although she tried to flick her eyes from his, they kept coming back.

  “Megan?”

  “Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Good. Now, come on, let’s go.”

  The room was a replica of those in chain hotels up and down the country. One double bed, bedside table either side, counter with a telly perched on top, tray, kettle, tea bags, plus a chair facing a mirror for applying makeup and whatever else. One wardrobe with hangers attached to the rail so no one could steal them and a door into a clinically clean bathroom.

  Megan went straight for the bed, sitting on the edge and going to chewing her nails before stopping herself. James hovered nearby, standing, watching her. She looked back with pleading eyes.

  “Come, sit.”

  She slid her shoes off and moved back on the bed, leaning against the headboard, legs pulled close, arms wrappe
d around them. James kicked his own shoes off and sat at the other end of the bed, legs crossed, hoping he didn’t forget where he was, lean back, and fall off.

  “I’m glad you came up,” Megan said. “I need you.”

  James nodded but didn’t know what to say so stayed quiet. He hoped he looked as though he was willing to listen and let her in. Not that she was looking at him anyway. Clearly, she didn’t feel she could tell her story while making eye contact.

  “They made me do it,” she said. “Warned me to tell you I killed him. Said I’d better make you believe it. Guess I failed on that one. They’ll make me pay.”

  “Don’t worry about that now,” James said. “Just tell me everything. Tell it from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”

  She nodded, shuffled to get comfortable, cleared her throat.

  “A lot of what I told you was true,” she began. “I came here, hoping to start a new life, and I struggled. I got a job at the bar, but the rest of the staff were cruel and cold. They made me feel unwelcome. As I said, it was only Harris who was kind to me, and as I said, he grew to wish we could be more than friends. He asked me out multiple times, and I always said no. Always said things were better as they were. I’m not sure he accepted it, but he did stop asking.”

  This was where the story diverged. Harris hadn’t kept pushing until she agreed. Something else had happened. James leaned forward but tried not to look as though he was judging her with every word spoken.

  “A few months back, we were invited to a party, everyone who worked for Davis and everyone who worked for Jane, at Davis’ house—if, that is, you can call it a house.”

  James smiled, knowing what she meant. She glanced at him for the first time, wanting to talk about the size of the house. Wanting to seize the distraction. James refused to take the bait, so she went on.

  “I wasn’t keen on going, but Harris begged me. He wasn’t talking to Nina and Michael was looking after his nephew. He was always in a bad mood, and I think I was the only one who could cheer him up. I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to need me, so I said okay.”

  She looked to the tray with the tea set up. There were two glasses.

  “Can I get a drink?”

  “I’ll do it,” James said.

  “Thank you. Anyway, I arrive, and Harris is already drinking. He gets drunker and drunker, and before long I’m looking after him. He’s in a bad way. Tells me he’s made some fucked up decisions because he let himself be led. Tells me he wants to be better. He talks a lot about the bar, about making it work. Says he’s sad I don’t want to go out with someone, but he hopes he finds someone like me who will.

  “I stay with him as long as I can. Nina comes over, brings me alcohol, him water. Eventually, he passes out. Nina and I talk for a bit, but she’s tired too, so she heads upstairs where she’s staying.”

  James returned with the waters. Took his place on the bed and watched as Megan half downed her glass in one go, placing it on the bedside table. She twisted her hands again as she tried to go on.

  “I can’t remember much of what happened after that. Didn’t think I drank too much but I must have. Think someone convinced me to stay and I must have hit the booze table hard. Too hard. It was all free, but I’m usually good about drink. Guess I forgot my limits.”

  James felt the anger rise within him.

  “Or you were spiked.”

  She couldn’t look at him and didn’t nod. It was clear she wanted to move on.

  “Next thing I remember I’m upstairs. Same night, but later. I’m looking for a toilet, I think, but I hear an argument. I should have walked away but I was drunk, and I guess drunk makes me nosey. I follow the voices and end up outside Davis’ bedroom. There’s this crash, and I hear a voice I don’t recognise, and he’s saying—“ she strained to recall. Closed her eyes to go there. “I’m not sure. Something about not getting away with whatever he wanted. About hurting and killing people. About someone in particular. Yeah, he said Davis was going to get her killed, and he wouldn’t allow it.”

  James tried to piece this together, but couldn’t make it fit. He was still trying to work it out as Megan continued.

  “Then the door swung open, and I fell over as some angry blonde man shot out. He looked at me with such loathing in his eyes and then he was gone.”

  “Blonde man,” James thought, feeling a tingle of anticipation. “Stony face?”

  “I don’t know,” Megan said. “He was angry. Got to be lots of blonde guys out there.”

  Maybe, James thought, but he wondered. Thought about Lindelof, the policeman who had been in contact with Michael about testifying against the Chappells. What had triggered this need to put Davis away? Someone he cared about being threatened by the crook, perhaps?

  A sob brought him back to Earth. He had allowed the thought of a possible argument between Lindelof and Davis distract him from what this story was about. From what he knew had to happen next.

  “I was trying to get up when Davis appeared,” she said. “He held out his hand and said he was going to get me a drink. No arguments. He pulled me up and dragged me into his room, and I didn’t resist. I didn’t tell him no.”

  There were tears on her cheeks. Her whole body was trembling as it prepared to go to pieces. James could no longer sit by and do nothing. Propelling off the bed as though on a spring, he walked to the end of the room as though he was going to burst out and go looking for Davis. Then he stopped.

  Selfish.

  He could go after Davis, he could attack and kill the old bastard, but who would he be doing it for? Not for Megan, that was for sure.

  Turning back he strolled towards the bed. There she sat, head still bowed, crying and shaking. He felt the anger fade and his heart break. Approaching, he sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and cupping her chin, lifting her head.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head.

  “Not your fault.”

  “Not your fault either.”

  “I shouldn’t have stayed. Shouldn’t have drank.”

  “No,” James said. “Don’t think like that. Don’t you ever think like that. What he did to you—“ again, he couldn’t get through the sentence. “It’s not your fault. Nothing you did. You understand? Tell me you understand?”

  She nodded and came forward. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, sliding further on the bed and holding her as he had held the morning after Harris had died. He had thought she had been open with him then. Had thought he knew everything, but it had turned out—

  No. Stop. It wasn’t worth sitting here thinking like that. He loved her. He wanted to trust her, so he had to take the risk. Had to trust this was it.

  “It goes beyond that night,” she whispered. He began to shh her, but she went on. “You need to know everything. About what happened next. About Harris.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t need to hear anything you don’t want to—“

  “It’s okay,” she said, pulling back a little, giving herself the space to speak. “I need to say it. I need to tell you everything.”

  She reached across him and took her glass, finishing her water. He offered to get her another, but she declined.

  “There’s not much more to say. I woke up in Davis’ bed feeling sick. He asked if I wanted to stay for breakfast and I ran out of there. I went home and cried and cried. I was going to quit. Was going to leave and never come back. I couldn’t stand the thought of spending another second in this fucking city. Then, that evening, the video came through.”

  James saw it, that video, the way she had laid beneath Davis. Now though, he saw it for it what it was. A sober, perverted monster on top of a girl so drunk she was almost passed out. There was that anger again, and it took everything he had to hold it back.

  “What did they want?” he asked.

  “The message just said ‘Stick Around’.”

  Pushing his thoughts from Davis on Megan, knowing it would only drive him into fu
ry, he considered who had the video. Who had filmed her? Who needed to keep her around? Why? Ideas started to form, piecing it together.

  “I’m guessing they didn’t get in touch again until recently.”

  “Just over a week ago,” she said. “Three more messages came through. The first told me to get talking to Nina next time she was in the bar. It told me I was to suggest Nina go to this pub with her boyfriend. The second told me to get in touch with some guy called Kevin. A frequent at that bar. I had to—“

  “I’ve spoken to Kevin,” James interjected. “You got him to steal Nina’s bag.”

  “And push you in a river,” Megan said, hanging her head again. “I didn’t know it was you. Not that that makes it any better but—“

  “Don’t,” James said. “You did what you had to do. I understand. After the mugging, Kevin dumped the bag in a bin. You told him to do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you collect it?”

  “No.”

  “So you have no way of knowing who asked you to do it?”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  He thought about it.

  “The third message asked you to get Harris to take you on a date to the bar?”

  “Yes,” she was crying harder. “I should have known. Should have guessed something horrible was going to happen, or why would they needed me to do it? It’s my fault he’s dead.”

  James held her closer.

  “It’s not,” he said. “You did the only thing you could.”

  Except hadn’t he told Kevin the opposite? That he should have guessed something was going to happen and was therefore responsible. The difference was Kevin was doing it for romance and Megan out of fear.

  That was a big difference. He wanted to re-evaluate his theory but made himself pause.

  “Megan,” he said, making his mind up. She waited a while before looking into his eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m leaving this city tomorrow.”

  She nodded, understanding. He kissed the top of her head.

  “I want you to come with me.”

  For a long time, they looked into each other's eyes.